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thornedrose44 · 3 years

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It's Funny Right Up Until It's Not

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It's funny because it's harmless…

It's funny because it's never a big deal…

It's funny because it's forgotten by the next day…

It's funny because she's fine.

She's always fine…

Until… she’s not...

It's funny right up until there's a growing pool of blood.

It's funny right up until Kara's hands just can't seem to stem the flow.

It's funny right up until Kara can't get her to open her eyes no matter how much she screams.

It's funny right up until the moment Kara realises Lena might actually die this time…

*****

Lena always said she would start to worry if she didn't have an assassination attempt at least once a week, claiming she would phone her enemies to check that they were all still kicking - concerned they might have passed away or even worse… lost interest.

Lena was the one that joked about it from the start, her dark-edged humour and flair for the dramatic finding their niche with the topic of the failed attempts on her life.

Alex jumped in next - her humour similar to the youngest Luthor and her affection for Lena not high enough for her to find the subject of Lena’s death off putting like she would with anyone else. Her amusement at the failed attempts taking a harsher edge towards Lena than necessary. "You know why they keep missing you? You run so stupidly that logical aiming no longer applies."

Kara could chart Alex and Lena’s friendship by how the jokes changed. How Lena was no longer the punchline but the assassins, how they were idiotic for daring to take on Lena, "I mean seriously! What sane being in the known universe would think: 'I know that Lena Luthor stopped an alien invasion, is probably the smartest person on the planet and is practically a sharpshooter but me and my crappy store bought pistol will be more than enough to take her on'."

Alex's shift into more positive banter led the way for the rest of the Superfriends to get in on the action. They placed bets on when the next attempt would come. They would reminisce about the most ridiculous attempts so far - the spiderman impersonator that had used suction cup gloves to slowly climb the side of L-Corp was a particular favourite, exhausting themselves halfway up and crying for Supergirl to save him.

It became one of the most regular jokes amongst them, an old and familiar friend that they could fall back on and break the ice with when the need arrived.

Kara had hated it to start with. Had hated Lena's nonchalance and the twinkle of mirth in her eyes after her latest would-be assassin was carted away in handcuffs. Had hated Lena’s morbid humour. Had hated the bullying disguised as playful banter that Alex had inflicted on her best friend who always shook it off far too lightly. Had hated how it became a comfortable staple amongst her friends.

But… with every failed attempt that Lena walked away from without a scratch… Kara's hatred reduced. She started to laugh at the jokes and appreciate the compliments that Alex now tucked into her banter (each one an apology for those that had cruelly come before). She started to engage in the bets and fondly roll her eyes in faux exasperation when she would find Lena working away even as they swept up the glass from the latest attacker.

And once the Supergirl secret was out, their friendship more solid than ever, Kara finally poked fun as well.

It was funny because Lena was never hurt.

It was funny because Supergirl would always, always, always be there to save her in the nick of time.

It was funny right up until Supergirl was too late.

*****

Kara had been in the training room at the time, her powers dampened by the green suffused walls. She hadn’t heard the ringing from the watch calling - screaming out - for help. She hadn’t heard the gunshots. The skyrocketing heartbeat.

She hadn’t heard any of it.

Alex had insisted, after assessing Kara’s technique to be a little lazy in a fight the day prior, that they re-sharpen her skills in the training room. The sisters had spent the morning laughing between thrown punches; exhausting themselves and bickering good-naturedly. Kara had made Alex swear that they would be finished before eleven, not wanting to be late to her standing brunch with Lena that she always looked forward to.

It should be noted that it takes Kara a minute to somewhat recharge in the morning light streaming through the DEO’s windows on the mezzanine balcony after her training sessions. It was something Alex and Lena had spent a significant amount of time working out, taking into consideration the kryptonite strength in the training room and Kara’s typical sunlight absorption rate - neither liking the idea of Kara powerless for an extended amount of time.

So... it took a minute.

A full minute spent talking to Alex about… Kara wouldn’t even remember after everything that happened next.

She would, however, remember the moment when her super-hearing kicked back in and she was overwhelmed by the high pitched warble from Lena’s watch, followed by the sound of Lena’s barely there breath and thready heartbeat.

Kara won’t remember taking off so violently that Alex was thrown back several feet. She won’t remember smashing through the DEO’s ceiling nor the sonic boom that accompanied her flight and shattered hundreds of windows.

She won’t remember landing with such ferocity the entirety of L-Corp shook, matching the tremble running through her body.

She will, however, always remember the growing pool of blood and how she dissociated at the sight of it. Some strange voice in her head whispering that it must simply be red wine that had slipped through Lena’s fingers. She’d always liked wine, the voice would soothe, a particular cabernet with a price tag that would make Kara’s eyes water, that’s all it was.

She needed it to be wine.

It didn’t matter that the puddle - lake, ocean - was more than a single bottle’s worth.

It didn’t matter that Lena only drank wine with others, her solitary drink of preference being whiskey.

It didn’t matter that Kara had never seen Lena’s elegant fingers ever let a single drop fall from her glass, let alone an entire bottle.

It didn’t matter because it could not be blood.

Lena doesn’t bleed, not that much, not ever.

Because Lena was always fine. Kara was always there on time.

Always.

The next thing that would be forever ingrained in Kara’s memory, seared into her mind’s eye like burnt pixels exposed to the same image endlessly - a ghost overlapping everything else - was Lena’s body taking centre stage on the red carpet of her own creation.

Lena, pale beyond comparison, curled into a small ball, single arm stretched out and stained crimson. She was wearing Kara’s favourite dress - green with a white printed flower design - she had worn it to their first brunch after they had reconciled. It was associated with hope, reunion and new starts. It complemented Lena’s green eyes making them sparkle and twinkle even more when the light streaming through the little restaurant’s window had hit them at just the right angle.

Lena’s cheeks had flushed a pleased pink, ears burning a warm red when Kara had stuttered out a compliment that day. That brunch had settled something between them, ensured they walked with linked hands towards their new future rather than struggling on different paths that occasionally converged.

Now it was stained red. Splattered almost beyond recognition.

Kara won’t remember crying or screaming for Lena to wake up. She only knows she must have done it when she looked in the mirror hours later to find her cheeks marked with semi-permanent tear tracks whilst her throat ached from overuse.

She won’t remember flying Lena so carefully and tenderly to the DEO.

She won’t remember landing.

She won’t remember the expressions of utter devastation on Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn’s faces.

She won’t remember Alex having to shove her away so that she and the medical team can get to Lena.

She won’t remember Brainy and J’onn forcibly restraining her.

She will remember the sound of Lena’s heart stopping for thirty seconds and feeling like the whole world had ended.

*****

The space was filled to the brim with loved ones that couldn’t bear the idea of leaving whilst the medical staff fought to save Lena’s life

Brainy and Nia were sat huddled together against one wall, Nia running a calm hand down Brainy’s ramrod straight back. J'onn stood in the corner, observant gaze sweeping protectively over everyone, ready to swing into action at the slightest indication someone required him. Sam and Ruby - who had flown over using the L-Corp jet the second they had heard - were curled up on one of the two benches, Ruby’s soft cries muffled against Sam’s curled shoulder. Kelly, meanwhile, was hovering nearby, flitting between people, providing endless comfort and support.

It was Kelly that had gently tugged Kara to the bathroom and washed away the crimson marking her skin and brought her a change of clothes, telling her in gentle tones that she didn’t need to be Supergirl in this situation.

It was permission to fall apart, to just be the best friend and not the hero.

Kara didn’t know she needed that until she finally realised no one had touched her since she had brought Lena in, that she hadn’t sat down or rested either. Her stiff posture and clenched jaw warding off all those that wished to provide comfort.

The second permission was granted to her, Kara immediately sought out her adoptive mother, who had just arrived, and collapsed into her arms, willingly breaking down and begging between sobs for Lena to be okay.

Kara and Eliza took up the other bench - mirror images of Sam and Ruby - Eliza, intermittently, pressing reassuring kisses to Kara’s head as they waited and waited and waited.

“She’s stable.” Alex announced with little ceremony as she stepped into the room, cutting right to the chase knowing a delay of any kind would not be appreciated by those sitting in the makeshift waiting room/DEO hallway. There was an instant audible expulsion of air that accompanied the sheer relief of the room's occupants.

Kara, however, didn’t sigh in relief, didn’t whisper a thank you to any deity listening, instead she got to her feet and approached Alex, desperation clear in her eyes and in the shake of her hands. “Can I see her?”

Alex blinked taken aback by the suddenness of the request but not the request itself, “Kara, she’s-”

“Please.” Kara begged, blue eyes pleading, legs shaking, ready to drop to her knees in supplication if need be.

“Kara, I don’t-” Alex murmured, looking quickly over at Eliza for support.

“Take her.” Eliza interrupted, tone serious and grave after spending hours holding her daughter who hadn't cried this much since the destruction of her entire planet. “Take her to Lena.”

“Okay, come on…”, Alex shook her head in wary acceptance, moving to hold open the door to Lena’s room.

*****

“She’s in a medically induced coma.” Alex explained quietly, her voice only just audible over all the whirring machines that Lena was hooked up to.

“Will she...” Kara asked, trailing off unable to finish the question.

Unable to imagine the still, pale mannequin laid out on the bed before her being all that Lena will ever be.

“Her body needs time to heal.” Alex explained carefully, not directly answering Kara’s question, “Once we’re more confident that she…” Alex cleared her throat, trying for tact and simplicity, “That she’s improved, we’ll back off the medication and gradually encourage her out of the coma.”

“Okay.” Kara accepted, sliding into the seat beside the bed, fingers reaching out tentatively to wrap around Lena’s limp ones.

“Okay?” Alex repeated, confused by Kara’s lack of pressing questions.

“She’ll wake up.” Kara murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Lena’s knuckles. “She’ll be fine. She’s always fine, isn’t she?”

“Uh…” Alex mumbled, uncertainty twisting her insides as she approached her sister who seemed so… lost.

“How many attempts has she survived now, huh?” Kara asked, her tone light but so dreadfully wrong and out of place like an easy-going dinner with friends jarred from its natural rhythm by the sharp squeak of a fork against a plate.

“Kara?” Alex whispered, stepping towards her sister like she would a wounded animal. "She's really hurt and I don't-"

"She’ll be fine, Alex. She’s always fine!" Kara hissed, blue eyes turning fierce with an ethereal red glow that had Alex stopping dead in her tracks. "It happens every week like clockwork and Lena is always fine!"

"This… this isn't like those other times…" Alex said slowly.

"YES, IT IS!" Kara screeched, the embers in her eyes sparking dangerously.

Alex swallowed thickly, a genuine trickle of fear running down her spine at the disturbing mish-mash of emotions flickering across Kara’s shadowed face. The only thing that made Alex see her sister in the dark swirl of emotions was the tender way she continued to cradle Lena’s hand as she ranted so loudly it shook the walls, every word undoubtedly audible to those seated just outside.

"They're all the same, Alex. It doesn't matter if they are professional or amateurs.” Kara snarled. “It doesn't matter if the plan is simple or complex. They've all tried to kill her and failed! It’s the same fucking thing as all the others! It’s not different."

"I-" Alex began in a futile attempt to soothe her sister’s heartbreak and loathing, but she might as well have tried to turn the tide.

"It's a joke, right?!” Kara laughed darkly, “That's how certain we are that they will always fail. That she will always be okay! We wouldn't joke about it if there was any actual risk, right?!” Kara asked, not waiting to hear the answer as the question itself was enough to punch a hole in Alex’s chest and leave her gasping for breath. “Because how fucked up would that be? That I laugh about my best friend… the woman I… my Lena, dying nearly every week." Kara’s voice cracked with true despair.

"Kara, you didn't-"

"Yes, I did and so did you. So did everyone.” Kara accused, laying out their crimes that they were all undeniably guilty of. “We laughed. We placed bets. We minimised it but didn't actually do anything. There is an assassination attempt on her life every week and yes, we stop it when it happens. But have we ever actually done anything to prevent it in the first place? Or did we just like the joke too fucking much?" Kara sobbed, finally turning away from her sister to gently lay her head atop of Lena’s frail hand.

"Kara…" Alex croaked; hot tears spilling from her own eyes at the sight of her sister becoming undone and knowing that any comfort she could offer was limited.

Lena’s state was precarious, her life still in the balance.

And with regards to the source of Kara’s anguish and the failings she had thrown at all of their doorsteps… well, Alex couldn't refute them especially knowing she had been the worst of them. The guilt was like that of a thousand blades slicing her up from the inside out, and she barely staggered to the door where Kelly was waiting with sympathy and love that Alex had never felt so unworthy of.

"She's going to be okay." Alex called out over her shoulder as she fell into Kelly’s arms, knowing Kara couldn’t hear her over the sounds of her grief and pain… but needing to say it nonetheless. Needing the words to be out there in the universe.

Needing them to be true.

*****

Kara stayed by Lena’s bedside for the entire week that Lena remained unconscious - an ever present sentinel that barely slept and only ate when Eliza forced the food onto her. The tumultuous swirl of fear and guilt that had become her constant companion, weighing heavier than the two worlds she already carried on her shoulders, kept her ever-vigilant and on a hair-trigger for even the smallest of threats to the young Luthor’s life.

Alex stopped by once a day to check in but she kept her distance, neither sister ready to address the crimes Kara held them both accountable for. The older Danvers looked almost as wrecked as Kara, dark circles under her eyes revealing deep-levels of exhaustion and stress - Kara wanted to ask how she was and check that she was looking after herself but the words just wouldn’t come. When Alex stopped by, Kara huddled even closer to Lena’s bedside and kept her gaze fixed and purposefully away from her sister’s.

Brainy and Nia, on the other hand, more than made up for Alex’s short visitations, setting up shop in Lena’s room whenever they could free themselves from the responsibilities Kara had unwittingly dumped on them - Brainy had stepped up to cover for Supergirl’s sudden disappearance in much the same way Nia was covering for Kara at work. Both had heard Kara’s distraught cries when she had seen Lena in the hospital bed and both were shouldering their own fair share of blame and guilt.

Brainy wasn’t very good at showing how distraught Lena’s near death had made him, hiding behind a tablet screen as he sat in the corner of Lena’s hospital room, but Kara was more than aware of the grief-stricken glances Brainy would send to his intellectual equal when he believed no one was looking. Kara didn’t call him out on it, merely gave his shoulder a squeeze every now and again before giving the Coluan some privacy - trusting Brainy above everyone to not let anything happen to Lena.

Whilst Nia hadn’t known Lena as long as everyone else, she was a gentle soul with the kindest heart that Kara had ever seen, her loyalty and love was firm and sincere regardless of how short a time she had known someone as was the case with the CEO. Lena was the person that Nia went to for support about sibling drama because Lena, unlike Kara, knew what it was like to truly doubt family love and how to cope when that support which everyone expects to be unconditional vanishes without a trace. Lena was the person that Nia had started to go shopping with, their appreciation for designer and statement fashion providing them bonding time that no one else could easily (or willingly) provide.

Eliza stuck around, the temporary dissolution of the sisterly bond that the two sisters’ typically depended on forcing the Danvers matriarch to step in and pick up the disjointed pieces of her family. She was the one that compelled Kara to shower, eat and nap. She was the one that dragged Alex by her ear into Lena’s room for her flying visits. She was the one that took point on Lena’s care, Alex too emotionally spent and frazzled to lead, and Kara untrusting of anyone else when it came to treating her best friend.

The medication was steadily backed off on the fifth day, Lena’s tests showing promise that she was improving. Lena groaned intermittently on the sixth day, groggy and confused - utterly unaware of Kara who flitted constantly over her with every sound like a worried mother hen. It was the seventh day - Kara’s mind fleetingly linking it with something holy and divine - when Lena awoke.

“Lena?” Kara whispered as Lena’s eyes fluttered open, green eyes slowly focusing and showing awareness that had been lacking whenever they flashed open a day prior.

“Kar-” Lena began, her voice fading out after the first syllable, her mouth so dry that her tongue barely managed to apply any moisture to her cracked lips. Kara responded immediately to her needs, her every nerve tuned in exclusively to Lena after days at her side.

“Here, small sips…” Kara encouraged, holding out a cup of water and straw which she pressed gently against the other woman’s lips.

After Lena had drunk her fill, Kara placed the cup back on the side before retaking Lena’s hand tenderly in her own.

“Better?” Kara checked.

“Hmm…” Lena hummed affirmatively, green eyes greedily moving over Kara’s face causing the blonde to flush and wish for the first time in the last few days that she had spent a bit more time on her appearance.

“I-” Kara began, her voice cracking with emotion as her lower lip trembled with barely suppressed sobs.

Kara had so much to say. So much.

The words had come endlessly whilst Lena had been asleep, thousands upon thousands of conversations she was desperate to have with her best friend playing on endless repeat in her mind’s eye scripted to perfection. She had promised herself she would have them all, would say them all the second Lena was awake and listening. She had memorised them and mouthed them to herself as she sat by the bedside, pressing kisses to Lena’s knuckles to mark the end of each sentence.

But now… her signature ramble had deserted her. There was so much to say and Kara was already overwhelmed at simply being able to stare into intelligent green that she so adored.

“Kara?” Lena called out soothingly.

And much to Kara’s embarrassment, the kryptonian promptly burst into tears upon hearing her name.

“Kara, it’s okay…” Lena rushed to reassure, squeezing Kara’s hand and tugging her closer so that Kara could bury her face into the pillow Lena was resting her head on - even in her broken down state Kara was so careful of Lena’s injured body. “I’m okay.” Lena repeated until Kara’s cries began to quieten and her shoulders stopped shaking, reducing down to a mere tremble.

“No, you’re not…” Kara hiccupped, turning her head to peer into concerned green eyes.

“Of course I am.” Lena reassured with a light, dismissive chuckle that made Kara tense up and her jaw clench. “That idiot couldn’t aim for shit.” Lena scoffed with an amused roll of her eyes that meant she was blind to the rage visibly brewing in her best friend’s countenance. “I’m thinking of turning the corridor leading into my office into a target range. Only those that can hit three out of five targets can gain access. That should stop like eighty percent of the assassins and then those that do make it through will at least be worthy of-”

“SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Kara demanded, throwing herself from the bed, hands clamped tight over her ears as she paced the room with such heavy footsteps that visible cracks in the tiles marked her every move.

The sudden silence that followed would have been suffocating if it were not for the familiar beeps of the machines that monitored Lena’s precious heartbeat. Slowly, Kara pulled her shaky hands away from her ears and glanced at her best friend with her peripheral vision, not ready to face those green eyes after her outburst. Lena was watching her curiously, no hint of fear in her expression or body language, eyebrow raised and lips pursed.

“Kara?” Lena encouraged, inviting an explanation with that single word.

Kara inhaled roughly, rubbing at her creased forehead with tightly wound fists. “It’s not funny, Lena…”

Lena cleared her throat and began with a tone that always accompanied her dry, snarky wit, “Well, maybe not right now but by the third attempt after this one-”

“NO!” Kara bellowed in total disbelief that Lena completely failed to get it. “YOU NEARLY FUCKING DIED.”

Lena yet again rolled her eyes and waved a hand as if to sweep it aside like it was a meaningless report that she had made a minor grammatical error in. “Kara, you’re over-reacting.”

“I AM REACTING THE RIGHT FUCKING AMOUNT TO SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL THE WOMAN I-” Kara’s voice cut out sudden and sharp.

Finally, Lena’s mask of nonchalance and indifference cracked. Round green eyes, slack jaw and hands tightly fisted in the bed’s blanket. A deer in the headlight that had never believed a car would ever come and had just been forced to watch it swerve erratically by, missing her by an inch.

Kara sucked in her lips, holding in the single word with all of her mighty strength before deflating and stating for the record, “It’s not funny. It was never funny. Never.”

*****

Kara didn’t keep her distance after that but that didn’t prevent a sizable chasm from opening up between them. It was nowhere near as bad as the fallout from Supergirl-gate, but it was ten times more awkward. The confession that almost happened, the assassination attempt and Lena’s near-death were swept momentarily under a rug but they loomed over them both regardless.

The Superfriends served as a suitable buffer, all of them (except for Alex) coming in on rotation to catch up with Lena throughout the day, keeping her occupied (though, Kara’s stony silence and brooding glare was definitely the elephant in the room) until exhaustion pushed Lena into a deep slumber.

It lasted two days which is more than Kara thought Lena would let her get away with but she hadn’t taken into consideration how fragile Lena was from her injuries. Kara hated herself just that little bit more for always assuming everything was fine, that Lena was unbreakable and failing to see what was really going on below the surface.

“How long are you going to give me the silent treatment for?” Lena questioned, peering over at the blonde who was sat in the corner of the room typing up a fluff piece article to keep Andrea’s wrath at bay as she kept herself sequestered in Lena’s hospital room. Kara pointedly ignored the question, shoulders curving forward to keep her tightly locked towards her laptop screen.

“Come on Kara, talk to me, please?” Lena whined, sounding like a child denied her favourite toy and not someone that had gone through an incredibly traumatic event.

Kara’s jaw clenched, self-awareness making her realise that if she hadn’t of been the one to find Lena, hadn’t watched the grim bruises littered across pale skin lighten to murky blues and greens… she wouldn’t be able to tell that Lena had only just escaped the sweep of death’s scythe.

“I hate it when we are not talking.” Lena declared soft and earnest, finally pulling the kryptonian’s gaze away from her computer screen to the woman that Kara knew with absolute certainty would always make her breath catch no matter how much time passed. “I know my humour is a bit insensitive but I genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. Kara, just-”

“I’m in love with you.” Kara interrupted, the words slipping out easily after being held onto so tightly for years.

She was so drained of emotion, of thought, of strength, her heart battered and bruised by everything she had gone through, but the core of her loved Lena without end. With nothing else in her, there was nothing to hold back that limitless source which had been begging to be released.

“I have been for a long time,” Kara admitted gently, fingers shifting away from her keyboard to gently interlace - her gaze dropping down to focus on their interaction, “so much so that I don’t even really remember a time where I wasn’t in love with you.” Kara shook her head ruefully. “I should have told you earlier but I just… I was so scared of losing you, in even a small way… What if I told you and we hung out a little less? What if I told you and you stopped hugging me as hard as you do? I know I should have… I know it's the exact same reason - excuse - as why I kept Supergirl a secret and I know how…” Kara swallowed thickly, the crinkle between her brow deepening even further. “I should have learnt but you mean so much to me. I didn’t know… I’ve never loved like this before. When I heard… your heart stop. It was Krypton all over again and I just…”

“Kara.” Lena breathed in awe.

“I am so in love with you,” Kara repeated, practically begging for Lena to accept it as the truth; she didn’t care in that moment if Lena returned her feelings, it wasn’t about that, it was about Lena knowing she was loved. Truly and deeply loved. “Please believe me.”

“I believe you.” Lena whispered causing Kara’s head to jerk upwards to find Lena looking so small and vulnerable. The youngest Luthor timidly tapped the empty space next to her, “Come here.”

“I…” Kara hesitated, afraid of getting close again - so utterly afraid of destroying this beautiful moment between them.

“Come here.” Lena beseeched and Kara was on her feet and settling next to her best friend in an instant unable to deny her anything. Immediately, Lena reached out for her, directing Kara to lie down and rest her head on the uninjured side of her chest. “Just listen.” Lena requested; Kara did as she was told - though her super hearing and the beeping of the monitor in the corner told Kara that Lena’s heart was beating strong and steady, it was nothing compared to feeling it hum under her cheek. “It’s beating for you,” Lena revealed, her voice little more than a whisper muffled by how she pressed her lips to Kara’s forehead, “it's always been beating for you.”

*****

Lena fell asleep not long after but Kara stayed awake until the early hours of the morning… just listening to Lena’s heart and experiencing the regular rise and fall of Lena’s chest with every breath. She slipped out of Lena’s room before dawn, going to shower in the changing rooms before the early morning shift change.

Freshly clean and dressed in clothes that Eliza had brought by, Kara watched the sunrise from the balcony that she had initially heard Lena’s watch calling to her for help. She had returned to the spot whenever she had managed to pull herself away from Lena’s room - her self-flagellation tendency making itself apparent.

“She uses humour to cope.” Alex muttered, moving to stand by Kara’s side as they watched the first peeks of orange appear on the horizon, both blatantly ignoring how the glass was new and that there was a patched up hole in the ceiling above them.

“I know that.” Kara replied.

Alex sighed, resting her forearms on the balcony guard, “There are worse coping methods.”

“I know that too.” Kara acknowledged, pursing her lips and shaking her head. “It’s not about that… not really anyway…”

“Then what’s it about?” Alex inquired.

Kara loved Alex best when she was like this. Encouraging but not overbearing. Guiding but not directing. When she was just her big sister and not her over-burdened protector. She was easy to talk to like this and this version of her had been coming to the forefront more and more with Kelly’s gentle love and care.

“She’s laughing to deal with incredible trauma.” Kara summarised before turning to look at her sister and asking the question that had been plaguing her the most, “But why are we laughing?”

“Because she wanted us to.” Alex answered simply.

“Yeah,” Kara agreed, mouth twisting into a bitter smile, “she wanted us to but she needed us not to more… she needed us to help her… and we just laughed.” Alex cringed at that but she fully flinched at the question that came next. “If it was me that was getting assassination attempts every week… what would you have done?”

Alex closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, fortifying herself for the truth she was about to announce, “I would have taken the world apart to find and stop whoever was doing it.”

“Yeah…” Kara said quietly, there wasn’t much else to say. “I’m not going to apologise for yelling.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We need to do something.”

“I know…” Alex agreed, turning her back to the sun that was halfway to fully risen, “whilst you were watching over Lena, I may have started on something that might help.”

“So that’s where you’ve been,” Kara hummed thoughtfully, “I figured you were avoiding me.”

“I was.” Alex admitted readily, much to Kara’s surprise. “Well, not you. Lena.” Alex corrected, “I couldn’t face her until I had something… done something.”

“She misses you.” Kara revealed.

“Why?” Alex murmured sadly, “I was a terrible friend.”

“You’ve made up for it.” Kara refuted, nudging her sister’s side comfortingly.

“Have I?” Alex scoffed, unconvinced but happily leaning into her sister now that the gap between them had been bridged.

“That’s not for me or you to decide. It’s for Lena. And she misses you.” Kara asserted, giving Alex a moment to consider what she had said before dropping her own truth-bomb, “I told her I was in love with her.”

Alex whirled round to face her, loudly and joyfully exclaiming, “You did?”

“Yeah.” Kara winced, shyly rubbing the back of her neck, “You knew?”

“Not until recently.” Alex tutting at her own blindness, “I should have seen it earlier.”

“I didn’t want you to. I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet and you’ve always made me brave.”

Alex smiled at that, “How did it go?”

“Good.” Kare coughed, blushing profusely, “She… uh… loves me too.”

“That I’d known for a while.” Alex chuckled. “Are you two-”

“Uh… kind of? We’re acknowledging it but not acting on it.”

Alex’s brow creased at the lack of certainty to her answer, “What? Why?”

“Lena needs time to recover. And after everything,” Kara frowned, “I don’t think a little time to do that is too much to ask.”

“Responsible decision.” Alex complimented.

“Kelly’s advice.” Kara divulged.

Alex’s smile expanded to a proud grin. “Unsurprising.”

“Come on,” Kara ordered, clapping her hands together before slinging an arm around her sister’s shoulders, “show me what you’ve been working on, then you better go see Lena.”

*****

Two gunshot wounds, one to the torso and one to the right thigh, as well as two broken ribs, a black eye, stitches to her lip and her skin turned into an homage to Jackson Pollock by different shaded bruising. Lena catalogued the injury rundown given to her by the doctor with little interest; she paid even less attention to her treatment plan, the medication schedule and the intensive physiotherapy her leg would require.

All she really wanted was to get back to work; if Kara wasn’t there shooting her stern glares everytime Lena’s gaze wandered, the CEO would have happily been replying to emails on her phone as the Doctor lectured away.

“Did you even listen to any of that?” Kara asked once the doctor had taken his leave.

“I heard his name…” Lena grumbled, phone already in hand and frown settling in as she reviewed the most recent email from her marketing head who still hadn’t quite got it through their thick skull that weapons were no longer their main focus.

“And what was it?” Kara questioned, her phone vanishing from her hands with a flash of superspeed.

Lena huffed out a disgruntled breath. “It was...”

“It was?” Kara prompted, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping the floor angrily whilst her nostrils flared.

Lena pursed her lips, schooling her expression to hide just how attractive she found a stern Kara to be. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Lena said slowly, playing desperately for time. “Doctor…” Kara merely arched an eyebrow at her. “Smith?”

“Not even close.”

“Damn…” Lena muttered with a pout.

“Lena,” Kara began with a sad shake of her head as she moved to sit on the edge of Lena’s bed.

“Ugh, you’re about to lecture me too, aren’t you?” Lena groaned.

“Lena, this is important.” Kara stressed. “Your treatment is important. Your health is important.” Kara’s blue eyes shone with love and Lena couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You are important.”

Their confession of love still hung heavy between them despite Lena not explicitly saying the words in return. It should have marked a huge change in their relationship but it was lost amongst the tidal wave that had come before it, put on pause until the wake from the assassination attempt had dissipated enough for Lena to catch her breath.

“Fine…” Lena relented, reaching out to take Kara’s hand, gaze still shy and ducked. “I assume you were listening then?”

“Of course, I was. It was about you.” Kara replied so honest and sincere that Lena’s heart audibly fluttered on the heart monitor producing a smug smirk on the blonde’s face.

“Go on then, tell me.”

“Will you actually listen to me?” Kara checked, tilting her head to the side.

Lena lifted her head and met Kara’s eyes with a steady gaze of her own, “Of course, I will. It’s you talking.”

*****

The strangest thing about it all was the attention.

And for once it wasn’t negative media attention.

It was Kara and the Superfriends, they were being attentive. Lena hadn’t spent a single minute alone since she had woken up in the DEO hospital bed. Kara had been there the most to start with, her time in Lena’s room decreasing significantly a couple of days after the kind-of-confession (Lena assumed Kara was giving her some breathing room) but she was always present for any appointments and back for dinner, sleeping by her side in the decent-sized hospital bed. As Kara’s time decreased, the other Superfriends tagged in to fill the gap.

Brainy joined her most mornings for games of chess and to talk through some of the sticking points in Lena’s inventions. Nia covered the afternoons, filling the room with light and happy conversation, regaling her with stories of silly work disputes and helping her with her hair and make-up, teasing her like a little sister would when she mentioned wanting to look nicer for Kara.

Kelly would slot in every now and again but she made Lena uneasy, she looked at Lena like she could see right through her armour and it unsettled her. Her usual attempts to crack through awkwardness with a dry comment didn’t seem to faze Kelly and Lena’s obvious discomfort resulted in Kelly staying away for the most part; whenever, she did leave though she always made it clear that Lena could call her if she ever wanted to talk.

Lena pretended she didn’t know what Kelly was hinting at.

Eliza was the biggest surprise. Ever since Lena failed to listen to any of her doctors, Kara had clearly ratted her out to the oldest Danvers prompting the Doctor to personally take over Lena’s care, somehow innately knowing that Lena wouldn’t be able to ignore her like she did all the others. Eliza was a near constant presence in Lena’s room, reading through a pile of medical journals and historical romance fiction that Lena was slowly becoming tempted to borrow as time passed.

Alex was still a complete no-show.

Lena tried not to let it bother her.

Her and Alex had always had a tumultuous relationship - built on distrust and dislike at first sight. Kara had been their bridge and mediator. They had grown past it, grown to trust and like one another as time passed. It had been hard-fought compared to the easiness (Supergirl secret fallout notwithstanding) of their individual relationships with Kara. It was precious because of that.

Alex coming to see her with a bottle of whiskey, after defeating Leviathan and Lex being thrown back in jail, ready to fight to rebuild their friendship all over again was one of Lena’s dearest memories. Alex was the only one to reach out to her first after everything. Lena had to make the first move with Kara, Brainy and Nia. She had been too afraid of Alex to reach out, thinking their friendship would never recover… Alex had proved her wrong.

But now… Alex was avoiding her.

And Lena didn’t really know why, though a small voice in her head told her that Alex just simply didn’t care about her enough to visit…

“Did you have a good day?” Kara asked, stepping out of the ensuite bathroom dressed in cosy pyjamas, shuffling over to the side of Lena’s bed that had become her own.

“You don’t already know with your litany of spies?” Lena remarked, turning the page of her book with a single accusing finger.

“What-” Kara began, brow creased with confusion.

“I don’t think there is a single minute of my day that is not covered by one of your friends.” Lena revealed, snapping her book shut and shooting the blonde an arched eyebrow. “I can’t sneeze without someone already on hand holding out a handkerchief.”

“They’re worried about you.” Kara reminded her softly as she settled next to Lena, arm immediately finding its place around Lena’s waist and gently encouraging her to lie down beside her. “And they’re your friends, Lena.”

“Sure.” Lena tutted unconvinced.

Kara’s pliant body that Lena had become used to snuggling into became stiff and tense. “Do you think they are only here because I asked them to be?”

Lena rolled her eyes, perking her head up to look into sharp, unamused blue eyes, “Are you seriously telling me they’re not?”

“Lena,” Kara said, slow and serious, “they’re here because they care about you. Because they nearly lost you and they… they don’t want to be away from you.”

Lena stared into the deep blue eyes she adored and saw only earnestness reflected in them.

“Oh…” Lena breathed, her heart squeezing tight in her chest desperately trying to contain the swell of emotion that had just flooded it. “I didn’t realise...”

“We love you, Lena.” Kara whispered, her free hand reaching out to tuck stray locks of raven hair behind Lena’s ear. “You’re going to have to get used to us being around.”

“Hmm…” Lena hummed, cheeks blushing a pretty pink at Kara’s tender touch and the realisation that came with finding you have family. Lena buried her face in Kara’s shoulder, suddenly shy and embarrassed - Kara didn’t tease her for it, simply gave Lena the comfort and sanctity she craved.

They were quiet for a long time, the hum of the machines and welcome darkness of the room lulling them both to sleep. It wasn’t until Kara’s breath had started to deepen that Lena found the courage to ask about what had been weighing heavy on her.

“And Alex?” Lena murmured, breaking the silence and calm with those two words.

Kara’s deep, even breaths faltered. “She’s still not been by?” Kara asked carefully; Lena shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice to remain steady. “Well… ummm… she’s busy…”

“Yeah… of course…” Lena replied, letting out a sad sigh before falling into another troubled sleep.

*****

“You look like shit.”

Not exactly the first words she was expecting to hear from the older Danvers after a three week absence but Lena had known it would be something along those lines.

It was Lena’s last day in the DEO hospital room that had been her resting place since she woke up from the attempt on her life. Kara and Eliza were taking her back to her apartment that afternoon - both of whom were going to be taking up residence in Lena’s apartment alongside Sam and Ruby who were already staying there to support Lena’s long-term recovery.

Lena folded her hands carefully in her lap as she studied the redhead leaning against the doorway. “You don’t look much better.” Lena said after a long pause, arching a curious eyebrow at the dark shadows beneath Alex’s eyes.

“Touche.” Alex acknowledged with a dip of her head that gave her an excuse to keep her gaze directed to the floor when she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Alex, you…” Lena stopped, grinding her teeth together in frustration before shaking her head, “You really don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.” Lena answered simply, shooting the hesitant agent a melancholic smile. “Force yourself to be here. I assume Kara guilt-tripped you into being here.”

“Kara didn’t-” Alex began only to stop abruptly at the sight of the unimpressed glare directed her way. “Okay, she might have encouraged me.” Alex admitted, scuffing her toes against the floor in the exact same way Kara did whenever she was guilty of eating the last bit of Lena’s ice cream. “She can be pretty intimidating when it comes to you.” Alex’s eyes twinkled in a blatant attempt to get them to bond, to seal over the cracks between them with cellophane.

Normally, Lena would accept it. Would laugh and blush knowingly, giving Alex the free pass she was angling for.

That was before she nearly died and her second closest friend after Kara couldn’t be bothered to stop by for five minutes until the day she would be allowed to leave the only place they shared.

“Well, I’ll tell her you came by, so don’t worry.” Lena replied politely with a single nod of her head.

Alex flinched at the coolness of Lena’s response, “Lena… I…”

“Alex, I nearly died.” Lena stated bluntly, the truth of it like the swing of a reaper’s blade between them. “If what I overheard from some of the agents is true… I did die.” Lena chuckled darkly to herself at the sheer absurdity of it all, “I nearly die once a week, sometimes more. My life expectancy is incredibly short - don’t tell Kara that, though.” Lena quickly requested, she’d seen how much all of this had affected the blonde and she didn’t want to pile onto her pain. “I don’t think about it because if I do…” Lena trailed off, her gaze turning distant as she whispered, “I don’t think about it. What I’m trying to say is…” Lena exhaled deeply, letting go of her charged emotions and in a far more real way letting go of all expectations of friendship when it came to the older Danvers. “I don’t need to be around people that don’t want to be around me.”

“Lena.” Alex croaked from the door.

Lena didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the effect of her honesty.

So, instead, Lena reached out for the book on the bedside table, flipped it open and promised with a brusque business tone, “I’ll tell Kara you stopped by.”

*****

The return back to her apartment was a welcome shift, having grown sick of the sight of her hospital room’s four walls after the first day of waking up there. Lena was happy to be back in her own space but after a day that’s where the joy ended.

Being back in her apartment acutely reminded her of her current lack of independence.

She was no longer awake at six for work like she used to be, her injuries and medication making her sleep long and late into the day. Then when she was awake she found herself groggy and fatigued.

She couldn’t get up and make breakfast for herself, she couldn’t shower without support, she couldn’t focus for long without her attention drifting. Her penthouse was abuzz with life and activity in a way that it had never been before but she found she couldn’t quite enjoy it to its fullest with how she jumped at every loud sound and struggled to keep herself awake for the length of a film.

That wasn’t the worst part though...

There had been a certain safety and security that had come with being at the DEO: surrounded by armed agents that were there to keep her safe, her super-powered friends just a couple of corridors away at all times.

That’s not to say her apartment wasn’t secure.

It was probably more secure than the DEO with biometric locks, bulletproof glass and a panic room that could probably survive armageddon. And if that wasn’t enough, she currently went to sleep with one of the most highly regarded Doctors in the country as well as one of her best friends who would fight tooth and nail for her staying in her guest rooms and to top it off, she had Supergirl curled up around her every night.

The panic attacks started when she had returned to the apartment and her medication dosage had been decreased enough to lift the fog on her mind and allow the dark thoughts and fears to seep in under the cover of darkness.

She managed to hide it, mostly due to luck more than anything else.

Kara was out for most of the day still, off doing who knew what - the kryptonian had been particularly secretive about her recent activities - and Lena had managed to request privacy when she felt an attack starting that Sam and Ruby were always quick to acquiesce to.

She just needed to get past this, she just needed to push the fear, that she had kept tightly sealed in a little box in some far-flung corner of her mind, back into the abyss it belonged in.

If she could do that…

She just didn’t want to be afraid anymore, not when she had so many good things in her life, like her new bedtime routine...

“And anyway long story short…” Kara grinned, as she lifted Lena gently into the bed, tucking the sheets lovingly around her, “he gave me a camel.”

Lena chuckled, pressing a quick appreciative kiss to Kara’s cheek that had the blonde ducking her head bashfully. “I’m assuming you didn’t keep it.”

Kara winced, admitting weakly, “I kept it for like a week. It destroyed my apartment. Destroyed.” Kara stressed with a horror-struck expression.

“Really?” Lena prompted as Kara supersped to turn out the lights, change into her pyjamas and get into bed by Lena’s side.

“You remember when you popped round to my apartment for lunch one day and you thought there was a gas leak because of the smell?” Kara asked, holding out an arm for Lena to curl herself up under.

“Yeah?”

“Camel.”

“Huh.” Lena muttered thoughtfully, “I thought you were just having really bad flatulence.”

Kara gasped in shock and disbelief, “And you still wanted to hang out with me?”

Lena shrugged, licking her lips before declaring simply, “I’m in love with you.”

It was the first time she had properly said the words.

“I… umm… I…” Kara stammered incoherently, her entire face turning a lovely shade of tomato. “You like making me all flustered, don’t you?” Kara groaned.

“Yes.” Lena answered honestly, “Until I can…” Lena’s smile dimmed momentarily at the reminder that she was still not quite ready for that next step, “it’s the only thing I can do right now.”

“There’s no rush.” Kara assured, even as Lena heard a small clock ticking in her mind, counting down to the next inevitable bullet she would have to dodge.

*****

Lena had learned to be quiet from a young age.

She was told firmly that screams and cries and whimpers were not acceptable. That her nightmares did not warrant waking the house, did not warrant shaming the Luthor name with her tears and her petty fears.

Lena taught herself to wake with a mere sigh whilst her throat clenched tightly to hold in the shout of desperation that wished to escape.

Lena taught herself to sleep motionlessly, to not toss and turn as her dreamed body clawed and swam through a syrupy atmosphere whilst shadowy figures relentlessly hunted her down.

Lena taught herself to hide her nightmares from a young age - it was easy enough to do, she got a lot of practice in the Luthor Mansion and she had regularly brushed up on these skills since she started dodging bullets every other day.

No one would ever know the horrors that plagued her at night as long as Lena had her way.

What she didn’t count on was that the horrors could grow and mutate into terrors far worse than anything she had ever experienced.

For the first time since she was child, Lena awoke with a blood-curdling scream, her entire body trembling and skin clammy with cold sweat.

“Lena, you’re okay. You’re okay.” A soft voice soothed, warm arms wrapping gently around Lena to prevent her from causing harm to herself with her frantic movements. “Shh… you’re okay.”

“I… I…” Lena cried, shaking her head to clear the nightmare veil still shrouding her mind.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Kara repeated endlessly, each utterance just as soft and gentle as all the others.

“Kara…” Lena croaked, burying herself in Kara’s warmth and forcing the kryptonian’s arms to wrap even more around her. It was the fear that made her honest whilst the pain of her constantly aching body made the words tumble out even easier, “I’m… scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t…”

The pliable cocoon made of Kryptonian muscle hardened to steel in an instant at the confession. The murmured words of comfort ceased and Kara’s breath went from light and even to deep and irregular.

“Lena, you’re not going to die.” Kara whispered harshly, the words cold and vicious - but not towards Lena, never towards Lena - as if she could intimidate away any and all threats just by speaking it into existence. “You’re not.”

“This time.” Lena muttered, timidly reaching out to hold Kara with her own hands as she ducked her head under Kara’s chin.

“Lena?”

“I’m not going to die this time.” Lena breathed, “What about the next one? And the one after that and after that and… It never stops. And I don’t- I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be scared all the time. I want to be excited and happy because you love me.” Lena’s hands clutch handfuls of Kara’s pyjama shirt with white knuckles. “But all I’m thinking about is: how little time we have. How stupid it is to get into a relationship when I know the odds - because they offer them on a number of mainstream betting sites - of me making it to the next year is slim to none.”

Silence followed Lena’s speech, heavy and suffocating. Lena held her breath waiting for the kryptonian to reply.

The lightest touch of lips to Lena’s forehead allowed her to breathe out slow and steady.

“You are not dying.” Kara declared sternly.

“I’m just scared…” Lena sighed, snuggling closer to the blonde encouraging the lips to press repeatedly against her brow until the lines creasing it eased away, “all the time, Kara. All the time.”

They fell asleep entangled together - if Lena had been more with it she would have tried to get Kara to re-position herself into a more comfortable position, not that Kara would have been persuaded, unwilling to move an inch if it distanced her in any way from the youngest Luthor.

Lena awoke the next day to gentle fingers brushing through her hair, enticing her back to the real world that was illuminated by the bright morning sun. Kara was up and dressed, sat on the edge of the bed, running one hand through Lena’s hair and intermittently stroking her cheek whilst her other hand balanced a tray loaded up with pancakes, strawberries and orange juice.

“Mmmm…” Lena hummed happily, turning her head to press a quick kiss to Kara’s palm.

“Breakfast.” Kara announced cheerily, helping Lena sit up before placing the tray carefully on her lap and pressing a kiss to Lena’s blushing cheek.

Lena took a deep breath, taking time to appreciate the sheer beauty of this singular moment: the woman she loved sat next to her with an adoring look having made her favourite for breakfast. She wanted to be able to enjoy this without feeling like damocles’ sword was looming above her at all times.

“Kara?” Lena murmured, reaching out to interlace their fingers, seeking support.

“Yeah?”

Lena swallowed thickly, squeezed Kara’s hand once, and asked, “Can you ask Kelly to pop by? When she has a chance that is.”

“Of course.” Kara beamed, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of Lena’s hand, her blue eyes shining with pride.

“I want to be excited. I don’t want to live in fear.”

*****

It was a few days later when Lena found herself alone for the first time in over a month. Kara was out during the day as usual, Sam and Ruby were out at the cinema enjoying some mother-daughter time whilst Eliza had left for a walk five minutes ago. Lena was working through some calculations at the dining room table - Eliza had positioned her wheelchair at the table and left her a warm cup of coffee to tide her over until she got back.

Admittedly, Lena probably should’ve realised that it was all a ploy because barely ten minutes had passed before the front door swung open and in strode one Agent Danvers.

Lena placed her pen back onto the table and quirked a perplexed eyebrow at the redhead, “Alex? What are you doing here?”

“I’m kidnapping you.” Alex declared with a smirk and cocked hip.

Lena pursed her lips, musing thoughtfully, “And here I thought if you ever did kidnap me, you wouldn’t be so open about it…”

Alex frowned, “You’ve thought about me kidnapping you?”

“Not you per se.” Lena explained with a wave of her hand before rolling her temporary wheelchair out from the table and over to her intruder, “The DEO or some other covert government agency grabbing me and hiding me away in some dark cell.”

“That…” Alex began, her intent to deny the possibility of such a scenario occurring dying after a single moment’s consideration. Lena chuckled sadly at the guilty brown eyes that dipped away from her gaze. “Nevermind.” Alex murmured, shaking her head and forcing back her usual confident swagger. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Alex-” Lena sighed, not really in the mood for whatever Alex had planned.

Suddenly Alex was in front of her, knelt down - not to patronise but to easily reach out for Lena’s hands.

“You’re probably my best friend,” Alex announced, firm and beautifully honest (a signature Danvers trait), “not counting Kara or Kelly. But Kara loves me as a sister above everything else. Kelly loves me as a romantic partner above everything else. You are my friend with no other requirements, no other levels… nothing else.”

“Alex, I…” Lena blinked, utterly taken aback.

“You are my friend and I love you.” Alex assured, her expression turning pained and remorseful, “You are my best friend and you nearly died and I realised that I… I haven’t been a very good friend. I was so mean to you to start with. For no fair reason.” Lena bit her lip and stared down at their joined hands, unable to hide how the constant hatred for crimes she did not commit (actively stopped) had left deep and everlasting wounds that she would probably never recover from. “And then when I finally started to pull my head out of my ass… I never apologised, I never… I just smoothed over it.”

Alex cringed with the memories but pushed onwards regardless - admirably brave and stubborn to a fault.

“When the Supergirl fallout happened, I knew you were suffering.” Alex admitted causing Lena to flinch in surprise and nearly pull away but Alex’s hold gently followed after her. “If it was me in your position, I would have… I would have destroyed so much and I was raised in a family filled with support and love and… I knew you were suffering but I… I just didn’t think. You’re always so strong and unbreakable that I just didn’t think. You’re my best friend and I have not treated you like that.”

“Alex,” Lena swallowed thickly, hanging her head in shame, “what I did during that time… I’m so ashamed.”

“You’re missing the point, Lena.” Alex murmured, “I didn’t mean to-” Alex exhaled shakily, rapidly blinking away tears on the cusp of falling. “You’ve made up for it. Now it's my turn.”

“You have nothing to make up for.” Lena rushed to reassure as Alex stood back up, chin held high and determined.

“Yes, I do.” Alex insisted. “Assassination attempts every week, Lena. That is not okay. A short life expectancy for my best friend is not okay.” Alex’s hands clenched into tight fists by her sides. “I should have done something.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

Alex grinned bright and defiant, “It is now.”

*****

“Alex, what’s going on?” Lena said slowly, not really sure what she was watching play out on the screens in the DEO command centre.

Alex merely winked at the CEO as she stepped up to the console and called out, “Supergirl, how are things going?”

“Good.” Kara replied, her voice coming through loud and clear through the speakers. Lena watched in awe - as always - of Kara flying through the air, swerving around traffic like it was nothing. “Rounding up the last few stragglers; they thought they could outrun me in a van which has a max speed of like sixty.” Lena laughed at the stupidity of the escape attempt which immediately alerted the superhero to her presence. “Is Lena there?”

“Yep,” Alex replied with a broad grin, wiggling her eyebrows at the youngest Luthor making her blush a bright red, “so you better put on a good show for your girl.”

“Will do.” Kara promised instantly, accelerating and performing aerial aerobatic maneuvers with the sole purpose of impressing only one person.

Lena shook her head, her heart swelling with affection, as she rolled her eyes at Alex’s smug smile. “What’s the mission?” Lena asked, trying to regain some of her composure.

Alex’s smugness faded to be replaced with something far softer at the question.

“Shutting down the final CADMUS outpost.” Alex answered, crossing her arms and nodding over to Brainy who brought a map of the world covered in hundreds of red dots. “We took down any and all remaining Leviathan supporters last week. Lex supporters the week before that.” The red dots flashed to highlight the different groupings as Alex listed them off. “We’ve also finished gathering evidence on Edge, he’s going to be arrested alongside his allies first thing in the morning.”

Lena’s mouth had dropped open at some point and there was a light buzzing in her ears as stared blankly at the crossed off red dots. “I don’t understand.”

“CADMUS took a little longer just because of the sheer number of bases and how they decentralised after Lex was taken down, each working independently.” Alex continued unperturbed.

“Then how-”

“Lillian. She told us where all the bases are.” Alex answered without needing to hear the whole question.

That cut through Lena’s stupor in an instant and wrenched an almighty gasp from her. “What? Why?”

Alex’s expression turned melancholic yet again, clearly upset that the answer wasn’t obvious to Lena, that there had to be a more-than-love-reason. “Because you’re her daughter and you nearly died.”

“I don’t…”

Alex turned so her back was to the wall of red dots, hands on hips and unfaltering in the face of adversity. “No more assassination attempts. No more short life expectancy.” Alex asserted, waving a hand towards the screen. “This. All of this. You deserve this. You deserve to grow old. You deserve to not live in a constant state of fear. You deserve to be happy in love.” Alex’s jaw clenched noticeably as brown eyes shone with a watery film, “We should have done this years ago. We should have protected you years ago. We should never have laughed, Lena.”

“Alex…” Lena exhaled roughly, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to keep in the sobs, feeling so overwhelmed with love and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Alex didn’t acknowledge the words, she merely walked over to Lena and pulled her into a tight hug, providing her a much needed shoulder to cry on.

*****

“Did I mention how much I hate physical therapy?” Lena huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh you know…” Alex replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, “just about every minute or so.”

Lena hummed, somewhat pleased at the answer, “I thought it was more than that.”

“Suck it up, Luthor.” Alex teased even as she got a bottle of water ready for Lena once she’d finished the exercises.

“Remind me again-...” Lena panted, “why I agreed that you could accompany me to PT instead of Kara?”

“You need tough love.” Alex answered, repeating the words Lena had used a week prior when she had requested Alex’s help. “You’d never finish a single exercise if Kara was helping you.”

Lena pursed her lips but didn’t argue.

Kara was loving, affectionate and probably the best support system Lena had ever had. She cared for Lena in a thousand and one ways that Lena had never believed she was worthy of. Unfortunately, all this made Kara the absolutely worst person to accompany her to physical therapy. At the first wince or sign of discomfort, Kara insisted Lena rest and take it easy. She barely made it five minutes through the session before Kara was escorting her back to the apartment to give her a bath and massage - Lena loved every second of it but accepted Kara would not be going with her to the next appointment.

“Not really seeing that as a downside at present.” Lena admitted, her muscles burning as they were steadily rebuilt and restrengthened.

“The sooner you finish PT, the sooner you can get around by yourself.” Alex reminded her knowing it was the single best incentive to get the CEO through this.

“Good point.” Lena acknowledged groaning as she pushed herself through the last rep. As soon as she finished, Alex talked her through recovery, handing her water to sip slowly from before checking her recovered injuries and scars.

“Hey Alex…” Lena began, shifting nervously as her breathing returned to normal.

“Yeah?” Alex prompted, arching an eyebrow having picked up on Lena’s odd tone.

Lena opened her mouth to speak before snapping it decisively shut, “Nevermind.”

“Don’t go shy on me now, Luthor.” Alex remarked, helping Lena unsteadily to her feet and guiding her over to a bench in the DEO training hall where they had been working out.

Lena nibbled on her bottom lip, and glanced at Alex’s profile. “I want to ask Kara out on a date.”

“That’s great.” Alex cheered immediately before quirking her head to the side, “What’s the problem?”

“I know I’ve been…” Lena winced, “hesitant.”

“Lena,” Alex said softly, “you’re recovering from serious physical, emotional and mental trauma.”

“But-”

“And despite all that…” Alex continued, settling into her role as cheerleader and confidant with ease, “you’re still taking Kara’s feelings into consideration. Despite everything you’ve been through you’re still being sensible and thoughtful. You’re not kickstarting a relationship until you’re sure you can give it the best chance.”

“You and Kelly have been talking about this.” Lena guessed.

“A little.” Alex answered only slightly rueful, “You’re my best friend and Kara’s my sister. It comes up in conversation.”

Lena chuckled at that, nudging Alex’s side playfully before announcing, “I think I’m ready.”

“That’s great.” Alex said just as enthusiastically as before, “So I’ll repeat, what’s the problem?”

“I don’t…” Lena sighed before confessing “I don’t know where to take her. I want to do something special.”

“Are you seriously asking for dating advice with my sister?” Alex questioned.

“You’re my best friend,” Lena shot back, “who else am I going to ask? You saw how Brainy handled dating Nia and well… Nia is dating Brainy...”

“Okay, I see your point.” Alex relented, “Though, when we talk about your dating life, Kara is not my sister.” Alex requested, “Just some random person called Kara.”

“Deal.” Lena accepted. “So…?”

“You don’t need to do anything special, she already loves you.”

“That’s exactly why I want to do something special.” Lena whined, “But I’m kind of limited by the aforementioned trauma…”

“Let’s get a coffee and strategise.” Alex declared, patting Lena’s back supportively. “Come on, you’re buying.”

*****

Lena adjusted the green dress that Nia had taken her shopping for earlier that afternoon, hating how it clashed with the cane she was using to move around with. A small candle lit table was set up on the balcony - Sam and Ruby having kindly moved it earlier - with one of Kara’s favourite homemade dinners, courtesy of Eliza, steaming in the early evening light.

Lena paced, awkwardly awaiting the blonde’s arrival; Alex’s words of advice and support on repeat in her mind to drown out her anxieties.

Kara, for all her patented Kara Danvers clumsiness, was the epitome of gracefulness when it came to flying allowing her to land almost inaudibly on the balcony by Lena’s side taking her by surprise. Lena jerked back at the sudden appearance but a familiar gentle touch to her elbow settled her in an instant.

“Lena? What’s all this?” Kara breathed, eyes darting from Lena’s green dress to the set table as her super suit vanished to be replaced by her standard shirt and chinos,

“Dinner.” Lena replied, swallowing thickly as she reached for Kara’s hand and mumbled shyly. “I mean a… date-dinner-thing. If you want, that is?”

Kara inhaled sharply, blue eyes wide with shock and barely restrained excitement. “I want. I really, really want.” The blonde dashed to the table, pulling out a chair for Lena clearly not keen for any kind of delay.

“Alright then.” Lena chuckled, walking towards Kara’s dazzling smile and everything it offered.

*****

“An hour.” Brainy said, laying down his opening gambit.

“Pfft… an hour, are you serious?” Nia scoffed, “Thirty minutes max.”

“Twenty.” Alex shot back with a challenging lift of her chin.

Nia pursed her lips as she considered Alex’s suggestion. “You’re on.”

The two women shook firmly on it, much to Kelly and Briany’s amusement, just as Kara and Lena walked back from the kitchen loaded up with snacks and drinks.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kara inquired, narrowing her gaze accusingly at her gathered group of friends who had set up shop in her and Lena’s joint apartment for their weekly games night.

Kara had moved in formally two weeks ago following six months of dating during which they had practically lived together for the entirety of it but had been wise enough to keep themselves places that could be just theirs until they were officially ready.

“Nothing.” Nia and Alex answered quickly and in-sync.

“We’re gambling.” Brainy answered guilelessly at the same time.

“On?” Kara asked, dumping the load of snacks in her arms onto the coffee table before crossing her arms whilst Lena laughed lightly as she settled on the couch next to Alex.

“Leave them be, darling.” Lena soothed, tugging gently on Kara’s pocket encouraging her to sit down and lean against Lena’s legs.

“Okay.” The kryptonian muttered, immediately acquiescing to the suggestion, all the fight going out of her as soon as Lena tenderly ran her fingers through blonde locks.

“Whipped.” Alex instantly coughed.

“And proud.” Kara accepted with a shrug, tilting her head to look up at Lena with adoring blue eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lena replied without hesitation.

“Ugh.” Nia groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation.

Alex held out a hand to the youngest reporter, wiggling her fingers in demand, “Pay up.”

“She didn’t even make it a minute.” Nia exclaimed in disbelief.

Kara’s brow creased in a cross of confusion and outrage, “You were betting on me?”

“Yep.” Alex answered without the slightest sign of guilt. “On how long it takes for you to say ‘I love you’ to Lena.”

“That’s… I…” Kara squawked, mouth flapping open and closed before snapping shut in defeat. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s because Lena removes you of all verbal reasoning skills.” Brainy remarked drily.

All eyes swiveled to look at the genius in surprise.

“Did Brainy just make a joke?” Lena asked quietly to no one in particular.

“I think he did.” Nia said slowly.

“Nice one, Brainy.” Alex laughed, lifting her beer bottle up in respect and effectively setting everyone else in the room off with their own chuckles and giggles.

“Laugh as much as you like.” Kara rolled her eyes in amusement, “Doesn’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?” Lena checked, bending down to whisper privately into Kara’s ear, “I can ask them to stop.”

Kara turned to look up at the love of her life, reaching out to tenderly stroke her cheek and ease away the flicker of unnecessary concern.

“I’m sure.” Kara asserted honestly, her smile widening as she leaned up to kiss Lena slow and deep. When they pulled back, foreheads resting against one another, Kara whispered into the shared space between them. “It is kind of funny.”

It’s funny because Kara loves Lena.

It’s funny because Kara will always, always, always love Lena.

#supercorp #supercorp ao3 #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor

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itsmyusualphannie · 4 years

Text

lead me into the light

Title: lead me into the light (ao3) Beta: @counting2fifteen (also thanks to @sudden-sky and @candanandphilnot for their encouragement) Word Count: 4k Rating: T Warnings: Aliens, horror, open/ambiguous ending

Summary: Dan and Phil are part of a crew of space explorers currently embarking on a dangerous mission to check out a supposedly lifeless planet far away from home.

Author Notes: this was written for the @phandomficfests holiday exchange! i posted it on ao3 a few days ago and now it’s finally revealed! lots of fun to write and happy holidays again @nebulaearecool

Thump. A muffled pat to Phil’s shoulder. “All right, you’re good. Do mine now.”

Phil stood slowly, the heavy material fully encasing his torso and legs weighing him down, and turned to face his partner. Now that the back of his suit was zipped and buttoned in all the different ways it could possibly be zipped and buttoned, he could work on Dan’s. He gestured, the thick gloves on his hand hampering the movement. “Turn around.”

Dan turned, and Phil reached for the long zipper on the back of his suit. The zippers were massive, made to be handled with the bulky gloves, but they were still difficult to manage. He managed, though, and made his way to the next zipper, this one layering over the first. They were designed like this in order to create an airtight seal between the person who wore the suit and whatever environment they might encounter.

“You guys almost ready?” a voice called from the next room - PJ, who was their pilot that had flown the two explorers down to the planet’s surface.

“Five minutes,” said Phil in response, not bothering to raise his voice. This space was so confined that it wouldn’t even be necessary. His fingers brushed over the ‘SSSE - SuperSonic Space Explorers’ logo as he tugged the last zipper shut. It was a mouthful, their twelve-person team name. Phil liked to just call them “the Sonics,” but to his disappointment, none of the others had quite caught a liking to it yet. It was particularly funny, Phil decided, because walking was usually mind-numbingly slow once they got outside of the transporters.

Phil was finished in three more minutes and then all they had were their helmets. Dan picked up his, the dome sleek and shimmering in his hands, but Phil caught him before he put it on. Sneaking a sly glance at the opening that led to the next room, he reached a few fingers to turn Dan’s jaw toward him, and then he swept in to land a quick kiss against the pink hue of Dan’s lips. Dan’s mouth curled into a smile and his dimples appeared, which was exactly what Phil had wanted to happen.

“There,” said Phil, satisfied, and slipped his own helmet over his head. Air hissed around his ears as it settled into place and automatically pressurized his suit. Pale blue light flickered across the glass of his helmet, displaying information from the internal computer. “Now we’re ready.”

They headed toward the tiny cubicle on the side of the room and squeezed inside. A panel slid shut, sealing them inside, and then, in the next room, PJ hit the button that allowed them outside. Another panel on the opposite side of the cubicle slid open and bitter, unfamiliar air rushed in. If they weren’t wearing their suits, this atmosphere would have pulled the air from their lungs.

Dan and Phil stepped outside.

Outside was an alien, otherworldly landscape. It rolled and dipped in unnatural heaves around them, alternating rocks leaping in jagged spires toward the sky and yawning pits plunging far down toward the planet’s core. They were settled on one of the flattest places on the entire planet, but it was still a steep incline.

The panel hissed shut behind Dan and Phil as their wide shoes thumped lightly on the ragged surface. Their ship, behind them now, was a sleek, small thing, barely larger than a school bus. It didn’t need to be much bigger, as it was just a transport. The actual deep-space carrier, a cruise ship-sized, sturdy thing, waited for them just outside the harshest pull of this planet’s gravity.

It was easy to walk here, Phil found, as his feet picked up much easier than it did on their ship’s artificially-induced gravity. The gravity here was a little weaker than Earth’s. Their suits weighed them down though, as well as the magnet-lined soles of their boots. The restrained magnets wanted to cling to the iron-rich surface of the ground, so if Phil ever found himself taking too large of a step, he could simply activate an electrical current and settle his feet back on the ground.

The speaker inside Phil’s helmet crackled with static, but it was just Dan, and not a transmission from PJ.

“Two hundred samples, right?” Dan confirmed. The speaker lagged just a little behind his words, and it would be disconcerting to see Dan’s mouth moving right before his voice came through if Phil wasn’t used to it by now.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. He patted the side of his suit, where the bulky material held rows and rows and rows of tiny containers tucked in cute pockets. “The planet has already been classified as dead, so we’re just getting environment samples. We should be able to get at least fifty today.”

“They distance-classified it though, didn’t they?”

Phil shrugged automatically, but it was lost beneath his thick suit. “Yeah, but we’ve never had a problem with those before. It’s not hard to calculate if something living can evolve on a planet.”

Dan looked dubious, but he nodded and they continued on, navigating around the upheavals and dips of the surface. The display on their helmets guided them toward a chalky rock spire that was a few hundred metres downhill from the transporter. It wasn’t that far, but the ground was tumultuous, and it took them a good twenty minutes to navigate their way to it.

“Walking back up there is going to suck,” said Dan once they reached the spire, glancing back up the incline to the transporter. It was only halfway visible now, the top protruding sleek and elegant over the uneven terrain between them.

Phil agreed but, “At least we don’t have to go back up for a few hours.”

Dan was wearing a full-body spacesuit, but his disgruntled posture was clear anyway. “It’s been a hundred years since interstellar travel became possible and they still haven’t invented teleporters. We shouldn’t have to walk anywhere.”

“It’s good for us,” said Phil. “We need exercise.”

Offended, Dan argued, “We have a gym in the carrier.”

“Which you never use,” Phil pointed out.

Their radios both crackled. “Guys,” PJ called over the connection, his voice patchy and riddled with static. “Your lines are open. I can hear you.”

They simultaneously disconnected their connection from the radio back at the transporter. Every one of the other nine members of their team was aware, on some level, that Dan and Phil were together, but that didn’t mean that either of them wanted their conversations overheard.

“We’re all alone now,” said Dan and winked at Phil.

In response, Phil poked out his tongue in a mature fashion, and then they turned toward the rock spire and began collecting samples.

The process wasn’t difficult, it was just time-consuming. For only one sample, Phil had to go through numerous steps and not make a mistake on any of them. This was what his six-year stint in university and then the training academy had taught him. Well, that, and a few functions for their transporter. He had to know how to fly the transporter back to their deep-space carrier, just in case something happened to the pilot.

He would select a particular area of the rock and hold his scanner over it for a few minutes. Once the scanner confirmed the basic element of the rock, he would scoop out the small sample and log its information, then deposit it into one of his many sample containers. If any of the items he scanned were too similar to another log he had taken, he had to move on. Dan’s scanner synced with his as well, so there weren’t any accidental double-logs of the same sample.

This rock spire was chalky on the surface, but Phil only had to scoop out one sample to find that there was a different material underneath, a thicker, more porous rock. This spire would likely provide between three to five samples, so they would spend at least an hour here.

They took their time collecting the rock samples. It wouldn’t do to mislabel anything and have to come back later to try to find the same material again. They found six total samples at this rock spire, with Dan documenting four of the surface layers and Phil digging deeper to get a more porous rock, which took considerably longer.

Once they had scanned most of the spire and couldn’t find any results that differed from what they had already found, they moved further down the incline to another, more steeply-angled spire. Phil collected samples from the base while Dan heaved himself up onto a ledge to reach up higher. They weren’t going to be able to get up further than that today, but they would bring the heliprobes tomorrow. The tiny probes, assisted by artificial intelligence, could fly up to the highest reaches and retrieve samples, but it still required documentation by one of the explorers.

“There isn’t much up here,” Dan called down to Phil, whose head was ducked barely millimetres from a strangely striped rock formation. “It’s mostly material we’ve already sampled. I think a lot of the surface material is the same.”

Phil frowned at the striated rock in front of his nose. “I think you’re right.” He scanned the rock anyway and took a sample. Dan was finished with his ledge by the time Phil had completed the labelling process, so he climbed down next to Phil.

They both spared a glance back up the incline, but the transporter was out of sight at this point. There were too many hills between them.

“Well,” said Phil, “I guess we need to keep going down. Let me tell PJ first, though.” He tapped the screen on the back of his right hand, the thick material of his gloves barely making a sound against it, and the line to their pilot opened instantly. “Hey, PJ,” he greeted. “We have about ten samples so far, but we need to go down further. There’s not a lot of variety right here.”

PJ’s voice was fuzzy when it came through. “You’re...down? How many...found?”

Phil tapped the screen, his eyebrows furrowing. He exchanged a glance with Dan, who shrugged helplessly.

“The aluminium elements in the rocks here are probably dampening the radio waves,” Dan offered.

“I guess,” said Phil, but he couldn’t help the purse of his lips. “There must be more than we calculated, then.” He spoke again to PJ, a little slower this time. “We’re going further down. Three hours max.”

“Cheers!” said PJ, the static surrounding his voice clearing a little. “See you...a bit!”

Phil closed the connection and then they continued down the steep hill. It went down for a good while, sloping gently somewhere a mile down and then sloping harshly upwards again. The distance was pitted with jagged dips and spears of rock.

This entire planet was something harsh and wrecked, sharp in every way it could be. It was a good distance from its star, enough so that the temperature wasn’t unbearable, but it was still considerably warmer than any human could survive. Their suits regulated the temperature, as well as supplying them with the proper amount of air, since the atmosphere wasn’t breathable either. Nothing about the planet was hospitable toward life.

They stopped once they’d manoeuvred further down for about thirty minutes. The muscles in Phil’s thighs were aching by the time they reached their temporary destination. He didn’t look forward to climbing back up to the summit.

The new place where they chose to collect samples was a shallow depression in the ground. It was only shallow compared to the other pits in the area, though: it was well over ten metres deep and a few dozen metres wide. It had ridges of rock lining the edge, so it wasn’t too difficult to climb down into. The bottom of the depression was dark and dangerous-looking, but Phil had a light installed into his helmet and wasn’t too worried. He found hand- and footholds on the side of the pit and hoisted himself over the edge, making his way down painstakingly slowly. Dan followed, a little to Phil’s left. The silver dome of his helmet glinted dully with the light from the planet’s star for a few moments, and then slowly vanished as they descended.

Phil turned on his helmet’s light before he reached the bottom. The rocks he gripped were sturdy, but the light was dim down here, and he didn’t want to misstep even if his suit was thickly padded and an uneven landing likely wouldn’t hurt him. The beams of light from his helmet glanced over the dark rocks as Phil hopped the last half metre to the ground and surveyed the area. It was jagged with rocks, just like the surface, but considerably smoother. The rocks’ appearance was different too, which was what Phil had been hoping to find.

Dan landed with a solid thump beside Phil and grinned over at him, the internal light from his helmet lighting up his face in an eerie glow. “Exercise,” he said. “Are you happy?”

“No,” said Phil, but he was grinning back. The lag through their communicators was funnier than anything else to Phil - it was like watching a movie with the audio a few seconds behind. He might be used to it by now, but that didn’t make it less hilarious. Their radios were the newest model and they were two metres away from each other, but somehow scientists couldn’t figure out how to make it work without a lag.

“My legs are going to be noodles by the time we’re done,” Dan mourned, already turning toward the wall of the pit. His own light flashed briefly through the thick darkness around them, the natural light far above them.

Phil went in the opposite direction Dan decided to go, but they still stayed close. The opposite end of the hole wasn’t far, and yet Phil’s light beam didn’t quite pierce the darkness that far. He didn’t like that.

“I’ll get this side,” said Dan, and even only a few metres from Phil, there was a slight crackle from the transmission. Phil frowned at the scratching and made himself a mental note to get their radios checked out once they made it back to the carrier.

Phil began collecting a sample from the nearest rock face of the wall that he had climbed down. He held the scanner over it, moving not an inch as it slowly, slowly scanned. After the few minutes passed, the scanner lit up with verification that it was a different element from the rocks on the surface. Satisfied, Phil performed the necessary steps to retrieve a sample. He could see Dan doing the same on the rock wall. They continued the repetitive tasks, moving slowly away from each other as they filled the tiny sample containers.

The samples weren’t heavy but as they added up, Phil could begin to feel their weight. He was glad they didn’t have to wear their oxygen tanks on this planet, at least. That would have added a solid hundred pounds to an already heavy suit. Since this planet’s atmosphere was within eighty percent of Earth’s, their suits’ filtration systems could pull enough oxygen from the air for them to breathe, for now, anyway.

Phil was on his fourth sample when he reached a sheer portion of the wall that looked impenetrable, but when he held the scanner over it, he could see the minute cracks in the surface. It tempted him with its unnatural formation, so he ignored the procedure for a moment and lightly brushed a gloved finger over it. Pieces of the rock crumbled beneath his touch.

“Huh,” said Phil aloud. He glanced around for his partner. “Hey, Dan, do you - ” And he stopped, because Dan wasn’t collecting samples. He was on the far side of the pit - how had he gotten over there so quickly? - and he was crouched down close to the wall, veiled in shadows. Phil only saw him because the light on Phil’s helmet glanced off the metal on Dan’s suit zippers.

Phil’s words finally made it to Dan, since Phil could see him straighten and then turn toward Phil. There was silence for a moment, Dan’s face still shrouded by the oppressive darkness of the pit, and then his voice came through the scratchy speakers.

“I heard something.”

Phil took an instinctive step back. “You what?” He must have misheard Dan.

Another pause as his words made their way to Dan and then Dan’s reply made its way back to Phil. “I heard something,” repeated Dan. “Like something moving.”

A whisper of fear shivered up Phil’s spine. This planet wasn’t prone to shifting, as far as he had read in the reports, but the reports didn’t know everything. If the ground was going to shudder around them in an earthquake, then they needed to be far away from here.

“Are you sure?” he asked, still unmoving. The sleek wall beside him breathed a few puffs of dust as his glove brushed against it again. His scanner was held slack in his other hand.

Dan started moving toward him. It was barely noticeable, since he was still mostly cast in shadow, but Phil could see his helmet bobbing up and down as he walked. It would look horrifically ominous if Phil didn’t know that it was Dan.

A terrible shriek of static came through the internal speakers of Phil’s suit, and he winced at the noise. It stopped just as Dan really came into the view of Phil’s spotlight, his face fading from obscurity into the clearly defined slopes of his furrowed brows and his moving lips. His - moving lips? Phil squinted to see what he was saying since the transmission still hadn’t come through his speakers.

“Won?” he offered, confused. “Hun?”

There was another burst of static, and then Dan’s voice came through as clearly as if he had been standing right next to Phil. The shadows behind him, thick in the murk, began moving.

“Run!”

Phil ran.

The suit weighed him down, but his legs were long and he covered ground swiftly. The area of the wall that he had climbed down wasn’t that far, anyway, just a dozen metres to his left. He hesitated for a moment before he put his hands to the rock. Dan wasn’t far behind him, but something was moving in the dark behind Dan. It was fast, and it was getting closer. Phil climbed.

He couldn’t hear anything through the radio between him and Dan, and he didn’t know if that was better or worse. His mind spun as he climbed, darting between Dan, their pilot still out of range of their transmitter, the carrier just outside the gravity pull of this planet, and then to whatever the thing was behind and below him.

His fingers scrabbled for purchase in his rush, and he almost slipped more than once, but his panicked mind was just clear enough to keep him steady. He looked down more than once, heart rising with relief when he saw Dan just below him, climbing at a steady pace. He didn’t let himself look past Dan’s set expression to the mass of writhing shadows that was beneath both of them.

The top was five metres away, then two, then one, and then Phil was pulling himself up over the edge. His shoes thudded solidly on the ground, but instead of immediately beginning to run up the incline back to the transporter, Phil turned to reach down and help Dan up the remaining distance.

His shadow fell over Dan, still climbing, as he crouched down and stretched out a hand for Dan to grab as soon as he was within reach. He looked into Dan’s eyes, the usual warm brown eyes swimming in terror, and he felt something take a hold of his gut and wrench in matching dread.

Then, fear pulled his gaze past Dan’s set expression and he saw what was following them. His brain rejected it immediately. It was nothing like anything he had ever seen before, on any planet. His first disbelieving thought was that the classification for this so-called dead planet had clearly been wrong. Maybe this wasn’t life as scientists considered it, but it was something that could move, and was wreathed in shadows, and it had teeth.

And it was reaching for Dan.

Dan snagged Phil’s outstretched hand just as a tendril of something dark and wirey slipped around Dan’s ankle. Dan shuddered in horror, his other hand grasping uselessly at the ledge where Phil was kneeling.

Phil solidly grasped Dan’s gloved arm with both hands and threw himself backwards with all his might. There was a strain, a moment of uncertainty, and then Dan scrambled up over the ledge, clutching to Phil in desperation. This time, Phil could clearly see what he was mouthing, although their communicators had evidently decided to give up the ghost on them.

Run, run, run, run.

So they both ran. Their boots thudded against the ground, suits slowing them as they sprinted up the incline that they had trekked down only twenty minutes before.

It took them less than ten minutes to make it back up the hill. Phil didn’t look back once. Dan did, and every time his gaze fell upon whatever had made it out of that pit with them, he picked up the pace just a little. Their communicators didn’t work the entire way back. Something had broken deep inside the devices, nothing that could be fixed on this planet, the transporter, or even out in the carrier. By some miracle, neither of them fell the entire way up.

The door to the transporter was already sliding open as Dan and Phil rounded the last rock spire. PJ must have seen them on the low-range radar, then.

They stumbled through the door to the tiny compartment right inside, and Phil immediately hit the emergency button that slammed shut the outermost door. He heaved in deep breaths, the filtration system working overdrive in his suit as it acclimated to the new pressure inside the transporter. He could see Dan doing the same beside him, bending over as he grasped his knees and coughed. The small room was usually comforting in its confined space, but now it felt suffocating. It still hadn’t opened to the main compartment, where Dan and Phil had spent their time getting suited up earlier.

The speaker above their heads crackled before a voice came over. “Guys,” said PJ. A long moment passed and he didn’t continue. His breath sounded wet over the speaker.

Dan straightened, still panting, and his and Phil’s gazes locked. Neither of them blinked as they waited for PJ to continue.

Something outside thumped against the transporter. The walls shuddered with the movement, but the door didn’t move. Phil’s heart hadn’t slowed from their race up the hill, but now it thudded even more dangerously against his breastbone. They weren’t moving, but the thing outside was.

“Guys,” said their pilot again. They could hear a cough. “Hey, guys. Sorry.”

Phil barely dared to let out a sound, but he darted his tongue to lick his dry lips before asking, “Sorry?” PJ probably couldn’t hear him anyway.

Another heavy breath sounded through the speakers. A thud came from the main compartment of the transporter, just two metres to Dan’s left. There was no air in Phil’s lungs.

One last sentence from PJ.

“Something got in.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #space #explorers #aliens #horror #thriller #open ending

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the-pancake-writes · 7 years

Text

Snippet: Secret Agent Yugi AU

So @teppa-is-sonic-trash (btw, you’re awesome and I hereby dedicate this to you :3) and I made up an AU, in which both Yugi and Atem are secret agents. Atem works for KC and has more of an office job. Yugi is on the other side and gets in on all the James-Bond-like action in his position. ;D

Situation: A month ago Atem met Yugi who seduced him in order to get certain information. With the help of said info Yugi and his team now attacked KC. They have the situation under control and so Yugi decides he wants to spend some time alone with Atem.

It’s a little NSFW but nothing too explicit! Contains sassy, seductive Yugi. ;D

The two men shoved Atem into the office and made him sit down on a metal chair. They tied his wrists behind the back rest. Atem twisted his mouth in pain. The two men left and closed the door behind them.

Yugi was taking off his backpack, gun holster, and headset, and placed them on the desk before him. He knocked off a sign with “Seto Kaiba, CEO” in the process. Yugi wore a catsuit, boots, and fingerless gloves, all in black leather. He adjusted his hair and approached Atem. His steps were slow and elegant like that of a tiger, ready to pounce on its prey. Atem gulped.

“It doesn't matter what you will do to me! I won't talk!”, Atem said. Though the reason for that was his lack of knowledge rather than actual bravery. Yugi had stepped behind him now. Atem felt the hairs on his neck bristle. Was Yugi pulling out a knife from his boot? Was he calculating the right angle to ram it into his head? Was he aiming for a painful or quick death?

“Who said anything about talking?”, Yugi said. Atem gasped when arms wrapped around him from behind. Gently. “I missed you, you know?”

Yugi gave him a kiss on the cheek. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“You…don't want to torture me…?”, Atem said. Yugi chuckled.

“Only if it turns you on”, he purred. His lips brushed Atem's neck while his hands ran over Atem's chest and belly. Atem remembered the way Yugi caressed him: tenderly but determined, with one desire in mind.

“W-Wait! You're in the middle of an attack on KC and you think about that?”, Atem said.

“When else will I have a chance? It'll be a moment until my team cracked that code. We might as well make the best out of it”, Yugi said. He sat down sideways on Atem's lap, one arm wrapped around him. He gave Yugi the same smirk he had only shown once they had entered his bedroom. “Don't tell me you didn't think about me after what I did to you.”

Atem gulped.

“Well…yeah, I did. But mostly I wondered why you went to bed with me at all. You could have just knocked me out and taken the info you needed when you got into my apartment.”

Yugi laughed.

“I know. But you were being so funny how you thought I was that shy, innocent boy who had finally mustered the courage to ask a stranger for a one-night-stand. I just had to see your silly face when I revealed to you that you'd be having anything but a blushing maiden in your bed”, Yugi said, stroking Atem's cheek. Atem felt heat spread on his face.

“I see”, he said. Yugi planted a kiss on his temple.

“It's also because I got to like you, honey. You are a really handsome man after all…a little arrogant but nothing I can't drive out of you. Oh, and you'd need to work on your stamina. I have very high standards but you know that”, he said and chuckled. A sad sigh escaped his throat. “But that'd only be worth considering if I got to keep you somehow…”

“I'm not your pet, Yugi!”, Atem snapped.

“Oh, hush. I know your type, Atem. You always thought you liked the cute, obedient ones that let you have all control and told you afterwards how manly you are. When all you did was vanilla and boring”, Yugi said and moved closer for a kiss.

As soon as those silky lips touched his, Atem opened his mouth, sensing what Yugi craved next. He was right and a moment later Yugi's skilful tongue met his for another dance. Atem's mind clouded over as he remembered that this was only a fraction of the passion Yugi had shown him back then. He couldn't deny that one of Yugi's fiery kisses was more intoxicating than many of his previous sexual experiences.

Yugi paused. Atem moved his face forward for more but Yugi placed a finger on his mouth. It was only a small gesture but the message was clear: Yugi was in control. The excitement of that realisation crawled over Atem's skin.

“See? Now that I've had you under my heel for a night you're oh so curious about all the other things I could show you. It even makes you forget that we're on different sides”, Yugi whispered. Atem gritted his teeth. Yugi was right. He had made Atem ignore that they were in his boss's office during an attack on the organisation he worked for. How could Yugi be such a good kisser that he forgot about the imminent danger? Damn those soft, perfectly shaped, lust-inducing lips… He shook his head.

“Yugi, I'm a KC agent! I will not sleep with my enemy! Not again at least…”, Atem said. Yugi loosened the tie around Atem's collar and twirled one end around his fingers. Those nimble, talented fingers that had undressed him so quickly not long ago… Yugi smiled.

“You want me, Atem. And unlike most others you have the honour that I want you too. I know you can't say no to this…”

He got up, turned around and bent forward, stretching out his butt. Two perfectly round globes, covered in tight leather…

“Remember how you had this?”, Yugi purred and slapped his behind. The sound ignited a spark in Atem's groin. “I do…so well…”

He moved his hips, as if to the beat of music, now and then letting out a small moan. The motion was so similar to when Yugi had been on top of him in his bed, sinking down on his member over and over… He had fondled and squeezed and kneaded that perfect ass… It seemed like a dream now…one that Yugi would let him relive if…

Atem shook his head. How did Yugi always turn him into an animal that knew only one desire?! He forced himself to close his eyes.

“I'm…I'm a KC agent!”, he said. Yugi might be beautiful, sexy, seductive, passionate, assertive… wait, where was that thought supposed to go?

“Atem, look at me”, Yugi said, his voice sweet and gentle like honey. Atem obeyed. Yugi let a hand run over the fine curves of his chest, waist, and hips. “I'm wearing nothing underneath this.”

Atem's jaw dropped. Before he had a chance to scold himself for thinking about Yugi's naked body Yugi began to pull down the zipper of his catsuit. Atem's heartbeat quickened at the sight of Yugi's torso, his flat stomach, his belly button. Atem noticed the elegant arches of his collar bones and how two buds on his chest stood out from underneath the leather. Yugi approached him.

“I…I'm a KC agent…!”, Atem said but he hardly listened to himself. Yugi sat down astride on his lap, the heat of his thighs and crotch pressed against him. He caressed Atem's lips with his thumb.

“Shh. You're a man. One that's very horny for me”, Yugi whispered. He unbuttoned Atem's shirt, revealing his tanned skin. As Yugi caressed his naked chest Atem's breath deepened.

A part of him still wanted to deny that Yugi had caught him in his web of seduction. But that part was shrinking every moment. He was horny for Yugi. If he weren't tied to that chair he'd already be touching Yugi everywhere and rid him of that tight leather suit…

“Now, get hard for me, darling”, Yugi purred. Atem had never followed a command so willingly.

He surrendered to Yugi's ardent kiss, to how he nibbled on his bottom lip now and then. He enjoyed how Yugi licked and bit the tight peaks on his chest, how his warm breath danced over his skin. He relished how Yugi rubbed himself against Atem's loins, how they swelled against Yugi's, throbbing with the urge for more. Yugi looked down on him and smirked. He cupped Atem's face for another kiss, his tongue more irresistible than any drug…

“Should I suck on your hard cock, sweetheart?”, Yugi whispered. Atem inhaled sharply at these words. He could only nod. “Then ask nicely, honey.”

“Please…please suck my cock”, Atem whispered. Yugi nuzzled his forehead against Atem's.

“Good boy”, he said. He knelt down between Atem's legs and let a hand run over the bulge where Atem's pants were way too tight by now. Yugi kissed Atem's abs while his hands opened the button of his pants. Atem leaned back his head, awaiting Yugi's mouth to slake that burning thirst for his touch…

The door opened. Atem flinched, his face growing hot instantly. A blond man stood at the entrance, the handle in one hand.

“What is it, Jou?! I'm busy!”, Yugi snapped over his shoulder. The blond one grinned.

“Sorry to interrupt, Yugi. But we almost cracked that code and we need your brain for a sec”, he said. Yugi sighed and stood up.

“Couldn't you have been slower?”, he said and zipped up his catsuit. “Sorry, sweetie. It seems I'll have blow your…mind another time.”

Yugi grabbed and donned his gun holster, headset, and backpack. He kissed Atem's hair before he exited the room, leaving him alone.

#blindshipping fanfiction #puzzleshipping fanfiction #snippet

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spidxysense · 7 years

Text

Different | 03

Summary: You weren’t like them. You didn’t submit yourself to experiments, unlike them, you didn’t have a choice in becoming what you were. Now, years later Mr. Stark has sent you over to Queens to watch over one of his newest proteges in order to get your mind off of your sister.

Word Count: 3,247

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader/Spiderman x Reader

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

A/N: Alright, I said I’d make this longer but honestly, I wanted to finish it early for you guys so I decided that 3,000 would be my average word count. Hope you guys like it. You all super effing rock btw for getting my other chapters to 200+ which is like so friggin amazing! Sorry about the action scenes, I am just shit at writing those. I might not update for the rest of the week though, because I really need to finish writing for my other fan account, but I’ll be sure to work on the next chapter when I get some time. Thanks for all the love and feedback, I love you guys!

You reach the abandoned gas station just in time to see Spiderman fling himself off the building towards a moving truck that the villain, who Michelle insisted on calling Vulture after you briefed her on what you were doing, just took over. Instead of joining the good fight in the truck, you decided to stay on top of the truck, waiting for a chance to ambush Vulture. You reach in you leg strap pocket and take out the tiny black metallic ball, a device you designed back when you stayed at the Stark compound. You press both sides of the sphere and it automatically unfolds into a tiny version of Ironman except this was painted black.

“Trail Spiderman. Connect AV comms.” You speak into your watch as the iron bot nods and flies to the entrance of the truck.

You sit there for hours when to your surprise, two green circular glowing eyes meet your own. It flies up into the air, taking you by the hands, and without you noticing it, he knocks one of the cubes he attached to the truck earlier, making the entryway into the truck completely disappear, and locking Peter inside.

You struggle to break free from his grasp, without your hands, you could create dark energy to escape your current predicament. As soon as you're dropped, you land head first into a tree branch and drop onto the floor beneath a tree, you stand up quickly, looking around you, you no longer have sight of the highway, instead you're surrounded by trees, and the waiting Vulture ready to attack.

You tread carefully, and then all at once, you fly your hands in his direction, covering his metallic wings. He chuckles before slowly reaching up to press a button near his covered mouth and high pitched sonic screams engulf your ear, making you lose focus and successfully releasing his wings. You cover your ears, and press as hard as you can, when you see him approaching your kneeling figure in the dirt.

You wince at the continuous high pitched screams, "What do you want?!" You shut your eyes tight.

He kneels down next to you on one knee, slowly pressing the button once again to make the noise stop; he grabs the back of his mask, pulling it free from his head and chuckles, "What do I want?" He looks up, scratching his chin, "I want you and your little Spider boyfriend to stop meddling in my business. You better hope to God I don't find out who you are unless you want me killing you right where you stand." He stands up, puts his helmet back on and starts to walk away, "Just know that the only reason I'm keeping you alive is so you relay this to that Spider freak." That's where he leaves you, grabbing the mulch filled dirt in pain.

You didn't have a choice, in your current state using your dark energy wasn't an option, so you started on your journey back to the hotel. You arrive just shy of five in the morning, you knock on the door quietly with your head, unable to conjure up the strength to even lift your hands.

Michelle opens the door, looking above your head, but looks down in horror when you collapse on her, "Oh my God! Y/N?! What happened to you?!" She pulls you inside.

"Jesus Christ, you're bleeding out on the bed." She sighs.

You blinding look around, everything turning blurry, "I-I don't know w-why I'm bleeding."

She grabs the closest ice pack and presses it to the side of your head, "Yeah? Well you are, your jaw is bruised too. You lip is cut open." She tilts your head to the side, "Your head is busted slightly, and it looks like you collided with something sharp looking at this gnarly scar stemming from wound." She sighs, "You look pretty fucking beat up Y/N."

You laugh hollowly, “Yeah, well I was pretty fucking beat.” You try to sit up, before she's pushing you back down, "I have to get to my computer-"

"God dammit Y/N, are you really willing to risk your own life for whatever phantom you're chasing with Peter? You've done your job! Now let the adults handle it!" She holds you down, and presses the ice pack harsher on your wound, making you wince, "You don’t need to do their job. He doesn't even know who you are under that mask."

You open your eyes, finally seeing her, "He...doesn't need to." You breathe out, "We need..." you gasp out in pain, "to save everybody." You lose consciousness.

By the time you wake up, it's around two in the afternoon. You look around before a wincing pain from the side of your head feels like it’s slapped you across the face, when you touch it, it starts to ache even more, but at least the blood's stopped. You look at Michelle’s bed; your decathlon jacket is placed on her bed. Upon realizing why you were here, you get up, and walk into the bathroom, looking at the mirror, "I look like shit." You sigh, before getting into the shower. You stretch your sore muscles upon coming out of the shower and you find MJ’s note, explaining where they were. You got dressed and you walked towards the Championship venue, which according to Michelle's note is directly across the Washington monument, you walk in slowly and Mr. Goldstein is the first to greet you.

"Y/N!" He grasps your shoulders, "I heard what happened with the stairs. Next time, make sure that the ice bucket isn't leaking melted water when going up the stairs alright?"

You nod slowly, "Yeah, sorry. That was on me." You look at the team, the MC announces that it's the final round, "Mr. Goldstein, could I may be participate?"

He smiles brightly, "O-of course! Hold on." He moves toward the stage, "Flash! Flash! Get off the stage! Y/N's taking your place!"

Flash gapes at him as Mr. Goldstein pushes you forward onto the stage where you take over Flash's seat after he storms off stage.

"Alright! This is the final question which will determine out winner!" He looks to the left and then to the right at your team, "This metal alloy is an extremely stable molecular structure which prevents it from being further molded even if the temperature is high enough to keep it in its liquefied form. In its solid form, it is described as a dark, shiny gray like high-grade steel or titanium, in this state, it is indestructible, and when molded to a sharp edge, it can penetrate lesser material with minimal force."

You ding the bell quickly, "Midtown Science!" The MC calls out.

You look at the MC, then to your teammates, which makes you realize, Peter wasn't here, "A-Adamantium."

A loud buzz breaks the tension in the room and balloons and confetti are being released, "And Midtown High takes the win with A-adamantium!" The MC copied your stuttering.

Cheers are surrounding you and hugs are thrown your way, you catch Flash taking the trophy straight out of the MC’s hands, but you remember; Peter isn’t here, he’s supposed to be here. He was supposed to be here way earlier than when you made it back, but he wasn’t.

A hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you out of the venue is what gets your attention; it was Michelle, “They want to go see the Washington Monument.” She sighs, “Besides, nobody’s here.” She points out, “Are you…?” She points to her head with a little twirling gesture, “Y’know, are you like fine up there? I mean you lost a lot of blood.”

You furrow your eyebrows and blink in quick successions, there was nobody around anymore, “Yeah, I’m fine, um right, sorry I was thinking-“

“About Peter?” She gives you a smug smile, “Don’t worry about him... He’s Spiderman.” She waves as you two continue to walk toward the monument having been left behind by the team.

You walk into the monument having watched the hilarious exchange between Mr. Goldberg, Michelle, and her resistance to “go inside a monument built by slaves”. You stop by the metal detectors and look over at the Midtown Decathlon team waiting for the elevator to take them up as you dump your bag onto the basket that would scan for any weapons, once you get to the other side a security guard approaches you.

“Hope you don’t mind waiting for more people.” He begins walking back to his post, “It’s been a pretty slow day for tourists.” You look at your watch, it was already past three.

“It’s fine.” You keep turning to look back just in case Peter comes running through the entrance, but he doesn’t.

Suddenly, you felt the floor shake and the walls vibrate with a violet light shining through the cracks of the closed elevator doors; you looked around as the ceiling begins to crumble. You frantically turn in every possible angle, trying to find an exit point but all you see is a child whose body is trapped under the fallen piecing of the ceiling crying out for his mom and a hysterical woman trying to push back the security guards and in a moment of impulsiveness, you run and use your powers to lift the large rubble and broken pieces off to help the kid and as you carry him to transport him to his mother, you hear the tiniest of thank you’s in your very ear. However, just as you hand him off to his mother you hear the screams for help from the elevator, it doesn’t take you too long to look over the still closed doors, but that was all it took before the ceiling of the lobby completely falls apart and blocks the entrance.

With nobody around left to see you use your powers, you run to the elevator doors and pull them open with a great deal of concentration which has your already injured head pounding against you skull. You gasp into your mouth when you hear the screams clearer, with slow steps, you find yourself inside the elevator shaft, right where it would stop and you look up, you see the elevator but it’s already ready far up with a large hole on the floor, you spot a couple of sparks coming from the sides as the elevator seems to move, they must be moving inside or at least trying to get out of it.

You look to the blocked entrance and back up at the elevator, it would be the easiest thing to just lift the rubble with what little energy you had left and all you had to do was step out of the elevator. It’s the easiest choice, and to someone that wants to survive, it should be the only choice, but it’s not what you needed to do, not what you wanted (indent) to do. This was your life, and just like you told Peter back at that lake, somebody had to save the day. You completely understood what you would be risking, but it seems that trying at all is all the more better than leaving these people to die. This was your responsibility, this was the responsibility you shared with all the heroes out in the world, with Ironman, Captain America, your sister, and Peter, and knowing that you didn’t even need to hesitate or second guess your decision made it all the more clearer that you’d willingly die for these people if it meant saving them.

You close your eyes and form a familiar hand position near your stomach, you think of your sister, and of your brother. You were not going to die with the same sacrifice of saving the world as him, but you were going to willingly sacrifice everything for these people, and you were fine with that. You think back on how your sister made larger energy projections from bunching it up in her hands before aiming it, so you imitate her hands as you push your hands and arms towards the now falling elevator. You scream out in pain as you feel the blood spurting out your nose, but you don’t look away from the elevator, you push back harder, until you realize the weight is slowly being lifted. You watch it move up, until it stops on what you guess would be the floor everybody else had evacuated to, and then it’s falling completely. You stare at it dumbfounded with a lingering pain in your head and muscles, you feel your heart pound in your chest as if it was treasuring your last moment alive, like your heart would willingly stop if you asked it to, but you push through, you look down at the ground and smile, looking back up and releasing dark energy extending from your fingertips, you scream when you catch it and start extending the energy matter to push it up from where it already nearly touched your head. You push it up high enough before you spot large pipes surrounding it. With the quickest motion, you move one hand in the direction of the leftmost pipe, moving it along so it runs along on the left side of the bottom of the elevator which has you gasping in pain; you move onto the other sides, it has you sighing when you succeed in stopping the elevator. You drop to your knees, and slump, but when you look up something tiny and metallic catches your eye, it looks like a tiny metallic spider.

You hear distant screaming, but you never feel him plop down on the ground next to you. You shut your eyes in anticipation for Spiderman himself hanging upside-down, with your arms feeling slightly numb, you muster up enough strength to bring the jacket over your nose and wipe it, and when you turn to look behind you, he’s there.

He gives you a tiny salute, “H-hello-Ehem.” He clears his throat in order to deepen his voice, “Hello Ma’am. Do you need help getting up?”

You look back at him with a tired smile which probably shocks him.

“Oh my God.” The white part of his eyes retracts, “Holy shit what happened to you?” He touches your face softly, tracing your jaw before letting it linger on the bruise; he turns your head slightly to look at the side of your head.

You twitch slightly from his grasp before removing your head completely from his touch, “I’m fine.” You stand up slowly, with wobbly feet, “Is everyone safe?”

He tilts his head, “Is everyone saf-?” His voice gets louder, “How about you?! Were you safe?! What if you died here?”

You smile a tired smile and say the one thing that shocks him, “What if everyone else died up there?” You look back at him and remember that he doesn’t even know you survived, “This black plasma thing helped me.” You look up at the still elevator, “Got that thing to stay up there and to be honest, the black energy didn’t look like something you could conjure up from mixing chemicals.”

He looks around, “Black energy?” He mumbles, “So she must have saved you…” He trails off.

He suddenly stops speaking, and then looks directly at you without moving, “This tiny voice in my suit says I should kiss you.” He points at his head and pulls his mask off up to the nose, “And for once in my damn life, I’m not going to think about the consequences.” He pulls you in to kiss him.

You break apart first, clearing your throat, “I-I can’t. I’m sorry.” You look down.

He chuckles to himself, “It’s alright, even if that was an option. Some crazy girl with powers is in love with me.” He sighs, “You just remind me of someone I really want to protect.” He pulls his mask back on just as the authorities manage to dig all the rubble out of the way, and find you, Spiderman already gone. You follow one of the medics who has placed and orange blanket around your shoulders, where she leads you to the nearby ambulance and properly treats your wounds.

“Y/N!” You hear the panic filled voice feet away before you’re being embraced by your best friend.

You close your eyes and laugh softly, “I can hear your heart MJ, and it’s beating so fast.”

She pulls away, crouching so you’re looking her in the eye, “That’s all thanks to you, you self-righteous, hero driven idiot!” She wipes her tears quickly, “What if you died in there?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh God, you’re still an idiot.” She sobs.

You look for Spiderman, or Peter, given that he disappeared before the authorities found you and you realize the sun is no longer up which has you looking at your watch, showing you that it was already past six. Upon looking back up, you meet eyes with Peter who’s suddenly appeared, he’s looking at you, but with a face that looks as if he were contemplating something. He pulls his hoodie over his head and sticks his hands in his hoodie pockets and starts to approach you, which Michelle takes as a sign to leave.

He stops in front of you, “So Mr. Goldberg told me you fell down the stairs.”

You sigh and shrug, “I’m more interested in why you’re talking to me, Peter.” You look him squarely in the eye, “Last I remember, you pretty much broke my heart, so don’t take it personally if I tell you that you aren’t allowed to care about me.”

“But I do.” His answer is instant, he paces back and forth a few times before finally stopping, “Look, I’m sorry I told you that we couldn’t be toge-“

You jump up to stand directly in front of him, “Could you please not mention that bullshit again?” You cut him off, “I feel like that’s been ringing in my ears all this time, and I am so tired of it.”

He freezes which you take as an opportunity to continue, “We’re not perfect okay? We’re gonna keep secrets, everybody has them, and honestly whatever you’re keeping from me that has you thinking this way, I don’t care, Peter.” You grab his hands, “I have told myself time and time again that I shouldn’t even like you this much but even when I try, I feel myself loosening my grip. There are so many things I’m unsure of in this world, but I know that feeling this way isn’t one of them. So I don’t care if we can’t be together, Peter. I want to be, and I don’t know what bogus shit you were giving me with having to protect me, but I can put up a damn fight so you don’t have to protect me.” You pull him closer by the collar, “You’re all I want, Peter. No amount of “I can’t’s” can change that, and if you tell me you don’t feel the same then you’re a goddamn liar Peter Parker.” You kiss him, it takes a few seconds but he kisses back.

It’s only cut short by a slow clapping, which turns out the be Michelle, “About. Damn. Time you two.” She gives you a wink before going back to talk with Mr. Goldstein. You wanted to believe this would last, but you knew better, something was going to happen; you could feel it.

This time, Peter kisses you first.

#spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter x reader #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #mcu #spiderman homecoming #spidxysense #I was dying after details from the teaser of infinity war came out #seriously please dont hurt peter #pretty please

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everydayispurple · 7 years

Photo

Lust comes in many forms here in Hollywood, as well as out there beyond the Tinsel where it’s a tad more… normal? You’ve got your sexual lust, power lust, wanderlust, object lust, lust for intimacy, lust for that which dare not speak its name, follower lust, lost youth lust, future lust, pornographic lust, biblical lust, virtual lust. Anyway you skin it, though, lust is interestingly something wholly contained to our own psyche. It has no antecedent, no binary, only fractal likenesses spreading out over history, the now, and the speculative future. Sure, two lusters may collide between the sheets following a plastics convention in Islamabad, around a hearty bowl of moqueca de camarao in a Bahian resort, or a ’67 Porsche 911 in Pebble Beach. But what’s to say these individuals’ lust for the other’s body, the soup, the auto, is equivocal, let alone measurable? No, lust, in its rawest form, is something we must repress, exercise, weigh, or value entirely on our own.

Consider the new record from superstar, Lana Del Rey: Lust for Life. When considering, might we assume this particular “lust” to have some corrupted layer to it? Some sort of invasive, or melancholic, or alienating undertone? Something mysterious?* Why might we? Well, because those are the sort of insinuations we tend to foist upon the Lana Del Rey we’ve come to know, or presume we know, over the last near decade, be it through the multitudinous, oft-confounded media halo around her, or perhaps our own desire for her to personally fulfill on some of the themes bandied about her discography. Lana Del Rey is mentally unwell. Lana Del Rey is violence-obsessed. Lana Del Rey is lost in an abandoned era. Lana Del Rey is… happy? “I think I was feeling happy that I was present, and not afraid in a way that I couldn’t enjoy my everyday things,” the musician says of the new record’s title, sat in blue jeans, cross-legged on the floor of a Chateau Marmont hotel suite, enjoying French fries and a Diet Coke on a balmy, breezy Friday afternoon. “I’m the kind of person that really loves those things. Like when I drive, I love every road, and I can’t believe that I’m in L.A. I love the architecture, grabbing a coffee, striking up conversation with the people I encounter. And I hate when I can’t enjoy the little things because in the back of my head I have concerns or preoccupations. So for me, it was that sort of lust for life. It was kind of just about happiness.”

Are we ok with that? Can we appreciate a lust from Grammy-nominated Del Rey if it’s not tortured or muddied, glass eyed, drowning in itself? Can this fifth full-length follow previous efforts with titles like Born to Die (2012) or Ultraviolence (2014) with calm, with appreciation for the light and the trees and the way our foamy cappuccino looks so god damned beautiful? It doesn’t really matter, for we’ll never know this lust’s exactitude as I suggest above, and that’s ok. And anyway, nothing is more undefinable or elusive than happiness. What does matter is that the songs on the record possess an incredible richness in production, there’s some excellent and legendary guests on a few tracks, and from the artist’s point of view, a kind of carving down in scope, what I’ll venture to call a distinct maturation in her oeuvre. “The record has fewer dimensions,” she remarks. “But they’re more beautiful than in the past. I had no idea that would make it easier to talk about.” Has this ease with discussing the content perhaps coincided with a sort of softening, or openness toward her in the arenas of public or journalistic reception? “I feel that,” she says thoughtfully. “And it’s helped me be more open as well. Because it’s hard to talk about your innermost feelings if you feel the reception will be cold. And I hung back for a while. I did a handful of interviews, but not many in the last few years. But also I was writing and writing, and digging through stuff, and not writing things as easy to digest or discuss. It still comes from me, but as I’ve evened out as a person, I don’t have as much I don’t want to say. I feel comfortable.”

Comfortable could describe the carefree roost Del Rey and fellow pop success, The Weeknd, take atop the “H” of the iconic Hollywood sign in the title track music video for Lust for Life, which shares its name with a seminal record from another pop chameleon – Iggy Pop – and is released a few days before our sit down. The treatment is surreal and campy, almost goofy, in a manner that decadently rams home this happy sentiment, this appreciation for the minute to minute. The two sweetly croon about taking off one another’s clothes, but remain fully and stylishly swaddled, canonically perched up there above us all, as if a second set of lovers might be drifting on some paddle boat below through the “O,” only to be serenaded into an amorous spell before vanishing into the night. The video ends with Del Rey overtaking the frame, batting her signature lashes before a sort of cat-ate-the-canary-like smile spreads over her face and all succumbs to darkness.

An evening out as a person. Ironic then, and downright fun, that while this evening out of Del Rey’s personal temperament has found its sonic outlet – refined and leaner – the artist steps into the cosmically perverse, rehearsed, and beautiful universe of celebrated artist David LaChapelle. Here, instead of playing Lana Del Rey for her cover shoot, which we’ve chiefly only ever seen, she embodies everyone else. Their lust, their dreams, their encumbering. The singer enlivens her Instagram geotag “Hollyweird” with some proper role playing.

“Da-vid La-Chapelle. Whoa. Da-vid La-Chapelle,” Del Rey says breathily, demonstrably dropping her jaw, while recounting her 14 hour photo shoot with the art photographer. Yes, David LaChapelle: that scramble-slinging riot boy of the Wild West, whose pumped petrol from Pepsi cans, breast milk from dad bands, and inimitable flair from celebrity after celebrity, all of course while flooding museums and arming utopianistas, while whirling through fame and hurt and photo sets and inward plunges and friends and cities and applause. Da-vid La-Chapelle. And fittingly, one of the more influential molders of modern lust, and in particular Hollywood lust, all prismatic and decadent, of the last 50 years.

“I just couldn’t believe it,” Del Rey says. “Because I always make things really hard to work, because I don’t want to talk that much. So I had defiantly said to someone, ‘Don’t ask me unless David LaChapelle is shooting it.’ And then I get a call from Stephen Huvane [a partner in Slate PR], and he’s like ‘David LaChapelle is shooting it and you’re going to do it.’ So when I got to his studio, which is like a few blocks from my house, I was blown away. He’s amazing. And he thinks big picture, and different picture, and textures, and he doesn’t want to do a simple portrait right now because that’s not where he is in his life. And I’m the same way. I don’t want to make a pop record if I’m feeling more acoustic, for instance. And so he’s very true to his own space. There’s not that many people that I would follow into the unknown, so to speak, but with him, I would probably do most of what he suggested.”

I speak to LaChapelle over the phone. He’s just had lunch with his staff at his Hollywood studio, and no, he “doesn’t want to” discuss the process behind Del Rey’s photos technically, or even creatively – save to say that he’s happy with the images. When questioned why he determined to create the cover story, given he so rarely creates editorial images for magazines anymore in light of global exhibitions and museum showings, he remarks, “I have had a relationship with Flaunt for a long time. Lana’s a down-to-earth person. I like her writing. I saw her show at the Hollywood Bowl, and really liked the music, and that inspired the concept and ideas for the photos. Lana was interested in the artistic angle, not a promotional angle, which I really liked. Much more interested in creating art than promoting something.”

A couple weeks back, on set at LaChapelle’s studio, upon Del Rey’s arrival, he points to a handful of easels containing perhaps 15 vintage photographs, blown up large, the pixels swelling. These nostalgic, quotidian moments are today’s creative template. The content? There’s your requisite, slightly tilted living room snap where subjects stare stonily at a television, taken from an adjacent La-Z-Boy. There’s vacations to national parks. There’s weddings. There’s piss ups. There’s youth and death and that gray, cumbersome in-between period where we mutate as far as we can from either end, only to return fundamentally unaltered. It’s all very American, very pastoral, archetypes piled atop clichés, atop Heartland mores. At the bottom of the centered easel is an August haze-soaked summer camp scene of your requisite teepees, oak trees, and some white guy in profile sporting an American Indian-style headdress. Having this particular morning all witnessed Pepsi’s whitewashed plunge into the hellfire of failed advertising with their now retracted Kendall Jenner spot [which pretty inarguably suggested the Black Lives Matter or Women’s March movements viable plot points for Pepsi as Great Equalizer], concern is raised over cultural appropriation and the risks run. LaChapelle considers the concern, but shakes his head and supplies, “It’s not appropriation. You’re just playing a character.”

True. Playing a character is borrowing or homage, whereas appropriation could be said to mean taking and using without permission. And in the case of Pepsi: bastardization, insensitivity, myopia. In her videos, it could be said that Del Rey has stepped into a variety of self-representations, or roles, and this adventure into the unknown with Mr. LaChapelle certainly demonstrates her chameleon-like aptitude for character making on photo sets. Still, she shares the unfamiliarity and challenges for her in extending this to song.

Notably, there is a track on Lust for Life, recorded with Sean Lennon, a layered and playful number that explores, among other things, John Lennon and Yoko Ono – a canonical deity of lust and artistry if ever there was – that sees Del Rey refreshingly step outside her own paradigm. “I felt like it belonged to someone else,” she says of the single, “Tomorrow Never Came.” “And I never feel that, because I like to keep everything for myself. I thought it might be strange for Sean to sing a song about John and Yoko as well. But I think the fact that I sing, ‘Isn’t life crazy now that I’m singing with Sean.’ It points to the fact that we’re both aware. I didn’t want it to come out exploitative in any fashion. Not that it would. Still, I wanted to be as careful as possible. I wanted it to come across layered with this sort of meta narrative mixed in. In a way it’s a song about a song.”

I speak over the phone to Lennon, currently in New York, who originally received a very simple version of the song from Del Rey with only her vocals, guitar, and an organ. “To me,” he shares, “Ninety-nine percent of what is magical about that song was already contained in her original vocal performance. I felt like it was my job to simply highlight and accentuate what was already there in her voice and melody, and in her lyrics. Everything I played was merely ornamental, like tailoring a ballroom gown on an already stunning woman: the only way to mess up is if you take away from or disguise the beauty that is already there.”

Considering the lineage in the song and their first collaboration together, I ask Lennon what he learned from the experience. “She has exceptional taste,” he remarks. “I told her that working on her song was a valuable lesson since I often modulate and take unintuitive chordal and melodic twists and turns, and she reminded me that you can be perhaps even more compelling if the melodies and chords feel natural and intuitive, not contrived or disorienting as in my music. Anyway I’ll never forget when she called me after I sent her what I did and her first words were ‘It’s perfect!’ I almost cried with joy because I honestly don’t think anyone has ever said that to me about anything I’ve ever done. It was a very good feeling.”

Beyond the meta-awareness of the lyrics and rich instrumentation [Lennon added “acoustic six- and 12-string guitar, electric guitar, lap steel, upright bass, vibraphone, harpsichord, orchestra bells, drums, and Mellotron strings, and shaker”], a particularly resonant lyric repeats itself a handful of times: You weren’t in the spot you said to wait. I ask Del Rey if there are running themes of stasis or waiting elsewhere on the record. “I think that’s why I felt that of anything on the record, that wasn’t my song,” she considers. “I didn’t feel like I was waiting for anything. It’s really not about anything personally, except that I love the sonics of it; the filters. I try to be as careful as I can that I’ll want to sing stuff on stage that I write. And that song will be an easy one to do because it doesn’t pull at any heartstrings or anything. And I know it’s special to Sean as well, because he’s his dad’s biggest fan. And so I like that, in a small way, they had a moment, in whatever surreal way that could happen.”

And so with maturity, and the cool calm that Del Rey has amassed, five albums later, she’s able to play someone else, it seems, in song. But like she mentioned, that was a step outside the norm. And I’m not sure the world is all too ready for that anyway. Earlier, as Del Rey arrived in the lobby of the Chateau, we shared a hug and swapped some chit chat while her surprisingly young and surprisingly English manager, Ben Mawson, secured a suite for our interview. Mawson, returning, mentioned his ambitions to visit a mystic in Santa Barbara, smoothly coaxed Del Rey’s cars keys to do so from her reluctant hands (like any accomplished manager ought), and left us and his tab in a stylish puff of smoke as the singer and I strolled toward the elevators. We’re welcomed by a member of the Chateau’s attractive staff, who shares some familiar sweetness with Del Rey, and enters the elevator with us. After some run of the mill small talk regards Del Rey’s new L.A. home of which the staffer has some knowledge, the singer in turn asks how things have been at the Chateau, the Hollywood fixture for celeby notables, bolognese bowls, and rabbit holes. “Oh you know,” the woman remarks. “Things change out there in the world, but here, they stay the same.”

The change out there in the world has indeed been pretty seismic. Accordingly, you have my personal favorite track on the record, “God Bless America,” an unbridled spanker of a song that’s title refrain is followed by, “And all the beautiful women in it”—that’s instantly echoing through your melon and one in which Del Rey remarks, “Yeah, I went there.” She describes the song, of which Mawson shared earlier his reluctance to release as a single, given the tendency of Del Rey to net the mentioned public polarization, “It has some strong messaging,” she says nodding. “Some iconography, with Lady Liberty, fire escapes and the streets, and I do get a little New York feel when I listen back to it.” I tell her the song feels grandiose in production, anthemic in verse… very New York in fact, a sparkling pile of empire and accomplishment. And while New York (and its banks) have churned out the free world leader and a boys club not so concerned about everyone therein being blessed, moreover the “beautiful women in it”—reminding us that grandiosity has its pitfalls—“God Bless America” could easily ascend the ladder as a 2017 rally cry.

I ask her if she feels the appropriative nature of the song title may stir any pots of sorts.”Well, it’s the God word,” she says measuredly. “But the phrase has wider meaning. It’s more of a sentiment. When I wrote it I didn’t feel like it was confined to a traditional portrait of the Lord, as some sects might see it. It was more like, ‘Fucking God bless us all and let’s hope we make it through this.’ She further explains the genesis, “When all the Women’s Marches were happening, I had already written this song, because I had been hearing a lot of things online. And I have a sister, and a lot of girlfriends, who had a lot of concerns about things that were being said in the media by some of our leaders. And I saw an instant reaction from women, and I was like, ‘Wow. There is no confusing how women are feeling about the state of the nation.’ And so without really trying to, I felt compelled to just write a song and say we are all concerned. And it really made me think about my relationship with women. And I felt proud of myself, because I do love the women in my life. And I take care of them, and I ask them what they think about music, and guys, and problems, and I thought it was so cool that I’m really right there in the same boat with them. And sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I feel like I’ve got my finger right on the pulse of what’s going on, and then some of my music comes out and it’s like, ‘Fuck, that was a miss. Fuck, that’s not what people feel, at all. But with this, I was right there with everyone.”

Considering the caution from management around the track, I ask Del Rey if the potentiality for rib kicks, or what have you, is particular to her, not just someone famous. Does she feel she’s been on the receiving end of a sort of media lust? A presumptive, dutiful debunking of myths? “Perhaps,” Del Rey considers. “Or the journalists don’t have enough going on personally andthey feel like their contribution to current culture is myth building. It’s either one. It’s a broad mix. And I’ll definitely take accountability for how my energy has informed a lot of not true stories. But 50% of that has just been someone’s personal agenda.” Still, despite the pricks and pokes over time, Del Rey does feel the media is incredibly important and worth fighting for at the moment. “That’s why I do love journalists,” she says, “when they’re not assholes, because writers are critical thinkers. They’re people who think it’s important to have conversation, and conversation can lead to change.”

I’d agree: the fundamental purpose of media is to present the facts and propel conversation. That, of course, has been tossed into the bullshit blender of late; a corrupted election, orchestrated intel leaks, and in turn media’s brandishing “the enemy of the people” by the venal and orange President Trump, has the press in a pretty gobsmacked, beleaguered position. So ass over heels that even the governing party’s own Fox News mascot, Bill O’Reilly, has finally been ousted for sexually pawing and verbally gnawing on women whom his employers have considerably paid off over the years to keep hush. It’s a mess out there, right or left or between. “I feel like this election jolted almost everyone who was floating around, feeling weird, whatever… right into the current moment,” Del Rey says. “I know several people that had a sort of drifter mentality that are now in the thick of it, considering things, and considering their own contributions, and what matters. I’ve known what matters to me for a long time, so I was already kind of there, but I didn’t really see it going this negatively. I feel like we’re in a bit of a Hitchcockian experience, and you’re in a scenario, and every day you wake up and you can’t believe the things being said and done are real. And I think some people are questioning if this shit is actually happening, like especially with the North Korea issues, which are really the scariest because you’re talking about nuclear annihilation.”

The world is in an extraordinarily tenuous place. And while it could be said, certainly for the sake of this piece, the earliest seedlings of civilization were wrought with lust for power, we are, it seems, at somewhat of a tipping point. On the topic of the Women’s March, I share a video of the protests in Caracas, Venezuela, where some two million people were marching that morning against President Nicolás Maduro, dozens of whom were reported killed by police or government backing loyalists. I remark that the collectivist, community-making nature of protest could perhaps only be likened to the power of song. Is there anything on the record that explores this swell of community-making here and around the world at present? She considers. “Well, I have a song that’s quite aware about the collective worry, about whether this is the end of an era. It’s called “When the world was at war we kept dancing.” But I actually went back and forth about keeping it on the record, because I didn’t want it there if it would make people feel worse instead of better. It’s not apathetic. The tone of the production is very dark, and doesn’t lead to a fucking happy feeling. And the question it poses: Is this the end of America, of an era? Are we running out of time with this person at the helm of a ship? Will it crash? In my mind, the lyrics were a reminder not to shut down or shut off, or just don’t talk about things. It was more like stay vigilant and keep dancing. Stay awake.”

Given the pace and intensity of the environment in our surrounds of which the artist speaks, I point out that there are still moments on the record that feel lonely, or lost in expectancy, far from active. I cite a lyric: “We get all dressed up to go nowhere in particular.” Del Rey shares that she’d had a phone call with a friend earlier that day, about their personal lives, their music, and she states that he too raised that when talking about artistic stall as a demonstration of stasis. She disagreed with him. “It wasn’t about stasis. I meant that you don’t need to have anything to do to get dressed up and feel special.”

We live in a culture where pressure and precedent abound, one in which women are constantly challenged with not feeling special based on their body, their skin color, their age, their social position, their follower count. Does she agree? “It’s more like we just don’t have as much cultural practice at taking the time to appreciate ourselves for who we really are,” she says. “We spend a lot of time when the nation was founding building government, money, and then getting the education system down, so it’s not like some cultures where you take time to mediate, et cetera, on your own dreams, wishes, self worth. I think it’s not enough practice. It’s not like they teach you that in school. But I think that that’s changing too. That’s actually a lot of what the record is about. Even in “God Bless America”… ‘Take me as I am, don’t see me for what I’m not… Only you can save me tonight.’ It’s about seeing people: what they’re actually doing. Who they actually are.”

In that sense, Del Rey is championing the same values as her influential predecessors, few and far as they may be, or as bamboozled by the power systems in which they thrived. Consider “Beautiful People,” where she trades verses and coalesces on the chorus with the one and only Stevie Nicks, of whom I refer to as a bonafide badass. “I didn’t know what to except or that I could even ask her, Del Rey remarks. “When I went through ideas of women that could really add something to the record, she was the one we kept coming back to. ‘Bonafide badass’ is a great phrase for her. She’s really real. And she’s still fucking touring, which baffles me. There are so few women doing that. You’ve got Courtney Love, who works, sings, tours… there’s not that many women who were making music in the ’70s or ’80s who still make music. It really is pretty crazy.”

We’ve been speaking for a little over an hour. I return to a conversation we’d briefly shared on the photo shoot regards this, Flaunt’s music issue, and its theme (“heartbreak”), determined before we’d secured Del Rey as our cover subject. She’d been briefed on this by her publicity team and was admittedly wary about aligning. Again, that embodiment dilemma. Appropriation? Role playing? “Everything I’ve done in the last two years,” she says with confidence, “I would never say anything that wasn’t true. Even in the music. That’s why I was nervous about me being on the cover, and in big font “The Heartbreak Issue” because the thing is, I don’t feel heartbroken. So I didn’t want to continue a narrative that didn’t apply to me. Because the only person who truly cares about whether I continue that narrative, or any, is me. So I have to do my due diligence. And it doesn’t always work, but I’ll be damned if I don’t fucking try.”

Del Rey is indeed expected to carry her narratives, whether they’re isolated in meaning to her or not. It comes with the territory I suppose. Perhaps the reason the public has not allowed her persona the room it allots to certain other celebrities to role play is because it conversely feels her not a role player, but an appropriator. Not of cultural identities, or pivotal historic movements, ethnic/religious/nationalistic identities, but of emotions. Did Lana Del Rey, for instance, scoop up the proliferate sentiment of feeling forlorn when she broke out in 2008 while the economy was breaking down? Why if she sings about manipulation are we assumed she’s manipulating or manipulated? Why if she sings about getting dressed up for no reason but to feel special does one imagine her at home, dressed up, going nowhere? Does someone who writes and sings so pointedly and consistently about love defy its fundamentally inarticulable nature? Is this love borrowed or stolen? From us? From whom? How can we tell? Why can some musicians sing about all sorts of shit, and everyone grants them the concession to do so. Why does Lana have to be her music? Some would argue it’s this collision of singer/songwriter—of whom we expect to sing from the experiences of the heart—with that of pop queen, whom we expect to sing about and for us. Others might speculate that Del Rey’s aim is true, that her heart is her guiding light, that this is more than music. And finally, others might suggest that’s the responsibility of art; to cull from emotions everywhere, permission or non, and distill into something accessible. “I know a couple of people who love to write,” she says as we’re collecting ourselves to leave the hotel room, “and love to rhyme, love melodies, and I do too. But to me it’s so much more than that. It feels like a life’s work and it feels like it’s really important just to me, so I put a lot of time into it.”

A lust for life, and whatever you make of it. And what Del Rey is making of it is music; earned and owned up to, as the world continues to take from us and we from it. We walk to the balcony and open the French windows. A web of canopies drape the Chateau’s garden courtyard restaurant, bustling with late lunches and tea service. We remark that beneath these canopies, it can feel so glamorous, so suspended. From up here, though, you see it’s just industrial plastic, mildly in need of a good dirt rinse, the patrons beneath it smudged out like those who didn’t sign the waiver in a reality TV dance, playing a role, all but recognizable.

* Some adjectives describing Del Rey in recent international journalism include: a) “a confounding mystery” – Brian Hiatt. “18 Things You Learn After Two Long Days with Lana Del Rey,” Rolling Stone, June 24, 2014. b) “mysterious and much-debated.” – Sean Hennessy. “Ice Breaker,” GQ, October 6t, 2011. c) “Is this the mysterious Lana Del Rey? – Natasha Stagg. “Lana Del Rey: Wild at Heart,” Dazed, April 17, 2017. d) “a paradox” – Barry Walters. “Darkness Comes Alive: The Paradox of Lana Del Rey,” NPR, June 20, 2014. e) “married her music to a mysterious image.” – Paul Harris. “The Strange Story of the Star Who Rewrote Her Past,” The Guardian, January 21, 2012. f) “weirdly shamanistic” – Bruce Wagner. “Lana Del Rey on Why Her Pop Stardom ‘Could Easily Not Have Happened’,” Billboard, October 22, 2015.

Written by Matthew Bedard Photographer: David LaChapelle. Stylist: Brett Alan Nelson for The Only Agency. Hair: Anna Cofone for The Wall Group. Makeup: Pamela Cochrane for Bridge Artists. Styling Assistants: Tony Devoney and Richie Garcia.

#lana del rey #flaunt magazine #flaunt #david lachapelle

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spooderham · 7 years

Text

Sean Cassidy + “They were suppose to be wrong!”

When your fiancee Sean had gone missing, leaving behind ransacked apartment and bloody walls in his wake the police had said not to be too optimistic, that from how everything looked the love of your life might not be coming home. You shook your head at that, refusing to listen to them. They were wrong, they had to be. How could Sean, the ginger boy who helped stop World War Three be dead? How could Sean, who loved aquariums and you be gone forever?

But as days turned to weeks and weeks to months the police stopped looking for what they assumed was a body. Despite your pleas to continue on.

“Ms. Y/SN,” the lead detective on Sean's case said to you over a steaming cup of coffee, “We’re giving up on your fiancee’s case.” You felt your heart drop.

“You can’t!” You begged, your hands curling into fists, you could feel your hands starting to heat up as the wind outside the dinner the detective had requested to meet at started to swirl angrily.

“I’m sorry miss,” he apologised, “We have other cases, we can’t spend anymore manpower on-” he cut himself off from saying ‘on a corpse’.

“He’s not dead,” you whisper, even the thought of Sean never coming made you nauseous. The older man gave you a gad smile before tossing down a few dollars to cover both his and your coffees.

“Like I said, I’m sorry.”

You were sure he was wrong. That’s why you went to your old friend Charles. But he was no help either, he was too strung out to help. Hank had said he’d do all he could from the confines of the run down school, only to earn a disgusted look from you. His friend was missing and he’d do all he could from the school.

“Thanks Hank,” You spit, “But I’m not sure how much you can do hiding away in here. I’ll do it myself.” And you did. After nearly a year of driving around the country, following leads, turning yourself into a ghost, you managed to track Sean down.

Or, well, you managed to track the men who kidnaped Sean. The burly men hadn’t expected you to burst into the shoddy farm house they were renting out, arms on fire, brandishing questions.

“Why’d you take him?” You snarled at the shaking man, the two other men were dead, burnt to crisps by you.

“We-we were paid to,” he choked.

“By who?” He didn’t answer, so you, with a flaming hand punched him. Causing the man to cry out. You raised your hand again, ready to strike him across the face once more, only for him sob out an answer.

“Trask, we were hired by Trask to get him.”

“Why?” Your jaw clenched tightly, your molars were starting to hurt but you didn’t care, you were finally getting real answers.

“I don’t know-” you brought your flaming hand down onto his face again, “-I swear I don’t know! All I know is that we- me, I -were, was, paid to get the people off the list.”

“What list?” You growled and he shook his head, “A list, it was just a list!” You sucked in a deep breath, smelling burnt flesh and soot.

“Where’d you take him?”

“DC,” he sucked in a breath, “We took all of them to a warehouse in DC.” You gave him a look and he told you that the warehouse was on the corner of ‘Locust Road and 16th Street’. You nod at the information, you look down at the man before setting him on fire as well. You never promised him mercy, and after kidnapping Sean, it’s what he deserved.

You made it to the warehouse within a day-due to not stopping for sleep or food. It was a high tech facility with armed guards at every possible entrance. It might have been a problem if you cared. Instead of creating a plan like you would have done once upon a time, when the Xmen were a thing and Charles wasn’t a drunk junkie, you let the fire that was usual contained to your arms spread until it covered your whole body, and marched right on in there. Taking every possible guard down with you.

Due to the fact that bullets melted before they got within ten feet of you and humans were easily mowed down, it took nearly ten minutes before reaching the control room.

The men in lab coats squealed in terror as you lit a guard on fire in front of them. You commanded them away from the computers and to stand in the corner of the room.

“Sean Cassidy,” You yelled over his agony filled screams, “Where is he?”

“Who?” The shortest one cried, his eyes were wide and he was shaking in fear.

“Sean Cassidy,” you repeated.

“Th-the one with the sonic scream, correct?” You turned to the lanky man in a lab coat and nodded.

“Ro-room 237-” he gives you his keycard, “Here.” You don’t stick around to hear their screams and pleas of death. You just found Sean. As you run down the hallways, looking at the numbers above hope fills your chest like an inflating balloon, you aren’t smiling but there’s a light in your eyes that hasn’t been there since the morning you bid Sean a goodbye before going off to work.

When you reach room 237 you use the keycard to open the door. You expect to see a malnourished Sean, him in a white hospital gown, alive and ready to be saved, but you don't.

Instead you enter a room full of bodies on metal slabs, each covered by nothing other than a thin blanket. You stagger back, oth into the hall, the wind knocked out of you. You check the room number-237. The man said 237, right? You know he did. But maybe he’s wrong, he has to be wrong.

You extinguish your fire before you slowly walk into the room. The first body you see belongs to Angle. You cover your mouth as you let out a sorrowful scream. She looked so pale and thin, so unlike the woman you once knew. Her once long hiar had been cut short and her eyes were closed. She looked sick, but resting. Not dead.

You walk further into the room, the only light coming from your body. The next two bodies are males, neither are Sean but they have fresh surgical scars covering their body. You want to puke. The next body is a woman, she has scales running up her body-her right arm is missing and for a moment all you can think about is how scared she must have been.

The next body catches your eye. It’s the corpse of a curly ginger heart makes your heart drop. You stand there for a minute, not fully turning to it. If you don’t look it can’t be him right? If you don’t check to see that means Sean has to be alive, right?

But you do turn. You see him, Sean, on a metal slab and you can’t breath. You’ve never drowned before but you’re sure in that moment, you are.

“No,” you whisper. You approach the body and see that it is, indeed, Sean. He doesn’t have the scars the other two males have. He’s paler than ever before, the rosy color you were so use to seeing on his nose and cheeks are gone. You can see the faint lines of what would have been crow's feet in the corners of his shut eyes and smile lines. He doesn't look like he’s sleeping like Angel had been, he looks dead. Empty. A shell of the man you loved.

“No,” you repeat, “They were suppose to be wrong!”

Suddenly it’s like you're new to your mutation all over again. You burst into uncontrollable flames, the heat on your body intensifies, the fire grows and you let out such an inhuman sound you were sure that if Sean had been alive, he would have made a cute comparison between that and some sound Hank mades when blue and fuzzy.

But he didn’t, because he’s dead. Because he was killed. Because-

Fire starts to overtake the building, metal is melting and the sheets on bodies are starting to catch on fire.

Hank once said you were immune to fire but as you look down at Sean and how empty he looks you can’t help but hope he’s wrong, because you don’t want to be alone. You don’t want want to be in a world without Sean.

@v-writings // @raypclmer

#sean cassidy #sean cassidy imagine #sean cassidy x reader #banshee imagine #banshee x reader #xmen imagine #marvel imagine

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cutegirlmayra · 7 years

Note

AU if only cause i think you have written a lot of canon setting promts recently

This is true, and yet, if you take my shackles off…

The feels will be great.

(x) -pic is just cute, lol not apparent to story, unless you want to think this is how it ends later on... lol In which case, I won’t stop you! This IS a AU after all! xD

AU Sonamy - Training

“Ohhh..! You’re always running to fast!” Amy speedily tried to keep up with Sonic, who had met up with her after receiving a letter from her, stating that she wanted to train with him to be even stronger.

He kept his head forward, before looking over his shoulder, and smiling, “If you were really serious about training with me…” he then turned around, running at half his speed, backwards, making sure she could keep up. “Then you’re gonna have to learn how to keep up with me.” He grinned, putting his hands behind his head.

An anger mark pulsed on Amy’s head. “I’ll show you…. rrrrRRRRAHHH!!” she suddenly took off with unknown strength coming to her legs, as she burst forward and passed him.

“H…huh?” He blinked, lowering his hands, before turning around, “W…woah. Heh.” He smirked, his in awe expression shifting. “Now that looks interesting!” he burst forward after her.

Seeing her growing weary, he smiled and cocked an eyebrow up, starting to run beside her. “Getting a little out-winded there, Amy?”

“I’m fine!” she heaved, then sprinted again as she noticed herself slowing down.

He chuckled, before seeing how determined her face looked.

‘…Why do you care so much?’ he thought to himself, watching her strain so desperately to keep a steady pace with his unmatchable stamina.

‘…What are you fighting for?’

She started to close her eyes, head down, her feet wobbly with each stride slowing down.

He continued to stare.

Before his smile slowly softened into a genuine look of deep curiosity.

‘Whatever it is…’ He moved behind her. ‘..I want you to have it.’

He stared at her back a moment,… hesitating…

“Ha…ha… W-wha… what are you-?” Amy tried to look over her shoulder.

Her bare back showed a bit of a muscular build, and each muscle moving in slight sweat to keep up and do her will.

When he noticed the twitching and wobbling stance, he knew she couldn’t hold out much longer, her legs were already tiring considerably.

He stared down at them now, losing his smile as he observed her.

‘It’s no question that Amy can endure my running pace… but she’s been trailing me for quite some time now… a little longer and she’ll be exhausted.’

“W-what are you staring at!?” Amy cried out in front of her, seeing his eyes shift from her back to her legs.

As he watched, he closed his own eyes and smiled warmly, “Heh.” ‘It’d be no fun if she wore herself out now! Besides, she wouldn’t have fun either!’

Sonic shot his head up and abruptly placed two hands on her back.

“Wah-ah-ah-ah!!” Amy flailed her arms as she was suddenly pushed forward, a stern, but gentle press on her back to keep her running.

“Just a little more, Amy! One stretch longer!” Sonic cheered from behind, which made Amy pause in her emotions, forgetting herself, and realizing his encouragement.

‘He’s…’ she tried to peek back, but he pushed her on, making her head jolt forward so she had to focus on her footing.

“Come on! You got it! Last stretch! Don’t lose that footing now!”

“G-got it!”

“Come on, Amy!”

“grrrraaaAAAHHH!!” Amy suddenly thrust herself forward, as Sonic felt his hands leave her back, as she pushed off of them to race forward, and he suddenly slowed his pace to a stop, watching her pink blur before she collapsed to the earth, rolling and the landing on her back, her stomach moving up and down, wheezing.

His eyes couldn’t shift from the mental image seared into his mind.

She had… she had run… so close to his top speed.

‘All she needed was a push.’ he laughed to himself, gripping his stomach at his secret thoughts, before turning to look at her on the ground, and seeing her raise a thumbs up.

“Hee… I did… good… right?” She beamed, before her head fell and she panted some more.

Sonic smiled and nodded. ‘Atta girl.. Amy.’

He put his hands on his hips. ‘I shouldn’t expect less.. if you want to impress me.’

He raised his head, a mocking look in his expression for some jesting. “Once you put your mind to something, Amy. You don’t back down!” he began to walk over to her, as she continued to catch her breath, and slowly open her eyes half way to look over and up at him.

“You managed that on your own speed… your own will… power from deep within your heart.” Sonic stopped near her body, and struck a confident pose. “I almost felt my heart skip for a second there.” he folded his arms, and winked.

“A little more juice,.. and I might just have a new travel companion!”

Amy’s whole being seemed to explode on that last line, her entire being turned red in a whole-body blush.

“C-…Companion~?” her eyes lit up.

‘Uh oh! Triggered.’ Sonic sweatdropped, before chuckling in his inner thoughts at her antics, and smiling down to her. ‘Haha! I knew she’d be easy to please but…’

His hand suddenly rubbed the tip of his thumb to his index finger. Her sweat was still slightly on his glove, and the sensation of feeling her move under it hadn’t completely left him for some odd reason or another.

He barely noticed, or at least…

He tried not too.

He dropped his hands, suddenly realizing their strange action.

“…Still wanting to train hard?” he cocked his head, trying to act like nothing was wrong.

She moved her arms back and stretched, then smiled gleefully up to him after having swooned and squee’d a little during his thoughts. “Hehe~ Yes please.” She struck a natural pose she wasn’t intended to be so spread out and alluring, but the second Sonic’s eye caught the curve of her angles and figure, he immediately adverted his gaze.

‘…What’s going on?’

He felt his body heat up suddenly, but he had already stopped running.

An after effect?

“So! What do we do now?” Amy leaned forward, making it slightly better-

She stuck herself up and folded her legs back, before tilting her head cutely and staring at him with such big innocent eyes.

His own eyes widened.

He suddenly held a hand over his sneer, looking away. ‘Something’s wrong…’

“Hmm?” Amy blinked her eyes, and put her hands down in front of her, “Sonic? What’s wrong?”

His eyebrow twitched at her question. ‘Woman, don’t tempt me!!! You know what you do!!!’ he turned his body around, making sure he couldn’t see her at all, as he closed his eyes and put his fists to his hips, leaning down and twitching his eyebrow more in frustration.

‘Get it together, Sonic. She makes one bit of progress and all of a sudden your as jittery as a lightning bolt…’ Sonic scolded himself back into discipline, before Amy’s hands suddenly wrapped around his waist.

His eyes wandered down and he jolted in a bit of surprise.

‘Bad timing.’

His eyes dilated at the sensation of the touch, feeling uncomfortable… but strangely enjoying it.

‘Really bad placing!!!’

He moved her hands down and looked up, ‘Don’t be cute today,… any other time or day, but not now!’

“Sonic?” Amy peeked over his side, and giggled, walking ahead of him and removing her arms, swinging her arms as she skipped. “Hehe! I think I want to take a breather for a second. Whoo!!!” She spread out her arms, and then stretched again, her back facing him as he tried to hold his composure.

But his face scrunched up slightly. ‘Maybe this training thing won’t work out after-’

“Thank you… Sonic.”

He lost his thought and his expression changed at her tone.

“Hmm? For what?” he blinked.

“…I… I really needed to hear those words.” She put her hands behind her back, and kicked the ground beneath her.

‘…My… words?’ he looked at her foot gently kicking and digging itself into the dirt at times. “What do you mean?” Sonic looked up back at her.

Amy laughed again, before turning to the side of herself, “Come on! You know what I mean…” she looked down and smiled, “I thought… you know, that maybe I was troubling you with this request… but I’m glad you humored me into spending the day with me… it’s… it’s the happiest thing in all the world! Hearing you be proud of me, Sonic!” She flung her arms out and hopped in place to be facing him now.

She swayed her body back and forth, putting her hands behind her again, “I bet you already figured it out… didn’t you? I just wanted to train really, really hard so I could prove myself to you!” she put her hands out in front of her, looking determined and sincere to get this out.

Sonic stared straight through it all, barely moving an inch.

“I want to keep making you say those words over and over again, Sonic The Hedgehog! I want you to keep saying in a hundred, no… a thousand different ways that I’m perfect for you!”

He felt his body’s tension leave him, and slightly, his jaw loosen and drop too.

He leaned back, as her body leaned forward to bow.

“I won’t give up! Just like you said! I’ll never stop till I’m not just your new traveling companion…”

Sonic moved a hand in front of him, as if bracing and preparing for the final blow of a battle.

“A-Amy, wait!”

She flung her head up, shouting with all passion that lay in her heart, and any strength she had left to say it, “But you’re new wife!”

Sonic sweatdropped, but though his face looked awkward, his heart seemed to race rapidly.

Again, the sensation of touch returned to him, and the image of her pink blur across the field, even if it was a small stretch, no sonic boom or nothing,…

It had shook him to his very core.

“I will marry you, Sonic The Hedgehog! And I’ll keep trying to prove to you that I’m the only woman who ever could keep up with you!” She dramatically pointed her finger out, stating directly that he was her goal, of which he had previously mentioned, if she set her mind to it, she would never give up till she obtained it.

He blinked his eyes, slightly shrinking as he bent his torso, not sure how to respond. His lips a swiggly line.

His mind was thinking one thing, how terribly embarrassing this was that she could leave him in such a state as this, and two, why it was even possible to BE in this state… but secondly, how much his body and heart were on a completely different page than his thoughts.

‘Amy…’ He watched her stand with complete, radiant confidence, as the wind rattled her dress slightly and caused it to ripple beautifully, her eyes… seeming to pierce right through his charade.

She stood like she had a purpose worth fighting for, and that nothing could deter her from it.

After a good long stare, he finally composed himself enough to give a smile and close his eyes, bending his head down.

He then straightened himself up, putting one hand to his hip, the other staying relaxed and dropped down to his shoulder.

“Then… I think you got me, Amy.”

Amy looked surprised, and twitched her hand down, “I.. I do?”

Sonic slowly raised his head and opened his eyes up, his smile forming into one that could match her confidence as well.

There was still a sweatdrop on the side of his face though, ‘keep it together… just a little longer.’

“I guess you wouldn’t mind the next bit of training then, would you?” He shrugged, shaking his head down and ignoring her comment of taking a break.

“H…huh?” Amy blinked, not sure what he was talking about.

He whipped his head up, his eyes catching her off guard by their fierce determination. “….How ‘bout it? A date then.”

Amy’s whole being felt like something had squeezed inside her and butterflies soared out in tingly prickles all around her. “W-…what?” she almost breathed out, as if not believing he had said that at all.

He dashed up to her.

“W-what do you mean..?”

His face moved in, closer to hers.

Out of instinct, she just simply leaned back, as he placed a hand around her waist, and pulled her closer.

The wind blast from behind him blew forcefully on her, and she leaned up against him to try and wait it out as the wind made her shut her eyes.

Once her hair settled and the wind went back to a neutral staleness, she looked up.

Sonic smiled down at her, “I could use the practice.” He beamed, also closing his eyes.

“You wouldn’t mind training me, would you?”

#sonamy #sonamy prompt #sonicxamy #amy rose #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic prompt #cutegirlmayra #sega

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worstsong · 7 years

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Yes "Owner of a Lonely Heart (Extended Remix)" I've been wary, here on Worst Song, of including either remixes or extended versions, seeing as they are rarely the most representative examples of any given artist's work. Many times, extended versions are jam-session curios, studio fuckery, fully realized narrative suites, or bonuses for the true fans tired of simply hitting replay. Notable examples include Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida," which has a 2:52 single edit and a 17:05 extended ("real") version (or even longer live versions), and The Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb on Me"--the 4:05 version most people know is fluffed out to a stultifying 13:07 extended version, which seems never to end, and may in fact not end (no one has ever finished listening to it). Remixes, similarly, can improve the original song or take it in any number of bizarre directions. The remix is never a known quantity, and comes bearing its own disclaimster. Expectations are lower; clemency is more readily given. All of which amplifies why Yes' "Owner of a Lonely Heart (Extended Remix)" is included here, being as, even after all that qualifying, it is still so bad, so offputting, and such a sullying of a classic song. Let me be clear: "Owner of a Lonely Heart" is a good/great song--even the extended version of it--EVEN THE REMIX OF IT! But the extended remix is a true horror, a jaw-droppingly awful concoction that cackles in the face of any given listener. What's uncanny is that, while the party or parties responsible for this monstrosity do not appear in any credits listing, it seems the remix is the work of the band itself. So, let's dig in. Right from the get-go we're being toyed with, as the very first note is subjected to cartoonish pitch-shifting (pitch-shitting, you might say), which is about as perfect a harbinger for what's to come as the remixer could manage. It almost plays as a nonthematic, sonic parody of the original, something maybe Dr. Demento might produce, or DJ Detweiler, or Vic Berger. But we quickly find there's no upshot here, no satiric endgame or reason for such prankery. It's not fun. It's not funny. It's not sonically interesting. It's not enjoyable. It just sounds wrong, and it is wrong. Very wrong! Not that there's a whole lot of content here to parse. This could have easily been a 90-second interlude reprise thing, but nope, it's twice as long as the original song. After that first disturbance...nothing happens. The remix settles into its long, long, long, long, long-ass groove. Sit back, get comfortable, and relax, because for the next seven minutes, you'll be subjected to an unbroken stream of the song's five notes, over and over and over. About a minute into this closed loop, the interruptions start, with bursts of arrhythmic tinny drum fills, arrhythmic dissonant keyboard stabs, and arrhythmic vocal samples, pitched into atonality. The remix is technically instrumental, but it uses multiple instruments at their worst capacity in order to bridge the gap between disinterest and white-hot aggravation. What's most clear here is that this is a first take, that there is no actual editing or review or thought behind this remix. And so, that being the case, the question remains: Why release it at all, on any platform? Why does it exist? Is there any more disrespectful gift to fans, who, upon shelling out extra money for the deluxe album version, put on their headphones to hear...the band dicking around in the sound booth? Ruining one of their best songs? What's the message here? What's the intent? Above and beyond being merely inconvenient and unkind to the loyal fan, this verges on the cruel, for the fan now has to not only suffer through this, but, as a fan, try to find some angle to it, to puzzle it out, to, ultimately, like it. Meanwhile, the bandmembers of Yes, having recorded, mastered, and released this crap-hell for some reason, will never listen to it again, the fans being the only ones doing so out of a misbegotten sense of completism or loyalty. And this, finally, is why this song deserves to be a Worst: it's mean to the only ones who would ever hear it. Yes might as well have called the song "Me Fans Are Stupid Pigs." To the band I say: No.

#Yes #ownerofalonelyheart #remix #remixes #extended #extended version #ironbutterfly #inagaddadavida #thegapband #youdroppedabombonme #drdemento #djdetweiler #vicberger #sneakerpimps #nelleehooper #beck #aphextwin #No

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bleakcinemafiction · 7 years

Text

Guardian Angel

(Finally beginning to shift all my stuff over from AO3. Tags/triggers will be placed at the beginning of each story)

Pairing: R76

Tropes: A/B/O, Post-fall

Rating: 18+

The deep thrum of the transport’s engines faded to a high whine as it neared the ground, dorsal hover-pads straining to create the lightest touchdown possible for the oversized craft. The drone of it drifted up into the late evening heat baking up off the Indiana flatlands under a late summer sun. The grass beneath it flattened out beneath the machine, accommodating, and the whole thing began to power down until its throaty grumbles were little more than latent purrs.

A beast of burden gone dormant.

It seemed out of place, the unmarked craft sitting out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, places where some folks had yet to even upgrade to hovercars and still puttered about on four wheels. There was nothing out here for miles, the nearest farm a good ways off. The beetling craft sat alone, heat mirages clouding up around it as it hummed to life just long enough for the small bay door to open, allowing its only passenger to step out.

Angela Ziegler stepped down and stood there beneath the waning rays of the Indiana sun, hair a cascade of fly-away gold where it tumbled down her shoulders in a careless ponytail. Out here, far from the reach of strife and struggle, she had abandoned the Valkyrie Swift-Response suit in favour of a far more casual blouse tucked neatly into a pair of dark slacks. The sun warmed the cream tones of the modest shirt, casting her all over in a welcoming glow. She stood for a moment in repose, casting her eye over the waving sea of tall grass long gone brassy under the eye of the summertime, hearing nothing but the susurration of the wind over the plains. It smelled fresh here, like a place where time and tide could not reach. It always did, no matter how many times she made the journey.

Behind her, Athena’s inoffensive alto crooned, “Dr. Ziegler, the autopilot will be rerouting to the rendezvous point in five minutes. Will you be alright?”

“Ja, thank you, Athena. I will be alright. Do remind Winston I will return in two days.”

“As per usual, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela could hardly help the tiny, fond expression that curled the edge of her lip, “As per usual, Athena.”

“I will employ full confidentiality protocols.”

The craft behind her powered up once more preparing to depart as programmed. Angela tuned the noise out, eyes on the endless horizon as she waited serenely. She had no fear of being abandoned in this place. She never had been. Not once in the 10 years she’d been venturing out here alone. The day she was left alone in this field was a day she had far larger things to be concerned with than herself.

In no more than ten minutes was her patience rewarded when she spied the tell-tale curl of dust kicking up in a winding path in the distance. Her smile grew and she felt herself rocking forward onto the balls of her feet ever so slightly as if that alone would allow her to see more. Soon, the harsh complaints of an engine long over-stressed drifted on the wind with the dust and it was music to her ears. Taking a chance with her timing she raised her long-fingered hand high and was delighted when she was met with a braying honk. She laughed at the sound, the poor old thing sounding worse and worse every year. Soon, a white truck so coated with muck it had gone a scratched up dun colour was visible through the swaying grass and the clinging cloud that boiled up around it, new enough to hover, but old enough that it only did so on a hope and a prayer these days.

The nattering old monster of a vehicle snarled up to her pulling alongside at such a distance that it wouldn’t throw any of the cloying dust up onto her neat clothing, a young man leaning one arm out the window as he craned to see her excitedly.

Seeing him always knocked something motherly loose in Angela, leaving it to rattle around in her ribcage like a high-spirited bird. This year was even more devastating than the last as he grinned up at her broad as a cheshire cat, all white teeth and mischief and so incredibly earnest that she felt a pang. He was a lean young man, gone toned from no doubt hours of farm work out here. His skin was the palest shade of cinnamon, the colour of horchata, smudged here and there with dirt. Hair the colour of chocolate was yanked into a short, messy ponytail at the back of his head, rebellious almost-curls escaping here and there and a bit of stubble shadowed his chin, highlighting the angles of his face.

He was a striking young man, but it was always the eyes that got her; more blue than a cloudless sky.

“Miss Angie, as I live and breathe!” he declared with unbridled happiness, his accent a mutt thing of the Midwest and places far more equatorial.

He reached across and shoved her door open with his foot before going to pick up the single case she’d brought along with her.

Angela spoke with deep warmth when she said, “You’re a little late this year.”

He laughed and shrugged one shoulder, chagrinned, “You know me, Miss Angie. My timing’s always been a little bit off.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

__________

Gabriel let out a warning growl as the door to their shared quarters hissed shut, trying to get the hick’s attention as John “Jack” Morrison tried to bully him back towards the bed, “You’d better fucking lock that, Cabron. Alpha or not, somebody walks in and gets an eyeful? I will beat the shit out of you.”

All he got in return was a low whine of need as his alpha nosed at the scent points along his throat, yet unmarked, totally lost to the world. Gabriel felt his temper rise, his jaw clenching as he fought to stay under control long enough to not be a spectacle for every asshole on this base. He had precious little time left before Jack’s rut triggered a heat in him and his instincts were already bridling at the very idea of being caught helpless once both of them were too overwhelmed by mating to defend themselves. It didn’t matter that there were in their home base, safely tucked away in Switzerland, surrounded by allies. Gabriel was a soldier and his paranoid instincts multiplied ten-fold when overwhelmed by his defensive Omega impulses.

Jack’s sharp, clever teeth nipped at the hinge of his jaw, perilously close to where he might land a bonding bite. It drew a gasp out of the older man, a bit of slick dampening his boxer briefs as his treacherous body started to give way to the Alpha pheromones that were already inundating his every sense. Hell, he could practically taste them. Feeling his time running as thin as his patience, Gabriel snatched at Jack’s face and laid a kiss on him that was more teeth than lips, getting his Alpha’s attention.

Blue eyes looked up at him in a lustful haze and Gabriel manipulated a bit further, rubbing the rough edge of his scruff along Jack’s jawline, breaking the kiss and letting the other man get a noseful of his persuasive scent. He purred, dark as a panther, in his chest.

“I’m unmated and you’re sending me into heat, idiot. Lock the door unless you want company.”

Not that ‘company’ meant much.

Mated or not, they lived in a civilized society and it wasn’t like Omegas were just up for grabs any more than an Alpha was. It was just the Right. Little. Push. Just enough to see something possessive and feral and altogether NOT ‘bright penny’ Morrison flash in the blonde’s eyes. The growl Jack made then was practically sub-sonic, more sensation than sound and it sent heat right down between Gabe’s legs, made him want to show his belly and lay himself open for the HELL of a ride the younger man was going to give him for this.

Those teeth again, scraping against the quivering jump of his excited pulse as Jack murmured, all hot breath and sharp edges, right up on the thin skin of his throat, “Clothes off. Bed. Now.”

An unrepentant, hard-nosed son of a bitch to the end, Gabriel Reyes snarked, “Hands and knees, hm, chico de oro?”

“No,” Jack said, low, as he pulled away, turning his back on the other man long enough to thumb the lock, “I wanna see your face when I’ve got your blood on my teeth.”

He was so far gone that hick accent of his had gone gruff and become an altogether different animal. Gabriel would be a liar if he said it didn’t do fucking SHAMEFUL things to his knees to hear that sound. Playing it off with machismo, his usual MO, he stripped off his plain black uniform shirt, revealing inch after inch of dark skin, taunting Overwatch’s little golden boy.

“I got a choice in that?”

That seemed to get to his would-be mate, the other man’s thumb hovering over the lock he had just activated, unsure. Gabriel was fascinated. He could see the muscles tremble in that powerful hand that had taken lives and could put him on the mat on a bad day of sparring. He could see the control Jack was willing back into the situation, the man overcoming the turmoil of rut just enough to speak again, voice like gravel.

“Jesus, Gabi. If you want out, you’d better say so now or be ready to put me on the ground. Not sure how much I can still hold back, but I ain’t going to force you.”

The older man swore low in heated Spanish, a tangle of words and fierce intent. He and Morrison had been dancing around this for ages. It was only the decorum required of their standing in the organization, way too much damn pride, a healthy dose of trust issues, and a hearty unwillingness on Gabriel’s part to be someone’s sexual chew toy that had stayed their hands over the years. It was only Jack’s untimely rut that had forced the issue, their cycles thrown into disarray by all the treatments from the SEP, unpredictable and sporadic.

Here was Jack, so desperate in a rut that he could barely stand straight (a condition that could turn a weak Alpha into a snarling moron in an hour), but still having enough respect for Gabriel to give him a damn out. Treating him like a partner, not a handy receptacle. It softened the LA native’s razor edges and knocked a bit of the sass right out of him.

With an arrogant smirk, Gabriel undid his belt and let his uniform trousers fall, “Don’t give me that shit, Jack. You’d chew your own fucking arm off before you touched me without my permission. Now get over here.”

He slipped out of his black boxer briefs last, tossing them without a care as he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows and letting Jack catch a glimpse of his body’s natural lubrication slicking his thighs. Blue, blue eyes raked over every inch of his muscled form and it was enough to set his skin on fire with power knowing HE had done that to Jack. In the same breath, having that laser-focused desire focused only on him was humbling him down to his very bones. As Jack prowled up to him, his heart thundered and he was caught between wanting to raise his chin, all regal bravado, and baring his throat in submission for his lover’s teeth and lips.

Jack’s own heart pounded, sending his blood racing beneath his pale skin until a rosy flush of arousal raced across the angular places where bone pressed into skin. He was practically panting, his cock a line of agony and need in his trousers, thudding along with his heartbeat. He was frozen in time, torn between never taking his eyes off of the fierce predator that was giving itself into his mastery and sinking into that hot place between his yielding thighs like an animal. Reverent, he reached out and pressed his thumb down over one nipple, feeling the muscle beneath it, the vibrations of Gabriel’s moan.

In his feral hind-brain, his Alpha nature hissed in triumph at the strong, receptive mate it had found. Their pups would be worthy of envy and the Omega would bear them well.

Barely able to breathe around the heat racing over their flesh like wildfire, Gabriel and Jack both fought with fumbling fingers to rid the Alpha of his clothing. The sound of a seam ripping on his boxers as they were man-handled off was far away, in another world where paltry niceties mattered. All that mattered here and now was Jack pushing his mate back against the mattress, gripping his thighs and pulling his legs apart until he could settle against the cradle of his pelvis, feel the flex of powerful legs on either side of him that could reasonably do him very real damage if they so chose. The thrill of danger licked up Jack’s spine and he pressed a hand down against his lover’s belly.

He let himself snarl, “Mine”.

Before he could blink, the older man tapped him with a warning slap on the cheek before settling gun-calloused fingers around his throat, “No, amante. You’re MINE.”

With that, he tugged his Alpha down into a savage kiss, both of them panting into one another and warring for dominance even though, in his heart of hearts, Jack knew he had already lost to this fierce, beautiful Omega he had fought alongside. He braced himself with one hand next to the other man’s head, reaching down with the other hand to touch the tightly furled ring of muscle covered in slick hidden between Gabriel’s cheeks. He tested the give and rumbled in his chest when he was able to press two fingers in from the outset, his lover only hissing in slight discomfort and even greater desire. He’d never been with an Omega before...had no idea that he’d be welcomed in so easily. Feeling the urge to breed overwhelming his good sense, he thrust his fingers in sharply, listening to Gabriel keen.

“Is it...always like this?”

Gabriel laughed harshly around his gasping, “Tan inocente! You think I let every Alpha with a rut and an excuse on top of me?”

Letting nature guide him, Jack added a third finger, watching his lover squirm, “So, no one else?”

“Not like this,” the other affirmed before a bit of bite was back in his tone, Gabriel Reyes not a creature to be tamed for long, “Mierda, Jack, I can take you as I am now. Either get inside me or I will flip you over and that’s not what EITHER of us wants right now.”

He did, however, note the piqued expression on Jack’s face. Not what they wanted now, but definitely something to keep for later.

It almost took him by surprise when he felt the blood-hot head of Jack’s manhood butting up against his entrance and he looked up, caught by the bluest eyes again. Obligingly, he wrapped his legs around the jut of his mate’s hips, opening himself up fully and feeling that first forceful push sink into him. The burn was everything he hadn’t known he needed until this moment, as if Jack was carving out a place for himself inside of his body, pushing in more and more. He didn’t coddle Gabriel, knew he could take it and take it and take it. For his part, the Omega dug his nails into Jack’s shoulders, clinging to the meat of them, the heat of his lover deep inside of him and on top of him and overwhelming him. They never broke eye contact, even when the steady push threatened to wash away all the sense he had remaining.

Jack let out a soft grunt as he bottomed out, his hips cupping up against his mate’s backside as if they were made for each other. The notion drew a chesty growl from him and he snapped his hips before he could stop himself, pinning the Omega with his gaze.

Gabriel let out a strangled cry, his back arching at the roughness and almost immediately he felt Jack coming back to himself, realizing what he’d done and backing off. Oh, hell no. He tightened his legs around the other man’s hips, digging his heels into the taut rise of his ass and pulling him back in. He tipped his head back, exposing his neck and looking at Jack from beneath his lashes.

“I want all you’ve got. Like sparring. Like war. Partners.”

Heart clenching at the words, Jack Morrison gave up his last tenuous thread of control and lowered his teeth to Gabe’s neck, to that sensitive spot near where shoulder met his throat, holding him in place while he began to thrust. He threw the full weight of his enhanced muscles behind every snap of his hips, feeling as much as hearing the punched out noises he wrenched from his mate. Sweat coated them both in a fine sheen as he worked inside of Gabriel, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing around their bunk like a feedback loop. Jack felt hands leaving his shoulders threading up into his blonde hair and yanking enough to hurt, to add another layer onto the symphony of sensation. He dug his teeth in harder, the first drops of blood welling around his canines.

“Come on, I want your knot,” Gabriel moaned deeply as he arched his back on a particularly deep thrust.

He could already feel the stretch of it pulling at his rim.

Jack’s hips pistoned into him, the slick sounds between them unmistakable and filthy as he built higher and higher to his peak. The urge to finish the bonding bite was growing stronger with every passing second along with his knot, desperate to claim the powerful Omega who had chosen him.

Seeking to distract Gabe from the pain, Jack lifted one hand from where he was bracketing his lover’s head, reaching down between them until his hot palm rested on the older man’s twitching belly. Angling the heel of his hand down, he pressed hard and circled his palm as he thrust in hard, aiming for that little bundle of nerves that he knew would set off fireworks in Gabriel. By the sounds his mate made when he did, he’d hit the target as unerringly as in combat, battering the sensitive gland from outside and in. He bit down in that moment, fully breaking the skin.

Distantly, Jack felt teeth sink into the opposite side of his neck, the pain electric and white hot and absolutely nothing compared to the sensation of Gabriel squeezing down around him in climax with a thready whine. His knot swelled, locking him into the Omega underneath him as he pumped him full of his seed. He was very nearly washed away on a sea of sensation, save for that he kept his promise. He raised his head, teeth bloody and head pounding from the bonding, in time to lock eyes with Gabriel, both of them completely lost in each other even while their muscles overloaded, locked, and finally gave in to rest.

***

Later, much later, Jack lay quiet and docile against the robust musculature of Gabe’s chest, content to let the older man run fingers through his hair as if petting a particularly beloved dog. Every once in awhile he would nuzzle up against the skin around the cleaned bonding bite, feeling his own throb in sympathy. Every time it earned an affectionate rumble from the lounging super soldier beneath him, teasing him endlessly about his altogether submissive nature for an Alpha still in rut.

“Everyone will think you are the Omega, chico de oro,” he snarked, tweaking the end of Jack’s nose.

It only earned him a lazy swat, the other super soldier content to stay pliant on his chest while he hummed, “Don’t give a shit. We’re partners.”

For once, Gabriel didn’t have anything smart to say in response. He settled for putting an arm around the pale man’s shoulders and rubbing a circle into the wing of his scapula with a thumb. It was a moment almost too intimate, a sentiment too tender, even considering what they had just done. He cleared his throat, aiming for bravado again.

“Thank fuck for military issue birth control, huh?”

He’d never been more grateful than when Jack let him get away with it, just mumbling a complacent, “Thank fuck”.

__________

The landscape rolled by the windows of the truck, the windows down to accommodate for a busted up AC that the boy had apologized profusely for. Angela watched him as he drove back towards civilization, the wind from the open window catching his curls and raking fingers through her own hair. She took in everything that had changed about him in the year she’d been away, how he’d grown, how he’d filled out from the farm work, how the sun had chased freckles across the bridge of his nose. She noted what had stayed the same as well, little things like how he tapped his left hand against the wheel, always too full of energy and not nearly enough patience. He still sang quietly in Spanish to himself to fill up the silences. The moving joint in his wrists still drew her eye, small hints of his strong bone structure near the surface.

She watched his fingers drum against the wheel full of constant, ticking intensity..

Now, she wouldn’t call Ira a full-fledged fidget. No, he could sit as still as she needed him to, obedient to her orders when she was conducting his annual check up. But there were always little tics that registered, tiny tremors that telegraphed how much he hated inactivity. His fingers would tap every once in awhile or he’d roll his shoulders back sporadically as if the coiled energy was gathering there and he had no choice but to cast it off. He liked a busy mind and busy hands, having a purpose for every part of him. It amused her no end to see that much of Jack lived in him, that he’d inherited more from his father than those painfully blue eyes and a moral compass permanently set to north.

Jack had never known what to do with helpless energy either.

She was so caught up in watching his hands that she only absently let her eyes drift upward. Closer like this, it was almost impossible to miss the purplish ring around his eye.

It was faint enough it could have been fatigue were it not going very slightly yellow at the edges. Angela Ziegler knew a black eye when she saw one and it put her nerves on edge to see him sporting one. Eyes were delicate, the bones around them could do so much damage if the right amount of force was applied. Her brain went over all the horrible ways an injury like that could go wrong and she smoothed her hands neatly over her lap to hide her worry.

“Ira,” she put on the tone that could still cow McCree into complying with whatever she said, “Have you been fighting?”

He flinched, his shoulders drawing a little tighter and his mouth pulling down. It put a stone in Angela’s belly.

Ira put a grin on for her, lopsided and bright, but not nearly as earnest as before, and turned to look at her as much as he could while still keeping his eyes on the road, “Miss Angie, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“That was not my question,” she reminded him, her accent curt and crisp.

Something dark flitted across the blue of his eyes, troubled, before he let the grin go and shrugged one shoulder, “Some guys were talking shit, pardon the language.”

Sympathy welled in the good doctor, “About your parents?”

“About mom.”

She reached out with one hand, gentle as a spring breeze, and touched the rounded muscle of his shoulder, “I’m sorry, Ira. I know it’s terrible to hear these things about the people you love.”

Angela didn’t even have to ask what was said. The refrain was old by now.

He didn’t shake her off, turning his eyes back to the road and snorting, “It’s been 10 years and he’s dead. At least they let up on dad after he was killed and everyone decided he was a hero. I get so sick of it. It’s puta mierda the things they say about someone they never knew.”

“You know, I was around your mother long enough to know what that means.”

The young man pinked a little around the ears, caught, and leaned back into his seat, looking recalcitrant.

He had so much of his father in him.

She sighed a little and turned her attention to that bruise again, “...Who swung first, Ira?”

The ghost of his mother stared Angela Ziegler in the face as the young man set his jaw stubbornly and refused to speak, letting his silence answer for him. It seems his father wasn’t the only one he took after. For all that both of his parents were hard to get on with at times, that temper belonged to one man and one man alone.

__________

Jack had definitely not considered when he woke up this morning that he’d be physically shielding a Security Council Liaison from a singularly furious Gabriel Reyes.

“You want to run that by me again?” his mate said in a tone that suggested the liaison should definitely not ‘run it by him again’.

The Beta adjusted her glasses primly as if there wasn’t a raging Omega looking ready to take her throat out with his teeth, “I understand that this must be distressing for you in your current state - and I do assure you that you have the utmost sympathy of the Security Council - but in light of your position and its import on a global scale, we are suggesting termination.”

“Suggesting,” Reyes spat.

“Very strongly suggesting. A pregnant Strike Commander is a Strike Commander with divided priorities. Hence why even Overwatch operatives are required to be on the strictest birth control regimens available. It was a tragic oversight that we failed to take into account the quirks of your unique biological make-up after the SEP.”

Jack tightened his grip on his mate’s bicep, and not entirely to hold him back. Guilt clawed up his throat, oily and slick. He’d noticed a week or two ago that Gabriel had seemed sluggish for lack of a better word. He’d been sick frequently, damn near impossible given the state of their immune systems. It had scared Jack and he wasn’t too proud to admit it. He’d driven himself half insane with poorly constructed conspiracy theories about people trying to poison the Strike Commander from within their own stronghold even while Gabriel cursed him for a fool and swore at him colorfully. Jack had let his overprotectiveness get in the way of his good sense. After all, in front of the team, Gabe was a consummate professional...as much as the man could be with the sarcasm and the poorly reigned in violence. He’d been prepared to soldier on until whatever the hell it was passed and left him be, too busy to give a shit if he was falling apart.

It had been Jack who insisted. It had been the Alpha who had nagged and prodded and lectured until at last his mate went simply to avoid another fight, Jack dogging his heels to Angela’s clinic.

“Just to shut him up” Gabriel had said then.

It hadn’t even taken half an hour for Angela to seal their fates, looking over them both with something akin to wonder, her blunted nails tapping away at a data pad as she mulled over the possibilities. Pregnant, she had told them then. Pregnant. It had been a one in a million shot and a fluke side-effect of the SEP that had done it. At the time, Angela had been too warmed by the miracle of the science that was their bodies to consider the weight of it, Jack had been too floored, and Gabe had been too busy christening a bin with what they now knew to call ‘morning sickness’.

None of them had realized the road they’d started down.

Angela was, of course, obligated to inform the top brass of Gabriel’s medical condition, but only as a matter of formality and acknowledgment of the chain of command. None of the three of them at the time had suspected it would be anything more than an inconvenience, something that would take the Strike Commander off his feet for a month or two nearing the end, if that. Jack would likely take on some of his duties as the senior officer, and then things would settle back to normal. They had plenty of non-combatant friends within Overwatch who could mind a child while they saw to their duties. For now, Angela would at least report that Gabe was pregnant and they’d deal with the more in-depth medical work later.

None of the three had anticipated it would lead to the Security Council quietly and covertly attempting to order the Strike Commander of Overwatch to abort that one in a million shot less than a week later.

All because Jack had pushed.

At this point, Gabriel was holding him up as much as he was holding the other soldier back. He hated himself all over again when he realized he wa the Alpha and he couldn’t bring himself to argue with the Beta, with her cool words and emotionless gaze down her nose...because she outranked him. He was letting his Omega fight for their child’s life because he’d been too well trained to just let go of that chain of command he’d practically hanged them both with.

The Omega in question was perfectly still, a low, protective growl rumbling on repeat in the depths of his broad chest. He wasn’t lunging anymore, hadn’t since Jack had stepped between them, but the threat was very real. Jack had once watched Gabriel dent a metal support with an Omnic’s face. He didn’t even want to imagine what those hands would do if he got a hold of that frail little Beta.

“I expect you to FULLY discuss your options with Dr. Ziegler, Strike Commander Reyes,” her tone indicated that there was only one choice, driving it home with the emphasis on his title, making it a weapon in her mouth.

She made to depart, though Jack noted she took the long way around the room’s conference table, giving his mate a wide berth, “I’ll expect to hear from the good doctor in 48 hours or less, gentlemen.”

She stood with her hand on the door pad, her tone assured that she would be obeyed, “Again...our condolences.”

Jack couldn’t even bring himself to chastise Gabriel for breaking a chair once the woman was gone, venting his spleen and his grief.

***

In the clinic that night, Angela had surprised them both when she said, “Terminating a fetus is typically strongly frowned upon outside of the 12 week mark. Morning sickness commonly begins in the sixth week. Commonly. Typically. Gabriel, I would be willing to make it my medical opinion to the Security Council that between your unique biology and time, it’s too late to abort. You and Jack are neither common nor typical.”

Jack didn’t dare speak. His heart ached at the sudden possibility, but he didn’t dare. His pushing, and prodding, and coercing had put his mate in this position. It was nowhere near his place to dictate his choice now.

Reyes pinned her with a sloe-eyed stare, serious as death, “You don’t even know how far along I am yet, Angela.”

The Swiss doctor looked back at him, unafraid of Gabriel Reyes and his prodigious temper, her spine as steel as her heart was soft, “I do not need to know.”

The Omega leaned forward where he sat on her examination table, pointer finger tapping on the cushion and still managing to make a sharp sound, “We’d be playing a fucking game of roulette with the UN and my body. Kid comes out too late and they’ll know.”

“Then I shall say I made a mistake. I will say that 48 hours is not nearly enough time to have taken into account all of the variables of super soldier physiology and anomalies were only discovered later,” she didn’t waver, “For all we yet know, this is the truth.”

The Strike Commander snorted, “Or you could examine me right now, figure out that I AM only six or seven weeks and well within the acceptable window for a termination, and we get this over with.”

“I could,” she said back, mild and without challenge.

It took the wind right out of Gabe’s sails, nothing to dig his teeth into, nothing to fight against. Only a choice. He looked to his mate, feeling slightly bewildered. He moved forward through conflict and peace had always baffled him slightly.

Jack could only shrug one shoulder, no longer second in command, but a humble Alpha from out of Indiana just wanting to support the man he’d claimed, “I landed us in this mess, Gabe. If I’d just let you be we really would be past the deadline.”

“Tch, shut up. The worst thing you did was stick your dick in me and then worry too much. I didn’t ask for your pity party. All you need to do for me right now is look me in the eye and tell me you can handle fibbing to the Big Boys. I’m not going to embarrass us both by asking if you’re ready to be a papa. I bet you came out of your mama telling ‘dad jokes’.”

It actually startled a small laugh out of Jack and he hopped up onto the table, finally daring to get in his Omega’s space and resting his hand on top of Gabriel’s, “Just a matter of which brass I choose to follow. You’re my Strike Commander after all. Where you lead, I follow.”

Gabriel had grinned at him, shark-like, and tangled their fingers. In that moment, Jack felt like he could face anything.

***

They’d made it through by the skin of their teeth, Angela’s word enough to earn Gabriel what amounted to an executive level shrug.

At least they’d been allowed to think so, but the Council? They never quite got around to forgetting the insubordination even though it had been forgiven in the moment.

A keen reminder came when Gabriel was removed as Strike Commander. He was placed at the head of a covert ops team called Blackwatch, so appointed for his ‘faultless ability to employ obfuscation tactics to achieve the most satisfactory outcomes’. It was as good as a slap in the face, but one done so demurely that as far as politics went, Jack and Gabe’s hands were tied. Then came the moment when Jack’s words on that table in Angela’s lab had bitten him square in the ass and he was appointed Strike Commander.

Gabe was now leading where he couldn’t follow.

__________

“Miss Angie?”

Ira’s voice disturbed Angela from her reverie. She shook herself, blinking and taking in the pastures that had sprung up while she was lost in her memories. Here and there along the countryside were long rows of fences that hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in at least a decade, the reds and greens peeling away to reveal weathered wood beneath. The town this farming community depended on was still miles away and they’d never reach it. Ira had grown up here, safely in the middle of nowhere, only leaving to spend winter breaks with what remained of his mother’s family in LA.

She touched a hand to her brow and sighed, “Just old memories. I’m sorry.”

“Overwatch days?”

Her smile was rueful, “Is it ever not?”

“They were good days,” he said softly, reaching up to touch the bruise around his eye, far too young to sound so wistful.

“You sound like an old soldier,” she teased him.

He offered her a half-bashful grin, shaking out of his melancholy.

“Ah, but you are right. They were good days. When everyone was still together,” She pressed her lips tight around adding ‘for the first time’.

“It was only 10 years, but they were great. Switzerland was beautiful,” he laughed a bit, “And Mr. Reinhardt was always so nice…Hey, do you ever see him?”

“Sometimes,” Angela told him fondly before clapping her hands together, “Oh! Do you still have that silly hat McCree gave you before he left? The stetson?”

“You ask that every year, Miss Angie,” Ira grinned and reached behind the seat of his truck to pull out the battered, well loved thing with one hand.

He ran a thumb adoringly over the brim before adding, “...Heard his bounty went up again.”

“...Not all of us did so well after Overwatch, I am afraid,” the medic said in subdued tones.

Angela turned in time to see the tense downturn in one corner of Ira’s mouth, tucked away where he thought she couldn’t see it. It was Jack if she’d ever seen it, not good enough at controlling his emotions to keep from showing them, yet conscious enough to try and hide them (though he lacked skill there too). Her eyes trailed up his face once again to the purpling around his eye. She wondered how old it was, how severe the initial blow had been.

“Ira, how are you doing?”

He ran a hand under his nose, rough and careless and trying to hide his mouth as he straightened his expression back out, “Medical questions already, doc? I thought the genetic anomaly guessing game didn't start until we got to the house.”

The bitterness in that surprised her, but she knew better than to indulge the mercurial funks he’s inherited from his parents, “Coy is not a flattering colour on you, child. How are you really ?”

“...I miss everyone,” he began reluctantly, never terribly good about talking about his feelings, “ I miss everything. I only had my parents for 10 years and I still miss them worse than everything else. I miss the way Mom always looked angry for no reason at all until Dad walked in. I miss the way Dad could never quite get the hang of Spanish. I guess I just miss them being there and I really hate that all these people who talk think they knew them.”

“Is that why you started the fight?”

“I didn’t start it,” he snapped sharply before seeming to recall who he was talking to and softened, “...I just finished it.”

Visions of red visors and scars deep enough to have killed a normal man swam in front of Angela’s mind’s eye before, the words familiar in deeper tones.

“They called him a monster,” Ira muttered low, “Just because they read some of the old Blackwatch reports off the ‘net, they know everything about my mom. Look, I’m not going to lie. I know things weren’t...good...by the end, but that was just the end. That wasn’t everything my parents were…”

Angela smoothed her hands over her lap and thought carefully, letting memory guide her, “...Gabriel Reyes was…a deeply troubled man by the time the Fall came, yes. The conditions in Blackwatch were not an ideal environment for his already fractious mannerisms. I have always believed...always thought that the things he saw and had to do hardened him, de-stabilized the peace your father had helped cultivate in him.”

“PTSD?” Ira ventured, brushing a dark curl from his face.

“After a fashion. Ira...I will never lie to you and tell you that your mother was not capable of truly dark things, but at heart, he was a good man.”

That was why, even after everything, she’d fought so hard to save him. There had been a time when she had imagined him lost, had seen too many truly horrible fights with Jack, had read too many reports, had heard too much from McCree….but one night had reminded her that humanity still lived in Gabriel Reyes.

__________

It was nearing 1:00am when Angela finally left her clinic, not to rest, but to seek coffee. She still had some last minute diagnostic analysis to review with Genji’s latest systems upgrade before she’d contemplate bed. Her friends and teammates came first, especially the ones she had made herself beholden to. Saving a life wasn’t a heroic act that, once done, could be shuffled aside and forgotten. It was a responsibility one shouldered, especially in the case of the younger, reformed Shimada.

She did love this hour of the morning, when almost everything was still and calm. These twilight hours were for her and her thoughts alone, a chance for her busy mind to relax.

Stepping into the mess hall, she very nearly froze when she found it was not as abandoned as she had imagined. Sitting there at the furthest table from the center of the room, hidden half in shadow where one of the harsh flourescents was on its last legs, sat Gabriel. His beanie was pulled low and his shoulders were slumped inwards as if to shield himself from a body-blow. His hands were knotted on the table in front of him and he radiated exhaustion so deep he almost looked ill. It was the first time Angela had seen him without having to look after Ira while his parents slowly approached critical mass. She’d come to be wary of the man Reyes had become, so far a cry from the person he’d been as Strike Commander.

Seeing him like this, though? It softened her and she let her footfalls be heard so as not to startle him.

He barely lifted his head.

“Was wondering when you’d come in.”

It took her off her guard, “You were waiting for me?”

“Won’t take up much of your time. Just have some news and a favor to ask. Well, me and Jack both have a favor to ask.”

Forgetting her misgivings entirely, Angela settled into a chair at his right hand, “The news?”

“Me’n Jack are sending Ira away for a bit...just until we can sort our shit out. Kid doesn’t need to be around us with this whole Petras Act thing in the works and with how Jack and I are fighting. Once...things have settled out, we’ll go get him and be a family again.”

Angela was stunned, “You decided to send Ira away now?”

“Nah, Jack suggested it. Then I almost put his head through a wall,” he gripped his hands a bit tighter around each other on the table top, “then I thought about it and just...fuck, Angela. I’m a time bomb right now. When I’m not angry, I’m tired, and when I’m not tired, I’m angry. Not to mention all the shit Blackwatch has done is getting around. None of that exactly equals kid-friendly atmosphere.”

“...Where will he go?”

“Jack’s still got a sister back in Indiana. It’s quiet out there. News travels slow. We send him out there for a vacation with his aunt until everything settles,” Reyes sounded wrung out.

He wasn’t a man who talked about his emotions, preferring a hefty dose of ‘get on with it’ to any sort of soul-baring discussion. That he was telling Angela any of this was a mark of trust for certain, and likely a hallmark of severe mental fatigue. She regarded this moment as the ephemeral gift that it was, a fleeting show of what shreds of humanity were left in the beleaguered Omega.

“And the favor?” she prompted gently.

“There’s talk of jail time and right now there are two necks on the chopping block. If this shit DOESN’T settle for any reason, keep an eye on Ira for us. We still don’t know how the SEP enhancements are going to wash as he gets older...and you’ve been his doctor since he was born,” Gabriel’s mouth was twisted with regret.

The request was like a bombshell to Angela’s tender heart. Since the very instant he’d known Ira was on the way, Gabriel had been fiercely overprotective. The incident with the Security Council liaison was the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Nobody messed with his precious only child and Gabriel tended to get snappish when situations required he be away from the little boy for too long. As a professional and a soldier, he made due on long assignments, but when he got back, even Jack had to step aside to give the older man bonding time with Ira. That he was acquiescing to his mate’s request to willingly deprive themselves of their son for such an indeterminate amount of time…

“What brought all this on so suddenly…” she kept her voice soft and unthreatening.

The allegations weren’t new, nor was the threat. It had been looming for weeks, if not months.

The Blackwatch Commander’s lip curled up and he looked away with a snort, “He saw me go for Jack.” He held up a hand to forestall any questions, “Doesn’t matter why I did it. What matters is Ira came back to our quarters with Winston in time to see me deck his daddy hard enough I rattled his teeth. Fuck me, Angie, but I didn’t know you could watch a heart breaking.”

The good doctor was quiet for a time, absorbing everything. She knew that the commanders were both on tenterhooks with each other, playing nice in front of their son and screaming each other down behind closed doors. Considering she was the one who took care of psych evaluations for Overwatch and Blackwatch, she knew all too well of Gabriel’s fraying mental state. She was only too aware of Jack’s near-constant state of hyper-vigilant anxiety and strain. Despite all that, it still surprised her somewhere deep down that their strife had come to blows. It surprised her a little bit less that the volatile Omega had been the one to throw the first punch.

She had a level of respect for him still, though, especially when he could see the signs of the end and was taking such active measures to safeguard his child. It wasn’t in her to deny him.

“I promise you I will check in on him, Gabriel,” She didn’t reach out and touch him, not wanting to make him feel coddled.

Something loosening in the set of his shoulders told her she’d made the right decision.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Gabriel hid the neatly trimmed scruff of his mouth behind a balled fist, looking deeply conflicted. He was silent, his eyes burning from under his heavy brow.

He set his hand down on the table slowly as if it was taking all his willpower not to slam it down in one swoop, “Yeah. No matter how this all goes down...don’t let this be the way he remembers me, alright? Just...don’t.”

Words spoken like a man who knew he was going down in an ugly way.

Put in context of everything that came after, the words still sent a chill down Angela’s spine to the present day.

__________

The night had drawn in all around the farm house by the time Angela had gotten settled in and finished up her annual medical with Ira. They’d kept talk mostly light while in Jack’s family home (his sister out as she always took care to be during their little reunions, giving her nephew some space).

She’d asked him if he’d presented yet when she drew his blood. He’d said no, mouth quirking into a moue of distaste. She’d laughed and assured him he was a late bloomer and his peculiar genetics probably didn’t help. Give it time, she had said, and he’d have the pick of whoever he chose, she was sure.

She’d asked about what he was thinking of doing now that he was out of high school while she took his blood pressure. She was only glad that the cuff wasn’t on her arm when he replied that he’d been thinking about the Army. The lump in her throat was carefully repressed when he told her he’d been taking lessons at the gun range and his scores were getting good enough he was starting to attract attention from the local recruiters. Her heart sunk when he’d chuckled gently, full of self-deprecation, musing over whether it was really his scores or the Morrison-Reyes name drawing attention.

She’d answered what questions she could when he curiously asked after Genji and the others while she ran a scanner over him, looking for anything she couldn’t find through old fashioned means. She dropped what hints she could without giving away any news of the Recall, her heart aching that she had to hold that much back from him, couldn’t let him into their world again. It hurt because it should have been his world too, but after all he’d been through so young, he at least deserved a passing glance at normal. Even though it killed her not to let him know his old friends and mentors were alive and well and fighting the good fight, she kept Ira on the good side of the law, shutting him firmly out.

At last, the crickets song had replaced the droning hum of mid-day cicadas and the sun had sunk low enough for Ira to call it a night. Before he’d left Angela alone with her figures, facts, and data, the young man paused near the foot of the stairs. He regarded her with an impossibly blue stare, soft and full of affection, “Miss Angie?”

“Yes?” she asked, looking up from her readouts.

“Are you going to be stopping by Arlington on your way back?” His voice was soft, barely carrying in the evening still.

She hadn’t planned on it, but there was something that spoke of longing in the young man’s eyes that she couldn’t bear to shatter, “I certainly could.”

“Would you mind saying hey to my parents for me? I haven’t been out to see them in awhile.”

“...Of course, Ira,” she soothed once she caught her breath from the request.

A sudden thought came to her and she reached for her data pad, holding it up and smiling brightly, “We should have something for them, ja? Smile. I will print it out later.’

Brightening considerably, Ira swept a curl out of his face and flashed a Victory V at the camera lense of her pad, all freckles and enthusiasm. He cut a rough and ready picture in his smudged white t-shirt and threadbare jeans, boots still on his feet, big and clunky. Even in the summer heat he wore his mother’s old uniform coat, both his parents’ insignias displayed as flashes on one arm. Despite his work, a barely-curl fell across his forehead and she was pretty sure there was a grease stain under the eye that wasn’t bruised. It was perfect.

Now she sat alone in the quiet house with the picture in front of her. She would print a single copy and take it to Arlington with her in the days to come. She would take a stone and use it to pin the picture on top of Gabriel Reyes’ modest grave, where she knew it would disappear only moments after she turned her back to leave. The other would be sent in an encrypted file along with all of her medical findings to a certain soldier in Gibraltar, all the evidence that they had a fledgling super soldier in the making, with a single message.

“He’s going to be alright.”

#Overwatch #overwatch fanfic #R76 #Hoosier daddy

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