#my girl getting shit on by silvers and the scarlet guard *shakes head*

[imjulia-andilikecats]

Cal at the beginning of King's Cage, when he watched Maven's broadcast:

#red queen #glass sword #king's cage #war storm #mare barrow #cal calore #maven calore #old meme #random #guess whos been rereading the series cause i like pain #*points at self* #seriously though i had a difficult time reading the first part king's cage #my girl getting shit on by silvers and the scarlet guard *shakes head* #tiberias vii calore #tiberias calore

[valasania-the-pale]

The Last Rose - Chapter Four

Here’s chapter four for all of you. Please enjoy and reblog! 

“I told you guys I’m fine, I don’t need this kind of pampering!”

“But Blaaaaake~ I made chicken noodle soup just for you!”

“Ish reawy goo’ Bwake!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ruby. It’s uncivilized.”

“Guys…”

“I added tuuuuna to the recipe~”

…

The sick faunus sighed.

“…In no way does this mean I’m okay with this.”

The heiress of the group didn’t look up from her homework. “Just accept those two are going to smother you already, Blake. They did with me when I caught the flu.” She sniffed. “You’re just lucky team JNPR hasn’t heard about it yet or you’d have Ren trying to slip that slime of his into your food and Pyrrha playing the amazon nursemaid.”

“…Right.”

…

I’ve had to learn… through long, painful experience, that there are times that you’ll be down and need a helping hand to pick you back up. Some of us have a hard time recognizing the hand when we see it. Or accepting it when extended.

Blake would twist sympathy into pity and kindness into contempt and mockery, never once suspecting that it was normal for people to want to simply care for and protect her. It took time – a long time – before she learned to think better of our concern.

The love we all shared was stronger, in the end, for the struggle we put up to help her recognize the truth. It was worth every tear, every argument, every hug and laugh.

*Sigh…* Silly girl. Was there ever a doubt we’d be there for you?

X_0_X

Dark shapes warred throughout her mind as Ruby shifted into consciousness. Hunched over with contorted limbs, or crawling with misshapen gaits on four or more legs, they glared at her with burning eyes. Accusing, so full of hatred, of loathing…

Her brow scrunched. She felt so hot…

X_0_X

“—but you’re getting better every day. Sun’s out fetching groceries right now… He’s been a great caretaker for you, did you know that?”

Long, clever fingers carded through Ruby’s hair. She could feel dampness on her scalp, a tiny trickle sneaking its way below her collar. It was cool against her skin, but she was so hot all over that it was nice…

There was a whimsical note to the voice now. “Your hair is so lovely... I’m a little jealous of it, actually. So long and thick. Lustrous, but none of that messiness I remember Yang complaining about back at Beacon.”

Ruby shied, eyebrows tightening. She remembered… golden tresses and affection… warmth, running a comb through that glorious mane… braiding, styling, being a good sister and helping with the grooming she had trouble with on her own…

The hands paused, in the midst of working out a knot. “Oh! Are you awake? Ruby?”

But she was gone, retreating…

X_0_X

“Miss Rose!”

So loud…

“Look, man. I know you need more information for the assignment, but Ruby needs to rest.”

“We’re leaving in three days’ time, Wukong, we don’t have time to wait.”

What…?

“Sir, please, you have the footage to look at while she’s resting – we told you we’d let you know the next time she wakes up!”

Velvet? What… what was going on?

The voices continued to argue in hushed voices, but Ruby was terribly confused. What did they want from her? She was so tired… she didn’t feel as overbearingly hot as before; now she felt like her every muscle was made of jam.

“…!”

She couldn’t muster the energy to crack open her eyelids, but she felt the attention shift to her.

“Ruby?”

She groaned weakly, curling her fingers at her side… Oh. Only on the one hand… the other was numb…

A different voice interjected, gruffer, deeper, and more sympathetic. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“W-wha—, er. Right. Thanks.”

“Save it, Wukong. We—” The second voice interrupted again. “Riot, just leave it. We’ll be back tomorrow, lad. She needs to be awake by then.” Then they were gone, taking their loudness with them.

Much better…

A quiet presence puttered around close by. It felt familiar, even if she couldn’t quite remember who it was... It was enough for her, however, and she quickly sank back into slumber.

X_0_X

Ruby woke slowly, eyes flickering open blearily in the morning light streaming through a nearby window. Everything ached, from the pounding beat quickly forming in her temples to the slow burn of… something… in her legs. Like tiny needles prickling under her skin…

Oh Dust, that light…

Some of her normal strength had finally returned, enough that Ruby was able to shift the covers slowly aside. Similarly slowly, she eased her body around, breathing deeply through her nose as pain pulsed through her body.

Just to the window. Just close the blinds. Then you can lay back down and sleep.

She managed to stand up, but that immediately proved a mistake. Her temples gave a particularly vicious throb and her strength deserted her. Her knees buckled, and worst of all she managed to clip her arm on the bedside on her way down.

“Agh!”

Sweet fucking Dust that hurt! Her vision wavered, the entire room rising and falling as though she were caught out on the ocean… in a typhoon…!

“Ruby?!”

Something in the other room crashed with the sound of breaking pottery, pounding footsteps following.

“Oh shit, Ruby! What are you doing out of bed?!”

Strong, rough hands touched her, feather-light and hesitant to aggravate her injuries further. Ruby curled around her arm tighter, willing the pain away. “G-g-good m-morning, Sun,” she gasped.

And then she passed out.

The next time she awoke Ruby was much more lucid. Her arm still throbbed beneath its plaster cast (and when had that gotten there?), but for once the pain was manageable. A low roar compared to the roaring cacophony of before.

Her legs, on the other hand, while not overly painful, felt strangely numb and… slick? There was something wrapped around them – shifting them around, it certainly felt like a bandage, if not any bandage she’d ever had before – but beneath was some sort of paste. A poultice?

And of course, her head still hurt, but she wasn’t thinking through molasses like before.

“You awake again, Ruby?”

Silver eyes flickered open. Sun was there, lounging in a chair pulled up from the kitchen at her bedside. A sprawled, open book lay forgotten on the floor beside him. She met his eyes, ignoring the weariness etched into his posture, and smiled. “Hey Sun,” she greeted, her voice slightly hoarse.

“Hey.”

She stared at him for a long moment. He stared back. Something in his eyes looked further than she was accustomed to with Sun, much further than skin deep. Part of her wanted to withdraw from those piercing eyes, retreat back into the security of unconsciousness, but…

But she owed it to her friend to talk to him. Ruby knew Sun. He would have suffered once he got word of her botched mission. She could look deeper too, and his darkened eyes were far too guarded.

So.

“You were the one who heard me earlier?”

“Yeah.”

He sounded incredibly tired, and not very happy. Ruby’s heart sank through her chest, realizing something. How long had he…?

“You haven’t been sleeping,” she observed quietly.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sun blinked. Ruby’s eyes dropped. She hadn’t expected her voice to sound so… timid. Nor for the sudden heat behind her eyes, welling up. He had suffered… his insomnia – his anxiety was probably – certainly flaring… sleeplessness was the symptom, after all, not the disease…

He’d suffered for his worry for her. Her voice choked. “I… Sun, I’m so sorry…”

Warm arms wrapped around her and Ruby buried her face in his shoulder, everything coming out at once in a torrent.

The mission. Her long flight and the preparations she’d made. The Deathstalkers. The smoke. Eventually finding the village in flames. The Colossus and her ill-fated battle against it. The cavalry arriving. Their deaths and her flight… all of it crashed down upon her, each memory leading to another in an unstoppable chain of events.

Sun was an attentive listener, gently asking questions to encourage her when it became too much and the words died in her throat. She could feel the headache forming in her temples again, the residual damage from the Beowolf teaming up with her emotions to overwhelm her, but she ruthlessly shoved her discomfort aside.

“I was so scared, Sun,” she whispered hoarsely, sniffling. “Everyone was dead and I just… I had to protect Kohroku but that meant I needed to run, and I hate running! My semblance makes it so easy, but I can’t take anyone with me without exhausting myself and… and…”

Sun rubbed her back as she hiccupped, finally running out of words. “I was scared too,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re my closest friend, Ruby. Sometimes even closer than Sage and Scarlet… Ever since Neptune died you’ve always been there when I needed someone who gets it and I was so scared you weren’t going to make it back.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice rough with emotion.

“I couldn’t sleep when you left,” Sun admitted. “I couldn’t shake this bad feeling… I was sure something would go wrong this time… And when the Guild’s messenger came over to give us the news, I lost it. Worked myself into a frenzy and then crashed so hard Scarlet and Sage had to drug me before I hurt myself…”

Ruby carefully pulled him closer with her good arm. “You hate that stuff though.”

Sun scoffed. “I didn’t give them much choice. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Not even a wink once you were gone, and I was already a zombie by the time you left…” he stopped suddenly, a weary look in his eyes. “I slept like the dead after that. Three days without waking up. Thirstier than I’ve ever been when I did, and still tired… but you were there.”

“I’m here, Sun.”

“Yeah.” His arms tightened. “You are.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Ruby and Sun jumped, pulling apart to look at the visitor. Ruby smiled to see Velvet, a stylish purse hanging off her shoulder (no doubt Coco’s pick) and an armload of groceries in hand. “Hey Velvet.”

“Hey Ruby, glad to see you awake and aware,” Velvet smiled, letting the groceries drop and bustling over to give her own hug. Ruby returned it as forcefully as she could manage with one arm in a cast, memories of Velvet’s fierce concern coming to the forefront of her mind.

She wiped her eyes as they separated, feeling better for the outburst of emotions. The two of them gave her the time to compose herself. “So, are you two my nursemaids now?” Ruby teased – weakly, admittedly – when she was ready.

“Doctor’s orders,” Sun grinned, looking in better spirits himself. “You’ve been out like a light, more or less, for nearly a week. You don’t remember waking up at all?”

Ruby hummed. Aside from earlier that day? “To be honest, not really. Before today, at least.”

Velvet left the room to put the groceries away as she let Sun catch her up on everything she’d missed. Apparently, she’d woken up a few times lucid enough to eat and drink what they gave her and speak a little while, but she’d usually be back asleep within a few minutes.

“It was the only thing keeping the doctor from hooking you up to an IV,” Sun told her seriously.

Then he gave her the rest of the doctor’s assessment.

Apparently, she’d managed to crush both of the important bones and severely damage the soft tissues of her forearm. While several aura transfers and the assistance of one helpful surgeon’s semblance to empower her own healing factor (she’d have to refer him to Jaune sometime…) had ensured she wouldn’t lose use of the arm entirely, it would be weeks before she’d be out of the cast and two months at least before she regained full use of it.

Her concussion had receded with little issue – she’d have to take several tests for it later, though with her aura it was unlikely to have left any lasting damage – but her legs were another story.

“You’re off your feet for a month,” Velvet said once she rejoined them, her voice soft with sympathy.

The Colossus’ toxins had killed most of the skin on her lower legs and was in the middle of eating into the fatty tissue and muscle by the time the doctors neutralized it. Fox, apparently, once he’d finished binding her arm, had been instrumental in delaying the onset until she’d been safe in Mistral. Her aura and careful surveillance would prevent her from losing use of her legs for any longer, but she needed to give her damaged flesh time to repair itself.

The suddenly stern eyes on her as they explained how staunchly they’d be in keeping an eye on her from now on were more than enough to impress seriousness of her injuries. Disappointed, and not a little sick to realize just how badly her body fared after the fiasco, Ruby could only meekly nod to the terms.

“I’m not going to be going on any assignments any time soon, am I?” Ruby said morosely, staring down at her hands. It wasn’t really a question.

“Sorry Rubes,” Sun patted her on the shoulder sympathetically.

Her shoulders slumped. Suddenly, she just wanted to go back to sleep.

“It’s not all that bad, Ruby,” Velvet said, obviously trying her best to cheer Ruby up. “You’ve got us here to keep an eye on you while you recover! Coco, Fox and Yatsuhashi are happy to stay in Mistral, so I won’t be going anywhere.”

Ruby’s smile was weak but genuine as Sun joined in, happy to be finished with the business of laying out Ruby’s various misfortunes and moving on to the healing process. Soon enough though she could feel herself sinking deeper into her sheets, heavy weights on her eyelids as she listened to the two huntsmen banter with each other.

“We’ll wake you up later, Ruby,” Velvet promised, chocolate brown eyes still filled with relief to see her awake and okay. “There are a few people who need to talk to you, but that can wait. Just get some rest.”

Ruby couldn’t find anything wrong with that. Happier, and feeling content under the supervision of her two caretakers, she easily felt herself drifting off to sleep once more.

X_0_X

It was several weeks before Ruby was able to get her cast off. They were some of the longest of her entire life, as she was forced to spend the vast majority of her time confined to her bed.

Between Sun and Velvet, she had all the care she could ever need while she recovered from her injuries. It was thanks to them that she was healing as well as she was, however slow the process.

They were one of the few bright spots Ruby had during those torturously long days.

Before, she’d been weak as a kitten and would spend most of her time asleep. That wasn’t so bad, since she was hardly awake to feel the lingering pain of her hurts in the times where her painkillers would begin to wear off.

Better, she wouldn’t have to spend hours staring at her ceiling in a vain attempt to find anything interesting hidden in the rafters. Reading got old after the fourth day. Television interested her not at all.

Nowadays she could more or less make the transition from bed to wheelchair (Sun or Velvet still kept an eye on her though, just in case), and her aura wasn’t quite as strained trying to repair her body, so there was some little bit of freedom to enjoy there.

But it was still incredibly frustrating.

No walking on her own, doctor’s orders. Fine. It wasn’t like her legs could support her anyways.

No picking up anything with her bad arm either. Well, it was in a cast, wasn’t it? It could use the rest.

Could she prepare her own food? Of course not! She could barely get out of bed without passing out, to say nothing about walking unaided. At least she got breakfast in bed every morning. And lunch. And dinner!

She couldn’t even relieve herself independently, still needed help with that! And wasn’t that just humiliating! Velvet was the very soul of compassion, but sweet fucking Dust Ruby wanted to scream every time that painful, embarrassing request came up. The constraints of her recovery were just… so…!

She tried to find silver linings, if not for her own sanity than for Sun and Velvet’s sakes. They were so patient with her – and Ruby appreciated it! – but she just could not stand having to sit still for so long.

Soon, they’d remind her, counting down the days until she would get her cast removed, and Ruby would subside for a little while. It was some freedom, even if she resented her inability to move around under her own power.

Soon enough she would have her legs checked out, and if the skin regenerated without any complications (“and there’s not reason to think there will be any at this point!”) she’d have those unwrapped as well.

Soon. Soon. Soon meaning another month, at least! That wasn’t soon!

Then! Then would come the arduous weeks of retraining her atrophied limbs to carry her. Another few months right down the drain.

And then… What then?

Dark shapes, BONE white against void black, BLOODY crimson streaking through their shadowy forms. They were COMING for her. They were endless. Turn from one, face another. Exploding from the ground. Busting through the rafters. The walls were NOTHING to their strength – what they did not break they slipped around, seeped through like some demonic plague.

She RAN.

Crimson irises amidst an aura of GOLD – a spear erupting from her gut. Pinning her. This wasn’t what she wanted! They stared into her SOUL, accusing. Her body jerked with each arrow piercing her flesh, the ICY blue manacles wrapping around her wrists further imprisoning her.

She could only whimper: “I’m sorry… Sorry… Sorry…”

Her dreams – her nightmares – were more vivid than ever before.

More than once she’d snapped awake, heart pounding freakishly fast and skin pale and clammy, and she’d be transported back to that moment. The roof above her head was a cage in that way. The architecture was of exactly the same make as Horikiri’s, so for a few split seconds between sleep and consciousness she would convince herself that it was a different roof over her head, that she could turn and see the rubble around her, wait and hear the CRASH of the Colossus into the cliffside…

Sun was often right there to calm her down and help her through the intermittent panic attacks that would often seize her. When he wasn’t, Velvet was there and quickly learned how best to talk Ruby down.

The rabbit faunus was very philosophical about the matter: “You had a very traumatic experience, Ruby,” she’d say to her in hushed tones, stroking her hair. “It’s not just your body that needs to recover. You just need to give it time.”

Ruby would listen to the words in silence, burying her face deeper into her friend’s warmth, and try to ignore the nagging doubt in the back of her mind. Would she ever recover? Truly?

There was still no word from the three teams who’d claimed the assignment to kill the Colossus, either. She had nightmares about that too.

On that first day the nine huntsmen had squeezed themselves into her room in the late evening, their sodden coats weighing down the rack next to her door. Winter was in full swing, and a blizzard had overtaken the city, blanketing it in thick snow. At her request her painkillers had been delayed so that she could answer their questions perfectly lucid, without any errors or mistakes – and without falling back asleep.

Three teams, each individual looking just rugged and professional enough to get the job done. Ruby had recognized a few of them by name – and judging by the tiny smiles or respectful nods, she was remembered too – and the rest by sight. On the whole they’d not forgone their weapons, letting her get a good look at the arsenal being brought to bear against the Ancient.

She’d counted three swords of varying sizes, a battleax fit to cleave an Ursa in two, two Dust mages with belts of powdered Dust at the ready and smaller daggers to fall back on, a pike, a mechanized chainsaw, and a hulking flamethrower painted an eye-watering fluorescent orange.

The eyesore’s wielder was barely five feet tall but incredibly bulky, and it was he who’d taken over leadership of the small coalition. She’d remembered from a few late nights spent in the local pub that his name was Sully, and that he was a terrible singer.

Ruby had stared at the huntsman and his weapon from the moment he thundered into her room, steel-toed combat boots and heavy armor clattering and shined to a bright finish. “What’re you lookin’ at there?” he’d demanded in a good-natured growl through a huge, bushy beard. “Do I look like some sneaky little ninja to you? Stealth’s for pansies – I don’t bother with it.”

And Ruby had laughed – painfully – taking an instant liking to the man as he plopped himself into a chair and waited for the others, eyes narrow and trained on her the entire time.

They’d talked late into the night, Ruby retelling her story no less than three times to the huntsmen. Each time they had new, increasingly pointed questions, and Ruby was quickly able to deduce a rough idea of what plans they were concocting. Then she would offer counter-ideas – suggestions, tactics, theories, and they in turn would grill her for more information.

Sun disappeared from the room an hour into the conversation, soon returning cold and bedraggled with three steaming boxes of pizza for them all to share. Velvet joined in, bustling around with pitchers of water and plastic cups.

It had been… fun, in a way. Engaging. While the huntsmen were never shy in correcting her when she over or underestimated their abilities, there was a respect for her own opinion that she appreciated. She was young, but she was also talented and cunning in a way she seldom got to express outside of pub-time recountings.

Here were people who respected the Reaper and all that moniker had come to mean among Mistral’s huntsmen circles.

It had to come to an end at some point, though. The last of the huntsmen filed out of the door just a few minutes after midnight, leaving Ruby well and truly exhausted. Her caretakers fussed over her like mother hens once they learned that her legs had begun to itch and throb sometime a few hours before – apparently Ruby was far more of a natural stoic than she’d thought.

She’d quickly fallen asleep and didn’t wake up until mid-afternoon on the next day.

The teams departed on their mission the day after that, which had been twenty-six days ago.

There was still no word from them, nor from the neighboring villages where they were supposed to check in either after completing the mark or in the event of their failure. The Mistral Council was taking no chances with the Ancient and had built up a heavy, temporary military presence in each of the outlying settlements near its haunt.

Were they still alive? Missions of this scale, with Grimm of this caliber, often ran long and involved more than one plan of attack. If a frontal assault failed, it was common to fall back on ambush tactics, and any number of increasingly elaborate follow-up strategies. The question haunted Ruby, though. What if they failed? What if she hadn’t been able to give them enough information? What if she missed something?

After waking from yet another nightmare, this one featuring a gruff, heavily bearded face blackened in a pained rictus, Velvet tried to soothe her. “What-ifs aren’t going to help anything Ruby,” the faunus whispered into her sleep-tousled hair. “You’ve just gotta have a little faith. You gave them everything they needed, let them do their part.”

“But what if—”

Velvet shushed her. “No more what-ifs.”

“But—”

“Ruby.”

And that was that, or it should have been. Her anxiety was not so easily dismissed and lingered as the minutes passed and her pulse quieted.

“…I feel like I let them down,” Ruby whispered, voicing the darkest thoughts her nightmares dredged up from her mind.

“You didn’t.” Velvet’s voice was steel. “You were strong and brave, and you gave them everything they needed and more.”

“…You really think that?” Ruby wished her voice wasn’t so pitifully small.

“I do.” And those warm, strong arms squeezed her tighter, and Ruby drew on that strength to banish her fears to the back of her mind. If Velvet believed it, then she could too – at least until the nightmares returned to resurrect those fears once more.

Before she went back to sleep, Velvet spoke to her from the doorway. “Do you need anything else from me?”

Ruby smiled at her, the special, shy one she reserved for her closest friends when she really wanted to get her sincerity across. “Just what you and Sun are doing already.”

“Of course.”

X_0_X

‘…An’s doing great – she’s going to graduate from Signal Academy soon enough. There’s just a few final examinations she needs to pass before they clear her. As always, she’s having trouble with her weapon forms since there are so few references – those notes by Qrow you forwarded were a great help to her by the way – but she’s consistently up to the standards required to graduate, and hopefully to get into Beacon as soon as the Spring term begins.

Anyways, we’re looking forward to hearing from you again Ruby. We’re thankful every day that you’re alright after your ordeal – I hope you know that should you ever need us we’d be happy to make the journey over to see you. The same goes for Jaune, if he hasn’t said it already in his letters.

Anyways, please don’t be a stranger! We’d love to hear back from you soon enough. An’s been clamoring to hear from her godmother, and we’re sure she would love to brag (yet again) about ‘how much ass she’s been kicking’ since last you wrote. And of course, we hope that you have a speedy recovery.

With love,

-Lie & Nora Valkyrie’

Ruby set the letter down in her lap with a soft smile on her face. While Ren’s formal touch was all over the letter, she could feel Nora’s bubbly personality shining through the ramblings and small bits and pieces of stories just waiting to be told.

It was the second letter she’d received from the couple. The first had arrived while she was still too weak to pick up a pen and write a response, and too prone to exhaustion to properly dictate to Sun and Velvet. Without the CCT in Vale, communications between the continents was still restricted to what could be delivered through the postal service, which was still slow and cumbersome despite having a decade to modernize itself.

It would only be a few more months before communications would be restored at least – the tower was nearing completion after six years of slow, laborious effort.

She’d already sent her reply a week ago, so the two had apparently crossed each other mid-flight. Jaune’s letter – so hastily written it had taken her ten minutes to fully decipher the chicken-scratch – followed their first by only a few days.

He was such a mother-hen normally that Ruby was surprised it was the only one he’d sent.

‘I guess teaching keeps him too busy to fuss’ she thought with some amusement. They’d all come a long way over the years…

Ruby leaned back in her wheelchair with a sigh. Not far enough to overbalance herself – lesson learned there, her arm complained for days after that – but enough to let her soak in the sun’s rays more fully.

It was a quiet winter’s day. After the initial blizzards passed, Mistral had been treated to just the perfect blend of sun and cold for the season. Blue skies overhead, a thick carpet of snow on each and every bush, tree, and rooftop in the city. Out here, relaxing on one of the city’s many terraces, Ruby could briefly forget the village in flames, or instead picture it quenched and cozily restored.

Sun napped behind her on a bench, snuggling into his heavy woolen jacket. For someone born to the sands and heat of Vacuo, he’d taken to Mistral’s winters like a native. Perhaps it was the lack of wind chill that day. Or the simple glory of icy-blues and whites on the grey stone of the mountains and terracotta tones of the city’s tiled rooftops. Ruby found each appealing in its own right.

Idly, she flexed her fingers, working the atrophied muscles with practiced determination. Build back that strength, and she’d be past the first hurdle of her recovery. That’s what the therapist had told her when she’d begun their work together.

Then Ruby perked up, hearing footsteps approaching with purpose. She recognized the gait to be Velvet’s – just fast enough to match her bouncy well of energy, measured enough to belay her status as a huntress and a warrior. Sun shook himself blearily from his nap, catching the same sound.

“Ruby! Sun!” Velvet shouted joyfully, noticing their attention.

“What’s up Velvet?” Ruby asked, slightly taken aback by the emotion. The rabbit faunus skidded to a halt beside her, not even winded after jogging three blocks and the flight of stairs leading up from Ruby’s home on the level below.

Velvet’s eyes danced with excitement. “They’re back!”

They? Oh!

“You mean…?” Ruby trailed off, needing to be sure but hesitant to be proven wrong.

“Yes! A little worse for wear – they’ve got a few broken bones, some cuts, a lot of bruises, and I think one of them had their weapon destroyed,” Velvet rattled off, eyebrows scrunching as she ran through the list. “But they’re all alive!”

“Oh,” Ruby blinked. Suddenly, it felt like she was floating. She grabbed the armrests on her wheelchair, needing something solid to anchor her. A wide smile crept onto her face unbidden. “That’s… oh, that’s good.”

“It’s great!” Sun laughed, leaping to his feet and dancing a happy-silly jig.

Ruby felt weight lifting from her shoulders. They were alright! The mission went okay! “The Colossus?”

“Dead,” Velvet’s smile turned somewhat vicious, but Ruby could forgive that. Part of her reveled in knowing that the beast from her nightmares was now banished to whatever hell the Grimm went to when they died. The rest… relief.

“I think we should celebrate!” Sun suggested brightly.

“A party?” Velvet perked at the idea.

“Some good food, music, invite the huntsmen of the hour – burn off all those bad vibes for good and let them know how we feel, you know?”

The two huntsmen looked at Ruby as one. They were getting to be eerily similar to one another in that way. “What do you think, Ruby?”

What did she think? She was floating! The Colossus was dead! Dead! And the teams were alive! She could only stare at them both, still largely poleaxed by the news for a few seconds, before she shook herself out of it. Celebrate? She smiled.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

X_0_X

Needless to say, the huntsmen were thrilled by the offer to celebrate their victory. Still riding high from the residual adrenaline of the final confrontation, many of them immediately pitched in to help gather together the local community and get the festivities moving.

Sun and Velvet hadn’t expected this, so the party was quickly moved to the pub where the barkeep was happy to accommodate them and to finally visit with Ruby after weeks of no contact (she hadn’t realized he cared so much – that had been a moment of holding back sudden tears).

It was a night of revelry, to say the least. Sully was quick to draw Ruby into a massive hug – leaving her gasping and looking to his team to rescue her from the prison of muscle, sweat, and the aromatic scent of lighter fluid.

They wryly toasted her misfortune and left her to their leader.

Later, and five tankards of beer deep into his cups, she managed to wheedle the full story of the Ancient’s fall from him, as the other huntsmen were all away chatting with friends elsewhere in the pub.

“The beastie was a bitch tah put down, and fought harder’n any Grimm I’ve ever encountered,” the huntsman boasted loudly for everyone to hear, his voice slurred from too much drink. “But it was nothing to Ol’ Bessie!”

“Bessie?” Ruby asked, hiding a smile.

“Bessie! She’s my…” Sully paused, before turning indignant. “Bessie? Bessie? Ya don’ know who Bessie is, girlie?!” He tapped the fluorescent monstrosity at his feet – like most huntsmen he’d refused to go without it even for a celebration. “She’s only the foremost in Vacuoan military technology, the most powerful heavy ordinance flamethrower available on the market!”

“Why Bessie, though?”

“W-w-pfft!” he spluttered for a moment, then muttered in a much quieter, more subdued voice, “It’s me mother’s name – but don’t you go tellin’ her that, you hear!”

Ruby smirked, turning to the weapon and curtsying as gracefully as she could, trapped in her wheelchair as she was. “Charmed.”

That seemed to mollify Sully. “Anyways, our first couple of frontal assaults didn’t do much more than knock some o’ the rust off o’ the beastie’s armor – good job on breaking that plate, by the way, can’t imagine how much force you put behind that spear to splinter it like you did – so we switched tactics and started going after them vines it had buried everywhere.”

Ruby nodded. Their prior meeting had revealed that most of their group was predominately landlocked, preferring durability, resilience, and sheer force to agility and speed. They had means of moving around when necessary – no huntsman survived long without some amount of mobility – but it was seldom a first response. Removing the Colossus’ means of controlling the battlefield would have been the smartest choice when force proved to not be enough.

“Took us a few weeks to manage that. Had to learn how to bait ‘em out without drawing too many Grimm. Turns out dropping a few explosives into the ground and letting ‘em detonate is enough to piss the big bugger off.”

Unsubtle but workable. Ruby nodded along.

“After that it was just cornering the bastard in the ruins and dropping explosives on it till it ran out of juice,” Sully took a massive draft of beer, emptying his mug. “Colossi draw their strength from the earth,” he muttered, suddenly quiet. “So, once it was cut off from its network, it couldn’t regenerate nearly as fast. Could have killed it quick-like up close, but we’d already had enough o’ that. And a good thing we did too – maybe it didn’t regenerate as fast, but it still nearly put a few of us in the ground when the explosives ran out and we went to finish it off.”

Her smile waned as he lingered in that moment, the mood in their tiny pocket of space dying. Ruby didn’t know what to say - she knew that weary look in his eyes. The memory of pain – or pain near-missed – carefully hidden below the surface was one she saw in the mirror each morning.

Nevertheless, it rankled her fiercely. Someone with such an open spirit didn’t deserve being left to their thoughts. Ruby wouldn’t let it last if she could help it.

“Hey,” she tried kindly, grasping his shoulder and giving it a shake. “You did it, you got out alright. Bessie wouldn’t want you moping, would she?”

Her broke out of his funk instantly, blinking at her like a stupefied owl, before grinning. “No kiddin’ she wouldn’t!” Sully roared, back to his old self so fast Ruby felt a touch of whiplash. Guffaws poured from him as he immediately engaged her in a dizzying flurry of banter and ribbing.

And that was the end of that. Ruby tried to keep up with the huntsman’s keen wit (somehow sharper for all the drinks he imbibed) but her thoughts lingered against her will on the darkness she’d seen in him.

Soon enough though, he picked up on her mood and, with a disarmingly sympathetic smile, stood up and loudly stomped across the room to challenge another patron to a drinking contest. Ruby was left to quietly watch the festivities with a glass of ice water (doctor’s orders, no alcohol) and her thoughts.

The other patrons left her to her quietude, the Reaper blending into the background as just one more in the crowd.

So much laughter – so much good cheer. Sully drank his opponents under the table despite the already considerable dent he’d put into the bar’s stock. An oily-haired Atlesian huntress tittered and sang tipsy renditions of Vacuoan shanties, face pink and eyes glittering like gemstones. Another huntsman tried to join in, throwing a beefy arm around the singer’s shoulder, but she deftly hooked a heel behind his ankle and sent him tumbling to the floor.

The laughter shook the rafters, the flowing taps already fast at work to paint the world a blur. There were no hard feelings, just lighthearted mockery at the victim’s expense. The sheepish reveler accepted his lumps with grace, however, and received a sloppy kiss on the cheek for his troubles.

Why?

‘Heh. Alcohol’s the best cure for bad vibes, kid.’

Her own smile turned brittle.

When conversation and tall tales turned inevitably to the two huntsmen who hadn’t escaped the village, Ruby feigned exhaustion and discreetly caught Velvet’s attention, asking to be taken home.

Sometime in the early hours of dawn, she still lay awake thinking about the other huntsmen. What qualities did they have that let them… let go like that? Was it the company? The occasion?

…The drink?

…

No. Happiness was not in the bottom of a bottle, she was certain of that much.

Ruby disliked the part of her that was envious of those people and their debauchery. They could disconnect, shelve the memories and move on.

Ruby marveled that Sully – a huntsman pushing forty and obviously experienced enough to have seen more than his share – could so easily brush off his demons with only the lightest of encouragement. Even before the debacle that was her last assignment, coming so close to so much wanton destruction left painful scars on her psyche; ones she still struggled to live with. And more, she knew that his story omitted plenty, despite his healthy boasting to the contrary.

Sully talked a big game of his teams’ strength and his prowess with ‘Bessie,’ but there had been more than one frontal assault to begin with, each a failure. He’d spoken of learning the Colossus’ tricks and how to bait its vines to the surface, but nothing of how many times that must have failed, of the slow, creeping poison that they delivered, nor the primal terror of the earth erupting in a shower of flying dirt, wood, and stone.

And if they’d engaged the Colossus at any point, they would have seen the village and the horrific flames – probably long quenched by now. The broken settlement. The rictus faces. Clarent embedded deep within the Colossus’ chest.

Had they found Bai? Reed? Some in the group had been their friends. She’d heard pieces of stories earlier that night, before she left; the toasts to two good huntsmen cut down before their time. Had they found their weapons, brought them back? Or had they left them their to rot with the murdered village?

The thought of all those people lying there without so much as a grave or someone to give them their last rites lingered on her mind. They deserved so much more than to be forgotten and left to the elements, like so much refuse…

It was all she thought about that night, her good mood fully evaporated by dawn.

X_0_X

The change overnight did not go unnoticed by her caretakers. Ruby couldn’t even muster a smile for them that morning, shadows dimming her bloodshot eyes. As she stared into the mirror that morning, a steaming cup of coffee beside her courtesy of Velvet, Ruby barely recognized her reflection. Someone older and more careworn than she was familiar with looked back.

Long, spiky raven locks spilled over her shoulders. At the tips they gradated softly to crimson, some quirk of her mother’s genetics manifesting itself in yet one more strange way. She’d never really loved her hair, keeping it short for the majority of her life until she’d moved to Mistral. Here though, it had been easy to put off the frequent trims she used to get, and slowly, it inched its way down her spine.

It was in her way now, ruffled and messy from tossing and turning all night long. She rummaged through the vanity for one of her hair ties and pulled the tangled mass all back, tying it into a simple ponytail. It looked more controlled that way, less liable to distract or get in her eyes.

The face uncovered was sharper than it once was. Partially the result of a lean lifestyle, spent mostly out in the wilds where rations and what little she could forage made up her diet. Her assignments came with few perks past the occasional meal furnished by the outlying villages, and without the constant influx of sweets she’d lost the last of her residual baby fat. No makeup, of course. Nothing that would run or smear or itch if she didn’t clean it up properly.

It was a mature face. Not quite lined with age, nor speckled with sun spots, though a few pale, silvery scars from the Beowolf’s claws did trace diagonally from her temple to her cheekbone. It should have been the face of a woman in her prime, but the eyes told their own story. Through them, she stared into the soul of one tired and weighed down by her experiences.

A frame of steel supporting a fragile mask; a delicate flower hiding its wilt. She was withered.

“Who are you?” Ruby whispered, seeing in this woman the same qualities she’d seen strangle her father over the years. She was someone Ruby would normally stop and share a kind word with; pick her up, give her a hug and help her on her way. ‘How can I help myself, though?’

“Ruby?”

She didn’t turn. Instead, she waited, and a wearied man joined the woman in the reflection, his haggard features and ever-so-slightly-hunched shoulders distracting from the deep blue pools of compassion directed at her.

Who was this man, who looked so defeated? Ruby leaned into the calloused hand on her shoulder, feeling lost.

‘Who are we?’

The mirror, of course, did not answer.

“I’m worried about you.”

“I’m worried about me too, Sun.”

“No, like…” Sun sighed. A flash of anguish passed over the reflection’s face. “Ruby, seeing you like this… you’re not you.”

“What if this is me, and I’ve just been pretending all this time?”

He scowled, a real seed of worry taking root in his expression. “The Ruby Rose I know isn’t one to stay down for long. She’s strong. Determined. Brave. She would never let anything stand in her way… or let an injury like this beat her.”

‘Like the heroes in the stories!’

‘Ruby… I think you have what it takes to be a good leader.’

‘You know what they say: like mother, like daughter!’

Ruby pulled away from his hand. Restless energy flared up within her… and feeling reckless she grabbed the vanity and pulled herself to her feet with a small grunt of effort. Her legs trembled beneath her, complaining just like she’d been warned they would.

The mirror was forgotten behind her. She couldn’t stand to look at that woman any longer. “Yeah,” she said. “Well, Ruby Rose is tired and scared, Sun, and she has no idea what she’s doing.”

She took a shaky step forward, but her balance quickly deserted her, and Sun grabbed her elbow to support her, mindful of the still-healing break.

Another step followed her stumble, then another, and soon she was crossing her room, every iota of her attention on just moving forward, away from the mirror and its reflection. The pain was meaningless, she convinced herself. Just one more obstacle. The leaden tendrils extending up her legs were just distractions.

She flung open the window once she finally reached the sill, letting the freezing air and light wash over her. Goosebumps rose immediately along her skin, but they were just one more thing to ignore.

Ruby breathed.

In... Out.

And the tension in her sickly frame slowly drained away. This was her reflection. This was what she would let in. Not that woman she’d seen looking back at her through haunted eyes. Not the woman pinched by trauma and fear. That woman was a specter, not even dying but very much deceased.

“Are you okay?”

Ruby closed her eyes. Warmth from the sun tickling her skin, tricking her body into thinking the cold was an illusion, instead of the other way around. Bracing, yet comforting at once.

Below her she could hear the bustling signs of a vibrant city in the throes of winter. Footsteps, voices raised in greeting and conversation. Smells muted by the snow drifted by, carried by the breeze. Wood smoke. Pine sap. Baking cookies set out to cool. The faintest whiff of incense.

Was this what Horikiri had been like? Just another Animan town, waking with the sun, hustling through the day’s chores? Ruby could see a ball leaping high above one of the many tiled rooftops nearby – children playing some game only they could devise.

It was all so idyllic. “I don’t know Sun,” she admitted. “I really don’t know anything anymore. Who I am, what I’m doing, any of it.”

More breathing. Her lungs pinched with the cold. Ruby simply let it wake her up.

“I don’t believe that.”

Sun looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Ruby leaned into the warmth. “You’re still the same person you’ve always been Ruby,” he continued. “Life’s dealt you a bad hand, sure. But you’re still here trying to pick yourself back up. You might not know how to do it yet, but you know how to try.”

“‘Trying’ is what makes me Ruby Rose?”

“You’re always trying to make the world a better place. Even with the small things others forget about. That’s what makes you Ruby Rose.”

She craned her neck to look him in the eyes but could find no lie. Only open, earnest sincerity and the fervent hope that she would understand.

Her heart swelled, and she squeezed his fingers, hoping that was enough to make him understand what she could not convey through mere words. Still… “I might be trying, but I don’t know how to pull myself out of this, Sun.”

“We’re here for you while you figure it out. You could do it on your own, but you don’t need to with us here.”

But how long would that take? How could she ask them to stay with her for so long? Would they even?

…Yes, they would.

“You really mean that?”

Damnit, she wasn’t a child, so why was her voice so fragile all of a sudden?

“Cross my heart, Rubes,” Sun smiled at her even as she ducked her head to hide the wetness gathering in her stinging eyes. “We won’t leave you alone in the dark.”

It was just the sun and cold air, she’d been staring at the ceiling all night. She wasn’t going to break down again.

A strong gust sent flurries of snow streaking through the air, rustling the rogue locks of her hair she’d missed pulling back with the rest. With it came a wave of relaxation and lightness. Not like she’d felt yesterday, but something she felt she might be able to hold onto this time.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“’Course! Now can you tell me what’s been bothering you since last night?” Sun grinned unapologetically.

Ruby sighed. “Am I that obvious?”

“No,” his lips quirked, taking on a rueful cast. “But I’ve got a lot of practice reading you. Whatever managed to kill your mood... it’s important, and I want to help. Share the load, lighten the burden, and all that jazz.”

The scent of jasmine was on the air, drifting down from the temple, high up on one of the city’s upper levels. Ruby sighed. “…I was thinking about the village. All those people… do you think they were buried? Got their last rites?”

Sun blinked, and then his smile turned sad. He shook his head wonderingly. “Only you, Ruby… Now I feel like an asshole for not thinking of that myself.”

“Hey,” Ruby gave him a squeeze. “Don’t be like that.”

He stared out over the rooftops. “It’s fine… just… yeah. You’re right, they probably didn’t. Maybe. I can ask around if you want. See if anyone knew them.”

Incense…

“Do you think you could take me up to the temple?” she asked. “I think your idea is good too, but…” But maybe she could find strength somewhere she’d never thought to look before. If nothing else, it might ease the looming tide of guilt slowly strangling her.

It was a direction.

Sun understood. “I’ll grab Velvet. Once you get dressed, we can head out as soon as you’d like.”

X_0_X

The city of Mistral’s temple to the God of Light was simple, but elegant.

A monk clad in simple grey robes cheerfully wheeled her past several fountains into the main courtyard where it was customary to offer worship. The roughly circular area was open to the sky, the sanctuary taking advantage of a natural crevice in the mountain. The grey rocky walls had been carefully widened and smoothed over with incredible patience, pillars added in for strength and stability and lanterns substituting for the sun where its light could not reach down.

In the summer, running water would stream through carefully planned channels in the rock into pools carved from the mountain itself, though right now they ran dry. Situated seemingly at random around the sanctuary were tablets inscribed with the elaborate characters of Mistral’s old tongue, protected from the elements in their own miniature shrines.

What wasn’t naturally cut from the rock itself was either constructed from simple wood, paper, and terracotta tiling, and there were plenty of areas for plant life and greenery to take root. Among other specimens, several ancient beech trees were lovingly sculpted into the architecture of the shrine, their intricate root systems weaving through the stone, substitute for any, more elaborate decorations.

More channels were cut into the stone floor to collect rainwater and divert it further down the mountain where it could be collected into one of the city’s many cisterns. They were simple affairs, pragmatic and efficient. With winter in full swing, a light dusting of snow had managed to find its way inside. It was already being swept away by a few acolytes.

The clear water of the main pool was perfectly clean, kept from freezing by the braziers burning every few dozen feet. Several trays of incense were lit all around it. They lent the shrine a hazy, soothing air, and Ruby felt a little of the tension she felt as a stranger to this place slip away.

There was a simplicity here she could appreciate, she realized, as she knelt on the prayer mat the monk provided her. All uncomplicated tones of grey and brown, accented by the splashes of color nature provided… A serenity, inherent to this sacred spot. For a moment Ruby let it fill her, breathing slow and deep.

She lingered amidst the peace of this place, but the moment soon passed, and Ruby slowly opened her eyes. Her offering – a bundle of meadow sage, perhaps not as fresh as it ought to be, but all she could find at the market this time of year – lay before her, as well as her own tray for burning incense.

Her legs twinged beneath her, but it was a distant sound to what it had been earlier. They were healing quickly – she would soon be able to start rebuilding the muscle she’d lost.

She wasn’t quite sure what she ought to do. The head monk had already assured her that they would conduct the proper funerary rites for the deceased of the village, but that left her with little for herself to work with. What could she say to a god she didn’t believe in, of a faith she’d never known?

Ruby wasn’t religious, and never had been. Taiyang was at best distant from his heritage, and Ruby had been too young to take in whatever teachings her mother had seen fit to give her as a child.

Awkwardly, she lit the end of one the incense stick and licked her lips. “Ah, hello,” she said unsurely.

Naught but the gentle swish of a broom on stone responded.

“Right,” Ruby muttered. “Um. I guess you already know who I am if you’re really out there, but it’s proper to introduce myself, right?”

Silence.

She cringed. “My name is Ruby Rose. Daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long and Summer Rose… I’m a huntress. I make a living trying to help people and protect the world from the Grimm.”

That felt better. Talk about what you’re familiar with.

“That’s what I’m good at, killing Grimm. Aside from that I don’t feel like it’s a long list…” before she might have included ‘helping people,’ but she wasn’t quite comfortable with claiming that at the moment.

“I’m not much of a believer myself,” she admitted. Hopefully that wouldn’t count against her prayer too much. “It never seemed important to me. I still don’t see much point in praying for things to happen when I can try and do them myself.” That was the truth. “But maybe, despite that, you’ll listen to a stranger asking for help.”

Her offering rose lazily from the tray, wandering lines of pungent smoke joining the scenery. Unplanned, random, yet strangely at one with its environment. Ruby wrung her hands, trying to keep her eyes locked on one spot.

She didn’t feel at one with anything.

“A lot of people died at Horikiri. You’d probably know, ‘cause, well. Yeah…” Ruby cringed again. “I fought with two of them. Bai Long and Reed Bryce.” Stocky and the Knight. For a short while, her saviors and comrades. “They were believers. I asked a few of their friends about it. Apparently, they came here pretty often.”

Would they be here now? Ruby wasn’t familiar with their concept of the afterlife, and what it meant for peoples’ souls once they were gone. For all she knew there was a special realm for departed souls. Or they were reborn into someone else. Or they could be wandering alone across the face of Remnant…

Well that was a depressing thought. She hoped it was something more pleasant than that.

“I don’t know what I should say to have you grant them your blessing, but please guide and protect them, wherever they are,” Ruby said. “They deserved so much more than what they got… them, and all the people in that village…”

All those innocent people…

Ruby had no more words to give, then, so her prayer ended as awkwardly as it began.

She was back to feeling like a stranger; a trespasser on sacred ground pretending to know what she was doing here.

“Ah… thanks for hearing me out,” she finished, feeling like a fool.

She looked up at the monk from earlier, the older woman leaning against the wall in calm repose.

She read the plea written in Ruby’s expression and walked over. Her disquiet was loud enough to disrupt some of the tranquility of the shrine. “I see you are finished,” she observed, eyeing her uncomfortable posture.

“I think so.”

The monk frowned. “Do you not feel at peace, huntress?”

Ruby opened her mouth, but a rush of emotion filled her – a torrent of boiling water rising beneath her skin – and she couldn’t speak around the sudden lump in her throat. Nor could she meet the monk’s eyes.

What would she see within them? Pity, as she so little desired? Disdain, as she felt she deserved?

Bloody CRIMSON pools boring into her, the molten BURN of hot steel in her gut as lancing, gleaming arrowheads sank one-by-one into her flesh. HATE. That was their message. For what she’d DONE. For what she FAILED to do.

What… was she doing?

The rush of discomfort sent her pulse into a pounding staccato.

She was a trespasser in this place, unworthy to intercede on behalf of those people… This was all wrong. The gods were silent – was it just a sign of her unworthiness, or more? How could anyone feel comfort after praying here? How could she?

What was she even doing?

Something must have translated in her expression, for the monk quickly sensed Ruby’s distress, and lowered herself to kneel beside her, comfortable despite resting directly on the cold stone.

“Your body speaks for you,” she said crisply, calmly. “Your emotions are writ on your face as clearly as if you’d shouted them from the terrace. What troubles you?”

Ruby kept her eyes lowered, wrestling with the conflict within her. The voice she replied with was strangled. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“You came to pray for your friends, did you not? Though they are no longer with us, I am sure that they would be grateful for your concern.”

“Yes, but…” Everything she wanted to say seemed inadequate. It was another mark on the long list of things eating at her.

“I don’t know!” she whispered, pressing her face into her hands. She shuddered as her heartrate climbed further. Oh Dust… not now…

“Hm.” The monk watched her for a long moment, before a wistful smile crossed her lined face. “Well then; Ruby, was it?”

“…Yes?”

“Would you care to humor an old woman for a little while?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, painful, but not beyond recall. Yet. “Sure.”

The woman’s expression did not change, but she resettled herself, crossing her legs into a lotus position and indicating Ruby do the same. Ruby mirrored her; eyes screwed shut with everything focused inward. This was a distraction – the kind monk was trying to distract her from her turmoil, but it wasn’t working.

“I’d like you to breathe with me a while,” the woman said.

Her chest was tight, but Ruby complied.

Thump.

The monk breathed deeply; long, relaxed drafts of breath that filled the lungs. Ruby matched her, careful not to inhale too much of the incense smoke (it would be humiliating to choke on it).

“Now,” the monk intoned softly, her eyes drifting shut. “I understand that you are merely here to pray on behalf of your friends, so I will spare you the spiritual component of this exercise. My faith teaches us to revere balance, and it is very obvious that you’ve lost yours.”

Thump.

In… Out… In… Out…

“Allow yourself to feel,” the monk said, her voice at one with the environment. Distinct from the silence, but not intrusive. Very different from the throb of Ruby’s pulse growing in her ears, drowning out all else with increasing intensity. “Do not discard your emotions. Do not seek battle with them. They are a part of you and will make themselves heard in their own way before they are content.”

Thump.

In… Out… In… Out…

Ruby’s emotions roiled within her like a hostile sea. She felt a small sense of security – she was intimately familiar with this kind of exercise, after all, which counted for something – but it was small in the face of the looming wave of pain and doubt hanging over her.

This wasn’t a panic attack. She was calming down. Breathe. This wasn’t a panic attack.

Thump.

“Picture yourself as a blossom riding on the face of the water. Where the waters rise, you shall follow. Where they fall you shall sink.” The monk’s voice overlaid her internal conflict. “No matter how the waters roil, you shall float along, until at last they lose their fury and become calm once more.”

The monk paused, then her voice whipped out, sharp as a lash. “Breathe, huntress.”

Thump.

In… Out… I-iin….

CRIMSON eyes boring into her so ANGRY you promised the Colossus loomed above her like a vast brooding mountain crushing her an avalanche of FURY rolling over her rocks blunt and sharp digging into her skin breaking her body bones pulverized and why couldn’t you do more you think that’s enough you RAN—

Ruby’s breath hitched, her lungs burning.

She turned and saw the VILLAGE in flames licking the walls of the ravine hundreds of souls lost their faces stared at her burning EYES faces contorted why they lay there strewn about casually but their eyes why the Colossus laughed at her an avalanche of sound and dark amusement why its eyes bored into her mocking her this is what you FAILED to stop why she could see into its SOUL the same hatred she saw in all Grimm but they were there too why they were crowding her so many faces so many eyes all CRIMSON SHE COULDN’T BREATHE!

A stern voice and two strong hands shaking her shattered the vision: “Ruby! Breathe!”

Ruby sucked in a huge lungful of air and her world tilted, everything coming back to her in a flood of too many sensations. Her lungs burned, her heart hammered away in her chest like a hummingbird’s, her head swam as her brain finally reclaimed vital oxygen.

She’d crumpled in on herself at some point, her ribs and stomach and all the abused muscles still labored by the process of healing screaming at her. Only the monk’s strong hands on her shoulders kept her from pitching forward into the cold stone.

Those were secondary concerns.

Ruby gasped and choked on each new inhalation. Through vision tinged grey Ruby, saw a phantom version of the temple, drained of its colors, sights and smells muddled, as though through a fish-eyed lens.

Without warning, she was sucked back down into the maelstrom.

Their faces scowled at her, accusing. Stocky build, Mistrallan features sharpened in anger.

“‘Make sure our sacrifice was not in vain, Ruby Rose!’” Bai snarled, his chest a pulped mess of flesh and blood and bone. “Where were you?!”

Ruby gasped, eyes welded shut.

“I gave them what they needed to avenge you!” she shouted, tears running down her face in the vision and in reality.

In…! Out… In…! Out… She was a blossom on the water…

“Too late,” Reed growled thunderously.

In…! Out…! In…! Out…! No matter how the waters roiled…

“Coward,” they spoke in eerie unison, eyes a bloody crimson ripped straight from her nightmares. “You RAN. You left us behind. You broke your word.”

In…! Out… In… Out…! She would float along…

“I did my best,” Ruby whispered.

In… Out… In… Out… She could feel cool hands rubbing her temples, a soothing voice above her, a strong presence unwavering.

“Not enough.” The huntsmen echoed, voices suddenly sad. “Never enough.”

In…! Out… In… Out…

The bowman’s blue eyes watched her mournfully, as did his partner and the multitude of presences that appeared around her. Why? Why us? Why now? Why? Ruby let her tears flow unabated, her heart ripping open anew as the victims of the tragedy crowded around her. Each a face, a life, a chance. Their bodies ripped and torn and defiled in their own ways, yet undiminished in their worth.

“I’m sorry,” she cried thickly, giving in to the torrent of emotions consuming her. “I wish I could do more…”

In… Out…

Her heart did not slow. The pain was still there, bright and searing. But instead of burning her to ash Ruby began to melt with it. A wall within her chest dissolved with her tears, and, tired of hurting so much, she curled into an even tighter ball and let them flow.

The visions passed, as did the memories of the burning village and its people. Ruby allowed herself to mourn their passing and bathe in the furious sorrow-shock-anger-horror-frustration… Everything was a thick, ugly mess within her, twisted into matted knots, nothing she was prepared to deal with – nothing anyone was prepared to deal with…!

Why? Why? What was the point of it all, of such senseless tragedy?

The monk – Ruby would need to ask her name after this – was a calming presence while she sniffed and hiccoughed through the last dregs of her attack.

Ruby wished that Velvet or Sun were there; they knew best how to calm her. But the kind woman was gentle, and that was enough. Her cool fingers carded through Ruby’s hair like Velvet’s, and her strong presence was like a lighthouse guiding her to harbor, similar to Sun’s.

Eventually she asked a few gently probing questions, and Ruby found herself pouring her heart out, working through the nightmares in the back of her mind one by one.

“I feel responsible for what happened,” she said with a watery voice. “I know I did my best, but if I had just been a little faster, maybe I could have done more. If I were more skilled, stronger, cleverer… maybe Bai and Reed would have survived.”

Her voice became ragged. “It was my plan that failed, even if it was Bai’s choice to buy me time to escape.”

“He would have been proud to know you survived, and that you continue to carry his legacy through your every action,” the monk said calmly.

“Maybe.” Ruby wasn’t so sure. “And… I’m afraid to go back.”

The monk’s frown turned her face into a knot of wrinkles. “You hardly need to return to that place.”

“No,” Ruby shook her head, her heart squeezing in her chest in an echo of its earlier fit. “Out there. Hunting. Being a huntress again… How can I go back to that? I was terrified… I scared my friends half to death. I broke my body. I almost died!”

Dust, what would have happened to Sun had she been any slower against the Colossus, or the Beowolves, or if CFVY had been even a minute later than they’d been? Or her other friends, so far away in Vale? Her death would hurt them all more than Ruby was even remotely comfortable contemplating.

It wasn’t even a matter of a simple, single mission gone wrong. That was expected, and had even happened before.

But she’d seen her reflection in the mirror. Injuries and experiences the likes of which she’d endured were terrible things, but they were not responsible for all of she’d seen on that person’s face.

That woman… Ruby didn’t like her reflection. The person looking back at her from dimmed silver eyes was a specter she’d spent years denying she was becoming, and she wasn’t comfortable with staying that way.

It was…

Everything she’d spent years building and maintaining seemed to be crashing down around her and she couldn’t hold it all in place. The life she’d built in Mistral was hers, and she’d spent so long cultivating it – herself, her friends, contacts, her reputation – how could it all turn to ash in such a short time?

The monk squeezed Ruby’s shoulder sympathetically. “I can’t claim to understand your experiences,” she said, introspectively. She sounded unsure. “But I do believe that we determine our own paths… If you believe your place is no longer to be found as a huntress, then perhaps you could look elsewhere?”

Elsewhere?

“But what else could I do?” Ruby’s voice was laced with more than a little despair. “I’ve dedicated my whole life to being a huntress. It’s what I chose to do… I don’t know anything else.”

“Life is full of choices,” The monk countered. “If you aren’t content with the ones you’ve made, choose something else. Failing that, try to transform the choices you’ve already made into something you can be content with.”

“I don’t know…”

And she didn’t. What could she possibly do with herself if not continue to hunt Grimm?

Certainly, there were other professions – the likes of which filled by people like Kohroku and other public servants – but she didn’t have the training, or the experience, and weren’t her skills best served out in the field? The world needed huntsmen. As many as possible, especially now. Lives depended on them. How many more people would die because she was too afraid to return?

The monk gave her a little shake, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Ruby, from what I can see you have endured many trials that continue to test your character…” she closed her eyes, seeming to struggle with herself for a moment. “It is obvious you carry a great deal of pain, some of it painfully new, the rest old and poorly healed. If you would allow it, may I offer you some advice?”

“Please?”

“I believe you should seek healing,” the monk said bluntly. “Hopefully after today you will find the beginnings of closure for your most recent ordeal, but you shouldn’t stop there.”

She smiled painfully, and Ruby saw the shadow of loss pass over her face as she drew on long-faded memories. A family member? A child, perhaps?

“You are obviously someone who values the welfare of others over your own.” Pain, again, twisted the old woman’s face. “Admirable, but you must take care of yourself as well, lest your altruism burn you from the inside out. Find new ways to help people that don’t require you destroy yourself in the process… you do others a great disservice otherwise.”

“I… I guess.” Ruby didn’t know how to take that, so she stared at the icy blue ring of sky visible through the top of the sanctuary. At the clouds passing by, and the stonework. Anywhere but the eyes of the monk, which burned through her. “I wouldn’t know where to even start though…”

“Try teaching,” the monk offered, and the suddenness of the direction made Ruby look at her once more. There was a wry smile on her face.

“Or parenting,” the monk continued. “Or some other job that puts you near young people. They have the most dramatic growing to do, and I’ve found it easier to grow myself when I’m surrounded by others doing the same. It’s what I tell my younger monks to do when they start feeling stagnant.”

Ruby bit her lip, a frown etching her face.

Teaching… Could she see herself doing that?

…It bore thinking about.

The monk seemed satisfied as Ruby pulled herself upright, patting her on the shoulder as she wiped away the last of the salt tracks on her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. Her legs ached fiercely – she would have to deal with her physician’s stern glares and reprimands for her actions today – but overall, Ruby felt strangely refreshed by her outburst. Stuffy, tired, and embarrassed to have cried like a child in public but refreshed.

The monk had one last thing to say to Ruby as she helped her into her wheelchair. The old woman seemed settled, almost peaceful now, as if the shadow of whatever memories had plagued her had lifted.

Her calm grey eyes crinkled at the edges, at one with her smile.

“You will find your way if you seek it in earnest, Ruby. Look to your friends and loved ones to guide and comfort you. And remember that balance, like peace, is seldom easily won, nor easily kept.”

X_0_X

The monk’s – Padma’s, she’d learned – advice stuck with Ruby the entire way home. Sun and Velvet immediately picked up on the signs of her panic attack, and Ruby was soon treated to the combined force of their overzealous fussing.

Needless to say, she was delivered directly to her home and sent straight to bed. What few protests she put up were swiftly silenced by a stern glare from Sun and the full, guilt-inducing watery-eyes-quivery-lip routine from Velvet. Ruby endured their concern with patience she probably wouldn’t have possessed only the day before, but her heart wasn’t really in putting up a fight for her personal autonomy at the moment anyways.

Teaching. Her? With her painfully mediocre grades, her failure to even graduate from her freshman year of Beacon Academy – her, Ruby Rose?

‘You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for Ruby.’ The memory came unbidden to her mind. ‘Maybe you’re younger than all of us, but you’ve been keeping up just fine in everything but the academia. And skipping two years of interim classes is more than enough justification for that gap in your knowledge.’

She lay there, frozen for several long seconds, holding her breath. That voice, which she’d only heard in snatches of pleasant, idyllic dreams, or worse: mocking her from the depths of her nightmares.

Weiss…

‘No, that doesn’t mean I’m letting you get out of your reviews! And that’s no excuse for your atrocious penmanship either!’

She did not allow herself to remember that voice.

…No clenching pain in her chest, no flash of unendurable grief…

It was just another part of the routine she’d maintained for years, hoping that time would dull the sharp edges of those shattered dreams. The ceaseless cycle of assignment, rest, and more assignments was broken only when Sun or Velvet or Coco or some other visiting friend dragged her away, or else during the occasional slip on her part.

…No shrieking Grimm, nor the pounding boom of canon fire…

Exhaustion and work kept the memories away.  Of late, the pain of her past had been replaced with the horrors of her last assignment, but experience told her it would soon return to continue haunting her.

…No crunch of stone, whine of straining metal, no spreading pool of crimson, no streak of white playing over her vision in an echo of her nightmares…

None of it.

Right now, Ruby just felt tired, thinking of her partner. Her attitude. Her sass. Her dry humor, when it deigned to reveal itself… Her biting, yet elegant and aristocratic tones. A voice made and refined for singing…

Dust, Ruby missed her voice.

Surprising herself, and feeling oddly disjointed from reality, Ruby permitted herself to contemplate the monk’s words.

She was tired.

It showed in so many ways she couldn’t bear to ignore it any more than she could ignore the bruises, the broken bones, or the nightmares. Her dream of becoming a huntress had been realized, but it was the dream of the child she’d been, not the woman she was now.

With each passing minute she felt more certain of her earlier conclusion. She had to find something else – whether that was leaving behind her mantle or remaking it into something different, she had to do something.

She’d started down the road to healing from her recent hurts at the temple – no longer did those emotions weight so heavily on her soul, though their hurt still lingered – but were they the only scars she carried?

Golden locks and lilac, the looming presence of despair and apathy palpable the moment she entered the room.

Was she really just giving up?

‘Sometimes bad things just happen, Ruby… Just leave me alone.’

Yang…

Her hand on Blake’s shoulder, eyeing her teammate’s flattened cat-ears with deep concern.

‘I really have no idea what I’m doing Ruby… All this time, I’ve convinced myself I’ve been doing the right thing, but I really don’t know… Is what we’re doing the best we can do for the world? Are we on the right path?’

Blake…

Rubble strewn, the crumbling edifice above her head a mountain waiting for the last of its roots to shatter, eager to entomb her, permanently, beneath it… she was deathly afraid. Dust clogged the scant air, and then – the copper-scented tang of spilled blood.

‘No…’

She knew that hair, that sword.

‘No…! Noononono! WEISS!’

Ruby stared dully at the ceiling.

The memories were old… just thinking of them was a rusty knife in her breast, dragging across the vulnerability within.

But could she—

Could she heal from that? She was broken. Was there a point?

Cold-cut sapphires boring into her, a face flushed with volatile rage, only matched by her own fury. It was her only defense against the freezing of her soul. And the shouting…

‘You…! You heartless bitch! How could you say that, after all she did for us!’

Her hands clenched and unclenched on the sheets. The disconnect was fading and the pressure in her ears was returned, but she could feel the epiphany at the tips of her fingers…

Could she really do it?

Outside, Ruby could hear the bustling of the city as late afternoon brought an early sunset and an unexpected wind chill. So many people going about their lives, some of them must have felt the same things she had – most of them, most likely, given the dangers Remnant posed. Surely, there was a chance for her to fix herself?

Maybe. It was possible. Others had done it, surely – hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of times. Why couldn’t she? Why couldn’t Ruby Rose do something, this one thing, that plenty had proven possible? She could believe it was possible. She did believe it.

…She did. There was a chance.

But….

The brief, shining sense of elation she’d grasped faded like mist through her fingers, leaving her with questions.

What now? If she was to start down this road, not knowing where its end lay, where should she begin?

X_0_X

The morning dawned crisp and clear. When she walked into the bedroom with a tray of steaming food in hand, Velvet was greeted by a tired, but determined Ruby sitting at the windowsill.

“I want to go to Vale.”

#RWBY #TheLastRose #Valasania the Pale #My Stories #Ruby Rose #CVFY #Sun Wukong #Velvet Scarlatina #Chapter Four #I mean it please reblog #liking does fuck all to spread this around #and Tumblr doesn't show this in search for some reason #I'm serious

[hydrospanners]

somewhere we’ve not been before. After weeks of casual encounters and stolen moments, Doc and Rea finally go on a proper date. Or a date, anyway. Proper isn't really their style. SWTOR. F!Jedi Knight x Doc. Fluff with a dash of sin, only a little explicit. 4400 words. AO3. Also recommend listening to It’s Strange by Louis the Child if you are the sort to listen to music while reading. Shoutout to @meonlyred for beta services here.

He watches her from the door, leaning against the frame in that signature pose of his. Rea thinks there’s a smile hiding under that stupid mustache, but she doesn’t get a chance to look for it before she has to move.

  It’s a memory she’s fighting. A ghost with a lightsaber that hums in her mind as it passes through the place her head had just been. She sees the flash of red in her memory as she drops to one knee, rolling away from its reach. She remembers how the Sith stood behind her, how he raised his hand and she felt the rising crest of his power just a little too late.

  But this time she knows it’s coming. This time she turns, glances over her shoulder just in time to glimpse the lightning that sparks between his fingers. This time, she moves before it strikes her and she isn’t paralyzed by the electricity when he reaches for the detonator. This time, she twists, slides under the Sith’s guard in the blink of an eye. This time, she buries a saber in his spinal column before he can so much as move.

  She imagines the blink of shock, the way his jaw would slip open in surprise, how the power pulsing in his hand would fizzle. She imagines how it would feel to drive her other saber through his heart, to watch the light leave his eyes. How it would feel to watch the dark storm of him fizzle out into nothing. Into quiet.

  Rea trades her sabers for a towel and dabs at her sweat-slicked face. What’s done is done. Dwelling on it won’t bring back the dead.

  “You look awfully nice,” she says over the new scar on her shoulder.

  “Nice?” Doc huffs from the doorframe. “I think you mean ‘devastatingly handsome.’”

  Rea turns, raking her eyes over the lean lines of his body. With the way his suit is tailored, she’d say ‘devastatingly handsome’ is a serious undersell. He looks starsdamned delicious, the pearly gleam of his skin all the more striking against the wine-red fabric and crosh hide trim. The sleek silhouette is modern and elegant and he wears it naturally as anything, completely at home in the luxury of it.

  He couldn’t look more out of place on her ship if he tried. “Too handsome for the Renegade,” she agrees. “Hot date tonight?”

  He is definitely smiling under that stupid moustache. “Well, that depends,” he says.

  “Depends on what?” It’s not like he needs her permission to practice his charm on someone else. They don’t have that kind of a thing.

  “On how fast you can clean up, Gorgeous.”

# # #

Turns out Junior was right about her clothes. There’s nothing in Rea’s wardrobe but beat up combat suits, battered armor, and frayed leatheris jackets, all in shades of black and brown and grey. Makes him wish he’d gone for the little blue number instead of the shimmery silver one. Stars know she looks good in everything (and especially good in nothing) but she needs a little color in her life.

  “You know this is weird, right?” She shouts from the ‘fresher, where she’s cleaning and dressing faster than he’d imagined a person could. It’s a testament to Doc’s will that he’s firmly planted on her bed, even knowing she’s standing there in nothing but her underwear--and maybe not even that--with her skin glowing and fresh from the sonic. Warm and supple, soft as velvet...

  “It’s thoughtful,” he shouts back. “And charming.”

  “This dress is tailored, Doc. How do you even know my measurements?”

  “Hours of careful study.” Her laughter echoes against the close, metallic walls of the ‘fresher. “Not to rush you, Beautiful, but I did make a reservation. Had to bribe a guy and everything.”

  “Bribe?” Her head peeks out of the doorframe, blue eyes narrowed at him. “With whose credits?”

  For someone who burns through money like a fire through hyperdrive fuel, his Jedi can be pretty stingy. She won’t hesitate to lavish the droids in expensive upgrades or shower Red in those stealth field generators she’s always breaking, but when it comes to the little pleasures in life, Rea’s tighter than the Hutt cartel.

  “Why don’t you let ol’ Doc worry about that? Just for tonight.”

  Her gaze turns even sharper. “You holding out on me, Kimble?”

  She likes to remind him, now and again, that she knows his full name and isn’t afraid to use it. As if he could forget.

  “I would never. Now scoot, Gorgeous. We’ve got fifteen minutes before fashionably late is just late.”

# # #

She doesn’t miss how the waiter’s eyes linger on her date’s mouth. How they follow every stretch and quirk of Doc’s lips, how they caress the sharp line of his shoulders and revel in the elegant movement of his hands. From the shit-eating grin he shoots her as the kid stammers through the wine list, Rea guesses Doc hasn’t missed it either.

  Well. Two can play at that game.

  “I’m not much of a wine girl,” she laments, settling her elbows on the table and folding her arms beneath her breasts as she flutters her eyelashes up at their waiter. His wide eyes dutifully follow the plunging neckline of her gown to the swell of her cleavage, ghosting over the curve of her biceps too as he takes a gulp of air. “But I love to experiment with new things, and you seem like a man with experience. Do you have anything I might like?”

  His cheeks burn to an even darker scarlet and he tugs at the high collar of his uniform, trying desperately to redirect his gaze from her breasts to her eyes. It doesn’t seem to be working.

  “I, um--You, uh, might--Well--” Whatever tenuous grasp the kid had on his feelings evaporates as she leans forward, staring up at him like he’s the most interesting man in the world. His desire rushes out of him in waves, swallowing up everyone in his orbit. Rea can feel it taking root in her, spreading through her like warm honey in her veins. It makes it hard to keep her eyes on this adorable Zeltron kid instead of the man she really wants, but she always has loved a challenge.

  Rea crosses her legs to the side of the table, making sure the waiter gets a good view, and hums a sound of encouragement.

  “Why don’t you just surprise us?” Doc’s voice cuts through the haze, startling the kid out of his lusty stupor. Not that looking Doc’s way is any kind of improvement on the waiter’s predicament. From the look on his face, he’s as captivated by her date’s lazy grin as Rea is.

  She prefers it that way, she decides. A challenge is no fun if it’s too easy to win.

  The waiter stumbles through some kind of assent and leaves their table on unsteady legs. Rea watches him leave with keen eyes, digging deep with her own senses, beneath the attraction and the awe and the nerves, searching for any hint that their aggressive interest is making him actually uncomfortable. She doesn’t find anything but a hopeful, horny kid who can’t believe his own luck.

  When she turns back to Doc, he’s grinning at her with the most obvious delight. It’s the kind of look that would make a lesser woman go weak at the knees. The kind that leaves her fighting the urge to grab him by the lapels and devour him whole, right here in the middle of this swanky mobster restaurant.

  Instead, she gives him a knowing smile and shakes her head, toying with the rim of her water glass. “He’s a little young,” she tells him, just to be sure they’re on the same page. The kid is a year or two past twenty if she’s any judge, which is fine, but there’s something in his wide-eyed awe that leaves her feeling queasy. Like he wouldn’t be able to say no, even if he really wanted to.

  Nothing sexy about that.

  “Seems like he could use some confidence,” Doc agrees, his dark eyes boring into her. “I think we can probably help with that.”

  “Some of us more than others,” she grins, tossing her artfully tousled hair.

  “Wanna bet on that?”

  “You have to ask?”

# # #

The waiter leaves his number with the check. Doc knew which way this was gonna go by the third drink--the kid was so captivated by Rea’s neckline a Miraluka would’ve seen it--but that doesn’t make giving up his hard-earned credits any easier. Especially looking as good as he does tonight.

  He’d really thought he was getting somewhere with that thing about the kid’s smile, too.

  “Don’t take it too hard,” Rea consoles him, her grin only a little smug. “This dress of yours did most of the work.”

  The shimmering fabric of it shifts against her thighs as she stands, outlining every mouth-watering swell and curve of her. Doc indulges himself in a long, thorough look before conceding. “You may have had an unfair advantage.”

  It isn’t exactly comforting, knowing how little effort it took for her to win. Would it really have been so hard for the kid to give his holonet ID to both of the absurdly attractive people trying to seduce him? It’s what Doc would’ve done.

  Rea pats his arm, laughing. “You can wear it next time.”

  Despite the bruises on his ego, Doc finds himself grinning. “Next time,” he agrees. He isn’t sure she meant that as promise of another date (she didn’t and he knows it) but he decides it doesn’t matter. There’s this place on Coruscant he’s dying to show her, and forgiveness is more his style than permission anyway.

# # #

Doc can’t wait to see her face when he hands her the bottle.

  It’s almost too easy, lifting the keycard from the salesgirl’s pocket. Falling all over him like she is, running her hands over every part of him above the belt, pressing her whole body against his. Finding creative ways to display her extremely ample cleavage.

  She’s a pretty enough girl, another Zeltron like most of the Cartel’s front line, all wide eyes, perfect curls, and symmetry. Not as young as she wants him to think, with her fluttering lashes and manufactured blushes, but she has the sort of perfect, dewy skin to pull it off. And a voluptuous, exaggerated figure to distract anyone who isn’t convinced. Too exaggerated to be achieved without surgical assistance.

  But Doc isn’t buying what she’s selling. Not tonight.

  “I wonder if you accommodate private tastings?” He asks the girl in a whisper, rounding out the Huttese in his best Imperial drawl. “My Master has very particular taste, and I like to be quite—“ he pauses significantly, looking deep into her violet eyes “—thorough in my work. I like to focus and take my time. To really explore every note and flavor.”

  “Good wine is best when savored,” the salesgirl agrees, running her hand up the lapel of his suit. “I’m sure I can arrange something for you, Mr. Quinn.”

  “Doctor, actually. And thank you.”

  “A doctor? I do love a man who’s good with his hands.” She flutters her eyelashes at him again, and Doc’s surprised to find himself not at all enticed by the blush she wears so well. She plucks at his jacket playfully before she turns, throwing a sultry look over her shoulder as she crooks her finger at him. “Right this way, Doctor Quinn.”

  The cellar is empty, which makes the whole thing much easier. The salesgirl doesn’t ask for explanations when he drapes a towel over her eyes, tying it securely at the back of her head. She doesn’t try to stop him when he slips the very expensive bottle of champagne from her hands.

  She doesn’t notice he’s gone until the door hisses shut behind him.

  He locks her in with her own keycard. He doubts there’s any kind of emergency release or intercom inside the cellar—Hutts aren’t known for their concerns about employee safety—but Doc doesn’t wait to find out. After deactivating the security tag in the label, he ruffles his hair and undoes his shirt just enough to suggest he’d received some quality customer service. No one tries to stop him as he saunters out of the shop, one bottle of champagne and three juicy secrets richer.

# # #

It’s cold on the casino’s roof, the air thick and sharp, and the violent neon lights cast everything in a harsh, sickly glow. Everything except him, of course. It’s a testament to his beauty that even a Nar Shaddaa night looks good on him.

  “A bet’s a bet, Gorgeous.” Doc twists the cork from the champagne bottle with one practiced move. He swirls the bottle under his nose and gives a contented sigh. “Shame to drink this without proper glasses, though.”

  “Fizzy wine is fizzy wine,” she says. Rea’s always been more of a liquor girl.

  Doc just shakes his head. “Can’t believe I’m wasting this on someone who thinks ‘fizzy wine is fizzy wine’.” He sips at the bottle twice before passing it off.

  She’d refuse, let him have it to himself, except he went to all the trouble of stealing it. (It was considerably less trouble than she’d expected when she bet he couldn’t.)

  “Well?” He looks at her expectantly.

  “Sure is fizzy,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She passes the bottle back with a hearty burp. It’ll take more than a fancy dress to take the Corellia out of her.

  “Can’t figure out if I hate or love how you make every stupid thing you do seem so damn sexy.”

  “Right back at you, Handsome.” She shoots a particularly wounded look at that fucking mustache.

  He laughs, then sips again from the champagne, savoring the dry bitterness of it. “So you ready to pay up now?”

  “Deal’s a deal,” she says. “And we Corellians always pay our debts.”

  Doc snorts, because he’s known her long enough to know better by now. “How’s the shoulder?” He asks, glancing sideways at the shiny, still-pink scar.

  “You really want to waste a question finding out?”

  He grins. “Stingy, aren’t you?”

  “When it matters.”

  “Fine.” Doc turns his attention back to the neon cityscape around them. It’s loud and bright and smells like shit, but he seems to relish it as much as she does. “You keep saying how you weren’t always a Jedi, but you never say what you did before. Time to fess up, Beautiful.”

  “I was a smuggler,” Rea admits easily, the old aches so faint she hardly even feels them. “Well, a kid who played smuggler really. My aunt and her crew did the real work. I mostly watched the door, but they let me feel like it was important.”

  Doc raises a brow. “Hard to imagine you just watching a door. Even as a kid.”

  “Yeah.” Rea smiles. “I wasn’t a very good smuggler.”

  “That why you took a vow of celibacy?”

  “Nah. The Jedi thing was Rhese’s idea.” She glances at him. “And that’s two. Better choose your third question wisely.”

  Doc grins at her, his eyes sweeping slow and hungry from her head to her toes. She thinks again how entirely unfair it is that neon looks so damn good playing across his pearly skin. Even the fucking mustache looks good in the Nar Shaddaa lights. She buries her hands beneath her thighs and wonders how he expects her to behave when he’s sitting so close, looking like that? She wonders whether he made time in all his plans for the thing she’s been dying to do since she first laid eyes on him in that suit.

  “All right, Gorgeous. Last question.” His voice drops to that low timber she likes best, warm and smooth and rich as honey. “What’re you wearing under that dress?”

  It’s like he can read her starsdamned mind. Rea grins madly, too thrilled to be sultry, and leans forward just so, letting the thin strap of her gown slip from her shoulder. “Be easier to show than tell,” she purrs.

  Behaving is overrated anyway.

# # #

One of the perks of luxury speeders is the spacious, plush seating. It’s probably the most comfortable place they’ve ever fucked, and definitely the best-smelling. It also has the perk of being their transportation for the night, so Rea can’t run off on him as soon as she’s got what she came for.

  “You know the city pretty well for a delicate Core flower,” she says, once their breathing evens out. He’s learning that she doesn’t care much for silence, his Jedi.

  “Lived here for a bit after med school. Did your dossiers not tell you?”

  “You’re really holding onto that, aren’t you?”

  “What can I say? I like for things to happen organically. Anything you wanna know, Ol’ Doc will tell you. No need to root around in my extranet history.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groans. “It’s just standard procedure. I do the same thing to anyone who sets foot on my ship. I did the same thing to my own fucking brother. Of course I checked up on you! I barely knew you, and you’re clearly too charming to be trusted.”

  “Ouch, Gorgeous.”

  She rolls on her side to look him in the eyes, every warm, naked inch of her pressed firmly against every warm, naked inch of him. She doesn’t share his respect for their circumstances and is very serious when she says, “I’m in the middle of some fate-of-the-whole-Republic shit right now, Kimble. If you’re waiting on me to apologize for vetting you, you’ll be waiting a long fucking time.”

  “Noted,” he says, running a hand over the curve of her hip. She’s still damp with sweat and damn near glowing in the cabin lights. He trails his fingers down her thigh as he drinks her in. Doc is a man who knows his priorities, and tonight, this is his only concern. He’s not about to risk another conversation about all that weight she’s carrying around on her masterfully sculpted shoulders. Not tonight. “Now let’s go back to the part about my irresistible charm.”

  “Irresistible?” Rea laughs. “I never said anything about irresistible.”

  Doc slides his hand around to the inside of her thigh, stroking his way up the expanse of warm, velvety skin. “You’ll be saying it soon, Beautiful.”

  Priorities.

# # #

When she pictures Doc’s life before her, before Balmorra and the war, she pictures lots of clean lines and open spaces. Neutral colors, organic wood. Sullust leather and polished stone. Plenty of sumptuous throws and a few exotic trinkets with exotic stories to match. She pictured luxury and comfort. Warmth. Indulgence. Charm.

  His place on Nar Shaddaa is nothing like Rea pictured.

  “I can’t even imagine you here,” she admits, looking around his old bolthole, slack-jawed and shocked. It’s a cramped little place, dated and dirty, thick with the kind of grime that can only be cleansed by fire. Exactly the sort of place she would choose for herself, the sort of place she grew up in. The sort of place she always pictured him being repulsed by.

  But it is undeniably his space. What can be cleaned is clean, and what few belongings he dared to leave here, unattended, are neat and well-ordered. A place for everything and everything in its place, just like on the Renegade.

  Doc leans against the doorframe in that way again, arms crossed and bemused. “I guess there’s more to ol’ Doc than your dossiers can tell you, Gorgeous.”

  She feels a roiling in her belly, a little spark of fear, shying away from the unknown. And somewhere in the back of her mind, Rea hears the old familiar refrain, in a voice that sounds more hers than Ranna’s with every passing day. Everyone will betray you if you give them the chance. The words are hardly more than a whisper, and when the pleasant rush of good food and good sex and shameless, uninhibited fun threatens to drown it out entirely, she decides to let it.

  Whatever he’s hiding, whatever depths Teeseven’s intel didn’t manage to reach, Rea finds she’s willing to gamble on him. Archiban Frodrick Kimble may be a lying sneak, but he’s her lying sneak.

  “I can’t have you hiding things from me, Kimble,” she frowns, shooting for serious and missing the mark by lightyears. She leans back against the cheap, blocky sofa, drumming her fingers against the rough upholstery. “You’ve forced my hand. For the safety of the galaxy, I’m gonna have to investigate you. Thoroughly.”

  Doc raises his hands in an open-palmed gesture of surrender that somehow doesn’t look quite as supplicating as it should with the way he’s smirking. “You can investigate me for as long and as often as you want, Gorgeous.”

  “In that case, Doctor, drop your pants.”

# # #

He rolls his wrist, turning another of her bones to jelly and Rea can’t believe she went this long without knowing he could do this.

  “Don’t tell me they teach this in medical school.”

  “Well, I was in medical school when I learned it,” Doc says, and she can hear his smile even if she can’t see it right now. “Met this Falleen at a benefit. They could do things with their hands that you wouldn’t believe.”

  Rea sighs as his palm kneads at the tightly coiled muscle in her shoulder, the oil on her skin warming under his touch. “Falleen are so sexy.”

  “You say that about everyone.”

  “Just stating facts, Archiban. I can’t help facts.”

  He laughs, and she wishes she could see the way it makes his face glow, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. She can’t remember the last time she felt so relaxed, so weightless and warm. So… content.

  His thumbs dig into the muscles along her spine, and Rea damn near purrs.

  With the things he’s doing to her body, she doesn’t think she can be blamed when she asks for a happy ending.

  # # #

  “In a walker?”

  Rea takes another swig from the bottle.

  “In a prison cell?”

  She drinks again.

  “At a funeral?”

  “Does it count if I wasn’t attending the funeral? I was just spying on it from the room next door.”

  Doc lifts his brow. “It counts, but I have questions.”

  She shrugs. “I’m a good multi-tasker.”

  “What about in zero g?”

  Rea just smiles, raising the bottle to him before tipping it back and draining the rest of the whiskey. He watches the movement of her throat as she swallows. Lets his eyes linger on her lips, wrapped around the mouth of the bottle.

  Damn.

  “How does that even work?” He asks, ignoring how the words get a little stuck in his throat.

  “I could show you.” She gives him one of his favorite grins, all wickedness and light. “But it would probably just make you sick. Some things you really do need the Force to appreciate.”

  “You been with a lot of other Jedi, then?” He isn’t exactly an expert, but Doc’s met enough of her coworkers to know the Order’s reputation for celibacy is pretty well-earned. Rea is exceptional in that way. In a lot of ways.

  “A few. Mostly when I was younger. Been with a couple of Sith too.” She shrugs. “It’s like I said. Everyone is sexy. It really can’t be helped.”

  Doc finds it hard to argue with that, even if he’s been too preoccupied with sharp blue eyes and sculpted muscles to look anywhere else lately. He wonders if she’s had the same problem, but he isn’t sure if he really wants the answer. He can’t decide what answer he wants to hear.

  A beam of light passes overhead before he can settle on anything, and Rea is suddenly climbing over him, tearing the out the belly of the control panel with her bare hands. His mouth goes a little dry as he watches her ripping at the wires, ignoring the sparks as she snaps and ties and rearranges. So clever and deft and sure.

  The engine hums to life just as the doors swish open. Someone shouts in gutteral Huttese—“There they are!”—and Ejesh’s guards start to pour into the darkened garage, all of them gleaming in garish gold armor and pointing their blaster rifles right at the speeder they’re apparently stealing.

  Rea’s fingers wrap around the throttle, her expression pure focus, eyes alight with exhilaration, and Doc is too captivated with the sight to even notice the world falling away around them. They explode out of the garage and into open air, flipping nose to tail before gliding easily into traffic.

  She is magnificent in that moment, hair whipping wildly in the wind, skin damn near glowing in the neon lights, laughing over the hum of the engine and the distant echo of blaster fire. Doc finds himself laughing with her, his heart hammering erratically as they speed into the night. As she turns that heart-stopping smile on him.

  “Where to, Handsome?”

  # # #

She lingers over him, foreheads pressed together, her hands fisted in the sheets by his head. He is panting beneath her, caressing her hips and waist and thighs, stroking her lightly where they are still joined. Bringing her down slowly, drawing out her pleasure as much as he can.

  This is the fourth time she’s had him today, and she can’t help thinking how different it is.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, breathless.

  “Yeah,” Rea agrees. Smiles. “Fuck.”

  She’s still quivering as she rises off of him, collapsing boneless against the sheets. His hands follow her, fingertips brushing featherlight along her clavicle, along the delicate underside of her arm. The touch is electric to her still-sensitive skin, stoking the heat inside her.

  “You, uh—“ Archiban says, still gasping for breath between words. “You need—Can I—More?”

  “No.” She brings his hand to her lips, kissing the back of it. Her body is still reaching, still warm and slick and incandescent. She could. She could rise and rise and rise again. He would lift her up as many times as she liked, even if he couldn’t join her at the peak.

  But Rea finds she doesn’t want to tumble over that edge if he isn’t falling with her. Not tonight. Not after the extraordinary thing that just happened between them. Something slow, something savoring and deliberate. Electrifying. Intense.

  Beautiful.

  Rea can’t remember the last time she felt the stars burning inside her.

  She lets herself relax into the comfort of her bed, into the warm body tucked around her, and the cool scratchy sheets beneath her. Sheets he hates, but apparently not enough to keep him away. “Hell of a date you planned, Kimble.”

  She tilts her head to find him grinning down at her, looking smug despite the flush to his cheeks. “I know.”

  “You sure can show a Jedi a good time.”

  “I’d say that I tried, but we both know it just comes naturally.”

  “But only four times,” she adds, grinning back and nudging him with her hip.

  He rolls his eyes. “If you want mo--”

  “I got everything I wanted,” she is quick to cut him off, her tone a touch more serious than she planned. “It was good, Archiban. Extraordinary. Better than I have the words to describe.”

  He bypasses the perfect opening to tease her about her limited vocabulary and brings their joined hands to his lips instead, pressing delicate little kisses to her knuckles as he holds her gaze. It’s the kind of tenderness she ordinarily finds suffocating but--Well, she’s not a droid, is she? And it’s been so long since anyone handled her with gentleness.

  Rea swallows down a sudden surge of emotion, turning her head so he can’t bore into her with those dark eyes. “So why’d you bring me back here of all places? I figured you booked some kinda fantasy suite, some place with chocolates on the pillows and vibrating beds.”

  Archiban laughs. “That’s a great idea for when you take me on a date,” he says, sounding very certain of that happening, “but tonight was for you, Gorgeous. And you aren’t gonna enjoy yourself if you’re checking under the bed for mines.”

  And she realizes for the first time that she is relaxed. That every muscle in her body feels like warm molasses and she hasn’t glanced at the door once. Hasn’t itched for her lightsaber or jumped at an out-of-place noise. That somewhere along the way, she stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Fuck,” she says, waiting wide-eyed for a spike of panic. For the walls to start closing in, for the heat between their bodies to turn unbearable. For the tension to creep up her spine and the escape routes to start mapping themselves in her mind.

  But it doesn’t happen. Instead Rea lays there, half-curled around him and half-sprawled on top of him, their hearts beating in time, and feels nothing but comfort and pleasure and happiness. Honest to stars happiness.

  Archiban Kimble, she is finding, is much more dangerous than she ever guessed. And the thing about Rea?

  She can’t help chasing danger.

#swtor #jedi knight #swtor doc #archiban kimble #docember 2018 #nirea velaran #the velaran legacy #my fic #long post #is long #sorry not sorry #i really tried to trim the fat but there was only so much i could take #thanks red for help with this #and please enjoy the first date fic no one asked for #but was written anyway

[aromatickindling-blog]

Zenith: The Land of Contracts (1/2)

With the recent talk of everyone’s own summoner OCs, I thought I may as well put down the introduction I gave my version of Kiran mentally into words. Don’t ask why she initially considered Anna the grim reaper: instead take the easy route by blaming the scorpion venom and dehydration. It’s not the quality and quantity headcanons can usually give for cheap, but it does expand on why my Kiran mentioned running away from Anna to Alfonse in my previous story.

But since it became rather long, I’ve decided to split it into two parts. I’ll finish the second part sometime later; it’s all just dialogue right now. Hope it’s not too cumbersome to read. The rest is under the cut.

To think, just one moment ago she was contemplating her own demise in an empty desert basin at the hands of a walking photon anomaly. Yet here she was, still delusional from scorpion toxin and thirsty as a dog in front of a red-headed woman all too excited over her appearance. The ear-splitting whoop didn’t help her mood much either.

“I can’t believe it! It actually worked?!”

Yeah, the poison running in her veins really didn’t help. Venom did make for odd bed-fellows with fear, as the poor girl soon dealt with a train of thoughts all drowning her in a desire to run.

If this woman was so enthusiastic over her despite being strangers, she may as well have been kidnapped.

Nothing good ever comes of that.

“Ahem...Oh Great Hero from another world! Thou hast come so far-”

And now this lady spoke in gesticulating dramatics. With how tired she had become, this dialogue only translated into speech made from gargling rocks. Amplified by a sadist holding a megaphone.

She held up an open hand to stop the stranger.

“Just. Who...are you?”

“Wow, that’s quite a wispy voice you have there. Now that I think about it, you look terrible. All that dust staining your clothes...oh. OH.”

She soon had a canteen shoved in her face. Oh thank goodness. Glorious water. Maybe now her mind and throat would clear up. Against her better judgement, she greedily downed it all. All while making the most grateful face she could muster as her body sunk to the ground.

...She must have looked like a pathetic little gargoyle with how mussed up she was.

“FOUND YOU!”

Nerves jolting, the canteen loosed from her grip. She swore she could hear her neck snap from how fast it redirected itself at the source of the noise. Her strange new benefactor took to her side before smoothing into a defensive stance. She only now registered the heavily decorated axe wielded in front of her.

Just what kind of fever dream was this?! Was it the Renaissance Fair she attended last week? The D&D session her co-workers invited her to? The games she indulged in over the days where work threatened to take her sanity? Probably a mix of all three at this point…

Red hair parted as crimson eyes made contact with hers. Her companion’s lips moved, but her own mind failed to take in their meaning. With a bounding leap, she sped off, axe raised.

Both her red-headed companion and the helmeted loudmouth took to enthusiastically exchanging blows off each other’s axes.

‘Wait, if this is supposed to be a dream, then why isn’t...’

The metallic rebounds sounded too sharp to belong in her dreams. Was this a lucid dream? Her nose told her otherwise, as her nerves took to knotting her muscles. Dear lord, this was the worst time to gain nausea.

Red splatter flew through the air in front of her. Her now dubious companion’s axe sliced across the soldier’s torso with disturbing ease, becoming caked in a scarlet splash. The resulting shrill of pain only amplified its color.

This lady was no companion, she concluded. No. This was the grim reaper in disguise here to take her soul, with-or-without her permission.

At least, that’s what her addled brain could muster trying to rationalize everything with all the heavenly imagery surrounding her: from the abundance of clouds to the white-and-gold plating outfit to the Greco-Roman style stone structures surrounding her.

“Whew! I sure took care of him!...Uh, are you okay there?”

Startled at first, her face straightened out into a neutral expression as she strained herself to stand. She fought down bile threatening to purge itself from her body; may as well nod her head and go along with her for the time being. Best to run when a better distraction comes along. If that included shaking the hand of reaper, so be it.

“My name’s Anna. I’m the commander of the Order of Heroes. We- uh, I’ll save you the rest for now. Maybe after you get some rest back at camp. It’s not far from here.”

“Mmm”

“By the way, what’s your name?”

Shit.

   Anna, commander of the Order of Heroes and trusted advisor to the royal siblings of Askr, had found herself in a perplexing situation. Out of desperation for help against the Emblian Empire’s forces, she found herself taking the legendary weapon Breidablik to perform the rite of summons. Normally, she would have called the weapon as she usually did: the legendary paper weight. No one in Zenith could use it. Not her, not the Emblian royals, nor the Askran royals. But the legend attached to it kept it safe from being pawned off. Originally, both Embla and Askr traded the relic every half-century as an act of good will towards each other. But with Veronica and her father’s aggression towards Askr, it had been kept in their care longer than anticipated.

She may as well have made use of it anyways. What it gave her in return, however…

Anna turned her head at her newly-summoned aid. Breidablik must have granted her pleas for help in reverse; this young woman summoned as the ‘Great Hero’ looked closer to collapsing than toppling Embla’s forces.

   To think she had hoped for the Radiant Hero Ike to come and save them; better yet the legendary tactician Mark of Elibe to bamboozle the enemy lines into surrender with the meager forces they had. No. Instead, she now had a half-lucid lady in odd clothing limping alongside her to the Order’s camp. What should she tell Prince Alfonse? That the Breidablik malfunctioned?

She sighed. Maybe she’ll have a better idea as to why the Breidablik summoned her once she got some rest; then she could show a side of her that would explain why the Breidablik chose her.

“Kiran, it’s only a little further until we get back.”

“Mmm”

“Too tired to talk?”

A nod.

“Well, I should at least give you an idea of where you are. Care to listen?”

Kiran locked half-lidded eyes on hers. Pleased at finally gaining her attention, Anna began.

“This place is known as the World of Zenith. There are several kingdoms here, but the most important are Askr and Embla. I come from Askr, heading the Order of Heroes against Embla. Long story short, Embla’s been invading Askr recently and I used the Breidablik to summon you. Lucky us it worked!”

She paused. Kiran looked ill, clutching her head with one hand while guarding her mouth with the other.

“Need a break, Kiran?”

“THERE SHE IS! GET HER!”

More soldiers, at the worst time possible. Life did try hard at testing Anna’s patience.

“Drat. More of those Emblian soldiers. I can’t defeat them all by myself, and you’re definitely not equipped to help me. You run while I hold them off.”

Shoving the Breidablik at Kiran, Anna changed her lilt to the more commandeering tone she used on the battlefield.

“Take the Breidablik and get out of here, Kiran! Go!”

   Both shock and disbelief colored Kiran’s eyes as she spotted the relic. Anna could only gesture frantically at her to leave as she examined the relic with lightly-scarred fingers. She then gripped the handle almost naturally, all while Anna grew more desperate to shove her away from the battlefield. What was she thinking?! Kiran turned away from Anna, shifting to aim the oddly-shaped relic at nowhere in particular. Before she could yell at Kiran to run yet again, the relic started to glow.

“What’s that?! That bright light, coming from...”

Light shot out of the Breidablik, forming a slightly disheveled figure who quickly straightened out into a formal pose. A neatly-dressed noble wielding a silver bow greeted both Anna and Kiran. The latter, at this point highly disturbed, took to staring down the Breidablik’s supposed barrel in disgusted confusion.

“I am Virion, the finest archer of the fairest of realms. Delighted to be of service.”

Anna could only restrain a fraction of the excitement welling up inside her, as her hands gripped Kiran’s shoulders in an attempt to turn her into a living bobble-head. This was it; this would be the power that tipped the war in their favor, and she had found it!

“How’d you do that?! You summoned a Hero, Kiran! You just picked up the Breidablik, and you’re already able to use it!” Anna’s beaming smile faded as her attention shifted back to the Emblian forces, “but there’s no time to chat now. This Virion and I need to get to fighting.”

Both she and Virion left to fight, as Kiran could no longer hold in her gastric fluids from the flashes and sudden shaking. A nearby rock became her pillar as she sunk down to retch. But a glint formed in her eye as she noticed Anna’s absence.

Another axe fighter and an archer; an even fight awaited them. Raising the Nóatún in an arc, Anna barked out orders to Virion.

“Virion, take the right flank. I’ll show this fighter how to really use an axe!”

He swiftly agreed, swiping an arrow from his quiver to his tight bowstring in one clean motion. A horrible gurgling noise came from his feathery gift to the enemy archer’s neck.

“I should expect no less from myself,” he chortled as made a mocking bow toward his downed opponent. Yet his arrogance caught him a spare nick in the shoulder from the dying archer. He didn’t mind too much, save for the sharp pain and the embarrassingly high-pitched noise he made from it.

Meanwhile Anna’s Nóatún exchanged blows with a hefty silver axe. Despite how sturdy her opponent was, she acted as lightning, redoubling each strike that came her way.  

“Utterly blinding, fair Anna. Or are you an exception to the naming rule?”

Knocking a second arrow at Anna’s opponent, Virion continued. “You don’t seem to wear the merchant clothing your sisters wear.”

“What sisters?”

“Bwah? Erm, are not all of you related?”

She took to guardedly circling the Emblian soldier.

“Not when we come from different worlds, no.” One more blocked strike attempt pushed her back into circling.

“Gods above, I’ve been summoned to the Outrealms, haven’t I?”

    Noticing an opening, Anna decided to focus on striking the axe fighter’s exposed thigh. Ducking lower on her swing, she made a clean slice into the Emblian’s leg. They buckled with a grunt of pain, trying to guard their vitals just with a silver axe. It was not enough to survive Anna’s consecutive blows. With a breathy sigh, they collapsed into a growing puddle of their own blood. Blocking her own disgust, Anna looked away from the sight to Virion and smiled.  

“We won! And it’s all thanks to-” She turned to where Kiran should be.

Barren earth stood where she last left Kiran. No, no, no, this – wait. She did tell her to hide, to run. She must be around here somewhere. Yes, that’s it. Cupping hands to her mouth, she called out to her surroundings.

“Kiran! We took care of the Emblian soldiers! You can come out now!”

She paced around. 1, 2, 3...no response.

“Kiraaan! The camp is waiting for us! Fresh water and warm food awaits you!”

Nothing. Air hitched in Anna’s throat. Did she miss another soldier? Had Kiran been –

Virion languidly walked over to her, tapping her shoulder and pointing to the ground.

“Oh dear, seems that charming young lady you’re calling for has left.”

   Footprints led into the surrounding hillside forest. If Kiran had run away at the start, she could have had at least a mile’s worth of land covered over them – well, if she didn’t pass out from exhaustion. Wait, right, that poor girl looked sick before they started the battle. She couldn’t have gone that far. Right, she could find her before dinner and tell Prince Alfonse the good news. Still, no guarantee...

“Damn it...Virion, I know your contract’s with her, but please! I need you to help me find her!”

“But of course. She does owe me an explanation as to why I’m here. Oh, and do care not to look behind that rock; we have enough gruesome sights to look at in war.”

Anna looked anyway and gagged.

“So you’re a serial kidnapper in gun form?”

As useless talking to an inanimate object was, ‘Kiran’ still found some therapeutic value in it. May as well since she presumed her own death. Maybe she was in purgatory; that would explain the pain lingering in her aching legs and burning torso. But then why was her heart still feverishly beating at her ribcage?

Of course, ‘Kiran’ was only an alias here. If she ever saw her co-worker again, she’d probably have to apologize to her for taking the name. Ugh, so long as curses didn’t extend beyond this world...

Zenith...Anna had called it.

Shaking her head, Kiran took the gun-shaped relic, probing it everywhere for some switch or button.

“Just take me home. Please. I can’t even fight.”

A hot shower and heated consommé sounded deliriously heavenly. But the Breidablik denied her; the only grooves felt across its handle were decorative Celtic knots. Huh, didn’t know ancient Celts had an afterlife. If she ever got back home, it would be the first thing she’d look up.

She groaned, pitching her head back against the girth of one of the many trees around her. Life made no sense anymore. First it was the bark scorpion sting, then her loss of direction, then an empty canteen, then a light monster enveloping her whole, and now this mess.

Is this how a reaper works? Conscripting the dead to kidnap their targets?

Was she really even dead?!

She scraped a palm across her face. Thinking too hard about this place didn’t help. She needed to find water, food, and civilization, fast.

May as well give in to the madness that was this world. The Breidablik did put her in a bizarrely calm trance when she first fired it, so what was the point in trying to preserve the rest of her tattered sanity when it shot a living, breathing person out of it’s barrel?

Now, Askr and Embla were the two nations here, at war…

A single look at the Breidablik ruled out Embla. If any soldiers found her with it, odds are they’d gut her like a pig. That left Askr, and that meant Anna.

“Either way is doom, huh...” A despairing chuckle escaped her throat.

Frantic footfalls broke her thoughts.

“Kiraaaaan!”

“Kiran, come out and join us! It’s dangerous to wander here alone!”

Her body scrambled for cover at the familiar voices. Anna and her new conscription had come looking for her. Half a second later and her hands whisked the Breidablik out of sight. Bramble-laden foliage was the only barrier between her and Anna’s prying eyes. She prayed it would be enough to hide her.

Unfortunately, the Breidablik had other ideas, as it began to emit a gentle, pulsating glow.

“You. Little. Traitor.” Kiran seethed quietly through her teeth, smothering the light whole with her body as best she could.

“I thought I saw something near that thicket.”

“Really, Virion?! Is it Kiran?”

Gloved hands invaded the bramble, as Kiran’s breathing hitched. As she began to resign herself to being caught, more footfalls came.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY FROM US SO EASILY?”

“Ugh, not more of them! Virion, take the left flank while I deal with this lancer.”

“Very well.” Kiran just laid there as Virion’s brown gloves withdrew from the bramble. She nearly exhaled loudly in relief. With her heart jumping in her throat, she kept sifting through her options. She could shuffle away and risk being sighted to gain distance from them. Or stay here and risk Virion catching her.

   With no audible voices heard opposite the battle, Kiran opted to crawl away as quietly as she could. Running would come once she passed enough cover. Despite the Breidablik’s attempt at outing her, she couldn’t get herself to leave it. Somehow, it’s comforting presence gripped her heart with dread at the thought of leaving it. ‘Great,’ she mused, ‘I’m developing Stockholm Syndrome towards an object...’ With what little energy remained in her, Kiran willed herself into running as far as she could from Anna and Virion.

Unknowingly in the direction of the Askran camp.

#fire emblem heroes #kiran/summoner #why can't we replay the prologue again? #it's quite the exposition dump tutorial but still... #tw:blood

[saintbalor-blog]

“ PATRICK WITH A FIRE KINK? SHOCKING ! “

REQUEST: heyoooo okay so call me a freak but could you do one where Patrick gets a lil excited and burns you with his lighter and you’re like “wtf that hurt????” and hes like “i can make it better….” (((aka him burning you all over your body and then licking/sloppy kissing the burns and being kinda soft))))? your writings amazing btw thank you for supplying my lank boy addiction!!

AUTHORS NOTE: to make it a lil’ more realistic, you’re not all there in the head in this one, i mean c’mon look at who you’re dating 🤷🏻‍♀️

Arm slung around the side of Patrick’s car while she sat in the driver’s seat, her cheek that was flushed from the summer heat was pressed up against her forearm as she laid her head to intently watch the show ahead of her in a comfier position. Her boyfriend, Patrick Hockstetter, being the main star of the event with the helpless victim clutched in his bloodied hands just being serving the role of a lifeless rag doll with the way Patrick was tossing him around with ease; a few cries of help thrown in the girl’s direction with pleading eyes, the kid obviously unaware of the undeniable loyalty she had for the lankier teen.

Eyelashes fluttering with sleepiness, the whole ordeal taking longer than it should have due to his never ending need for pleasure, Y/N checked to make sure he wasn’t looking her way before she allowed herself to shut her eyes for a second. Having her eyelids shut and shielding her from the gruesome sight waiting for her on the other side, Y/N allowed herself the leisure of momentarily resting after a long day, only the sounds of the poor kid’s hoarse cries and muffled screams serving to remind her of her whereabouts.

Shamelessly, she savored the small piece of peace she granted herself to have the privacy with her thoughts and daydreams that Patrick seldom offered her; always having her do something for him or to him. Though, that silence was interrupted by the sound of her watch’s alarm blaring in her ear, signaling that it was getting close to the time her mother urged her to get home by if she wanted to continue seeing ‘that monster of a boy’.

“Shit.” Y/N cursed, hurriedly sitting up and glancing over to where Patrick was still going at it with the kid, despite the lack of energy present in the kid to fight against Hockstetter anymore. “Patrick, c’mon, I need to get home!”

Letting the child’s bruised body fall to the dirt road, Patrick looked over at where Y/N was ordering him to finish his fun earlier than he intended, a sense of annoyance flooding through him in a group of waves, each one bigger and angrier than the last one. Slipping over to the passenger’s seat, Y/N checked her reflection in the visor, fixing herself up quick and unaware of the trouble that was looming her way in the form a demented, fuming, teenager.

Clueless to the bad intentions Patrick harbored in his mind when he climbed into the car, Y/N flashed him a sweet smile that seemed way out of place with the upcoming actions Patrick planned on committing — eager to teach his girl a lesson once again on not interrupting him. The silence on his side was enough to serve as a warning for Y/N, her body tensing at the unusual quietness from her boyfriend, her eyes watching as he played with the silver lighter in his hands.

“Come here.” Patrick outstretched a hand out to her across their seats, his long fingers wrapping around her upper arm and pulling her into his lap, her legs on either side of his own — the fact that she was wearing a skirt today working to his advantage. “You know how rude it is to interrupt, baby. I thought you knew better by now.” Patrick cooed, the sarcastic usage of the pet name being a sign that he was ready to go off on her for something small like he always did.

“I know but I have to get home so my mom doesn’t freak.” Y/N’s nervous apology struggled to come out as her gaze was too focused on the way his fingers kept switching the lighter on an off way too close to the side of her face, an arm slithering around her waist to firmly hold her in place. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I really am.” She tried again, ripping her gaze away from the fire in his hands and looking at the one burning in his usually empty green eyes.

“Oh, I know you are, baby.” His voice was calm and collected, drastically contrasting her very own as he felt her hands shake from where they were pressed up against his thighs.

“Then why is that still on?” Y/N nodded at the lighter, voice quivering when she could feel the impending danger of the pain he’d put her body through so he could still get off; leaving a classmate a bloodied and crippled mess obviously not enough.

“I have to continue my fun somehow, don’t I?” Patrick asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, tilting his head to the side and raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

“Don’t be mad.” Y/N pleaded, the feeling of her frightened body squirming on his lap doing the opposite of what she wanted. “I only did it so we could still see each other, Patrick.” She tried to reason, averting her view from him to the cartoon cat printed against the mustard yellow fabric of his shirt.

But Patrick wouldn’t accept that and she should’ve known better by now. Pushing the lighter against the crook between his thumb and index finger, he pinched her chin and forced her to look back at him, wanting to see first-hand the emotions he was making her go through.

“You really think your mother would be enough to stop me from seeing you?” She could feel the cold metal of the lighter pressing against her jaw, his arm around her waist pressing her closer to him. “Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.” Patrick shook his head at her in a way that reminded her of her father when she was a child.

“What?”

“No one has the right to stop me from getting what I want especially not your bitch of a mother. You’re mine, until I decided I don’t want you anymore.” The crazy glint in his eyes and the hostility evident in his tone should have been enough to make her get off of him and run away but instead she stayed glued where she was and took in every word he said with a silent enjoyment of her own — enjoying being his. “And guess what?”

“What?” She furrowed her eyebrows at him, lightly shrugging her shoulders as she leaned in to hear what he had to say.

“I want you, right now.”

“Patrick-“

The scarlet tint around her flushed cheeks at his words was covered by him pressing his lips roughly against hers, the hand on her chin moving to her hair, pushing her head forward so he could take her all in. Her back arched into the kiss, the hand on her waist trailing down to her exposed thigh and up her skirt, the gentleness in his touch catching her off guard but grateful for it, nonetheless. Letting go of her hair, she felt him trail his hand down her body but was too focused on the way he was biting on her lower lip to concentrate on where it was headed to.

Not minding when his hand landed on hers, grabbing both of them and placing them atop of his boner, she felt herself smirk when she felt how hard he was — unaware of the real motive he had behind holding her hands down. Feeling his teeth cut into her bottom lip, the tangy taste of blood meeting her tongue, Y/N pressed her body further up against him; memories of him being pissed at her a few minutes prior quickly passing.

The fast pain jolting through her body when the flame made brief contact with her shoulder startled her, her blood stained lips breaking apart from his and her body kept in place by his hold on her hands. Looking down at his amused face, the culprit lying in his hand with it’s flame lit again, Y/N began trying to get out of his hold on her.

“What the hell, Patrick?” Y/N spat, this time anger rushing through her body at the scorching pain he gave her. “That fucking hurt.”

“Aw, does the little baby want me to kiss her boo-boo better?” Patrick mocked her, leaning back and taking in how good she looked being all flustered because of him, the burn he gave her barely leaving any marks on her exposed shoulder. “Just let me have some fun, Y/N. I’ll kiss each and every one when I’m done. I’ll even stop being mad at you, too.”

The last statement is what made her consider it, not enjoying his fits of anger being directed at her due to how ruthless, she shyly nodded at his agreement with fear still lingering in the hues of her eyes. Giddy, like a child receiving an award for acting good, Patrick began pushing her shirt up to get the sight of her in her black bra and began letting the flame linger over her skin, randomly pressing it closer and earning pretty whimpers from his girl each time the flame burned against her skin.

Glancing up at her with excitement, her face pinched in pain from the flames, Patrick stopped at her hip and let the flame rest there.

“Promise you’ll never interrupt my fun again, princess.” Patrick threatened, the dwelling fire beginning to burn the layer of skin under it with each passing second she took to respond to him, only making it harder on herself.

“I promise.”

Closing the lighter and letting drop at his boots, Patrick let go of her hands and grabbed her face, bringing her in for a rewarding kiss and smiling at her; a smile that worked well on frightening their peers but only made Y/N’s heart swell in admiration at the affection he was giving her now.

“You’re so good, Y/N.” He whispered against her lips before removing his hold on her and nodding over at the passengers seat. “Now let’s get you home and in your bedroom so I can kiss all those burns away.”

#patrick hockstetter one shot #patrick hockstetter imagine

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My Journey To You Chapter 27

SUMMARY: Mercedes experiences a racist incident and must confront her fear before it takes a toll on her family. The Hummels come for Christmas.

RATING: Mature

WARNING: Racist situation and language, mild violence, cursing, and sexual situations

CHAPTER 27

LOVE THY NEIGHBOR

Mercedes zipped up Rosy's bright red parka and put on her hood. Jake stood next to his sister, holding her hand, and patiently waiting. He was already bundled up in his blue parka. Mercedes kissed their cheeks.

"I know both of you will be good at the supermarket, and no pulling things off the shelves."

Jake and Rosy looked at each other and then back at Mercedes.

"I'll be good," Rosy said.

Jake nodded.

"Me too."

Mercedes put on her coat and scarf, peeking out the window, she sighed. It was a cold, gray Tuesday morning. The trees were barren with a thick coat of frost covering the branches. She got the car keys from off of the key rack near the front door and they left the house. On their way to the store, Rosy and Jake sang along to the Moana soundtrack. Since traffic was light, they arrived in no time at all, and she was grateful to find a parking space close to the entrance. She braced herself against the harsh, frigid wind blowing in their faces as they walked the short distance to the store. Out front was a jolly red-cheeked man dressed as Santa Claus, ringing a silver bell, while standing next to a scarlet red Salvation Army kettle that hung from a tripod. Upon closer inspection, Mercedes realized it was Mr. Kramer, the owner of the local hardware store, he always gave Sam discounts because he was such a loyal customer, she forgot that he said he was working with the Salvation Army this year. He always doted on Rosy and Jake and she wondered if they would recognize him as she dropped a few dollars into the kettle.

"Hello Mr. Kramer," Jake and Rosy said.

Mr. Kramer shook his head.

"Ho, Ho, Ho, no it's Santa Claus, I came all the way from the North Pole."

Rosy and Jake looked at him and laughed.

"Mr. Kramer, you look funny!" Jake said peering up at him, his black hair falling into his eyes.

"Ho, ho, ho," he said, "Have you both been good?"

The twins giggled and Rosy patted his beard.

"Soft," she said.

He winked at her before releasing them from the hug.

Mercedes wished him a Merry Christmas and he gave each child a candy cane.

Once inside, the wonderful aroma of baking bread greeted them and the heat warmed their hands and faces. A holiday display of gingerbread house kits was right in front of them on a table decorated with sprigs of holly and fake cotton snow sprinkled with glitter. Rosy let go of Jake's hand and rushed up to the table and she reached for one of the boxes. Mercedes shook her head.

"Rose Emerald Hummel what do you think you're doing?"

Rosy stepped back.

"Sorry."

"Remember what we talked about?"

Rosy nodded. Mercedes put her hand on her hip.

"Come back here right now."

Rosy shuffled over to Mercedes and Jake.

"I know you're a good little girl so behave, ok?"

"Ok, Mommy."

Mercedes hugged her.

"Come on, we've got shopping to do."

Rosy smiled and the scolding was over.

Mercedes got the twins situated in the grocery cart, and headed toward the produce section. The store was practically empty. The white tiled floors shined beneath the fluorescent lights and Frosty the Snowman played over the sound system.

She got a few heads of lettuce and bags of baby spinach, then she moved over to the onions where a young, clean cut man, with buzz cut brown hair, wearing round frame glasses, a marble blue sweater and black dress pants was putting a few yellow onions into a plastic bag. She smelled his citrus cologne as she surveyed the red onions trying to decide if she should get them or not. She saw a flash of his gold watch as he picked up another onion. The man stared at her. His blue eyes were cold. Mercedes ignored his rude staring and continued perusing the onions. Jake pointed to the red onions.

"Red," he said, proud that he knew the color.

"No, blue," Rosy said.

"Actually they're purple, but we call them red for some reason," Mercedes said and pulled a plastic bag from the dispenser overhead and began to gather up onions and put them in the bag.

"We can put these in our salad. Your father will like that." she said, keeping up the chatter. She decided to be nice and smiled at the man, but he only glared at her, so she looked away and continued the task, her elbow bumped into his, while she tied up her plastic bag.

"Sorry," she said.

"Couldn't you have waited until I was done?" he said.

Before she could respond, the man said:

"I bet you're used to everybody helping you and your kids. How many baby daddies do you have?"

"Excuse me? How dare you - "

"Oh, don't act so surprised. Somebody needs to put you people in your place. Turning my country into – "

"Your country?"

"Yes, my country. I'm sick of it. But I'm not hiding any more; you can't come into this town and think you're first for everything. You need to know your place. Your kids aren't even the same race. You opened your fat legs for every man coming your way, so you can get that government check and when working class whites have to -"

"You will not speak to me like -

"I'll speak to you any damn way I please. Get out of this town and get out of my country. It belongs to us. Real, working white Americans, not some monkey leeches who scream in the streets every time one your bastard sons gets shot. Hollering about how your lives matter. Fuck you! Our brothers in blue put their lives on the line to protect your worthless asses and what do you do to repay them? Rob a liquor store and get shot."

His voice drowned out everything around them, he was a demon unleashed. Rosy and Jake began to cry. She had to get away from him. The funny thing about it was, he looked like the All American respectable, tax-paying citizen, right down to his spit-shined loafers, but the vitriol coming from his thin-lipped mouth proved otherwise.

"Get away from us or I'm calling the cops!" she said rushing away from him, pushing the cart as fast as she could, but the racist man wasn't finished with this tirade.

"You mean the same cops that shoot niggers? No, you cunt, you're not running away from me," he said walking behind her, "You're going to listen to every word I say."

She kept going. His cologne stung her nostrils. Then he grabbed her arm.

"Don't touch me!" She said pulling away from him as he gripped her arm, not letting go.

"You're not going anywhere you black bitch!"

Suddenly, the store manager, Roy, who was built like a pro-wrestler and Clarence the security guard, a heavy set man with long black hair and huge biceps bursting through his navy blue uniform, ran up to them.

Clarence grabbed the man who took a knife out of his pocket and stabbed his arm. He screamed out in pain but he overpowered the man and wrestled him to the floor, while Roy took away his knife, Clarence sat on top of the crazy man, crushing his skinny body.

In the mayhem, Mercedes picked up both Rosy and Jake and runaway.

"I know my rights!" The man screamed, as he struggled beneath Clarence.

"Mrs. Hummel! We've called the police" Roy called out to her, but she kept running.

The man was enraged.

"She's infringing on my rights as an American, I – "

"Shut the hell up!" Roy yelled. "You racist piece of shit. Mrs. Hummel and her family come here all the time and their lovely people. You will not harm her or her family. What kind of man are you? Screaming at a mother and her children!"

"You think this is over? Do you? We're rising up against them. Taking back what's ours." The man said.

Mercedes ran outside to the parking lot rushing past Mr. Kramer who called out to her, but she ignored him and and got in their SUV. She didn't even bother putting the twins in their car seats. She sat with them in her arms and locked the door. They clung to her crying on her shoulders. She was too shaken to drive. Police sirens wailed in the distance and soon two cop cars pulled up to the supermarket. The officers ran inside the store. Mercedes called Sam. He was only a few blocks away at the paint store and he made it to the supermarket in record time. He parked his truck next to her, got out and she opened the door for him, and as soon as he saw her tear stained face and the twins shaking in her arms, he gathered them in his arms and hugged them close but he boiled with anger.

"Where is the motherfucker?" he asked, his voice low in her ear.

"He's inside I guess. I don't know. Sam please I – "

Sam continued holding them, whispering how much he loved them and how everything would be ok. The police came over to the SUV to get a statement from Mercedes. Sam was furious and wanted to know who the guy was so he could kill him.

"Sir, we'll have to ask you to calm down," one of the officers said, he looked too young to be a cop, but he had a muscular build and an authoritative air about him. His partner was a tall black woman, with a lanky frame, and big, round eyes that reminded Mercedes of a Precious Moments figurine.

"Calm down? Some asshole threatens my wife, puts his hands on her, and scares my kids, and you want me to remain calm? What if it was your family?"

"I understand how you must feel, but – "

"No, you have no idea how I feel. Whatever charges that can be pressed, we're pressing all of them."

His partner said:

"We understand. And we promise not to take up much of your time."

Mercedes answered the questions. When they were done, the officers thanked them for their time and said they would be in touch to follow up. Mercedes felt shell-shocked. Sam buckled up the twins in their car seats, took the car keys from her and said he would drive them home.

"But what about the truck?"

"I'll come back for it. I want to get you and the kids home."

Mercedes didn't protest. He drove slightly above the speed limit so they made it home in half the time. Rosy and Jake were cold and scared. After getting them out of their parkas and scarves, the twins wouldn't let go of their parents. Sam and Mercedes sat with them in front of the fireplace and prayed, doing their best to calm them down. They eventually stopped crying and they fed them lunch then attempted to put them in their cribs but the twins wanted to get in bed with their parents. Mercedes was thankful for their king sized bed and after changing into sweats, they all piled into the big, soft bed with Jake and Rosy between them. When the children were asleep, Sam and Mercedes stayed with them and had a quiet conversation about everything that happened.

"Sam, I'm going to ask you not to do anything that could have you arrested."

Sam looked out the window. It had begun to snow.

"He threatened you, put his hands on you, and scared the babies. You can't ask me not to retaliate."

"But what good does it do if it lands you in prison?"

"Damn it to hell, what do they expect us to do? I can't sit by and let racist dicks like Mr. White America harass my family. Do you think he's part of that group?"

"I don't know. I don't care. I want us all to be safe. And we are. And he's been arrested. I know you'll protect us and I have no problem with that. You stood them down in Town Square, but Sam this was different."

"How?"

"It was only one man angry at me for existing. Blaming me for whatever he thinks is corrupting America. I want to beat his ass too, but I also want to be here for our kids."

"He had a knife."

"I know and I can't stop thinking about what could've happened. It crossed my mind that he could've had a gun too."

Sam leaned over and hugged her.

"I have to get a handle on this. I won't take this lying down."

"I'm so tired," Mercedes said.

"I can't have you and the kids being in danger. You say it's one man but what's next?"

"I don't know."

They talked some more until Mercedes fell asleep. Sam was too wound up to even close his eyes. Then the doorbell rang and he went downstairs to answer it.

STRENGTH IN UNITY

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Roy standing on the doorstep with bags of groceries at his feet. His fluffy white down coat made him look like the Abominable Snowman.

"Roy, what are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"I came by to check on you guys and to bring you groceries. It's on the house. I know what Mercedes gets every week and I added in a few things."

"You didn't have to do that."

Roy picked up all the bags.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Of course."

Roy wiped his black leather cowboy boots on their red and green Santa Claus welcome mat, and Sam let him inside and closed the door.

"Where should I put these?"

"Follow me."

Roy followed him into the kitchen where he put the bags on the counter then sat down to the table. Sam began brewing a pot of coffee.

"Mercedes is taking a nap."

"I'm so sorry about everything that's happened."

"Thank you for helping her."

"Is Mercedes ok? How are the twins?"

"Getting there."

Roy sighed.

"I'll pray for them."

"Thank you," Sam said.

"This isn't our town."

Sam poured them each a cup of coffee and joined Roy at the table.

"I used to think that too. I'm not so sure any more. We came here because it felt like home."

"Are you thinking of moving?"

"I don't know. You can't move every time bullshit happens. The anti-hate rally brought every one together and that's a start. Our neighbors really stepped up and we look out for each other… I try to stay hopeful."

Roy laid a sympathetic hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I wish I had some advice but I don't."

"Is Clarence ok?"

"Yeah, he only needed a few stitches in his arm."

"I take it he pressed charges."

"Yeah, he did, just like you." Roy said as he poured cream into his coffee. "For what it's worth, I think you have a beautiful family and you and Mercedes are good people. I hope this is an isolated incident and I'll continue my policy of 'no dicks allowed in my store.'"

Sam laughed.

"Great policy to have."

Roy stayed and helped Sam put away the groceries. Sam was surprised to find four packs of steaks. He held them up.

"Is this your something extra?"

Roy shrugged, a blush rose in his cheeks.

"Yeah, well… "

Sam patted his back.

"Thanks, man."

Sam also found extra Gerber juice boxes, animal crackers, and wagon wheel pasta for the twins and for Abby there were jars of coconut oil and E.L. Fudge cookies.

"You know my family," Sam said as he continued unpacking the groceries.

"You get to know your loyal customers," Roy said, while putting a couple of cartons of eggs in the fridge, "I learned that from my father."

Roy visited a while longer and then returned to the store. Sam spent the afternoon cooking a big dinner for Mercedes and the kids. He made all of the Hummel family comfort foods: macaroni and cheese, garlic butter steaks, collard greens, corn bread, sweet potatoes, green beans with bits of ham, tossed salad and a vanilla cream cake for dessert. He knew he was overcompensating with food, but he needed to do something that gave him joy, and cooking for his family always did.

Yet despite the delicious aromas that wafted through the kitchen and the happiness he felt from making the elaborate meal, Sam's mind wandered to revenge. Though he wasn't sure what it meant. Mercedes accepted he was a gun owner and when the town square incident happened, he signaled to the group, he was ready if something went down. And for a long time afterwards, whenever they went out as a family, he brought his gun. But then the rally gave them hope and promise, so he left it locked in the safe. Now, the urge to take it with him crept up again, but he couldn't be with Mercedes 24/7. Ever since the supremacy group came to town, the energy was different.

Abby came home late that afternoon because she had a nature club meeting after school and Travis' parents brought her home.

Mercedes was upstairs with the twins giving them an early bath, when Abby arrived. Sam told her what happened because keeping anything from his daughter was a bad idea; Abby was too observant for her own good, and she would have picked up on everyone's vibe that something was amiss. As he recounted the ugly event, Abby listened, her eyes filled with tears.

"What if he hurt Mommy and the twins?"

Sam hugged her and said they were fortunate they were unharmed. He went upstairs and helped Mercedes get the twins dressed for bed. She had changed into her short- sleeved nightgown and as she buttoned up Rosy's pink Princess Jasmine pajamas, Sam saw a purple bruise on her arm. He touched her shoulder.

"Did that bastard do this to you?"

"Sam, please."

"He grabbed your arm so hard that it left a bruise."

"I'm ok."

Sam finished putting Jake's Elmo pajamas on and they carried the twins downstairs for dinner. Though they tried to have a normal family dinner with all of the delicious food Sam prepared, it was a somber affair and dessert was left untouched. Afterwards, they said a prayer in the living room, seated in a circle, holding hands, heads bowed while Sam asked God to watch over them and give them strength. When he and Mercedes finally went to bed, he held her close, kissing her forehead.

"I don't know how make this better."

"We have to focus on what we have. Which is a lot. The good people outweigh the bad."

"Do they?"

"Sam…"

"Your bruise makes me want to kill him even more."

"Roy and Clarence helped me. Nowadays, most people would've recorded what happened on their phones and posted it to social media, not intervening at all. But they helped me. And that lunatic stabbed Clarence."

"I'm still furious. You could've been the one he stabbed or Jake and Rosy"

"I know and I'm angry too."

"I'm buying you mace. I know I can't be with you all the time, though I'll do my best."

"Let's get some sleep."

They kissed and soon Mercedes was asleep, but Sam remained awake, listening to the silence.

NOTHING TO FEAR

As the weeks passed, every morning Mercedes and Sam prayed together, before the children woke up and the day began it's hectic crazy run of insanity; they knelt on the floor, facing each other, bowed heads, hands clasped together, and said a prayer; then they meditated. The private sanctuary of the bedroom where they shared quiet moments together gave her strength, but it wasn't enough to assuage her fears and she dreaded leaving the house ever since the supermarket incident, but she kept her anxiety to herself, and pretended everything was fine.

Instead of going grocery shopping, she had the groceries delivered, telling Sam she was saving on gas and that the twins could get sick in the cold weather. Even though she knew the neighbors watched over Abby, she made up things for her to do indoors and discouraged her from going outside or even hanging out with friends. Her behavior shamed her. Wasn't she the woman who said they should build a snowman after the supremacist group left a flyer on their door?

What happened to her? What happened to her courage? Mercedes couldn't explain the transformation into barricading herself behind closed doors. The threat at the supermarket affected her more deeply than she realized. Whatever the reason, leaving the house became more difficult with each day and she only left if she had to, which was rare. She even had Sam staying home as much as possible, finding things for him to fix, and when that wasn't enough, she asked him to build her some bookshelves.

"Are you planning on making a library?" He asked her as he stroked her hair, they were cuddled on the couch in front of the TV, watching the news. The children were asleep upstairs. It was late Friday night and icy sleet beat against the windows.

"No, I just think we need some for the den. Abby can help you."

"Hmmm," he said, touching her cheek, "You've been giving me a lot of projects."

"You're good with your hands," she said, smiling up at him, "You should put them to use."

Sam leaned down and kissed her.

"Flattery is not my weakness."

"But pleasing me is."

Sam laughed and kissed her again.

"I know you're taking this conversation in other places, but I am curious about your sudden interest in my woodworking talents?"

Mercedes sighed.

"Oh, I don't know… she said, looking down at her hands. "It's such a nasty night, I'm glad we don't have to go out anywhere."

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

"Saying what?"

"How you're glad we're stuck home."

"I don't feel stuck at home. I feel safe. Don't you?"

"I want to take you dancing."

"There's no place to dance in Star Pride."

"I'll find a place."

"I don't know, then we'd have to find a sitter, why can't we dance here?"

Sam looked around the spacious room.

"In our living room?"

"Remember how we danced at your old house in Tennessee?"

"Yeah, but – "

"That was romantic."

"Yes it was. I dipped you."

"See we don't have to go anywhere."

Sam said nothing and kissed her instead. Mercedes was glad he didn't press the issue. Maybe she could eventually conquer her fear. But in the mean time, there were no more date nights or spontaneous outings. When she did go out, she timed it to a "T" and never lingered or dawdled, as she ran away from the imaginary ghost that haunted her. Every stranger's smile made her suspicious, of what she wasn't sure, but she was on edge, even when she smiled back she wondered if their eyes told the truth.

She knew she should talk to Santana, but her trusty friend and therapist was on maternity leave; she and her new wife, a buxom black woman named Ella, were expecting their first child together. They were having a girl. Santana referred a therapist to her while she was on leave and though Mercedes liked Dr. Freemont, he wasn't Santana and it was difficult to open up to him.

One morning Sam told her about a new second-hand toy store downtown. They were getting dressed after showering.

"It's called Second Hand Rose. You and the kids should go."

"I have housework to do."

"The house is clean."

"I have higher housecleaning standards than you," She said, chuckling as she fastened her bra.

"Well you should go to that new kiddie play land at the mall, I heard they have a really nice jungle gym."

"Why don't you take them on the weekend?"

Sam sat on the bed next to her and rubbed her shoulder; he was shirtless and he smelled shower fresh, his damp, pink nipples were hardened into stiff peaks.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, why?"

"You're always home."

"So? Everything is so crowded this time of year. Besides, I'm saving on gas."

"We're not in financial trouble."

"That's because I do my best to save."

"Mercedes, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean. Most men would kill to have a wife who runs a household like I do. You don't have to lift a finger and this is the thanks I get?"

Sam looked at her as if she'd gone crazy.

"What are you going on about? You know I appreciate everything you do. Are you saying I'm not pulling my weight?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she said pulling her purple sweater over her head.

Mercedes knew she was picking a fight simply because he was noticing her behavior again. Sam reached for her hand.

"I love you, you don't have to hide anything from me. Tell me what's wrong. Does it have to do with that racist lunatic?"

"No, it doesn't and you're overreacting. I'm fine. I'm sorry if I upset you. Do you want sausage with your eggs?" she asked him, rising from the bed.

He shook his head.

"Please don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Put up a wall."

"I'm not putting up any walls. I'm fine."

Sam stood up and put his arms around her.

"I love you with all that I am. You know that."

Mercedes nodded looking up at him.

"I swear I'm ok. I just don't like crowds or cold weather."

"Since when?"

"Sam, just stop."

He shook his head.

"You can't hide from me."

"Who said I was hiding?"

"Jane at Starbucks said she hasn't seen you in a while, and wondered if you were ok."

"So sightings from the Starbucks barista are your measuring stick?"

"No, and stop being dense. I can see something is wrong."

"I'm going downstairs," she said, pulling away from his embrace, "I have to start breakfast."

Sam's eyes grew misty. He sighed.

"Ok, Schätzchen, have it your way. I'll be downstairs in a minute."

She went to him and kissed his cheek.

"You worry too much," she said and left the room.

He never mentioned it again after that day, but she noticed him watching her more and this increased her anxiety. Since she was at home all the time, the house was immaculate, the meals became more fancy and elaborate and the twins grew restless, unlike Abby who had the outlet of school, the twins suffered more since they had nowhere to go. They couldn't understand why they couldn't go outside for a walk or to the nearby park to play the way they used to.

"You can catch cold," Mercedes said to Rosy as she braided her hair one frigid morning.

"I want to see the sun," Rosy said.

"You can see the sun from the window."

"I want to see clouds," Jake said, sitting beside his sister, holding her hand. The two were inseparable. "They miss us."

"Who misses you?" Mercedes asked.

"The clouds. And the birds too."

Mercedes continued to braid Rosy's hair and she gazed out the living room window. Their peacock Speranza wandered about the back yard making her weird human-like birdcall.

"We can play in the back yard for a little while," Mercedes said, hoping this would appease them.

"I want to go to the park," Jake said.

"We can feed Speranza," Mercedes said, "She's due for a treat."

Speranza mostly ate birdseed, but the vet said they could occasionally give her bread and fruit as a treat. She loved grapes.

Sesame Street came on TV distracting the twins from their desire to go outside as they watched Elmo dance about on the screen, singing about the color orange. Mercedes finished Rosy's hair, tying red ribbons at the end of her braids. Then she brushed and combed Jake's hair. Since he wanted to do everything like Rosy and vice versa, she put a tiny bit of Tui oil on his straight, shiny black hair, though he didn't need it. His hair wasn't dry, quite the opposite, yet she humored him anyway.

The twins were dressed in their play clothes: matching blue Thomas the Steam Engine warm up suits and thick white socks covered their pudgy feet. Mercedes had put a couple of apple pies in the oven and the air smelled like cinnamon and apples, a fire crackled in the fire place and the dark hardwood floors gleamed in the sunlight.

The timer went off in the kitchen and she went to take the pies out of the oven. When she opened the oven door, she was happy to see the golden brown crust on each of the pies. She put on her oven mitts and retrieved the pies, setting them on the counter to cool. Sam loved her apple pies and he would be pleased to see she made them, the thought brought her momentary joy, but the twins felt trapped in the house, and she couldn't deny them fresh air simply because she was afraid.

The rest of the morning was spent doing laundry. Finally she let the twins go outside in the back yard. They ran races with each other, the hard, frost covered ground, crunched beneath their snow boots as they ran across the yard, the wind in their faces, yelling for no reason at all, just simply from the joy of being outdoors.

They fed Speranza some grapes and she gobbled them from their hands before returning to her birdhouse to sit in front of the heating lamp Sam installed to keep her warm. Mercedes watched the twins with careful eyes, and gritted her teeth. Her heart thudded in her chest. The sunlight was harsh and bright. She checked her watch, willing the time to move faster. She scanned the yard for potential threats, thinking someone could climb the fence. Rosy and Jake were now doing somersaults, laughing as they tumbled about on the grass.

"Look at me!" Jake shouted to her as he attempted a cartwheel.

"Be careful," Mercedes called to him, "Cartwheels are hard."

Jake only laughed as he fell, and Rosy giggled beside him.

The wind blew, chilling her face; she squinted in the sun, thinking how she should've put on her shades. For the sunshine to be so bright, it provided little warmth. She checked her watch again, and bit her bottom lip. She thought about the man in the supermarket, how he grabbed her as if he had every right to touch her, belittle her and frighten her babies, and recalled the fear in her chest as she ran away.

Then she felt someone touch her shoulder. She screamed, turned around, and punched the intruder in the stomach. She refused to be the same fool twice; she had mace in her coat pocket and she knew the combination to the gun safe; and Sam gave her shooting lessons on the weekends. She cursed herself for not having it with her, but she reasoned she wouldn't need it for the back yard. The bottom of the intruder's face was covered with a thick blue knit scarf; she pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, and pulling out the mace, aiming it at the fallen stranger, ready to spray it.

"Leave us alone!"

"Mercedes, it's me! Please calm down!" Sam said, holding her hands, and pulling down his scarf, "It's me, Schätzchen."

"Sam I…"

"Just breathe."

"I, I can't…" she began to cry and the twins ran over to their parents.

"You jumped on Papa," Jake said, bewildered, "Are you mad?" he patted Mercedes arm.

"She's sad," Rosy said, pointing to their mother's tears.

"Let's go in the house," Sam said, slowly rising from the ground.

They went in the house, with Sam holding his stomach where Mercedes punched him. He took off the twins' coats, hats and scarves and made them some hot chocolate, telling them everything was fine and that Mommy made a mistake, while Mercedes went upstairs to their bedroom, sat on the bed and cried. Sam came upstairs about 30 minutes later, leaving the twins downstairs in front of the TV with their building blocks. Mercedes didn't know how long he held her as she cried; she released everything within her. When she couldn't cry any more, Sam said:

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're afraid. I knew something was wrong. But you pushed me away."

"I'm sorry."

"Tell me everything you're feeling right now. I don't care how long it takes, we have the baby monitor on and the door is open. I'm with you and we're safe. I love you and I want to help you. Please let me."

So Mercedes told him everything: the constant fear and anxiety, the need to stay in the house where she felt safest, the thought that maybe someone would hurt them again. And Sam listened to her, never interrupting, holding her in his arms, as she talked and cried.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I thought I could do this. I thought it would go away."

"Please stop apologizing. We'll get through this. Why won't you tell Dr. Fremont?"

"He's great but… I'm ashamed. Other people have been through much worse, like getting run over in the street or shot. I was spared. I shouldn't crumble."

"Yes you should crumble because you're human, and I don't care what happened to everyone else, I care about what happens to you. Never be ashamed of feeling afraid. And stop comparing yourself to others. You're not them. You're you, understand?"

"Yes."

"Santana trusted Dr. Fremont enough to handle her patients while she was away and you said yourself that you liked him."

"I do."

"Would it help if I sat with you on your session?"

Mercedes hadn't thought of that.

"Actually it would."

"Ok, we're calling him now and we'll make an appointment."

They made an appointment and called Stacey to pick up Abby from school and watch the twins. Mercedes told Dr. Fremont it was an emergency and he said they could come in that afternoon. Later as they drove to his office about a half an hour away, Sam held her hand, as they zoomed along the expressway.

"You know I'm always by your side. Just as you've been by mine," he said, "It hurts when you hide stuff from me."

"This wasn't meant to hurt you. I just never felt like this before. It's a new experience for me."

"I love you, I hate to see you hurt. Like when I saw your bruise, the image stayed in my mind for a long time. I couldn't un-see it"

"I love you too and the bruise is gone."

"I know. But my anger isn't."

"The court date is next month."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten."

"I'm sorry I punched you."

Sam smiled and kissed her hand.

"You can pack quite a punch. I'll give you that."

"I'm sorry about what happened."

"Baby, it's ok. And I'm sorry to. I didn't mean to scare you."

"How's your stomach?"

"I'll live," he said, kissing her hand again.

"I'm glad you calmed Rosy and Jake were down."

"Me too."

They talked about everything that happened. As they pulled into the parking lot of Dr. Fremont's office building, Sam said:

"How do you feel now?"

She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Hopeful."

ooo

Dr. Freemont's office was sandwiched between a small accounting firm and a chiropractor on the second floor of brick office building across the street from a sad, little strip mall that boasted an all you can eat Chinese buffet restaurant, a dry cleaners, a dime store straight out of fifties with it's retro font on it's faded plastic red and white sign that said Vidlers 5 & 10 and a fried chicken joint called Fanny Pride's Chicken House advertising a 10 piece special until 6PM. This town was a far cry from Star Pride. It was more like a ghost town with people hanging on to what was once a bustling community. After the local pencil factory shut down a few years ago, it was never quite the same. Some stayed because it was cheap and found jobs in nearby towns, but many left to find better opportunities elsewhere. Dr. Fremont chose the location because the rent was cheap and the area needed a psychiatrist. Sam parked the car and got out, opening Mercedes' door for her. He walked with his arm around her, as Mercedes shivered inside her coat. The sky was turning twilight purple and the air was penetrating cold.

An overweight man with a bushy mustache wearing a long brown mink coat stood at the entrance of the office building, puffing away on a cigar, gold and diamond rings on his fingers, he tipped his white cowboy hat and opened the glass door for them. He smiled at them and Mercedes forced herself to smile back, even with the tension rising in her chest.

The tobacco smelled sweet, almost pleasant, and it followed them into the building, drifting down the long hallway to the elevator. The hall was lit with bright white fluorescent lights overhead. The waxed black and white tiled floor squeaked beneath their feet. Sam held her hand, squeezing it in support. She loved this man so much. How could she ever do something so foolish as push him away? What was wrong with her? When they got to the elevator, Mercedes hugged and kissed him, taking Sam by surprise. Tears filled her eyes.

"I love you," she said.

Sam melted in her embrace, rubbing his big hands up and down her back.

"And I love you."

Mercedes pulled back, wiping her eyes, as he pushed the UP button on the elevator. They got on and heard Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing on the stereo system, a silver wreath with blue glitter balls hung on the elevator wall. The bell chimed and they got off, walked down the hall to Dr. Fremont's office and went inside. His secretary, an elderly woman in her 80s named Madge, with teased, dyed red hair and way too much blue eye shadow, greeted them with a big smile, her teeth refrigerator white. She smelled like lavender. Red rouge coated her pale, wrinkled cheeks. The light reflected off of her blue rhinestone rimmed cat eyeglasses. Silver bells decorated the red knit cardigan sweater she wore, and jingled every time she moved. Red Christmas stockings filled with candy canes hung from her gray metal desk and a little Christmas tree decorated with gold tinsel and red lights sat on top of the filing cabinet next to her desk, and on top of the tree, was a pretty black angel, with a long, gold gown and curly black hair that was styled in an Afro, and a silver halo was nestled in her voluminous curls.

"Hello Mercedes," she said, "I see you brought your husband Sam."

Sam looked at Mercedes and smirked.

"I see you've been talking about me."

"Of course she has," Madge said, "How handsome you are!"

"Thank you," Sam said, blushing a little.

"You two can have a seat," she said pointing to the black leather loveseat. A glass coffee table was positioned front of the couch, with silver bowls filled with Hershey's kisses, and a few old coffee stained issues of AARP.

They sat down and waited. Madge smiled at them.

"He won't be long. Don't worry."

She began typing away on her computer, humming to herself as she worked. Sam held Mercedes' hand and whispered in her ear.

"Feel ok?"

She nodded.

"I'm good."

Sam kissed her cheek and Dr. Fremont's door opened. He was an older man in his early 60s with closely cropped white hair and bright blue eyes, a shade that Mercedes had never seen before, almost like a cloudless sky; he wasn't the type to wear colored contacts so she figured he was born with them. He wore a polyester flowered shirt, faded jeans, and brown leather moccasins decorated with colorful red, black, white and turquoise beads.

"Hello Mercedes and Sam, come right in."

They went into his office and he closed the door.

"I was really concerned when you called me. Tell me what's going on?"

Mercedes told Dr. Fremont everything that happened with Sam beside her, encouraging her all the way. She broke down and cried in the middle of her story.

"I was so scared and didn't know what to do, how to process it. When I walked in the market that day, it was just an ordinary day. And this guy just starts acting crazy, saying racist things and threatening me. I was afraid because I didn't know what he would do. I failed."

"How?"

"I should've stood up to him more."

"In what manner?"

"I don't know. Be Wonder Woman?" she laughed and took some tissues out of her purse, "My first instinct was to run because I had to protect my children. He had a knife."

"You did nothing wrong. This is not failure. Is anyone judging you for your actions?"

She looked at Sam who put his arm around her, giving her the strength she needed.

"No, I've just been judging myself. And then I think, what if it happens again? This fear grew inside me. We've been having some racial tension in town and I don't want to put my family in danger."

"The manager and security guard helped you. Before that the community had a No Place For Hate rally and your neighbors all look out for you and your kids since the flyer incident. It sounds like you made a home in a town where people won't tolerate hate and your husband loves you more than any man I've seen love a woman. I'm not saying it won't happen again but I am saying you have a good support system. But fear controls you and that's understandable. We'll work together to overcome it. You aren't weak. You aren't a failure. You're a mother who protected herself and her children from a God-awful racist scumbag. This won't be an easy journey, but it's one I know you can make. I'm glad you're crying."

"Why?"

"You're releasing everything and that's good. I think you attacking Sam brought everything to a head, do you agree?"

"Yes, I do."

"Mercedes, I won't give you a kumbayah speech and say we all just need to hold hands and the bad people go away. I will tell you not to judge yourself, give yourself time to heal and take little steps. I will also prescribe medication for your anxiety."

"Thank you."

"Sam," Dr. Fremont said, "I want you to keep doing what you're doing. Fear and anxiety can be crippling and shameful for those who experience it, and the most soothing thing in the world is to have someone there beside you treating you with love and compassion."

"I will."

"And Mercedes, this isn't a quick fix, you may feel fine one day and not so great the next. It's a work in progress, understand?"

"I understand."

"What comes next for the man who harassed you?"

"He was arrested. All of us pressed charges."

"I hope justice is served and it's not one of those I didn't take my meds, society misunderstands me; I'm a product of my environment bullshit. No, you're a hateful, racist douchebag and you're responsible for your actions. There are no excuses and he stabs a man on top of that."

"You know, Dr. Fremont one of the reasons this upset me so much is because I have told people off, not because of racism but for other reasons. This was different, why?"

"Who were those people you told off?"

"My in-laws and my Aunt Josephine and my employer when I was being stiffed for a raise."

"That was your family and your employer. You knew the situation. You weren't in danger. Standing up to relatives and to a complete stranger who could be armed is an entirely different scenario and your children were in danger too. It's apples and oranges. And you can handle yourself, you knocked down your husband," he said.

"I've been learning how to shoot."

"Well, then, that's a useful skill."

"I know everyone is not an enemy, but my sense of security is shaken. And there's something else."

She looked at Sam and back at Dr. Fremont and said:

"Sam is a wonderful husband and provider. He does everything in his power to protect us. After he saw my bruise, he had such rage in his eyes, and I was afraid if he knew of my fear that he would go after that guy and either kill him or beat him. I love him. I don't want to see him arrested."

Sam squeezed her hand.

"I want to kill him, and if I had been there, I would've." he said quietly.

"I know and I would never stop you from protecting us. But I was alone with the kids and the circumstances were different. I was afraid of losing you."

Dr. Fremont cleared his throat.

"Mercedes, I know you love Sam, but those are his feelings and you can't control them. His wife and children were in danger, so the rage is understandable. However, together you will have to discuss how to move forward too, and I can help with that."

They stayed a while longer and then headed home. As they walked out of the office, Madge gave them each a red tin of her homemade fudge.

"It's an old family recipe," she said thrusting the containers into their hands. Drive safe."

They thanked her and left. The drive home was unfortunately long because of an accident on the expressway. Stacey called to tell them she ordered Chinese food so they didn't have to worry about dinner. Mercedes was glad because she and Sam were in no mood to cook. When they got home, Stacey stayed and visited, talking about her new boyfriend and how her calligraphy business was going. Mercedes was glad she didn't ask them how the session went; for some reason, she didn't want to discuss it, even though it went well. After Stacey went home they put the twins to bed and tucked in Abby.

"Mommy, will you be ok?" Abby asked as Mercedes covered her up with a comforter.

"I'm fine sweetie," Mercedes said, kissing her forehead.

"Your mother and I are working through this," Sam said, reassuring their daughter, before giving her a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

They said a prayer with Abby then went to their bedroom, undressed and showered together. Sam soaped up the washcloth and carefully washed her body, giving her loving caresses, and whispered praise for her beauty. He held her soft body against his firm one as the water sprayed down on them, feeling her heartbeat against his.

"You're beautiful, courageous and kind," he said, "I'm beside you, baby, I love you."

Mercedes held on tight, his words soothing her. When they finished showering, they went to bed and made love, and Mercedes enjoyed the fullness of him as he stretched her inner walls with his member. It was gentle, tender and sweet, the way he held her, and told her how much he loved her and she did the same, praising him as a husband and father, calling him her rock, and she cried because of the gratitude filling her heart. Their orgasm was intense and they held each other as it rippled through their bodies.

ooo

A few weeks later…

Mercedes had regular sessions with Dr. Fremont and he helped her immensely by enabling her to confront her fear and live her life. Though it was a daily struggle; she had a support system, and Sam knew where she was at all times. Aunt Josephine wanted them to move, but Mercedes told her despite everything, Star Pride was home and they were staying put for the time being.

The family went all out that year with decorating the house for Christmas. Blue and green lights were hung on the house and were strung across the surface of the front lawn, an inflatable snowman and Santa were displayed, and big blue electric glitter angels were also in the front yard. In the back yard, they decorated Speranza's birdhouse with blue and green lights too.

One afternoon she braved the cold and she and the twins went to Target to get more wrapping paper and cleaning supplies. She was fine at first as they perused the different wrapping paper in the paper goods aisle, Rosy and Jake called out the colors of each roll of paper with pride in their little voices. A few shoppers smiled at them and told Mercedes how cute her babies were, the Target employees were extremely friendly and kind, asking her if she needed assistance as she pushed the big red cart through the store, and nothing was amiss, but panic seized her heart as she gazed at a shelf of scented candles, trying to decide which ones had the best smells for the holidays, when she felt a cold dread seep into her bones.

Rosy and Jake were giggling and chatting together, their little heads pressed together as they participated in a conversation only they could understand, they shared a secret language sometimes. She looked over her shoulder and saw and elderly couple arguing about the price of scotch tape, then a teenage boy with blue hair passed by her, hands stuffed in his pockets, ear buds in his silver ball studded ears.

What was she afraid of? Then she saw a bald, clean-cut man with a thin mustache, in a black overcoat and red scarf, so all American and so threatening in her eyes, he walked toward her and she took a deep breath. It wasn't the crazy man from the supermarket, but his eyes were the same, something about those eyes. She began pushing the cart and walked quickly. She felt embarrassed and afraid. That man wasn't a threat. He probably didn't even see her. But the panic rose within her, she couldn't relapse, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out. She had to make it out of store, yet her feet wouldn't move. She was stuck in the home appliance section, gripping the cart handle, the sound of Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas throughout the store filled her ears, she felt the twins' hands covering her own; their soft, sticky fingers touched her skin.

"Mommy?"

Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She opened her eyes and, retrieved her phone and saw it was Sam.

"Schätzchen?"

"Yes."

"I want to tell you a story."

"Sam I – "

"Shhh, just listen to me. Take a deep breath, can you do that for me?"

Mercedes took a few deep breaths. Then she heard Sam's voice again:

"I knew a little girl who dreamed of flying horses, grew up crying because she was alone, had parents who died in a fire and an aunt who loved her more than life. She lived through the death of her husband, the silence of her child, drug addiction, mistreatment, loneliness and heartache, and one day she was foolish enough to marry the man downstairs with a huge mouth and loved her like he's never loved another and they got through a lot together. And that woman is all courage; her heart is so big it swallows you up and the universe loves her; sometimes you have to remind her of how she touches everyone's lives for the better, even random strangers, you need to tell her how precious she is, how much her family and friends love her even in difficult times. This woman is a jewel and my heart and I couldn't be more proud of her."

Tears trickled down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away. His voice was the only thing that mattered.

"She's the mother of my children. She's my everything and we walk through fires together."

Suddenly she felt strong arms encircling her waist, holding her close. She turned around and faced Sam. She cried on his shoulder.

"Did you follow me?"

"No, I was taking a break in my truck and your face popped into my mind and you had tears in your eyes; I felt you shaking. You told me you were coming here this afternoon. I wasn't too faraway so I called you on my way here."

"I'm sorry."

"Mercedes Hummel never apologize for this. You've been doing great. We all have our off days."

"Do you feel better Mommy?" Jake asked.

"Yes, sweetie pie."

They paid for the wrapping paper and left the store. Sam followed her home in his truck. By the time they got to the house, her panic had all but vanished, but she knew there was a long road ahead.

ooo

A few days after the Target incident, Santana contacted her to let her know she gave birth to her baby girl, who they named Molly Mabel Lopez Stratton, and since there were no complications, she was home with her wife Ella recuperating. While Sam and the kids went to Christmas Playland to see Santa Claus one Saturday afternoon, Mercedes drove to see Santana and the new baby. She bought gifts for the baby: a beautiful white lace layette set, baby essentials like diapers, lotion, pacifiers, bath items, and a dozen onsies.

The weather was clear and cold and she listened to her gospel Christmas playlist as she drove along the highway. When she arrived to their house about an hour later, she forgot how lovely the old Victorian house was with its bright blue paint, wraparound porch, irregularly shaped black steeped roof, and white shutters. Two black lampposts were positioned on either side of the concrete walkway leading up to the front steps and dark green holly was wrapped around each post.

A green wreath with a giant red velvet bow hung on the front door. Mercedes rang the doorbell and Ella answered the door dressed in a black velour tracksuit, her hair in curlers. She was about twenty years older than Santana, her skin was dark amber and she was plump with a generous bosom. Santana said they met in a creative writing class at the local community college. Ella had been married to a man before and when he died, she finally came out of the closet and lived her life as a lesbian. Ella had a pleasant face, and a pretty smile. She hugged Mercedes upon seeing her.

"Merry Christmas," she said, and Mercedes smelled her sandalwood perfume.

"Hello Ella, good to see you."

Ella pulled her inside the house, and the aroma of baking sweet potato pies wafted in the air.

"Something smells good."

"Girl, you know I got pies baking for my wife. She's been awfully demanding lately."

"I heard that!" Santana yelled from the living room.

Mercedes laughed as she followed Ella down the hall to the living room where Santana was sprawled out on the couch, covered with a heavy purple blanket with Molly in her arms, the caramel hued newborn had a head full of curly black hair and she nursed from Santana's big bare breast, which spilled out from the front of her opened fluffy, pink robe. Santana's long dark hair was in one long braid that reached her waist; her face was a bit fuller, and Mercedes could see she gained weight; her usually angular features were softer. She smiled at Mercedes.

"Hey Mercedes, come meet our little rug rat."

Mercedes walked over to them and looked down at the gorgeous newborn.

"She's beautiful," she said touching the top of her head, "Hi Molly."

Molly continued nursing, oblivious to everything else. Mercedes placed her gifts on the coffee table and sat down in the recliner near the couch.

"You didn't have to bring anything," Santana said.

"Oh, it's nothing and I wanted to."

Ella leaned down and kissed Santana's forehead.

"I'm going to check on the pies, do you need anything?"

"Yes, I'd love some cocoa."

"Sure thing, sweetie," Ella said and turned to Mercedes, "And would you like anything?"

"I'll have some cocoa too."

"Coming right up," Ella said, kissing Santana once more before leaving the room.

Mercedes looked at the diamond sparkling on Santana's hand.

"So how is marriage and motherhood treating you?"

Santana smiled, her eyes misty.

"Wonderful, I know I sound sappy but it's true. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love Ella and Molly. Everything happened so fast."

The two women went to the Justice of the Peace and got married on a rainy summer afternoon then went to Five Guys for burgers and shakes; it was perfect for them. Neither one of them was into weddings and fanfare.

"Ella is sweet."

"She's more than sweet. She puts up with my ornery ass and that's more than I ever thought possible."

"Oh, Santana," Mercedes said.

"It's true. You don't know how many failed relationships I've had but that's for another time. How are you doing?"

"I'm better. I have my days, but… I'm getting there."

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you."

"Thank you for Dr. Fremont."

"I can't leave my patients hanging and he's a great man."

Mercedes nodded thinking of his support then she said.

"Is Molly sleeping through the night?"

"I wish," Santana said gazing down at her daughter, "She wakes up every few hours."

Ella returned with two white mugs with sparkling silver stars, steam rising from each one. Tiny marshmallows floated on the surface of the rich, creamy cocoa. She set them on the table. Molly pulled away from Santana's breast, her dark eyes closing.

"You, finished nugget?" Santana said as she lifted up the baby and burped her over her shoulder, after she belched, Molly fell asleep. Ella took the baby upstairs and Santana closed her robe. She picked up one of the mugs and sipped the cocoa.

"Mmmm, so good," she said, closing her eyes. Mercedes picked up the other mug and took a drink, and she agreed it was quite good, though not as good as Sam's.

Ella came back downstairs and sat next to Santana on the couch; the curlers were gone from her hair, and now it was a mass of bouncy black curls, framing her sweet, angelic face. She sat next to Santana who pulled her into her arms, kissing her lips, and running her hands through her shiny hair.

"I love your hair."

Ella kissed her back.

"I'm glad you like my old lady curls."

"Hey, there's nothing old about you."

Ella pointed to a few gray hairs in the front of her head.

"See this?"

Santana touched the patch of gray, pulled Ella's head toward her and kissed it.

"It doesn't make you old. You're beautiful."

Ella blushed and put her arm around Santana, holding her close to her side, and Santana rested her head on her wife's shoulder. The two were very much love and Mercedes was happy for them.

"Where are you two spending Christmas this year?"

"Right here," Santana said, "We're too pooped to go anywhere. My mother might come over. How about you?"

"Sam's family and Aunt Josephine are coming. I'm looking forward to it."

"How are the kids?"

"Rosy and Jake are talking up a storm and Abby is doing well. I couldn't be more proud of them."

"You've come a long way," Santana said.

"That I have."

"You know Mercedes, when Santana told me what happened to you at the supermarket, my heart broke," Ella said, looking at her with kind eyes, "I worry about women in situations like that, but especially black women. I feel like we're the protectors and not the protected. I was glad those men helped you."

"I was fortunate," Mercedes said, sipping her cocoa.

Santana kissed Ella's cheek.

"I would've protected you."

"I know, love."

Mercedes spent the afternoon with them. She enjoyed their company because they were both so funny and warm. Mercedes could see why Santana loved Ella; the woman had a giving heart and generous soul that could make anyone fall in love with her. They laughed and talked, eating sweet potato pie and trading stories. As the sun began to set, she hugged them good-bye with a promise to come again with Sam and the kids.

ooo

All of the Hummels came for Christmas except for Finn, Matt and Lucy who were still on their road trip. Their absence left a void. Mercedes thought of Rachel in her quiet moments, recalling the sister bond they shared.

Early one morning while everyone was asleep, she sat at the kitchen table, writing in her journal, and sipping a big cup of Earl Grey tea, she was wrapped up in her old blue bathrobe, and the sun was peeking over the horizon outside the window covered with glittering white frost; she began humming Happy Days Are Here Again and for a brief moment she heard Rachel's voice accompany hers, it wasn't the thin, whispery voice she had toward the end of her life, it was the big, strong voice she was born with, a voice that carried her family through difficult times. Mercedes stopped writing. She closed her eyes and sang:

Happy days are here again

The skies above are clear again

Then she heard it again, that unmistakable soprano voice that could easily turn into one of a belter:

So let's sing a song of cheer again

Happy days are here again

Mercedes kept singing with the phantom voice.

Altogether shout it now

There's no one

Who can doubt it now

So let's tell the world about it now

Happy days are here again

Your cares and troubles are gone

There'll be no more from now on

From now on…

Then she felt a thin hand holding hers, smelled a sweet perfume, and a brush of long, soft hair against her cheek. They sang together until the end.

Happy days are here again

The skies above are clear again

So, let's sing a song of cheer again

Happy times

Happy nights

Happy days

Are here again!

Mercedes cried at the final words, the tears flowed down her cheeks and Rachel hugged her. They finally sang their duet.

"I miss you," Mercedes said.

The hug lasted a long time. Then she heard Rachel respond, it was faint.

"I love you."

Mercedes cried harder and told her she loved her too.

"We had so many songs to sing together."

She held on for as long as she could and then Rachel vanished. It took her awhile to process what happened and she had to smile because despite how much she missed her, she knew Rachel was at peace.

When the Hummels arrived, the house was filled to the brim and Mercedes was happy to see everyone. On Christmas Eve, Carol, Stacey, Helen and Aunt Josephine helped her cook and the kitchen bustled with activity. They made the traditional Hummel holiday dishes: potato dumplings, sweet and sour purple cabbage, potato fritters, spinach salad with hot bacon dressing, butter cake and apple strudel. They planned to cook the stuffed goose on Christmas day. They also made some of the Jones holiday favorites like sweet potato pie, collard greens cooked with garlic and smoked turkey, macaroni and cheese, and million dollar pound cake.

Burt, Blaine, Kurt, Sam and Stevie carried on the tradition of the gingerbread hearts and baked them late on Christmas Eve while the rest of the family watched old Christmas movies while sipping on mulled cider and hot chocolate; the children were upstairs asleep as multicolored Christmas lights shined on them. Mercedes and Abby thought it would be fun to turn her room into a Christmas room where all the kids slept, so they decorated the walls with sparkling silver snow flakes, and hung lights along the perimeter of the room. They plugged in Santa Claus nightlights into the wall sockets and sprayed fake snow onto her vanity mirror.

And Abby persuaded her mother to get a little tree to put in the corner of the room and it was decorated with plain white lights and glittering blue stars. Jake and Rosy helped sprinkle glitter onto her dresser, though they got more on the floor, but it didn't matter because a sparkling floor added to the ambience. Now the children were upstairs in that marvelous room fast asleep as a snowstorm raged outside. Mercedes allowed Jake and Rosy to play in the room until bedtime, and put them in their cribs. So they wouldn't feel left out, they decorated the twins' room too.

As It's a Wonderful Life played on the television, Mercedes sipped her hot chocolate from her black Santa mug and felt extremely tired. Stacy was beside her. They shared a big, red blanket and Stacey's long, blonde hair shined in the lamplight. Aunt Josephine sat in the leather recliner, knitting an afghan; Helen was curled up on the loveseat drinking mulled cider; and Carol was in front of the fireplace roasting marshmallows. The Christmas tree sparkled in all it's glory in the corner, with stars, multicolored balls of blue, red, green and yellow, silver tinsel and musical notes and underneath were all of the wrapped presents in bright green, red and gold paper. A fire roared in the fireplace and the spicy scent of gingerbread hung in the air. Stacey scooted closer to Mercedes and put her head on her shoulder.

"I'm pooped," she said.

Mercedes smiled.

"Me too. Cooking wears me out."

She was glad to be tired and she welcomed the laughter and talking brought on when the Hummel clan invaded the house. It made her forget all the ugliness her family experienced. Ever since the Target incident, or relapse as she liked to call it, her anxiety actually improved a lot. The bad days decreased and she was grateful for the therapy and her family's support.

"What's that I hear?" Aunt Josephine said, looking up from her knitting, "Sounds like folks singing in the street."

"Probably carolers," Mercedes said, "I'm surprised they're out this late, and it's really snowing hard."

"I think it's nice you have carolers in your neighborhood," Helen said, sipping her cider, "Too bad the kids are asleep."

Aunt Josephine nodded. Carol peeked out the window: "They're getting closer."

Then Mercedes heard the carolers shout in unison:

"Mercedes Hummel, please come to the door!"

Mercedes eyes grew wide.

"They just called my name."

"I bet Sam has something up his sleeve," Stacey said, as she pushed away the blanket and stood up. "Let's go see what they want."

"But we're in our pajamas," Mercedes said.

"We'll put on our coats, come on."

"You know something don't you?" Mercedes said as she left the warm cocoon of the blanket; she wore her oversized plaid flannel pajamas and heavy red socks.

"I swear I don't know a thing," Stacy said.

Everyone grabbed their coats and went to the front door. Burt, Stevie, Blaine and Kurt were already there, wearing their coats too. Sam was missing.

"What's going on? Where's Sam?" Mercedes asked them.

"Your guess is as good as ours, he said he was going to7-11 for some milk," Burt said.

Mercedes opened the door and what she saw on the front lawn was magical. A group of a dozen carolers wearing white coats, each holding a candle, stood with the blue green lights of their Christmas decorations illuminating their faces, snowflakes falling on them. They looked like a band of angels. She went out onto the front porch, waving at them. Then she heard someone playing the guitar and then she heard Sam's voice singing:

"Bring your tired

And bring your shame

Bring your guilt

And bring your pain

Don't you know that's not your name

You will always be much more to me

Every day I wrestle with the voices

That keep telling me I'm not right

But that's alright

'Cause I hear a voice and He calls me redeemed

When others say I'll never be enough

Then the carolers joined him in the chorus.

When others say I'll never be enough

And greater is the One living inside of me

Than he who is living in the world

In the world

In the world

And greater is the One living inside of me

Than he who is living in the world…

He stood in front of the carolers, belting out each note, strumming away on his guitar, his face red from the cold, his green eyes shining in the Christmas lights. When they finished the song, Sam added an extra verse:

"So Mercedes, this song is for you. Merry Christmas Schätzchen. I love you. And greater is the One living inside of you, than he who is living in the world…"

Mercedes was crying from how wonderful it all was. That was her song of strength, and now Sam was singing it to her. This was such a loving, caring thing to do. She didn't even notice how all the kids were crowded on the porch, clapping their hands. Abby held Rosy and Burt held Jake. She walked down the steps in her stocking clad feet, and she didn't even feel the snow beneath the wool socks, and she threw her arms, around him as everyone cheered around. She kissed him, and saw he was crying too.

"How did you do all of this?"

"I got skills, baby," he said, "I love you."

They hugged and kissed until Mercedes realized it was freezing outside and asked all of carolers to join them inside for hot chocolate and treats and they were happy to accept her invitation. Soon the house became rather chaotic with all of the chilly carolers crowded into the living room, but it was so joyous and fun. Now that the kids were wide awake, they joined in the festivities and helped the adults in the kitchen make the hot chocolate and cut up the big vanilla cake they were saving for dinner the next day and serve decorated sugar cookies on a big silver platter. It was an impromptu Christmas party. Since everyone was filled with the holiday spirit, they began singing carols, with Sam playing guitar.

The entire family sang together and Mercedes got to hear Blaine and Kurt's beautiful voices sing a duet of Baby It's Cold Outside. Aunt Josephine sang Blue Christmas, her voice as soulful as Mercedes remembered, when Aunt Josephine sang she was transported back to a time when it was just the two of them in that little house on Christmas Eve, with not many gifts under the tree, but instead they made it special anyway, and they would watch Christmas specials, bake cookies and sing together. It was the only time of year Aunt Josephine sang. She would joke and say her voice was for special occasions. She never worked on Christmas and Mercedes was never alone. As she sang Blue Christmas with only Sam's guitar accompanying her, the living room fell silent, and Mercedes heard all of their holiday memories in Aunt Josephine's rich alto voice. When she was finished, there was thunderous applause and Burt even whistled.

"Now I see where my daughter-in-law gets it from," he said.

Aunt Josephine smiled, suddenly a little shy from all of the attention. Sam put down his guitar and hugged her.

"That was beautiful."

"Thank you, Sam, and you're an excellent guitarist."

Mercedes hugged her too.

"That was every Christmas we spent together," Mercedes said, remembering the smell of million dollar pound cake and roasted turkey wafting throughout the house, and the beat-up television with no cable, but rabbit ears antenna, and the only clear station was PBS. The plastic covering the red couch her Aunt Josephine got on layaway from Sears, and the three All God's Children collectible figurines proudly displayed in the china cabinet in their tiny dining room. The little black children figurines dressed in their Sunday best with kinky hair and patent leather shoes were special because it was one of the few things Aunt Josephine splurged on. No, they didn't have much but they had each other and that was enough.

"Baby girl, I know, I was there, remember?" Aunt Josephine said, kissing her cheek, "Look how far we've come, my Mercy Me."

Tears welled up in Mercedes eyes, falling onto her plump cheeks.

"You haven't called me Mercy Me since – "

"Since you were knee high to a duck, sneaking jam from the cupboard?"

Mercedes laughed.

"I was always getting into something."

"That you were, but I wouldn't have traded you for anything. I love you, baby."

"I love you too," She said, hugging her again.

The kids played in the middle of the living room until the adults saw it was after midnight and told them it was bedtime. Rosy and Jake were fighting sleep but by the time their grandparents took them upstairs, they were asleep in their arms. The party winded down after that, and then the carolers said good night and wished them all a Merry Christmas. Stacey, Helen and Stevie cleaned up the living room, gathering up the empty mugs and napkins while Kurt, Blaine and Aunt Josephine tackled the kitchen. Their family told them everything was covered and to go to bed.

"Merry Christmas," Stevie and Helen said over their shoulders. "Go to bed, we'll take care of everything."

Sam and Mercedes went upstairs to the bedroom, their arms wrapped around each other. Once Sam closed the door, he kissed her, guiding her toward the bed. He smelled like gingerbread and chocolate. Mercedes stood still as he removed her pajamas, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her voluptuous nude body in the moonlight. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing over her large, erect nipples. She shivered. Sam pulled back the covers, picked her up and put her in the bed, covering her up. Mercedes waited for him to undress, which he did in ten seconds flat, and he was hard and ready for her.

He positioned himself on top of her, and thrust inside her, grinding his hips, and she lay beneath him, enjoying the late-night love session, he took his time stroking her, nice and slow, filling her up and satisfying the void within her. They kissed as they made love, she squeezed his firm buttocks and he moaned. After they came, he lay on top of her in the afterglow, his blonde head rested on the soft cushion of her full bosom. She ran her fingers through his hair.

"That feels good," he mumbled as she massaged his scalp.

"Thank you for my gift."

He raised his head and kissed her full lips.

"You're welcome. I'm proud of you."

Mercedes kissed him.

"You make it easy to be who I am. I love you."

Sam smiled at her in the darkness. They kissed again and soon they needed each other again and Mercedes turned around and got on all fours, knowing Sam loved her in this position because he could admire her big, gorgeous, rear end that jiggled with each thrust. When he slid into her once more, she moaned at how good it felt, and they made love three more times before falling asleep exhausted but satisfied. Mercedes never felt so happy.

END NOTES: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story!

#Samcedes fanfiction #sam evans and mercedes jones #Samcedes

[idornaseminary]

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Beatrice/Calix

And in the end, dear Cedwyn, although I’ve cherished every moment with you, your sweet kiss and tender touch, the simple fact remains that you deserve somebody who longs to be with you. You deserve somebody whose heart aches having to stay even a single night away from you, instead of me who can spend most of a year anywhere else and only think of you once in a blue moon. I have found somebody who fills my soul with sunshine, and makes each day feel like a new adventure. Please don’t wait for me to begin your life anymore, go and search for the woman who will never let your bed grow cold and will give wings to your heart.

Your friend and former lover,

Bea

Beatrice let out a small sigh and stuck her quill back in the ink well, allowing the wet liquid a precious few moments to dry. She bent down and pressed a kiss to the parchment so the imprint of her scarlet lipstick was left behind, carrying the last sentiments of a love once borne to the man she once held dear. Folding the piece of paper up and sealing it with hot purple wax she imprinted with her family crest, she made sure to grab the letter addressed to her mother, tossing the two dispatches into her purse. She wriggled her nose side to side as a mental checklist ran through her mind, making sure she had everything she might need that night in the enchanted taupe leather crossbody bag. 

Comfortable trainers? Check. Old t-shirt? Check. Skinny jeans? First aid kit? Check, check. Letters for dad? Check.

A knock sounded on the hard mahogany door, drawing the witch’s attention away from her preparation for the mission that night. She nervously glanced over at Halina’s side of the room, quickly casting a dusting charm that lifted the fine film of grime from the desk, bed, and armoire like a blanket. Turning her attention to the floor length mirror set beside the fireplace, she ran her shaking fingers over the fine black velvet that covered her lean body like a sheath on a sword. She caught her cheek between her teeth as she studied the sparkly stilettos that accentuated the large slit in her skirt rising from her toes and ending just above her left knee, offering a hint of the tribal sleeve wrapped around her thigh. Raising a finger to summon the matching suede jacket that went with her purse, Beatrice swept her long, inky black curls aside as it flew from its place in her closet into her hand.

Another knock rapt against the door, and she quickly tugged the coat on over her sleeveless gown, grabbing her purse and wand before heading out, her heels clicking against the cold hardwood floors. She wrapped her fingers around the doorknob and took in a deep breath, knowing that her night would only get more complicated from here on out. Closing her cat-lined eyes, she quickly opened the door and pasted on a bright smile for the august, flinty man standing patiently waiting on the other side: Garreth Selwyn.

“Hello, Beatrice,” he said placidly, the corners of his white mustache turned up in what she knew was a smile, his hands held open low at his sides for a hug. Typically a straight-laced and imperious man, Garreth acted out of logic and reason, which led him to come across as cold and clinical in his administration of the hospital, and occasionally in his parenting at home.

His daughter beamed up at him and took a step forward, turned her head so her makeup didn’t smudge the pristine white linen of his shirt as he wrapped his strong arms around her. It was genuinely nice to see her father, as she did love him as many daughters love their fathers, but she also knew the was a clock on how much time with her he could handle before he started talking about the hospital again, and that was the last thing she wanted to hear about. “Shall we?” he asked, pulling back and offering her his suit coat clad arm.

She smoothed down the front of her dress and nodded, casting one more quick glance around the room before pulling the mahogany panel shut behind her, casting a silent locking charm on it before her father pulled her too far away.

“Have you heard from mom lately?” Beatrice asked in a small voice as they descended the grand staircase, the train of her dress elegantly trailing down the red-carpeted stairs behind her.

“Not since the funeral,” Garreth said simply, giving the salt and peppered hair of his beard a pensive stroke before resting his free hand on his heart, something his daughter recognized as an attempt not to let his emotions get the best of him.

“You went?” “I owed it to your grandmother.” Beatrice chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, focusing on taking the stairs slowly so she didn’t fall down the remaining four flights. “Would you like to eat here or go into Old Aroon and join the celebration?” she asked, trying her best not to let his solemn exterior put her off. “We could get Tricko’s,” she added in a sing-song tone, instantly perking up at the sight of Calix down below by the entrance to the Great Hall.

“Come here.”

“Piss off, dude!”

“Sam, it’s a mess, come here,” Calix laughed heartily, reaching out his hands to fix his roommate’s shambolically twisted tie, meticulously perfecting the knot before stepping back with a playful wink. “That’s better, buddy. Have some pride in yourself.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, his cheeky smile lighting up his face. “Hey, I don’t really care if it’s a mess. Once the party gets going in Roderick’s, I will not be wearing it for long.”

“Just try and keep your shirt on this year, okay?”

“I was Superman!”

“I don’t care,” Calix said, “I couldn’t give two tuttany-fucks if you were the King of Sheba, keep your god-damn shirt on.”

“Fine, I will,” Sam said, rolling his eyes dramatically like a scolded child. “Your costume looks really cool too, dude. It looks super realistic.”

Calix thanked him, glancing at one of the long mirrors framed in gold and silver that lined the Great Hall, proud of the illusionary charm that made his facial bones seem to jut out through the thin skin ever so gently, strong, dark lines tracing the shape of his jaw and cheekbones, his eyes sunk maliciously into his skull and the colour fading for the preference of pallor; it didn’t flatter his appearance, but it suited the occasion.

Sam looked over Calix’s shoulder, towards the grand staircase with wide eyes as his roommate checked his handiwork, “Shit, dude. Your girl has just arrived - I’m telling you, you are one lucky, lucky man.”

Calix spun excitedly on his heels, his heart soaring with delight to hear that Beatrice was ready for the evening. Calix hadn’t seen her all day, not since the morning before, and he was beginning to miss her precious company. But, as he glanced towards the red-carpet flowing down the magnificent staircase, a lump formed in his throat behind the courteous grin as he recognised the gentleman descending beside his beautiful Beatrice.

Garreth Selwyn.

Calix’s boss at St. Mungo’s.

Oh, Christ...

Her heart skipped a beat as they got closer to Calix and his roommate, Sam, and as much as Beatrice wanted nothing more than to run over to her boyfriend, wrap her arms around his neck, and leap into his arms, she knew that the sight of such a spectacle would not be tolerated by her father. She tried to control her smile from growing into a full-blown grin, causing her cheeks to cramp up, which made it somewhat easier to feign indifference. Garreth, oblivious to the warring tide of emotions rolling around in his daughter’s mind, followed her gaze to the pair of young men standing in their Halloween costumes at the bottom of the staircase, presumably waiting for their dates for the evening. Apart from fyrsta tunglið, Halloween was the best night on Isle Velum to let loose and party, and there was no doubt in his mind that the two gentleman patiently standing guard would have a wonderful time. The closer they got, the more he realized he knew one of the two youths, deciding to approach them with his daughter. “Pardon me, but is that…” he paused, eyes crinkling at the corners as a loud, jolly laugh escaped his lips. “Calix Galen, as I live and breathe. It’s wonderful to see you, young man,” he exclaimed, momentarily dropping Beatrice’s arm to extend a handshake to the former intern.

“Dr. Selwyn,” Calix said sophisticatedly, forcing the words past the crippling tightness in his dry throat, praying that when the sound hit the air his voice didn’t dissolve into nothingness. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. It had absolutely no idea you frequented Idorna at Halloween.”

He stole one single glance at Beatrice, his eyes conveying the surprise and stupefaction he was experiencing momentarily before his gentlemanly grace returned as rapidly as the confusion had broken through.

“Dr. Selwyn, this is my roommate, Samuel Jones,” Calix said, stepping aside to introduce his friend, who unfortunately was less proficient at hiding his swirling emotions beneath a colorful facade. “He was just leaving, he has quite a lot to do this evening, I fear.”

Sam, relieved at the opportunity Calix was providing him, nodded his head violently: “I do, I do. I best leave you both. I’ll see you later Calix.”

“I usually don’t attend, but I had to make a special allowance this year for my daughter,” Garreth said, gesturing to Beatrice beside him though his gaze stayed transfixed on the talented young mediwizard.

The petite Samoan witch couldn’t help but smile, gleefully surprised that for a split second her father’s attention wasn’t on her. However, the revelation that the two most important men in her life knew each other was startling to say the very least. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the onslaught of laughs that threatened to burst from her dark red lips and expose them both. Clearing her throat she shook her head and took in a deep breath, nearly shaking as she tried to remain composed. “We were just heading down to Old Aroon to join in the celebration,” she said politely, hoping to offer him an opportunity to leave as she tried to tug the old man away from the two handsome wizards.

Garreth grinned and nodded, once more offering his arm to his daughter, who easily took it though she would much rather have been by her boyfriend’s side. “You should join us, Calix. It’s a lovely night out and I’d love to catch up with both of you. Join us, please.”

Sam clapped Calix’s shoulder roughly as he promptly ran away, his cowering tail between his legs, conveying a wishful whisper of good luck and prosperity. Meeting Beatrice’s gorgeous eyes, a small part of Calix wanted to follow his friend, to avoid the seething awkwardness and tension and discomfort that could potentially threaten to destroy the foundation of his new relationship in the company of his girlfriend’s father. But, he couldn’t walk away now - he wanted to spend his time with her. He wanted to treat her right, though his ideas of a romantic evening were slowly disappearing with every passing second.

“It would be my pleasure,” Calix said gallantly, knowing his future with Beatrice - and his future as a mediwizard at St. Mungo’s - lay in the hands of the gentleman whose gaze was transfixed with pride. “Provided I am not disturbing either of you and you don’t mind my current state of appearance, and I insist I pay my own way. Honestly, I’m quite glad I wore something formal this evening.”

Beatrice blushed as she looked down at her elegant gown, wondering if her father hadn’t shown up, where it might have ended up later. She couldn’t help but smile at the chivalrous young man who had knowingly signed up for one of the most awkward evenings Rodrick’s would likely ever see. It warmed her heart to no end that he chose to spend the evening with her, even though it meant her father tagging along for the ride, making her even more certain about the letter to Cedwyn sitting in her purse.

“Nonsense, my boy,” Garreth said, clapping a hand on the young man’s shoulder, his strong, weathered fingers briefly digging into his arm like a hawk’s talons. “It’s my treat. I’m disrupting your plans, the very least I can do is offer you a delicious meal and pleasant company. I insist,” he said, leading the unlikely trio out of the castle, down towards the carriages waiting at the gates below.

“Pleasant company indeed,” Calix mused, throwing his stormy eyes, deep-set in his skull, towards Beatrice as Garreth Selwyn released his powerful grip, a bruise-inducing gesture that left Calix’s skin brightly coloured after his first internship at St. Mungo’s, when he had been under the watchful eye of Dr. Selwyn every day.

As they walked to the Threstal-drawn carriages, Calix exchanged polite and polished small talk with his girlfriend and her father, often on medical matters which Calix disappointingly knew alienated Beatrice. He tried to carefully steer the conversation in more suitable, inclusive directions, but Garreth was a stubborn man and he always found a way to question Calix’s opinion on the efficacy of one spell or another or the stupidities expressed in some of the prescribed textbooks at Idorna, valuing the young mediwizard’s idiosyncratic approach to healing and nurture.

Calix found himself gripping the soft skin of his mouth tight between his teeth while they travelled to Old Aroon, leaving pitted marks on the inside of his cheek, before he accidentally let a loving nickname slip past his pale lips, tinged with black and purple as the illusion altered the structure of his face in the moonlight. He was finding it incredibly difficult not to sit next to Beatrice, not to hold her small hand in his, not to kiss her rosy cheek and whisper softly in her ear about his intentions for the evening before Enzo’s contentious plan brought the joyous celebration to an abrupt and dangerous conclusion.

Arriving in the hectic and strenuous village, alive with the new and old of Idorna, Garreth exited the carriage first, stepping onto the cobble streets. When he wasn’t looking, Calix quickly leaned across and placed a soft kiss on Beatrice’s lips, pulling back before Garreth turned around again to assist his daughter out of the carriage.

That should be my job!

Beatrice couldn’t help but find the whole situation highly amusing, and if she was being completely honest, entirely frustrating. Her father and mother had their specific allotted times throughout the year to be with her, and this was definitely not part of the agreement. Idorna, much like Hogwarts, was her safe haven, even if her father had also attended both schools, they never had to be there at the same time. This was a breach of confidence in Beatrice’s eyes, and having to step back into the shoes of an aristocratic young lady with the world at her feet, ready for her taking was not in her plan for the next several months. Though, it was a facade she wore particularly well. 

As her father escorted the pair of them back into the ancient town teeming with students- both old and new -from Idorna, Beatrice smiled over at Calix and blew him a small kiss. The trio stepped inside Rodrick’s pub to find it packed, not that any of them were surprised by this fact, Garreth least of all. He cleared his throat and turned his back to the crowd he towered over, smiling down at his daughter and his protege.

“I’ll go find us a booth if you would like to get the first round of drinks,” he said, handing a little leather pouch teeming with Galleons to Beatrice before heading off in pursuit of a place the three of them could sit. Not more than a moment after he was gone, she turned to Calix and leaned up, cupping his gaunt cheek in her hand, setting a soft, eager kiss to his pale lips. “I’m so so so sorry, lo’u alofa,” she gushed, lacing their fingers together as the crowd around them protected the young couple from the sight of her father. “This was not how I wanted to spend my night with you at all.”

Calix welcomed the loving kiss wholehearted, wrapping his strong arms around his girlfriend’s petite waist as the peanut-crunching crowd, goggle-eyed and staring at the young couple in their affections, shielded their hidden intimacies. “Stop apologising, sweetheart, I still get to spend my night with you. That’s all I want. But, did you really have to wear a dress like that, a stór?” He planted little kisses and laughter along the curvature of her neck, pecking at the delicate skin, careful not to leave any dishonest marks that would be immediately identified by a talented and successful healer. “You go get the drinks, yeah? I’ll go find your father and keep him company. Get me just a water, okay - it’s gonna be a long night.”

Hugging Beatrice tight to his chest, his skeleton-gaunt lips nipping at her ear, he reluctantly let her slip away from his warm embrace as he meandered awkwardly through the rhapsodic crowd to the cosy booth, in a darker corner of Roderick’s where the roaring music was not so loud and obnoxious as to drive all sane thoughts from Calix’s mind, and where Garreth Selwyn was sitting patiently.

A happy sigh slipped between her lips, tugging a little moan of longing out with it as Beatrice watched her boyfriend wander back towards her father and the beginning of what was already expected to be a terribly long evening. She turned towards the bar and ordered a butterbeer, a double shot of firewhiskey straight up, and a glass of water, patiently waiting amongst the crowd of inebriated students and alumni.

I really hope you tell my dad about us, Cal. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending you’re just like everybody else.

Garreth let out a loud sigh and grinned at Calix, having unbuttoned his suit coat, his long, languid arm stretched out along the back of the booth where he sat patiently waiting opposite the youthful mediwizard. “So,” he started off, glancing over his shoulder before casting a silent bubble around their table, prohibiting passersby from listening into their conversation, his bright blue eyes darkening. “Tell me about the four patients in the Infirmary.”

Letting a small sigh pass his thin lips, his body aching to be pressed against the warmth of his love, Calix waved his hands in a wide arch, crossing them in front of his face. The eerie illusion evanesced into dissolution, fullness and strength blossoming and returning to his features. He leaned forward, arms folded on the cold table, as the last of the magic vanished into the ether. His grey eyes, heavy with emotion and longing, travelled across the bar to where he could recognised the flow of Beatrice’s black gown, before returning to the gentleman sitting across from him. His mind began to whirr and spin, memories of the fallen cascading over him like heavy rainfall.

“So, you’ve heard,” Calix said, not in the least bit surprised, “To be honest, I’ve never seen anything like it before. They’ve been unresponsive for weeks now, since the Quidditch match. Completely and utterly unresponsive to all stimulation, nothing has worked. And clinically, they’re perfectly fine. Perfectly fine, but they just won’t wake up. I know it’s not a disease, I know it’s a not a bug or a magical creature, it’s magic, pure, unaltered magic. It’s a spell or a charm or a curse or a hex, something old, rooted in dead magic, long forgotten or replaced by modern simplicities. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The older wizard hummed softly and stroked his beard, jaw clenched tightly as he pondered the medical conundrum. Finally speaking as he saw his daughter start to make her way over to the booth, levitating a tray of drinks above her head, he leaned in slightly. “Perhaps, if it’s an old curse, logic follows that there must be an old remedy to release them,” he said, combing his fingers through his head full of grey hair, sitting back as Beatrice arrived. “Thank you, my dear,” he said, picking up the glass filled with firewhiskey, taking a minute sip. “Calix and I were just having a friendly chat.” She grinned and let out a relieved sigh, inhaling the calming familiar scent of sugary cherry blossoms washing over her as she slid into the red leather clad booth beside her boyfriend. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said. Before she allowed her father a chance to further explain, she leaned over and claimed a quick kiss from Calix, her delicate hand sliding up the inside of his leg from his knee under the table.

Calix nodded his head, the dark memories of the fallen students replaced by the radiant and splendid allure and loveliness of Beatrice as she sat beside him, his fickle and disloyal skin beginning to colour a scandalous pink as she drew close, without the protective illusion covering his face. Calix bit his lip gently at the sight of her, the soft curve of her neck and the sallow colouration of her skin, bathed in honied cinnamon, captivated and enamoured him, like a moth to a majestic flame. As he watched her, with love and devotion, he didn’t recognise her movements until it was too late.

He felt her soft lips against his, her warm breath on his skin as his thundering heart filled his body with sensual blood lamenting her previous departure. To fight against the tide of his emotions, his yearning and her ministrations, was nugatory, a fruitless, profitless and pointless endeavour. So, Calix simply let the kiss take. When the warmth of her hand pressed against his inner thigh however, he slowly pulled away, his stormy eyes betraying his worry and embarrassment when the thought of Beatrice’s father, his boss and mentor, who was fully unaware of their entanglement, was now a unwilling and unintentional witness to their displays of passion.

What the fuck… What did she just do… Does he already know? What the fuck…

She pulled back a few inches and batted her long, thick eyelashes innocently at the paralyzed expression frozen on the face of her boyfriend, unsure why she felt his body go rigid like a corpse beneath her fingers. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, setting a hand lightly on his chest as if to calm his heart, beginning to beat out of time in a blind panic that struggled to keep a rhythm.

Garreth sat up straight, his thick, white bushy eyebrows furrowing in confusion, shoulders squaring as a soldier preparing for a battle would. He opened his mouth and closed it again, looking down at the glass in front of him, quickly downing the rest of the burning liquid contents before sending it flying back to the bar for a refill. “Darling,” he started off in a growl, looking over at his daughter who sat curled up beside his apprentice, her arms draped seductively across his shoulders. “Calix and I were talking about the four students in the Infirmary, but I think what you wanted to talk about is a far more pressing matter entirely,” he stated through clenched teeth.

Calix’s eyes fluttered and quivered back and forth between Beatrice, batting her eyelashes like an innocent without any idea as to serious consequences of her rambunctious actions, and Garreth, who was glaring viciously at the mediwizard he held in high regard with roaring anger and a double shot of firewhiskey in his blood. The proximity of his girlfriend’s body to his, and the responses he couldn’t control when she was flush to his skin, left Calix dumbfounded for the first time, losing all command of language and his mastery of words. The kiss was a crippling indictment of their love and Beatrice’s sudden affections, her hands roaming Calix’s body freely and unrestrainedly in ways that she previously confined only to their most private moments, sealed the unforeseen confession of their relationship.

“I hadn’t said anything to your father about us, Bea,” Calix whispered, glancing across the table when the mental gears provided him with the ability to speak once more, desperate to diffuse the situation before it escalated any further, “We were talking medicine.”

“Oh.” Beatrice nodded slowly and picked up her chilled crystal mug of butterbeer, downing half of the sweet boozy fluid before turning to her father with a sweet smile playing on her lips. “So, umm…” she paused and ran her fingers through her wild indigo curls, allowing the alcohol time to enter her bloodstream and provide her with the courage she needed to get through the exchange without bursting into tears, or worse, yelling at her father.

“As you know, Dad, since graduating Hogwarts, Cedwyn and I have been on again, off again for quite some time now. And, quite frankly, I’m done with it. He never wanted a bigger commitment from me, and even if he did, I don’t know that I would be willing to accept. If you could make sure he receives this, I’d greatly appreciate it,” she explained as she pulled the letter addressed to him from her purse, setting it on the table in front of her father.

She turned towards the handsome, compassionate, albeit enervated man to her right and took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “Calix has been my friend for quite some time now. He even saved my life a few weeks ago, and he makes me happier than I ever thought possible. I wake up in the morning, excited to start the day because I know he’s there, waiting patiently to hear about it. He inspires me and makes me push myself to be a better person because I know he deserves it,” she explained, staring into the terrified stormy grey eyes of her boyfriend, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb as she spoke. “We’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and I know that you of all people frown on such strong emotions so early in a relationship, so I’ll spare you the words themselves, but Calix makes me happy, and I hope you can at the very least respect that.”

Calix, waiting for the emotional and tempestuous rollercoaster to begin, listened eagerly and intently to Beatrice’s amorous and torrid outpouring of sentiment, the rigor and rigidity of his paralysed muscles loosening as her loving words, packed with kindness and open honesty about the joy and happiness of their newly founded relationship, filled him with pride and admiration, and a sheer, unsurmountable delight at being the one man who could call Beatrice Selwyn ‘his.’ He even ignored the mention of someone called Cedwyn.

As she knitted their fingers together, Calix wrapped his strong arm reassuringly around Beatrice’s waist, pulling her forcefully to the side and down onto his shoulder, cradling her head in his arms. He placed a long kiss on the crown of her head, his fingers running through her feral curls, whispering soft words to her at her diatribal outburst of passion.

“Garreth,” Calix said, his voice stronger, more refined and passional, inspired by the words of his girlfriend and his desire to keep making her happy. “I’m very sorry that you had to find out this way. It was never my intention to spring something of this magnitude on you, in a bar, surrounded by people. I would hope you know me well enough to understand that I would never want that, but, now that you know, I need you to understand without any shred of doubt or hesitation, that I love your daughter. I love her. I do. I probably don’t say it enough, maybe it’s too early to start saying it, but…”

Calix looked down into Beatrice’s eyes, half-clouded over: “I love you, Beatrice Selwyn.”

She couldn’t help but smile up at her boyfriend, her eyes brimming with tears, bottom lip trembling as she leaned up and stole another kiss, this one sweeter and more meaningful than the few pecks they had managed to squeeze in earlier in the night. “I love you too, Calix Galen,” she purred softly, giving his warm hand a soft squeeze, tenderly setting her forehead against his.

She let out a soft laugh and cupped his cheek in her hand, committing the way his rough five-o’clock shadow felt under her plump fingertips; the way his long brown hair caught the dim light in the dark corner of the bar; the way her leg curled over his beneath the table and the toe of her shoe sat pressed against his ankle; even the disapproving way Garreth cleared his throat and studied the contents of his glass.

Garreth downed his glass a second time and quickly tucked the letter into the breast pocket of his fine suit coat, clasping his hands together as he turned to the enamored couple in front of him, mulling over what he wanted to say. “Calix?” he asked, struggling to keep the protective malice out of his voice as he studied the way his beautiful daughter held him close.

Calix savoured the sweet kiss, holding her cheek in the roughness of his palm and moving his lips delicately with hers. In that moment, all he desired was Beatrice and her happiness - everything in the world was either a joyous agent to enhance her jubilation, and Calix wanted to give her nothing but jouissance, or catalysts that accelerated the appearance of disconsolateness and disconsolation that Calix wanted to eliminate from her life.

Holding her tight to his chest, he turned his head towards Garreth, noting the malice and hostility seething in his voice, in the tightness of his muscles and the changing of his chemistry. Calix could sense his protective instincts, his paternal need to keep his daughter safe, burning the air around in the wooden booth, the rancid smell of ozone and worry hanging around like spectres.

“Yes?”

“If you’re going to date my daughter, I hope you well know that I expect you to call me ‘Garreth’ from here on out, unless we happen to be at the hospital, in which case, I know you’ll be the model of professionalism,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as the spell for a stinging hex swirled around his mind, ready for firing if the young wizard stepped a toe out of line. He stood up and held out a hand for Calix to shake, noticing a colleague of his, Dr. Evans, sitting alone at the bar sipping lightly at a glass of wine.

Calix, releasing a lungful of air he hadn’t realised he was holding since Garreth had called his name, protective charms flooding his mind as his mentor’s chemistry swung rapidly towards aggressive assault before mellowing slowly. Still holding Beatrice close to him, he reached across and firmly shook Garreth’s rough hand, a gentleman’s understanding between them, a special comprehension that only they would share, a blessing for continuation that needed no words - they knew exactly what the other was thinking, sensing every emotion in the biochemistry.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Calix sighed softly, looking down at Beatrice with a genuine grin of delight. “Thank you, Garreth. I mean it, thank you.” The older Welsh wizard gave a curt nod and offered his daughter a small smile, holding his arms out for another hug, which she happily accepted, burying her face in her father’s chest, the smell of burning ozone and antiseptic calming her for once. “Thank you, Dad,” she said, trying to hold back the tears until he was gone. “Come see me off tomorrow morning, please,” he whispered, pressing a whiskery kiss to her forehead. “I’ll leave you two up to your mischief now. Just, please, try not to get into any serious trouble,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Calix for a split second before a more congenial mask slid into place. “Goodnight you two,” Garreth called over his shoulder as he turned and left, going to sit beside his old friend and former protege.

Beatrice let out a small, relieved laugh as she turned around to face her boyfriend, feeling as though a huge weight was lifted off her chest. “What now, my love?” she asked, setting her slender hands in his.

“This,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around her in a vice-like grip and pulling her down onto his chest, falling backward onto the plush, leather seat in hysterics. The protective bubble reappeared, pink mist swirling to replaced Garreth’s magic, blocking out the sound of his laughter to the outside world as he kissed his girlfriend sweetly on the lips, cuddling her close to him like his favourite stuffed teddy.

“I think that went well? Here’s hoping the rest of the night goes as smoothly.”

Beatrice giggled and ran her fingers through his hair, her silver painted nails gently tracing the shell of his ears, her warm chocolate eyes settled on his. “I hope so too,” she murmured, butterbeer laced breath warming the air between them as her lips found his again in a joyfully passionate kiss.

#Script #Beatrice #Calix #BeatricexCalix