#yeah no she prefers coffee; have you seen her dad???? he literally owns a cafe

[picavecalyx]

      “ le café est meilleur. ”

#ic ;; blue bird bloom #;; dash commentary ;; #yeah no she prefers coffee; have you seen her dad???? he literally owns a cafe

[yerawizardjulia]

Too Rich for a McNugget (Wolfstar)

A university student enters an antique shop in a panic. How do you buy a wedding gift for a cousin you hate? 

Sirius wouldn’t have looked twice at the dusty shop if he wasn’t stupidly, desperately late. The high street itself was laughing at him and he was uncomfortably aware of the scrubby guy on the bench that had definitely seen him walk past the same shop window three times in a desperate attempt to see anything other than tea towels and obnoxiously cheerful decorated mugs with ‘World’s best dad’ printed on the sides in Comic Sans. His fingers were slippery in anxious sweat as he pressed the home button on his phone, his iPhone six, another reason his presence would be scorned at this godforsaken gathering. The smudgy screen blinked into life and displayed, seemingly smugly after Sirius’ growing resentment towards the device, 12:42.

Twenty fucking minutes. If he didn’t show up with a gift he might as well not show up at all, an option he would have embraced wholeheartedly if his mother hadn’t pincered him into a corner at their last, regularly depressing routine coffee catch up and told him the deeds to his inheritance were under considerable threat if he did not attend. He wouldn’t have minded, but being twenty grand in debt to an English degree in a rented apartment with black mould creeping onto the ceiling made him reconsider his options.

Fucking Narcissa.

He wouldn’t have been looking forward to the wedding even if she wasn’t marrying a right wing, Eton-educated, ‘can’t control these blasted immigrants’ CEO of whateverthefuck that looked as though he’d never even touched an item of clothing that didn’t come from Armani. It was so typical of his cousin to find a man who deferred so minimally from their shared families’ frankly alarmingly consistent Tory heritage that Sirius had had to do some extensive Googling to confirm that Lucius Malfoy was not in fact, a not-so-distant relative.

A text buzzed in his hand, the little green notification welcome on the screen. At least it was an excuse to loiter outside this shop window for another minute or so without looking like a genuine psychopath.

‘Just get her a toaster or something idk.’

Sirius hadn’t really expected James’ solution to his predicament to be helpful, but his flatmate’s response nevertheless sent the hopeless feeling in his stomach a few inches lower. He had never expected for his future to be balanced on the purchase of a wedding gift, but he would almost prefer to sit his first-year exams, which he had taken with a hangover so severe it felt like he was going to vomit out of his eyeballs, all over again than have to look at this shop window for a second longer. He pictured sitting in a gutter in London, like the tramps that his mother refused to make eye contact with during their trips out during his childhood, drinking from a bottle wrapped in brown paper and thinking; if only I had gone with the luxury jam set. He had discarded the idea after noticing the Tesco’s Finest logo above the barcode, but it was beginning to look like his best option.

Another text. No, a call. Sirius shoved the phone back into his hoodie he was using to mask the aristocratic wedding attire beneath. Keepers of pretentious little shops such as the ones lining this dusty high street tended to bump their prices through the roof if they saw someone of his blood walk in. Old blood. Old money. It was unfair, really, because Sirius didn’t actually have any. If he did, he probably wouldn’t mind paying the exorbitant prices; James spent half his life agonising over how independent businesses were being suffocated by Amazon. But Sirius had nothing to his name until his dear grandparents decided to snuff it. The phone ceased buzzing waspishly in his pocket, and he decided he had better check who he was ignoring. 

Typical fucking Regulus. 

Probably the only human being under twenty that actually went out of his way to call people, rather than text. He would be there already, exchanging pleasantries in the foyer of the Malfoy’s third manor home. Checking to see whether the Black family disappointment was showing his face, or if he’d have to rely on his six predicted A* grades and brand new Porsche that probably cost more to insure than it did to buy to present himself as the golden child. He’d probably have a stupid little flower in his stupid little button hole. Being a cousin of the bride and a groomsman of the groom, Regulus had firmly nestled himself already into this hideous conjunction of families. He had a job lined up for him in Malfoy’s London branch. In six months, he’d probably have his own office.

Sirius had diluted his shampoo with water for the second time this morning.

He scowled and kicked a bottle cap along the pavement as he stumped, once again, down the row of shops. The circular metal projectile skittered across the tarmac and bounced off a door frame. He stopped, staring suddenly at the sign swinging on a pair of metal hooks like it was a medieval fucking tavern.

Fletcher’s Quality Gifts and Trinkets.

Somehow, inexplicably, Sirius’ eyes had slid over this shop four times as he’d panicked his way up and down this stretch of pavement. There was no window display, that was why. The door fit seamlessly between Bobbin’s Haberdashery and a derelict Cafe Nero. Sirius felt his phone buzz again and suppressed the urge to throw it into the path of the lazy, midday traffic crawling its way up the high street. He stared at the chipped paint and begged silently, to whatever entities may have been listening, that he would find something, anything to take to this fucking wedding.

The door jammed awkwardly on the floor as Sirius pushed it open. It made a juddering, dry squeak, scuffing on the splintery wood. Sirius winced, and half thought about just turning tail and walking out again, going back to pick up that cheap-as-shit jam set. Narcissa probably didn’t even eat jam. Was jam vegan?

He had to push his way in sideways, and as he did so, the door unstuck, swinging open and leaving him standing, pointlessly squashed back against the door frame. Sirius closed his eyes and wondered whether anything was going to go right today.

When he opened them, a guy was blinking at him from behind a checkout desk. A book was open on the surface before him and his long legs with too short trousers that showed a few inches of garishly coloured socks were rested upon the desk next to the till. He removed them hastily to the floor as Sirius stared.

“Sorry, the door- It gets stuck- you have to like-“ He mimed something that Sirius couldn’t even begin to relate to unsticking a door. “Sorry,” he finished, lamely. He bent over his book. Sirius peeled himself from the frame, not taking in the low beams that he would probably hit his head on or the items grouped together in nonsensical piles on the shelves and stacked on the floor.

This guy was gorgeous. He had an odd collection of features that were nothing special, when you looked at them individually- a nose that listed to the left, a thin top lip, a smattering of pigmentation on his cheeks that suggested acne that had been grown out of- but together... Sirius couldn’t stop staring at him. That tawny hair- fucking tawny, who am I, William pissing Wordsworth?- That sharp chin, those long fingers that teased the edge of the paper as he finished reading his page.

He was absolutely, fundamentally, not Sirius’ type. Any romantic entanglements he had had- and granted, it was not a long list (he and James had one sellotaped to the fridge)- involved men so deep in the closet they were practically choking on mothballs. They were footballers, mostly, insecure, ‘just experimenting’. Sirius didn’t know why his gaydar was sounding off so strongly. Was it the deeply uncool granddad jumper that somehow looked like it belonged in Men’s Vogue when draped over his long torso? Sirius was hardly modest about his own looks, but if he tried that jumper on he would look like the kid that forgot his P.E. kit. The same went for the not-skinny, not-baggy jeans that looked as though they were made for literally anyone other than him but somehow, looked really cool and why did Sirius love those hideous socks so much? Did they have pineapples on them? 

The guy, seemingly unaware of Sirius lurking behind the shelf closest to the door, propped the book up in his hands, and Sirius read the title- The Picture of Dorian Grey.

Well, there it is.

“IneedapresentforacousinIhatewho’smarryingaguythathasprobablynevereatenaMcDonald’schickennugget.” Sirius was hardly more aware of the words projectile vomiting from his mouth than he was of the way he was sidling towards the checkout desk with his hands wringing in front of him like he was expecting this guy to stand up and shout at him.

Brown eyes emerged from behind the finest work of Oscar Wilde, carrying a look of mild alarm.

“Because, he’s rich, not a vegetarian.” Sirius finished. His mouth seemed a long way behind his brain, but perhaps that was a good thing, because his brain was currently screaming FUCK ME and Sirius was not willing to be barred from any more establishments for hedonistic behaviour.

“A wedding present?” His voice was mild, like Sirius had just asked a perfectly normal question for a stranger to ask a shop employee.

“Uh, yeah.” Why was he blushing? He never blushed. He stepped back needlessly as the guy rose from behind the desk. He was tall. Proportionately tall, with long limbs and a long neck and long god knows what else. Sirius nearly fell to his knees in reverence when the guy cracked a smile that caused a dimple to poke in his cheek and exposed sharp canines that Sirius never considered worth noticing in anyone before but holy fuck he would be now.

“You know what, I think I’ve got something.” He was walking away down one of the dark-ish isles, stooping considerably to avoid the beams and Sirius was trailing after him, awkward and out of place and acting so drastically not like himself he wondered if he had sustained a concussion at some point. Maybe when he was forcing his way through that rude fucking door. The hair at the nape of this guy’s neck curled slightly like he was due a haircut. His trainers were really beat up and old, and Sirius was sure he could see one of the laces fraying and considered whether he should warn him he was about to trip.

“When is this wedding?” His voice was still mild and almost disconcertingly polite; he had stopped and was rummaging among a pile of objects on a shelf-seriously, how was anyone supposed to find anything in here?- and Sirius was still staring at his trailing shoelace.

“Well, sort of now.”

He stood up a bit straighter as the brown eyes widened, and he was looking at him, properly, for the first time and Jesus Christ, how were you supposed to stand normally? Where were your arms supposed to go? Eyebrows, light brown and shapeless and a bit sparse at the ends, furrowed and he let out a small huff of amusement. It was the politest expression of ‘this dude’s a complete disaster’ that Sirius had ever seen. “I’ve been putting it off,” he added needlessly. Something about the way this guy was now looking him up and down as if he could read his life story just from Sirius’ tailored trousers that he’d forgotten to get dry cleaned and his hoodie that was actually James’ and his shoes that looked expensive but were actually from TKMaxx was making him need to offer increasingly poor explanations for his shambles of a life. “I don’t want to go, but I have to, and I hate weddings anyway, but especially this one, and I-‘

The look of curious amusement on the guy’s face- god, Sirius really wanted to know his name- halted his rambling. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m not normally this stressed.”

“That’s okay,” he replied, as if it was his job to tolerate a load of garbled nonsense from strangers, like he did it regularly, in fact, which made him wonder what kind of people actually came into this shop that you could barely tell existed. He was still rummaging through the shelves, Sirius was pretty sure a couple of things had fallen off the back and were now in the dark recesses of the between-shelf-and-wall space where things went to die. God, did anyone ever actually buy anything in here? He found it easier to control himself when the guy stopped x-raying him with his eyes, so he said “er, how long’s this shop been here?”

“Oh, I’ve only worked here six weeks. No idea, ages, probably.” He picked up a remarkably creepy porcelain figure of a shepherdess that was covered with so much dust that at first glance, Sirius thought it was some kind of radioactively-deformed elephant.

“I see what you mean,” said Sirius, staring at the figurine reproachfully. “How does anyone find anything in here?” The questions were not what he actually wanted to ask, which involved something along the lines of are you gay-are you single-are you safe from asbestos in this shop and do you think I’m a complete weirdo. He perked up when the guy let out another polite huff of laughter.

“Most customers have been coming in here for years,” he said, “I don’t see a lot of new people.” His eyes flickered to Sirius and back again and Sirius felt as if he was preparing to dive from a very large boat into a sea that was very cold.

“What’s your name?” Sirius asked, louder than he had meant to. He cringed inwardly and for the second time, considered legging it out of the door when he was once again regarded by a pair of searching brown eyes.

“Remus,” he said. Sirius could tell he was waiting for him to laugh. When he didn’t, because how the fuck could this man get any more attractive, and somehow the name Remus suited him down to his shredded laces, he turned to face him, as if in defiance.

“Hilarious, I know. Remus Lupin, which makes it even better.” Sirius’ resolve cracked at this.

“What?” He squawked, dragging his eyes over Remus again, because he looked like any novelist's wet dream and his name was Remus fucking Lupin... “Mine’s worse.” Sirius said, straightening again. Remus Lupin was rolling his eyes as if in grim acceptance of the barrage of snide jibes that had yet to tumble from Sirius’ mouth, but his eyebrows had disappeared into his hair at Sirius’ response and his arms were folded across his chest, which pulled the loose neck of his jumper down and exposed a few inches of pale sternum.

“I don’t believe you.”

Sirius grinned at this. He cleared his throat and pulled his hand out of the pouch/pocket/thing on the front of his hoodie which was definitely not a secure place for his phone, wallet and keys, and held it out.

“Sirius Black. Pleasure to meet you.” Remus’ mouth had fallen slightly open and a smile was touching at the corners of his lips as he took Sirius’ hand. Sirius was almost surprised that there was no jolt of electricity from all the built up static in his woollen jumper, but his skin was cool and his fingers were thin and twiggy and the knuckles were surprisingly big, and he didn’t drop it straight away, which made Sirius wonder if it was intentional, like a sort of gay signal, and then he remembered the Oscar Wilde book on the checkout desk and stopped trying to look for gay signals.

“Holy shit,” Remus spluttered. The profanity rolled masterfully from his lips; Sirius had never quite got the hang of swearing after his stuffy, conservative upbringing. Remus made it sound graceful.

“What a pair, eh?” said Sirius, and then cringed inwardly again because they weren’t a pair, they were complete strangers but somehow it felt like they’d known each other forever and fuck when did it get so hot in here? He looked at the shelves where Remus’ other hand still rested, and tried to ignore the eyes that were sliding up and down his body as Remus Lupin gave him what Sirius recognised as ‘the gay once-over.’ Dressed in the odd assortment of James’ secondary school football hoodie that had been surpassed by the frankly unnatural growth of James’ shoulders, pretentious shoes and crinkled dress trousers, Sirius was acutely aware that he was not looking his whole and considerable best. Christ, he might even look straight.

“There’s um-you said you might have something?” Sirius said, after another twenty five seconds in which Remus’ gaze had lingered on the rings Sirius had forgotten to take off (his mum would kill him if he turned up to a wedding looking like anything other than a Conservative Straight Man) and then drifted to his hair which was probably fried from all the sweating and running about and cheap shampoo. Remus blinked at these words, and whipped his head back to the shelves as if startled he had been caught in the act.

“Yes! Sorry, it’s-erm-can you hold this?” He plonked a cast iron sewing machine into Sirius’ arms who sagged beneath the weight, wheezing as he tried to lock his knees without Remus noticing. What the hell kind of Hulk body was hiding under that jumper? Eyes streaming, he balanced it on top of a pile of ancient National Geographic magazines and prayed it would not succumb to the inevitable force of gravity. Remus was deep into the recesses of the shelf, standing on tiptoe to reach the very back. His socks were visible again and Sirius could see now that they were not pineapples, but durians. Cute. His jumper was riding up as he stretched to whatever unknown artefacts lurked at the very rear and now it was Sirius’ turn to stare, because there was some pale midriff exposed above the waist of his jeans and he was skinny, but not skinny, kind of-lean? Was that the word? He had that vee of muscle above his hip and Sirius was suddenly struggling not to choke on his own tongue.

"Here it is!", came Remus' muffled voice, and Sirius took a step back hurriedly. He was pretty certain he had been gazing glassy eyed at the shop-keeper's navel where a delicate line of dark brown hair descended below his belt, and pinched his own wrist hard behind his back as Remus' head emerged, and he shook some cobwebs out of his curly hair. He was holding a small box, and Sirius’ first thought was that if something covered in that much dust came within eight feet of Narcissa, her immune system would likely spontaneously combust due to overexposure. People like her didn’t have immune systems, they just loaded themselves up with fucking multivitamins and avoided any establishments without at least two Michelin stars. 

“Sorry it’s a bit-“ Remus blew a cloud of dust off the top of the box, coughed, and wiped it off on the back of his jeans, muttering ‘need to stop smoking.’ 

Sirius almost went feral at the image of his lips pursed around a Marlboro, but managed to pull his face into a socially acceptable frame in time for Remus to pass the box to him. “What do you think?” 

Squatting in a bed of midnight blue velvet, sat a pair of silver napkin rings. They were ornate, and completely hideous. Sirius started to grin. He picked one up to examine it. It was decorated with a stag, and the other with a doe. It was likely the engraver had never seen these animals in the flesh, which would account for their mildly horrifying humanoid faces. 

“Perfect,” muttered Sirius, turning the ugly silver object over in his hand. It was heavy and looked antique, and Sirius knew it would fit right in with the future Mrs. Malfoy’s entirely tasteless kitchen decor. He looked up at Remus, disbelieving in the way he had absolutely nailed Sirius’ mission. “Absolutely bloody perfect.” 

Remus grinned back, a wondrous sight, his hands half in the pockets of his faded jeans. Sirius returned the napkin ring to its box, and then thought of something that made his smile falter. 

“Are these solid silver?” 

“Yep,” Remus said happily. “Nineteenth century antiques, I believe.” But Sirius was pushing the box back into his hands, shaking his head. 

“I can’t afford that, sorry I-“ 

“Five quid.” The box flew back into Sirius’ hands before he could blink. 

“Come again?”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “I’m the only person who knew they were there, and I doubt anyone else would want to bestow something that vile on a newly wedded couple.” 

Was this guy even real? Sirius couldn’t quite fathom what he had done to deserve this act of kindness, but he wasn’t about to turn it down. 

“Thank you,” he said, earnestly. Remus shrugged again, but the smile remained. He took Sirius back to the counter, where he took the box back from him and, while Sirius dug in his pocket for some change, produced some silvery wrapping paper and parcelled it. Sirius stole a surreptitious glance at him as he tied it off with a navy ribbon. His eyelashes were sandy like his eyebrows, but they were thick and almost touched his cheeks when his eyes were cast down on his work. 

Sirius was having a crisis. He had never asked for anyone’s number before, but the thought of walking out of this shop and never seeing this god-sent individual again was criminal. His mouth felt dry. What if he had misread this interaction completely, and Remus was just a friendly, helpful guy? He glanced at the book, now balanced on top of the till while Remus rang up, and took a breath. 

“Good book, that” he said, indicating The Picture of Dorian Grey awkwardly. Remus looked from him, to the book, and back again. While Sirius experienced a burning sensation in the base of his chest, Remus nodded non commitantly, and swept the stack of pound coins Sirius had placed on the desk into the till. He looked away, agonising, kicking himself internally at his own ineptness, as he pulled a receipt from the till and passed it and the neatly-wrapped box across the table. 

“All done.” 

“Thanks.” Sirius could feel his cheeks burning, and decided a clean getaway was well overdue. He had picked up the items and had half turned away when he heard- “I wrote my number on that receipt, you know.” 

The burning in his chest now felt like a slowly inflating balloon. He looked down at the smooth piece of paper and saw a number scribbled in biro on its surface. Eleven numbers. Definitely a phone number. He turned hastily back to Remus, who was- Sirius was pleased to see- also looking slightly bashful. 

“Thought my gaydar had malfunctioned for a minute there,” Sirius said. Remus laughed. 

“It was really great to meet you.” He said, placing his feet up on the desk again. 

“And you,” Sirius replied. Elated, he headed for the door before Remus could change his mind. He dreaded to think how late he was now, but he couldn’t think of a situation more worth a bollocking from his mother than this one. He had yanked the reluctant door open when- 

“Hey, Sirius?” 

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder. Remus was peering over the top of his book at him again. 

“Let me know how the wedding goes.” 

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #muggle au #Marauders #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #wolfstar au #remus x sirius #remus is a little shit and i love him

[serendipitous-magic]

Question Game - AKA Oversharing Hour

I was tagged by @the-angry-pixie​! And I’m a chronic oversharer, so this was fun. I’ll put most of it under a read more line because there’s a LOT.

1. Do you prefer writing with a black pen or blue pen? 

Black. Dunno why.

2. Would you prefer to live in the country or city? 

City city city city city city city city. I’m already going fucking batshit as it is, trapped in suburbia. I want to be able to actually do things, anything. Anything other than just being around the house and / or work. (And I felt like this before the pandemic started.) If you live in the city you can walk out your door and be somewhere else within like 5 minutes. A city park, a cafe, a train/subway, a local attraction, a museum, an artist’s booth, an outdoor market, etc. etc. 

Living in suburbia is like, well, to go literally anywhere you have to get into your car first and drive like 10 minutes minimum to get out of the neighborhood, and then if you want to go anywhere that’s not the grocery store you have to drive 20 minutes to get to another area of town, and then once you get there that’s the only place you can be without getting into your car again and getting a nice shot of anxiety from having to drive in traffic and have aggressive drivers roar up on your ass because you’re going 5mph above the speed limit and they want to be going 15mph above, and god help you if you have to merge, and oh by the way this is your only option to get around because public transit doesn’t really exist in any useful way in Big Suburbia, and nothing in within walking distance of your house except like 2 playgrounds and maybe one (1) gas station. (I hate it here lmao)

If I was trapped in the country I’d probably be chill with it for about a week, and enjoy the break, and the on day 8 I’d snap and go on a murdering spree out of stir-craziness.

3. If you could learn a new skill what would it be? 

I want to learn German and eventually be fluent in it. But since I’ve already started trying to learn and I don’t know if that counts, I’ll say cinematography. As in the actual working of the camera and lighting and all that. I can dream up some pretty striking images but actually getting the camera to do the settings needed to capture them is another story entirely.

4. Do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar? 

Nope. I drink coffee and tea both, and I don’t put any kind of sweetener in either of them. I used to put a shitton of sugar in my coffee and honey in my tea, and then I had some mild eating disorder struggles in college and I never got back in the habit of putting stuff in my hot drinks after that. It just tastes wrong now, after being used to plain black coffee.

5. What was your favourite book as a child? 

Either the Harry Potter series or The Hobbit. My grandma would take care of me a lot when I was really little because my parents both worked full time to support us, and every single time I was at her house she’d sit us down at the dining room table and read something to me. Not Junie B. Jones or anything, either, but real, big, thick books. I loved the shit out of Harry Potter and The Hobbit; I would request them repeatedly. We pretty much went back and forth; we’d read Harry Potter, and then The Hobbit, and then when a new Harry Potter book came out we’d read that, and then The Hobbit again, and so on and so forth.

6. Do you prefer baths or showers? 

Showers. I love baths, they’re magical, but ain’t nobody got time for that unless it’s a special occasion. I got too much shit to do to spend an hour lying in the bathtub.

7. If you could be a mythical creature, which one would it be? 

Vampire. Purely on the basis that if I was immortal maybe I’d finally have time to get my to-do list done and accomplish things. I’d miss the sunlight though.

8. Paper or electronic books? 

Paper. Here’s the thing, I really want to enjoy ebooks, but they just don’t hold my attention at all. Maybe I’m too conditioned by the internet to have a short attention span when I’m looking at a screen, idk.

9. What is your favourite item of clothing? 

I have a dark gray hoodie from the Seattle Aquarium from when I went on a road trip across America with my BFF a few years ago. It’s still my absolute favorite thing. I also enjoy my hiking boots a lot. (I wear them all the time, really they should just be called “everyday boots” haha)

10. Do you like your name or would you like to change it?

I like my name and I would also like to start going by something different. Probably just because I’m a restless soul and I feel the best (and least trapped) when I’m on the move or when things are changing. The second I get somewhere I want to be somewhere else. That’s just how I am. Gwen is a cool name (I’ve personally met maybe 3 people in my whole life with the same name, face-to-face), but there’s a lot attached to that nickname that I don’t necessarily want to carry with me when I eventually escape my hometown and start down a new path.

11. Who is a mentor to you? 

A friend and former professor whom I usually refer to online as Producer Man. He’s a producer (as you may have guessed) who kind of took me under his wing after I was in one of his film classes in college. We work together on film projects now and he’s teaching me bit-by-bit (usually by way of long, rambling, tangential stories / lectures) about the industry. He’s a really good guy. Like, he for sure has a case of Old White Guy sometimes, but his heart is absolutely in the right place. “He’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit.” He’s always leaving $10 tips at coffee places and working himself to the bone to get his students connected to jobs and internships that will help them with their careers. 

12. Would you like to be famous and if so, what for? 

Yes, my stories. Actually, “famous” is not the right word. It’s just that fame is so tightly associated with success in our society. I want to be successful. Whether I’m widely known or not is pretty inconsequential to me. I want to make stories and I want them to have an impact. Books, film, etc. It’s about as simple as that.

13. Are you a restless sleeper? 

Oh yeah. I have trouble  sleeping as much as I should because I usually kind of jerk awake in the morning with this vague feeling that I forgot something or that I’m late for something. Also I stay up later than I should because I’m a night owl, and yet I like being up early because early mornings are great. And usually if I dream at all it’s something kind of stressful, like I dream that I forgot something important or did something wrong. I’m a Stressed Bean. 

14. Do you consider yourself a romantic person? 

I think so, yeah. I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of romance (I mean look at my OTPs), but heteronormativity got me fucked up enough that I’m bad at actually navigating real romantic feelings or relationships because society never prepared me for The Gay.

15. Which element best represents you? 

Fire, probably.

16. Who do you want to be closer to? 

My mom. We fight a lot and there tends to be a lot of tension between us. It’s a long complicated story. It boils down to, she really hurt me when I came out as not-straight at 15 and she lost all of my trust and even though she’s working on being less homophobic we’re still kind of trying to repair that divide seven years later.

17. Do you miss someone at the moment? 

Dude, I miss everyone. I’m an introvert and I’d love to be at a big party right now. I miss socialization. (As does everyone.) 

18. Tell us about an early childhood memory. 

The first time I experienced deja vu, I was about eehhh 6? And I legitimately believed, for several years of my life, that I had future-predicting abilities. Like, supernatural-level future-predicting abilities. Because I didn’t really know what deja vu was, so I thought, every time it happened, that I had already ~seen~ that moment in my dreams or something. 🤣

19. What is the strangest thing you have eaten? 

Hm. (My immature ass brain yells “DICK.” No, brain. Those were dark heteronormative times. Also, grow up.) 

Probably some of the sushi in Seattle. I actually love sushi, it’s just that when it has full-on legs and eyeballs I start getting a little squeamish. I like the rolls and the kind where there’s some fish meat laid out on a nice little bed of rice, that’s delicious. But when they brought out the whole shrimp with legs still attached, I was like “How in the (redacted) am I going to chew / swallow that.”

20. What are you most thankful for? 

That I happened to be living with family when this pandemic hit. I was supposed to move out (and across the country, actually) as of... like 4 days ago, as it happens. That was the plan. Plane ticket was gonna be booked for 7/15/20. Obviously, things didn’t quite work out that way, because of the pandemic and a few other reasons. But I can’t imagine if I had been in an apartment living with roommates, or in an apartment on my own struggling to get by, when this happened. A lot of people couldn’t pay rent and lost their homes. I was very, very lucky to be where I was, when I was, and very lucky that I have family who let me stay in their house pretty much indefinitely while this clusterfuck of a year happens.

21. Do you like spicy food? 

Yes! I looooove spicy thai food especially. I miss the massaman curry from a local Thai place so much 😭

22. Have you ever met someone famous? 

Um. Maybe? I met Veronica Roth once at an author talk in the library where I work, although it was before I worked there. And I met some guy from New Zealand who’s famous for his sword fighting skills because my dad does sword fighting stuff. Don’t remember his name though.

23. Do you keep a diary or journal? 

Yep. I have to write down everything or I forget. (I often say I have the memory of a goldfish.) Also, I have this compulsion to record and preserve my experiences in life, because I feel like our time on Earth is so fleeting and if I don’t write down what’s important to me, I’ll forget it and lose it.

24. Do you prefer to use a pen or a pencil? 

Pen. Pencil gets smudged.

25. What is your star sign? 

Scorpio, which is ironic because they’re supposed to be ~hyper sexual~ I guess, and I’m like gray-ace or something in that zone.

26. Do you like your cereal soggy or crunchy? 

Crunchy. Who eats soggy cereal? Are you okay? Do you need help? This is an intervention. 

27. What would you want your legacy to be? 

My stories. Life and sentience, as we experience it, is made up of just that: experience. And I read somewhere that, on some level, the human brain doesn’t differentiate that much between real life experiences and fictional experiences. I think that’s true. If you read or watch or hear the right story, it can really touch you and change the way you see life, or even change the way you live life. Stories have an incredible amount of power, both in individual people’s lives and in larger society. A huge amount of power. I want to be able to give people experiences that will Enrich Their Lives (do I sound like a lifestyle coach yet? 🤦🏼‍♀️), but also stories that actively do good in society. Positive representation, body positivity/neutrality, diversity, healthy relationships (Hollywood has a real problem with that). Hope. It’s the best thing I can think to give society, and storytelling is what I love to do.

28. Do you like reading, what was the last book you read? 

I love reading. I wish I did it more. Part of my problem is that I get caught up in the hectic Rat Race of modern society and I never feel like I have time to sit down with a book for hours. Another problem of mine is that I start too many things at once, meaning I currently have like 5-10 (I lost count) books that I started reading, and I want to finish all of them, which means no progress ever gets done on any of them.

I last finished The Goldfinch, and I am currently working on The Secret History, Good Omens, Dune, a book my dad wrote, Directing Actors, Shot by Shot, The Way of Kings and I forget what else.

29. How do you show someone you love them? 

Physical affection, acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts, in that order. If I’m close to someone, whether romantically or not, I want all the affection. And I’m kind of dying in quarantine. 

30. Do you like ice in your drinks? 

Depends. I usually don’t put any in, because it’s just gonna water down the drink and get in the way of drinking it (you know when the ice attacks your face?), but I don’t really mind ice in my drinks.

31. What are you afraid of? 

Helplessness. I Have Control Issues. ✌️ Also stagnation.

32. What is your favourite scent? 

Amber. Or any scent that’s kind of autumn-y. You know what I mean. Some other examples include dryer sheets, wood smoke, cigarette smoke (my big sister used to smoke a long long time ago, and although I never saw her do it, I still associate the scent with her), pine resin, rain, that Mahogany Woods scent from Bath and Bodyworks.

33. Do you address older people by their name or surname? 

If they introduce themselves as Pam I call them Pam. If they introduce themselves as Mr. Brown I call them Mr. Brown.

34. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life? 

 If “money is not a factor” means I have an infinite amount of money to spend as I wish, then: buy land, build film studio complex on land, found company, hire fellow creatives, make movies.

If “money is not a factor” just means that I don’t have to work 40 hours a week to afford rent, then: move to Chicago, rent a nice studio apartment, write stories, maybe work 15 hours a week at a used bookstore or coffee shop to get me out of the house and socialize. Go to museums, go to the park, walk along Lake Michigan, go to gay bars, ride the train, brave the Illinois winters, own a cat, paint, play guitar. Build my actual career on writing / storytelling. Probably also do some filmmaking.

Alternatively: buy an RV (not like an American Trailer Park shitty RV, I’m talking the NOICE ones), buy good film equipment, be a freelancer, live in RV driving around to wherever the next filming location is. Life is a road trip and I’m doing what I love. Writing, storytelling, filmmaking. My home would travel with me. Writing in cafes; roadside attractions; early mornings on the road with coffee in the cup holder as the sun comes up; being able to go anywhere to film; always experiencing something new.

35. Do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean? 

I’ve lived in a landlocked state my whole life, so I guess swimming pools. And, listen, I CANNOT get water in my mouth at the beach without wondering exactly how many kids have peed (or worse) in that water. (I know that’s a thing with pools too, but pools get cleaned.)

36. What would you do if you found £50 on the ground? 

Wonder what some poor European is doing in America right now. But if it was $50, I’d probably yell “DID ANYONE DROP THIS?” and then take it if no one speaks up.

37. Have you ever seen a shooting star? 

A few times, yeah.

38. What is the one thing you would want to teach your children? 

Grades are not the end-all-be-all. Skip some homework assignments to spend time with friends. Skip class sometimes. I’m serious. If you make school your top priority, even over your own personal life, you will come away with good grades and a lot of regret and missed opportunities. Learning is HELLA important, and very very little of it happens inside a school building. Get a 15 hour weekend or after-school job in high school, befriend your coworkers, and have fun with it. Use your paychecks however you want. Join a school club - one that you’re actually interested in. Do stupid shit. Light your textbooks on fire after graduation or go to the 24 hour Wendy’s at 2am with your friends or kiss that person you met at summer camp or sleep on the porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside. Be smart and safe, but follow your whims. If you let yourself fall into routine, apathy will poison you.

39. If you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it? 

I already have a couple small ones, but the one I want next is a four-leaf clover. Don’t know where. Maybe my right inner wrist or maybe an ankle. Or like behind my ear. Luck has saved me so many times. (See above, with how I happened to be living with family when COVID hit.)

40. What can you hear now? 

Swamp cooler downstairs, the clock ticking in my office, cars outside, people moving around the house. I’m surprised the neighbor kids aren’t shrieking their absolute heads off as per the usual. 

41. Where do you feel the safest? 

When I’m alone and unobserved. 

42. What is the one thing you want to overcome/conquer? 

TMI warning, but I absolutely despise public bathrooms. How am I expected to pee when there’s somebody sitting like three (3) feet away, with only a partial wall between us, hearing everything that’s going on? My fight or flight response simply will not allow it. It’s too awkward and therefore Not Safe. Either that public restroom has to be empty except for me, or it has to be so loud and bustling that ain’t nobody hearing anything. Anything in-between and I’m in hell.

43. If you could travel back to any era, what would it be? 

The ‘80s. Let’s be honest, even that far back makes my life (as a woman, and as a gay person) hella difficult. But, consider this: it’s the ‘80s. Furthermore, consider this: a part-time job might have actually supported me and paid rent back then 😱 Holy fucking shit. Sign me up. I just wouldn’t want to go any further than than like 1980, because again: lesbian. Being a woman in the past = even harder than it is today, being gay in the past = even harder than it is today, being a gay woman in the past = oh no.

44. What is your most used emoji? 

In order of descending frequency:

😂🙄😊😁🤦🏼‍♀️👀😬🌈🤷🏼‍♀️😙

45. Describe yourself using one word. 

Creative

46. What do you regret the most?

Wasting my entire teenage experience. (See #38.) I did quite literally nothing with my life except homework for like 18 years. If I had taken even a tenth as much time for myself as I did for school, I would be so much farther along as a person today.

47. Last movie you saw? 

In the theaters? ........ uh. Shit, I don’t actually remember. It’s been like 5 months. (As it has for everyone.) But the last movie I watched was Lights Out, because I’ve been watching the director’s youtube channel. You could tell it was low-budget and that the director was still kind of finding his stride, but it had a lot of heart behind it and the creators clearly gave a fuck, which made it enjoyable. I am firmly in the camp of “not everything has to be a Magnum Opus or have a multi-billion dollar budget to be a good movie.” If I engaged with it and got some sort of emotional experience out of it, and if it had a good message, I consider it a good movie.

48. Last tv show you watched? 

I don’t usually watch a whole lot of TV shows (who has the time?) but I think the last thing I watched was either The Witcher or that new Unsolved Mysteries miniseries on Netflix. Oh and I was watching Dead to Me because I just love Linda Cardellini’s face and I want to wrap Judy up in a blanket and cuddle the shit out of her and protect her from all things 🥺 My precious beautiful unstable sweet murder baby.

49. Invent a word and it’s meaning. 

Apapanic. It’s where you’re so stressed about things that half of your brain is panicking but the other half is so overwhelmed that it circled all the way back around to being calm to the point of apathy, so you just kind of sit there like

#about me #tag game #except as usual i'm not gonna tag people because I don't have to social energy to ask people to do things #sorry i know that's kind of cheating #if you wanna overshare just say I tagged you lol #personal #tmi

[victorianoir]

The Detective Versus the Needle

The Detective and the Tech Guy returns for another installment. :)

If you have never heard of this stories, you can head to my Master Post that I’ve created HERE. If you’d prefer to read the story on fanfiction . net, you can do so here: DATG.

Hope you enjoy!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The drawer slid out of the cabinet with a satisfying rumble, and Sarah looked down into it with an equal amount of satisfaction. First case solved. Sure, the drawer was empty now, save for the dividers she’d labeled alphabetically.

But as she slid the thick case file in front of the divider, the paperwork, the clues in case she needed to revisit or if she was called to testify in the court case that was sure to follow her investigation and the eventual arrest of the mole in Mr. Sanderson’s law firm, she smiled to herself. “Not empty anymore,” she murmured, and then the smile died.

Because she solved the case two weeks ago, and she had yet to receive any phone calls or emails from anyone else. And that was in spite of Sanderson’s insistence that she allow him to pass her name around to his colleagues and peers. Because “Good work is best when nobody’s aware it’s even happening” he had told her before he left her office, placing a large check in her hand.

She was hoping others felt that way, but so far, her phone hadn’t exactly been ringing off the hook.

Sarah glanced at it, sitting there on her desk next to her laptop and wireless mouse. She resisted the urge to knock it onto the ground, and instead huffed and slammed the drawer shut with a resounding finality.

She wondered when she’d open it again. If she’d open it again.

Chuck’s voice swept into her mind as she walked to her office window and peered outside. As always, it was the good voice, the voice that drowned out the bad voices. A balm on the discouraging lack of success, telling her she’d get a client soon. She just had to be a little patient.

She turned to glance out of the door into the lobby where an assistant might sit if she had one. Always a pragmatist, she’d butted against Chuck’s idealistic nature when they first stood in this office space after she decided to start renting it. She knew it would take a few years before she could afford an assistant, and he was sure she’d have one in no time. He was sweet, but not very realistic. Then again, who knew if he really believed all of the optimistic things he tossed at her when she voiced her discouragement, or if he was just trying to bolster her confidence.

Either way, it helped. It truly did.

But he wasn’t here. He was probably in his own office, coding or catching up on emails, plotting and planning his next project for his dad. Whatever he did that kept him at Bartowski Electronics Corporation’s headquarters until late in the evening.

Sarah grumbled to herself softly and slid her blinds shut, turning away from the window and pushing her hands through her hair. It was an exercise now, Monday through Friday, she would wake up, put on her professional clothes, go to the office, check her email, check her phone, stand around, or sit around if she felt like it, spend a few hours researching and planning things she couldn’t afford just yet at this stage in her private investigative agency, and then she’d go home.

No cases.

No calls.

No emails.

For two weeks now.

What exactly did she think she’d be accomplishing at nine o’clock at night on a Thursday when she had no client to work for? Maybe it was just denial. If she was at home, it would just emphasize that she wasn’t working because she literally had nothing to work on.

As she sat at the edge of her desk, she looked into her office’s lobby again and caught sight of the door. Chuck had a blast helping her find the right space for her investigative enterprise, and in fact, the reason why he liked this place so much was how hardboiled the place looked. That was his word he’d used. “Hardboiled”. Like Philip Marlowe, who she honestly only knew about because of Chuck in the first place. He’d referenced that enough when she was working on his case two years ago that she’d looked him up, even watched a Humphrey Bogart movie in her scant free time. That was something she’d never told him before. Because she’d been embarrassed then.

Per Chuck’s request, they’d had a guy come in and put “Walker Investigative Enterprises” on the foggy glass window in block letters. It pissed her off to do it, but she’d decided on just Walker, without her first name. Sexism was still deeply ingrained into the mindset of male professionals…and even some female professionals. Seeing she was a woman might disqualify her right off the bat without further research into her history.

When she looked at it now, she didn’t feel the pride she wanted to feel. Yes, she had her own P.I. agency. But did it really even count without clients?

Her cell buzzed in her purse that sat on the desk behind her. She rummaged through her bag and picked it up. Two missed calls from Ellie, and three texts. “Shit,” she breathed, quickly swiping to answer and holding it to her ear. “Ellie? Ellie, are you okay? What’s going on? Is it time?”

She was met with a bubbly laugh. “Jesus, Sarah, you’re worse than Devon. Although…Yeah, on second thought, I don’t blame you. I did call a bunch and leave a lot of texts. At nine at night. Sorry.”

Sarah heard the wince in her voice. “Uh, no. No, it’s okay. I just….you know, I was worried. Sorry I missed your messages.”

“That’s alright! I’m sure you’re busy! It’s not that important…Well, I mean, it is…kind of. But not as important as me potentially going into labor three weeks before my due date.”

“Right.” Sarah climbed to her feet and straightened her skirt. “So what’s up?”

“Well…”

Sarah narrowed her eyes when Ellie took awhile to continue. “Ellie? What’s going on?”

Ellie huffed. “Nothing’s going on. I’m about to ask you to do something you definitely won’t want to do.” She paused long enough for Sarah to frown. “I need you to go shopping with me tomorrow. For new baby things.”

Sarah’s eyebrows popped. And then she felt a warmth go through her as she brought her free arm up to hug herself. She was beaming by the time she spoke. “You want me to go with you to buy things for Clara? Why wouldn’t I want to do that, Ellie? Of course I’ll—”

“Wait, wait…Before you get all cute and gushy, my mom is joining us.”

The warm feeling left and was replaced by a frigid, icy feeling. A chill went down her spine. “What?”

“Exactly.”

“Well—Oh. I mean…”

“Change your mind? I wouldn’t blame you. It was going to just be us. I was going to call you tonight to ask you to help me. And then mom came by this afternoon and was hinting so hard I almost felt bad for her, so I…asked her. Devon didn’t help,” she said, through her teeth Sarah could tell. “He kept prompting me with that look he does.” She growled in frustration.

Sarah didn’t know Devon as well as she did Chuck’s sister, but she thought she might know the look Ellie was referring to. It was the “try harder to get along with your mom” look. She’d seen him use it on his neurosurgeon wife before.

She bit her lip, not saying anything in response.

“I’m sorry. I totally get it if you don’t want to come. I was even considering just not inviting you at all, knowing it would suck for you. I mean, she is such a horrible person around you. I just…I need you there to stop me from snapping my mom’s neck, that’s all.”

Sarah couldn’t stop the laugh from coming out, as sudden as it was. “Wow. That was graphic.”

“Satisfying image, though, right?”

“Oh my God, Ellie.” Sarah giggled and shook her head. She really, really loved this woman. “It won’t be that bad, I’m sure. I mean, it’ll be a nice, fun outing. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never shopped for…baby things.”

“It will be fine, I’m sure. I just need you to buffer for me. Please. I know it’s going to be awkward for you. I’ll owe you big time for this.” Sarah could hear Chuck’s sister’s desperation, and it pulled at her heartstrings.

“Gaaaah, alright. I’ll go.” Ellie squeaked in happiness. “But I’m doing this for you. And I’m doing it for Chuck. I want him to see the effort I’m making so that I don’t look like the bad guy.”

“My brother’s smart. He knows who the real bad guy is. But you know I’ll stand with you no matter what. I’ve got your back, Sarah.”

That made Sarah feel so much better about agreeing to shop with the Bartowski women in the morning. And she said as much before hanging up.

But the moment the phone went back into her purse, she groaned and hung her head. At least it would break up the monotony. And how.

But God, did it have to be with a woman who hated her guts?

“You can do this” she breathed to herself as she grabbed her purse, laptop, and keys, leaving her office for the night. She could do this.

“Stay strong,” she felt the need to add as she slid into the elevator.

———

Chuck ignored the strain in his jaw as he pushed open the door into the hallway and strolled the rest of the way to his destination. His arms were full, the burlap grocery bags in his arms sturdy but definitely heavy, and the coffees he’d bought at the cafe in the grocery store were firmly ensconced in a tray, the handle of said tray trapped between his teeth.

He’d thought on the way up about the guys he’d seen on TV as a kid who could hold extremely heavy things with their teeth. And here he was, with his teeth and jaw aching from two small paper cups with coffee in them.

That didn’t matter, though.

Something had struck him the right way this morning. He was sailing. He had a lot of work at the office. But he also had a meeting later with his dad and two potential sponsors for the free conference Chuck was organizing to get high-school aged boys and girls in the greater LA area interested in STEM.

Chuck and a few of his marketing people at Bartowski Electronics Corporation had been putting their heads together about this for months, and if they could get sponsors, they could start targeting which schools had the lousiest supplies—lack of technology, old computers, no tablets. Those were the schools that would receive invites to the conference.

It was still in the beginning stages, but he had to sell the sponsors now. He needed the money now.

That all aside, he was currently thumping his foot against the door of the apartment where the smartest woman he’d ever met lived. The coolest woman he’d ever met. With a heart of gold. And the bad ass skill sets required to save lives and catch bad guys.

His mood went up a few more notches.

And as the door swung open, said smartest, coolest woman with a heart of gold stood there with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, surprised to see him obviously, but glad all the same.

Was that relief, as well?

“Hnnn,” was all he was capable of.

Not just because of the tray clamped between his teeth. But also because he’d neglected to add that she was staggeringly beautiful. And helpful! …As she leaned in quickly to take the tray from his teeth with an amused, “You’re going to need a dentist after this, you know.”

He worked his jaw a few times, wincing. “Gimme a kiss, Sarah Walker, P.I. It’ll make it better and then I won’t need a dentist. That’s why I said that. That was the charming response I was going for.”

“I got it,” she said, wrinkling her nose and moving in for a kiss, her hand automatically resting on his cheek and lightly grazing down to his neck.

Oh…and she was his.

What a glorious life this is, he thought to himself as he leaned into the kiss with a soft, “Mmmm.”

And she finally pulled back with a grin. “How’re the teeth now?”

“Good as new.”

She giggled and backed into her apartment, holding the door for him with her free hand so that he could move into the living room. He kept going, all the way into the kitchen where he set down his bags on the counter as she followed.

She put the coffee tray down and pulled her hand back, looking at it and making a face. “Yeggh. Got your spit all over my hand.”

Chuck laughed. “Really, Sarah? We literally just exchanged saliva.”

“Wow. Cute.”

He lunged at her the moment she turned to peek into one of the bags, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her against him, craning his neck so that he could give her an open-mouthed kiss at the crook of her shoulder, next to the strap of the white sleeveless blouse she was wearing. He swiped his tongue over her skin as she squealed, shoving at him and stepping back with a laugh.

“Eeewww!!! Seriously?!” She was grinning even as she glared, wiping at her neck with the nearest dishtowel.

He laughed.

“Hey, you look all spruced up for eight-thirty in the morning. You have a meeting with a client?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. He knew she was having some struggles with getting clients after the first one failed to pass her credentials on to other people. Elias Sanderson. Frankly, the guy tended not to follow through on a lot of things. Chuck didn’t play into the whole lawyers-are-scum joke a lot of the other tycoons around town enjoyed. But that guy wasn’t trustworthy.

He’d forced himself to bite his tongue with Sarah, not wanting to influence her first experience with a client. And to Sanderson’s credit, he’d had the sense and wherewithal to know a good detective when he saw one, and he had paid her in full, with some extra credit for solving the case as quickly and painlessly as she had.

The press had been kept out of it, which was probably one of the more impressive skill sets in Sarah’s arsenal of epic skill sets.

“Uh, no…” was the only answer Sarah had to his question. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek and reached into the bags to pull the groceries out. “Hey, what’s with all of this stuff you bought? You better not be putting all of this in my fridge.”

“Nope. Some of it will go in your cupboards.” He sent her a cheeky grin and she rolled her eyes.

“Chuck, I don’t want you buying my—”

“Sarah.” He interrupted her, putting down the eggs and shredded cheese, and setting his hands on her shoulders. “I spend so much time here that I’m going to end up eating seventy five percent of the food I bought this morning. You know it’s true.”

She shrugged. “That’s probably true. Fine. You get off on a technicality, Mister.”

Chuck arched an eyebrow at her. “Oooo. I like it when you do legal speak at me and then call me Mister.” He leaned in for another kiss, and she let him, before she pulled back and booped him on the nose with her finger.

As he unloaded the bags onto the counter, he subtly watched her move around the kitchen as she finished emptying her dishwasher. She never answered his question. Well, she answered it…but not to his satisfaction, which he supposed was his own problem.

But she was gently kneading her bottom lip between her teeth, something she did when she was nervous or antsy. When she had to do something she didn’t want to do.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” She turned and looked at him. He saw her shake herself a little and paste a nonchalant smile on her face. And when she met his eye, he knew she was well aware that he’d witnessed it and was seeing right through her. She dropped the smile and sighed.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Sarah pouted a little, and he knew she was probably frustrated by how easily he could pick through her attempts to guard her emotions. She just had to get used to it, that was all. Maybe she would someday. Eventually. He didn’t begrudge her for it, nevertheless.

“I’ll tell you if you make me one of those frittata thingies.”

“You’re telling me no matter what I make you.”

“I know.”

He smiled lovingly and reached out towards her. “Hey. C’mere. Of course I’ll make you a frittata. Even though I’ve got a long day of work ahead of me and meeeeetings and…” His voice drifted off as she faux glared, letting herself be pulled against him.

“No. Please. Continue.” She smirked. “Fine, I can make us burnt toast and fried eggs.”

He laughed and hugged her close. “Frittata it is.”

And when they pulled away, he continued emptying the grocery bags, folding them up and setting them aside as he let Sarah put away things he wasn’t using for breakfast. She knew where she wanted that stuff better than he did anyway.

“So…” She sighed. He was careful not to look at her. He didn’t know why. Maybe he thought she’d feel more uneasy if he was watching her. “Ellie called last night.”

Chuck perked up. He was a sap. He knew he was a sap. But the idea of his sister and his girlfriend texting one another, talking on the phone, hanging out sometimes, made him feel like melting into a puddle and staying like that for eternity. “Oh, yeah? She say how she’s doing?”

“Mhm. Good. She’s trying to keep Devon from having a panic attack.”

He chuckled. “I know, he keeps calling me and threatening to beat my ass if I let Ellie, quote, ‘Go through this alone’, unquote, while he’s up in San Francisco for the surgery.”

Captain Awesome’s patient had scheduled a surgery with Dr. Woodcomb as his surgeon, and as it was a massively important surgery on the guy’s aorta, Awesome wasn’t about to reschedule. He was awesome like that.

In spite of Ellie not being due for a few weeks, the possibility of her going into labor early was high. Chuck and Ellie’s mom, Devon’s mom, and both sides of grandmothers had given birth early to all of their children.

At least, that was what Awesome kept texting both Chuck and Ellie. Much to Ellie’s annoyance.

Sarah smirked. “Like you’re just gonna go ‘Good luck, sis!’ and wave her off to the hospital in some strange van with the hopes she gets there okay.” She mimicked a grin and wave. He found it highly adorable.

But then her grin died and she slumped back against her counter. “She invited me to go shopping with her for a few last minute things for the baby.”

Chuck was confused. Why did that upset her? What about shopping with his sister made her upset? Or was it the baby thing? Was there some deep seated nervousness about…He couldn’t go down that road. That was a road he needed to stay the hell away from. He was moving away from that totally.

“Mom did tell her she should’ve had a baby shower,” he teased. Ellie hadn’t wanted one and it had driven her mother insane. At every turn, Ellie denied Mary Bartowski the chance to do all of the “Mom milestones” she felt she was entitled to, apparently.

Sarah gave him a flat look. “That’s exactly it.”

“What’s exactly it?”

“Your mom pressured Ellie into inviting her. And now I’m trapped.” She huffed.

Chuck frowned and cracked a few eggs into a bowl. “Wait, wait. So you said yes and then Ellie invited mom? That’s surprisingly underhanded of her.”

Sarah was quick to correct him. “No, no. She was perfectly up front with me about it. I knew before I said yes.”

Understanding slowly made its way through him. And he turned to face her as he beat the eggs. “Why’d you agree to go if you didn’t want to?” She gave him a look. “I know you don’t want to, don’t try to pretend you don’t. You and my mom aren’t exactly besties.” Her look got flatter. “Through no fault of your own, of course!” he rushed.

“I don’t want to avoid your mom, Chuck. That isn’t going to help anything. And Ellie needs a champion. She’s been tired, carrying around a human twenty-four seven, and she’s almost due, and she told me she’s achy and moody. Can you imagine your mom poking at her all day long, telling her what to do and how to do it in that way of hers?” She pulled back into herself a bit with a wince. “Sorry. She’s your mom. I shouldn’t be like that.”

“You should be whatever way you feel like,” he was quick to say. She gave him a small, grateful smile for that. “You’re right, though. I can imagine my mom driving Ellie insane, just the two of them spending a day together. Ellie might kill her.”

“She said something to me about neck snapping on the phone. Honestly, I think the best way I can make peace with your mom is if I keep her from being murdered by your sister today.” She shrugged. “I also want to do what I can to make the last days or weeks of your sister’s pregnancy as healthy and peaceful and just…easy for her as I can.”

Chuck watched her with no small amount of warmth. “You’re a complete and total package, Sarah Walker, you know that? Like, head to toe, inside and out. If my mom really and truly knew what she was going up against, she would throw in the towel. Immediately. And I don’t say that lightly; my mom is determined as all get-out.” He slid his gaze down Sarah’s body to her bare feet and back up her long denim-covered legs, torso, and finally to her face again. “She’s in trouble if she even tries.”

A slow smile grew on Sarah’s face, and then her lips broke into a grin and she chuckled, walking up to him and pecking him on the lips. “I’m really glad you showed up this morning to make me breakfast. Didn’t know I needed it ’til I opened the door to find you standing there with a coffee tray dangling from your mouth.” She patted him on the cheek and went to her fridge.

They enjoyed a quick breakfast, Chuck deciding not to talk about the day Sarah was about to endure. But he was grateful to her. She was actively taking on the role of his sister’s protector. And a part of him thought maybe Sarah wanted him to see she was making a legitimate effort with his mom.

She didn’t have to do that, though. He knew at whose feet the strife between his mom and girlfriend lay. It was up to Mary Bartowski to stop being so closed-off and stubborn about the people her children chose to be with.

Chuck knew he and Ellie could have both picked people who were way, way worse than Sarah Walker and Devon Woodcomb. In fact, he was sure neither of them could get better. Honestly, no other guy would go through what Devon did to be with Ellie. And Sarah…

He reached across the table and picked up her hand, holding onto it as he sipped his coffee. “I have to go. I’ve got a bunch of emails to write and you know I’m a wordy son of a bitch,” he teased, wrinkling his nose.

She giggled. “You are. But I loved those wordy emails when we were on different continents.”

They stood up and he moved to start cleaning, but she stopped him with a sudden, “Ah ah! No!”, grabbing his arm and steering him away from the table. “You’re incredibly sweet, making me breakfast when you actually have a job to be at this morning. I can clean everything up. I’ve got a few hours before Armageddon begins.”

Chuck snorted at that. “Okay, then. I’ll just bounce outta here and let the woman do the kitchen work.” He laughed as her hand smacked at the back of his head. Honestly, he hadn’t even seen it before it made contact. She was so impressive.

As she walked him to the door, he held fast to her hand, turning to grab the door handle and pulling her close at the same time. “Hey, listen. Don’t let my mom make you think you’re anything less than you are, okay?”

She made a face, teasing him. “And what exactly am I?”

Chuck took a moment to wonder if she picked up one of his habits after dating him all this time. He knew he sometimes reverted to jokes to hide when he was feeling vulnerable or nervous. He tried to lighten the mood. She was trying it now. And she never would’ve done that two years ago when she was head detective on his case.

It was cute. Sweet.

But he wasn’t letting her get away with it this time. “You’re everything, Sarah Walker.” Her face softened significantly and he could see clearly in her features that she loved him. He moved in to kiss her cheek, and then he swept the door open. “Will I see you tonight?”

“Please please please,” she rushed out, giggling self-deprecatingly.

“I’m here for you, bae.”

“And never call me bae again.”

“Hear you loud and clear, boo.”

“That’s only a little bit better.”

He was still laughing as he walked down the hallway, but by the time he climbed into the front seat of his car, he felt worry settle over him. Sarah could take care of herself. And Ellie wouldn’t let his mom get away with anything.

But his mother was a professional needler. She always had been. She always would be. And he was afraid his mom might put the needle in exactly the right spot.

———————

“This is atrocious, Mom. Sarah, is this not atrocious?”

Sarah held in a laugh at the incredulous look on Ellie’s face as she turned and lifted a pink and green polka dot baby moo moo for her brother’s girlfriend to see.

“It’s…not great, Mary. Sorry.”

Chuck’s mother rolled her eyes and huffed. “Feel how soft it is, though. The most important part is that she’s comfortable.”

“Okay, well…Can we find something she’ll be comfortable in that doesn’t also make her look like a terrifying nightmare clown baby? Do those two things have to be mutually exclusive? Like, comfortable and cute. I feel like there has to be something out there that’s both those things.”

Sarah watched the exchange and smartly slipped away, around one of the racks of clothes, and into another section of the store completely.

She stopped at an expensive looking dark wood crib that almost looked like an antique. She overheard Ellie tell her mom in the car ride over that she and Devon had already bought a crib. But this was beautiful. Something she could imagine wanting to buy if she ever had a child.

Sarah was with Ellie on at least that much. Chuck’s sister was attracted to very non-traditional things. She didn’t go for pastels and crisp, clean white. She liked greens, blues, dark woods, antique things. She went for safety over trends.

As Sarah turned the corner again, she came face to face with Mary Bartowski. She nearly yelped in surprise. Jesus, the woman was like a human version of a suspense thriller film sometimes. Mommie Dearest. Maybe she’d use that one sometime when Ellie was feeling down.

“I noticed you and my daughter have similar tastes,” Mary said, a little offhand, fingering the silk blankets stacked in front of her face.

“I noticed the same thing. But she and I agree on a lot. That’s why we get on so well.”

“Hm. Yes, I noticed that, too.” She stared at the younger woman for much longer than made said younger woman comfortable. “It’s very interesting you’re playing such a large role in this process. Ellie having her baby, I mean.”

“W-Why is that interesting? She’s Chuck’s sister. And my friend.”

A flash of something under Mary’s smile caught Sarah’s eye, but before she could say anything, Ellie showed up and pushed between them, grabbing one of the blankets. “I’ve bought Clara a lot of blankets already, but these are really nice. I mean, what if she spits up on one? I grab another and she spits up on that one, or we spill food on it or something? Three is a pretty good number for blankets, right? So soft.”

Sarah reached out and felt the green blanket Ellie pulled down from the pile. “That is really nice. Soft.”

“Right? Babies are so lucky. Everything is so soft and nice. Poor girl is going to grow up and start having to wear heels and fucking bras.”

“Ellie!” her mom whispered hoarsely. “You’re in a baby store.”

“What?” Ellie sassed. “It’s not like there are any actual babies in here.”

Sarah snorted, turning her face into her fist and pretending it was a cough. She’d learned that one from Chuck, and just like Mary Bartowski did with him, she turned on Sarah and said, “You’re not helping,” before skulking off.

Ellie lazily turned her head to Sarah. “Yeah, Sarah. You’re not helping,” she drawled.

“Hey. I’m trying to make some headway here. Stop getting me in trouble,” she hissed, unable to keep the amused smirk from her face.

Ellie winced. “Ooo. Yeah. My bad.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I have a feeling no matter what I do or say, I’m not going to win with her.”

“Well…” Ellie reached up and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s cute you’re trying.”

Sarah laughed and playfully nudged Ellie. “Shut up.”

And then a buzz came from Ellie’s purse, followed by a soft, generic ring tone. “That’s probably Devon,” the soon-to-be mother mumbled as she rifled through her purse. Sarah took the purse and held it for Ellie so that it was easier for her to find the phone. “I should get it, though, to make sure he isn’t having a nervous breakdown. Did I tell you?” She pulled the phone out finally and held it in her hand, looking up at Sarah. “He went to sleep in his clothes one night. Not pajamas. Jeans and a T-shirt, socks, shoes, everything. His shoes inside my bed. So we could get to the hospital ASAP. He saw it in an episode of the Dick Van Dyke Show, but he didn’t understand we were supposed to think Dick Van Dyke was ridiculous for doing that.”

Sarah laughed as Ellie brought the phone to her ear. “Hi, honey—I—No, Devon. I have not had our daughter yet.” Ellie rolled her eyes to Sarah and grabbed her purse from her, mouthing “Jesus christ” as she walked away. “We talked about this, buddy. I’m not going to have our child without letting you know it’s happening.”

Shaking her head at the conversation as Ellie moved to the other side of the store, Sarah turned to do some more browsing and nearly ran into Mary again. “Jesus—!” She sighed and put a hand over her heart, collecting herself. Seriously. Kathy Bates would be proud. She was storing that one for later, too.

“Sorry to scare you.”

She didn’t sound that sorry.

“Who is Ellie talking to?”

“Oh, um…Awes—erm—Devon called. To check up on her, I assume.”

“How are things at the…agency, Sarah?”

The private investigator blinked at the suddenness of the change of subject. “Erm…” She collected herself quickly. She had to remind herself that she’d been dealing with difficult people virtually all her life, in law school, and in her job with Pinkerton especially. She could handle this one, too. “It’s going well. Just finished a case. If you know anyone who might need a P.I., send them my way,” she chirped, grinning in as friendly a way as she could.

“Yes. I’ll let you know if any of my friends need to find out if their husbands are cheating on them.” Mary smiled sweetly and pat Sarah’s arm as she swept past her with an “excuse me”.

Sarah stood there, burning. How dare that woman get the last word!

Clenching her jaw, she pulled her cell out and saw that she’d missed a text from Chuck. Exactly who she’d wanted to talk to. “How’s it going?” he asked. She texted back a short and sweet “Fine” and rolled her eyes at herself. It took a moment for him to respond with the flat look emoji. Of course he wanted more than just a one word answer. “Could be better,” she continued. “And I honestly hoped it would be better. But your mom is…” She paused, biting her lip, and then she finished typing and hit send, “…good at needlepoint.”

She had to wait a few moments for his response. “I love it when you talk in code. So private investigator-y. So hot.”

“Please don’t sext with me while I’m baby shopping with your sister and YOUR MOM WHO HATES ME.”

“Was that sexting? I’ve got a lot worse in my arsenal. Or better, depending on your POV on sexting. Also when you say ‘baby shopping’ I picture you guys walking down a row of babies picking one out like people do with carrots at the grocery store.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and put her phone away, turning to find the rest of her party. Ellie was right there. “Fuck!” She shut her eyes and huffed, blushing and looking around. “Is sneaking up on people a family trait?”

Ellie chuckled. “Maybe. Saying ‘fuck’ in a baby stuff store might have just become a family trait, though, so welcome to the family.”

That got Chuck’s sister a flat look for the ages.

———————

By the end of what proved to be a very fruitful day for Ellie and Clara, Sarah was half-blistered by the singeing sideways glances of Mary Bartowski, along with the backhanded compliments and condescension.

Sarah knew exactly what the woman was doing. She strategically planted herself near her son’s girlfriend when Ellie was distracted or elsewhere in another section of whatever store they happened to be in, and that was when she got her jabs in.

Ellie caught her only once, and Mary Bartowski was dragged off and probably spoken to in a way only Ellie could get away with. Sarah’d felt immature for the smirk that put on her face, and the “Haa haaa!” she thought as Ellie guided her mom away from the scene of the crime.

However, even though the private investigator saw Mary’s intentions clear as day, that didn’t make the barbs feel any less terrible. As much as she tried not to let it get under her skin, it did.

It hurt.

And she was pissed off that it hurt. Falling in love with Chuck Bartowski had opened her up to a lot of things—emotions mostly. Of course she should have known love wouldn’t be the only thing.

There was also frustration, longing, anger, and yes, hurt.

Love was the most important thing. That feeling she got when she opened the door this morning to find him standing there with his arms and mouth full. It hadn’t just been relief, or the pleasure of seeing the man she loved, though there was plenty of both of those things. It was also a feeling of safety and reassurance that was much needed. A feeling of security. Of knowing he thought about her enough that he went to the grocery store down the street to buy the makings for them to enjoy a nice breakfast together before he had to go to work, that he wanted to be with her in the small window of time he had in the morning.

She had to remember that to keep Mary from winning the day. She’d dig into her arsenal of things she learned from Langston Graham back when she first started at Pinkerton, simply by watching him work. Never let them see the chinks in your armor, never let them see your weak spots, and never let them see when they get to you.

She was human. And Mary was getting to her. She just had to steal herself to keep the woman from seeing it.

And take the high road. As hard as that was. As much as she didn’t want to—and probably wouldn’t have if she wasn’t Chuck’s mother. Sarah owed it to Chuck to at least try.

But then Ellie had invited them for dinner at her and Devon’s condo in Burbank since Devon had just landed at the airport and was on his way home in an Uber. Mary was tasked with calling the B.E.C. men and getting them to dinner as well.

The day seemed like it just wouldn’t end and she needed it to end so badly.

The only respite Sarah got was sitting in the backseat of Ellie’s car where Mary couldn’t see her face. She grit her teeth and glared at the back of the older woman’s seat, subtly lifting her middle finger and subsequently waggle it in Mary’s direction.

Sarah insisted on helping Ellie cook, and was dubbed the “sous chef” for the night while Mary poured herself a cocktail and sat at the table. It gave Sarah something to do, and she was better able to pretend she didn’t see the significant looks Ellie was trying to flash at her. The one that said “Are you okay?” was the one she avoided the most.

Because the more she thought about it, the more she realized she wasn’t okay. She would be later. She’d be fine later. But right now, everything was bubbling to the surface. A mixture of anger and general upset.

Finally the door opened and the booming, jolly voice of Devon Woodcomb brought a lift to the young woman’s spirits.

“Hey, hey, hey! My favorite three ladies in one room!” He shut the door just in time, because Ellie was quick on her feet for someone who was in her third trimester of pregnancy. And her arms were around him before he even had time to put his bags down.

Sarah let herself look a little longer than was maybe proper as they embraced, if only because it made her heart a little melty—and in spite of not being as big a sap as her boyfriend was, she knew she needed some of that heart-meltyness tonight. It was a balm on her wounds, and a reminder that it was possible for she and Chuck to flourish in spite of Mary Bartowski…because Ellie and Awesome were.

Devon put his hand on Ellie’s stomach. “Three and a half!”

“Three and four-fifths more like,” Sarah chirped as she swung out of the kitchen.

“See? I like you.” Devon pointed at her with a grin of agreement, his face so bright and sincerely ecstatic to be home that she wasn’t sure what she’d been upset about all day in the first place. She walked right up to him and gave him a hug, which he not only accepted wholeheartedly, he even hugged her back so hard she felt a few pops in her torso.

Sarah was careful not to pay too much attention to the exchange between Captain Awesome and Mary Bartowski, but she heard from the kitchen the quiet politeness of the latter in the face of the former’s enthusiasm.

But she froze when she heard Ellie say ,“Let me help you put your bags in our bedroom.”

No no no no no no no! No! Please!

She couldn’t be left alone with Mary Bartowski. She couldn’t. Not even for however long it took for Ellie and Awesome to make out or whatever it was they were going to do in their bedroom.

When was Chuck going to get here? Why wasn’t he here already?

Sarah spun from where she’d gone back to stirring the spaghetti sauce and caught Ellie’s eye. There was a definite look of apology there, and Sarah was quick to shake her head and smile reassuringly to let the woman know she’d be fine. The Woodcombs deserved a snippet of time to greet each other without onlookers in the room. And Sarah was sure Ellie needed to vent a bit about her mother behind closed doors.

“Need help with anything, Sarah?”

She looked up from the sauce again and smile at Mary. “Uh, I’m not sure, exactly, what Ellie has planned. I just know I’m supposed to stir the sauce.”

“Well, Ellie learned this recipe from me, so I’m sure I can figure out what’s next.”

Sarah kept the smile on her face even as she went back to stirring the delicious-smelling sauce in the pot.

“Though you might want to add a dash of oregano in there. Ellie sometimes doesn’t put enough, I’ve noticed. And she doesn’t take constructive advice well.”

“Oh. Alright.” Grabbing the oregano, she carefully sprinkled a bit more in the sauce, stirring with the spoon in her other hand.

“A bit more…” Sarah sprinkled more. “More than that. Here.” Mary walked up and took the oregano from Sarah, who moved out of the way, and let the woman shake even more oregano into the sauce. “There. That’s perfect.”

She set the oregano down and handed the spoon back to Sarah.

“You know, I find your line of work interesting, Sarah.” Because she didn’t entirely know what was coming, the P.I. stayed quiet, stealing herself for whatever was coming next. “Did it require any schooling?”

Sarah ran her free hand down her blouse, an unconscious attempt to straighten it or…who knew what? But she was mad at herself for it. It was a show of weakness, vulnerability. She was supposed to be above that. “I went to Harvard Law.”

The way Mary’s eyes widened did a lot to bolster Sarah’s confidence. Yeah, that’s right. I’m an Ivy League Bitch with a capital B.

“And you decided to join the Pinkerton Detective Agency? You could be a high powered politician by now, you know. And I know Pinkerton doesn’t pay that kind of money.”

How did she know?

And then Sarah realized she must have done research on it. A way to check up on the woman who was dating her son. Seeing what her financial status was, to peg whether or not money was a factor in Sarah’s interest in Chuck.

It burned her up, but she refused to let it show.

“No, it definitely doesn’t. But it was incredibly rewarding work. I’m proud of what I did there.”

“I see. But you left for my son Charles?”

“Yes. Er…no. Somewhat. Not entirely. But mostly, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“Because I was tired of always being on the other side of the planet from him, only seeing him every once in awhile when we could line up our crazy busy schedules.” She took a deep breath. “And, honestly, the agency did their best to make me stop seeing him because they thought it was a conflict of interest, and I refused to let them do that. So…here I am.” She gave Chuck’s mom a wide closed mouth smile.

“Interesting. Because honestly, Sarah, the way it looks from here is that you left a relatively low-paying job to live with my son and pursue a career that will garner even less financial stability than before…”

“What are you getting at, exactly?” Sarah asked, the spatula stilled in the sauce, her blue eyes flashing as she turned them on the shorter woman.

“My son is a pretty safe safety net if things don’t work out with this agency of yours.”

So she finally said it. Sarah let out a soft huff through her nose, her lips twitching in a semblance of a bitter smile as she looked away.

“I don’t want a safety net. I just want him.”

“It just doesn’t look that way from here. If you weren’t in Los Angeles, if my son wasn’t supporting you and you were off somewhere else in the country trying to get this going, you’d fall flat on your face. The only people who start enterprises like this one are those who have a fallback. Chuck is your fallback. And that doesn’t sit well with me.”

Sarah pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and squeezed until it hurt. Then she turned on the woman, her gaze hard.

“You know, it doesn’t feel great, knowing what you think of me. But I can handle insults, backhanded compliments, the condescension, and the superior attitude you have when you address me—and that’s when you aren’t ignoring me completely. All of that I can handle. You know what really makes me mad, though?”

“What?” Mary asked slowly, her T clicking nastily.

“The complete and utter lack of respect you obviously have for your son.”

Mary reared back, her lips twisting. “How dare y—”

“Chuck is rich. He’s the richest person I’ve ever met. If I knew just how rich he actually was, I probably wouldn’t even be able to comprehend it.” Mary smirked in a self-congratulatory way that made Sarah want to say what she was going to say even more than she did before. “But he is so much more than what’s in his bank account.” She let that settle for a second before she continued. “He’s a good man. Best person I’ve ever known. He respects me, has faith in me. He makes me laugh. He makes me happy.”

“His wallet makes you happy.”

Sarah rushed on as if she hadn’t heard that. “And it makes me incredibly sad to hear that’s what you think of your own son. That he’d have nothing else to offer a woman besides what’s in his wallet. He’s your son. You should know better.”

“I know what my son has to offer.”

But it was a weak retort, one that lacked the bite of her earlier retorts, and the conversation came to a sudden stop as the door opened and Chuck stepped into the living room with Stephen in tow.

“Heyyyy!” Chuck drawled with a grin. “Smells like spaghetti!”

Stephen gave both of them smiles over the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room as he shut the door behind them. “I feel like an old man for needing to follow Charles to my own daughter’s condo. All the twists and turns to get here, I get confused. Gosh, it does smell good.”

Mary had moved away from Sarah, going directly to Chuck and grabbing his shoulders, moving in to kiss his cheek. “Hi, sweetie. How was the meeting?”

She moved to her husband and they kissed with a sincere amount of affection. It boggled Sarah’s mind.

“Good!” Chuck swept his gaze to Sarah and kept it there, she noticed, probing, seeing how she was. She kept her mask in place. Now wasn’t the time to break down. She was just so mad. So ready to tear something to shreds. She was fighting tears of anger.

“We’ve got one and a half sponsors for the conference. Just three and a half to go.”

“And a half?” Mary asked.

“Well, Gordon’s not entirely convinced yet. He gave us a maybe,” Stephen explained as Chuck slid away from his parents and walked around into the kitchen.

Sarah watched him the whole way. And when his arms curled around her body, she let go of the spatula and clung to him tightly, burying her face in his collar for a moment, soaking him in. It felt so good to be held like this. The way he squeezed just right, in a way that let her know he needed her, too.

“Oops, spatula down…” he murmured in her hair.

She pulled away from him with a gasp as she saw the spatula sink into the sauce. And like an idiot, she tried to get it out.

She ended up brushing her fingers against the sizzling hot edge of the pot and pulled back with a hiss, sticking her fingers in her mouth.

“Hey, hey. Whoa. Sarah, you oka—?

And before he could even finish his question, Sarah was out of the kitchen. “Sarah??” he called after her.

She hurried down the hallway to the bathroom, fighting tears that had nothing to do with the minor burn on her fingers.

—————

Chuck was moving to follow Sarah before he was even aware of what was happening, like there was a magnetic pull between them. She’d squeezed him particularly hard when he hugged her. Like she had the night she’d shown up at his door after leaving Pinkerton. She needed him.

The only thing he could think was that today had been awful. And now she’d charged out of the room after burning her fingers—a careless thing that was very rare with his P.I.—and he needed to talk to her.

But Ellie and Awesome came out of the hallway as Sarah squeezed past them.

“What happened?” Ellie asked, obviously concerned.

“Sarah burned her fingers, I think. I’m gonna—”

“I’ve got this,” Ellie said, putting a hand on his chest.

“But—”

“I’ve got this.”

She gave him a look and he stayed put, watching as Ellie followed after his girlfriend. He was half-crazy with concern, but Awesome’s hand on his shoulder calmed him.

“Ellie’s a neurosurgeon, bro. Remember? She’s got this.”

Chuck let out a soft huff of amusement for Awesome’s benefit and let himself be led back into the other room. His mom, on the other hand, had a certain look on her face. It was pinched in annoyance. She was far off somewhere, thinking about something, and whatever it was made her angry.

Had something happened today?

Awesome looked pretty clueless, which meant he’d probably arrived just before they had.

There were another few minutes of empty small-talk about Awesome’s surgery he’d performed the day before. Chuck stirred the sauce and eventually turned it off, draining the pasta and leaving it for Ellie to do whatever she had in mind.

And eventually his sister and girlfriend came out to join them. Chuck was at Sarah’s side immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Put a little ointment on my knuckles and I’m good. Nothing too bad.”

He studied her features closely, looking for any sign of tears. If his mom had done something to make Sarah cry, he was dragging her out into the courtyard and blistering her with his words. He wasn’t standing for that shit. That wasn’t happening.

But there was no trace of tears, though she was upset. He could still see it. Ellie must have said something to her, though, because his sister winked at him behind Sarah’s back and mouthed “she’s okay”.

Before Chuck could say anything else, Sarah slipped her uninjured hand into his and pulled him to the table where everyone was sitting down. Awesome justified his nickname by insisting on finishing dishing everything up to keep Ellie from having to do it.

And then they feasted.

Chuck half listened to the conversation at the table. Awesome had performed an artery bypass grafting surgery on a middle aged man, saving his life from a potentially deadly situation.

But as heroic as it was, as much as Awesome deserved praise and respect for what he did for other people, Chuck was distracted by whatever had transpired between his girlfriend and his mother.

Something had transpired. Otherwise Ellie wouldn’t be switching her gaze back and forth between the other women at the table, her eyes narrowed. As though she was trying to figure out the same thing.

It would be just like his mom to wait until nobody else was around before jamming the knife in under Sarah’s ribcage. But his mom didn’t look as pleased with herself as he thought she might if that were the case. Did Sarah bite back? He was proud of her if she did.

Chuck knew inherently that Sarah would be more apt to stick up for herself if the perpetrator wasn’t his mother. She’d outright told him once that she loved him and therefore didn’t want him to be in the middle of some ridiculous rivalry straight out of a “crap romantic comedy”.

He appreciated more than he could say how hard she was trying…

But he didn’t want this.

He would deal with the fallout with his mom. He didn’t care.

“Chuck?”

He snapped to attention and looked across the table at his father. “Yeah, Dad? Sorry, I—I got distracted. Lots of things happenin’ in the ol’ noggin’ today. What were you saying?” He shoveled a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and sipped his pinot noir.

“I was just asking what you thought about our chances for getting Gordon to sponsor the convention?”

He nibbled his lip, then dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Well, I don’t know. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t part well with his assets. Very frugal. We’re still in the early stages yet. Still a lot to plan. But I think once he hears everything we mean to do at the convention, the lives we might change, how massive it’ll be for the future of STEM and, you know, getting kids from low-income households into science and math and tech, he’ll see the benefit of it. Maybe we can really pound home the fact that charity looks really really good to consumers. A charitable company always gets more customers, right? People love that stuff. Makes them feel good about themselves.” Chuck shrugged. “Granted, that’s a kind of crappy way to look at it. Obviously we’re doing it to help kids, to expand STEM in our country to non-wealthy, non-white kids with fewer resources than other kids…”

“That’s right, Charles. It’s one of the things that attracts people to you. You’re so charitable. Always giving, giving, giving. Never asking for anything in return,” his mother said. He wasn’t a fool. He saw the way her eyes flickered over at Sarah for a moment before she turned back to him.

He felt Sarah tense up.

He understood what his mom was getting at.

But before he could say anything, his dad jumped up from the table. “Hey, Devon. Why don’t you tell me about that ’64 Mustang your dad is fixing up? He told me about it last time we talked. He said you’re helping him with it while you’re down here.”

As his brother-in-law regaled his dad with muscle car talk, Chuck turned an angry gaze on his mom. He reeled it back just enough and then flicked his gaze towards the kitchen. “Hey, Mom. How about you and I do the dishes, since Ellie and Sarah cooked everything?”

“Sure.” She climbed up from the chair, and set her napkin on the table. “Excuse us.”

Chuck gathered up everyone’s plates, letting Mary go first, watching as Ellie turned to Sarah and leaned in close to talk to her. He went to the sink with the plates and set them inside, turning on the water and starting to scrub as his mom stepped in beside him with the dish towel to dry.

“You need to lay off right damn now,” he said in a quiet, steady voice.

“Excuse me? I don’t know what—”

“You fooled absolutely nobody at that table and it’s embarrassing that you’re still trying to play it off, Mom. I need you to stop saying shit like that to Sarah.” He turned to pin her with his intense gaze.

“Like what? I didn’t say anything to her this whole time we’ve been eating.”

“That whole thing about me giving and never asking for anything in return. You looked right at her. Like she’s some sort of charity case of mine. Like I’m supporting her.”

“You are supporting her.”

“I’m not. She won’t let me. You need to open your eyes and really look at her, Mom.”

“I’ve seen her.”

“No. You haven’t. Not like I have.”

“Oh I’m sure,” she replied sarcastically.

Chuck handed her the clean plate to dry and spun to face her directly. “Hey. Mom. I need you to lay off. I said it before. I’ll say it again. And this better be the last time I have to say it. Because you’re gonna run into a lot of trouble if you keep going down this road. I’m so serious.”

She didn’t say anything as she set the dry plate aside. “Just wash the dishes.”

“No. Mom, I need you to tell me you’ll try harder.”

“To do what? I’m not letting my son get taken for a ride.”

“I’m not getting taken for a ride,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one in the other room could hear them. They all looked fully engrossed in their respective conversations. He turned back. “Even if I was, that’s a ride I’d gladly take over and over again.”

She made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat and grabbed the plate from him, drying it furiously.

“Mom. I need your word.”

“I don’t want to have to say ‘I told you so’ when you get hurt. When you find out your wallet is—”

“Mom. For shit’s sake. Just stop.” He turned off the sink for a second and glared. “Stop.”

She shrugged and sighed. “Okay.”

Chuck could tell that was the best he was getting for the time being, so he turned the water back on and finished the dishes.

Stephen and Mary left first, a storm cloud over the latter’s head in spite of the smile she flashed as they walked into the courtyard and disappeared through the gate.

Ellie put a hand on Chuck’s arm as Sarah and Awesome hugged at the door. She hugged him hard and when he meant to pull away, she clung tighter, preventing him from moving.

“Make sure you take care of her tonight. Mom was a total and absolute bitch to her all day. She handled it well, but she’s pretty badly blistered from the onslaught. You have some work to do.”

She pulled back and added a quick, whispered, “Love ya.”

“Love ya, too, Ellie. And thank you.” She shrugged and he leaned in close, squeezing her shoulders. “No, seriously. Sis. Thank you.”

Her eyes sparkled as she pat his cheek, and Chuck wrapped an arm around his brother-in-law, before they said their goodbyes and left.

Chuck slung his arm over Sarah’s shoulders and pulled her in close as she rounded his torso with both her arms and buried her face in his chest with a sigh.

They climbed into his car and he just sat there for a moment, the silence tense and awkward. She had to feel that he wanted to say something. He just didn’t know what.

“Are you okay, Sarah?” he finally settled with.

She bit her lip gently and shrugged. “Uh, yeah.” She lifted her hand and flashed the fingers she’d burned at him. “Don’t think it’ll scar or anything. I was just being clumsy and dumb—”

“Sarah, no. I—”

“I know, Chuck. But I really don’t want to talk about it just yet. Please.”

“Did she—?”

“Please. Later.” She turned and stared out of her car window, not looking at him for even a moment as she buckled her seatbelt.

Chuck sighed and followed suit, turning on the car and pulling out of the parking space, onto the street, and driving them back to Sarah’s.

The drive was silent, tense.

And by the time they got to Sarah’s apartment, Chuck felt the need to corner her, make her talk. He needed her to know that he wasn’t letting his mom pull this bullshit with her. He wasn’t brushing it off just because she was his mom. Sarah deserved respect.

But Sarah Walker looked tired and upset. And he wasn’t sure he had the heart to corner her when she was like this. So he stayed in the hallway as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

She halted when he didn’t follow, turning to face him. She must’ve figured out why he was still outside and she shyly pushed her hair back behind her ear.

“Will you stay?”

Not a single moment passed before he answered, “Of course.”

Sarah’s hand reached out and twisted in his shirt, pulling him inside with her, shutting the door behind them and clinging to him again. He didn’t say anything. He just held her.

They could talk later. When she wanted to.

For the moment, he was content to give whatever warmth and strength she needed.

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