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onlyhereforangst · 4 years

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WWR

Ok so maybe I shouldn’t call this Weekly Wednesday Reflections anymore since I’m terrible at writing it in time 🤷🏻‍♀️ granted it is Wednesday...just a week late 😅

I’m pretty sure this is my new favorite Ellick episode. After rewatching it, I’m just so- happy with it. From exploring Ellie’s range of emotions and character depth to the progress we saw in their relationship just 🥰

The opening scene already gives us SO MUCH. First, they jog as the cutest freaking married couple I’ve ever seen and this certainly is a routine because they knew to target him here. But Nick teasing her by sprinting, her struggling to keep up but giggling with each other because clearly it’s not the first time he does that little speed up thing & she’s working on getting faster because she used to hate training for marathons like- can you NOT. My heart can’t take the implications, ALSO Gibbs & McGee didn’t bat an eye that they just so happened to be jogging together in the early morning (everyone was only just leaving their house on their morning commute) so they know it’s their routine too and don’t even question it. GAH.

Flashforward to hospital scene with Ellie breaking my heart slowly. She’s clearly been crying by the red rimmed eyes, and yet also trying to hold it together to be strong for Nick & so she does the only thing she knows how to do since feelings scare her and the love of her life Nick just got hit. Ellie’s logical brain takes over as she does best (see 16x18 for reference) - when she’s dealing with emotions, all she can do is her job, it’s all that makes sense in the monsoon of feelings. She’s going to analyze every last bit of the hit & run and immediately parrot it back so that *something* can be done right away and she can find justice for Nick. She doesn’t care about her own health- just justice for Nick. And in that same vein, she doesn’t want to eat, she doesn’t want to rest, she doesn’t want to sit down until she knows Nick is okay (I’m sorry but to have a CODE NAME from the nurses because they feel the need to run from you- can you say “Crazy Worried Wife™️”??)

Kasie is our new captain, it has been decided. (I think this was already decided but I’m making an official decree) Her probing McGee to see his reaction because girl knows why Bishop is taking it harder, please. Then laughing it off for McGee, “we all gon need therapy if those two ever hook up” while thinking *boy you better stop denying because you KNOW they hooking up after this shit* is just 🙌🏼 the outright addressing of Ellick by the show- thank youuuuu.

Ok and now begins the Ellie show. Excuse me, the BADASS BISHOP SHOW. (Also why I’m partial to this being my fave ep). First- girl does not know how to holster her gun. Ellie: “you say there’s a tiny lead” *cocks gun* “let’s go” I’m herrrrrre for it. She’s blunt with everyone, she doesn’t care when Gibbs gives her the look, she don’t take no SHIT in interrogation. “You’d have to be [creative]” had me cry-ing 😭😭😭 AND THEN her equivalent of cursing out Vance over Nick, followed up by freaking out in the bullpen had me breaking on my couch. YES ELLIE GET IT is what I believe I chanted. The stare off, oh lordy. Y’all I was sweating I was pissed for her. Just the raw emotion in her eyes, the constant holding back tears and tears I just- 😭💔 and emojis don’t do it justice. I wanted soooo bad for her to land a sweet, sweet punch like she did with Victor, but knowing a second offense unprovoked wouldn’t go over too well, she held back. But aaaahh that scene was SO heartbreaking. And then, and THEN Ellie standing there gazing at his desk- oof. Her body language was key- her crossed arms, holding herself literally together so she doesn’t break?? She wants to break, y’all. She wants to break. Staying strong for Nick is the only thing getting her through.

When Gibbs sends her to be at the hospital because THE WHOLE DAMN TEAM KNOWS, I did a happy dance. McGee encouraging her but almost pulse-checking Gibbs after was very very intriguing. Gibbs’ “He’s a fighter” followed by McGee’s pulse-check, “so is Bishop...” and Gibbs’ exasperated look off towards the elevator and admission of agreement says SO MUCH. First- McGee is worried about not only Nick, but his sister, Ellie. He knows how much Qasim’s death hurt her, knows what she went through after- WHICH TIME OUT. For anyone saying this episode was OOC for Ellie? Sit the hell down and go watch 14x16. Then come back. Then continue reading. Ok resume WWR- McGee also knows how much more Torres means to her, he may try to deny it, but he knows. Implying Bishop is a fighter, obviously not about her health because *she’s fine* but more about what she’d do out of revenge. (And the man doesn’t even know Bishop is about to say she’s gonna kill him) Gibbs’ already sees himself a little in her, recognizing the same feeling he experienced with Shannon many years ago- hence the completive look on his face & heavy sigh. He knows he’ll have to revisit Rule 12 soon (but also in his mind he’s basically already burned it like Rule 10).

Speaking of Ellie saying she’s going to kill him, please see this excerpt from my notes during the ep: “FUCK YES BISHOP - the emotions!!!!!!!” That basically sums up how I felt the entire scene & commercial break afterward 🤷🏻‍♀️😂😂 My reaction when it came back? KILL HIM. But like in all seriousness, her face- holy shit going from on the verge of tears when they rolled Nick away to calculating her next move as McGee’s talking to her to making up her mind that she will be committing murder (please, girl already planned it & is just deciding which lipstick to wear during it at this point). Emily Wickersham is an amazing actress and I don’t care what you have to say. And yes, McGee trying to calm her down in a big brother way is adorable, but Ellie not having it is great. “Torres doesn’t get a say” is such a Nick thing to do of her 😭 Remember Luis going off on his own, yeah- this is Ellie’s version because she wants to & her husband is rubbing off on her. Oh also, the office she refers to? Totally means Ziva’s office at Odette’s - “if we missed something, I’ll find it there.” Hmmmm sounds eerily similar to *why* Ziva had that office in the first place, doesn’t it 🤔 also explains the lack of her on HQ’s logs and her “going home” excuse— which by the way, her shrugging them all off? Suspect Bishop, suspect. Her trying to play it all off with a wry laugh, not gonna lie, I love it. Her “too late” to Gibbs is quite interesting though- she sees herself going down that path any way, because she killed him? Or because she triggered a chain of events that will lead to it? Or because she may not have killed him, but lord knows she wanted to & planned it down to every last detail? Like I said, interesting.

Ok side note: Jack suggesting taking her off duty kinda pisses me off - with the spiraling comment too. She got to spiral when that guy from her past came & it screwed with her psyche, why the f can’t Bishop? It just rubbed me the wrong way, but I don’t hate Jack (don’t @ me, people.)

Back to Badass Bishop Show. She literally always has her gun out now. Just walking to the penthouse again where they didn’t try anything last time, *cocks gun.* When Gibbs comes up and tells her Nick is away 😩 Her relief though in the fact that he’s asking about her and he’s hungry (Ellie rubbing off on him, you can’t tell me I’m wrong) to go to the kicking down the door because that’s what her baby does so therefore she kicks down doors now- the parallels & the influence 😭😭

THE BATHROOM SCENE. McGee like seriously? You actually killed him?? And Gibbs like “oh fuck here we go again.” And then Jimmy had me dyinggggg. Theory alert: I really think Ellie (maybe Gibbs went with her & they’re helping each other with alibis/cover up??) went to kill him but got there after it had happened, that’s why she’s a little cagey about it- not that she *actually* killed the guy. BUT reference 14x16 again, I wouldn’t put it past her.

The final hospital bed scene has my heart. Ellie is so relieved and just so happy and open (but also a little nervous about what happens next so she hides a touch of her emotions, can’t let him see alllll of her heart now can we)- going back to their teasing ways, “worst pretend sleeper”, “next time jump out of the way” - UGH so cute. Side note, they use last names here almost similarly to the submarine episode. When shit gets scary real for them, it’s their way of grounding themselves almost, trying to hide just how much that incident actually affected them. They both do it & yes, it frustrates the hell out of me, but at the same time shows me just how much they care for the other 😭 BUT this time!! Nick made it take a serious turn, and I think Ziva finally got through to him- that sentence “cause you know I risked my life to save yours” is more him openly saying like oh shit I really did that 1. to himself and 2. to finally take that next baby step in their relationship. The emotion behind it showing her it wasn’t just because they’re partners- he wanted her to know that for sure, to make sure he didn’t just make light of it & glaze over it. He needed it out there in the universe that he Nicholas Torres, of sixteen different identities & no family, nothing to live for anymore, would rather DIE- than see Ellie in harms way. He needed it to be tangible for himself AND for her. Because this is growth, this is not what most people think of when they think of him.

And Ellie’s response: the look, hesitation building up courage, and making that first move of physical touch speaks VOLUMES about Ellie at this point. Not only does she take hold of his hand, but she rubs it in a soothing gesture. As if she needs to confirm for herself he’s really there, he’s really alive. The struggle she went through, the turmoil- wasn’t all for not. It’s her saying “I know” not just to the fact that she was joking earlier, she knows he risked his life & she’s grateful for that, but she knows it was more than because they’re just partners, more than just best friends even. That first move is her saying “I know” and “I might be ready to open up & let you in to the walls that surround my heart because the last time I was in a hospital staring at someone I loved, it didn’t turn out the same. Except this time, it took the hospital trip to really bring that into focus, and I know I can’t let that happen again.” Aaaaaaand catch me sobbing in the corner, it’s fine. I’m fine.

Nick’s reaction speaks volumes from him too, his slight shock to Ellie reciprocating & making that first move with his soft smile that is hinted at across his face to show he knows she’s letting him peak in, just a little, and that’s a start. A start people!!!

Last notes: Gibbs being such a dad and defending Nick liking his fireplace is the cutest. Vance was eager to get out of there at the end- his contacts are very very suspicious... And on that note, I really do not think it was Gibbs. I think Gibbs and Bishop may have gotten there after it happened with the purpose of doing something, so now they’re covering for each other, but I do not think it was either of them.

Pretty sure this is officially my longest review to date, WHOOPS. If you made it this far, congrats & thanks for staying with my inner ramblings 🙃 Like I said- my favorite episode so farrrrrr (now let’s see if we get anything AFTER this episode......lol I got jokes 😅).

#WWR #ncis #ellick #torres x bishop #s17 #17x14

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morningsound15 · 6 years

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au game for astury queen octaven specifically:)

fuck ok you know what i’m going to answer this because i literally HAVE THEIR STORY ARC ALREADY WRITTEN for that fucking story but i can’t motivate myself to write the rest of the story AROUND their arc and like proper scene transitions and shit like honestly at least for like the foreseeable future so you know what?

i’m just gonna post what i have written for them here. because fuck it.

this is gonna be a long fucking post sorry in advance.

1.)

For the past week, Octavia had been spending her lunches not in the hospital cafeteria, not in one of the many break rooms, but rather inside room 307, with her legs tucked up under her as she folded herself into the uncomfortable chair in the corner that she was coming to see more and more as belonging solely to her.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she started doing it. The first time it happened she just happened to be checking Raven’s vitals right as her lunch tray was being delivered, but after that… well, she wasn’t exactly sure how it started happening, but that first instance turned into another, and then another, and now it had fully become a part of her routine. Octavia would bring her bagged lunch up to the third floor — or she’d bring up a tray from the cafeteria — and the two of them would eat together, sharing companionable conversation. Octavia even started buying those individually-packaged pudding cups to trade for Raven’s Jell-O (because apparently Raven couldn’t stand Jell-O), and what started off as a one-time deal had become something quite unexpected.

On this particular day, Octavia had really pulled out all the stops and sprung for something special (and smuggled in from outside). Not that outside food wasn’t allowed in the hospital — it definitely was. But Octavia was pretty sure that Abby wouldn’t approve of her feeding a recovering patient fast food, no matter how delicious it might be.

Today, they were sharing a sampling of every kind of fry from the fast food restaurants that sprinkled the area. Octavia had managed to snag no fewer than six different varieties, and they were working through them slowly, providing carefully thought-out ranks for each new batch.

Raven picked up one of the thicker, drier options. She eyed it suspiciously, like it had personally offended her, like she already knew she was about to be disappointed. She popped it into her mouth anyway. She chewed slowly, contemplatively, taking on her role as Supreme Fry Judge with an air of deep solemnity. When she finally swallowed, it was with a grimace and a shake of the head.

“Nope,” she said seriously. “That’s the worst one. Sixth place. Take it out of rotation.”

Octavia laughed but did as she was told, sliding forward the next group. “As you wish, Your Honor.” She bowed her head slightly, and Raven returned the gesture with an elaborate flourish of the hand.

Octavia grabbed another container and started munching happily, a small smile on her face. She was happy, here; she was happy doing this. It was nice. Hanging out with Raven and sharing a bunch of fast food fries was a lot of fun. For most of her adult life, Octavia’s only real friend had been Clarke. Having another person to talk to — someone she didn’t live with or work with or spend every waking hour with — was honestly a treat; something unprecedented; something novel and exciting.

It was nice. But admittedly, Octavia knew that it also wasn’t exactly the most professional thing in the world she could be doing. But she was a surgical resident, and Raven wasn’t even technically still a patient of hers. Now that she was in recovery, the general residents and attendings were responsible for her care and well-being. And there were no rules about when or where Octavia was supposed to take her lunch breaks; she could visit a friend on her down-time. There was nothing wrong with that at all.

(So why did she still feel so weirdly guilty about all of this?)

They sat in comfortable silence as they ate their food. The room was warm and bright; the air dry. If Octavia inhaled strongly enough she could pick out the scent of flowers wafting over from the pile overflowing on Raven’s dresser (Sinclair made sure to drop by every other day with a new batch from him and his wife, just because). Octavia leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed at the ankle, and allowed herself to sink into the feeling of being in this room, of being around this woman. She allowed herself to sink into the feeling of comfort, and just breathe.

It was quiet for a few more minutes when Raven finally spoke. “The doc says I’m gonna have some pretty gnarly scars,” she said softly, her fingers toying with the edge of a napkin, her eyes downcast.

Octavia’s face slipped. She swallowed, her appetite suddenly disappearing. She wasn’t sure what Raven’s sentence was supposed to convey. She wasn’t sure if it was accusatory, or self-pitying (though Raven didn’t seem the type for either of those emotions). She wasn’t sure how to respond, so instead she said, “Have you looked, yet?”

Raven shrugged and picked up another fry. “Not really. Kinda been too scared, kinda been too grossed out.” She took a bite and smiled, seemingly pleased. “Plus, it’s hard to check yourself out in a mirror when you need a nurse to help you shower every day.”

Octavia bit her lip and spoke almost without thinking. “Do you want to see?” Raven’s head jerked up. “The one on your back’s the biggest. I could take a picture?”

Raven didn’t move for a few long moments, and Octavia felt a wave of panic overtake her. She did something wrong. She said something wrong. She was being completely inappropriate, offering to do something like that for this girl she barely knew, and she’d made Raven uncomfortable and she had to come up with an apology quick or else risk—

“Sure,” Raven said, and Octavia’s internal, panicked monologue fizzled out as quickly as it had erupted.

Her fingers felt a little thick and fumbling as she wiped them swiftly on her scrubs. But even with her rubbing, the tips of her fingers still felt oily; the palms of her hands still felt dry. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about that.

“Okay,” she said, standing up slowly and trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. “Um, I guess I’ll just… help you out?” Raven nodded, and Octavia put her hands gently on the woman’s shoulders, turning her slightly away from the bed. She didn’t move her too quickly, ever-mindful of the sutures still in Raven’s skin, so it seemed to take eons before Raven was laying on her side, facing Octavia completely.

Octavia smiled at her, a little nervously. “Sorry, I’ve never done this before,” she apologized.

Raven smiled back. “I’ve never done this before either.”

Right. Obviously. “Want me to use your phone or mine?”

“Mine,” Raven answered easily. “I’ll text them to all the guys at the station. They’ll probably get a kick out of it.” Raven used her chin to gesture towards the bedside table where her phone lay, undisturbed.

Octavia wiped her hands furtively one more time before she picked it up. She moved around Raven’s bed until she was behind her, grabbing one glove from the box next to the sink on her way. She slipped the blue latex onto her non-dominant hand, the hand not holding the phone, as she rounded the bed completely. She then used her now-invisible position to take one quick breath in, before she let her hand reach out and brush against Raven’s side.

The woman twitched under her touch, and Octavia grimaced. “Sorry about that,” she apologized into the silent room. Only the steady whirring of the air conditioning unit and a few of the machines around the room kept it from being completely absent of noise. But still, it was remarkably quiet between them. “Also my hands are probably cold,” she said as her fingers carefully undid the ties on Raven’s hospital gown, “so… sorry for that, too.”

Raven hissed as soon as Octavia’s knuckles brushed the skin near her shoulder. “Geez, they’re like ice. What do you do all day?”

“Poor circulation.”

“Jesus,” Raven muttered, “I would die.”

Raven’s skin was warm. So warm it was almost hot. Octavia pushed her gown aside, pushing the split open so that most of Raven’s back was now exposed to the air and to her line of sight.

She paused, for only the tiniest of moments, at the image that greeted her.

It was only for a moment, but Raven still noticed.

“I’m sorry if it’s disgusting,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

Octavia shook her head, though she knew Raven couldn’t see her. “Raven, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen worse. Plus, I helped make this one, so.”

“Right.” A chuckle. “Always forget that.”

Octavia placed her gloved hand on Raven’s scapula, just to the right of the jagged line marring her otherwise flawless skin. It was still wrapped in gauze and held shut with staples. If Octavia moved her thumb just an inch, she’d brush up against the wound. “You always forget that I’m a doctor?” she mumbled, her voice low.

“That you’ve seen worse than me.” Raven’s voice was just as soft as hers. “That there’s been worse than me.” Octavia’s hands slowed to a complete stop.

When Raven spoke next, it was with a surprising degree of sincerity — perhaps because, with Octavia perched behind her, she couldn’t see her eyes. “I can’t walk,” Raven said, and Octavia forced her hands to restart their task. “I need help to do everything. It hurts to just lay down. And someone has to come in here every two hours and turn me over so that this stupid thing can ‘breathe’, or whatever.”

“The air is good for your back.” Octavia fumbled only briefly with the cellphone in her hand, but she managed to take a not-too-blurry picture without embarrassing herself.

She carefully closed Raven’s hospital gown, her fingers applying barely any pressure as she tied it shut. With one more quick brush to Raven’s shoulder, Octavia quickly cleared her throat and pulled away. She rounded the bed and peeled off her latex glove, using the opportunity while her back was turned to take one more quick, steadying breath. God, but that was a completely inappropriate reaction. She was not acting professionally in the slightest.

“Can’t wait until I can wear real clothes,” Raven said from behind her. “These hospital gowns do absolutely nothing for my figure.”

Octavia smiled and held out Raven’s phone to her with hands that didn’t shake at all. “When your back’s better I’m sure they won’t have any problem with you wearing your own clothes. Just make sure they’re loose and won’t interfere with your mobility.”

Raven snorted. “What mobility?”

“When your physical therapy starts.” Raven scrunched her face, looking skeptical. Octavia shook her head. “I know how you feel about physical therapy, Raven, but they’ve got a really great program here. And it really will help a ton. Now, look at the picture I worked so hard to take, please.”

Raven chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain Blake, but okay.” She unlocked her phone and immediately pulled a face. “Oh, gross.”

“Obviously it won’t look like that forever. Once the stitches come out—”

“No, I mean it’s cool-gross. I like it. I’ll look like the freaking Terminator. Or Doc Oc from the Spiderman comics. Nice.”

“You have a remarkable attitude about all of this. Most people don’t react that way when they see their scars for the first time.”

“Well, I’m not most people, am I?”

“No. You definitely aren’t.”

“Besides, chicks dig scars.” Raven winked, a drawn out and exaggerated motion that nonetheless had Octavia’s stomach doing somersaults. She fought to keep her face impassive. “Isn’t that right, Doctor Blake?”

“That’s what they say in the movies.”

“So, a girl can dream.” They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity then, the silence stretching between them, charged with… something. Something that felt big. Something that felt too important and too significant for 12:45 p.m. on a Thursday afternoon. Something that—

“French fry taste-test?” a voice said from the doorway and Octavia jumped, immediately pulling back. She had started to lean forwards, to lean towards Raven, without even really noticing. She tried not to look guilty as her eyes flicked to catch Clarke’s kind and smiling gaze.

“Clarke. Hey,” she said, standing quickly from her seat. “We were just—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the boss,” Clarke said with a wink, taking a few steps into the room and snagging some of the food from Octavia’s tray. “Just wanted to see when you were off. I’m headed back to our place, and thought maybe you’d be my favorite person in the entire world and drive us home?”

Octavia immediately started cleaning up the mess of fries, containers, and napkins that littered Raven’s space. “Yeah, of course. My shift ended like an hour ago, so no need to wait around.”

“Oh,” Raven said, clearly surprised. “You didn’t have to stay, Doctor Blake. I didn’t know you were on your own time.”

Octavia shook her head. “No, no it’s not a problem. Had to wait for Clarke, anyway.” She smiled against the anxiety swirling in her chest. “Plus, you’re great lunch company.”

Clarke wrapped her arms around Octavia’s waist from behind and gave her a firm squeeze. “And to think, that used to be my job.”

Octavia flushed and turned away, brushing Clarke’s arms away from her. “Knock it off, Clarke,” she muttered, dumping the trash in her arms into the trash bin by the door.

Raven was shooting her a strange, semi-indecipherable look from the bed. “Sorry,” she said slowly. “Who are you, again?”

“Oh!” Clarke took a few steps forward and stuck out her hand. “I’m Doctor Griffin.”

Raven took her hand tentatively. “I don’t think so. I know Doctor Griffin.”

“Common mistake.” Clarke smiled, one side of her mouth pulling up higher than the other. “She’s my mom.”

“Oh.” Raven looked at least moderately-surprised. “And you and Doctor Blake… live together.” She didn’t say it like a question, but Clarke answered her anyway.

“Yup! Since college.”

“Right.” She still had that inscrutable expression on her face, and it was making Octavia increasingly more uncomfortable. “Sorry.” She shook her head again. “Sorry, I didn’t… sorry.”

For some unknown reason, Octavia felt compelled to twist her hands together. Clarke frowned. “What are you sorry for?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat and bent slightly forward, peering at Octavia from around Clarke’s body. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor Blake?”

Octavia nodded, her throat dry. “Yup,” she croaked. “Ready to go, Clarke?”

Out in the hallway, Clarke slid her arm through Octavia’s elbow. She squeezed tightly, knocking their shoulders together. “She’s cute.”

“She’s a patient, Clarke.”

“She can still be cute.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Will you lay off, maybe? You already make me drive you andfrom work, we do everything together… I can’t have one friend that isn’t you?”

Clarke pulled back. “Woah, okay. Testy. What’s going on with you today?”

“There’s nothing going on with me,” Octavia shot back shortly. “I’m fine.”

2.)

It wasn’t long after that that Octavia started dating Atom. She met him at the gym (story of all fascinating stories), and truth be told if you really pressed her for details she had to admit that she wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, that ultimately compelled her say yes when he asked her out. Maybe it was something about the way her stomach turned any time she thought about her earlier interaction with Clarke. Maybe it was something about the way Raven had become more emotionally withdrawn from her in the past few weeks, sharing fewer personal anecdotes and cracking fewer jokes. Or maybe it was the way Raven smiled at her now, always soft and mild and politely-interested but lacking the warmth and sincerity Octavia had come to expect from her. Maybe it was some combination of the three.

Either way. He asked, and she said yes.

She waited longer than she probably should have to tell Clarke. But could you blame her, really? Atom was exactly the kind of guy that Clarke always freaked out about, worried over, frowned disapprovingly at. Octavia just didn’t need that kind of stress weighing over her right now.

At least, that was the excuse she used to justify keeping the secret for a month and a half.

When she finally did tell Clarke, it went over about as well as expected. Which is to say, not well at all.

She listened to Clarke rant at her for a full seven minutes before she’d finally had enough.

“Would you stop, please?” she cut in quickly when Clarke paused to take a breath. “I get it, okay? He’s the sketchiest dude you’ve ever seen, he’s not ‘boyfriend material’, I shouldn’t be wasting my time with him… I get it, alright? So can you cool it with the lecture?”

Clarke frowned at her, her earlier anger and annoyance immediately melting away into genuine concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m just…” Octavia sighed, pushing a hand roughly through her hair— “I’m sick and tired of being alone, Clarke. I haven’t had a serious relationship since… since college, and… Jesus Christ, I’m just tired of being alone.”

“But this is…” Clarke looked almost pained, now. Whether it was at Octavia’s clear emotional distress or because of her own personal desire to voice her full opinions about Octavia’s occasional-sexual-partner, uninterrupted, it was impossible to say. “Octavia, this isn’t what you want; you know that, right? This is… I mean this Atom guy isn’t any—”

“Can you stay out of my business for once, maybe?” She bit angrily, jaw clenched and eyes burning.

Clarke huffed. “I’m not trying to be in your business, I just—”

“I don’t exactly have a lot of choice in who I date right now considering the person I actually want to date is—” Octavia stopped speaking abruptly, flushing darkly, and looked down at the too-large scrubs engulfing her small frame.

“What was that?” Clarke prodded in a low voice.

Octavia shook her head and turned away, busying herself as she gathered her clothes. Clarke took a step forward, wanting to place a comforting hand on her roommate’s upper arm but not knowing if she should.

“Who do you want to date, O?” Clarke asked quietly.

Octavia rubbed hand over her face and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. At least Clarke couldn’t see that part; she was relieved for that. She hated crying. She hated when people saw her cry. “You’re not going to approve.”

“Try me.” When Octavia still did not say anything, Clarke ventured, “This doesn’t have anything to do with that cute patient in 307 who you spend most of your lunch breaks talking to, does it?”

Octavia flushed and shifted on her feet but did not deny it.

“Why would you think I wouldn’t approve?”

“Because she’s a patient, Clarke; a patient I operated on and a patient I—”

“You weren’t even chief surgeon, you just assisted. My mom was the one who… You have to know that what happened with her leg wasn’t your—”

“I know it wasn’t my fault but she’s still… God, how unprofessional would it be to… to sleep with her or date her or…?”

“She isn’t going to be a patient forever. Probably not even until the end of this week. After she’s discharged, you should ask her out. I’m sure she wants to go out with you.”

“You think?”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

3.)

“So, what do you say to getting some food someplace far away from here that isn’t served in Jell-o form?”

Raven laughed, pulling her coat over her shoulders. She adjusted the brace on her leg and winced as it pinched against some of the skin of her upper thigh. “As long as you’re buying. I could really use some good food and since I live alone and can’t cook for shit…” She trailed off, a smirk present in her eyes and on her lips.

Octavia beamed. “Yeah, yeah sounds good. What do you say about Friday?”

“Sounds great, Doctor Blake.”

“You can call me Octavia now, you know; I think we’ve reached that point.”

Raven beamed. “Octavia it is.” She grabbed her crutches and adjusted them on her forearms, testing her balance. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve lived here two years and still I don’t think I have more than three friends, and I work with all of them.” She smiled and reached out to grip Octavia’s upper arm. “I’m really glad we’re going to keep seeing each other. I’m kind of in desperate need for more friends.”

Octavia kept the smile planted on her face even as something in her stomach sank with what felt strangely like disappointment. “Of course,” she said, “I’m happy to help.”

4.)

Octavia tried to be just-friends with Raven. She tried. She tried to respect Raven’s boundaries for the sake their existing relationship.

She really did try.

There was just only so much she could take, in the end. Only so many late night Netflix binge-sessions she could sit through, only so many not-dinner dates she could go on, only so many times she could make sexual-tension-filled eye contact with Raven across a room before she finally broke.

She lasted all of about three weeks.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Raven looked up from the cup she had been playing with. Her brow furrowed. “What? We… we went out tonight.”

“No, I mean, like…” Octavia took a step forwards, reaching out and brushing her fingers against the soft skin of Raven’s wrist, “like go out with me. Like on a date.”

Raven pulled back, looking (confusingly) very shocked and more than a little concerned. “Octavia I… I mean I don’t—”

They heard keys in the lock and seconds later the door swung open. Clarke stumbled inside, dressed in dirty scrubs and looking utterly exhausted. “Hey babe,” she said, kissing Octavia on the cheek as she passed them on her way to the kitchen, “do we have any beer? Anya was on my ass today and I really need a pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, check the fridge!” Octavia called out, her eyes never leaving Raven’s face. “So, what do you say about that date?”

Raven flushed and stared back at Octavia, eyes wide and mouth open. “I don’t date women who are already in a relationship,” she hissed, her eyes glancing furtively towards the kitchen. Octavia just looked confused. She couldn’t understand where this reaction was coming from, because her thing with Atom ended weeks ago and there definitely hadn’t been anyone else who might have— “I’m not a slut, Octavia, Jesus.” She turned and made to leave, limping steadily and cursing the ache in her leg. She grabbed her crutches from their perch by the door before it finally all clicked in Octavia’s mind. She wanted to slap herself.

“No… hey Raven wait!” Octavia darted past her and blocked her path to the front door.

“You really aren’t who I thought you were. I mean… Jesus, Octavia, your girlfriend is right—”

“Wait wait wait.” Octavia held up a hand, effectively stopping Raven’s tirade. “Wait. No, you’re confused, I’m not… Clarke is not my girlfriend.”

Raven blinked. “What?”

“She isn’t.” Octavia shook her head furiously. “We are not, nor have we ever been, seeing each other.”

“But… but I thought…” she blinked rapidly a few times. “You live together.”

“She’s my roommate.”

“She calls you ‘babe’. She kissed you on the cheek when she walked in! She was… she was always coming to check on you during your rounds, I… I thought…”

Octavia laughed and took a step forward, hand moving to cup the back of Raven’s neck. “Well, she’s currently banging our boss, so if we were dating then that would make all of this really awkward.” Raven spluttered. Octavia laughed again. “I’m not dating Clarke. I would like to be dating you, though… if you’re feeling up for it, and if I totally haven’t misread all of the signs these last few months.”

Raven stared at her for a few more seconds before she lunged forward, claiming Octavia’s lips in a fierce kiss that knocked them both off-balance. Octavia stumbled, crashing back into the apartment door as Raven’s body fell on top of hers, pinning her in place, lips still moving at a breakneck pace. Octavia smiled into the kiss.

“Hey are you guys okay? I heard a — woah, okay, yeah, cool, you look busy. I’ll just…” and they were sure Clarke had backed out of the room and back into the kitchen, but neither one pulled away to check.

5.)

It wasn’t easy. There were days when Raven woke up and forgot her leg no longer worked, and she only remembered once she came crashing to the floor with a sharp yelp of pain and agony because she had tried to put too much pressure on her useless appendage and it had collapsed under the unexpected weight. There were days when she got so fed up with having to lag behind her friends as they walked in front of her that she found herself crying and punching at walls in order to feel something besides helpless. There were days when her joints were so stiff she didn’t think she’d ever feel good again. There were days when she missed being able to lift heavy boxes and walk up several flights of stairs without getting breathless or needing assistance. There were bad days, as there always would be.

But there were good days, too. There were days when she would feel almost as good as new, brace on her leg and hardly any hint of a limp in her walk. Days when she could forgo her non-weight bearing crutches and just walk. There were entire days she spent hanging out on the couch with her sister, and when she had those days she forget all about the injury that ended her old career. But she had a new one, now, that she loved very much, and most of the time it was easy forget that she had ever truly had something she loved taken away from her.

There were days when she would stay at the lab until the wee hours of the morning, bent over some project or invention, when her boss would pat her on the shoulder on his way out and say, “Don’t forget to lock up, Reyes,” and she’d realize how acutely fulfilling her life was now. There were days when she would be at Octavia and Clarke’s apartment, when her knee would get stiff or her muscles would spasm, and she would groan in pain, and Octavia, without needing to be asked, would lift her bum leg onto her lap and start rubbing at the joints and the muscles and kneed away the stiffness without breaking her concentration on the television or on her readings for her rounds the next day. There were days when Raven would wake up, arms wrapped tightly around the girl she was slowly falling in love with. There were days when Octavia would kiss her breathless against the wall outside of their favorite bar, murmuring in her ear about how beautiful she looked, how badly she wanted her, and Raven had never believed any words more sincerely than she believed those.

There were bad days, sure, as there always would be. But there were good days, too. And the good days with Octavia were slowly drowning out the bad. She was with her friends, she was wanted, she was loved, she was doing a job she adored, and she was having amazing sex almost every night of the week. There were good days.

And Raven loved them.

And on some days, she really couldn’t even find it in herself to be upset that she no longer had the full use of her left leg. She was that happy. And besides, ruining her leg brought her to Octavia.

She couldn’t hate anything about that.

Send me an AU and I’ll give you 5 headcanons for it

#octaven #astuary queen #au game #headcanon #anonymous #asks #long post

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sockablock · 6 years

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Here’s Chapter 4 of my Critical Role backstory fic, this time featuring Beauregard! It’s the longest one so far; I had a lot to write about the Disaster Lesbian™ (check out Fjord, Caleb, and Jester too!)

Word Count: 4686

From Where We Came: Chapter 4, Beauregard

Beauregard is born in the early morning hours of the 18th of Brussendar, in the height of summer, to parents glowing with immense pride. Beauregard is hastily handed off to her nurse in the early morning hours of the 18th of Brussendar, in the height of summer, by parents who don’t even do their new daughter the kindness of hiding their disdain and disappointment. She is whisked away, down the hall, to a different room furnished in soft blues and filled with little wooden toys and plush animals. She is placed into a wooden crib. The nurse leaves. In the lonely quiet, the newborn girl begins to cry.

“No, Beau, dearest, stop fussing with your dress,” her mother scolds quietly. “This is a very important tour, and you mustn’t behave this way. It would look absolutely terrible for your father if you caused a scene.”

“But, Mama,” Beau protests, “I hate wearing this dress. The lacy parts are itchy and the sleeves are too long.”

Her mother pats her on the head. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll get you another one made.”

Beau pouts. “Mama, I don’t want another dress. I don’t want to wear a dress.”

Her mother tuts quietly. “Don’t be silly, dear. Look, Mummy is wearing a dress, isn’t she? Don’t I look pretty? You look so pretty too.”

Beau considers her mother. Then her eyes wander a few yards away, where her father is proudly showing off the brewery’s newest oak barrels to group of tall, very important-looking men. They are dressed in long coats, with their trousers tucked into sturdy, but well-made and needlessly fashionable boots.

“Why can’t I wear what Papa is wearing?” Beau asks. “He’s not got a dress on, so why do I have to wear one?”

Her mother laughs. It’s a soft, twinkling sound, like a little bell. Beau knows this laugh. It’s the we’ve-got-company-and-my-child-is-talking-too-much laugh. Beau knows this laugh well.

“You can’t wear trousers,” her mother says, “you’re a girl. You could if you were a boy, but you’re not, are you?”

Beau knows the answer to that question. “No, Mama,” she says.

Darien is a boy, and one of the most exciting people Beau knows. He’s eleven, two years older than she is. He’s the son of another winery owner, as renowned and as wealthy as Beau’s parents. The edges of their lands weave together easily enough, and he frequently slips away from his duties to go hang out with the rowdy girl next door. Together, they pester the workers and write cuss words in the dirt paths and chase each other through endless rows of gleaming purple grapes. During peak harvest season, one of their favorite things to do is steal the fattest grapes off the vines and meet in the woods between the properties to compare their loot. They sit together in one of the tallest trees and munch on grapes and talk of benign, childish things.

“I could beat you up,” Beau says between mouthfuls.

Darien considers the muddy hem of her dress, her rolled-up sleeves, the leaves in her hair. “Yeah,” he says, “You probably could.”

“Probably could?” Beau raises an eyebrow.

“Definitely could,” he admits. “But I’m not that strong.”

From six feet up in the branches, Beau leans against the tree trunk. “That’s ok,” she says in a rare bit of open friendliness, “you’re good at other stuff. Like climbing trees and stealing things from your dad.”

Darien shoots her a grin. “You won’t believe this,” he says, “but I picked a lock yesterday!”

Beau’s eyes go wide. “No!” She exclaims. “Really? How did you do it?”

His grin broadens. “I can show you when we finish these grapes!” He lowers his voice conspiratorially, even though there’s nobody around for ages here. “I lifted a set of thieves’ tools from one of the sheds,” he says, “and I’m not really sure why they were there, but it was probably fine because nobody goes in there ever anyways. And I was messing around in there but then I knocked some stuff over on the top shelves and it hit the door and then the door locked and then I was like oh, Pelor, I’m gonna die, but then I just shoved some of the hooks from the set into the lock and then it opened!” Darien takes a deep breath to refill his lungs. “And now I’m an expert rogue,” he concludes.

The pair stand in front of the door. “It’s not locked,” says Beau. “It was just rusty. I think you probably just messed with the inside hard enough to unstick it.”

Darien gives her a reproachful look. “That’s basically lockpicking,” he says.

“Nuh-uh,” Beau says.

“Uh-huh,” he replies with scathing wit.

“Nuh-uh,” Beau retorts eloquently.

“Uh-huh. It wouldn’t open before, and now it does.”

Beau considers this point. “Alright,” she says eventually, “I’ll give you that one. But it’s not lockpicking like real thief would lockpick.”

Darien points a finger under her nose. “Then just you wait!” he declares. “I’ll learn how to be a real thief and then you can’t tell me what’s what anymore.”

Beau grins. “Oh yeah? What if I do it first?” And she cuffs him over the head and scampers off, shouting about how real thieves could move quick as the wind. Darien gives chase, whooping loudly behind her.

Beauregard stares out the window, and chews on the end of her quill. The clouds look quite fascinating today, and the fact that she even had that thought must be a testament to how godsdamn bored she is. Father and Mother are making her check the books again, and even though her tutors have praised her mathematical skills (“When she applies herself she really is quite good,” the one with the annoying mustache had said.), Beau really can’t be bothered to even try and be interested in numbers. Even though her parents have hinted numerous times that she should be stepping up and helping out more with the business, Beau doesn’t want to. It’s boring. She’d rather run around outside or pick grapes or do almost literally anything else.

She sighs and glances down at the page. Only a few rows left.

“You spoke out of line again, Beauregard! That tour was incredibly important, and your comments disrupted my guests and made me look like a fool!”

“I’m sorry, father, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.”

“If you do, you know what the punishments are.”

She does.

So when Beau accidentally lets slip to her parents that her clothes are always filthy because she spends all her free time traipsing through the woods with the neighbor’s son, she expects the worst. There are grave punishments for doing boy things. For being disruptive. For being ungrateful and ruining the lovely things we give her and being a bad, bad girl.

What she doesn’t expect is for Mother to scoop her up in a big hug and cry tears of joy. What she doesn’t expect is the flicker of impressed surprise that flits across her father’s usually stoic face.

“Oh, my darling, this is wonderful news!” Her mother gushes. “And you’re sure this is young Darien? You’re sure he likes to spend time with you?”

Beau makes a face that neither of her parents notice. “Mama, of course I’m sure it’s Darien. And, uh, yeah.”

“Oh, this will be absolutely fantastic for your father. Won’t it, dear?” She asks with a glance at her husband.

He gives the slightest nod. “How old are you, Beauregard?”

Beau looks down at the ground. “Twelve, Papa.”

“You are rather young,” he muses, “but this opportunity…”

Beau’s mother nods enthusiastically.

Her father nods again, this time more firmly. Then his frown returns and he says, firmly, “But pleased as I am with this match, you two cannot keep spending time the way you currently are. No more of this running through the forests and getting into trouble. You are a young woman, and should compose yourself as such.”

Beau can feel the weight of his gaze. She doesn’t like it.

“I can’t believe our parents are making us do this,” Darien groans. We’ve never had to be fancy around each other before.”

Beau grumbles, misery dripping off her slumped shoulders. “This sucks ass,” she says. Swear words are still rather new to her, but she has a good feeling about them. She makes a mental note to ask the servants for some more.

Meanwhile, Darien risks a glance over at where his mother and father are talking with Beau’s at the other end of the garden. They’re seated around a polished wooden tea-table and passing each other the weird little sandwiches that grownups like to eat. Between bites, they discuss (probably) the best way to ruin their kids’ lives. A maid hovering behind them, striking empty cups with the teapot like an eagle diving for heron. To the side a butler stands, staring at pink lilies, artfully pretending not to be waiting for commands while also waiting around for commands. Birds chirp in the flowering trees above them. A few bees hum softly in the background.

Darien turns back to Beau, whose scowl has somehow gotten even deeper. “Hey,” he says, “do you think they’re doing this ‘cause they want us to…you know? Get married and stuff?”

Beau sighs and gives a shrug. “That’s what they were talking about yesterday.”

Their eyes meet, and they consider one another for a moment.

“No,” they say simultaneously.

They both nod in acknowledgement of a good decision and slide further down on the bench. Beau’s dress, a horrific, daffodil-colored poofy nightmare, prevents her from achieving optimal slouch. Darien fidgets with his coat. They are basically in hell.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Beau hops to her feet. “Okay, I’m done now. Let’s go.”

A slow grin spreads across Darien’s face. “The birch tree by the river?”

They wait for just the right moment. And while the parents are preoccupied with one another and the maid is busy fielding refills and the butler is distracted by a particularly unruly-looking begonia, they slip away, adults none the wiser.

Beauregard stares out her window. Her cheeks are sticky from dry tears, and the sniffling hasn’t quite stopped yet. Her face is still a bit puffy, and her eyes are bloodshot. But the worst relic from the last half-hour are the words, which she are trying desperately to bury so far into her subconscious that nothing would ever be able to bring them out again.

Horrible, useless child, how could you be so ungrateful—This was an incredible opportunity and your selfishness has ruined it—His parents were appalled at your behavior—How could you just run away like that and wreck everything—We raised you better—

—Oh, for Pelor’s sake, stop crying, you’re nothing but an embarrassment. Get out of here, Beauregard. Get out and stay in your room while your Father and I try to fix the damage you’ve caused.

Beau hits her forehead against the glass.

“Father is sending me away,” says Darien from outside the open library window. “I snuck over here so I could tell you, but I have to go back before he notices. He’s kind of still super pissed about our disappearing act.”

“Yeah,” Beau mutters. “My parents are too. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

Darien smirks. “The sticks up their asses are pretty lodged in there.”

There is a brief silence. Then, “Where to?”

“It’s an academy in Rexxentrum, if you can believe it. Apparently lots of young nobles and wealthy hoity toity assholes go there to learn…whatever it is they learn.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Father says it’s until I can ‘behave properly enough to live up to my duties,’ which I think is a load of shit.”

“How long do you think that’ll take you?”

“…I’m not sure. But I think he wants me to be there for like…a long time. A really long time.”

“Will you come back?”

The answer is instantaneous. “Yes,” Darien says. “I’m his heir. He said so himself.”

“Alright then,” Beau closes the ledger she was working in. “I’ll probably be here when that happens. It’s not like my parents are going to do anything with me.”

Darien leans through the window and reaches around Beau’s shoulders rather clumsily. “You’re my best friend,” he says.

“You’re my brother, dumbass.” Darien doesn’t argue. And the next day, he is gone.

“Papa,” Beau asks tentatively at dinner, “am I your heir?”

He continues to skim the documents in his hands. “No,” he says.

Beau continues to work the books for the brewery. It seems like the times she quietly retreats to the library to manage ledgers are the only times her parents don’t make their displeasure with her quite as overt.

At least you’re good for something, goes unsaid.

She also keeps up with her studies, though she really would rather not. History is about boring dead guys fighting in stupid wars because they do stupid things. Geography doesn’t matter; it’s not like you can do anything about it if you don’t like it, and it’s not like you need to keep an eye on it in case it runs away. She finds marginal interest in the stories of the gods from religious studies, but could do without the constant, underlying our gods are superior and nonbelievers are scum. Math has always just been math, and she couldn’t care less about the politics of the Empire.

The only things she really enjoys reading are the tales of adventure she finds in the dustier sections of the library. She steals them from the shelves and hoards them in her room. At night, she’ll pull them out and reread her favorite parts by candlelight. She absolutely loves The Mountain Range of Gold, and almost cheered out loud when the protagonist resurfaced in Part 2. She delights in gratuitous descriptions of kick-ass fight scenes, and sometimes tries to reenact them with that a particularly kind onlooker might call “enthusiasm.”

There are also many, many romance scenes. Beau is unprepared for the sheet amount of…canoodling that some of these adventurers get up to. She’s rather annoyed by the unfortunate tendency of the broad-shouldered, handsome male characters (heroes) to sweep the beautiful, helpless female characters (love interests) off their feet. Beau could do without ever reading about a Sir Diggory and his seemingly endless muscles again. Usually she’s also disgusted by the way the women are portrayed, as gorgeous damsels with hearts of gold and not enough clothing and apparently very soft skin.

Though sometimes, a small part of her is absolutely delighted. Beau isn’t sure what to make of that yet. Yet.

When she isn’t raiding the libraries or being forced to learn things, Beau continues to run through in the vineyard and the nearby forests. Doing so does feel a bit empty without Darien around, and the loneliness would never go away, but the sharp edges of solitude had smoothed down into soft corners over time. Besides, Beau has to do something, and stir craziness does not sit well with her.

So rather than mope around all day in the manor, which is probably what her parents would want, Beau climbs trees and wades through streams and throws pebbles (unmaliciously) at squirrels. She also has the clothing for it now. A while back, in a stroke of genius, she asked the one of the more slightly-built workers for a pair of trousers, a linen shirt, and a hefty pair of worker’s boots. Despite her worst fears of being reported to her mother, the boy didn’t seem to mind. And after a while of hanging around their quarters and volunteering to do chores and refusing to bugger off, the servants move from tolerating her presence to inviting her for drinks (non-alcoholic) and stories. She hears about daring adventurers from ages past, brilliant and bloody battles, and learns quite about the various criminal elements of the empire. One day, an older worker teaches her how to really pick a lock, which comes in handy on the nights she stays out too late and has to break into her own home. They help her touch up her disguise, which allows her to hang around outdoors when her parents expect her to be in the house doing ladylike things. They let her hide her outfit with their belongings, and even occasionally pass along other hand-me-downs to her.

She has never been so free.

“You’ve gotten rather fit, haven’t you, Beauregard?” asks the dressmaker as she measures Beau for another terrible ensemble. “Just look at you!”

Beau considers herself in the mirror. “I suppose so?”

“I can’t imagine how,” says the dressmaker, “with you being home and learning to be a proper lady all the time.” The comment is pointed. It indicates that at any point Beau’s mother can be brought into the room and also shown how rather fit Beau has gotten.

Beau sighs. “I promise I’ll stop squirming,” she says.

“Don’t worry, dear, it’s refreshing. Too many young ladies these days look like a light breeze would blow them over.”

Beau can now successfully hang upside-down on a tree branch by her knees. She considers this one of the greatest achievements of her young life.

“Her tutors are quite impressed by her abilities,” her mother says to the guests in the drawing room. “Aren’t they, dear?”

“Yes, Mother,” says Beau. Her hands are folded in her lap. This dress is blue, at least, but that only helps so much.

The other ladies are speaking. They sound like birds tittering ceaselessly outside a bedroom window in the early morning.

“Not too impressed, I would hope?” says one, louder than the rest. Beau doesn’t like her. She’s got hair that’s obviously going grey, though the woman tries to hide it under an ostentatious hat. There’s also a mole growing on the edge of her nose. It’s got more personality than she does.

“A husband wouldn’t want his lady to be too clever, after all,” says the terrible woman. “Can’t have her getting too controlling of his household.”

Beau’s mother laughs. It’s another tinkling laugh, the I’m-richer-than-you-and-we-both-know-it-so-don’t-you-dare-lecture-me laugh. “Of course, Deannie, she’s properly educated. She just excels at what she’s taught. Why, she was almost betrothed to young Darien. It’s just that his father decided the boy should be sent to school before committing to anything.”

The women sip their tea in a manner that indicates how impressed they are. Beau wants to pick up the tea cart and use it to smash the window open.

Beau receives another letter from Darien. She crumples it up shortly after reading it. Then, immediately filled with regret, she picks it up and tries to smooth it out best as she can. Her fingers trace over the words.

Beau,

I’m sorry to say this but I won’t be coming back. Father is having me stay in Rexxentrum to be the face of his company in the capital. I know I promised I’d see you again, but there’s nothing I can do. Believe me, I tried to fight him about this. But he said that with him in Kamordah already, there’s no need for me to be at home. He wants me to be a businessman. You and I both know he won’t change his mind. You’re my sister, Beau, and I’m so sorry—

She puts the letter in a drawer and goes to bed.

There’s a new maid at the manor.

Her name is Mariel. She has dark, curly hair and freckles across her nose. She moves like a storm through the Quarters, cussing loudly and joking cheerfully, and old Reddick tells Beau she’s from one of the rowdier coastal cities. She’s seventeen, and Beau is thrilled to finally meet a girl her own age. But Mariel makes Beau nervous, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s her unrestrained spirit. Maybe it’s her wide smile and mischievous eyes.

Maybe it’s the loud, echoing laugh that dances through the halls when she watches Beau—who had scaled the manor to the third-floor and tripped over the windowsill as she tried to sneak in—spill onto the floor and land on her ass.

“Ow.” Beau rubs her head. She looks up at Mariel. “I’m not a thief,” she says.

Mariel snickers, and Beau is struck by complete lack of decorum in the action. “Yeah, a real thief wouldn’t have fallen like that.”

Beau scowls. “I mean I’m not a thief ‘cause I live here.”

Mariel leans against her broom. “Yeah, right. Mister, you’re wearing worker’s clothes two sizes too big for you, and you’ve got dirt all across your face. And haven’t I seen you around the Quarters before? I could have sworn you were playing cards with Reddick yesterday.”

Beau freezes, and swears inwardly. Of course, someone new would think she was one of the servants breaking into the Boss’s house for some gold. Over the years, the help had welcomed the muddy-faced and loud young lady of the house into their fold, and largely ignored her antics. She had gotten so used to making a fool of herself and breaking rules in front of everybody except her parents that she’d forgotten how unacceptable her behavior really is. She sighs, and figures there’s no good way out of this situation.

The truth, then.

She pulls her hair out of its messy bun and does her best to wipe the dirt (fresh from the forest) off of her face. She tugs at the sides of her pants, trying to flare them out like a dress. “I’m Beauregard,” she says. “Please don’t tell my parents?”

The broom falls over, and Mariel almost does too. She hastily picks it up and tries to curtsy with a four-foot wooden stick in her hands, which only makes her almost drop the broom again. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she says, and when she rises her face goes red, “wait, fuck, I mean…oh shoot, dammit. I’m sorry, milady.”

Beau tries to suppress the smirk threatening to split her face. “Nobody warned you that I do this sometimes?”

Mariel swears under her breath and curtsies again. “No, ma’am.”

Beau fails, and when Mariel resurfaces from the curtsy, she is met with an absolutely shit-eating grin from Beau. “I kind of hang around the Quarters and run around in the woods a lot. I think everyone thinks it’s funny, and I always loose a lot of money when we play cards, so nobody really cares. Except my parents. Who can’t know,” she adds.

Mariel stares at Beau, and bursts into laughter again. After a while, she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Wow, when I heard that the daughter of the house was a troublemaker, I thought they meant you were shitty to the servants or something. I didn’t think they meant you dressed up in boy’s clothes and lost at cards to us.”

Beau rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. “Well—”

Footsteps echo down the hall. Then, “I’m sorry, Madam, but I really don’t think it was a servant.”

There’s a scoff. “It had better not be. Honestly, I pay you all well enough to keep quiet and keep out of trouble. If I found out it’s a servant making noise this late at night I’m docking all of your pay.”

It’s her mother. Beau freezes.

Mariel quickly looks around. Then she grabs Beau by the wrist and yanks her down the hallway and into an empty guest bedroom. She carefully clicks the lock shut, then squeezes Beau and herself against a wardrobe just beyond the doorframe so their shadows don’t peek under the door.

Footsteps go past, along with an angry tirade by Beau’s mother.

They breathe a sigh of relief. Then Beau notices how the other girl has both her arms around her to keep her still, how she’s still holding her wrist and how well her body fits into Beau’s. How soft her hair is, and the way her chest rises when she—

“See something interesting, Milady?” whispers Mariel. Beau’s face colors. Her head snaps upwards and their eyes meet.

“You’re eighteen. And though our previous efforts failed thanks to your actions, new arrangements can always be made. It’s high time we planned for the future of this business, and it’s not as if you’re completely undesirable. Marcus would be a nice match, I should think.”

Beau carefully helps Mariel into the branches, then swings herself up the trunk and lands next to the her.

“Nice of Syra to cover for you today,” she says.

“Personally, I think Syra is on to us, and I think she’s doing her best to keep us together.”

Beau pulls out a book. “Perfect! That means we can keep going. Now, where were we?” she asks.

Mariel grins. “I think Sir Diggory was just about to compliment Lucianne’s tits in a much-too flowery manner.”

Beau snickers. “Oh, you’ll love this part.”

She leans against the pillow, breathing heavily. “Mariel?” She says.

“Yes, Beau?”

There’s a pause.

“I think I love you.”

They let their guard down. It’s a mistake.

“Your father and I have decided to send you to Zadash,” says Beau’s mother. “You’ve left us in a very…difficult position, and it was extremely hard for us to find a place for you. But Archivist Xenoth has agreed to teach you, and we think learning from the monks will be a positive influence on you.”

“Why?” asks Beau. “Because monks do what they’re told and don’t have sex?”

Her mother’s face turns a scandalized crimson, and her fists clench. “Beauregard, you have caused enough trouble for this family. You’ve always behaved extremely poorly, and you’ve never listened to your father and I when we know what’s best for you. You destroyed your own chances at a future with Darien, and got him sent away by his parents. You continue to mess about with the servants when you should be mingling with the rest of dignified society. And now you allow yourself to get tangled with this common girl, and—”

“Don’t you talk about her like that,” Beau says through clenched teeth.

“—and you get caught and you’ve scandalized the entire family—”

“Nobody needs to know! And why does it matter, anyway? Why does it matter what I do?”

“—you have duties to carry on this legacy your father has worked so hard to create for you—”

“I didn’t ask for it! I didn’t want any stupid legacy! This would be fine if I were a boy!”

“—shut up! You are not a boy, as both of us are well aware, and if you were one then everything would be so much easier for us! But you’re a girl, even if you seem incapable of acting like one, and we cannot have you soiling this family by continuing to stay here and being the way you are. If you aren’t going to do what we wanted you to all along, you’re going to go to the Cobalt Reserve and you’re going to become a monk, and maybe you’ll learn some respect and come home, or maybe you’ll just stay there and keep studying. But whatever happens, you’re going to become respectable, and you’re not going to ruin our name. Is that clear?”

Beau is biting her lip. There are tears running down her face. Her mother is shaking with anger.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

It could have been worse, Beau thinks. At least they gave her some neat robes. At least they let her swear. At least they taught her how to fight. And she was really good at that last bit. But all this crap about “preparing her mind” and “preparing her soul” and “being the truth” learning about patience and sorting shelves and reading books is…is all crap. Beau doesn’t give a fuck. And so when she packs a bag and slips on her uniform and cracks open the window and slides onto the balcony, she moves quietly. And she doesn’t look back.

#critical role #fic #cr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #beauregard #the mighty nein #party backstory #theory #wildemount campaign #marisha ray #text

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speedybaeandbirdiebae · 6 years

Text

Found Out

Pietro is bored in the hospital after Cadence leaves so he decides to go out and find her. But he causes havoc at the New Avengers Facility.

Warnings: None (Maybe mild pissing Tony Stark off)

Pairings: Pietro x Cadence Wilson (OC)

Words: 3,721

Cadence blinked as she poked her head into the hospital room, she looked around a moment and smiled softly at the sight of Pietro still laying in bed and looking up at the ceiling. She could tell he was either bored or eager to leave the bed. However, it was still too early for him to even think about leave the bed. He still hadn’t fully recovered yet from his injuries. The slightest wrong move could make his recovery take twice as long.

“Pietro,” Cadence called as she entered the room. “I’m back, I hope you weren’t too bored without me.”

Pietro looked up with a bright smile upon his face and he sat up quickly so to see her better. “Candi, you came back.”

“I told you I would,” Cadence proceeded to check the machines and the readouts that were printed out from the machine. “You seem to be doing well and while I don’t know this medical jargon, but it seems good if there are no errors.”

“So, I can leave this bed?” Pietro asked in hope. “I don’t like sitting for too long.”

“I’m not sure about that yet,” Cadence said gently. “But you can ask Dr. Cho when she comes in tomorrow morning.”

“Mmn, I see.” Pietro went silent as he watched Cadence lean over and fluff his pillows. “Candi…”

“Yes Pietro?” Cadence asked. “Do you need me to get you something? Oh, right it’s close to dinner time, I’ll see if they’ve sent you some food up.”

She moved away from him and went over to the wall, she pressed a button as it opened, and she saw it wasn’t soup this time but something a little heavier. She grabbed the tray out and closed the door before walking back to where Pietro sat. “Guess you eating two bowls of soup was enough to convince the doctors that you can eat something heavier.”

Pietro’s face lit up in happiness. “I can?” he asked. “What is it?”

Cadence laughed softly. “It’s chicken, mashed potatoes and I think some peas.” She said. “Standard hospital food but I bet it’s good, they event sent up some lime Jell-O.”

Pietro laughed. “That’s better than soup,” he eagerly went to grab the fork and knife but quickly dropped them when he saw his hands were still too shaky to hold anything. He looked up at Cadence like a wounded puppy. “Help.”

“I know I know,” Cadence laughed softly as she took the fork and knife as she began cutting the chicken up for him. “You’ll need me to do this for you until your hands stop shaking.”

Pietro nodded as he allowed Cadence to feed him. He admired the way her eyes lit up when she giggled or the way she’d reach up to wipe his mouth with a napkin. “Candi, how was your day? After you left I mean.”

“Boring,” Cadence admitted. “Paperwork, helping Fury with other things and making sure to keep a close eye on the other Avengers.”

“You do all of that?” Pietro asked. “You must be very good at your job and very smart too.”

“It pays the bills,” Cadence waved a dismissive hand. “I would much rather be out in the field doing more exciting missions.”

“You go out and fight too?” Pietro asked. “Like the Avengers?”

Cadence nodded. “Yeah, I may look like I’m a cream puff, but I am a pretty good fighter, I’ve been on missions with Sam and I have done a few on my own.”

Pietro stayed silent and began thinking about how much danger Cadence put herself into but also admired how she was able to talk about it as if it wasn’t anything big.

“At the end of the day my job to help out as much as I can, it’s what makes me happy,” Cadence said. “Pietro?”

“Sorry, I was just taking in everything you told me,” Pietro said forcing a smile. “You do so much to help people, even if you don’t have any powers.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Cadence sat down the fork on the tray and proceeded to open the cup of apple juice. She held it up for him and laughed softly. “Drink.”

Pietro once again did as he was told as he drank the juice. He stared at Cadence’s face and saw her eyes were soft with what he assumed was compassion.

“Alright, you managed to eat everything,” Cadence noted. “All that’s left is the Jell-O, that’s your dessert.”

“I don’t like lime Jell-O,” Pietro mumbled. “It reminds me of slime.”

“You don’t?” Cadence asked. “Well that’s fine, I’m sure that everyone down in the kitchen will send you up another flavor if they see that you didn’t eat it.”

“You can have it,” Pietro said. “I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Thank you but I’m getting something to eat when I leave here,” Cadence said sitting the Jell-O on the tray as she got up and went to go send it back down to the kitchen. “There is this place that Tony told me about that has amazing Shawarma.”

“What is Shawarma?”

“I don’t know but I want to try it,” Cadence walked back to Pietro’s bedside and sat down. “If it’s any good I’ll let you know, maybe we can have lunch there sometime when you’re able to leave.”

“Ok, I look forward to it prinţesă.”

“What did you just call me?” Cadence asked in surprise.

“I called you…princess…in Sokovian.” Pietro blushed and silently cursed himself for letting it slip. He looked away from Cadence. “Sorry.”

“No that’s fine, it’s cute.” Cadence laughed. “But maybe save the pet names for someone else that you end up dating.”

“Candi…”

“Oh, look at the time it’s five,” Cadence stood up and smiled softly. “I have to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning Pietro.”

“You’re coming back?”

“Yeah, you’re who I am assigned to look after remember?” Cadence asked. “I’m going home to change and then go grab some food, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning ok?”

Pietro nodded silently feeling a little disappointed that she was going to leave already. With a sigh, he looked up at her with a forced smile. “Yeah. See you tomorrow Candi.”

Cadence gave him a sweet smile and ran a hand through his hair before she left the room shutting the door behind her quietly. “He looked a little sad when I said I was leaving,” She whispered to herself. “But I need to go home…I’ll see him tomorrow.”

------------

“Sam, I’m home now!” Cadence called out as she entered the Avengers base, she took her jacket off and laid it on one of the bar stools. “Hey is anyone here?”

“Miss Wilson, welcome home.”

Cadence nearly jumped a mile at the sight of Vision phasing through the wall. She stared at the Android and laughed nervously. “Hey Vision, you’re the only one here?”

Vision nodded. “I am,” he said. “All of the others left to go on a mission, I volunteered to stay behind so you could have someone to welcome you back home.”

“Thank you but you didn’t need to do that,” Cadence laughed softly and went over to the refrigerator. “I was going out for the evening, you want to come with?”

“You’re inviting me to be your travel companion?” Vision asked in confusion. “Miss Wilson, I don’t normally leave unless it’s to help the other Avengers.”

“Come on robo dude, you have to learn how fun it is to let your hair dow—uh I mean unwind and relax.” Cadence grabbed two cans of soda and tossed one to Vision. “You know that there is more to life than being cooped up in here.”

Vision looked down at the can of soda and then at Cadence. “I should go out more?” he asked. “Miss Wilson, if anyone saw me walking around, they’ll be afraid.”

“Dude, you’re fine,” Cadence laughed. “And please call me Cadence not Miss Wilson….it makes me sound like I’m old.”

Vision went to say something more but shook his head.

“Anyway, if you change your mind I’ll be in my room getting ready,” Cadence said. “Also, try to lighten up more dude, your programming will turn into old man programming if you worry too much.” She walked down the hallway all the while drinking her soda.

He was bored, extremely bored, nothing in the room seemed worth looking at and If he had to count the tiles on the ceiling again he’d go insane. Pietro sat up and sighed heavily, he wanted nothing more than to leave this room and explore the city and maybe find Cadence.

“I’m going to this awesome Shawarma place in town, you should check it out when you get out of here.”

Pietro groaned quietly and in annoyance, as he finally had enough of sitting around, he looked down at his arm and began removing the IVs from his arms and unplugging himself from the machines. He wasn’t going to stay in here and die of boredom.

Getting up on shaky legs he slowly started walking around so to gather his bearings. He managed to feel his unused muscles flex as he moved his legs to wake them up. He looked down at his hands and concentrated so they’d’ stop shaking. With a small smile, he felt himself slowly get used to standing as he finally stood up straight.

“I’m not staying here,” he said to himself and went to the door, he opened it and saw many doctors and nurses walking around tending to other duties. He could run out of the room unnoticed and look for Cadence and maybe even find Wanda. He seized the opportunity and ran out of the room unnoticed by anyone.

“Yo Vision,” Cadence called walking out of her room dressed in a pair of jeans and a crop top with purple A on the front. “Did you decide if you want to hang out with me?”

Vision looked at Cadence. “I’ve decided to stay here and wait until the other Avengers return home.” He said. “Someone has to welcome them.”

“You sure?” Cadence asked as she shrugged. “Alright, I’ll bring you back a doggy bag.”

“I don’t see how having a pet would help me Miss Wilson. Vision sad.

“No, a do---nevermind I’ll bring you back something to eat.” Cadence laughed as she headed down the stairs and to the garage where the cars that Tony left for the Avengers to use were. She walked towards the car that belonged to Sam and pulled out the keys from her pocket. “I feel kind of bad leaving him alone…especially after the last time he poured grease down the sink.”

The sound of a can falling to the floor was heard as Cadence looked down and raised an eyebrow when it rolled near her foot.

“Really dude?” She called annoyed. “Vision, you don’t want to go with me, yet you decide to play a prank on me? Seriously what the hell!?”

A blur of blue sped from behind one of the parked cars and behind a stack of boxes. With an annoyed sigh, Cadence readied herself for a fight. She focused on the place where she had seen the blur run over to.

“Come on out, I am warning you,” she said. “If you’re a Hydra agent trying to break in you’re one stupid ass agent.”

“Candi?”

Cadence kept her fighting stance staring wide-eyed at the person behind the boxes. She couldn’t believe it.

“Pietro!?” she screamed before quieting down and staring at him. “Why in the world are you out of bed? Wait why are you out of the hospital?!”

“I was bored,” Pietro said quietly. “I wanted to go with you for that shawarma stuff you mentioned.”

“Pietro, I’m not going to let you keel over here and I am sure as hell not going to let you stay here,” Cadence said looking him up and down. “And you’re still in your hospital gown.”

“My clothes weren’t in my room,” Pietro mumbled as he looked down at his feet almost like a guilty child that had been caught doing something wrong. “I’m sorry.”

“No no, it’s ok,” Cadence groaned. “Come on, let’s go inside and find you some clothes to wear since I doubt you’ll go unnoticed in a hospital gown.”

“Thank you Prinţesă.”

“Yeah yeah,” Cadence sighed pulling him by the arm and towards the elevator to reach the main living area. She was grateful no one else but Vision was hanging around. “Oh shit, I forgot about Vision!”

“Who?”

“The…uh nevermind,” Cadence look at him. “Pietro listen to me carefully, I’m going to need you to follow close to me. If you see a red guy that’s just one of the other Avengers ok? His name is Vision…but he cannot see you or else he’ll try to kill you.”

Pietro nodded. “I’ll stay out of sight prinţesă.”

“You better,” Cadence heard the bell ding indicating they were on the floor where the Avengers lived. She looked around and saw no sign of Vision and quickly took Pietro’s hand and leading him down the hallway to her bedroom.

“This is where you live?” Pietro asked looking around the hallway he was being led down. “It’s quite nice.”

“I live here with all of the Avengers,” Cadence explained as she opened the door to her bedroom and shoved Pietro into the room. She looked at him and put a finger to her lips. “Stay in here and I’ll get you some clothes…maybe you can fit some of Cap’s or Tony’s clothes…I doubt you could fit anything Sam has…maybe Thor left some clothes around.”

At those words, Cadence walked out of the room as she shut the door and locked it behind her in case Pietro tried to get out. She looked up and called out. “Friday, could you make it, so my door doesn’t open from the inside?”

“I need your confirmation code, Miss Wilson,” FRIDAY said.

Cadence groaned in annoyance and let out a curse at the confirmation code she’d been given. “The confirmation is Falconette.” She visibly cringed as the words left her mouth. She heard beeping and locking.

“The doors have been locked, Miss Wilson.”

“Thank you,” Cadence then added. “Friday make sure to remind me to punch Tony when he comes back.”

“Noted Miss Wilson.”

Cadence headed down the hallway towards Steve’s room as she opened the door and began looking around the room for anything that would fit Pietro. “How many sweaters does one man need?” she mumbled to herself. “Ok let’s see…I’ll just take this one and maybe a pair of jeans too.” She grabbed a pair of Jeans that were folded neatly on the bed and walked out of the room before going to the next room across the hallway.

“Ok, let’s see…Tony’s clothes are…in the closet?” Cadence began opening doors trying to find some of Tony’s clothes. “Ugh, seriously? Can a man be obsessed with himself more?” She shut the closet and opened another door as she held back a laugh. “Ok blackmail material.” She quickly snapped a picture with her phone and went back to searching. “This is impossible, where does Tony keep his clothes?! Friday help me!”

“Mr. Stark’s clothes are in the closet, I’ll open the doors for you,” Friday said.

Cadence saw the door to the closet open revealing various clothes. She smiled and walked inside and grabbed the nearest thing she could. “Well, it’s not like Tony would miss this.” She walked out of the closet and the room.

“Here, I hope you can fit some of these,” Cadence tossed the clothes to Pietro and sat on her bed. “I managed to find something of everyone’s in here, but I am not sure who’s clothes you can fit.”

“It’s fine Prinţesă.” Pietro began undressing and started pulling on a pair of pants he had gotten from the pile on the bed. “I can handle wearing these until I can buy my own clothes.”

“Alright.” Cadence blushed turning away. “So, you ran all the way here to find me because you were bored? That’s sweet of you.”

“I don’t like sitting in one place,” Pietro answered as he buttoned the front of the shirt. He glanced at Cadence and saw her reddened face. “Is something wrong?”

“No…no…it’s just.” Cadence looked at him a moment and snorted. “You don’t look good in a button up, here put this on instead.” She tossed him a black sweater. “You can keep the other stuff, however.”

“Where did you get these anyway?”

“From Tony and Steve’s rooms,” Cadence said. “I couldn’t get into Dr. Banner’s room and I doubt you’d want to wear any of Sam’s clothes.”

“Oh,” Pietro pulled the sweater on before he straightened it and then grabbed the jacket off the bed. “Kind of ironic, I’m wearing Tony Stark’s clothes.”

“And Captain America’s.” Candance began laughing quietly. “You look good dressed like that, I think you’d make a pretty fine playboy billionaire.”

“Thanks.” Pietro rolled his eyes before running a hand through his hair and he stopped before looking into the mirror. “I don’t look half bad do I?”

“Nope,” Cadence smiled softly. “Come on, we’ll go for Shawarma now.” She opened the door and looked around the hallway. She heard voices coming from down the hallway and she knew that meant only one thing…all the Avengers had come back.

“Pietro, on second thought, stay here,” Cadence walked out of the room and shut the door behind her. She trekked down the hallway and immediately saw that all the others were there including Pepper.

“Cadence, you’re home?” Sam asked with a smile. “What happened to going out with your friend?”

“I was going out but I…umn…wanted to stay and welcome you home.” Cadence lied. “Oh, you guys picked up dinner too?”

“Miss Wilson, I assumed you left already,” Vision said. “You said you were heading out. Did something happen?”

“No no, nothing,” Cadence said. “So, you guys are going grab your food and go to your rooms, right?”

“We’re doing a post-briefing of the mission,” Steve said. “And some of us are going to spend some time training.”

“Oh.”

“Cadence you look pale,” Natasha noted. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine, just a rough day at work.” Cadence lied again. “Fury worked me a lot, I’m fine though.”

“Are you sure?” Wanda noticed the way Cadence’s eyes were holding a look of fear. She began probing her mind to find out why.

Cadence began trying to clear her thoughts so Wanda wouldn’t find out why she was so nervous. She prayed that she wouldn’t find out anything about Pietro being hidden in her room. “Umn… say, Wanda, how did you like sightseeing around New York this morning?”

“It was interesting,” Wanda said deciding to give up on reading Cadence’s mind. “I wish that Pietro was here to see everything.”

“Umn…yeah he’d probably like it.” Cadence sighed heavily as she finally felt the cloud of suspicion coming from the other Avengers being lifted. Maybe she was in the clear and could get away with sneaking Pietro out when everyone else was asleep.

“WHERE THE HELL IS MY DAVID AUGUST SUIT?!”

“Damn it…so close.”

Everyone looked up and saw a furious Tony holding a hanger in his hand. He looked around the room with fiery eyes as he settled on each of the other male Avengers. “Who!? Who took it?!”

“Don’t look at me,” Steve shrugged. “I don’t know what a David August anything is, and I don’t do designer.”

“Obviously not Capsicle.” Tony turned to Vision and Sam. “Which one you took it?”

“I don’t have a need for your clothes Mr. Stark.” Vision said simply.

“I wouldn’t be able to fit in anything you own,” Sam began laughing. “Why are you getting bent out of shape about a suit anyway?”

“It’s my suit, we have to respect each other’s property,” Tony said. “That includes borrowing clothes without permission. I know that all of you admire what I wear but I stealing it isn’t a way to capture my superior style.”

“Cocky bastard,” Cadence mumbled. “Maybe you misplaced it?”

“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Tony said. “Friday playback security footage from the last hour of my bedroom.”

Cadence let out a silent curse as she saw a screen come down and it played the video of her going into each of the male Avengers’ rooms save for Visions looking for clothes.

“Falconette, you’re the last person I suspected to steal clothes from me,” Tony said raising an eyebrow. “If you wanted to borrow something to sleep in you could’ve asked me.”

“Candi, why did you do it?” Sam asked. “Do you have a thing for Stark? Or a thing for Steve? Or maybe you like Banner?”

“No no, it’s not it!” Cadence said. “I can explain ok!”

“Go on and tell us,” Steve said with a small smile. ��We won’t be mad, I think it’s sweet you want to wear something that belongs to one of us.”

“I just…umn…well I….”

“Prinţesă! Are you done now? Can I come out?”

Cadence let out a small squeak and could feel the heat rise in her cheeks, she heard the other Avengers get up from their seats and rush down the hallway to her room.

“Friday catch the intruder,” Tony ordered as Cadence’s room was covered in bright red lasers around Pietro.

“Isn’t that…?”

“It’s Speedy!”

“Pietro!?”

Pietro stood perfectly still so not to be hurt by the lasers, he looked at the group staring at him before he gave a nervous chuckle. “Surprise?”

“He’s alive!” Wanda squealed happily. “Oh, brother I missed you!”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Natasha gave a small smile. “I’ll go call Clint and tell him that the quick little bastard is alive after all.”

“This is all well and good but he’s wearing my suit!” Tony shouted in anger. “With a sweater of all things!”

“The prinţesă gave me these clothes,” Pietro explained looking directly at Cadence. “Right Candi?”

“Cadence you know him!?”

Cadence sighed and didn’t say anything more as she slid to the floor with her head in her hands and quietly groaning from how stupid she had been to let everyone find out the truth.

#Quicksilver x OC #Quicksilver #Pietro Maximoff x OC #Pietro Maximoff #Marvel Fanfiction #Avengers AOU fan fiction #AvengersFanFic #MCU AU #MCUfanfic #MCU Fanfiction #Black Marvel OC #Marvel Black OC #Speedy Bae and Birdie Bae Fan Fiction

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jessahmewren · 6 years

Text

Miles between us and miles to go. Chapter 1/6

Written for @thexmasfileschallenge and tagging @today-in-fic

Day 7: Lights

-0-0-0-

You have reached the mailbox of---"

"Shit." Mulder shut the phone off in disgust. Twelve times. Twelve times in the last two days he had tried to reach Scully, only to be shut down by an impersonal, prerecorded message. Had it been her voice on the recording, maybe he would've felt a little better. Or possibly worse, depending on what reason he was considering on a given day for her not wanting to speak to him. She was supposedly out of town visiting her mother.

Fox Mulder sat on a battered green park bench in the butterscotch woods of the walking trail and waited to catch his breath. Despite the crisp air perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead, and he was more fatigued than he would've liked to admit. He ran to think and when he couldn’t do anything else.

His phone trilled as he stared at it, hoping it was Scully. It wasn’t. "Mulder," he said tautly. A beat.

"Mulder this is Skinner.” There was something in the way he spoke that sent alarm bells ringing in every fiber of Mulder’s body. He instantly stood. "What is it Skinner.”

Somewhere on the other end of the phone Skinner took a breath. When he spoke, his tone was genuine and pained. "It's Scully. She tried to kill herself, Mulder."

He didn’t hear anything he said after that.

-0-0-0-

"How is she today?" Sara Marshall took the chart from the nightshift nurse and thumbed through the last few hours of data. She was petite and trim in navy blue scrubs, with dark brown wavy hair and brown eyes. The words on the page confirmed what her co-worker would say next. "No change. Won't eat, barely speaks.” She shrugged and shook her head. Her eyes were ringed and bloodshot in the harsh fluorescent light. "I'm going home," she said tiredly, turning for the elevator. She waited there, rubbing her neck and shoulders, until the elevator settled on the floor and she stepped inside.

The psychiatric ward at Bethesda Medical Center was not the easiest place to work, but Sara liked it. Her last assignment, Labor and Delivery, was not all that different from what she did now. When you've had a (thankfully) empty bedpan thrown at your head by a spitting, foaming, mother-to-be in the throes of labor pains, a few death wishes and a couple of multiple personality cases seem to pale in comparison.

Sara perused Dana Scully’s file a bit further. No calls. No visitors. It had been two days since her admittance.

She knocked experimentally at the door and waited. Nothing. While she didn't have to knock, she often found that it made patients feel more at ease. "Ms. Scully? May I come in?" Silence answered, so she eased the door open anyway. Her shoes squeaked on the polished floor, abrupt and vulgar in the empty room. It was cavernous within, and quiet. A muted television flashed garish images over the slight woman in the bed, bathing her in strobing, artificial light. It was the only light in the room. The woman lay on her side facing the wall and did not move. Aside from the patient, there was no other evidence that anyone had been there. No coat over a chair, no stale cup of coffee, no wilting daisies. It was as stark as a tomb.

"Well Ms. Scully," Sara said good-naturedly, "I see you have slept some. That's good." When she made no effort to acknowledge her, Sara crossed and turned on the light over the bed. "But you still haven't eaten," she continued to her captive audience, "we're going to have to do something to change that today, okay?"

The woman squinted a bit at the light's assault, raising her arm to shield her eyes. A thick white bandage around her wrist and halfway up her arm bloomed a crimson Rorschach at the sudden movement. It did not go unnoticed. "Let me get that changed for you," Sara remarked calmly, and set to work. The Suicides were different. Sara had seen the gamut. Some were actually relieved that they had failed…those were the attention seekers. Some of the others were surprised to find they had the support of family and friends, love they never knew was available to them. Those were the happy endings. And then some were just angry they weren't dead, like this one. There was no crying family waiting to understand, no love on the other side. Sara had seen it all too often. These were the ones who tried again and didn't end up here.

Sara performed her ministrations in silence. The woman remained mute and limp, allowing her to move and dress her arm with no resistance. If tending the deep slashes in the woman's wrist caused her any pain at all, she gave no indication. The striking woman stared purposefully at the ceiling, a dispassionate mask firmly in place, refusing to look at the nurse.

Sara finished her other duties and recorded the data. "Ok, that'll do it then," she said pleasantly. She was careful to not be overtly cheery. "Is there anything you need Ms. Scully?"

A curious shadow seemed to pass over the woman's face as she actually turned and regarded the nurse. Her eyes were black and distant, but she seemed to consider the question. Sarah waited. "Turn off the TV," she said at last.

The therapist had left it on, Sara was sure, in order for the patient to stay "connected" to the outside world. There was no bedside control, either. It was S.O.P. for "onlies" ("they're the only one in the world who cares if they live or die," or so she'd been told on her first day) and was therefore supposed to stay on. However, this was the first time the woman had spoken to Sara, so she decided to extend the olive branch a little further and acquiesce.

She reached up and turned it off. The very small, very sad woman with the large, wet eyes looked as though she would say more, so much more, but remained silent. Sara left her there in the room with the light now extinguished without another word.

-0-0-0-

Mulder pulled into Bethesda Medical Center at 2:14pm. Skinner had briefed him as best he could. Apparently Scully had been in town for two weeks and was staying in a hotel nearby. She'd been in Bethesda Medical Center four days. He knew nothing else.

Mulder parked his rental in a spot on the second floor of the parking garage, his heart in his throat. A growing apprehension snaked its way up his spine, settling in his stomach. He didn't know what he expected to find, but however she was, it would be her, alive. It was enough for him.

How could he not have known? How could he not have been there? A wild panic began to grow in his belly. He had to see her. He had to see her now.

He walked toward the information desk and up to the fifth floor elevator. The psychiatric ward. The knot in his stomach flexed and coiled, and he willed it still. The elevator dinged and he stepped out into a small holding area facing an electronically locked set of double doors and an intercom system. A sparse desk sat unattended, its lamp dark. Mulder walked up to the security doors and pressed the call button.

"I need to see someone," he said rather loudly into the speaker, a little unsure of how to begin.

A long moment stretched on, and he was halfway to the button again when it crackled to life. "What is the patient's name?" rang a crisp business-like voice.

Mulder cleared his throat. "Dana Scully," he said hoarsely. Somehow that name in this context was so very, very wrong.

"Are you family?" the voice demanded.

Mulder blinked. "No—I mean yes...I’m a very close friend of Dana’s,” he finished.

"Your name?"

"Special Agent Fox Mulder," he said, using his former title to hopefully expedite the process.

"One moment, Agent Mulder." The intercom died.

After several long minutes a buzzer sounded, and the massive double doors opened in on themselves to reveal a short, pleasant-looking nurse holding a clipboard. Behind her yawned a wide, expansive and eerily quiet hall tiled in muted tones of blue and grey. The floors shone glossy but reflected the gloom of a gray ceiling. Mulder craned his neck beyond the nurse, eager to get inside, to get to her.

"I'm Sara Marshall, Ms. Scully's dayshift nurse." The nurse extended her hand to Mulder, but Mulder brushed off the formalities. "How is she…I have to see her." His voice was low, intimate and insistent. Sara immediately discerned that this striking, intense man was very used to getting what he wanted. She glanced at the clipboard, double checking the name. "Agent Mulder, there is something you should know before you go in to visit Ms. Scully." He pinned her with a steel gaze, hanging on her every word. "There was an incident this morning and Ms. Scully had to be restrained. She hasn't eaten since arriving here, and intravenous fluids were ordered." Sara paused, looking abashed. "She pulled out her IV, Agent Mulder, and struck a nurse."

His reaction was not what she expected.

His jaw clenched, and not for the first time Sara Marshall noticed his rough-hewn good looks. And determination.

"When can I see her," he said again, this time with a little more gravity.

-0-0-0-

#the x files #txf #xf fanfic #angst #dana scully #fox mulder #thexmasfileschallenge #msr #oc #tw: suicide #pre-revival #emotional h/c

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lovemesomerafael · 4 years

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Destroying The Planet To Save It Chapter 10: That Opium Den Aesthetic

Chapters 1-5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Read It On AO3

It had been two days since the Quinjet crash, and although Bucky’s ribs weren’t entirely back to normal, his ankle was, and he’d be fully healed in another day or two. Bucky wasn’t the problem. Joss was.

She’d been wanting out of the hospital since the morning after the crash, as though major trauma surgery was some sort of drive-through event. She resisted anyone’s attempts to examine her incision and refused to take any pain medicine, insisting she didn’t need it. Bucky had to use every trick in his extensive repertoire to get her even to agree to a blood draw to check how she was recovering from her significant blood loss. She’d demanded to have her IV removed, in the end negotiating hard with her doctor, who’d eventually agreed to take it out if she would drink a specific amount of fluid every hour. Any less, and it would go back in. Bucky had seen bad patients. Hell, he was one. This was something different.

Joss’s second morning in the hospital started off well. She’d insisted that Bucky go to the hotel where the rest of the team was staying and get a good night’s sleep rather than dozing in a hard chair at her bedside, so when he arrived in the morning, they both felt good. With an impish smirk, he set a silver gift bag tied with a red ribbon on her overbed table before leaning down to kiss her on the top of her head. Her hair, loose and shiny where it fanned out on her pillow, smelled fresh and clean after the shower she’d already had that morning. She looked refreshed and infinitely better than when she’d been admitted; in fact, he discovered that what he had thought were bruises on her face and arms must have actually been leftover mud from the crash, and were gone now.

“What’s that?” She asked, indicating the bag.

“It’s a get well present for you. Open it.”

With a smile of childlike anticipation, Joss reached for the bag and put her hand in, pulling out a soft, tissue-wrapped bundle. There was a split second after she removed the tissue when Bucky watched her struggle not to react, but she lost the battle the moment she shifted her eyes to him and saw the shit-eating grin he wore.

“Damn it, Barnes,” she muttered, but she was laughing too hard for the words to have any bite.

The sleep pants were made of a soft flannel so fuzzy that she couldn’t resist rubbing it against her face, despite the fact that splashed all over the fabric was a small cartoon version of Bucky. The pajama top was basically a T-shirt, with a left sleeve decorated to look like Bucky’s arm, red star and all, and the same cartoon picture of Bucky emblazoned on the front.

She did her best to give him a murderous look, but it wasn’t very effective given her laughter and the adorable pink flush in her cheeks. Abandoning even the pretense that she wasn’t charmed, she got up and went into the bathroom, holding her hospital gown tightly behind her the whole way, to put them on. Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about being a cartoon figure on pajamas, but he’d figured Joss was the kind of girl who could take a joke, and her reaction to his gift was even better than he’d hoped.

He was pleasantly surprised to see how well she was moving around, especially for only the second day after surgery. She was clearly in excellent shape, but abdominal surgery was abdominal surgery. It took some time to recover from. Still, he didn’t spend much energy worrying about it.

There was something captivating about the way Joss looked when she emerged wearing a top with Bucky’s cartoon image on it. She also looked much more comfortable in pajamas than in a hospital gown. She was smiling widely as she climbed back into the bed, with only a minor amount of guarding of her left side. “Would it ruin your joke if I actually think these are kind of awesome?”

“Not at all. I was just hoping you didn’t already have them,” he needled.

She tried another glare at that, with about as much success as her previous attempt. She shook her head as she said, “Laugh all you want. I ain’t even mad, because these are super comfy, and anything beats the hell out of a hospital gown. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Still, next time we’re in a plane crash, can I have Hawkeye ones?”

Bucky’s laugh escaped before he could stop it. He didn’t want to seem to encourage her, but he really liked the fact that she was such a wiseass. “We’ll see. Anyway, you look great in those. And I can’t believe how well you’re moving around.”

“Yeah, I feel fine. Arm doesn’t hurt at all. My side hurts some, but not even enough to need any pain medicine.” She frowned. “I want out of here.”

“C’mon, it’s only the second day. You can’t be ready to go home yet. We gonna have this problem again today?”

All humor had left her expression suddenly. “I kind of wanted to talk to you about that.”

“What?” He asked, turning his chair a little so he could face her more directly, leaning his elbows on the bed. That meant his hands settled naturally on her lower leg.

“Bucky, I… I have to get out of here. I’m leaving today. And I just wanted to, um... say thank you. For everything. Maybe not for the plane crash, but that wasn’t entirely your fault, and you did get me out-“

He completely ignored her attempts to joke. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving here today. I need to get home.”

“You just had surgery! You’re-“

“Please,” she said, leaning toward him and putting her hands over his where they lay on her leg. “Just let me say this.”

“Joss-“

“I can’t explain. So don’t ask me to. I just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again, and I wanted to tell you that, you know, tornado and plane crash notwithstanding, I’ve really loved getting to spend time with you.”

Bucky had known Joss for about four days. He didn’t claim to know her well. But he’d always been pretty good at reading people, and over a life spent in battle of one sort of another, he’d also seen far more than his share of fear. Which was why Bucky suddenly knew, beyond any doubt, that Joss was terrified of something. She was actually doing a damn good job of hiding it; she’d deflected his attention from it for the entire previous day, and right up until this moment. But he knew he was right. And given what she’d just said, coupled with the expression he saw underneath her false humor, now that he was looking for it, a whole lot of things suddenly began to fit together in a new shape.

Bucky was reminded of a tenement fire he’d seen once in Brooklyn. Being typical young boys, he and Steve had gone running to the building to watch, expecting to see some cool flames, maybe some exciting heroics by the fire crews. They had seen some of those things, but the thing that had haunted ten-year-old Bucky for months afterward was the looks on the faces of those trapped on the upper floors. Grown men had stood in open windows, staring in wide-eyed terror at the flames consuming the rooms behind them, near-paralyzed with fear as they tried to find the courage to jump into the life net spread by the firefighters below.

Joss looked like that now. What danger was pursuing her that leaving the hospital far too soon was the better alternative?

“What’s going on with you? Why would you-“

She just shook her head and looked down at their joined hands. “Just… It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to thank you, and tell you that I’m glad I met you. But now I think you better go. People know who you are, and I don’t want you to get blamed for me breaking out of here.”

“Dammit, Joss, talk to me! What’s going on?”

“I can’t. Let’s not do a whole thing-“

“Just knock it off, will you? Quit treating me like a one-night stand. Maybe I can help.”

When Joss met Bucky’s eyes again, the fear was unveiled, along with a deep sorrow he hadn’t even known was there. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I meant what I said; I really like you. Please. Just go. It’s OK. I promise.”

For a long time, they engaged in a silent battle of wills that Joss won by cheating. Her large, brown eyes filled with tears. “Please,” she whispered. “I need to get out of here before the doctor comes by.”

“Tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Are you running from me?”

She sighed before answering in a voice his enhanced hearing barely registered. “Not specifically.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bucky, I can’t-“

“Fine. Don’t tell me. But I’m coming with you.”

“No. You’re not.”

“Either we both go or neither of us do. I’m not letting you die.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“I know. Because I’m going with you.”

“Bucky-“

They both stiffened as they heard one of the nurses greet Joss’s surgeon. Joss’s pleading look hit Bucky harder than Steve’s fists ever had.

“You got shoes?” He asked.

*****

Bruce and Catherine had done all the work for which they needed to be in Catherine’s lab at Columbia, and both needed a break from the solid days of research they’d been doing. So on their way back to the tower, they took the opportunity to have lunch at a place Bruce liked nearby.

“This looks like a place you’d go,” Catherine mused, gazing around at the small, dim Thai restaurant with floor-to-ceiling partitions between each booth. The atmosphere was hushed, partly because there were few customers, and partly because the floor was thickly carpeted and the partitions were covered with fabric that absorbed sound.

Bruce looked around, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. “It does?”

“Oh, I like it, don’t get me wrong. It’s got a sort of opium den aesthetic. And I’m pretty sure if they were ever asked, everyone here would swear they’ve never seen you before.”

Bruce just grinned shyly at his lap.

“Bruce… I want to ask you something, and I don’t know how you’ll feel about it. Do you mind if I ask how things are going for you? With, you know…”

“My little problem?”

“Well, if you want to call him little.”

He actually smiled a bit at that. “I’m… working on it. Always working on making it stop, but also trying to figure out-“ He stumbled over what he meant to say.

“What?” She prodded gently.

“Well, he’s… useful sometimes, you know? I mean, there are some situations where a pissed off nine-foot, green beastie comes in awful handy.”

“Like with the Chitauri.”

“For one example. So, I mean… I’m not so sure now that getting rid of him entirely is the right end goal.”

“So controlling him, then?”

He sat back, pulling at his already-mussed hair in a way that made Catherine’s heart ache. “Well, that’s the problem. I think there’s a reason alcoholics just quit drinking entirely. Eliminating a threat seems a hell of a lot easier than controlling it.”

The waiter arrived then, and Catherine watched Bruce as he ordered, just letting herself appreciate the unruly curls in his perpetually-mussed hair, his soulful, dark eyes and little-boy smile. It hurt to look at him, and yet she couldn’t look away. She realized it and wanted to berate herself for indulging in the adolescent pastime of wallowing in her insipid emotions. She’d mercilessly mocked all those young girls crowded together to scream and cry whenever the Beatles appeared anywhere in the 1960’s. Yet here she was, doing basically the same thing. Bloody prat. Next, she’d be driving by the tower at night to see if the lights in his lab were on.

Bruce had introduced Catherine to Thai food in London. She’d never been adventurous when it came to food, and back then, she’d thought that all Thai food had to be spicy enough to burn a hole in your clothing if you spilled any. He’d wheedled her into trying it, which wasn’t hard with his irresistible pout. Besides which, she’d been so lost in love with him she’d have done it just because he wanted her to. Once she’d tried it, she quickly came to like it as much as she did, and they’d sought out great Thai places wherever they happened to be, including Thailand once.

In fact, they’d had Thai food on the night her world was destroyed.

Bruce had been in London working with a team using the radiation facilities at Brunel University. It had been a glorious two weeks; Bruce’s research was going well and Catherine had been able to indulge her desire to spoil him rotten the entire time he’d been staying in her flat.

That day, a Friday, was the last day Bruce’s team had use of the University’s equipment, which meant Bruce would be leaving for the U.S. the next day. Not wanting to miss one second of the time they’d had left, and knowing it was getting toward the end of her workday, Bruce had surprised Catherine by being in her office when she’d returned from a meeting. She could feel his impending departure in her bones, so seeing him in her office, looking rumpled and adorable while avidly reading a technical journal he had no business understanding, she hadn’t taken her eyes off him even as she locked her office door behind her.

He stood then, meeting her in the middle of the small room where their mouths met, their kisses sweet but demanding. They held each other close, stroking and touching almost immediately. There was nothing frantic about the way they removed each other’s clothing; they were tender with one another, but they both had a definite destination in mind. That destination was apparently standing with Catherine’s back to her heavy wooden desk, one leg wrapped around Bruce’s waist as he pumped into her. Catherine was still wearing her bra and Bruce his shirt, although it was completely unbuttoned.

She’d teased him on the way to dinner that he should order water to stay hydrated, given that she wasn’t done with him for the night. He’d laughed and dropped her hand in favor of putting his arm around her as they’d walked into one of their favorite Thai restaurants in Islington, just off the High Street. They’d laughed all through dinner, putting a brave face on their imminent separation, like always.

It happened when they left the restaurant. It was still early, maybe seven O’clock, as they walked toward Catherine’s flat, arm in arm and chatting animatedly about Bruce’s research and paying no attention to anything around them. It wasn’t even fully dark, but the men had been hiding in the shadows of a small walkway between two blocks of flats, waiting for someone just like Bruce and Catherine to come by. When they did, each was grabbed by one of the men and pulled into the dark of the walkway, shoved against one of the buildings and held there while a third threatened them with what looked like a butcher knife.

Bruce was ready to hand over anything they wanted. He’d begun to explain to the guy with the knife that he was reaching for his wallet. But Catherine had no such ideas. Her fury at being accosted, and the fear she tried to hide behind it, made her mouthy. Something she said, she’d never know which foulmouthed insult, flipped a switch in the one holding her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her and then threw her back against the wall, smashing her head against the brick and knocking her half-unconscious. She slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood. But the guy, entirely unhinged at that point, began to kick her and pummel her with his fists.

Through a red haze, Catherine saw only dim, confusing movement. But she heard English voices. First angry and threatening, then confused, then terrified, and finally screaming before going silent. Through it all, she could hear Bruce… What? Shouting? Maybe at first. But after a few moments, the noise he made could only be described as roaring. She had an impression of something – it seemed to be a person, but it was too big – moving quickly and throwing things. People. Throwing the men who had attacked them.

And then she was being lifted off the ground by impossibly large hands that felt more like stone than flesh, except that they were warm. And green.

She shook off some of the lethargy threatening to engulf her, screamed and began to try to struggle, but the massive green… man? Jumped, with her in his arms, from the alley to the roof of one of the three-story buildings on either side of the little walkway. At that point, she decided she must already be unconscious and dreaming or hallucinating, or whatever one did when one was unconscious. So she quit fighting it and closed her eyes, giving in to the onrushing darkness.

She’d awoken in a hospital bed with the worst headache she’d ever had and Bruce sitting in a chair next to her, refusing to look at her. It had taken a moment to realize that he was crying.

She couldn’t remember anymore what he’d said to her, the words he’d used to apologize, over and over, and to promise – as though she wanted it – that she would never have to see him again. But she would never forget the sound of his voice. The pain, the unspeakable shame, the regret and horror as he’d confessed his wretched secret. She’d tried to tell him that she loved him anyway. That she would face it with him, because he was worth everything, and anything was better than losing him. She’d begged him to stay, to listen to her, to trust her. He hadn’t heard a word.

In the end, she’d been sobbing and pleading even as he made his tearful exit from her hospital room, vowing never to put her in danger again and swearing that he would stay away from her. When her nurse had rushed to her bedside and seen the state she was in, her doctor had given orders to sedate her and call in her family.

Catherine blinked, suddenly finding herself in New York, almost three years later, with Bruce sitting across the table smiling quizzically at her.

“Huh?”

“It’s your turn to order,” he said. “Where’d you go?”

“Oh, I… Yeah, I… Sorry, I was…” She wasn’t about to tell Bruce that she’d just been remembering the night she met the Hulk and lost the love of her life. Instead, she looked up at the bored waiter and ordered the first thing she could think of.

*****

Even the early risers in the Villa didn’t get moving until mid-morning, so no one blinked when Sam and Anita’s first appearance downstairs occurred at almost noon. In fact, that was the reason the staff made breakfast by request until eleven, when they set out a sumptuous, buffet-style brunch featuring cold seafood, made-to-order omelettes, and a full array of morning-after drinks. Sam and Anita both opted for Bloody Marys, very quietly asking the bartender to add only a splash of vodka.

If anything could convince them that nothing was surprising or off-limits at one of Jarman Arias’s house parties, it was the amused good cheer with which Arias greeted them.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you two happily reunited this morning,” he crowed, smiling delightedly as he placed a hand on each of their shoulders in a loose approximation of a group hug.

Sam looked awkwardly down and took an ostentatiously large drink of his Bloody Mary. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry about last night. I get a little crazy when I drink sometimes.”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Arias laughed. “With a woman as beautiful as Anita, any man would feel as you do.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow, apparently impressed. “You’re somethin’, Arias.”

“Well…” Arias shrugged, failing miserably to look humble.

“Listen, do you think we could just forget about last night? It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“Sam, my friend, it’s forgotten. We won’t speak of it again.”

“Good, because I was wonderin’, as many diversions as you got around here, you ever do any business during one of these things?”

The change in Arias raised the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck. He shrugged, but the predatory look in his eyes was unmistakable. “At times. What kind of business did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sam answered, running a hand behind his neck as though he was uncomfortable and unable to hide it. “I just thought we might have a conversation. A quiet conversation.”

“I’m intrigued. Why don’t we spend some time together this afternoon? I like to practice my golf swing when I’m here. Do you golf?”

“I’m not sure you could call what I do golf, but…”

Arias laughed heartily. “Then meet me on the driving range. We’ll see if we can’t improve your swing. Say two O’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” Sam beamed.

Arias then turned his attention to Anita, who smiled beatifically at him, but remained at Sam’s side. “My dear, you look beautiful this morning.”

“Thank you, Papi. You’re not mad at me?”

Sam wouldn’t have been mad at her if she took a chainsaw to his dog, if she looked at him like that.

“Oh, mi flor, you’re a paisa. Our blood runs hotter than others’. Of course I understand.” She positively glowed as he took her hand to kiss it. “But. If you’ll excuse me, I must see to my other guests.”

Sam and Anita watched him hustle to the side of a couple, both of whom looked much the worse for wear, whom Anita told Sam were a Bolivian rock star and his model girlfriend. As if in response to a signal, Sam and Anita set their drinks down and turned toward the villa. As they tried to look casual sauntering across the patio, Sam unbuttoned his shirt and Anita removed the brightly-colored wrap covering her red bikini.

The villa was built on an artificial hill so that it overlooked the beach and commanded a spectacular view of miles of green-blue ocean. The main patio and lawn were on one level but, on the other side of the villa away from the beach, a lower level opened onto a spacious parking area. Sam and Anita had both independently discovered that the security hub of the house was in a corner of that lower level. Arias had given Anita a tour, and one of the guests, a telenovela star, had drunkenly shared with Sam that more than one of the important guests at the party were in thrall to Arias because the surveillance controlled from that room had given him ample material for blackmail over the years. After that, Sam had made sure to meet one of the men the telenovela star had told him was part of the team who did the monitoring.

Sam wasn’t sure he was up to this part, but he was game. He was about as straight as a man could be, but he figured flirting was flirting, and he was a grand master, if he did say so himself. He knocked on the door from the outside to the security room as he opened it and stepped in, Anita right behind him.

“Can we come in?” He smiled broadly as he ignored the fact that he was already there.

“Oh… Sam,” a young, reddish-haired man said, stumbling up from his chair in front of a bank of monitors and grinning uncomfortably.

“Hey, Keith. You said I could come by. Now a bad time?”

“No, it’s… Come on in.” The man named Keith looked suspiciously at Anita.

“This is my girlfriend, Anita. She wanted to come with me, is that OK?”

Keith looked a little disappointed. “Sure. Hey, Anita.”

She smiled happily at him. “Nice to meet you, finally. Sam’s been talking about you. He’s right. You are hot.”

Suddenly Keith wasn’t so disappointed anymore. In fact, he looked both excited and just a little frightened. Sam thought it was cute.

Anita winked at Keith and quite pointedly turned her back to introduce herself to the other two men in the room while Sam stepped closer to Keith.

“So, you said you’d show me this amazing system of yours?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The next fifteen minutes were a delicate dance, while Sam made his moves on Keith, and Anita did her best to make friends with the other two men who were supposed to be monitoring the feeds from the ridiculous number of cameras around the villa. Both Sam and Anita got crash courses in the system, although all they really needed to know was the specific locations of cameras in one particular area of the house. Nonetheless, they paid rapt attention to their hosts. Fortunately, the two guys Anita was entertaining paid rapt attention to her body straining the tensile strength of her bikini’s fabric.

Eventually, Sam worked his way to sitting on a rolling chair very close to Keith’s, their heads close together as Sam giggled and messed with buttons and Keith giggled back, playfully scolding him and resetting them. Anita leaned closer to her new friends.

“Hey, you guys, you think maybe we’re intruding on a bit of a moment?” She asked conspiratorially, tossing her head toward Sam and Keith, now whispering something to one another. “Maybe we should take a little break, huh?” She had their absolute, undivided attention as she pulled a fat joint from her bikini top.

She wasn’t surprised to see them agree quickly, especially because she slid a hand down each man’s arm, pulling them sweetly toward her and starting toward the door. As she passed through on the way outside, Anita glanced back to see Keith whispering something into Sam’s ear, Sam’s hand on his thigh.

The marijuana Anita offered the two guards was nothing like what Natasha had offered Santi and the other guards at Arias’s underground facility in Washington. Anita’s joint was, in fact, from Tony’s personal stash, and he’d guaranteed that anyone who took more than a hit or two would most definitely not be paying attention to detail afterward. By the time Anita and the two guards returned to the control room, she could see he’d been understating things. She was intrigued to see that Sam and Keith were actually trading tentative nips at each other’s lips when they returned, and Sam made sure that Keith wasn’t able to pay any more attention than the other two as Anita surreptitiously made a few adjustments to the sequence in which the program shuffled through camera feeds. Of course, she did it while leaning over far more than necessary, pretending to show her own targets something on one of the feeds while they goggled at her chest.

A while afterward, Sam and Anita smoothly and reluctantly wrapped up their visit to the control room, leaving all three men in no shape to pay much attention to which camera feeds were, or were not, showing as the monitors cycled through them.

“How stoned are you?” Sam asked, as they made their way from the control room to their next tasks.

“Just nicely toasted. I’ll be fine when it’s time. But I’ll tell you something. When this is over, I definitely gotta party with Tony Stark. That was some nice stuff. It was a damn crime to only pretend to inhale.”

“Be careful. I heard he had Snoop Dogg beggin’ for mercy once.”

“You know what? I can believe that.”

#The Avengers #The Winter Soldier #Captain America #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Bruce Banner #Sam Wilson #The Falcon #Clint Barton #Tony Stark

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dogpalace · 6 years

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M*A*S*H

Petsitting: it’s tiring! But so much fun. I am at Animal Farm right now, winding down a month-long stint. I’ve enjoyed getting up early when the light hits the apartment’s north-facing bedroom windows; doing the pleasant chores of feeding the pets, scooping the litter (yes, pleasant, truly), and walking the dog in the beautiful park across the street. However, last night something threw a spanner in the works. As I relaxed in my bathrobe watching a final DVR’d M*A*S*H episode before bed—more about that soon—Matt called to report that our cat, Williams, was sick again and he wanted me to come over to assess the situation. It sucks being confronted with our pets’ mortality, so much more than with our own, or so I usually believe.

Don’t think me some kind of monster. I have reckoned with human mortality a fair amount recently. Anyone would agree who saw my tweets about my father’s living through Hurricane Maria last fall, which were… lugubrious. In addition, my stepfather Thomas had massively invasive heart surgery at almost the exact same time, the year after having had two brain surgeries to correct a hematoma. (Lots of things happen which I don’t tweet about, guys.) It all was terrifying. But Williams is part of our nuclear family; she’s so close to us, every day, every hour. The threat to our happy routine which her illness poses, then, is not exactly scarier, but scarier in a different, more immediate way.

Of course, though it was midnight, I threw clothes on and took the subway into Brooklyn to tend to Williams. Of course this should happen as I was in the middle of the steamy episode of M*A*S*H where B.J. has an affair with one of the nurses. As I rode home, I thought about TV and all the joy it has brought me, and miraculously was able to put myself in a good mood as I traversed the magical passageway underneath 14th Street that connects the 1,2, and 3 to the L and F.

I can’t believe I’m sitting here about to tell you all that M*A*S*H is good, but I realize I have to. As with most of you, it was in the background of my entire childhood. My dad, who’s a cinematographer, once remarked that the image of the helicopters in the opening credits was a great shot; later that week I saw a helicopter at a cliff’s edge in a Wile E. Coyote cartoon and shouted, “Great shot!” to no one. As I grew I took pleasure in learning all the characters’ names, which was not super easy for a little kid considering they all dressed alike in fatigues, except for Klinger, who was my favorite at that time. At school I once said the words “horse puckey,” lifting the old-timey profanity from Colonel Potter, and was very gently chided.

Then when I was an adult, and more particularly during petsitting jobs like this one where I have access to classic sitcoms on cable, I learned to appreciate it on a different level. Treacle and rapid quips and slapstick and deep emotion, plus a giant helping of antiwar sentiment, packed into a dinky half-hour show with a laugh track. Really good acting: the young Alan Alda at the center with his hair already graying, spouting wisdom in a Groucho voice; but also the broader comedy provided by Jamie Farr in the frocks and Loretta Swit and Larry Linville screeching at each other. Sweet, beatific William Christopher as the holy man. All this and Gary Burghoff, who delivers my favorite performance—Radar O’Reilly is frightened, earnest, and pure of heart though clearly touched in the head. Try re-watching the scene where Radar approaches a bombardier with a Messiah complex and asks him to bless his teddy bear, truly believing the guy is Christ. It will get you, dammit.

I arrived home to find Matt lying on the couch and Williams pacing the floor. A victim of chronic urinary infections, our cat was having a bad flare-up, going in and out of the litter box while crying confusedly. Since it was so late, we decided to wait for the vet visit until the vet was open, rather than spend an extra five hundred bucks or so at the animal ER. There are pre-loaded syringes of cat painkiller at our house, because this happens to her so much, so Matt had dosed her and waited until the crying stopped.

“This is it,” I told Matt. “We aren’t feeding her any more dry food.” With the decisiveness of a military doctor I dumped the bowl’s contents out and replaced them with a fresh lump of wet. Up until then she’d gotten a mixture of the two.

“Wow, look, she’s eating up!” he said after a minute. Williams was standing at the bowl and chomping the wet food with gusto, and even in her doped-up state she ate until it was all gone. Undeniably an excellent sign. Matt then left to help close the bar around the corner from us, and I babysat our cat, though I didn’t do anything at all except sleep near her. A petsitting expert knows that, often, the most important thing is not to leave them alone.

Earlier in the day, I had received an email from one of my old friends, a dogwalking colleague here on the Upper West Side. She told me that another dog walker in the neighborhood, an older man, died last weekend while walking dogs in the park. I remember this man from the years when my route was up there: I didn’t know him well at all, but he was one of the nicest people to greet on the pavement, always wearing a smile, always eager to say hello to a dog or a person. My father is OK for now—he got a flight out of Puerto Rico and decided to stay in New York for the winter. My stepfather is OK for now—his zipper scar will always look gruesome, but it healed. This dog walker, who was a little younger than both of them, didn’t make it.

When Matt came home at 5:00 I woke up, kissed him goodbye and got back on the train. How is Williams now? I haven’t heard anything yet this morning, and I’m hoping no news is good news. I woke up at 7:30 to walk the dog, feed the Animal Farm cats and, cheerfully, scoop the litterbox. Then I wrote this thing you’re reading. Matt told me to say a prayer for her. I’m thinking of the prayer Father Mulcahy said once, that I laughed at as a child, one of the first memories I have of laughing at the TV.

Now I lay me down to sleep,

A bag of peanuts at my feet.

If I should die before I wake,

Give them to my brother Jake.

Now that I have written a shiny new blog post (yay! I thank you for reading it!), I’m going to call Matt for a kitty update, and reassure him that I’m coming home tomorrow to live at our house again. Right after the call I’m going to watch the rest of my M*A*S*H episode to see how it ends for B.J. after his extramarital transgression. I have decided, at least for the next half hour, to be extremely invested in that.

#dog walking #mash #gary burghoff #mike farrell #cat urine #tv land

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swearronchanel · 7 years

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4.03 to kill some time

I’m so stressed *no surprise* and I’m very much over this semester even though there’s 6 more weeks lol but I’m going to do what I do best before I go to my last class: avoid my problems and responsibilities & watch call the midwife (4.03 won the episode roulette) and post my trash commentary™..

How many series has Fred been in charge of these volunteer whatever’s and I still don’t know the proper name/title??

LOL @ the shrieks but I feel, rats are nasty af. There’s so many in the train stations in nyc it’s gross

Phyllis !! back when I didn’t really like her omg I was a fool

Sister MJ so pure lol, she doesn’t wanna poison the rats

fuck that tho kill em all

Here comes Trixie 😍 my bby & her fabulous pyjamas. I want them 😭

Ivy from downton abbey out here, I forgot she was Mrs Amos

Imagine if someone actually relevant from downton guest starred on ctm? That’d be lit

Hey Pats

“Baby at the surgery?” LOL Phyllis was such a bitch to my bby Shelagh in the beginning tbh 😂😂 it’s fine all is forgiven, i love her now. BESIDES THEY HUGGED & SHELAGH CALLED HER A FRIEND & IT WAS SO SWEET

Angela is so precious w/ her ears that stick out lol

Dysentery yikes

Phyllis gets shit done though. I love it

Noted: Patsy says “garage” funny & Patrick says “recourses” funny. Idk if it’s just the accent and I’m a childish American or if they just say it weird?? prob the former

I hate watching this online because there are no subtitles 😭😭

like I know this random bitch in the clinic just said something rude about the Irish family but it’s not clear !

my bby shelagh so precious even explaining how to properly wash your hands

but I hope they burned that blue dress though. She’s too pretty to wear ugly clothes !! 😭😍

Shelagh’s so nice & patient 😂like if I was her I would’ve told Phyllis to keep it pushing and that I got it covered

Helen George slays every hair style, I freaking wish

Oh shit I forgot Tom & Trixie were engaged here haha

I’m slightly uncomfortable 😂

I forgot about this storyline, I feel so sad for the Mcavoys

Patsy’s outfit 😍 I love it

sister MJ out here trying to capture the rats to set them free 😂

I still don’t really get what the Rose Queen thing is/how it works

this poor Irish family can’t catch a break

Oh shit wait this is when Tony gets set up right, well it seemed like a set up.

damn though Tony was really about to get it with this guy in a public bathroom?? hm never mind

But it was so suspicious that the guy didn’t immediately break away & then didn’t even say anything, just blew that damn whistle?? no coñfio

I swear it was a set up but anyways

I knew you could be arrested for being gay at the time in the uk but it’s still wild to me when I watched this episode. Like how fucked up? To be deemed a criminal for wanting to be with someone of the same sex. I’m pretty sure it’s still like that in some countries too. Insane

But still fucked up of Tony, like you’re married. Can’t defend cheating

See Trixie agrees, we don’t like cheaters

“No dark secrets girls, not if you value your life”

Marie’s dad said “garage” the same way, maybe it’s the accent

Aw my bbys are back on screen

“Surely with nurse crane on the warpath, dysentery doesn’t stand a chance” hell yea, Phyllis👏🏼can👏🏼take👏🏼on👏🏼 anything

But I’m glad Shelagh solves the mystery because it was rather dull when she wasn’t doing much & she’s too good for that!

“I thought I might assist you in a manner of a Dr Watson” SHE’S SO CUTE 💖

yea okay lady you tell yourself it’s a decent street bc there’s no Irish

prejudice boils my blood

“..I’m always very careful, especially with an accent” lol um you all have accents ???

I forgot for a second that they prob don’t consider anyone to have accents because they live there lol, same way I swear I don’t have an accent until someone that’s not from nyc calls it out😭 But Shelagh’s accent is obviously different too ?? Besides I think the Irish family is easier to understand than some of the local people ?? Hmm. I’m not even going to bother figuring it out, whatever. The woman lied and you’re still perfect Shelagh

But I approve of the navy blue suit. Her lighter blue dress wasn’t a look

Babs was kind of irrelevant here tbh lol

Tom whispering “I’m in love with you” to Trixie like same, who isn’t. Beatrix is a dream

“Who knows what undesirable will be purged next?” *clenches fist* aghh, I wish it was the nasty stale cheeto running my country

Lol omg Fred’s small glasses

Aw sister Julienne, she hasn’t been in this episode much 😭

Jenny Agutter is so great and I’m still not over the fact that she loves rap & especially Eminem. Like I need a video of her singing “shake that ass for me”😂😂 I’d die.

poor Mr Amos 💔

More dinner table scenes in series 7, I love when the majority of the cast is together

Omg how awful/ sacrilegious of me is it to ask that someone make an edit of the the last supper with the Call the midwife cast 😭😭

Eh I’ve said/done worse, god forgive me lol *does the cross, en el nombre del padre, y del hijo y espiritu santo*

Agreed Babs, Mr Amos is so good looking 😭😉

“Don’t make that your criteria for men. My mother always said find a plain man, he’ll be eternally grateful and never stray” LMAOO PHYLLIS I LOVE YOU

my mother tells me “find a rich man because you’re high maintenance and can’t afford it” 😂😂 .. still working on that

“I always thought the essence of crime is that some harm is done to someone” right SIster MJ!?😭

Okay sister W, the Bible says it’s a sin but the Bible condemns a lot of things. Like the doesn’t the Bible even say don’t mix clothing fabrics lol

“Well quite frankly, I thought we fought a war of fascism. And that’s exactly what this is, telling people who they can and can not love” yes Trixie👏🏼 that’s my bby

Patsy sitting there so uncomfortable aww

I don’t think the show has touched on homosexuality since this episode?? are we thinking someone else with find out about Patsy and Delia in series 7?? so curious

Netflix cut this Turner scene, just like they cut most of their cute scenes like how dare they

“Patrick, you’ll think me naive..” she’s so innocent

“I supposed it’s how we made things..There isn’t much room for a different way”

SHELAGH’S REACTION WHEN PATRICK SAYS KINSYS REPORT STATES A “GOOD DEAL OF MEN HAVE HAD HOMOSEXUAL THOUGHTS” KILLS ME EVERY.TIME😂😂

Once again Laura Main proving she’s the queen of facial expressions

“We should live and let live” Patrick’s not here to judge & I’m glad

Do judges or whatever they’re called in the U.K. still wear those wigs?

Oh shit he was a constable I didn’t remember that

Trixie and Phyllis is the dynamic I am here™ for

right after Trixie & Shelagh but I’ll leave that be for now, you know my feelings

3 series of Phyllis’s barley sugar mentions & I still don’t know what the hell they are

And considering my phone is on me just about all the time you’d think I would’ve googled it by now ??

Poor Patrick trying to speak and being shut up

I don’t like his hair gelled down though. But he’s stopped that thankfully

remembering people really think you can “cure homosexuality” again, wild

omg ew what kind of bug was that *cringes*

Lol that baby does not look like a new born

they’re giving Tony estrogen wtf

Phyllis is right yikes that hostile belongs in the past

How is Patrick comfortable eating in there

Phyllis has been scolding Patrick on his eating habits since 1960😂

Phyllis and Trixie sharing a room and both have towels wrapped around their heads 😂😭 I love it

Omg Trixie is helping Phyllis with her Spanish I forgot

“I have a great desire to go to Spain one day..” LET PHYLLIS GO TO SPAIN 2k18/1963 !!

Phyllis calling out Trixie’s drinking..

She notices everything

Trixie taking the new rose queens glasses off lol, just like she lowkey wanted Shelagh to take her glasses off during the wedding

Who does this lady think she is banishing people from the community centre??

“Small mindedness has no place here” yes Pats

Ok Fred’s group is called the CDC, but what does that stand for

“A man can be too clean” wait why does she think there’s a correlation between cleanliness and being gay??

Poor Mrs Amos 😭 I feel bad for them both though

“Am I the only one who doesn’t despise them?” Aww Patsy

“Of course not, I just don’t think it’s our battle to fight” .. “who will then?” !!!!!! Thisssss. Still relevant today. Can’t stay silent

Trixie in another pair of fabulous pyjamas. I want them!

Ok but for real when is Trixie going to find out about Patsy and Delia ??

Sister J is so cute lol & her suggesting Phyllis to go with Patrick like hell yes

Another duo I’m here for 😂

I need Phyllis in my life, she’d set me straight and would give advice when I need it

Honestly I need her voice on a recording to play back whenever I make bad decisions 😂😂

Oh shit they graffitied The Amos’ door

Mr Amos is trying to take his life while his wife is bringing another life into the world ..

aw I’m tearing. Marie’s dad stopping Tony & telling him he has a daughter

“Best advice I ever received. When in the path of an unstoppable force it’s always best to surrender” PHYLLIS FU*KING CRANE LADIES & GENTLEMEN, A HERO AND ACTUAL GEM

And my bby Shelagh solving the mystery of the dysentery outbreak! She’s Also a gem 💕

“Elementary” “My dear Watson”😭😭😍❤️ bbys!

Patrick and Phyllis celebrating their victory omg so golden

“..And if anyone doesn’t like it then they can go home and stew in their own mean spiritedness..” yes Trixie that’s my bby!

Cue Vanessa “..We can protect all that we have”

Sister MJ yelling at the little boys aww 😭😂 “we are all gods creatures” ..“some are easier to love than others” ..“it’s the others that need us most!”

I just need Sister MJ protected at every cost, please!!

“But that place which we call home must be the place in which we are ourselves with no facade, no foundations weak, below us. Only then can we face outwards with our heads held high, claim the roles assigned to us, with open, honest hearts.. ”

Maybe I should google the rose queen too, is this a real thing?

Patsy holding Tony’s hand 😭

Everyone ended up clapping ugh my heart 😢

why does ctm always make me so emotional ? literally gold in television form. & it has ruined tv for me because there will never be a show greater than this

I want to watch another episode, but I have class in 10 mins ughh. ok bye guys. I dont have time to check my spelling and shit so bear with me and excuse it all

#my commentaries™#call the midwife #gets me through #everytime #you tired of me yet #??

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