#speaking of which my blog is a year old now this is the second longest i ever owned one ( first being my middle school traumacore blog LOL ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mayfieldss · 1 year

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I posted 3,193 times in 2022

That's 945 more posts than 2021!

608 posts created (19%)

2,585 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hiya-its-amber

@hermywolf

@heliads

@will-on-the-internet

@malfoytookmyheart

I tagged 1,226 of my posts in 2022

#eva rambles - 244 posts

#fic recs - 147 posts

#asks - 114 posts

#stranger things - 72 posts

#steve harrington - 58 posts

#marvel - 47 posts

#matt murdock - 38 posts

#amber <3 - 34 posts

#criminal minds - 31 posts

#sabrina carpenter - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 83 characters

#i'll be writing fanfiction and have to stop every two minutes to cough my heart out

My Top Posts in 2022:

hiii i have a request where x reader sees an old friend who is obviously into her but she had no idea. and matt gets really overprotective and jealous. thank you !!

Old friend - Matt Murdock

Warnings: none.

AN: I love this idea, I hope I did this justice and sorry it's short!

When you first saw the man, you didn't recognize him. He looked entirely different to the boy you met at high school, hair longer, face sharper. But he recognized you in an instant. How, you didn't know, because frankly you thought you'd changed dramatically over the years, both in looks and personality. You were an entirely different person now. A happy one at that.

But when the man, who had now introduced himself as 'Jared from high school, we had chemistry together' began talking to you, you weren't sure what to do. You knew the guy sure, you could picture him now sitting next to you in class so long ago, but you didn't know what to say. What did you say to an old high school acquaintance?

You settled for the all too common "Wow, it's so nice to see you again" as you were bombarded with questions about your life. It wasn't a bad conversation and you soon found yourself grinning as you recalled old times and new, when Matt approached. He had been standing outside the coffee shop you were currently situated in, talking to Foggy, but obviously that conversation was over.

"Matt, oh my gosh" You turned grabbing his hand in yours, to which he smiled. "This is Jared, an old friend of mine". Matt frowned as Jared introduced himself, hearing all about his times with you before he asked about Matt, though the man was clearly interested in other things.

"Matt Murdock" Matt extended a hand, to which Jared took "It's nice to meet you". He smiled though it was entirely fake, sensing the other mans gaze drift back to you. He heard his heartrate pick up, and Matt gripped his cane tighter, barely holding back from hitting the man with it. You were completely oblivious to the mans strange gaze, which Matt bet, was running over your body every five seconds.

"Matt Murdock, the Lawyer?" Matt simply nodded at the mans question, seething inside.

"Well it's nice to know Y/N has some friends like you to get her out of trouble". Jared laughed, though Matt wasn't anywhere near a smile, even a fake one.

"Boyfriend actually".

He heard Jared's breath catch in shock or perhaps confusion, and there was a short silence that fell over the group of you, as Jared composed himself.

"Woah okay, I mean no offense man, but I didn't think blind men were your type Y/N".

How was Matt not to take offense to that? How was he supposed to stand here while some guy—who clearly peaked in high school—flirted endlessly with his girl.

"If you're going to talk about me you should at least look me in the eyes while doing it" Matt's voice had turned almost to a growl and he felt you squeeze his hand, though he ignored it.

"Sorry dude, I didn't think it would bother you considering-"

Matt wanted to burst, the anger boiling in him growing intensely by the second "Oh it's bothers me, especially because with every second I stand here, I can sense how badly you want to get into her pants" Matt moves so his arm is around you, pulling you closer to him as Jared stumbles for words.

"Hey Jared" Your voice vibrates through Matt as you finally get a chance to speak, "My type of man is a good man, and Matthew is exactly that".

Jared stuttered again and Matt found himself smirking, anger dissipating as he felt the waves of shame roll off the man in front of him. "I suggest you get your coffee and go" Matt could hear the grin in his voice as he spoke, relishing his latest win.

As Jared stumbled away embarrassed, You turned to Matt, placing your hands on his chest. "I don't think he was trying to get into my pants".

"Oh he definitely was" Matt pressed a short kiss to your lips, to which you chuckled, bringing him back for another before you spoke.

"You're hot when you're jealous".

AN: I literally have to go to dinner in 30 minutes so I wrote this as a drabble instead of a full fic. If you would like me to expand this or write it differently I can.

TAGLIST: @sunny-reys @candywh0r3 @mellowladyangel @5kyyy

Matt Murdock Taglist: @phantomkindalikejaiden @avyannadawn @arignipanja574

742 notes - Posted February 6, 2022

Steven Grant and his little reading glasses my beloved.

779 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

Stupid love - Matthew Murdock

Matthew Murdock x femreader

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, my general weird 3:00am writing

AN: this fic makes no sense at all and is kinda short sorry

Sometimes you wonder how it happened. Falling for him, such a dangerous yet vulnerable man. Vulnerable not by any disability, but because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You hadn't seen it at first, the way he felt for you. Too much immersed in his charms to notice that the feelings weren't one sided. Until he kissed you.

Matthew hadn't thought about it too much at the time. He'd thought about it too much already, everyday he listened to your voice wondering if maybe you felt just as he did for you. He gave up on that wondering when it all got too much.

After a particularly gruelling fight it hit him that you only live once, and that with the one life he held, he wanted to hold you in it. And so he kissed you, your relationship sparking from there. It was all so offbeat, what you had with Matthew and sometimes it made him feel guilty. He wondered if maybe you were better off somewhere else, with someone else. Like a classic heart wrenching romance film, the guy wants the best for the girl and no matter how much you shout at the screen 'but she loves you!' the result will always be the same. He lets her go, he regrets it and neither of them move on. Because he made a stupid mistake and she did the same, just by loving him.

Matthew thought about the outcome of these films all the time, the cliché that could become his life if he let his guilt win. He wanted you to tell him that you hated him, that you wanted to leave, so that the guilt would subside. Even if he loved you, he put you in danger with every second he stood by your side.

Everyday you would tell Matt you loved him, thinking nothing of the effect it had on his heart. It made him feel alive in ways that the fighting could not. You showed him there was more than just the dark crime filled streets he felt the need to defend. And every time you said it your heartbeat was steady with not the hint of a lie. Matthew thought he was the only one to detect changes in people but you knew how Matt was feeling long before he said a word.

"Why do you want me to hate you?" Your words came from the door of Matts apartment, quiet but still there. There was a sadness in your voice that made Matts stomach sink, a ship going down at sea. You read him like a book even when he tried to keep himself closed. There was no use in lying, not because you could tell when he was but because he didn't want to anymore.

"Because then it will be easier to end this".

He heard your breathing hitch as he turned to face you, wondering if you held a frown or simply nothing at all.

"Matt, if you don't want to be with me just say it" You were angry, hot tears burning against your eyes. You hadn't wanted to think about it, Matthews distance toward you. The way he brushed off your concerns and comments like they were nothing more to him than dust in the wind. It didn't seem real, almost like he was faking it and for a moment you had believed he was, but now, hearing those words leave his lips you believed it just fine.

"Just say it Matt!" raising your voice you watched him flinch as if your tone cut him, sharp as a knife. But he wouldn't say a thing.

He tried to come up with a way to explain. Maybe if he told you his fears, of loosing you and bringing unwanted danger into your life, the guilt that he had been feeling would dissipate. But he didn't know how to say it. He loved you, and he knew in his heart that he always would but even with his speeches spoken in court, defending clients to the judge and jury, he couldn't form the words to defend himself. Matt heard you approach, one step after the other accompanied by the heavy breathing of someone on the brink of tears. He hated that. Making you cry.

"I don't want to hurt you" were the first words he could think of, worthy enough of escaping his lips. You were holding your breath now, waiting for him to say more.

"I don't want to end up like a sad romance movie".

His words made something between a laugh and a sob leave your lips but they hadn't helped you to understand at all. "Matt, I don't know what you mean, but if you want to break up you need to tell me now".

"I don't" His words came fast, hands clenched at his sides, frustrated with himself rather than at you. "I don't want to loose you".

"You're loosing me right now Matt, I don't understand" There was a lie in your voice then, he wasn't loosing you at all. You didn't think he could ever loose you, your heart so attached to him that it could only ever be surgically removed.

"You know how in the movies the guy breaks up with the girl because he's no good for her?" Matts voice was low and tired and he found himself resting on the arm of the couch as he spoke.

"Matty" The familiar nickname fell from your lips before you moved closer, only a few steps away from him now.

"I don't want you to get hurt because of me, and maybe it's best if I play the guy in those cliché romantic films you make me sit through, because he always wants the best for her just like I do for you. We're the same, him and I".

"No you're not" You let out a sharp exhale of breath and Matt pictured you running a hand through your hair, glancing to the wide windows that covered the place in a bright glow despite the late hours of the night. "You're not some sad breakup song, we're not some breakup song Matt".

"I didn't say we were a song, I said we were a movie"

You held back a sad chuckle at his words, his humour and need to correct mistakes still shining through despite the situation. You wondered if he did this in fights on the streets, or if he stayed silent in concentration, except for grunts of effort as he threw punches.

"I'm never making you sit through a romance movie with me again Matt, You get too many stupid ideas in that head of yours". Matt let himself laugh at this, the sound bringing a small smile to you though both your hearts were heavy.

"Why do you stay with me?" Matts words lingered there in the air for only a few seconds, the swift movements of you folding your arms knocking them away.

"Because I fucking love you Matt, because I care about you," You paused taking your time to stare Matt down knowing even if he couldn't see it, he could feel it. "Because you love me".

Matt nodded standing up straight "And that's why I don't want you getting hurt". He took a few steps toward you, and you reached out to grasp is hands in yours. They were covered in scars from his many fights, knuckles rough from punches he'd thrown.

See the full post

906 notes - Posted January 6, 2022

Okay but Marc Spector complaining about Steven's choice of suit is giving big brother makes fun of little brothers Halloween costume.

1,787 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Steven Grant saying "Goat" when he saw a goat is giving best boy energy.

16,814 notes - Posted April 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

4 notes · View notes

yomiurinikei · 2 years

Note

"""""canon"""" terurei.

So I was in this fandom months/maybe a year ago, okay? So back when I was in this fandom, on Teruya Otori's English Website (the one with basically no info lol), in his trivia it said that he had a crush on Rei. (It now has been completely removed from his website). This is probably one of the sources that some people thought that Terurei was canon. But when looking around at much older posts/edits, an edit that was made in Nov 2020 had what seemed to be a translated Q&A of LINJU at the beginning.

The translated thing was

Did the DRA survivors eve have romantic feelings towards each other?

- Tsurugi and Rei would have no interest in those kinds of things. Teruya felt that way towards Rei a few times

Now, I have no clue if this is real, but considering the creator of the edit, they definitely saw it and screenshot it from somewhere. Which I have no clue if it was a reliable source.

Now let's assume for a moment this screenshot was real, what exactly does this answer mean?

It clearly says that Tsurugi and Rei are not interested in relationship, and there are other sources that implied Rei may not be interested in relationship overall. And it only say that Teruya feels this way "a few times". Meaning this could be anything from a simple tiny crush that can quickly end to something more, but is very vague, probably meaning even Teruya wasn't too sure.

So if the source of this screenshot (wherever it was taken from) is what people thought made Terurei Canon is not correct. For, even if Teruya's crush was legitimate, it was only one sided.

I think this Q&A question is the source of most Terurei shippers, even though it doesn't even confirm the ship itself.

I don't hate Terurei shippers, I really don't care, but it was something I saw and something I wanted to share.

HI ANON also hi my other followers i see the other asks i have im working on those too it’s 4:45 am and i just spent half an hour straight rambling for the second time today and i am working on getting a professional to. pretty much confirm i do have adhd. all of this to say i’m working on other asks this is just one i can answer rn before bed

ANYWAYS HI ANON!!! IVE i’ve been here so long by now. not the longest but like. consecutively. i’ve been going strong for a longgggg time now. SO LEMME CHAT ABT THIS

under the cut forrr. length, uh, cw terurei,, also this is so messy im tired and it’s genuinely freezing in my room that’s a whole conversation but it’s a bit hard to type. anyways. tl;dr anons 100% right

okay. yeah. ur like. none of what u said was wrong!!! i don’t like. debating on whether or not linujs q&as are trustworthy because. that’s a whole convo about when they should and shouldn’t be listened to- BUT also because. like. it’s vvv old fandom drama but while linuj does answer peoples questions, anyone can contact him,,,

people have used linujs q&as to lie and spread misinformation before

and it was a huge fucking mess and guys it was really bad and. yeah. so.

i can’t speak on whether that q and a was real, but!!!!! it very well could be, it very well couldn’t be. i’ve seen. prolly the same screenshot/people discussing the same q and a as what ur talking about, i know what ur on abt even if i don’t know it’s validity; like u said, let’s just go with it real!

rei is officially not going to be in a relationship with anyone. if we trust any q and a. then that’s the truth. i can’t remember if it was said in a q and a or a blog post (i highly doubt it was a game thing) but rei is explicitly like. celibate. tbh that’s the biggest reason i question the validity of that q and a but it could also be just inconsistency/smthn that changed as she grew up.

either way,,, she’s not into teruya, lol. like i generally do trust that this q and a was real and just go “okay linuj that’s nice linuj i’m making all ur cast gay and trans now linuj byeeeee linuj” and also like u said,,, like. whatever teruyas feelings were, if we treat the q and a as canon,, it still doesn’t mean jack??

rei Does Not Like Teruya Or Relationships. teruya is extremely mlm coded (which i can and will go into but he’s probably the most mlm coded out of anyone in either game) so,, if people are using the fact that teruya was, jsut after being heavily traumatized, maybe pining a little sometimes. to erase reis equally as canon/official lack of desire for a relationship

…..well. that’s uh. i don’t wanna be mean but no it’s 🤡

which isn’t to say ur not allowed to ship terurei! i dont vibe with it just because neg associations but that’s just a matter of me engaging with content for it- i actually have 0 immediate issues with people who ship terurei tbh lol (it is 4:57 i may think that over more and realize i forgot smthn tomorrow)

but like,, yeah. it’s not canon whatsoever. im not gonna tell people what to believe and take as canon, but,,, there’s no other evidence for terurei other than this q and a with questionable legitimacy, anddd,, it disproves terurei as a ship that would ever happen. it’s one sided, and that crush isn’t a relationship (meaning: the relationship ship between teruya and rei, not meaning a romantic relationship) defining trait; as in, it doesn’t define the way the two interact, it’s not. That Big that teruyas motivation whole interacting with rei is impacted by this crush of it even does exist in sdra2

im. extremely tired and i don’t wanna go through and edit and actually outline and organize. usually when replying to smthn like this i divvy it up and think abt how i’ll organize things and then type it all out in one go but nah u guys got this all as i thought of it 100% unfiltered. this post is extra stamped with the “pls ask me for clarification/to rephrase things if they come across concerningly or confusingly” stamp but. uh.

yeah. anons right terurei isn’t canon whatsoever and the only dubious evidence that exists proves that it’s 100% one sided

#terurei #<for blacklist #listen. that tag hasn’t gotten content in months im 90% sure. it’s. this is okay for me to tag as ship. yes

10 notes · View notes

dantedeservedbetter · 3 years

Note

Hey do you have any headcanons for the shadowknights (Mystreet)? Btw more importantly you seem really cool? Which is surprising considering the whole Aphmau thing (I say as if I don’t literally have a sideblog for aphmau stuff too) but yeah, good on you you’re pretty damn funny too

(I’m gonna be really honest, the Tumblr blog that I’ve dedicated towards a bad Minecraft series that I watched in middle school might just be one of my biggest and weirdest secrets. I have no idea what I’ll do if anyone I know irl actually finds this blog on my phone. Ty for thinking that though! It makes me feel good whenever people are actually interested in whatever nonsense I put on here :,0)

ShadowKnight Headcanons!! (Gene, Sasha and Zenix)

• Gene and his mother took Mother+Son dance lessons in high school, so he ends up becoming insanely flexible as he continued dancing in his own free time after college

• Sasha is the only one with a decent memory between the three of them. Without her Zenix and Gene would probably forget their own heads

• Zenix is Hispanic. And despite how much he speaks it, English is his second language.

• For the longest time, Gene didn’t realize how lucky he was to have Dante as a brother, so he simply refused to interact with him. Dante hardly remembers those moment in his life, but Gene does; and he regrets it all these years later

• Sasha is Wiccan, and she absolutely loves her crystals. Zenix will find (often fake) crystals at the store and buys them just for her. She knows damn well they aren’t useful in her daily life, but of course she shows off every crystal he buys her. They’re often her most favorite regardless.

• Zenix has a huge love for breakfast food but specifically waffles. He has several waffle makers in different shapes such as a bat, christmas tree, a cute ghost, and an old one from when he was younger of Lightning McQueen.

• Gene paints his nails, they all do it from time to time but he’s the only one who does it on a regular basis

• Sasha knows how to sew very well! She joined a sewing club as a joke in HS but grew to actually enjoy the hobby overtime

• Zenix is a dog person, he will sometimes take home any lost street dogs and takes care of them until he calls the owner or makes sure there’s a good shelter they can go to

• The three of them invented aesthetic picnics, over the years of their friendship they take the time to go out onto a nice field and take in the sun for a while

• Gene’s style was inspired after he watched the Diary of A Wimpy Kid movies with Dante when they were younger

• Sasha loves the color purple because of Sailor Saturn from Sailor Moon. She watched it when she was younger and decided that she wanted to be a magical girl one day. (That was before she grew up and realized things like that don’t really exist)

• Zenix saw The Outsiders with his parents once and immediately bought a second-hand book of it. He then went on to watch The Karate Kid and made that his personality for a couple years

• Gene had a quick Harry Potter phase but that was only because he read “My Immortal”, saw how people were comparing it to the real material and decided to see what the books were actually like

• Sasha is now into super gory/horrifying/tragic anime’s now. She’s even gone far as to actually purchase some of the manga behind her favorite anime.

• Zenix has tried to give himself a mullet a couple times but every time he does it or goes to a barber, it never comes out the way he wants it

• They all use some form of ‘_/they’ pronouns

(Oops this was shorter than I thought it would be asdfghjk, if I come up with more of these I’ll reblog and make a pt.2! I hope you enjoyed these!!)

#aphmau #aphverse #mystreet #minecraft diaries #mcyt #aphmau mystreet #minecraft rp #character headcanons #friendship headcanon #shadow knights #gene aphmau #sasha aphmau #aphmau zenix

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters.

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go.

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #angst #writer wednesday #santiago pope garcia

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

I Was Enchanted To Meet You

This is a long time in the works, and a gift to my dear friend @cmhotchniss-blog, who sent me her idea of how Aaron and Emily met. Most of the ideas are hers, and I am forever grateful she let me connect some of the dots. 💓

"I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet. For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

One night for Aaron and Emily has a lasting impact on them both, twenty-four years later.

A mess of metal is what’s left behind on a dusky stretch of Route 66. Shattered glass sparkles like diamonds along the wet asphalt in the darkening sky as night meets the last moments of the day. Smoke curls and hisses around the mangled frame of the SUV, the stillness of the air a juxtaposition to the chaos that wraps around them - a slew of first responders, a few ominous rumbles of thunder, the mounting traffic on the other side of the highway. It’s a cacophony of sounds and sirens, shrill and relentless, that bring them all back to the reality that it can’t get much worse than this.

Read the rest below or on ao3!

There’s shouting - so much shouting - the frantic and panicked voices from the normally imperturbable team as one of their own is pulled from the passenger seat, limp and unresponsive. It only took seconds for things to go horribly wrong. Accidents were never supposed to happen, and yet here they were, helplessly surrounding a team of paramedics who were just a little too quiet in their intense focus, their faces stretched a little too thin, a little too grey, as they bent over Emily.

Her speech is slurred; her eyes flutter and blink weakly as they fight to keep her conscious and alert, rattling off blood pressure numbers with thinly veiled concern. They abruptly push JJ to the side, curtly demanding the need for more space to work, bark directions to the hospital, and start preparing to move her into the ambulance.

On the other side, a hand with a set of bitten down nails grapples for purchase at Dave’s shirt, fingers wrapping around the folds of expensive fabric to pull him closer in one last moment of semi lucidity. With a fading grasp Emily drags him down close enough to whisper something inaudible in his ear, words meant for only him to hear. The older man frowns, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as she falls unconscious, the last lick of light disappearing behind the trees.

____

“Dad, are you sleeping?”

Aaron’s eyes snap open a little too quickly, the bowl of popcorn nearly spilling into his lap when he jumps to attention. The voice, a familiar one, is insistent, as if it’s not the first time he’s said his name in the last few minutes. “No,” he says quickly and he’s not entirely sure who he’s reassuring. “No. I was just -”

“Let me guess,” Jack scoffs, taking a large handful from his own, much larger bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Just nodded off.”

“I’m paying attention,” Aaron attempts weakly as Jack laughs under his breath and shakes his head.

“I’ve heard that before.” His son reaches for the remote to rewind the last ten minutes of the scene he’d missed, still laughing. “This is what … the third week in a row?” While he’s right, Jack doesn’t seem bothered. The years away have made him wise beyond his years, with a patience not often possessed by hormonal teenage boys who spend most of their time with a screen in their face. Aaron often thinks his son inherited the best of Haley - her patience, for starters. He resembles her too, and every now and then, looking at Jack is like looking into a window of the past. A past that could have been a fantasy, for now it seems like so far gone.

“Something like that,” Aaron mumbles. It’s true. In the four months they’ve lived in the quaint Philadelphia suburbs of Chester County, an idyllic place without the Main Line housing prices, adjustment has taken on a new meaning once again. Gone are the fake identities, the constant checking and double checking of doors and windows, the frequent looks over their shoulders, the unsettling notion that it might not end - that this might, unfairly, be their reality. He knows they’d go to the end of the earth to find Scratch - they’d done it before to find Foyet, then Doyle. They fought monsters before, but somehow, this was different.

There had been a finality in his decision to take Jack and go into Witsec. His final act to name Emily as Unit Chief was an easy one, and while it didn’t lessen the blow of the circumstances in which he and Jack left, in a flurry of panic, reminiscent of one his son experienced once before, it gave him a semblance of peace he wasn’t expecting. A little bit of reprieve, the ability to sever ties that may never be rebuilt, to no fault of their own. The cruel and unusual situation was one that they always risked with the nature of their work, one that was always a distant possibility.

In the quiet moments, he thinks of her. The what ifs and the whys. Everything between them that was said, and what never was. What he’s never told anyone is just how long he’s thought of her in one way or another, the one night they shared together, years ago, tucked neatly away in his mind to save for nights when he wondered just how things got to be this way.

“Come on, Dad,” Jack laughs. “At least try to make it through this movie. You said you wanted to see this one.”

With a hint of guilt as his obvious disinterest, Aaron sits up a bit straighter on the couch, grips the popcorn bowl in his hands, locking his eyes on the television. The plot of the movie is already lost on him, despite it being a topic of conversation for the last several days. “Just play the movie, Jack.” He stifles a yawn into his fist and valiantly attempts to focus his attention on the screen.

Aaron is dozing when he’s interrupted again; this time by his phone vibrating on the table. He doesn’t miss Jack’s eyes flickering over to the phone. “It’s just like old times,” he sighs. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

The name on the screen is the very last he expects to see at such an hour in the middle of the week. Aaron frowns, the phone cradled in his hands as the phone vibrates insistently. It’s the familiar push and pull of guilt he feels when his eyes shift between his son and the phone again, an unexpected window into a life he long left behind. The phone keeps ringing, immediately following the first unanswered call. Not a good sign, he thinks.

“Dad?”

“I need to take this, Jack,” Aaron says quickly. It’s late enough that this is anything but a casual phone call. The blanket is tossed aside and the popcorn already forgotten. He barely hears Jack’s half-hearted protest as the phone crackles static and then connects. The voice on the other end speaks first, his tone clouded with thinly veiled fear.

“Aaron.”

“Dave.” His tone is equally clipped, even and steady even as the phone is held tightly in his hand, waiting for whatever news is about to come.

“Aaron, you need to get to Prince William Medical Center as soon as you can.” It’s the urgency in Dave’s voice that unnerves him; it sets off every warning bell in his head. His normally unflappable, at times annoyingly rational friend sounds harried and exhausted, as if it’s already been the longest of nights, as if making this very phone call was a last resort. “It’s Emily.”

Emily .

The words reverberate through his head, the implications tear through his chest like a series of spears. He knew it wasn’t good, but he didn’t expect this. “What happened?” But years of experience and unbridled heartache have steeled his nerves, tested his resolve time and time again. He should be used to this by now - bad news that haunts those he loves. But the fear is like a vice, a cold stab that wraps itself around his mind and back again.

“There was an accident.” Dave begins. It’s been a few years since he’s seen him, but through the phone Aaron can see the lines on his forehead that have certainly deepened by now, perhaps a few have been added over time as the years add up.

“Accident? What kind of accident?”

He barely listens as Dave recounts the last few hours in excruciating detail. They were on a case - local - Reston - on their way back to Quantico. A poorly timed summer storm made visibility terrible, rendering driving nearly impossible. They were sideswept by another SUV, the impact sending them careening into the median on 66 just outside of Woodbridge. It sounds like anyone’s worst nightmare - airbags deployed, the windshield shattered upon impact, the entire hood a mangled mess of metal as the car careened to a stop, the threatening hiss of the engine.

But the totaled car was the very least of their problems.

“She’s in critical condition, Aaron,” Dave says carefully, as if it’s only part of the truth, as if somehow it’s even graver than this. “She’s unconscious.” It doesn’t sound good - her head hit the window on impact, the rest of Dave’s news confirms his worst fears - a likely head injury, the extent of which they don’t know.

It doesn’t make sense. It seems like some kind of sick, ill joke - a nightmare he’ll wake up from, only to find Jack having devoured both bowls of popcorn and the credits of the movie he never actually watched rolling. “What aren’t you telling me Dave?”

“I think you’d want to be here, Aaron. It … it could go either way at this point.” Dave’s voice is so heavy, something Aaron isn’t used to. His friend was typically the voice of reason, the one he went to for assurance when things seemed to be spiraling out of control - something he did many times over. And now the tables were turned to their side, a cruel twist of fate. It takes no convincing; he’s already reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door, grappling for an umbrella shoved unceremoniously in a closet somewhere closeby.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

…

“Mendoza is on his way.,” JJ says quietly as she rounds the corner with two cups of coffee in her hands. “ He just called me.”

“That might complicate things.” Dave wrings his hands and paces the tiny hallway. “Who told him?” He asks curiously. It hadn’t been long since Emily had shown up in his office one night, shoulders heavy as she relayed the news of their breakup. Dave is no stranger to the failures of love - having been thrice divorced himself. Sometimes timing was to blame, other times it was priorities. In their case it was commitment, or lack thereof, things fizzling out and hasty goodbyes, half-hearted assurances of keeping in touch, that one will call the other. Yet Dave isn’t exactly surprised to hear the news. Despite their challenges, Mendoza had been all but enamored with Emily, in awe of her at times. He wasn’t a stupid man; he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t follow him to Colorado. There was always something else that stood in her way. He just never knew exactly what.

“Word travels fast.”

“Aaron is on his way.” After a long pause, Dave scrapes a hand across his face, exhaustion bleeding through the cracks of age. “I just called him.”

JJ only nods and stares into Emily’s room with a pensive expression. “What do we tell them?”

“We tell them what we know. Hope for the best. That's all we can do.”

...

The storm takes the humidity with it, a soft chilly breeze spreading through the darkness. Aaron hurries through the hospital doors, charging past the triage nurse towards the elevators. He’s only vaguely aware of the other man that wedges himself past the doors just in the nick of time. He looks just as distracted as Aaron feels, eyes distant -worlds away - and lost in his own thoughts as he offers a quick smile, fists shoved in jacket pockets.

“What floor?” Aaron offers with a tight smile.

“The ICU.”

He nods and pushes just one button, indicating that they’re in fact going to the same place.

“I’m sorry.” The other man nods his head in solidarity, noticing the single illuminated circle on the panel, shuffles his feet, checks his watch and hangs his head. The phone in his pocket buzzes; he checks it with a resigned sigh. Aaron feels a touch of sympathy for him, wonders just what brings him there.

Except he doesn’t have to wonder much longer, because not only is Dave waiting when the doors open, but he clearly knows whoever Aaron just shared the elevator with. And judging by the way Dave’s eyebrows lift just enough at the sight of them both, practically side by side, something tells him there’s more to the story than just a simple coincidence.

“I see you’ve met?” Dave cocks his head to the side, scrubs his chin with his hand thoughtfully. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“What the hell happened?” The man beside Aaron demands, a little more forcefully this time.

“So you haven’t met.”

“What the hell is going on, Dave?” Aaron snaps first, his patience starting to wane. The last three hours of travel have already started to catch up with him. It’s been years since he’s had to channel his feelings into something more stoic and taciturn. It doesn’t return as easily this time. He tells himself it’s because of age and time, yet the nagging voice in his head says it’s something else entirely.

“Andrew Mendoza, meet Aaron Hotchner. The former chief of the BAU. Hotch, this is Andrew Mendoza. Mendoza was the Special Agent in Charge of DC’s Field Office. He consulted with the BAU on a few local cases about a year ago.”

“Was?” Aaron questions, quickly putting together what Dave doesn’t tell him about Andrew Mendoza. There’s only one reason why he’d be there - a reason he didn’t anticipate. He has to swallow the bitter pang of regret that rises in his throat. It shouldn’t exist at all, but a familiar feeling that has lingered just within his reach whenever he thought of Emily. The chances they never took, the timing that seemed to elude them for one reason or another. Time. It had never been on their side.

“The Denver Field Office offered me a promotion last month. My daughter and I are moving out to Colorado in a few weeks.”

“Congratulations,” Aaron says stiffly as he offers his hand. It’s obvious why he’s here - the same reason Aaron is. “I’ve heard good things about Denver.” There’s something about the news that satisfies him.

“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Mendoza glances at Aaron, then Dave, then back at Aaron again. “But what the hell happened tonight?”

“JJ didn’t tell you?”

“Just that there was an accident.”

Dave presses his mouth into a thin line, relaying the story with such tact that Aaron knows it’s an abridged version, a slightly less terrible rendition of what happened back on the highway. “We were right outside of Woodbridge. On our way back from a case in Reston. Visibility was awful. It happened so fast. Emily must have hit her head on impact. She lost consciousness shortly after the ambulance arrived. They’re considering surgery to relieve the pressure in her brain.”

Dave pauses, letting the news sink in, taking a deep breath of his own to compose his frayed nerves. “There’s a chance of brain damage but they won’t know more until after she regains consciousness.” His gaze shifts between them both, gauging their reactions.

“When will that be?”

“There’s no easy way to tell. Could be hours after the surgery. Or days. She’s not breathing on her own. It’s going to be a while before we know anything.” He repeats the doctors’ words as calmly as he can. Dave’s typically unflappable demeanor is strained; the weariness laces through his voice.

“How did this happen?” It’s Mendoza who speaks up this time, clearly distraught and searching for words of his own. He almost looks embarrassed by his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“It was an accident,” Dave repeats as calmly as he can, as if he’s practiced this speech in his head before giving it. “No one is to blame.”

The air seems to thicken around them, the reality setting in that while it’s already been a long night, it’s only just beginning.

“We’re here because of Emily. It’s a waiting game now, as long as it might be. May as well make yourselves comfortable. There’s a waiting room just down the hallway and a cafeteria on the sixth floor, if you want some coffee. It might eat a hole in your stomach, but it’s something.”

The room around him starts to spin. Aaron can’t remember the last conversation they had - something hasty by phone, he suspects, in the days of time differences and small talk. Never awkward, but something always lingering beneath the surface. Their conversations were all about what wasn’t said - subtext, layers of awareness only they possessed.

“One other thing,” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, a fleeting thought he nearly forgot, nothing more than a passing thought. “Before she lost consciousness, she was rambling incessantly about apple pie.” Dave adds, as if on afterthought, eyes narrowing in confusion. “The best apple pie in DC. Any idea what that could be about?”

Aaron stiffens, his jaw flexing at Dave’s seemingly innocuous mention in the midst of everything else. It’s been years since he’s last seen her and another fifteen since that night, one he’s never actually spoken of out loud. It could have been a lifetime ago, a distant memory. It feels so foreign at this point he could have dreamed it. Surely he misheard - there’s no way she’d be thinking of that. He pinches the bridge of his nose, stifles a yawn into his fist. It’s about to be a very long night. “Where is she? Is she in surgery yet?”

“Not yet. She’s just down the hall.” In the distance a monitor beeps then an alarm starts to go off, punctuated by the efficient scramble of nurses. It reminds him just how much he hates hospitals, and Aaron breathes a heavy sigh of relief when they don’t go into Emily’s room.

“You can see her, you know.” Dave offers gently, sensing the growing tension. “One visitor at a time.”

It’s somehow decided, without officially being decided out loud, that Aaron will go in first. Mendoza quietly mentions something about needing to call his daughter. Not for the first time this evening, Aaron is actually grateful Jack can hold his own at home for a little while, that they’re long past those years of constant check-ins. A simple text will do in a few hours’ time. And he steels his nerves with a few deep breaths before slipping into the room, the silence punctuated by the staccato beeping of monitors and a ventilator.

She’s like a ghost, translucent almost - amidst the machines and wires. He remembers a time, years ago, when the roles were reversed. Aaron wonders if she felt the same clench of fear in her gut, the awful feeling of helplessness that came along with being at someone’s bedside in a hospital. He wonders if she felt the same desperation clinging to every nerve in her body that things would be okay.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into the hard plastic chair at the side of the bed. “It’s been awhile.” Deep down he knows she won’t - can’t - respond. But there was a moment of hope - a tiny one - flimsy and built on nothing - that maybe she would move or something to indicate she heard him. There isn’t one.

Aaron swallows the rising lump in this throat, thick and pressing right down into his lungs. “I really need you to wake up, Emily.”

...

“When’s the big move?” Dave presses Mendoza gently, asking all the questions Emily never gave answers to. He folds his arms across his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him. From his place behind the window, he watches Aaron lower himself onto a chair on shaky legs, taking a few steadying breaths as he settles beside her. He rests a weary head on his fist.

“Two weeks. Keely wanted to finish her soccer season.” Mendoza crosses his arms over his chest as his eyes follow Dave’s.

Dave nods without really comprehending the words. “You’ll have to let us know when you’re both settled out there.”

“Yeah.”

Dave breaks an awkward silence. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you two.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t.” By now, Mendoza’s full attention is on the scene before them both, face solemn and stiff. “What’s the story between them?” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, shades of suspicion cloud his features and his shoulders tense. Years of profiling make Dave keenly aware of these subtle changes in his behavior. He’s questioning it .

Dave shrugs. “Friends? Colleagues?” By now, Aaron is brushing Emily’s arm with his thumb, and if he isn’t mistaken, swears he sees his lips moving too. “Anything else and your guess is as good as mine.”

It seems to smooth things over for a few moments, even as something else is planted in his mind. Something he never considered at all.

…

“Have you been to Boathouse Row yet?”

It’s an attempt to make small talk as they sit down; it doesn’t get past Aaron, who stays silent, completely ignoring the question.

“So what is it you’re not telling me?” Dave passes a flimsy styrofoam cup over the small table.

“Now might not be the best time, Dave,” Aaron retorts, rolling a tiny cup of creamer in his fingers.

“We’ve got nothing but time, Aaron. Surgeon says things could take hours. She might even be conscious immediately after. And you’re not driving back to Philly anytime soon.”

He has a point . “She was talking about when we first met.” He sighs heavily as he spins the cup around in his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“At the BAU?” Dave knits his eyebrows in confusion.

Aaron rubs his eyes tiredly. By now any movement feels like effort, the space behind his eyes starting to throb with an oncoming headache and exhaustion. “Before that.”

“You mean you knew - “ Dave stops, his coffee ignored and interest piqued. “You two knew each other before?”

“We met years ago. Would be at least twenty now.” He’s too tired to do the math of exactly how long it’s been. “We met when I was working for her mother one summer in DC.”

“I certainly had no idea.”

“No one did. It never really came up.”

“By choice or on purpose?” Dave quips, his eyes just a touch brighter than they were moments before. He chuckles when Aaron just stares right back, the hint of a smile hidden in his eyes. “So what’s the story?”

His expression is wistful, as if he were dusting off a long held memory. “It was kind of an accident.”

Twenty-Four Years Ago

Not for the first time that evening, Aaron checks his watch discreetly and sighs into his fist. It’s only eight-thirty; who knows how long this thing will last. It wasn’t that he agreed to this. It’s practically a rite of passage when working for an Ambassador, or so he’s been told -working one of the many extravagant parties and benefit dinners that were practically part of her job description. The ballroom is full of DC’s political elite - congressmen and senators, the Secretary of State and the Attorney General. Rumor had it the Vice President would be making an appearance. For that reason alone, security was heightened, every egress monitored, yet he’s never felt more invisible in a room full of people.

Aaron spots her accidentally, but something tells him she’s not trying to blend in. The tall figure on the opposite side of the room is entirely too young to be one of them , yet she mingles easily with a champagne flute between her fingers. She’s wearing an elegant black dress with a high neck and open back. It shows off delicate shoulder blades that jut out like wings when she moves. He isn’t the only one staring.

She’s the Ambassador’s daughter - Emily . Aaron has only heard of her from the others, her name being uttered in exasperation when one of the agents finds her breaking protocol yet again - sneaking out and in at all hours of the night, slipping an endless parade of friends past the entrance logs without proper verification. He’s never spoken a word to her; he knows almost nothing about her except that she’s a student at Yale, supposedly speaks multiple languages, and has a knack for causing trouble.

They haven’t spoken a word to each other, but her eyes meet his across the square in the middle of the room that is supposedly a dance floor. His mouth goes dry and he immediately looks away when Emily excuses herself from whatever conversation she’s immersed in, only to look back seconds later to find her sauntering directly towards him , effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd.

Aaron nods a polite hello, attempting to keep his expression neutral when she’s finally closed the gap between them both.

“You know,” Emily says with amusement, eyes flicking over him. “You could at least try not to look so miserable.”

“Who said anything about being miserable?”

“It’s practically part of the job requirements if you work for my mother. Besides, you’ve been wearing the same expression since this thing started.” When she catches his look of sheer bewilderment and mild annoyance, she laughs softly. “Trust me. I’ve been to enough of these things to know what I’m looking for.”

“Are you spying on me?” He glances around, wondering just where the Ambassador even is amidst a sea of black suits. He should be keeping a close eye, after all. He strains his neck a little, scanning the crowd purposefully until he sees the woman that strongly resembles the miniature version of her in front of him.

“No. I’m just observant.” Without missing a beat, Emily waves to someone - a Congressman Aaron immediately recognizes from the news - something about a scandal involving a rather young intern under a desk - but he hadn’t been paying too much attention to remember all the details. “He’s such a scumbag,” she adds quietly without any elaboration.

He senses her reticence immediately; he wonders just how she knows all of this, if he should push, if at all “Isn’t that part of their job description to a degree?”

“Some of them,” Emily mutters. “But he’s one of the worst.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aaron murmurs, tearing his eyes away from the crowd to get a better look at her. Up close she’s even more stunning, with sharp cheekbones and a perfectly symmetrical face, her smile wide and eyes like dark orbs. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“I’ve seen you around. You’re the new guy.”

“New-ish. I started in March.” It comes out a bit more dejectedly than it should, but it’s hard to hide the disdain he feels for it all. Things have been far from easy over the last few months. It’s a mindless shuffle of one foot in front of the other, days that blend together similar to the ones before, with the slightest hope that a few more weeks of patience might wield a change.

“New to me.” She’s only been home for the summer a few weeks at most, so he can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually seen her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb.” She cracks a grin at her own remark. “You’re too tense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Agent …”

“Hotchner,” he fills in quickly.

“Agent Hotchner, you certainly wouldn’t be the first security detail to use this as a stepping stone to a different career. You’re all just biding time until something better comes along.” She’s so matter of fact, so assured, it’s as if she’s had this very conversation with every other agent in the room at one point or another. “It’s usually the quiet ones. They have less to prove.”

“Are we that transparent?”

“Some of you. And I can’t say I blame you. This place surely isn’t a means to an end.”

“What does your mother think of your beliefs?”

“My mother knows exactly what I think of her career and everything that goes along with it. It’s what’s gotten us to this point, actually.”

“And what point might that be?” He’s only heard of some of the epic arguments between the two of them, the harshness of their voices reverberating around the Ambassador’s office or some ornately decorated living room. The bitter clashes of two strong wills, hidden behind the fact that just maybe they were more similar than different.

“A story for a different time,” Emily says smoothly. “Can’t exactly talk about it here.”

“You’re full of stories, aren’t you?” Aaron deduces but she isn’t even paying attention anymore as she scans the crowd. He can see the wheels start to turn in her head, the flicker of an idea materializing somewhere. She turns back, this time a grin stuck to her lips. “What?” He asks reluctantly.

“Let’s get out of here.” Emily bats her thickly lashed, heavily lined eyes. “This thing is going nowhere fast. Besides, you look like you could use a break. “How long have you been on?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” she says casually with a wink as she plucks a champagne flute from a nearby tray, downing it quickly. “I probably shouldn’t drive, but you can.” It’s accompanied with a flippant toss of hair over her shoulder, an expectant purse of her lips.

It’s certainly not the smartest idea or the most prudent, but something tells him Emily could care less about prudence and image. “I could be suspended for unauthorized use of a government-issued vehicle.” Not to mention, having his boss’s daughter in said government vehicle with him, or completely leaving his assignment altogether. He remembers skimming over the terms of employment months ago, specifically the section about fraternization with members of the Ambassador’s Family.

“Who said anything about one of theirs?” She looks almost bored now, tapping her fingers against the empty flute. “That’s no fun anyway. They have trackers on them. For security purposes.” She forms air quotes with her fingers. “We wouldn’t get far.”

He’s about to ask her how she even possesses that knowledge when he feels her hand on his waist, dipping into the creases of his jacket like a lover would. It doesn’t phase her, and while normally his reflexes would spring into quick action, he’s glued into place.

“You have a car don’t you?” Emily unabashedly pats his pocket, feeling for keys.

He opens his mouth to object, but she’s too fast. She grins with satisfied smirk, a triumphant click of her tongue as he stiffens awkwardly when they jingle against her hand. “You aren’t a great liar, Agent Hotchner.”

“Aaron,” he says somewhat stiffly, resignedly. He’s doing his damn best to keep his eyes centered on the ballroom but it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand. The scent of perfume - something undoubtedly expensive - lingers and it makes him dizzy even if he hasn’t had a sip to drink. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Aaron.” His name rolls off her tongue thoughtfully. “Aaron,” she repeats, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “I never understood why there were two A’s. What do you do with the second one?”

His head spins to keep up with her, how her mind somehow bounces from one thought to the next with seemingly little direction. “Never gave it much thought myself, actually.” From the corner of his eye he catches one of the other agents giving him a quizzical, perhaps slightly jealous, eye roll. It’s a bad idea to entertain, but one he can’t ignore. Emily is staring at him, eyes sparkling, with the slightest touch of longing. Longing for what he isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it wouldn’t be found in the middle of the opulent ballroom.“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve been told of a place not too far from here,” she begins slowly, a smile on her face at his gradual acquiesce. “A diner that supposedly has the best apple pie in DC.”

“Apple pie?” Just how much has she had to drink?

“I’m starving ,” she offers with a hand pressed to her flat stomach. Aaron’s eyes follow, lingering up and down on her narrow frame.

“They’re about to serve dinner,” He says lamely, shaking his head to ensure he heard her correctly. Waiters have started to circle the room with large serving trays balanced precariously above their heads, passing around the plates that he guesses must cost a few hundred dollars a head, maybe more. The crowds have thinned as more guests take their seats.

Emily shrugs with disinterest. “Once you’ve been to one of these things you’ve been to them all. Besides, this is when things start to get really insufferable.”

“Is that so?”

“Someone will start talking,” Emily drawls sardonically, surveying the crowd starting to take their seats at previously assigned tables - tables he could probably rattle off by name if asked. “Make some big speech promoting their campaign trying to get reelected or whatever. Then they all will. They love hearing themselves talk.”

“Part of the job, I guess.” He stares, unsure of what to say next. Her attitude towards politics is the complete opposite of that of her mother. His interactions with his boss have been somewhat limited; he doubts if she even remembers his first name. Yet he’s seen the way Elizabeth Prentiss revels in a world seemingly dominated by men, a woman in a league of her own. He wonders just how much the Ambassador has sacrificed; wonders if her daughter might be amongst that list. It would certainly explain their tenuous relationship.

“So what do you say? Surely you don’t want to sit around listening to a bunch of old guys spout a bunch of half truths to line their pockets?” She seems unbothered yet again, almost amused by the sight in front of her - as if her premonition of how the night would go is coming true.

There’s nothing he wants less. “How do you suppose I get out of this? I’m still on the clock, you know.”

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Emily sets the champagne flute on a nearby serving tray and spins on her heel, sauntering back towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll be outside of the South Gate when you figure it out.”

…

In the end, he makes up an excuse to leave. It’s not exactly convincing and the agent in charge doesn’t exactly believe him when he feigns an emergency - food poisoning. But Aaron has always had an exceptionally good poker face, grimacing just enough to make it look questionable, and the other agent curtly nods, grunting something about having enough security for the evening, and making up the hours later in the week. It falls on deaf ears - he’s already out the doors of the security office, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips as he strides across the asphalt driveways with his back toward the house.

Sure enough, Emily is waiting for him, finishing the rest of a cigarette when he pulls around to the South Gate. He keeps his taillights off; the less attention he draws to himself the better.

His car has seen better days, the leather seats worn smooth and the stereo outdated, the steering wheel permanently indented from the grip of his own two hands, scuff marks and faded carpets. But it’s well maintained, and Emily smiles appreciatively when he holds the passenger side door open, then explains how to adjust the seat, just in case . She doesn’t seem to notice at all, just unceremoniously tugs her long skirt out of the way of the door and kicks off her heels.

“Fucking things,” she grumbles. The heels are sharp as knives, ridiculously impractical yet Aaron can’t help but picture her wearing them in a dress much shorter than the one she currently has on. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to go there, because the reality is, she’s still his boss’s daughter, and if anyone were to see them, he’d most definitely be written up, maybe worse, for taking her off property without following protocol. But she’s close enough to touch, her arm a gentle weight against his own on the center console.

“So,” Aaron asks, his voice barely audible. He shifts the car into reverse, breath hitching when his knuckles brush against her hand. “Just where is this diner you speak so highly of?”

“Silver Spring.”

“I thought you said DC.”

“It’s close enough.” Emily tucks a long piece of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes. “Just trust me.”

It’s the way she says it that makes him wonder if she would do the same for him. Aaron grips the wheel in silence as the cool night air seeps through the open windows. He catches her shiver and is about to offer his jacket when she breaks the silence.

“Make a right up at the light, and then it’s a quick left.” Emily shifts in the passenger seat. Her fingers twitch as if she were still holding a cigarette between them; she tucks her hand against her cheek daintily. She’s very much aware the passenger side is nearly spotless - nothing to indicate someone sits there frequently. No wayward sunglasses or a forgotten piece of jewelry belonging to a significant other. She straightens the wrinkled fabric of her dress and lowers her eyes.She’d had him pegged wrong - certainly he’d had it all figured out, the well intended nature that comes along with a mostly idyllic existence. She imagined a naive wife or girlfriend completely enamored with him, both parties working to make ends meet for bigger and better things - not happiness, for one. That they had in spades. But maybe a white picket fence, a dog and a baby or two one day.

Instead, he seems lonely and guarded, a choice he was forced to make. Circumstances, maybe, she thinks as the traffic light ahead blinks from a glowing green to yellow, to red. It shines a little brighter than usual, a universal warning everyone should understand . It makes her shiver again.

“Here. Take my jacket” The red light gives him the chance to shrug out of the confines of his suit jacket, which he hands over. He palms the wheel a little tighter when she wraps herself into it, the fabric draping over her like a shield.

“This is the place?” Aaron studies the gaudy exterior of the diner, hard to miss and yet, the type of place you wouldn’t give a second thought. The fluorescent lighting nearly blinds him, and he’s somewhat surprised to see through the windows that multiple tables are full despite the late hour. He can hardly conceal his disbelief. “How’d you learn about this place?”

“Word gets around,” Emily says lightly as she slips her shoes back on, wincing slightly when she stands upright, nearly enveloped by his jacket. “I’ve learned not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should do the same.”

They find a booth in the back, tucked away from the clamor of the bustling kitchen and constant jingle of the doors. Again they’re left with nothing but silence, a few wayward glances, and two plastic coated menus between them. The haggard waitress only nods abruptly at their order - two black coffees, one with splenda and one without, one slice of apple pie, and two forks.

“You think she thinks we’re a couple?”

“I’m sure she has a lot more on her mind than us.” Aaron twists the paper straw wrapper between his fingers and studies her across the table. What he’s not expecting is to realize she’s doing the same thing - analyzing his body language with a degree of precision that matches his own, an expression that hides what she’s thinking. He wonders if she’s practiced it over time. She wears his jacket like a coat of armor yet she’s curious, the mundane quietness of the diner a stark contrast to their initial surroundings a short time ago.

“How does someone like you end up working for my mother?” Emily asks out of nowhere, direct and forward without an ounce of hesitation. It could be mistaken for an interrogation, he muses.

“Someone like me?”

“Decent. With manners. Not some macho guy with a little man complex or some baggage like that who gets off swinging his gun around.” She blows the straw wrapper across the table; it hits him square in the shoulder and stays here until he flicks it off. She doesn’t seem to notice as the waitress sets down their much anticipated order amidst a promise to come back with some cream for the coffee.

It’s his turn to laugh; he knows exactly what type she’s referring to. He could name more of them than he has fingers. “Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Emily carves out a large bite of apple pie with her fork, eyes closing with delight as it disappears between her lips, along with a delicate moan. “This is so good.” She pushes the pie plate towards him. “So then what was it?”

“Bad timing, for starters.” Aaron stabs his fork into the jagged slice of pie, cuts off a bite for himself. His stomach growls; it’s been hours since the early dinner he’d scarfed down behind the wheel on his way back to work the shift he just abandoned. “You’re right,” he says around a mouthful of apple and pastry crust. “That’s really good.”

“Told you.” She proudly lifts her shoulders, momentarily triumphant before she digs in for another bite. But she also looks expectant, ready for an answer, even with another forkful of pie. He supposes he owes her one.

“I wanted to join the FBI,” Aaron begins slowly. It comes to him that she’s only the second person he’s ever told any of this to. He supposed talking about it would make it real, take it from a pipe dream to something that could irrevocably fail right in front of his own eyes.

“The big leagues, huh?” She waves her fork in a circle, and it takes a moment for him to realize she isn’t totally shocked. “I could see that, actually, now that you mention it. You have the poker face for it, at least.” Emily gives a little grin, one that meets her eyes. “But that didn’t happen?”

“Had the application filled out and everything. Was going to send it in.”

“So what happened?”

“My girlfriend … She didn’t like the idea. The recruitment process takes months and basic training even longer. Close to a year sometimes. Haley wanted me to do something a little more traditional. Wanted me home at 6 for dinner and around on the weekends.” He takes another bite of pie, partially to gather his thoughts, and to let Emily give her own.

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Well.” The fork in his hand feels heavy all of a sudden; he sets it down with a clatter. “We’re taking a break right now.”

She takes in his words, chuckles a little bit. “I’m a little disappointed in myself. I definitely had you all wrong.”

“You keep saying that.” It’s more of a question than a statement, a curiosity he can’t contain.

“I took you as settled. Happy. With Haley. ” His girlfriend’s name rolls off her tongue; hearing it sounds strange, like she’s saying something she shouldn’t.

“I’m ... figuring things out. We’re figuring things out.”

“Do you love her? Does she love you?” Emily asks directly without hesitation. “If you do, there shouldn’t be much to figure out.”

He stiffens. “I don’t … not love her. But we want different things. At some point, you have to be honest with each other, right? When you can’t make it work, what do you do?”

“I’m definitely not the person to ask.” She laughs but there isn’t any humor in it, more of a resigned sadness if he looks close enough through the rough edges hidden by carefully curated appearance. “Relationships aren’t something I’ve had a ton of luck with.”

“Maybe you’re dating the wrong people.”

“Maybe.” She looks around the diner, rests her chin in her hands. “I’m pretty directionless myself at the moment, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you.” He takes a sip of coffee, more for something to do with his hands than a need for it. He wants to know more, wants to ask just what could possibly make her directionless. Someone who seemingly had it all.

“Sounds like we’re both lost.” There’s a dreamlike tone to her voice, as if they’re sharing a secret.

“We don’t have to be.”

“If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be a bored socialite by 30 throwing cocktail parties every night and getting drunk by the pool by day.”

“Who says?”

“No one has to say it. It’s … expected of me, I think?”

“Is that so?”

“I’m certainly not following in my mother’s footsteps into politics.” She scoffs. There’s contempt in her voice, for what he deduces is years of being put second, something she never asked for but received over and over again. “What else is there for me to do? Someone has to carry on the family tradition somehow.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emily says, dragging her fork through some of the remaining bits of pie on the plate. She flicks a crumb into the air. “I’ve never really had a home , you know. Most of my life has been spent overseas. Just staying in one place for a while would be nice.”

“I always wanted to get away.” Aaron laments. “From Manassas at least.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You aren’t missing much there, or so I’ve heard.” She stirs a spoon into her coffee to work in the mess of splenda packets she’s dumped in.

He watches the liquid swirl, her mezmirzation at it. Something comes to him - something he’s always wanted to know. “Is it true you speak four languages?”

Emily looks up from her coffee, temporarily distracted by his question. “Six, actually. French, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Greek, and some Russian.” She ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly as if she were counting inanimate objects.

He does a double take. “Six? I can barely handle English.”

“It’s always been easy for me. I just wish I knew what to do with it, you know?”

“When I applied, I remember seeing that the FBI needs linguists. People with language experience to work overseas.” He takes his own fork to the last remaining bits of the pie, watching her face carefully for a reaction. She’s almost unreadable; he can’t discern just what she’s thinking.

She laughs - not the reaction he expected. “You know, applying for the FBI would absolutely piss my mother off entirely. She would hate it if I did that. Kind of makes me want to do it.”

“She and Haley should meet. I’m sure they’d have lots to talk about.”

“You want to hear what I think?” Emily says after a few long moments, the coffee and the pie that once sat between them are now gone. “I think you should go for it. The FBI. Do it and don’t look back. And call your girlfriend. Let her talk, but tell her how you feel.”

“And?”

“If she comes back, then you know it’s meant to be.”

...

“Never even knew this place existed,” Aaron says, lingering at Emily’s elbow as they pick their way across the pebbled driveway of the diner. She’s a little unsteady on the heels now, not unsurprising given the late hour and the time they spent sitting down.

“Who knew a diner in the middle of Silver Spring Maryland would have such great pie?” Dangling from her wrist is a to-go bag with an extra slice of pie for the morning - the waitress had kindly given her one on the house - the leftovers from the day before.

“I thought New Jersey was the diner capital of the world,” Aaron muses. “New Jersey is all about their diners and traffic circles.”

“And Bruce Springsteen,” Emily adds pointedly. “He’s from New Jersey.”

“Him too.” Aaron laughs quietly. The tension in his shoulders mounts; he doesn’t want this to end. He wants to talk to her, wants to keep her there. But the moment feels final. Emily catches the wrist of the hand that reaches out to cup her cheek, wraps her fingers around it. “If things were different -” he starts quietly, looking almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go, is it?” Emily leans into the weight of his calloused palm, into the touch of a man that isn’t her own. It feels foreign, like she’s taking something that isn’t hers. “I don’t think that’s in our cards, Aaron. Maybe in a different life.”

The ride back to DC is again silent, save for the crinkling of the paper bag in her lap. Aaron skips the main entrance and the long paved driveway, taking a shortcut around the massive property to the South Gate entrance. Emily side eyes him, looking slightly impressed. “Trying to remain inconspicuous?”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I’d like to think this is how we were supposed to meet,” she offers as he pulls up to the outside of the South Gate. “For a brief moment in time, that’s all. To steer one another in the right direction, if you will.”

“Maybe.” He tells himself to pull away, curling it back around the steering wheel protectively. “Remember what I told you, Emily.” He watches her reach for her shoes, their moments together dwindling down to seconds. “Don’t live your life on the terms of someone else. Especially your mother. If our paths cross again and you’re a bored socialite throwing cocktail parties, we’ll have to talk.”

She loops some hair behind her ear, gives him a small smile. “If our paths cross again in ten years and you aren’t leading some FBI unit somewhere, I’ll have some words for you as well.” She draws a breath, carefully slips on her shoes. “Thank you for the pie, Aaron.” The creak of the passenger side door is the only thing he hears as she slips away like a ship in the night, not to turn back around.

Aaron watches her disappear across the grass, blending into the deep blue of the early morning, the sky not quite awake but out of the depths of night. She’s a shadowy dark figure amidst the promise of a new day. The clock on the dashboard nears 6:00 AM. The little red numbers glow are a reminder of the inevitable crash that will most definitely come later on. He isn’t 20 anymore, after all. But when he drives away, there’s a sense of renewal, one he can’t explain, but deep down understands.

He hands in his resignation before he can work another shift, and he never does make up the time he promised. Three days after that, he mails a thick packet of papers in a standard manila envelope to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.

A week after that, he takes out his phone and dials Haley’s number. About thirteen years later, his son comes into the world, wailing and screaming with healthy lungs and a head of dark hair. Haley is tired and beaming, his pride is obvious as the tiny bundle is placed in his arms.

They name the baby Jack.

In some ways, the stars aligned.

He’ll sometimes wonder if Emily’s did too.

…

Present Day

“Why didn’t things ever work out between the two of you?”

Dave’s voice brings him back to reality, out of the daydream he’s held so close to his heart for so many years. It’s jarring at first, a confusing limbo of then and now, past and present blending together for a few long moments. He glances around, the harsh overhead lights glaring bright, the low hum of hospital sounds reverberating through his ears. Along with it comes the reality of why he’s there, and the bitter rush of fear that floods his consciousness.

“Timing.” Aaron spins his now empty coffee cup in his hands. “Even after Haley and I got divorced, it was never the right time.”

“You’re going to blame timing ? That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“I never wanted to take the risk.” It’s the closest thing he can think of as truth. They built a tentative friendship after a rocky start, something built on mutual respect. His divorce brought new challenges - co parenting amidst a ridiculously stressful career, supporting and leading his team. Emily had always been one to hold her own, a silent backbone of their team, a friend to all of them. He’d relied on her, never wanted to lose what they had in hopes of something else . Ian Doyle had taken her from them all; her return was tense and it didn’t take a profiler to understand that Quantico just wasn’t home to her anymore. He let her walk away, encompassed by a fragile shell of his own tentative happiness, and in the years after she went to London, there was a permanent hole in his heart that never quite mended itself again. “Maybe I should have.”

“Love is a choice, Aaron. It doesn’t just happen. You have to choose to make things work.” Dave leans back in his seat, checks his watch, an eyebrow arching just a bit. “I thought you would have known that by now.”

“You and Krystall made a choice?”

“We still do. Every day we have to choose to love each other. Some days it’s easy. Others, not so much. But you know the best part?”

“I think you’re going to tell me anyway, Dave.”

“It’s never not been worth it, Aaron.” There’s a subtle gleam in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Something tells me you might just feel the same, if you gave it a chance.” Dave fumbles for his phone, patting the pockets of his jeans and then that of his blazer before finally pulling the phone from his breast pocket. He flips it open, his eyes widening at whatever message lights up the tiny screen.

“What is it?” Aaron asks with baited breath.

Dave looks up from his phone. For the first time since all of this began, he looks full of hope. “Emily’s out of surgery.”

…

The surgeon is pleased with the outcome of Emily’s procedure, and the air around them seemingly lightens with each minute he explains the procedure, and its success. The three of them hang on every word he says, asking questions and seeking assurances.

“She should be awake within a few hours. We’ll know more then, but her brain activity is good, and her vitals are strong. Agent Prentiss got very lucky. I have patients who often have a very different outcome.”

The relief is palpable, as if the tension was cut with a knife as they all exchange optimistic smiles and tentative handshakes, while profusely thanking Emily’s surgeon. Aaron excuses himself to call Jack - something he should have done hours ago. “I’m not going far,” he reminds Dave, his words a warning of what to do if anything changes in the next few minutes.

“We’ll be right here.”

Mendoza is shrugging into his jacket and digging for his keys with a look of resignation on his face. He catches Dave’s sideways glance. “I think it’s time I head out, Dave. Please give Emily my best wishes on a quick recovery when she’s discharged.” There’s a change in his voice, one that wasn’t there earlier.

“You’re leaving?” Dave asks curiously. “You aren’t going to stay and see Emily? It shouldn’t be much longer before we can go in.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

Mendoza shakes his head, runs a hand over his scalp. “I learned something tonight. You know when it’s just not meant to be, but you can’t find the reason why?”

Dave nods, a glimmer of understanding appearing in his eyes. “I do. I know it very well, actually.”

“I think I found the why.” His eyes roam around before they finally land on Aaron and Dave’s do too. The phone is still pressed to his ear but he’s still staring right into Emily’s room, never once looking away, even as his mouth moves in conversation to Jack on the other end. “I tried to deny it, so did Emily. But I don’t think her heart ever belonged to me. I think it belonged to him.”

—

Emily finally wakes up a few hours later. Aaron and Dave wait outside the room as she’s tended to by a horde of surgeons and nurses, testing brain function and vital signs, spattering off medical terms with ease. It’s a language only they understand, one Aaron never wants to learn. But their voices are hopeful, they have smiles on their faces as they talk to Emily, assessing her cognition and running tests. She’s a little confused and extremely tired, but awake and alert . Dave is just as relieved to see things appear normal; they’re both very aware of just how lucky they got.

Eventually, they’re finally allowed to see her.

“Do you mind if I … “ Aaron trails off, except he doesn’t need to finish the question.

“Go, Aaron. I take it you have some things you want to get off your chest,” Dave quips. “I’m going to call the others and give them an update. They’ve been waiting awhile.” He departs with a pat of encouragement on the back, a shared moment between them.

Moments later, he’s back in her room, at her side on the same uncomfortable chair from earlier. Her eyes flicker open once again, widening almost impossibly when she sees him. Years of unanswered questions are written on her face in seconds, a shared history fraught with more than what most people experience in a lifetime. But there’s something oddly content there too, as if she woke up from a dream that has somehow materialized in front of her.

“Hey,” Aaron says softly, reaching out with a nervous hand to touch her for the first time in years . He dodges wires and IV lines, finds her fingers with his own and gives a gentle squeeze. “You’re up.”

“You’re here?” Emily blinks with confusion, still making sense of just how she got there in the first place. “But I thought you were .. you and Jack are in Philadelphia. What are you doing here?”

“Of course I’m here,” he says soothingly, ignoring her question. They can talk about that later. “How are you feeling?”

Emily gives a wry grin, slightly distorted and weak, but there. “They asked me who the President of the United States was.”

It’s his turn to smirk. “What did you tell them?”

“To ask me after 45 leaves the Oval Office,” she says without hesitation. “I think I made at least two of them laugh.” But then something comes over her face, the reality of it all setting in. “You came all this way,” she croaks, throat raw from the intubation tube. “How did you know about all of this?”

“You were there for me, remember?” He’s not only talking about Foyet, but all the years she spent at his side. The years they spent doing a dance around one another, their steps never quite aligning. This time feels like a second chance he never thought he’d get, one he can’t mess up.

“That was a lifetime ago, Aaron. So much has happened since then.” Emily tries to sit upright, pushes herself up about halfway before exhaustion overtakes her. She grumbles in frustration; he shouldn’t smile but he does. It means the Emily he knows, the Emily he fell in love with years ago is somewhere in there.

“Take it easy,” he soothes, adjusting the pillows so she’s more vertical than horizontal. He uses the opportunity to press a kiss against her forehead. He touches his own to hers and murmurs, “That’s something I should have done a long time ago.”

A smile spreads across her face, just as brilliant as the night he met her. She remembers it all, just as well as he does. “Funny how it always seems to take one of us dying to figure things out.”

“What are you talking about?” It’s a morbid thought, one he can’t entertain for long because despite his question, there’s an element of truth to it. He brushes some hair from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. It’s matted in his fingers and dirty yet he doesn’t even notice. His heart swells, the hand in her hair trails down to her cheek, a thumb against the blush that spreads there. “And by the way, that’s not funny.”

“I’m saying maybe after I get out of this place,” she gestures to the mess of monitors and wires and tubes, “You can ask me out on a date. Finally.”

“Anywhere,” Aaron agrees. He would go anywhere, if it meant he could be with her.

“I know a place in Silver Spring. Supposedly they have the best apple pie in DC.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #young hotchniss #Aaron Hotchner #Emily Prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #Aaron x Emily

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whattheheehaw · 3 years

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Hi! I’m sorry you’re getting shitty anons about this and you’re probably sick of it so I apologise for asking this but I’m genuinely curious what made you start actively disliking zutara? Like, considering how much excellent and insightful content/meta you yourself used to make/write? I get that interests change over time and you’re totally valid!! the anons sending you hate over it are really dumb, but if you’d be ok with sharing, I’d be really interested in hearing why you’ve done almost a complete 180 on the ship? Was is just burnout/end of a hyper-obsession? Or was it some of us in the rest of the fandom that turned you off? Or was it even something about the ship/characters themselves that you changed your mind about? xx

In short, it was a combination of burnout, dissatisfaction with fandom, and disappointment in myself that caused my disinterest for Zvtara.

I got asks similar to this one a couple of times before, but I never gave a comprehensive answer, mainly because I didn't know how to articulate my reasons why I don't like it anymore. But now that I've been out of ZK fandom for a month and have had some time to reflect, I think I can give a much more thorough response. Beware, this is long and I heavily critique the Zvtara fandom, so if you're a ZK shipper, keep reading at your own risk.

My first minor annoyance with Zvtara is that the fandom has a tendency to idolize certain fics and creators. And while there’s certainly nothing inherently wrong about that, I feel like the Zvtara fandom does it to such an extent that it influences the type of content that content creators make in order to get recognition. And to illustrate my point, I’m going to talk about one of the most famous Zvtara fics of all time: Once Around The Sun by eleventy7.

Don’t get me wrong, I love OATS. I think it’s a great fanfic and I think the author devoted a lot of time and effort to make it such an excellent fic. The plot, the development of the characters and their relationships to one other, and the messages about family and love were all brilliantly written. I mean, there is a reason why it’s regarded as the “Zvtara Bible”. This one fanfic had such a profound impact upon the ZK fandom, and I think the biggest impact that came from it is the dramatic influx of post-war Zvtara AU fanfiction.

Because so many people kept reading OATS and recommending it to others, I think there was an overall interest in ZK fics that take place in a post-war setting. And I think that all of the high praise towards OATS made more fic writers start to write post-war fanfics because of this demand for post-war AU.* I normally wouldn't complain about it because more content is more content, but in my opinion, 99% of ZK post-war fics are the same fic but in different fonts.

Like, there's at least 3 of these elements in every ZK post-war fanfic:

Ambassador Katara

An assassination attempt (usually on Zuko's life)

A healing scene between Zuko and Katara (usually Katara heals Zuko)

Aang and/or Mai is pushed to the side or vilified to some extent in order to make ZK happen

A private journey between Zuko and Katara to facilitate #6

S L O W B U R N (that's not really slowburn and more like "I love you and I very much want to be vocal about my feelings but #7 is in this fic" but the love story takes up like 30 chapters so I guess it's a slowburn?)

Zuko's advisers don't want him to get married to Katara because ✨racism✨

Ursa is found

Azula is in the fic because a) she's going to get a healing arc ft. Zuko and Katara and thereby helps them get together or b) she's the villain and thereby helps them get together

ZK wedding happens in the FN

After reading multiple post-war fics back to back, I could tell that the format was pretty much the same across the board, which isn't very interesting for me to read. My only other fic options in the Zvtara tag on AO3 are canon divergence fics which almost always take place during The Crossroads of Destiny or after The Southern Raiders. And to some extent, those stories are pretty much the same too. There's nothing really new or creative going on in the ZK fandom fic-wise, and because of that, my interest in ZK fandom started to dwindle.

My second issue with Zvtara is that it's a very old ship from a very old show. Because there's been 10+ years since the end of A:TLA, every nuanced point about shipping and the show itself have been talked to death.** There's just nothing new to say. It's the same arguments being rehashed over and over again in the tag because there's no other interpretation one can come up with.

For example, there's so many people who talk about why Zvtara as depicted in The Southern Raiders is not toxic and that's great and all, but I (and most likely many others) have read those same points about five times already. And for some reason, each time this happens, people act like someone just discovered the lost city of Atlantis when they bring up their new-but-not-new argument in defense of Zvtara. Honestly, I'm ashamed to say that I'm not exempt from being part of the group of people that reiterate old arguments. I've done it with one of my posts about The Southern Raiders and I've done it again with my Zutara/Omashu parallels post.

There's no new content to really dissect and analyze (especially considering Zuko and Katara are rarely in the same panel in any of the post-war comics), and because of this, people are just restating points that someone else made several years ago.*** And even if someone did have a different interpretation of an episode, their ideas would most likely be shut down because for the past several years, the same interpretation has been recycled through the fandom repeatedly and people are resistant to new perspectives.

This brings me to the third thing that I dislike about Zvtara: the insistence that there can only be one way to interpret The Southern Raiders. For the longest time, I've read take after take that said if Katara decided to kill Yon Rha, it would be ok because that's her grief to deal with and if she thinks that's the best way to mete out justice, then good for her. And again, I'm ashamed to say that I perpetuated that idea in a few of my own posts. I have always thought that "Katara killing Yon Rha is ok" is just a bad take in general, but I didn't want to vocalize that opinion when so many people—so many of the nice mutuals that I made—all shared that same opinion. Taking down a popular opinion of your own ship is completely different from taking down a popular opinion of a ship that you dislike. The Zvtara fandom is the first fandom that I was actually active in and I wanted to fit in so badly with everyone else that I just parroted whatever other people said, even if I didn't agree with those sentiments.

This leads me to my final reason why I don't want to be a part of ZK fandom anymore. I think I established myself as a "meta" person pretty early on and because of that, I constantly felt pressured to come up with new takes on the ship. And when people started flooding my ask box with stuff like "Can you write a meta about your thoughts on the idea that 'Zuko only took Katara on that field trip in TSR because he wanted her to forgive him'?" and "What are your thoughts about antis saying Zuko and Katara are toxic because of TSR?", I realized that I don't need to come up with new takes. People just want me to paraphrase something that 10 other people said about the same exact topic, because if I said what I actually thought about the subject (i.e. there is some truth in what antis say about TSR and it's not as much of a "Zvtara episode" that most people make it out to be), I'd probably get ZK shippers in the replies telling me that I'm wrong because x, y, and z or "you shouldn't tag this as Zvtara".

And that was pretty much how my love for ZK turned into disinterest. I was and still am disappointed that I didn't stick to my personal opinions. For as much as I talk about herd mentality on Twitter, I certainly don't practice what I preach. In all honesty, the only reason why I held on so long to ZK fandom was because I had so many nice mutuals there and we all shared this collective distaste for antis. I think I started to become more anti-Zvkka and anti-Kataang than pro-Zvtara, which isn't what I wanted to do when I made this Tumblr blog.

The thing that made me joke about becoming anti-Zvtara was the fact that some ZK shippers just like to send shitty anons to people whom they've reblogged countless different metas from. Sending shitty anons to people in the first place is wrong, but sending them to people who tagged their posts correctly and did nothing wrong is just disgusting.

*I'm not a fic writer and can't speak for fic writers, but it definitely feels like a lot of ZK fic authors are pushing themselves to write the next OATS, and by doing so, they are proliferating the tag with post-war fics that have very similar aspects to OATS.

**I think that as more people point out the same nuanced points about Zvtara, it diminishes the actual significance of those points. Like, it's hard to explain but the more people talk about the subtleties of the ship, the more those parts become glaringly obvious and I become numb to their actual impact on the characters and the show.

***At this point, if someone wanted to make a new argument about Zvtara, I think they would have to look very closely at every little detail in every single one of their scenes together to find a crumb of new meta material. And speaking from experience, it's not very fun trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. Whenever I post a "meta" like that, I feel like I'm reaching to make a point that doesn't exist.

#anti zutara #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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white-cat-of-doom · 3 years

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My favourite blog is accepting asks? Yes! Can you tell us your top 9 Cats performers? Idc which Cat they play.

(sorry if this is something you've stated before)

First off, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I am honoured that I am your favourite blog! You really should find someone better than me.

You put a smile on my face!

This is going to get a bit long, but here we go.

I have one person who is my absolute favourite performer (and person), Noaimh Morgan, who was Rumpleteazer in CATS (2019) and in the UK International Tour 2018. I went into the reasons in a separate post, if you curious as to why.

Just look at her! I LOVE HER SO MUCH! (This is my tablet wallpaper if anyone cared). She is an absolute joy in the 2019 movie, and is my favourite character in that film. She is part of the reason why I am in this fandom.

Now in no particular order, eight other wonderful performers in CATS:

Susan Jane Tanner - Original London Cast (1981-1982) Jellylorum/Griddlebone and CATS (1998) Jellylorum

She IS Jellylorum, and one of my two favourite Jellylorum performers. She originated the character in London, and I adore her singing voice and the ways she portrays Jelly. She is so kind and gentle! Some people dislike her in the 1998 film due to her singing and the fact she is older, but those people are very much wrong. In my opinion she is underappreciated in CATS.

Here is a photo of her from rehearsals in 1981. I love this darker Jelly design! I wish I could find more detailed pictures of it.

Bonnie Simmons - Original Broadway Cast Jellylorum/Griddlebone (1982-1992)

My other favourite Jellylorum, and my favourite Griddlebone. I ADORE her singing and wish I could have seen her perform! This is some footage of her as Griddlebone that I would recommend anyone watch, as Growltiger's Last Stand on Broadway was an EVENT.

Another very underappreciated performer, considering she was the third longest serving original cast member in the original Broadway production, behind only Susan Powers (1982-1997) and Marlene Danielle, who stayed for all 18 years until 2000!

Phyllida Crowley Smith - London (1992-1993) and CATS (1998) Victoria

My favourite Victoria perfromer. She is so beautiful as Victoria, and her dancing and movements are so graceful! I do not think there is anyone better than her as Victoria, even if they are more technically trained.

She is so pretty and I love her!

Hannah Kenna Thomas - UK Tour (2014), Palladium (2015-2016), UK International Tour (2018-2019), Vienna Revival (2019-Present) Victoria

My second favourite Victoria performer, Hannah is someone who I believe loves being in CATS (which I very much appreciate). She is absolutely gorgeous as Victoria and perfectly embodies the character.

Being a part of the Vienna revival always makes me wonder if she can speak German at all. Regardless, that Vienna 2019 promotional video of her performing the White Cat Solo lives in my mind at all times.

Freya Rowley - UK Tour (2013) Swing, UK Tour (2014) Tantomile, CATS (2019) Jellylorum

I feel in love with the tall, orange background Cat in the 2019 movie, who is beautiful and cheerful! Freya initiated my love for Jellylorum, even if she is the most unconventional Jelly to have ever existed.

She is so pretty and is my second favourite character in the movie. She is always so happy and having fun, all while never being the center of attention.

Lili Froehlich - Broadway Revival (2016-2017) Electra

Another person who is beautiful and so incredibly cute! I love her, and she brings such positivity to her primary role of Electra, and the other roles she covered.

Immensely talented as well, she served as a dance captain in the Broadway Revival, and was an assistant choreographer in the US Tour 6.

I admire Lili as well, as she helped me figure out and become more comfortable with my sexuality, as she showed me that not everything is straightforward to figure out, and there is a fluidity to that may change in the future.

Eloise Kropp - Broadway Revival (2016-2017) Jennyanydots

She has such a fantastic charm to her performance and is a phenomenal tap dancer! Eloise and The Old Gumbie Cat performance is one of the better parts of the revival changes, although I still adore the standard Gumbie performance.

I mean, look at that smiling face (and that AMAZING Jenny design)! Eloise has made me fall in love with Jenny!

Jo Bingham - London (1991) Etcetera, London (1992) Rumpleteazer, London (1997) Demeter, CATS (1998) Etcetera

A trailblazer and a personification of absolute joy mixed with chaos, Jo Bingham took a character and them her own. She did what she wanted in the 1998 film and it does not look like anyone involved had more fun than her.

I wish I could have seen Jo perform as Demeter! We never had the chance for her to sing in the 1998 film and I NEED to hear her sing Macavity!

Thank you so much for the ask!

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scriptflorist · 3 years

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I have customers in my story complaining about flowers that die way too early. When is it simply bad luck or when it is improper customer care or in fact improper florist care? What about customers who want to raise more hell than simple complaining, when would it be a trouble customer or legitimate requests?

Hi there,

This might not be the answer you’ve been looking for, but it can always be bad luck. Both the customer and the florist can do everything in their power to make the plants survive and they still die. To give an absolute guarantee on mother nature just isn’t possible. However, there are a few things which might have gone wrong on either end.

If the florist is in any way at fault they might have not changed the water when it was due, however more than likely they cut their bouquet with a pruner instead of a knife. Now there are some things in bouquets that require a pruner, namely any wooden stems it contains, all flowers however should be cut, diagonally, with a knife before being put into water.

If it’s the customer, both of them apply as well as not removing any leaves/foliage from the stems in the water. All those are the most common mistakes so to say that your characters could make that would lead to the flowers generally not lasting as long as they should.

Flower food is a bit tricky, because it is not meant for all cut flowers – primarily roses, peonies and lilies – however it seems to work under the same rules as green thumbs do. Somehow it seems to work with everything for some people. Your character might as well be one of them. The rule of thumb however is that no gerberas or spring-flowering plants should receive it, in general no cut flowers that require little water also require flower food.

Another thing that could go wrong on either end, but more likely the customers if they lack the knowledge is that some cut flowers need a quick foot bath in hot water. About ten-ish seconds. This applies to sunflowers, peonies and hydrangeas for example and what is does is help the flowers drink more water. Now simply not sticking them in hot water and being taught better a day or two after usually still saves the flowers, if they receive a fresh cut as well. However the customers in your story could very well get creative with that. In German we generally refer to the process as “ankochen” (to parboil) which is… sort of true given what the process entails and is supposed to do. Now I’m telling you this because I had a customer look me in the eye and tell me that what they thought they were supposed to do what hold the stems over an open lighter. They even brought the flowers so the evidence was right in front on me. There is nothing in the instructions that suggests taking a lighter to the plants, however it is a valid wrongful interpretation given that it happened.

I haven’t really had customers raising hell in my time as a florist, however the store I worked for was very accommodating. We had like a week long warranty so to speak, customers didn’t even need to bring in proof of purchase or the flowers themselves. Their word was good enough. Now it was big company so they could away with it, but generally we got them their money back and let them buy new plants on the spot if they wanted to. Anything that was within that one week of purchase was considered a legitimate request when it came to cut flowers.

Potted plants are a different kind of scheme. They live longer so of course there is a bit more leeway when it comes to their death and getting money back. Generally, the one week rule still applied because outdoor plants are supposed to last 2-3 weeks indoors and everything else should live longer anyway so it is definitely more a case-by-case situation for your characters. A hydrangea that died half a year wouldn’t get refunded, a month I think is about the longest period that could be chalked up to circumstances out of the customers or florists control.

While nobody raised hell, we had a kalanchoe lady. We called her that because it was all she ever bought. I don’t remember what size she bought them in I think the tiny ones that make great decorations. I do however remember that my colleague noticed that she would be dead on time about two or four weeks later and return with the complaint that her plants had died. She would then proceed to exchange them for new ones in the exact same size. Which cost her nothing because the prize was always the same. That, of course, was not a legitimate request anymore.

– Mod Jana

I’m going to add on one thing that has always stuck out to me as potentially bad florist care. Well, it’s not really bad care, but it’s using flowers already at or past their prime in order to recoup the cost. Flowers are expensive even for the florist, and they are perishable goods, so that can be a lot of money in the dumpster if they don’t sell things on time.

The most notorious that I’ve seen for this is roses. Because roses have so many layers of petals, and florists often remove the guard petals anyway (they are the most likely to have discoloration, bruising, or tears), some florists will remove more petals to make a rose that’s already pretty open look more like it’s just past the bud stage. This leads to customers that are frustrated that their roses only last a couple of days.

While it’s true that the roses might have died early because the customer didn’t give them enough water, fresh water, floral food, or other proper care, sometimes it’s because the roses were already past their midlife to start. I’ve notoriously seen this at grocery stores and big box stores that just have a flower case and people grab the pre-grouped bunches of flowers. Those roses are cheaper because they haven’t been prepped at all, and also no one is checking if they’re really still fresh for selling other than water and food. On the other hand, the actual florist shops I’ve worked in have had a regular task of gently squeezing the roses near the base of the petals to make sure they felt firm. If it was firm, then there were still plenty of petals in there so that the rose would open and give over a week’s worth of blooming and beauty to the customer. If it was squishy then the inner petals had all already started blooming outward and it was probably past it’s prime. (One of those owner-florists would let me take the old roses home with me rather than throwing them out. That was nice.)

- Mod Den

Disclaimer

This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.

#floristry #writing advice #floristic business #ask answered #mod jana #mod den #Anonymous

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 3 years

Text

34. Ivory

Previous Trigger Warnings for mentions of underage/revenge porn, mentions of eating disorder Word Count: 8388

Between Grace making that post of her rapping along to Captain Hook, her saying "aye aye" to Simon in comments, and this photo of Simon's D print in the gray sweatpants, I'm starting to think he's packing a curve 👀

Simon Laurent "liked"

Commenter: He is! Did you never see the old sex tape?

Poster: The WHAT? No… But, wait… I thought that they dated in school. You mean like something that happened after that?

Commenter: They were in school, but it was online for the longest time before she snitched, so I’m sure somebody still has it out there…

Poster: That’s gross. I’m not that desperate to see it that I wanna look at some kids doing it. No thank you.

Simon Laurent “liked”

Commenter is blocked by Simon.

Grace was in the grocery store with her mother and brother, and Zasha, a white samoyed puppy that Mrs. Monroe had purchased from a breeder… to potentially train to be in competitions, and Zasha’s handler. Why did Mrs. Monroe bring Zasha into the store, just to have someone else hold her? For the same reason that the nanny was also there, tending to Montanus. “Because, that is literally what I pay them to do.” But… we’re at the grocery store and didn’t even have to BRING them! Grace didn’t argue.

However, she did wonder if she was suffering from some type of weird mid life crisis, or just a rich, bored woman whose husband was working more and more all of the time, despite supposedly getting closer to retirement. Then, she wondered if they weren’t doing so well. But, she kept those wonders to herself, as it would frighten her to know whatever the truth was if it was anything other than her mother did whatever she wanted because she could afford to.

Plus, she wanted to get out of the house, and apparently that had been reduced to tagging along with Grace at the grocery store, in case she needed help. “You’re almost 6 months, correct? How has it been? Online, one would swear that you’re Diahanne Caroll in her prime. You’ve rarely broken a sweat. Is that for your fans?”

Grace shook her head and read the label of something before putting it into her cart, “I haven’t had any problems, except for eating way more than I used to and getting gas, but those calcium chews usually help with that and I bounce right back. You know, I’ve always taken really great care of myself, think things through and pay top dollar for the finest self care. I guess that the baby is pleased with their temporary temple.” She smiled at her mom and noticed the woman looked leery. “I know… you had a very rough pregnancy with me. Believe me, I remember this fact, but I haven’t been having that experience, personally. In fact… Did you know that I’ve gained THOUSANDS of new followers since they’ve seen that I was pregnant. Pregnant people have been asking me what I use for this and for that and I’ve been plugging my brand, since we’ve got the pregnancy line now. It’s been sensational. I’ve had a blast!”

Grace had been working on a blog about her pregnancy, which she began with a video addressing all of the questions to all of the people who were not her.

“Hey, Those That Are Graced!” She’d cheered into the camera, “Happy New Year! I know that I’ve been unavailable to reach out too, and believe me, I do miss interacting with fans and followers, but I am currently not working on my career, to focus on other things in my life. Just to touch base with everyone, I feel like we’ve had this discussion before and those of you who actually respect me would definitely not need it repeated, but there have been so many new faces of possibly unfamiliar followers that I am revisiting notes that I have in all of my bios…

First, my professional life is one thing, my private life is another. I extend myself professionally, and over the past few months, even though I have not actually been working, I’ve still been spending time providing everyone with content. Please do not send messages, comments, or questions for me to any of my friends, and especially not to my family members, Hazel in particular. She is 12 and shouldn’t have adults bothering her for information that not only isn’t her concern, but isn’t your concern. She wants to be able to enjoy the limited hours of screen time that she’s allowed. That becomes difficult for her when people are asking her hundreds of questions that literally are related to her mother’s sex life.

Second, my professional life is offered at my discretion, as well. Whenever there is product that I think you should try, I will announce it. If I’m not familiar with a product or no arrangements have been made for me to try a product or I’m unaware of a product… my comments is not the place for said product. That is including everything from your all natural care supplies, book recommendations, your demos, your dance videos… Like… I LOVE receiving those things, but whenever I open my comments back up, that is not where those things go.

I have links for email addresses for avenues of business, entertainment, etc on my website, and if nothing else, my website is featured on every form of social media that I have. I am the person who goes through those emails. I am NOT the person who checks my social media messages, so you will never get a response from me through those and run the risk of me not seeing something if you send it there instead.

Third, my spaces have boundaries and moderators to enforce those boundaries. Whenever you’ve been allowed to be a guest in any of my spaces or my child’s spaces, you treat that shit like Afropunk - “No sexism, no racism, no ableism, no homophobia, no fatphobia, no transphobia, no hatefulness.” And then, since I’m not Afropunk and I have even greater needs, and can’t believe I have to say this much else: No pedophilia, no inappropriate interactions with a minor, no incestuous ideation, and no nudity. My moderators are quick, but not perfect. Your fellow guests and neighbors in my spaces should never have to see jokes about my mother and I engaged in sexual acts together, or worse, my UNDERAGE daughter, and no - Hazel and I posting a dance video is not an invitation for someone to make comments that because she might be fluid in her movements that it is sexually suggestive and if ever we find one of those headass posts where you put a photo of my beautiful daughter up, say something obscene or rude or ask, “Thoughts?” Simon finds out your IP address, sometimes more than that and he doxxes your ass. Ask around. If threats of violence or suggestions of harm are given… he might show up at your house and I don’t know what to even tell you about that one, because I’m not at liberty to say, according to the lawyers.”

She smiled, relaxed, unclenched her teeth that she realized had been clenched since she began her greater needs.

“Fourth, leave Hazel alone. She isn’t going to add you, because she is not allowed to add adults that she does not know. If you follow her public figure pages, those are for her poetry, her brand, her rapping, her artwork, her theater program, and whatever announcements she wants to share with her fans about her personal life, which is usually vague and innocent. If Hazel posts that she had a great time at the premiere of some movie, that is not the place to ask her personal questions. The place to ask her personal questions is nowhere! We don’t have a space created for strangers to ask her personal questions. She sometimes will be allowed to grant an interview, in which she will answer a professional about appropriate questions that have been approved.

Fifth, shut up about Simon! Shut up about Simon! I swear to you… In the past few years that Simon and I have been in communication and the ones that we’ve been in close communication, I KNOW that you realize that we are communicating, but that falls under my private life, which I have not created a space in the public for.

Now… you may speak with Simon about whatever things he speaks about in his private life, I can’t control that, but what I can control and do control is what he will or won’t say about me, even in HIS space. Yes. I got it like that, and what will happen, is Simon will be seeing this, and he is very good at remembering details and he will memorize everything that I’ve said here and he will respect that and enforce it, even in HIS space.

Which leads me to my last thing… There’s a lot of Esmoroth fanfolk in my spaces now and you all act a certain way in your little Esmoroth corner of the Internet… but in here, in Grace’s space, you better act like you’ve been tossed to the feet of the Idol Princess when her pheromones are igniting the internal flame of servitude. Because, we stan the Idol Princess in this space, and you’d better act right.”

After the release of the 3rd book and return of the Idol Princess aka the Future Queen, several fans were disappointed and had called Simon out for “pandering.” But, several MORE fans came around. He was competing for top spots with the YA novel greats after the 3rd book. But… that also meant more fans to be in Grace’s business.

Her New Year’s announcement remained pinned at the top of her page and the next post was text, “Oh, yeah. Last but not least, you may have noticed that I’m pregnant. I’ll be featuring some of my favorite findings on my maternity journey here, so please stay tuned if you’re pregnant, expecting, or planning, for what I think and hope will be some helpful tips for your journey!”

Most of the Esmoroth fandom didn’t like her very much, but they also “just couldn’t stay away. Aside from the Grace in Maternity blog, she still didn’t have social media open for commentary, though she did sometimes pass through Simon’s or Hazel’s comments and engaged a little bit with them. She pinned the video to other sites and then just didn’t really visit them again much.

“I could barely walk whenever I was six months pregnant. I had the finest of everything, too,” Mrs. Monroe broke into her thoughts. “Then again, I had what they now call an eating disorder for several years. I… wasn’t completely… well whenever you were announced…” she looked guilty, like she did whenever she faced her own failures as a mother. “We had to get a 24 hour nurse to keep me… healthy. By seven months, I could hardly get out of bed.”

Grace furrowed her eyebrows, “Mom… you’ve never told me that you had an eating disorder. Did you ever get help for it?”

“Help? Oh… like… whenever I had to be rushed to the hospital multiple times? Yes. I got help.”

“MOM… Did you ever heal?”

“Wait, are you asking me if I have disordered eating now? Heaven’s no, Grace. I was trapped with your father by the time you were born. I eventually realized that I had to be more… alive and well than I did flawless. We hired a nutritionist and personal chef.”

“Mom… a lot of people need psychological help for something like that.”

“And I come across to you as ‘a lot of people’? Hmph. It’s pathetic enough that I allowed myself to be so weak. I wasn’t going to beg someone to give me the strength I needed.”

“That’s not what it’s like at all…” Grace cupped her mother’s face and said, “There may be things that people need to help you with, Mom. That doesn’t make you weak or whatever else you’ve convinced yourself of. It didn’t make me weak when I needed to get help. It doesn’t make Hazel weak when she needs help…”

Mrs. Monroe waved Grace’s hands off of her face, “As long as you’re fine, have no other concerns.”

“Mom…”

“Were you done with the shopping?” Grace sighed and continued moving.

Simon was pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists. Several of the message boards, every one of his social media platforms, and even at least one of Hazel’s. He’d taken her devices away, but now she was angry and he certainly couldn’t find the words to explain beyond, “You can’t be online right now.” She was scribbling aggressively in one of her paper journals, and fuming. They both were fuming from different but related reasons.

Grace came in with her little shopping entourage and Hazel rushed to her, furiously.

“Your BOY TOY took my devices DURING screen time and REFUSES to give them back!” Grace’s eyes went wide and she turned to look at Simon, who was pacing and didn’t even seem to hear the accusation, notice that she came in or to see Monty. Something was absolutely wrong here.

“Help get the groceries and I’ll get your devices, okay?” Grace said and cupped her chin. Hazel was still breathing heavily as she stormed out towards the groceries and Mrs. Monroe settled on the couch. Grace took Simon’s hand and he was startled by her sudden touch. But, the moment he realized it was her, he let out a deep breath and wrapped her up in a tight hug. “Hey. Let’s go talk, okay?” She suggested, rubbing his back. He nodded his head, but didn’t move from the spot or lessen his hold on. She squirmed a little bit and said politely, “Oxygen, Gray Eyes..” He let up and rushed out of the room. Grace followed and watched him flop on the bed and cover his face with his fists. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“We’ve been doing SO well…” He said, shaking his head.

“We have.” So, this is something that he did wrong? “And the only way that we continue doing well is to be open and caring with each other.” He slicked back the wild hairs that weren’t pulled into his ponytail. He appeared to be in a lot of pain, but she had to get whatever this was settled. “Should I go online? Will I see what happened, if I do?” She pulled out her phone, mumbling, “I’m guessing that’s why Hazel’s stuff was confiscate-” He snatched the phone from her hands and she let out a yelp, both at the audacity and the fact that she didn’t even see him get up.

“No. I have to tell you. You can’t find out on the Internet. SHE can’t get on. She CAN’T!”

“Why can’t she? Because, she’s pretty pissed and it IS her screen time…”

“Because, the internet is relentless and unkind, and she’s too young to have to deal with how much. Not today. She’ll… I’ll… give her extra time once it's died down.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Simon.”

He frowned, “Someone brought the tape up.” At first, she was confused. Was this something about the movie? Why would he be so upset as to take Hazel’s… “And it’s recirculating again. I’ve been reporting it and fans have been reporting it and it gets taken down, but more and more people have seen it now and it’s just… too much. I don’t want her to run into it…” NOW, she understood. That tape… which… technically… it was done with a webcam, so it was never a tape, it was a recording, but… “I saw it again… not watched it, but you know, saw a portion of it whenever I was reporting it… God…” He sat down on the bed, “You’re a kid, Grace. You had the rounded face and everything…”

“Ummm… You’re a month and a day older than me, Dude.” she said, sitting down, trying to pretend that she was more calm than her heart was allowing. She could barely breathe, thinking about the feelings that just mentioning that used to bring up for her. She wasn’t sure how she might react to seeing it come up somewhere. But, maybe she should try…

She gently took her phone back, despite his struggling. One stern look and he let it go, realizing that she was determined and he was probably already in a lot of trouble, if something had been triggered. She nodded, “Yep, looks like a few people have tagged me, asking me if I saw that somebody posted it…” She went to the video and he clenched the bedspread, moving his legs uncontrollably and looking straight ahead. “You know, a lot of people used to say that you couldn’t see your face in it, that it was out of frame, but it does come into frame a few times…” she said. She paused, “See?” He shook his head. “Simon, you’re not even gonna indulge me a little bit at a time like this?”

His frown deepened and he took another long breath. She was right. SHE was the victim in this. The least he could do was take a look at his disgusting handiwork. He saw himself and he recoiled. “You were a kid, too,” she said. “Sure, at the time, this hurt more than anything my brain can recall. But… I do know, as a grown ass woman, you were wrong and also were a child. Both of those things can be accurate.”

“We’re only a few years older than Hazel, there. If some kid did something like this to her… I would…”

“I would hope that you’d remember that you were their age once and just as bad.”

“Is… is that how you would react?”

“Oh, hell no. I’ve never done anything like this. I’d kill that fucking kid. But, you would have to be the adult that fucking pulls me off of him…” She laughed and scratched at his beard, “But, nothing like this will happen to Hazel. She’s a good judge of character and we know all of her friends.”

“Your parents knew me too, and I think that they’re pretty good judges of character. Your mom at least. She always knew that I was rotten.”

“No she didn’t! She knew that you weren’t rich, and in her head those two things were the same thing. She knew that you were controlling, and she thought that I was going to sacrifice myself for you, but she didn’t think that you were going to straight up try to assassinate my entire character.” He looked away from her, “And NOW, you are very diligent in making sure that you aren’t crossing any lines, with me and with Hazel, my mother, my father, and I think people in general. This wasn’t long enough ago that it’s not hurtful to think about… but it was long enough ago to not beat yourself up over. But… It is a burden that you designed. So, it’s only right that you explain to Hazel exactly why she shouldn’t be online right now.”

Hazel took it so much better than she had taken him taking away her computer and phone. “Are you serious? I’ll just avoid social media. You KNOW I don’t wanna see anything like that, myself, but I already knew that it existed out there somewhere.” She shook her head, “I don’t like the way you look with clothes ON, think I’d run the risk of seeing you without them?”

Grace suggested, “Is there anything else you want to say to him? Maybe about how you broke the news to me when I got home?”

“Oh..” Hazel flared her nostrils and rolled her eyes, “Sorry I called you Mom’s Boy Toy… You kinda are, but I shouldn’t say it…”

Simon laughed, mostly because he was relieved that she wasn’t scarred by him having to talk to her about this video resurfacing. “You kidding? I’m gonna put that on a t-shirt.”

“No cap? Because I have SO many where that came from.”

“We’ve gotta brainstorm.”

“Simpsona T-shirts can be your new thing…” And just like that, Grace watched them be best friends again. Hazel could get mad and stay mad for a long time, but she didn’t like to argue, so even whenever she got mad, she tended to stay to herself until she wasn’t. The two of them left to go sit on the swing set outside of the house they were renting, and Grace sat by her mom on the couch.

“I don’t even want to know what that was about.”

“Cool, because I wasn’t gonna tell you.”

“You don’t have to. One of your “boy toy’s” fans will.” Grace laughed and then threw her head onto her mom’s shoulder. The woman gasped at first, taken aback by the show of affection, but then placed her hand on Grace’s. “You’re a very good mother to both of them. You’ll be a good one to that one too.” she pointed her free hand at Grace’s belly.

“Did you just…?”

“Come on, you’ve been raising yourself a man since you met him and I’ll stand by that forever. Might get it engraved on my headstone.”

Grace cackled, “I absolutely AM NOT raising him!”

“He is literally a life sized puppy that went through a rebellious phase where he kept biting you!”

“Well, I finally realized that I have the power to curve that behavior… and trust me, Mom… It’s not something you’d do with somebody you’re raising.” Grace stuck her tongue out.

“Get off of me you scoundrel!” Her mother joked. Grace just laughed and held on tighter. The woman put her arm around her. “Are you okay, Darling?”

“Whenever I was hurt or scared as a little girl, I was more afraid of admitting it to you and Daddy. I would be more hurt by the thoughts of how little you would think of me if I openly showed imperfection. Not feeling that way took a long time and a lot of work. So, now, if I have a hard day, I’m not too proud to lay on my mommy and say so.” She looked to gauge her mother’s reaction. She was always speechless whenever Grace got emotional.

She’d never learn past those suppressing ways and it amazed Grace that her mother didn’t realize how much her and Simon were alike in that way. Simon had to work really hard at it and her mother was too proud and pampered to put in such effort. But, whenever Grace booped her nose, the woman’s eyes flickered amusement, ever so slightly. Now, she pushed Grace off of herself and opened her arms to receive Montanus. “Take a photograph of me with my children,” She told the nanny. “One with the two human ones, then we’ll add the new fur baby…”

She still hadn’t made any announcements about her status with Simon, nor had she spoken about her pregnancy outside of the maternity blog by the time Valentines’ Day rolled around. But, one thing that she did was allow for Simon to share maternity photos. That was her “gift” to him.

There. Were. Tons.

Simon took photos of everything. He had a copy of every ultrasound. He had an electronic journal of every detail that came up. So, whenever he posted the album “Countdown to Ivory’s Arrival,” he had more photos than most of the fans were probably going to look through. Therefore, he left many of them private, with only close friends able to view, and the ones that were public were his favorites of the candids of Grace being pregnant and gorgeous, some of the ones from photoshoots that she would post, and the professional maternity photos that they had taken so far. They took some each trimester, as a family.

The ones at her three month mark were taken in New York, early November (around their anniversary, whenever he was in town. They had fall colors and all three of them were absolutely stunning. Hazel was impressed with how well that Simon cleaned up, so much that whenever he showed her older photos of himself, she thought he was a different person. She had no idea how right about that she was. Simon being both subservient and also a mega diva himself was absolutely salivating every time Grace did something, but also, it was him who insisted, "We have to have a photoshoot each trimester, each with a different theme.” She agreed on the trimesters, but wasn’t feeling the theme part so much. She told him that they could simply have the season be the theme.

They had three changes of outfits for each set. Grace had a gown made much like the one that she had worn to the fall festival in 9th grade (the one that the Idol Princess’ gown was very heavily based on, the one that Simon had taken photos of her in, getting her first beauty deal underway), one that Simon saw her in and immediately began crying. “You’re… gonna ruin the photos,” Hazel told him.

There were candid ones of him crying. Her favorite was one where he was crying, Grace was trying to comfort him and Hazel dropped in front of them, bombing it with a prison pose and her tongue out. She had on a yellow pantsuit with fall leaves in her hair, her signature look being wearing leaves in her hair. Simon’s yellow suit was similar to hers, but way more expensive and the red accents, instead of the orange ones that Hazel elected.

The orange outfits were Hazel in orange overalls, Grace in a romper and Simon in a jumpsuit that Hazel insisted was “the most expensive prison wear in the world.” The red ones were regal matching dress attire, Grace in a two piece dress to show off her belly, Hazel in the same floor length evening gown, but one piece, and Simon in a red suit, made of the same material. Hazel’s hair was down and flowing. Grace’s was gathered up, with most of her afro pulled forward, cascading out of the jeweled red head dress she wore, and Simon’s usually (these days) flowing hair was pulled into a ponytail, with the undercut showing. He was generally self conscious about it, but Hazel put little red jewels over his scar, so even though he was still anxious about his hair, he was proud of her accessorizing enough that he wanted to confidently show it off.

The six month ones were taken in January, and done in all white, which Hazel said, “Looks fabulous on mom and me, but you look like the abominable snowman,” to Simon, on the day of. They were in California by that time, but took a little trip to the mountains because the Monroes had property there that Simon remembered had beautiful scenery that he wanted to have family photos at.

They did all white shots and winter blues.

Whenever Simon posted them on Valentines’ Day, Hazel joked in the comments, “I still say that we need to crop your face out.”

People loved the maternity photos, noticed that Grace did NOT have any on her page and she didn’t comment or react to any on Simon’s page. (Yes, these people pay entirely too much attention to the lives of celebrities that they didn’t even KNOW), but someone did some investigating and found Grace’s pregnancy blog. So… even though that was mostly a completely different following, others stormed into the space, thinking that FINALLY, some place where Grace has actually been interacting and will interact with us. She literally ignored anybody that wasn’t asking about helpful tips for their own pregnancy or giving her helpful tips and the title changed from, “Grace in Maternity” to “Y’all Can See This is a Mommy Blog, Right?”

A few people were seething, but funny enough, Grace’s faithful mommy following were more along the lines of, “Wait… You’re FAMOUS, Monroe Mommy???” After that, she had a hoard of moms check out her other life. She enjoyed having more of them in her fan base, though she also had a lot of ones who had always known being like, “Y’all seriously didn’t know Grace Monroe?” and her favorite quote ever on that blog, “Hell, her album is the reason I AM pregnant!!!”

Meanwhile, Simon had been less likely to play around with any of the fans ever since the video thing. He’d made that very clear, and then sort of stopped interacting with them. He didn’t even go through to like people’s comments anymore. Some of them would say things like, “Whoever resurfaced that video, if we find you, it's on sight for making Simon hate speaking with us!”

Sometimes a person would “Lol” and contend, “He’s too busy working on the Esmoroth movie. He’s not here because of the movie not some fuzzy sex tape from years ago.”

Those were the only ones that he’d respond to just to say, “No, they’re right,” and nothing else.

He wasn’t as busy on the Esmoroth movie as he intended to be. He was working on more tech and models for the movie than any other movie things. For one thing, the script was being adapted, and casting was hard. The casting director wanted to get a different type for the Idol Princess, but Simon was extremely firm and clear that the Idol Princess HAD to look exactly as described in the book. “There are parts of the story that are directly related to her looking the way that she does.”

“We can adjust those parts,” the director had said, hoping to appease him.

“The Idol Princess looks like my childhood best friend. Her look is non negotiable,” he had told them. They didn’t believe in non negotiable, apparently, because the girls that were being considered were all much too light. Whenever Simon had rejected them all, they informed him of those girls’ filmographies and their agents and other people said agents represented.. “Maybe they have that type of record because people are hiring them for roles that were meant to be for someone else. Just… give me all of the call sheets for girl characters who auditioned.”

He went through and disqualified half on looks alone (not to say that they weren’t pretty children or whatever, but they didn’t look like the Idol Princess). Whenever he had the stack of dark skin girls, he went through, checking their filmographies and auditions.

He asked Hazel for her opinion and she suggested a name that he recognized from his rejected stack. He pulled it back up and looked at the light skinned girl in the photo, "Do you mean this girl, Hazel?" He wondered.

"Yes! She's a really good actress!"

He furrowed his eyebrows and pointed out, "But she doesn't look like the Idol Princess. The Idol Princess has dark brown skin, tightly coiled hair, full nose and lips, and dark brown eyes. This girl has none of those things."

Hazel shrugged her shoulders, "She's really good though."

"Well… maybe some of these other girls are really good and people just don't want to see them in stuff like this."

Hazel frowned and she asked, "Are you accusing me of favoring her because she's got features like mine?"

"No. I'm just saying that she doesn't look the part. You're usually really good about that kind of thing, Haze."

"Well… I don't know anybody in the age range that looks like the description of the Idol Princess." She folded her arms, "But like you said, maybe that's because people take the easy way out and just get the pretty Black girl that they know of to play a part instead of being true to characters. I've definitely read more books with dark skinned girls than I've seen in movies…"

"Here are some of my choices," he said and spread the sheets out before her. "I think this one has the look, but I think this one had a better audition. BUT, she was auditioning for a background character and this one was auditioning for the Wicked Heiress. Maybe she just didn't have that role in her and should audition for the Idol Princess, so we can know for sure.."

"I think that maybe they should all audition for the Idol Princess again. What if they just didn't believe it would be realistic that they'd get offered a job like this, especially if bigger stars are being considered? Sometimes, I have to talk kids into auditioning for our productions because they're worried that the same actors will win out anyway."

He gave her a side smile, "I think you're onto something, Haze."

Hazel sent out the invites for Grace’s baby shower. Unfortunately, all of Grace’s friends lived elsewhere, so it would be an expensive trip. Fortunately, they had money, so the Monroes could foot the bill for everyone who didn’t just have the means to travel across country for an event.

Meta flew in with Damita from New York the previous week, but he made some business plans to collab with a Cali artist that week, so he was working, as well. Meanwhile, Damita and Grace were spending the week reconnecting and chilling. Shana and Iza came in from Atlanta the night before. Gharrisahn was already in LA for work, so she would swing by the day of. Grace’s parents arranged for Mikayla and Tulip to come down. They were in coach on the same flight that Lucy’s and Lindsay’s moms and they were in first class, so they’d all meet the driver upon landing.

Hazel had on a headset, along with Simon’s assistant and Grace’s assistant, because Hazel had arranged the shower and she wanted to make sure that things went how she meant for them to.

Grace was in a custom made gown that was inspired by Book 3 of Esmoroth and Simon had been at her side simply staring at her for the entire time she had it on. It had been a surprise. A very nice one that he apparently loved. She hired the costume designer for the movie to make her several pieces, but this one was like the one that the Idol Princess resurrects in. Grace was now hip to the lore enough, mainly from paying attention to Hazel’s ravings, and her and Simon’s movie chat.

For the most part, Grace didn’t want to have a shower. All of her friends lived elsewhere, the baby was due sort of close to Hazel’s birthday and she still wanted Hazel to be able to have a party - which she doubted would be able to happen if she waited until after they were born, so she wanted to have Hazel’s birthday party, INSTEAD of a shower and Hazel said, “How about you just worry about slaying everybody in your peak perfection pregnancy, and I’ll take care of the shower?”

With the financial backing of GlamMother, her dad’s big brain, and her own penchant for moments and aesthetics, Hazel tended to be very good at making things come together. She even produced some choreography (Doereography, as she called her pieces), for her and her mother to perform, because, yes, Grace was good and swollen by May, but she also could still do mostly everything that she was doing before with that additional bundle. It did throw her balance off a little and she couldn’t lift Hazel at the moment, but she kept up with every step of the Irish step dancing that Hazel put into the choreo, and she absolutely could still nail every Haitian movement. Hazel wanted to make a birthday choreo with ties to her heritage, and Grace was always very supportive of her doing anything that made her feel connected to her identity.

For good measure, Hazel looked up cultures from Grace and Simon’s heritages too. She was most accustomed to American jazz/hip hop and ballet. She started at 6, with Grace and when they were apart, Grace used to make instructional videos and post them just for Hazel. Whenever she was 10, she started to tap, and all of the other things in between, she and Grace perfected, and whenever she really wanted to nail something, they’d call in a world class trainer.

Hazel felt that a world class trainer was needed for the baby shower. Grace very much so disagreed. So, Hazel got her grandmother to get them. “Next time, simply come to me first,” the woman had said.

Hazel opened up with one of her raps. Her mom’s friends (as always) got their entire lives whenever she would flow - which was possibly the reason that she honed her talent, if she thought about it - and even Simon would be into the groove with things. He didn’t have the best rhythm, but he certainly always looked way taken up with her talent. Grace bouncing around with a round belly was everything in the world to Hazel, and when she was done, she waddled over to hug her.

They played games, did some traditional shower things and some new things too, that Hazel consulted with celebrity event planners for. When it was time for gifts, Grace froze, looking at the way that everything flowed. It was like her 16th birthday again and she felt like she might have a panic attack. “Grace… It’s okay,” Simon said. She looked at him on the other side of the tete a tete and he smiled, “I learned my lesson. This is straight up simply tribute.” He kissed her on the forehead and she calmed down to receive gifts and cry about everything, but manage to not look ugly doing so, because no matter how comfortable she had gotten over the years, that was still engrained in her as a huge no-no.

Winding down from the party, she found Hazel and her friends at the photo booth, having switched out their baby shower outfits for their birthday party outfits. “Where’s Simon?”

“Bullying people about their gifts,” Hazel said nonchalantly.

“Oh God…” Grace raced over and smiled, “Hey… what’s uh… what’s going on?”

Mrs. Monroe stood behind Simon with her arms folded and Mr. Laurent was in front of them. Simon answered, “Well, I’m giving people things back that went against the specifications for the list.”

“I don’t remember making specifications for the list.”

“You wouldn’t, because you didn’t, I did. You aren’t particularly great at meticulous things and you don’t pay attention whenever I’m telling you plans like these,” Simon said.

“We’re not gonna send a gift back with the person who gave it to us.”

“What are we gonna do, donate it to charity? Because I am not putting this together for our baby. This company uses…”

“Thank you, Mr. Laurent. Thank you for coming and thank you for this gift.” She gave the man a pat on the hand and smiled at Simon. He was still frowning, along with her mother. “You’re backing him up, now?” She got flashbacks of whenever they used to gang up on her and she was very salty that she had to defend MR. LAURENT of all people against the devastating team and Simon and her mother could be.

“He specifically said nothing from that company ON THE LIST,” her mom said, beginning a tirade against this man, with her and Simon taking turns on letting him know exactly how he’d fucked up.

“Their product is cheap and substandard.”

“They’ve decimated the supply of the people in the area they harness things from TO make cheap product.”

“And they use slave labor!”

“Child slaves.”

“OKAY! Okay… That’s a good company to boycott. But hear me out… Mr. Laurent is a simple man who shops at like three places and definitely doesn’t look up things like that,” Grace said.

To which Simon and Mrs. Monroe both reminded her, (loudly) “It was on the list!”

“I made it clear which companies we weren’t accepting gifts from!”

“It’s already bought.” Simon was going to continue complaining, but Grace took his hands and placed them on her belly and he immediately softened up and stared at it. “This is the most important thing, right?”

He looked up at her and cupped her face, shifting himself to touch foreheads with her. Hazel appeared out of nowhere to bomb the photo that they weren’t even expecting Lucy to take.

“Wait, that was it?” Grace wondered. Let’s be clear… she did go through a lot of pain and it was a tough time in the birthing house, even with Simon right beside her and Hazel, her mother and her best friend nearby. But… it felt like there should be something else happening or that something was missing, that she had neglected something, or like something didn’t happen that was supposed to.

She supposed that she had simply set her expectations so deeply into the thought of pain, struggle, blood, sweat and tears, that when it came… her imagination had actually run wild. Simon had kept telling her she was doing well and how he was proud of her and other affirmations. He was holding the baby now while she was being cleaned up.

“Did everything happen?” Grace asked.

Hazel went over the checklist with her. Yes. Everything happened. “Did I pass out?” No. She was awake. She was there for every grueling minute. It just was a different experience for her than what her mother described, than what she read and interpreted.

The professionals explained to her how her birthing went relatively well, what to do next, etc. Charlotte, from the center, even talked to her about how it’s not only different for everyone, but how all four of her own pregnancies and births were different from the last. Grace was expecting something terrible to happen within the first few days, just because it didn’t seem like everything had happened! The paranoia died down on day 3 and she simply was back to cuddling with her new baby.

They looked like her, so far. Hazel made them a stuffie of a potato in a diaper… the baby just looked like a potato. She didn’t know how else to express that. Simon worshipped them. He was constantly holding them whenever Grace wasn’t. He was close by whenever she fed them. He took so many photos on his phone that within days, he surpassed all of the ones he had of Monty from the past several months.

NONE of those were going online any time soon. Grace had only posted a few days after giving birth her experience with having done so. She bounced back so quickly and looked so effortlessly beautiful that some people were claiming that she had been trolling and was never actually pregnant. She found that funny, but it also was her cue to duck away from the Internet for a while again.

The first month of Ivory’s life, they were for the most part a quiet baby. Simon frequently worried that something was wrong, checking, rechecking, then coming back and checking again that they were breathing, awake, happy, etc. Grace was more like, “You’re so gross. Look at you! Drooling all over everything. Little slobbery monster!” She spoke in a high pitched voice that made Ivory smile and kick their little legs around.

“GRACE! Don’t say that!” Simon insisted. “You’re gonna make them feel bad.”

“No way! Ivory’s a tough little cookie, like their Mama. I gonna bite you, Cookie! Mama gonna bite you!” Then she playfully nibbled at their feet and hands.

Simon studied the baby for a while and determined, “They seem to be enjoying it.” He would then relax a little.

Hazel was the only person allowed to post photos of Ivory, and comments were always closed. The first one was on Hazel’s birthday. She was in a sundress, tanned a little more than usual and Ivory and she had on matching rompers and sunhats. “Ivory came 13 days before my 13th year. They really said, “I’ma be 13 too, Sis.” Look at them. Tiny. Tiny Potato. Sis has your back for life. #taurustribe #jk #idcboutthat #MonroeSibs #Doetography #HouseLaurent

And there it was. All that anyone needed to see. You honestly couldn’t tell what the baby looked like, but how could anybody doubt Hazel’s hashtag “House Laurent?”

Simon sort of liked having a private family. He wasn’t sure why he had been so eager to have people acknowledge things before. Even one year ago, he needed for somebody, anybody to know that he slept in the same bed with Grace Monroe. He needed for her to say “I love you.” He needed to hear Hazel call him “dad.” He still loved those things, but he had everything he could have ever wanted… it just looked different than he thought it would.

Why did he want to “take care of” Grace for so long? She was caoable of taking care of herself, probably better than he was of himself. She had talents (was ALREADY back to working on new dances with Hazel and new music), qualities… God… that smile made him weak… She had several other things too, but if he sat there making a list, he’d be there for a while, and he COULDN’T be there for a while, because Ivory was six weeks old and Grace told him that he could take them with him to work.

He began strapping the baby into the stroller… “Are you… where are you trying to take my baby?” Grace asked.

“My calendar says that they’re six weeks old. I can take them to work with me.”

Grace put her hands on her hips and Simon frowned. “You said it. I have a recording of you saying it.”

“Well, I said that we shouldn’t take them anywhere before six weeks…”

“And I set my calendar,” Simon completed the thought and pulled the diaper bag onto his shoulder. “Abigail is bringing Monty, so they’ll have a play date.”

“Oh, she is?” Grace asked, toweling herself down. “Hold on. I’m coming.”

“Grace, I’m gonna be late!”

“I’m not letting you go be a Daddy sized snack with TWO cute babies on you with a cute, perfect bodied nanny with no friends!”

“I don’t think she’s all that cute and I have no idea what her body looks like!”

“It doesn’t look like she pushed a baby out of it six weeks ago!”

“NEITHER DOES YOURS!”

She came into the room, changed up and smiling, “Awww. That’s so sweet.”

“How did you?” She looked perfect. She looked perfect and she couldn’t have taken any longer than five minutes. And she thought she had anything to worry about? But, he wasn’t complaining. If he had Grace and the baby around, that was just better, all around.

“I’m staying here,” Hazel told them and continued dancing in the mirror.

Grace was standing on the scooter, with Simon behind her, sporadically kissing her on the neck every now and then, making her smile and gush. Whenever they pulled into the studio Simon took the baby out, which Grace noticed was wearing an oversized heather gray, “Proof he got lucky with Grace Monroe” onesie. “Simon! What did you…?” She gasped and saw that he had a shirt, the same color that read, “I got lucky with Grace Monroe.”

“In my defense, you weren’t supposed to be here today!” Simon told her.

“How many shirts and onesie sets did you buy?”

“Not a lot. I bought WAY MORE t-shirts than I did onesies.” She fell behind a little and the back of that man’s shirt said “Grace’s Babydaddy.”

“Simon…”

“In my defense… You were right there whenever I walked out of the house wearing it.” She laughed. “It’s just in the studio. I’m working on some mechanics. There’s not gonna be cameras on me or anything.” She was still pouting. “I know that you’re super secretive, but I’m sure that most of the people who give a damn about what we do already know that this is indeed my baby…”

“It’s not that.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Ugh. I wanted to do this whole reveal thing for you on Sunday! I was gonna make this long, sweet post and open my comments and EVERYTHING. Now, I feel like it won’t have the same effect…” His eyes were already all watery, just from her THINKING about doing so.

“Sunday is Father’s Day…”

“Yeah. I can keep my own secrets. Not tell people about my pregnancy or who I bone or how I share time with my daughter or whatever, but I didn’t plan on making you stay in the shadows of my spotlight for the rest of our lives, especially when it comes to this. You’ve been an immense pain in the ass, but you’re a wonderful father and I figured it’d be a good… coming out of sorts for me to acknowledge that on that day.”

He cradled Ivory closely, “You can still do that.”

“Well, you’ve announced it all over your clothes and also… I just told you the entire plan!”

“I love knowing plans!” Simon said. “Here.” He took off the shirt and threw on his hoodie, which it was too hot for and then they changed the baby’s onesie too. “I sort of want to eat it up whenever people actually find out from you that I am indeed, who you bone.” She laughed. “This is the best spoiled surprise that I’ve ever had!”

“Well… I didn’t tell you ALL my plans, so there’s still stuff to look forward to.”

“Yeah?” He asked, casually as they walked inside.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Can I have a hint?”

“Something that starts with the letter P.” Simon turned red and she smiled brightly.

“Uh. Didn’t put THAT on your calendar, did you?”

His lip dropped, “I DIDN'T!” He frowned, “In my defense… we don’t really do that enough for it to have been something I was counting down to.” He smirked, “But every time we do…” He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her. She bit her lip and shook her head, “Nope. Sunday. You aren’t gonna beard break me, Mr. Laurent.”

#If They Didn't Get on the Train #AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 2/12

@spartanguard, here we have chapter two of your gift - the wedding! Some of you asked what sort of advice Emma would give as a relationship counselor, and this chapter gets into a little bit of that. More about it will be revealed as the story develops.I also realize there are a lot of logistical questions involved in the whole "switching grooms" thing, and while I get into some of it here, the rest will be explained in chapter three. I'm just trying to avoid long exposition or info dumps, so hang with me!

Summary: (Is one even necessary? Haha!) Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it also could mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that.

Rating: M

Words: 4,000 and some change in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @kday426 @ohmakemeahercules@superchocovian @teamhook @bethacaciakay @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @stahlop @shireness-says @thislassishooked @hollyethecurious @branlovestowrite @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @ekr032-blog-blog @snidgetsafan @scientificapricot @let-it-raines @carpedzem @profdanglaisstuff @wellhellotragic

Not all brides handle the stress of their big day the same way. Some get emotional, some get stressed, some freeze. However, most brides don’t stomp around the room in their bare feet fuming. Of course, Emma Swan isn’t most brides, and this isn’t most weddings.

“Emma, seriously, you’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“The carpet is the least of my worries, Rubes.”

At least Emma’s dress was simple. No voluminous skirt or long train to trip over. Nor was it one of those mermaid styles that forced the bride to shuffle around like a Barbie doll. The simple chiffon skirt swirled around her ankles, and the long slit up her left leg allowed her to move freely. The top of the dress was off the shoulder with a plunging neckline. Emma realized how sexy it was, but that hadn’t seemed to matter when it was going to be Walsh waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Now it was going to be Killian Jones waiting for her. Killian Jones. Her carpenter. Surely this was all a bad dream. That had to be it. Surely she’d wake up any minute now and laugh at the ridiculous scenarios conjured up by her nervous brain.

“This can’t be happening,” she muttered as she continued to stomp around the room.

“You mean Walsh cheating, Walsh jilting you at the altar, or you marrying a random acquaintance?”

Emma wanted to snap at her assistant, but instead she collapsed onto a nearby chair and put her head in her hands. “All of the above,” she groaned.

Ruby sank to her knees in front of Emma and took both of her hands. Ruby hadn’t made the move to Storybrooke with Emma; she’d been too much of a city girl. She normally handled Emma’s schedule from New York - the wonders of the internet - but she had made the trip for the wedding. Emma was relieved to have her here. She wasn’t only Emma’s assistant, she was also her closest friend. Those were admittedly rare in Emma’s life.

“Walsh is an absolute jerk,” Ruby fumed. “I’d like to rip his throat out!”

The door to the bridal suite flew open and Regina, Emma’s agent, came striding in, her heels beating out a staccato rhythm. She stopped right in front of Emma and propped her hands on her hips.

“What is this? You’re falling apart over that bastard? That’s not the Emma Swan I know. The one who tells thousands of women every day to push back and refuse to let a man tell you who you ought to be.”

Emma scowled. “Well excuse me for being heartbroken when I get dumped on my fucking wedding day!” Regina’s no-nonsense approach to . . . well, everything, made her a great agent. It didn’t, however, make her a very good shoulder to cry on.

“I get that, and I’m sorry, really I am.”

Really, Regina? I’m not so sure about that.

“But we’ve got media here, Emma, and I can’t have you a sobbing mess on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life.” She let out a huff, then shoved a stack of papers at Emma. “He signed everything with no argument.”

“Seriously?” Emma took the stack from Regina and flipped through it, though the legal jargon made her already aching head spin.

“It’s a standard gag agreement. I also had a friend of mine write up a quick pre-nup. There’s literally nothing in this for him. It’s strange, honestly.”

“Maybe he’s in love with you,” Ruby teased, giving Emma a little shove and a grin.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Hardly. We bicker like . . . like . . . “

“An old married couple?” Ruby supplied with an arched brow.

“Ruby!” she groaned. “This isn’t the time -”

“Sorry, sorry,” Ruby quickly apologized as she rose to her feet.

“And the wedding license?” Emma asked.

“Taken care of,” Regina assured her. She turned to Ruby. “I need you to run over to the groom’s suite and get Mr. Jones set up with a cordless mic.”

Ruby nodded. “Sure thing.”

Emma rose from the chair as her assistant scurried from the room. She wandered aimlessly to the window that overlooked the strip of beach where the ceremony would take place. She sensed Regina coming up behind her, but the woman didn’t attempt to touch her. That just wasn’t Regina’s way.

“Look, Emma,” she told her sincerely, “I know this isn’t the day you’d dreamed of. But your career is hot right now, and this second book might make even more money than your first. You’d be set for life.”

Emma felt a sudden chill and hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to dispel the goosebumps. Being set for life sounded nice, especially after all the years of hunger and homelessness in her past. Like it so often did, her mind also sped back in time to when she was sixteen, abandoned and alone with a baby on the way. She shuddered. What did she even know about this man, Killian Jones? Was Regina right? Would it be simply putting up with a roommate for six months to a year in exchange for the career she’d worked so hard for?

“I know that in my head, Regina. Just give my heart a minute to catch up, okay?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a minute,” Regina briskly replied as she glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which, let’s freshen up that hair and makeup.”

Emma let out a long sigh as she sat at the vanity. Regina rushed out of the room to get Ruby, since fussing over a friend’s hair and makeup wasn’t really her thing. Emma watched Ruby’s reflection in the mirror when she came back in and fake-swooned against the door.

“If you ask me, Emma, you traded up. That man is some serious man-candy, especially in a tux.”

Emma bit her lip to keep from smiling in response, though she felt the traitorous blush stain her cheeks. Killian’s good looks weren’t lost on her - she wasn’t blind.

“Help me with these smudges, will you?” she deflected, leaning forward and frowning at where she had smeared her mascara.

Ruby rushed up to join her, swiveling Emma’s stool so she was facing her. She went to work on Emma’s eye makeup with confident precision.

“If you do decide to go through with this annulment thing, I’ll gladly take him off your hands.”

Ruby winked at her, and Emma laughed. “If?”

Ruby shrugged as she turned Emma back to face the mirror. “You could find worse to grow old with, that’s all I’m saying.”

Emma’s hair, which she was wearing loose and flowing around her shoulders, didn’t need much help from Ruby, thank goodness. No surprise, considering the entire can of hairspray Ruby had shellacked it with. Even so, Emma frowned at her reflection as the title of the very first chapter of her book flashed before her mind.

Seriously Ladies, I Don’t Care How Hot He Is!

*****************************************

Truth be told, Emma Swan’s staff had planned the wedding, not her. Stressing over calla lilies versus roses, satin versus silk, band versus DJ wasn’t really her thing. The only thing she’d gotten personally invested in besides her dress was that damn arbor. She’d seen the rocking chair Killian had done for the Nolan’s with its intricate carvings and beautiful, smooth stain, and for some reason she wanted that for her wedding. Something uniquely her - something real.

Something real - what a joke that was now.

A string quartet played the opening strands of Canon in D, and Emma stepped out onto the satin runner that led from the back of the mansion to the beach below. It felt like the longest walk of her life with all of the guests standing and staring at her - she didn’t even recognize half of them. Cameras clicked all around her, reminding her once again that this was all on display for public consumption.

Emma saw Killian up ahead, beneath the awning, but only through a haze. In a way it felt like an out of body experience. She didn’t really get a good look at his face until she was right in front of him. To her surprise, his smile was wide and bright, his eyes crinkling at the corners - as if he was actually thrilled to be pledging his life to her. She caught a glance at Regina over his shoulder, and the woman tipped her head surreptitiously, her eyes glaring at Emma. The message was clear - at least pretend you want to be here, for God’s sake! Emma bit her lower lip, then looked into Killian’s eyes and forced a smile upon her face. It wasn’t as if gazing into his eyes was a chore - far from it. She’d never seen eyes so blue. She had noticed it that very first day they met, despite her irritation over his loud music. But here beside the sea, his eyes were even more striking.

Like the sea after a storm. Emma bit the inside of her cheek as the line from The Princess Bride came to her suddenly. On its heels came the title of chapter three of her book.

Seriously Ladies, This Life’s No Fairy Tale!

The vows were over before Emma even knew she’d spoken them. Once, Killian even had to squeeze her hands and nod to prompt her. The guests merely chuckled good-naturedly, obviously chalking it up to normal wedding jitters.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the officiant announced. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Kiss the bride! Oh shit, Emma hadn’t even considered this part. They should have discussed it, or . . . practiced maybe? Yet Killian didn’t hesitate, nor did he seem the least bit flustered. He cupped her face in his hands and tenderly bent to press his lips to hers. It was soft, yet deep, his tongue swiping gently against her lips. Emma found herself opening for him and melting into the kiss. Another movie quote flitted through her brain: church tongue. When he pulled away, her eyes stayed closed in bliss for a moment.

Damn, Killian Jones could kiss.

Emma bit the inside of her cheek again as they faced the cheering guests. Now she was thinking of the title of chapter five.

Seriously Ladies, When it Comes to Kissing, Make Sure He’s the One Who Can’t Handle It

*****************************************************

If the wedding was a blur, the reception was even more so. Emma had heard stories of the crazy things people do when they’re suffering from shock. Walking miles on a broken leg, yanking things out of a gaping wound, dashing through fire, and yet not feeling a thing. She could relate, it was how she made it through her wedding day.

Regina was doing facial gymnastics to get her to go through the motions. She hoped she smiled and faked a laugh enough to sell it. Killian certainly did. Honestly, the way he looked at her sometimes was enough to make her swoon like Ruby. Regina must have given him a hell of an acting lesson.

Chapter Two: Seriously Ladies, All Men are Actors

Killian’s most Oscar-worthy performance came during their first dance. She wasn’t quite able to hide her reaction when the first bars of Extreme’s “More Than Words” played. Killian frowned down at her, his hand at her waist tightening slightly.

“Are you okay, love?”

Emma sighed, “It’s nothing, it’s just . . . this was our song.”

Killian’s eyes widened at that. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry, love. None of this can be easy for you.”

“It’s seems easy for you,” she muttered.

He chuckled at that and pulled her closer so he could whisper in her ear. “Well, I’ve got an incredibly beautiful woman in my arms. What’s so difficult about that?”

A shiver ran down her spine and an embarrassing giggle escaped her lips. She heard cameras clicking, and saw Regina give her a satisfied smile and a nod. Killian leaned back and arched a brow at her before spinning her out. When he pulled her back against his chest, he began to sing.

“More than words is all you have to do to make it real. Then you wouldn’t have to say you love me cause I’d already know.”

His voice was . . . amazing, actually, but he accompanied the words with ridiculous facial expressions and wild spins across the dance floor, and it all made Emma throw her head back with genuine laughter. He ended the entire performance by dipping her, followed by a chaste kiss. The crowd cheered and the cameras clicked. When he righted her, he pressed his forehead to hers and lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“No offense to your ex, but this song is basically a guy asking for sex as proof of love.”

Emma’s eyes widened. She should have been pissed at the observation, but . . . well, Walsh obviously hadn’t kept it in his pants, so . . .

“Seriously Ladies, Sex Doesn’t Equal Love.”

Killian blinked. “Pardon?”

Emma laughed again. Cameras clicked. They probably assumed they were having some tender moment. “Chapter eight. Of my book. That’s chapter eight of my book.”

Killian laughed and lifted his right hand to scratch behind his ear. “I, um, must confess . . . I haven’t read it.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You are?”

“If you were reading books on how to have a relationship with a man, then this marriage would really be doomed.”

He laughed again, and his eyes did that crinkling thing, and she noticed for the first time that he had dimples. The cameras clicked again. The media loved him already.

Too bad the bride barely knew him.

*****************************************

Emma’s agent had told Killian he needed to act like a man in love, had lectured him on it for about ten minutes, actually. As if he needed it. Truth be told, he was having a hard time reining himself in. The wedding kiss, for example, was probably pushing it. But bloody hell, when he’d seen her walking down the aisle towards him, his heart had almost flown from his chest. She was so beautiful, she took his breath away, with her hair in those soft curls and that dress . . . God, that dress! The way her shapely legs peeked out of the slit as she walked, that plunging neckline that not only hinted at the swell of her breasts but also showed off her creamy skin - it was enough to make a man lose his mind.

Emma hadn’t seemed to be bothered by the kiss though, and had actually kissed him back. Then again, she had to keep up the charade. It would certainly arouse suspicion if she seemed uncomfortable with his lips on hers.

And his tongue tangling with hers. Shit, he probably shouldn’t have gone that far. He couldn’t stop touching her either, finding excuses throughout the reception to press his hand to the small of her back, take her hand, or tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He was in heaven.

He was a cad. Because this also had to be one of the worst days of Emma Swan’s life.

Or was it Emma Jones now? They had never discussed that small detail, though he assumed with her career, she would keep Swan. Not that it bothered him either way. Even in a world of his most wonderful, wildest dreams where Emma Swan decided to stay when the year was up, he wouldn’t care what name she chose.

He had made her laugh during their first dance, and he counted that a huge victory. He loved that he could make her smile after all she had been through with her horrible ex. Why the man would cheat on her, much less leave her high and dry on their wedding day was something Killian couldn’t comprehend.

“Killian!”

His back stiffened at the familiar voice. He had seen David at the ceremony, but he’d managed to avoid him so far. Killian’s arm tightened around Emma’s waist as he turned to face his friend. His wife Mary Margaret was at his side, and she was practically beaming.

“Oh, I am so happy for you two!” she gushed. “How in the world did you manage to keep this from us?”

“Yeah,” David agreed, his eyes cutting from Emma to Killian and back again, “how long has this been going on?”

“Oh David,” Mary Margaret admonished with a playful slap to her husband’s chest, “obviously he’s why Emma moved here.”

“Well, it does explain all those appointments to design that wedding arbor,” David laughed.

Killian scratched behind his ear and forced a laugh. “You caught us!”

“So how did you meet?” Mary Margaret, ever the romantic, asked in a sing-song voice.

“Um, well, I DM-ed her on Instagram.”

David narrowed his eyes. “You’re on Instagram?”

“Of course he is, sweetie,” Mary Margaret laughed, as if her husband was way behind the times, “I follow him. Gorgeous pictures of all his work . . . anyways, so Emma, you broke chapter twelve of your book?”

Killian felt like his bow tie was choking him. “Chapter Twelve?”

“You know sweetie,” Emma said, elbowing him a little too sharply, “the chapter warning women against internet dating.”

“Oh . . . that, well,” his face turned red as she shot daggers at him from his eyes.

“What Killian means,” Emma said smoothly, turning to Mary Margaret, “is that he DM-ed me for relationship advice, not trying to flirt with me. A friendship grew from there, and then love.”

“Relationship advice?” David was crossing his arms over his chest now - not a good sign.

“Aye, mate. Being a widower is no picnic you know.”

David’s posture deflated, and he gave Killian a friendly slap on the back. “It’s good to see you happy again.”

Killian put his arm around Emma, pulled her close, and brushed a kiss to her temple. “Never been happier, truly.”

“I didn’t see your family here, Killian,” Mary Margaret said, concern creasing her brow.

Emma jumped in before Killian could even get his thoughts in order. “We’ll be doing a small, private ceremony for them. We just couldn’t risk the media figuring out Killian’s identity.”

Killian blinked as he looked down at her. She smiled at him in an adoring way and squeezed his bicep gently. She was quite the actress - impressive.

“So they don’t even know you got married?” Mary Margaret asked incredulously.

This was getting more and more complicated by the minute. “I didn’t want to ask them to keep such a huge secret,” Killian explained, “but don’t worry, I’ll be calling them soon.”

“Good,” Mary Margaret said on a sigh. She reached out to pat his hand. “I know they will be thrilled after all the pain they’ve watched you go through.”

Mercifully, the DJ announced that the bride and groom would be leaving for their honeymoon. Mary Margaret and David hugged them both and said their goodbyes, then Emma and Killian were whisked outside by Ruby and the wedding planner to a waiting limo.

Once inside, Emma collapsed against the seat, and her face fell. It was obvious now that her smiles, her gentle touches, all of it, had been a facade. She turned away from him as the limo drove away, taking them to Cape Cod. Uncomfortable silence fell between them, and the inches separating them on the bench seat felt like miles.

“Are you okay?” Killian finally ventured.

If she had snapped at him, he would have understood, but instead she looked at him wearily. “I woke up this morning planning to marry my fiance, and now I’m married to someone I barely know instead. How do you think I feel?”

He winced. “Fair enough. I just want you to know I’m here if you want to talk.”

She ignored him, slumping further and resting her head against the window. He couldn’t help watching her, his heart aching that he could do nothing to ease her pain.

He was surprised when she spoke again, though she didn’t look at him. “I didn’t know you were married before.”

“I’m sorry, Swan, I should have mentioned that.”

“No,” she said, turning her gaze on him once again, “it isn’t that. I’m just . . . I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

They fell silent once again, and the stress of the day started to get to Killian. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but finally lost the battle and succumbed to sleep. It felt like only moments later when the limo driver tapped on the window. Killian’s eyes blinked open, and he was surprised to find Emma’s head against his shoulder. He shook her gently to wake her.

“We’re here, love.”

“Oh,” Emma said, voice still thick with sleep as she sat up, blinking. When she met his gaze, a blush stained her cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize, I feel asleep too.”

She nodded, weary, and climbed out of the limo. The resort was a throwback to the heydey of Cape Cod with quaint shutters and bright red awnings. The staff fussed over them, which wasn’t surprising since they were both still dressed like figures on the top of a wedding cake. The bellboy got their bags and led them to the honeymoon suite. There was a small sitting room that led out to a balcony with an ocean view. Off the sitting room was a large master bedroom with a king size bed and an ensuite bath. Housekeeping had strewn rose petals across the bed, and a bottle of champagne on ice sat on the nightstand.

“Enjoy,” the bellboy said with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he slipped out the door.

The silence after he left was palpable. Emma shivered as she stared through the open door into the bedroom, but then she quickly squared her shoulders and spun on him.

“Look, I hope you didn’t get any ideas because we’re technically married.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he lifted both hands in defense. “I would never in a million years expect anything of the sort from you, Emma. Clearly, I’ll be taking the couch.”

Emma cocked her head at him, her eyes narrow slits. “Oh, so you’re a gentleman?’

He couldn’t help winking at her. “Of course. I’m always a gentleman.”

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”

It was late, and it had been a long and emotional day, so Killian wasn’t surprised when Emma grumbled that she was going to bed, shut the bedroom door behind her rather forcefully, and snapped at him not to bother her. He let out a long sigh as he toed off his shoes and started to remove his tie. He thought about calling Liam, but he just wasn’t emotionally ready for that conversation. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for he and Emma to get the details of their story straight before that happened.

There was a TV in front of the couch, and he flicked it on as he stripped down to his boxer briefs. He found blankets and a pillow on the top shelf of a closet and settled down with remote in hand. He flipped through the channels, but there wasn’t anything that captured his interest, so he shut it off and turned off the light. He lay there, his arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted, but sleep was elusive.

Then a sound caught his ear. Killian tilted his head and listened closely. It was Emma, and she was crying.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs modern au #marriage of convenience #slow burn #some angst #humor

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cordoniantrash · 4 years

Text

Once Upon Another Time: Chapter Nine

AU: In another time where the brothers Beaumont did not reach Cassandra in time, the waitress turned lady went back to New York to rebuild her old life. After finding an unexpected souvenir, she set off and joined her long lost family. Four years later, a newly divorced King of Cordonia arrives in New York in hopes of reuniting with his beloved. Instead of Cassandra, all he found was a postcard with the word Edgewater written on the back

Catch up here: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Plus a masterlist if you guys are interested. Also in AO3.

Hello and welcome to my longest chapter to date! Also the opening of the “second act”. Chapters from this one onward are gonna be pretty long, so... brace yourselves I guess? Huge thanks to @thequeennefertipi for being my beta and for sticking with this story.

Segue: If you guys like the Miraculous Ladybug, she’s written an amazing fanfic about Chloé Bourgeois, which can be found in her writing blog and in her AO3!

Anyways, feel free to let me know what you guys think!

Spelling and grammatical errors are mine.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Pixleberry has that privilege. Title for both the series and the chapter titles, plus the epigraphs are from Sara Bareilles’ discography.

Pairings: Liam x MC

Warning: brief, non-graphic depiction of violence, long post

Words: 9994

Chapter Nine: Wicked Love

Wait until you see

How mighty the truth can be

Like an ocean of light

It's a sky filled with fireflies

Liam could still catch snippets of the revelry inside even though he had closed the double doors that lead to the balcony. Placing both hands on the railing, he allowed his composure to bleed away from him. That did not ease his heavy heart. Liam heaved a sigh as he closed his eyes.

“You know, I thought you’d have a few more years before you’d try to escape anniversaries.”

Liam tensed. Taking care to mask his emotions, he turned and met his father’s eyes.

“You should be resting, father.”

Constantine’s small smile vanished. A part of Liam, the little boy that still yearned for his papá, for just a moment, just a little more time, for just a scrap — mourned its loss. He mentally shrugged off the heartache, a part of him surprised at how easily he could do it. Must be all the practice he’s been getting.

“Liam—“

“The festivities can survive without me for a few more moments, father. Besides, Madeleine can handle it.”

“I know that. We both know that. But that is not why I sought you out.”

“Father—“

“No, Liam. King or no king, a son must still listen to his father.”

Liam’s hands curled into fists. A multitude of words seemed to have stuck inside his throat, all of them yearning to be let out. To let his father know how hard this year had been. How much it hurt. He wanted to scream and lash out. Let the world know how he felt. Why should I listen to you when you blocked me at every turn? Why should I even look at you when you’ve hurt her and driven her away? When you made a mockery of our choices?

“If this is about having an heir again—“

Constantine shook his head. “You’ve made your stance clear enough. I’ll give you the time you asked for. But that does not mean the people would as well. You can’t play the newlywed card forever,” his father took a few steps in his direction. “Liam, it may not look like it, but this truly is what’s best for you. For our kingdom.” He placed a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Fairy tales are all well and good, but you must think of what’s best for Cordonia.”

He gestured towards the ballroom. Towards Madeleine.

“Remember, you are Cordonia. And your future is here.”

His father let go of Liam’s shoulder. With long strides, he reached the doors and opened them. With a glance over his shoulder, Constantine imparted a parting blow.

“It wouldn’t have worked out anyway.”

Liam woke up with his left arm asleep. Eyebrows furrowed and vision still foggy from sleep, it took him a moment to see what caused his arm to go numb. What he first thought to be a dark mass turned out to be Cassandra’s head. Liam glanced down and saw a smaller body cradled between them. Somehow during the night, his arm had served as a pillow for both Lucas and Cassandra. Liam smiled, all thought of his discomfort gone. Slowly and with a gentleness he vaguely remembered from his mother, he wrapped his free arm around his family, holding them close. He thought of the memory that came back as a dream. Of his father’s words. He looked at Cassie and Lucas again.

It can work out. I’ll do my hardest to make this work.

I won’t lose my family again.

----

“Does Lucas like castles?”

“Hmm?” Cassie looked up from the article she was editing. And stared. Liam, still looking through his phone, took a seat next to her. That wasn’t what caused all thoughts to flee from her mind. The father of her child and the love of her life, the King of Cordonia was wearing glasses. Cassandra’s brain seemed to have short-circuited.

Liam with glasses. No, Liam wearing glasses. Full rimmed glasses that showed off his eyes. And framed his face. Good god, was he more handsome than he was this morning?

Why is it suddenly warm in here?

“Cassie?”

Cassandra blinked. Her brain scrambled to remember what was happening. Liam’s face seemed closer than before. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. Concern was shining through his eyes.

His eyes, warm and brown and showcased through his glasses. Beautiful.

Focus!

“Are you all right?”

“Huh? Oh! Oh yeah. I’m–I’m fine,” her eyes darted around the room, finally settling on the old grandfather clock against the wall. “Oh, look at the time! It’s almost lunch! I’ll go alert the staff.”

Cassie quickly closed her laptop and set it on the coffee table before moving to stand. Liam laid a hand on her arm.

“Are you sure, you’re all right?”

“Uh yeah. Why wouldn’t I be all right?” she paused long enough to see Liam hesitate.

Oh.

She sat back down, took his hand in hers and smiled, “I’m not getting second thoughts, Liam. I just got, uh, a bit distracted, that’s all.”

Liam let out a breath. And smiled. It took all of Cassie’s willpower not to jump him right then and there. She moved to stand up again, this time dragging Liam with her.

“How about we talk about destinations over Sunday roast?”

Aunt Clara had the staff set up chairs and tables in the solarium. Far more personal and intimate than the rooms they’ve previously eaten in. As she and Liam stepped aside for one of the staff members, Cassie was suddenly hit with the thought that this might be her Auntie’s own little way of fully welcoming Liam in. Cassie smiled.

“So… what were you say—“

“Mommy!” a little blur ran into the room and crashed into her legs. Surprised, Cassie stumbled back. Liam’s hands were suddenly there to support her.

“Careful,” Liam said over her shoulder.

“Sorry Mommy!” their little terror said before zooming out again. The staff, all too used to Lucas’ hijinks, calmly stepped aside, indulgent smiles on their faces.

“Okay, who gave him sugar this time?” Cassie demanded once she straightened up. Briar who had followed into the room shrugged and smiled, looking over her shoulder.

“Who indeed?”

Eyes wide with realisation, Cassie whirled around and glared at Liam.

“You!” she gasped, jabbing a finger at him. Liam quickly stepped back and raised his hands, a placating gesture that she barely noticed. And to think she was swooning earlier!

“I just gave him one cookie — “he quickly closed his mouth when she scowled. Cassie ignored the small burst of satisfaction at the sight.

“You deal with him when he crashes from his sugar high.” She said as she crossed her arms.

Liam nodded quickly, his eyes wide. “Of course. Anything you need.”

Cassie’s heart melted. No! I’m annoyed! I should be annoyed! She opened her mouth, ready to launch into a speech when her aunt’s voice stopped her.

“Am I interrupting?”

Cassie turned her head towards the doorway. From the corner of her eye, she saw Liam do the same.

“Auntie!”

“Not at all, my lady, “Liam answered smoothly. A glance told her he had quickly regained some composure. Shit! I must look like a mess, came her flustered thought.

“Well, if you say so…” her aunt trailed off. She shook her head. “Actually dear, can we pop into the study for a bit? I need to talk to you about something.”

At Cassie’s frown, she smiled reassuringly. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”

“I’ll go take care of Lucas,” Liam piped up beside her. He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze and took his leave with a smile to her and her aunt.

Cassie spared a moment to watch him walk away.

“He’s not going anywhere, you know,” her aunt’s words snapped Cassie out of her trance. Clara was wearing a teasing smirk when Cassandra looked at her aunt’s direction.

“I know that,” she mumbled as she turned and walked to her aunt’s side. “Did something happen?”

“In a manner of speaking,” her aunt replied as they walked towards the stairs. She smiled, the reassurance familiar as it was welcome. “I meant it when I said it’s nothing bad.”

Her aunt walked into her study, making a beeline towards one of the display cases near the far wall. Cassie followed, confusion turning into apprehension. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. Small, hesitant steps brought her a little closer.

Aunt Clara now stood in front of a familiar set of jewellery. The Edgewater Jewels, one of her family’s sources of pride, glittered in the midmorning sunlight that streamed into the study. Whoever holds the jewels holds the very essence of Edgewater, her aunt used to joke. But Cassie knew that it was a saying that had been passed down from generation to generation. There was a reason most of the jewellery Gran left her were coloured gold and blue. It was part of their heritage. And it was usually entrusted to the heir of the estate. Which also meant heir to the title and all the holdings and responsibilities that come along with the honour.

Cassie felt her eyes widen as she turned to her aunt.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it means.”

Aunt Clara’s smile was small and sad. Like Gran’s all those years ago. But unlike her grandmother, who tucked her head and hidden away during a confrontation, Aunt Clara held her chin high and looked Cassie in the eye. Apprehension caused butterflies to flutter in Cassie’s stomach. Her gaze fell to the jewels, still glinting after centuries of use.

“Can I at least tell you why?”

“Auntie—“

“I know you said you’d think about it. And I respect that, love. And I would have given you all the time that you need, but circumstances rarely go the way we want them to, you know that,” her aunt took a step towards her. Cassie felt rooted on the spot. “Please understand that I am not trying to force you into anything you don’t want to do. What I want – what I’ve always wanted, is to protect you and Lucas. And short of prohibiting you to go, this is the best way I can think of.”

Aunt Clara was now standing in front of her. She gently took Cassandra’s hands. “Even if it’s just by name, I’d like you to be the heir to Edgewater.”

----

The Duchy of Krona

“My lady, the media have been sending emails asking for an update on our monarch’s location,” Justin told her as she stepped out of the car. Suppressing the urge to sigh in exasperation, Kiara quickly composed herself and turned to her secretary.

Be careful around that one, Olivia had told her. Since then, she had felt like she was walking on eggshells around her own secretary. It was an inconvenience, but better safe than sorry, as the old saying goes. Keeping her face blank, she took care in choosing her next words.

“Justin, I already told you to take care of that.”

He bobbed his head, making a great show of being contrite. “Yes, my lady. But they’ve been calling and asking nonstop—“

“Then tell them again. The King is currently engaged in an important diplomatic summit in Europe. And this time, remind them that due to the sensitive nature of such events, we can’t broadcast the specifics until His Majesty’s return.”

There was a flash of frustration in Justin’s face before he schooled his features. Frustration and something darker. Beneath her calm façade, Kiara felt cold. Olivia told her she and her network are working on discovering what’s really going on. But their investigation had yielded nothing substantial just yet. At least, not on that front.

It couldn’t come soon enough.

Kiara swallowed her sudden fear and turned away, towards the main estate of House Amaranth. But it gave us an edge over Madeleine.

She set a brisk pace, quickly reaching the entrance and the line of staff members that await her. Justin at her heels. Is that even your real name?

Kiara took another deep breath. No use in engaging in multiple fronts, as Olivia would say. If he is a player, he will soon make his move. But right now, it’s my turn.

Adelaide was the first one to greet her in the sitting room. The usual sparkle that the older woman used to exhibit had dimmed. Like a paper doll, she thought with a pang of pity. Kiara felt for the Duchess. We are not the only ones that Madeleine’s schemes had hurt. A pity it must end this way.

Kiara stood up and offered a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

Adelaide offered her a smile that echoed her old one. “My lady. Despite current circumstances, I must say, I’m glad you came calling. Tea?”

Kiara smiled and nodded. This is my element. I can do this. And I will do this well.

“Yes, please.”

If the duchess seemed off when Kiara arrived, she was downright ashen when they finished their tea. A paper doll that’s about to be set alight. Oh, how I hate that it came to this!

Adelaide’s teacup rattled slightly as she set it on the table. She seemed to sag into her chair. Kiara kept her hands clasped together on her lap. She did not want to know if it trembled.

Silence reigned between them. Kiara could hear the faint ticking of a clock. Unbidden, her gaze went to the window. Summer finally came. But why do I still feel cold? God, I wish Hana’s here.

“If — “Adelaide’s voice cut through the chasm between them. Kiara turned to face the duchess once more. “If what you say is true, my house will be in ruins,” she barked out a laugh. Kiara stared. Its cynical edge was so different from what she had previously known from the older woman. “More than it already is.”

Despite her training, Kiara longed to comfort the older woman. She’s always been kind to me, even before all this happened. Instead of the comforting hand that she wanted to extend, Kiara reached into her purse and pulled out a sealed envelope. Still keeping her silence, she slid it towards Adelaide’s direction.

“I’m afraid that years of evidence proves its validity, Adelaide.”

The Duchess of Krona stared at the envelope in front of her.

“Has the king been told?”

“… not yet.”

“But are you going to tell him?”

Kiara hesitated. “He has to know.”

“I suppose you want me to stop Madeleine’s campaign in exchange for his majesty’s continued ignorance?”

Kiara kept her face carefully blank. It may be diplomacy’s last tool, but I’ve never truly liked blackmail. And it was blackmail, no matter how much they’d like to sugar-coat it.

“Nothing so drastic, Adelaide. I simply ask for a private audience with your daughter.”

“But you’re still going to tell Liam.” Defeat was written on the duchess’ shoulders.

Kiara softened her tone. “He has the right to know, my lady. And this would worsen if he found out that this had been hidden from him,” Kiara hesitated before going off the script that Olivia and Hana helped her write. “Liam is not his father.”

Adelaide looked up and met Kiara’s eyes, hesitation and cautious hope in her gaze. “He’ll see that you and your house have been unwitting accomplices. The fault lies with Godfrey.”

Adelaide hesitated. “And my daughter?”

Kiara sighed; her face the very picture of uncertainty, despite the satisfaction growing in her chest.

“That would depend on whether we meet and talk, Adelaide.”

The duchess straightened in her seat.

“Very well. You’ll have your meeting.” She moved to stand up. “I do hope you succeed. For all our sakes.”

----

The Royal Palace

Hana quickly tossed aside the papers she had been reviewing when she saw her phone light up. Ignoring the quizzical looks that Olivia and Leo sent her, she quickly seized her phone and opened it.

“It’s Kiara!” Her two companions paused in their respective tasks. “She’s in!” Hana announced into the room.

“Good,” Olivia said, a smirk blooming on her face. “And the secretary?”

Hana scanned the message, “she sent him off on another task. She and Madeleine would be alone.”

“What happens now?” Leo asked as he began to pace the room. “Was the bastard there?” he spat out.

“She didn’t say…” Hana trailed off.

“That would mean he’s still in his estates in the UK,” Olivia quickly cut in. Yesterday’s revelation had shaken them to the core, Leo most of all. Despite being her stepson, Leo had spent more time with Eleanor than Liam. She had practically raised him even before she had married Constantine. She was the woman he recognised as his mother. And to find that her killer had walked free for years… Katie and Olivia had barely stopped him from going after Godfrey. To say the last twenty-four hours had been fraught would be an understatement.

The older Rys grunted in acknowledgement before starting another round of agitated pacing. Like a lion in a cage, she thought before turning her attention back to Olivia.

“Should we tell Liam now?” she asked softly.

“We should have told him as soon as we confirmed it,” Leo grumbled before Olivia answered her.

“And we will tell him. Preferably in person,” Olivia retorted. Hana opened her mouth to agree with the duchess when her phone rang again. She stared at the screen, apprehension filling her.

“It’s Liam,” she announced. Olivia and Leo froze.

“Answer it, Hana,” Leo said urgently. The unanswered question hung in the air. Does he know?

“Put it on speaker,” Olivia quickly added.

With fingers that trembled slightly, she answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hana!” Liam’s voice seemed to cement them in place. Faintly, they could hear a child’s laughter in the background. The three of them looked at each other, wide-eyed and on the verge of panic. Her heart was beating so fast, she was half afraid it would burst out of her chest. For one brief moment, Hana scrambled for a scrap of composure.

She managed a soft “Your Majesty” before another voice snapped her out of the stupor she was falling into.

“… Lucas!”

Hana straightened. “Was that—?”

“Hmm? Oh yes! That was Cassie. Would you like to say hi?”

“Oh! Oh, um—“she cast another wide-eyed look around the room, their conversation before weighing on them. Olivia hesitated, but Leo took a step forward. Before either of them managed a word, Liam’s voice unknowingly interrupted them.

“Lucas, don’t—“Hana and the others could just make out the sound of a splash. A scuffling sound followed.

“Liam?” Confusion mixed with the apprehension inside her.

There was a pause. The three of them barely breathed.

“Hana, are you still there?” Liam’s voice sounded harried this time. “I’m so sorry, but I have to cut this short. Cassie’s got Lucas inside. Maybe you two can talk some other time? Maybe later?”

“Oh! That’s fine. What happened? If I might ask.”

Liam’s voice was tinged with amusement when he answered, “He crashed his bike into the lake.”

Hana smiled.

“That’s not why I called though,” Hana suddenly felt cold. All too aware of the vacant seat that Kiara used to occupy. Does he know? The anxious thought circled her mind once more. And judging by the way Olivia and Leo hung on Liam’s next words, she wasn’t the only one.

How do you tell one of your closest friends that you’ve uncovered the culprit behind his mother’s death?

“Can you book a flight to London tomorrow? Cassie and I need your expertise on something.”

“I think it’s a bad idea,” Olivia insisted. Hana completely agrees with her. Across the table, with arms crossed and agitated, Leo glared at the both of them.

“He’s my brother,” Leo insisted. “What we found here should come from me, Olivia. You know that.”

“For the last time, I’m not saying you can’t tell Liam, I’m saying you can’t go!” Olivia snapped as she stood up. Hana could feel a headache forming around her temples.

“Besides, we don’t know what Liam and Cassandra need me for,” Hana added before her companion’s agreement turned into a shouting match.

“That’s obvious, he’s planning on bringing her and my nephew back here.”

“You don’t know that,” Hana countered, taking care to soften her tone. The last thing she needs is for this to escalate.

Olivia shook her head, “He’s got a point.” Leo opened his mouth, intent on driving his point home and getting his way. Olivia fixed him with a glare and added, “Which is why Hana has to go.”

“Olivia—“

“No.”

“But—“

“We need you here,” Olivia went on. “Abdicated or not, you’re the last adult Rys in the palace. You lend some legitimacy over our orders, so unless you want to tell your brother how you’ve disregarded his instructions, you will stay here.”

Leo scowled. He glanced at Hana, silently asking for support. Hana pursed her lips and shook her head. He slumped in his seat.

“Besides, Rashad’s also going on a business trip. People won’t think it’s strange that I boarded a plane with him.”

Leo scowled as he looked out the window.

Hana and Olivia shared a glance, a question between them. A moment passed, and Olivia shrugged. My move then. She glanced at Leo’s still sullen form. Compromise it is.

“I won’t tell Liam until you could, Leo. I promise.”

----

Leo kept looking through the window even after Hana and Olivia had left. Yesterday’s events played on a loop in his mind. It’s been decades, I thought I’d gotten over this.

But Leo could still remember the sinking feeling of watching the woman he’d known as his mother gasp for breath. Could still recall the frantic rush to her side, the way her hands had gone limp, the flashing lights of the ambulance, the cold sterile hospital. He could still remember, with frightening clarity, how Liam, still a little kid really, looked so lost when the doctors announced that there was nothing they could do. The way his little brother curled up in his arms, shaking and sobbing when it finally sunk in. The funeral and the empty years; years that Eleanor Rys should have lived if not for some heartless bastard and an innocent little goblet.

And to find that the bastard who did this to her was under their noses this whole time? That he had been one of Constantine’s cronies? Rage could hardly describe what Leo had felt. He wanted to get out there and catch him. Make him pay for what he did.

Katie had been nearly reduced to tears before he had agreed to stay and wait. Leo had agreed reluctantly, remembering his past sins. But his urge to do something, anything at all, remains bubbling under the surface, just waiting for the smallest push. Liam’s phone call had been the prime opportunity. But Olivia’s threat and his past regrets kept him again. Liam missed four years of his son’s life while he had gallivanted around the world. The least he can do is stay in Cordonia and do what Liam wanted them to do.

This doesn’t mean I still can’t make Godfrey pay. I’ll –

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Before he could stand up and open it, Bertrand Beaumont had stepped inside the room, head held high and nose in the air. Leo resisted the urge to correct his posture.

“Your—“

“Bertrand, please. Don’t call me that.”

“Oh. Of course.”

The older man nodded and adjusted his cuff. Posture perfect and correct. Leave it to Bertrand to disguise awkwardness with a dignified response.

“I came here as fast as I could,” Bertrand said as he stepped into the room. Remembering the discreet conversation he had with Liam about the Beaumont’s finances, Leo kept silent. Bertrand dislikes showing weakness, especially among his peers.

“You’d want to see Maxwell then?”

At Bertrand’s nod, Leo stood up and walked towards one of his oldest friends. He clasped Bertrand’s shoulder and tried to give him a reassuring smile. It didn’t seem to work. Leo tried not to take it personally.

“Let’s go then,” Leo paused just beyond the threshold. “Although, word of advice? Go easy on him.”

Leo wants nothing more than to find Godfrey and make him pay, but he’ll be damned if he lets Liam down again.

“Let me get this straight, you knew where Lady Savannah was this whole time and you didn’t tell me?” Standing with his back against the wall, Leo heaved a sigh. What part of go easy did you not understand Bertie?

Maxwell opened his mouth once more to answer his brother and winced as he did so. Leo saw him rub his bruised jaw. Bertrand, still pacing and getting red in the face, did not stop his tirade to listen. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing? Of all the—”

Leo thinks he saw the moment Maxwell snapped. The younger man stood, squared his shoulders, and whirled around to face his brother.

“I had to help her, Bertrand! She was pregnant with my nephew!”

Leo suppressed the urge to whistle. I really shouldn’t be part of this conversation. He glanced at the closed door behind Bertrand. But I can’t walk out without disturbing these two.

“I—your what?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bertie so speechless! Maxwell, emboldened by his brother’s response, continued.

“Savannah was pregnant with your child when she ran away. She said you rejected her!”

“I — “Bertrand seemed to have completely lost his composure. He reached out and clutched the back of the chaise lounge. His knuckles were white.

I really shouldn’t be here…

Leo looked away from the brothers. The late afternoon sunlight illuminated the courtyard below. He felt a smile creep onto his face. The twins were out and about. Sabrina, his eldest by a whole ten minutes, was busy drawing the various blossoms in the flower beds. Mother loved those flowers too…

Leo shook his head, half hoping the physical act would also shake off his thoughts. He immediately sought his youngest, a reflex he had developed as soon as they started toddling around. Samantha was bending over the fountain, no doubt looking at the pennies on the bottom. He wanted to name them after Eleanor, but he knew that Liam deserved that honour. Besides, they are named after her, in a way. Middle names are the same thing, right?

A sudden noise interrupted his thoughts. He turned to look at the Brothers Beaumont again. Bertrand was sitting in the lounge. Maxwell looked uncertain.

Leo opened his mouth to suggest drinks, but a knock interrupted him. All three of them turned toward the sound.

Leo stepped forward.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a woman wearing a nondescript suit poked her head in. It took a moment for Leo to put a name to the face.

“Agent Mara, what is it?”

“Sir, someone’s looking for you at the gates. She said you were expecting her.”

Eyebrows furrowed, Leo stepped forward. At the corner of his eye, he could see Bertrand and Maxwell carefully turn around, giving him as much privacy as the room could afford. Gratitude for the brothers bubbled in his chest.

“Who is it?”

Mara hesitated.

“Well?”

“She-she told us her name was Cordelia, sir. Cordelia Foredale.”

----

East Wing, the Royal Palace

“How’re your knuckles?”

Drake grunted as Savannah, who did not wait for his answer, grabbed his right hand and inspected his yellowing bruise.

“Are you talking to me now?” he said, immediately regretting his words. Savannah had all but ignored him after he punched Maxwell. A glare was the answer he received. Drake sighed.

He can’t help but feel like everyone was blaming him for one thing or another. Bastien was ignoring his calls, a sure sign that the older man was annoyed at him, while Olivia was pissed at him (nothing new but this one was on him, he’ll readily admit that). He knew he abandoned his assigned duties, so their reaction was a bitter pill that he had to swallow.

Hana and Kiara were keeping their distance, but he knew that they sided with Maxwell, and Leo’s accusing stare was directed at him and Maxwell both. So he can live with that. What stings the most was that Savannah was mad at him and his nephew (he has a nephew!) was wary around him.

And Liam’s out of the country, probably getting cosy with Angeles…

The pain in his knuckles snapped him from his thoughts. Drake was almost glad for it.

There’s a very big chance that Cassandra will come back into their lives. Drake doesn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, the very thought of her sent tingles down his spine (he ignored them as he had four years ago), and on the other, she’s probably coming back with Liam. Try as he might, that old, buried and suppressed pangs of jealousy had reared its ugly head once more.

There was a mention of a little boy too. Their boy, if he got that right. Drake refused to acknowledge the knot of emotions he felt at the thought.

I could really use a drink right now.

“Done.” In a flash, Savannah had stood up and walked away from him. Drake could make out Bartie’s head as it poked out of an open doorway.

He inspected the bandage on his hand.

“Thanks, sis,” he said into the empty room.

----

Meanwhile, in Fydelia

To an outsider’s perspective, it did not look like a stand-off. Just two ladies having tea on a balcony. Sophistication at its finest. From a young age, they have been taught how to disguise negotiations as pleasant small talk. How silence can answer a question as well as any given answer. They had been taught how to be graceful swans on the outside, never letting slip the machinations that lurked underneath their perfect façade.

A pale delicate hand calmly picked up her teacup, raised it to her scarlet stained lips and took a dainty sip. Kiara’s well-trained eyes observed the movement and catalogued it in her mind. It seemed like her hostess would insist on some juvenile power play right off the bat. Kiara took in Madeleine’s demeanour; shoulders back and chin lifted. Smug despite her courtly mask.

She thinks, because I came to her first, that she has the upper hand, Kiara thought, amused at the thought. Whatever pity she might have felt for the mother, unfortunately, did not extend to the daughter. Adelaide might have been an unwitting victim in this scenario, but we all knew that Madeleine’s actions are her own. She knew what she was doing from the start. And for whatever reason, she made herself believe that she can win in this hopeless endeavour. Kiara took another moment to study the Countess by taking a sip of her own tea. Let Madeleine think she has me on the ropes. What exactly were you hoping to accomplish from all of this?

“I do hope the tea is to your liking, Lady Kiara. I seem to recall you favour the more traditional favours?”

“The tea and the service is, as always, perfectly adequate, my lady,” Kiara demurred, taking silent satisfaction with the way Madeleine’s lips twisted at the insult. Ever the perfectionist.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I find myself tired of courtly games lately,” Madeleine said, annoyance clear in her eyes. Whatever happened to patience Madeleine? Kiara’s quite certain that amusement was clear in her eyes.

“Well?” Madeleine snapped. For a moment, Kiara remembered all those uncertain hours under her thumb. Of all the times the woman before took genuine pleasure at breaking Hana apart at the seams. You’ll never see so much as the shine off the crown if I had anything to say about it.

Kiara raised an eyebrow. Madeleine’s own sculpted eyebrows started to furrow. What? Did you think I came all this way to hand you your imagined victory?

“I came to do you a favour actually,” Kiara answered coolly.

Madeleine scoffed. “And what favour is that exactly? From where I’m standing, you and yours are the ones who need a favour,” Madeleine barred her teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. “Has the King gotten so desperate that he sent one of his lackeys to grovel at my feet?” She leaned back, comfortably rearranging herself on her chair, the picture of smug satisfaction. “Well, tell him, he has to be the one doing the grovelling. The satisfaction would be sweeter when I personally reject it.”

Kiara calmly sipped her tea, letting Madeleine have her brief moment of glory. Well, a supposed moment of glory, she amended in her head.

A moment passed. Uncertainty entered Madeleine’s eyes.

“Are you done?” Kiara asked calmly. My turn.

Madeleine opened her mouth to retort, but Kiara did not give her a chance.

“If you want the continued existence of your House and holdings, you will cease this meaningless smear campaign at once.”

Anger flashed across Madeleine’s features. She opened her mouth once more. Kiara forged on, smoothly reaching into her bag and taking the same envelope that she had presented to Adelaide mere hours ago. She laid it on the table with a flourish.

“And what’s this?” Madeleine asked, her anger temporarily curbed.

“Why don’t you take a peak?”

“If this is some hare-brained scheme of Liam’s—“

“Just read the contents, Madeleine,” Kiara said, her voice curt.

The countess snatched the envelope up. Her face paled at what she read. Madeleine’s porcelain hands held a small tremble when she set it down again.

“You have already hurt your standing in the nobility’s eyes when you started this campaign. And while free speech is a right that is encouraged in this kingdom, I doubt you’ll be thrilled if we use that self-same right to reveal what your father did to Queen Eleanor all those years ago. Treason is a heavier stain on one’s reputation than mere rumours, is it not?”

Madeleine did not answer. Her eyes were still fixed on the envelope’s contents.

Kiara allowed herself a small smile, “luckily the king and his brother are generous enough to give you a warning.” She leaned forward, now on the offence. “But let me make myself clear. Continue in this ridiculous charade and the court, not to mention the entire world, will know just how many skeletons your father hides.”

“I had nothing to do with this!” Madeleine interjected.

“Perhaps,” Kiara allowed. “But with your well-known outbursts and the campaign, do you think the world will care?”

“They will if they know what’s good for them. The media—“

“Has grown tired of you,” Kiara finished. “After all, all you’ve ever given them are rumours. Were you ever planning on following the story through? Or did you just expect the media to fawn and fall at your feet like when you were still on top?”

“I—“

Now for my gambit.

“Face it, Madeleine. You’ve lost your crown. Do you really want the whole world to see you lose your dignity and your House?”

Green eyes set in a paper pale face stared at her. And for the first time since meeting her, Kiara had the genuine pleasure of seeing Madeleine speechless.

“And we don’t want that, do we? After all, this would mean the total collapse of House Amaranth. All those centuries of prestige reduced to mere rubble by you.”

“Now see here—“

“I really don’t think you have any bargaining chip left, my lady,” Kiara directed a smile at Madeleine’s direction.

“W-what do you want from me?” Madeleine asked, voice cracking. Her whole body was shaking. A stone statue crumbling before Kiara’s eyes.

“I tire of this courtly game,” Kiara countered. Madeleine flinched. “I think you know exactly what we want, Madeleine. Redact your statements, issue a formal apology and stop your hopeless campaign once and for all.”

“My reputation—“

“Is already in shambles. Imagine what would happen if this got out.”

Kiara stood up, smoothly plucking the folder from Madeleine’s hands.

“My people will be in touch,” she said as she walked out. She paused at the entrance of the balcony. “See? I am doing you a favour.”

She spared a moment to glance at her fallen opponent. Madeleine barely moved, except for a tiny nod. Her head barely moved, but it was enough. She had accepted the deal. Defeat seemed to be settling on the Countess’ shoulders. Kiara whirled around, a smile tugging at her face.

Checkmate.

----

The Royal Palace

Leo strode through one of the palace’s corridors, Agent Mara a step behind. Questions without answers whirled round and round in his head. Why here? Why now? What now? What does she want?

Leo scowled as he entered the lower levels of the palace. Old stone, centuries-old and cool to the touch, replaced the gilt and glamour of the upper levels. Leo repressed a shiver. It was always cool down here, and it will get colder the farther they descend. Harsh fluorescent lights replaced the torches used centuries ago, but they remain along the walls, a reminder of the Palace’s real age. It was older than it looked.

Generations of constant rebuilding had changed the façade of the one above ground. It is only when you get down to the lower levels, to the underbelly, that you remember that the Palace stands where an old medieval keep once stood. There had even been stories, mere fancy really, that Kenna Rys, their mythical ancestor, had once used the old keep as a base during one war or another. Liam’s always the one who paid attention to those.

At the thought of his brother, Leo’s mood turned sombre, more contemplative.

First, we discover Constantine’s secrets, then Liam finds out he has a long-lost son, then this whole business between Drake and Maxwell, I find out fucking Godfrey’s behind Mother’s death and now this? It’s barely been a month!

Another agent greeted them when they reached the end of a corridor. Leo knew from growing up in the palace that they had her inside an interrogation room. Leo could feel his heart beating hard. He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants before taking a deep breath and nodding to one of the agents.

They opened the door.

Leo gulped.

He took a tentative step. And then another.

He was standing at the threshold.

Taking another deep breath, he squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

Leo had been told from a young age that he looked like his mother. That the only thing he had inherited from his father was his blue eyes.

Beyond hazy recollections that were carelessly dismissed in favour of more fond memories of Eleanor and baby Liam, Leo had next to no memory of what his birth mother looked like. When he met her again after twenty-odd years, her hair was more grey than blonde, her hazel eyes were surrounded by crows feet that made him wonder if she had been happier during the years she kept away compared to the years she had spent with him and his father. She had constantly looked down when he met her again, all those years ago. Had barely raised neither eyes nor voice when he had proclaimed a dead woman to be the mother he preferred. She had just nodded and asked in a small voice to see the occasional picture of him and the twins. Aside from lukewarm emails and the occasional promised picture, she had stayed away, as she had for most of his life. Leo preferred it that way, if he was being honest with himself.

After meeting with Clara Harper, Leo could see some faint echo, the barest hint of resemblance on their features. Unlike his, no – their — distant cousin, Cordelia held none of the iron spine that defined his—their – relative. If Clara was grace, poise and eloquence, able to command a room, her distant family member was the silent one.

But, Leo conceded, she had been high spirited once. During their father’s social season. She had enough charm and energy once. At least enough to secure her place as Constantine’s bride.

Looking at the woman sitting opposite him, Leo couldn’t help but wonder if Constantine was the reason Cordelia retreated into herself. He won’t be surprised if that was the case.

His birth mother rose from her seat when she saw him enter the room. She was a short woman. The few pictures he saw growing up featured a delicate, petite woman, more doll than human. A perfect accessory for this father to dangle on his arms. Now, she seemed to fold into herself, as if trying to make herself smaller.

“Leo,” she breathed. “You came.” A tentative smile bloomed on her face. There was a touch of relief in the curve of her lips.

“I did,” Leo stepped further into the room. “I wasn’t expecting you’d come here.” Wasn’t expecting you’d want to come back.

“Yes – well, the email you sent me— “she abruptly stopped. Her eyes darted around the room. Wary and watchful. Fearful too, Leo saw with a pang. Damn you, old man.

“It’s fine,” Leo assured her. “We’re safe here.”

“I wouldn’t be sure of that,” she muttered. “Can we talk somewhere more open? I don’t do so well underground.”

“I— “Leo furrowed his eyebrows. Cordelia had no problems underground, nor was she claustrophobic. “All right.”

They ended up on the banks of the little lake, just past the gardens that Eleanor so loved. It somehow felt wrong to take her to the place that Leo had always associated with Eleanor.

The late afternoon sun was on its way to twilight, but there was still enough light that the path lights hadn’t been lit yet.

He glanced at his birth mother. Silence mixed with awkwardness hung in the air between them. He cleared his throat.

“You aren’t really claustrophobic are you?”

She shook her head.

“So… why exactly—“

“I thought it would be safer this way,” she answered in a rush, her voice coming out stronger than it had before.

Suspicion rose within Leo.

“Why?”

“You never know who’s listening,” she said lightly, expression turning pleasant. “Will you walk with me? Just around the lake.”

“Who would want to listen?” Leo asked even as he walked along with her. “We’re at the heart of the palace. That was the safest we can be.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“I — “Leo thought of Kiara’s secretary.

Cordelia nodded, interpreting his expression.

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here though.”

“I thought it would be safer to talk in person. Emails and phone calls can be easily traced.”

“Right,” Leo mumbled. He glanced at Cordelia again. “We –uh – found Edgewater on our own…” he trailed off.

Cordelia smiled, “I know.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed.

“I saw the pictures from the state dinner. It’s been years but I still know how Cousin Clara looked like.”

“Oh.”

“I hope she’s well?”

“Last I saw her, yeah,” Leo looked around. The shadows were getting longer. “She found your diary, by the way.”

Cordelia startled, “She did?”

Leo nodded then added, “Liam and I read it.”

“So… you know.”

“Is that why you came here?”

She hesitated, but she nodded.

“Is that why you left?”

“Among other things.”

“Right.”

“How did he manage it, by the way?”

“Manage what?”

Leo shrugged, “all of it? How did people not know what was happening?”

“Simple,” Cordelia said as she looked up. “Panem et circenses. The people were placated because he provided them with bread and entertainment. Constantine spearheaded casinos, increased the economy, and kept all the bloodstains behind closed doors. That was his greatest genius, really.”

“And no one noticed?”

“He was quick to silence those who did.”

A moment passed. They have reached the other end of the lake now. Cordelia had stopped walking. Leo turned to face her. The afternoon had finally fallen into twilight.

“Speaking of, did you come across the Severus clan when you read it?”

“Is that the one where he ordered a whole line killed?”

“… yes.”

“Yeah. Why?”

“There’s a group that formed right after you were born. They called themselves The Sons of Earth. Have you heard of them?” At the shake of Leo’s head, she continued. “I’m not surprised. They were just starting out when I left.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Cordelia turned and looked Leo in the eye, “because I fear that Constantine’s actions have caught up with us all.”

----

Edgewater the next day

A three-hour flight and an uneasy night spent in London, Hana was finally afforded her first glimpse of Edgewater. Her research into the Countess’ family revealed that the estate had been in their family for almost as long as their line had existed. A part of her relished the chance to visit a historical site with such deep and tangible roots (their collection of art and other artefacts alone would be enormous! Hana felt giddy just thinking about it). Another part was almost jumping up and down in excitement at the thought of seeing her first true friend once more. It was almost enough to drown the small part of her that wonders whether Liam already knew the truth. The presence of Bastien at the entrance did not help soothe her nerves.

The car slowed to a stop. Bastien walked over and opened the car door, offering a hand as he did so. Hana hesitated for a moment, doubts swirling around her mind, before taking Bastien’s hand and stepping out of the car.

One of the staff members must have been waiting on the other side of the doors as it swung open when she had finally righted herself. She could make out a line of staff through the doorway. Her promise to Leo rang in her mind once more.

With one final glance around the lush grounds and the impressive estate (Georgian, she noted with interest), Hana took a deep breath and stepped forward, through the threshold and into Edgewater.

Hana would be the first to admit that she had always viewed Cassandra through rose-tinted lenses. She was Hana’s first true friend, the woman who helped her stand up for herself. Cassie was the adventurous sister she had always wanted. And for a few short months, they had been sisters in all but blood.

Now, four years and a whole other set of separate experiences later, Hana once again meets Cassandra. Her hair’s shorter, Hana thought absently. The face that stared back at her was slightly more mature than the one she remembered. Hana only had the chance to observe those things as Cassandra, who spotted her as soon as she entered, broke into a smile and all but bounded over to give Hana a big hug. Hana hugged her tightly back, a smile blooming on her own face. It was the reunion that she had envisioned all these years.

“Hana! I missed you so much!”

“Oh, Cassie! I missed you too!”

Lucas may look like the spitting image of his father, but Hana can’t help but see the Cassie in him. He was an inquisitive child, bursting with questions and with enough energy to drive Hana dizzy after a time.

He had been a little hesitant when they had finally been introduced. He had been head peeking behind Liam’s legs when Cassie and Hana had reunited (At last! After four long years!) but he had warmed up to her when Cassie introduced her as a dear friend.

“Do you like cookies?” the little boy (the little prince!) asked Hana during a rare moment of silence. He stared at her with Liam’s eyes and with Cassie’s smile. The perfect little blend of her two dearest friends. She thought of the discoveries done in Cordonia, both before and after he arrived in their lives. Her heart went out to this little boy. Your grandfather’s actions have hurt so many. He unknowingly hurt you too…

“I – yes, I like cookies.”

He beamed at her, and Hana returned it with a smile of her own. How could she not?

“Me too!” he held out a chocolate chip cookie with a noticeable bite at its side. “D’you want one?”

Despite the apprehension that took root inside her, Hana let out a laugh.

“I’d like that very much.”

“So you’re telling me—“

Hana nodded. Cassie clapped both hands to her mouth as she gasped.

“Hana!” she squealed.

Hana blushed and quickly hushed Cassandra while she looked around the empty garden.

“But this is huge!” Cassie protested.

“It’s not a big deal,” Hana said softly, almost mumbling.

“But you and Kiara!”

Hana smiled despite herself.

“Oh, you got it bad,” Cassie teased.

Hana suppressed a snort. “Like you’re one to talk.”

Cassie laughed, loud and whole-bodied. Hana’s restraint lasted for one second before she gave in and joined the laughter.

A throat clearing behind them put a stop to their revelry. They both whirled around to see Liam smiling at them both.

“Is he down?” Cassie asked.

“After putting up a good fight, yes.”

Cassie raised her eyebrows, her smile quickly turning into a smirk. “You didn’t bribe him, did you?”

Liam scoffed, his smile turning bigger, “I’ve been schooled in diplomacy since birth, Cassie. I don’t need to resort to bribery just to get my son to take a nap.”

Cassie raised an eyebrow, “uh-huh…”

Now this feels familiar, Hana thought, amused.

“… fine. He will definitely ask to sleep in my room later. I might have promised to build a pillow fort with him.”

Cassie laughed, and Hana couldn’t help but join in. The day was devoid of the heavy clouds one usually associates with London. There was a pleasant breeze, bringing with it the perfume of the blossoms scattered about the garden. Halcyon days, Hana thought with a heavy feeling in her stomach. So rare and so brief. And I might have brought disaster with me…

----

Edgewater, night time

Aunt Clara’s office was bathed in shadows. The moon, barely visible over the top of the trees, did not offer much in the way of illumination. Not tonight, anyway. The fireplace was cold and empty, and only a couple of lamps kept total darkness at bay. Despite the hindrances that the dark might have presented, Cassandra was able to navigate her way through the room.

A few portraits of their ancestors were displayed on the walls; Auntie always liked landscapes better. Cassandra could almost feel the weight of their stares. It made the humid air feel heavier than it should be.

Her eyes landed on the jewels. It had been taken out of the display box for its cleaning. Now they were placed on the desk, in a bed of soft cloth, under the watchful eyes of one Clara Mills-Sinclaire. Her portrait looked nothing like her Aunt Clara, of course, but the way they lifted their chin and stared defiantly at the world echoed each other. Nestled on her ancestor’s head was the same tiara on the desk before her.

Cassie looked down at the jewels once more. Such a small thing, to carry so much history. Cassandra looked up at the portrait again. You didn’t run when the responsibility fell on you. She thought of her son, asleep and snug in his father’s arms. Cassandra wants more nights like that. Her family together. She eyed the jewels again, resolve building itself inside her. I don’t want to run anymore.

With trembling hands, she hesitantly reached for the tiara. Carefully, feeling the weight of her ancestors on her, she lifted the tiara and slowly, delicately placed it on her head. It was lighter than she had expected. Moments passed, and she chanced a look at a nearby mirror. Cassie stared. The tiara had fit her perfectly.

----

Cordonia the next day

Still flush from her victory over Madeleine, Kiara strode through the corridors that led to her office. That’s one obstacle out of the way. Although, I suspect Liam would want a chat with Adelaide…

A glance towards her secretary’s desk told her that Justin, or whatever his name actually is, hasn’t arrived yet. The morning sunlight made the room glow. Outside, the sky was clear, and she had removed a thorn on their side. Things are looking up and Hana’s set to come back with Liam and Lady Cassandra in the evening. Perhaps they will bring their son with them…

With a smile, Kiara opened the door to the office.

She froze.

Leaning over her desk, papers and other state documents in hand, was her secretary. He looked up as she entered, face twisted in a snarl.

For a moment they stood still, surprise making them freeze in place.

Kiara stood still, rooted on the spot, heart thundering in her chest. Justin held her gaze, something dark and sinister in his eyes.

Then time seemed to move once more, faster than it usually is.

Kiara tried to step backwards, perhaps hoping to gain more ground before the predator pounced.

But Justin was faster.

In a flash, he had leapt across the table, scattering papers and other knick-knacks as he did so. Kiara faintly heard a glass scatter on the floor.

Before she could do more than stumble back, Justin was on her.

Something flashed silver before pain erupted on her side. Something heavy collided with her head.

The world seemed to blur. Sound seemed to fade.

The last thing she saw before her face met the floor was a pair of angry dark eyes, and a smile that resembled a snarl.

----

Gatwick Airport, England

The walls were too white. The room was too bright. Liam resisted the urge to pace. A hand on his back made him tense. A whiff of jasmine caught his attention.

Tension bled out of his body. Her arms wrap around him. He could feel her warmth on his back. Her head barely reached his shoulders.

“Breathe, Liam.”

He did as she asked. He’ll always do as she asked.

He gently turned around and wrapped his own arms around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head. For a moment the world seemed to quiet down.

“Better?”

Liam leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Cassandra’s lips.

“Much.”

They both looked up as the PA announced their flight was ready. Reluctantly, they untangled themselves from each other. Liam scooped up his son’s sleepy form from one of the lounge chairs. His movement caused Hana to wake up from the nap Cassie suggested. He glanced around the private lounge. All their bags were already on the royal jet.

His eyes landed on Cassandra. He saw her spare one last look through the lounge’s window, a faraway look in her eyes. She pocketed her phone, grasped her trusty messenger bag (the one she had since before they met) and took a deep breath.

Liam crossed the distance between them and reached for her hand. She took it and laced their fingers together.

With one hand holding the love of his life and the other supporting his sleeping son, Liam walked towards the boarding gates.

----

The Dowager Queen

The setting sun caused shadows to stretch across the tarmac. Inside the tinted limousine, the Queen Mother heaved a sigh. The day had been taken a turn that none of them had expected. At least Liam’s finally coming back.

To be honest, Regina was a bit hurt that Liam had not deigned to inform her he was travelling out of the country or the reason behind it. Even an informal email would have done. Or any form of message really, however impersonal it may have looked. She was probably the last person to find out he had gone. I can’t say I can fault him for that. Not after years of passive non-action from my end.

But still…

Regina firmly reigned her thoughts in. She will take what she can salvage from their relationship. After all, she got along with Liam better than she did with Leo. She already made the mistake of being cold towards Katie when they first met and that resulted in her not meeting her grandchildren when they were born. She won’t make the same mistake this time.

But then again, it helps that Liam chose a more competent lady than Leo, circumstances aside. Lady Cassandra could have done well in court, had she stayed all those years ago. Had Constantine not let his paranoia rule him.

No matter. I’ll gladly welcome Liam’s long-lost son and his lady love. It’s the least she can do, really. Besides, Regina liked the idea of more grandchildren. Thank goodness Leo was more flexible in that matter. She had thoroughly enjoyed spending time with his twin daughters.

Regina smiled. Such precocious children! She had already made plans to introduce darling Sabrina to Joelle. Such talent should be encouraged and fostered. And from what she and her staff had gathered from the English Ambassador, Liam’s son – Lucas — was also a bright boy. Regina looks forward to meeting him in person this time.

The shadows lengthened as the sun sunk lower. The royal jet should be near now. Shadows and the twilight had always reminded her of her late husband. Shadows especially.

Oh Connie, so much has been lost because you were afraid. We could have seen our grandchildren grow up together. Your son would have had more time with his own son.

Four years ago

Constantine had been more stubborn than usual. It was so unlike him to get worked up on courtly intrigue, since he usually left such things under her purview.

“But the media’s focused on the engagement right now. I don’t see any harm in letting her come back. It was a misunderstanding at most. I’ll even take her under my wing—“

“No.”

“But Liam—“

“Would be better off if he focused on his own engagement tour. Bringing her back would only distract him.”

She looked at her husband in astonishment, “have you seen how he is right now? Constantine, your son is falling apart! Bringing Lady Cassandra back would do him good. It’s not as if they can change the engagement now—“

Constantine slammed his fist on the desk. Regina jumped, then froze. His eyes were cold with a fury that she had only heard of years ago. Fear churned inside her.

“I said no, Regina! And that is final!”

She had not tried to change his mind since. Not even when she saw how Liam struggled with juggling the crown and his own heartache. And while a part of her felt reassured that Madeleine was chosen as queen once more, it is becoming quickly overshadowed by concern as she watched cracks appear on Liam’s mask. She had tried to offer whatever comfort Liam would accept from her. It helped salvage her relationship with her stepson.

It did not help her relationship with her husband on the other hand.

But she dared not oppose Constantine too much. She knew the fate of his previous wives all too well. And she won’t be any help to Liam or to anybody if she joined that exclusive club. She knew what she married, after all. Or at least some part of it. She dared not look further, dared not put a toe out of line. Scared to peer into the shadow and see what lurked within.

The approaching jet snapped Regina from her musing. She smiled. As the jet landed, and the doors opened and she stepped out of the car, Regina resolves that she’ll do better this time. After all, this is a chance she dared not waste.

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