iluvroadrunner6 | plurk meme { 2018 } au august

Entry tags:

plurk meme { 2018 } au august

Completed: 31/31
Running Word Count: 63,180

When Dean was young, Mary used to say that your soulmate will either come gradually or hit you like a bus. Being all of four years old, Dean didn’t think either option was very appealing, and decided he would be content to have no soulmate at all.

No matter what he was expecting, he never expected Wynonna Earp. And she didn’t come gradually, or hit him like a city bus.

As far as Dean is concerned, she hit him like a freight train.

Dean and Wynonna meet in a bar one night, and at the moment, they’re the perfect self-destructive answer to each other’s problems. Dean’s coming off a fight with his brother as they do their annual “I just can’t be around you right now” dance and Wynonna just wants to drink until she forgets her own name. They are both in need of a desperate distraction. Dean probably should have picked up on things being different, but he was three sheets to the wind and could only bring himself to be amused at the small pinpricks of red that dotted her nails, or the vibrant red lace of her bra as he unclasped it in the back seat of the impala.

It isn’t until he wake up the next morning, Wynonna gone and his hangover remaining, that he realizes that something’s different. Aside from the reds in the plaid bedspread, he’s also picking up the accompanying blues and greens of the wallpaper and the wood panel browns of the TV. His world is suddenly vibrant again, the way it hasn’t been in years. He pushes himself up slowly and makes his way to the bathroom’s terrible seafoam sink and sees himself live and in living color, and his eyes widen for a moment, before he leans forward and tips his forehead against the mirror.

“Fuck me.”

- - - - - -

It takes Wynonna three days to realize the difference, looking up in a mirror as she washes her hands, and realizing that while the rest of the world around her was it’s usual monochrome, she was like something out of an oil painting – or at least what she remembers oil paintings used to look like. Her hair is chestnut brown, her skin peach but flushed, her eyes brown. It’s been so long since she’s seen herself in color she almost wonders if someone slipped something into her drink, but she hadn’t actually had anything to drink yet.

She knows what it is in a heartbeat, and in true Wynonna fashion, her own reaction is also sharp and immediate:

“Fuck that.”

- - - - - -

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”

“I’m serious, Sammy.”

Sam looks amused. In fact, Sam looks more than amused. He looks practically pleased as punch that this is the situation that they have found themselves in, and Dean kind of wants to punch him in the face.

“You know what was that you always said?”

“Shut up, man.”

“Soulmates are a load of crap developed to make single women feel like shit and are definitely not –”

“Alright, alright! I see the irony. You’ve made your point.” Dean slumps down in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep the headache at bay. Sam’s face softens, done with making fun of his brother for the moment, and moving on to the next most concerning part of this situation.

“You know we’re going to have to find her, right?” His voice is soft, but firm, not willing to let his brother wriggle out of this one. “With what we do, man, we can’t let her go in blind to something like that.”

Dean sighs heavily, before looking up and nodding. “Yeah, man. I know. But I have no idea where to even friggin’ start.”

“Do you have a name?” There’s a long pause of silence and Sam looks up at his brother with a look that’s a big more judgy. “Seriously, dude?”

“Don’t look at me like that, we weren’t really looking for names.” They were looking for distractions. “Even if she did give me one, I have no idea if it’s her real one.” There’s a beat as he tries to replay the memories in his head, but nothing is any clearer than when it started. “Maybe it started with a W?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Do you remember what bar you were at?” Dean nods, and Sam gets up to grab his coat. “Great. Then let’s start there.”

Two hours and a hundred bucks later, they manage to get out of the local bartender that the girl’s name was Wynonna, no last name (“Kinda like Cher,” Dean jokes, but Sam still isn’t amused), and she’s gone, headed out of town to God knows where, and she didn’t leave a forwarding address.

Dean asks around at the neighboring towns, but nothing comes of it. Eventually he and Sam catch a case and things are back to business as usual.

Then Sam dies, and nothing about that is business as usual.

- - - - - -

When Wynonna was a little girl, Aunt Gus used to say that finding your soulmate is one of the best things that could ever happen to you. It wasn’t a guarantee for everyone, mind, some people just don’t have the means to travel far enough to find that person, and could still be perfectly happy in a world that’s black and white, but Wynonna always thought that was a load of crap. She had seen the Wizard of Oz at that point. Why would you go back to the sepia tones of Kansas when you’d seen the vibrance of Oz?

Gus also said that your soulmate is usually the kind of person who could bring out your very best and amplify your very worst. (She also usually followed that with a snide comment about how “heaven help us all when Wynonna finds hers” that usually led to Wynonna retaliating in a way that was very unbecoming.

Not that she was trying all that hard to be “becoming” whatever hell that means.)

Wynonna, while she feels no need to track down her “other half,” so to speak, she doesn’t really mind the world in color. She runs to Greece to watch the sun sparkle against the Mediterranean. She wanders through museums and appreciates the colors of the paintings for what they are, even if she doesn’t understand the symbolism. Sure, sometimes she closes her eyes and wakes up screaming, because whatever this asshole’s life is, it’s sure as hell not sunshine and roses, but even that Wynonna can kind of relate to.

When you’ve spent most of your life running from a destiny of literal demons, a few nightmares don’t seem all that bad. She just hopes he doesn’t judge her too much for her … active social life.

Then again, given how they met, she doesn’t think he’s really in a place to judge.

Even returning to Purgatory is beautiful, which is something she’d never thought she’d say, but the scenery is everything she remembered it being as a child.

Gus also used to say that a soulmate wasn’t a guarantee. It’s just as much a choice as it is destiny. Wynonna doesn’t fully wrap her head around that particular bit of information until she wakes up one night from a dead sleep, drenched in a cold sweat, and she’s gone back to Kansas, her vision robbed of the beautiful polychrome that had made up her life for the past year, and she knows that something is wrong.

(Her vision’s flickered before, usually when she assumed that the guy was doing something crazy reckless, but it’s never been like this. Never so complete. She feels like she’s been robbed, and in some ways maybe she has been, but she didn’t think she’d feel like this. That she’d be mourning for something she never really had.

That she’d feel like she’s failed, in a way that seems more personal than when she’s been shamed in the past.)

She drinks her way through the next four months, and fucks her way through a lot of it to. Not either of those things are particularly out of character for Wynonna, but it’s hard to tell if she’s trying to forget, or if she’s trying to find a replacement. It’s almost like she’s hoping that if she repeats the same behavior, maybe she’ll find a secondary soulmate, a way to ease the ache in her gut, but one never appears.

Then, one night as she’s walking to Shorty’s, the hue and shine returns to Doc’s ridiculous red car, and she wants to cry again – not because she understands what’s happening or that she feels whole again, but because there’s still hope.

That’s what it is, in the end, the thing that Wynonna always loved about Oz that she couldn’t manage to find in the real world. Color becomes your hope, and Wynonna can’t help but hope that maybe there’s still hope for her, even if she has no idea what she really wants.

- - - - - -

She ask him later, when they finally find each other again, what happened during those four months. When he tells her about Sam, about his deal and why he did it, about Hell, and she understands. She asks herself what she would have done if it was Waverly, and she probably would have done the same thing.

She still punches him in the face, however, and tells him to never, ever do it again.

- - - - - -

It’s almost a year later that Dean finds himself in the Ghost River Triangle.

Sam’s dead, in Hell for saving the world (which is bullshit as far as Dean is concerned, but it wasn’t his choice). Dean’s aimless, wandering to try and see if there’s something that will anchor him, keep him busy, keep him from throwing his used soul right over the edge and seeing who will bite, but so far he’s managed to avoid that by keeping himself driving and not stopping when he sees a crossroads.

The Ghost River Triangle has always seemed like a big enough pile of bad shit that even if there is an active Heir at the moment, they could probably use a hand. All Dean really knows how to do is hunt, and he’s going to keep doing that for as long as he can.

He catches wind of a murder and goes to do his usual FBI schtick only to get jammed up by a legit federal marshal, telling him that he’s out of his jurisdiction. Dean is about to tell him to eat a bag of dicks and call Bobby for back up, the usual protocol for these kinds of situations, when suddenly there she is.

Buried in a parka, eating a jelly doughnut, making off color comments at the marshal in question (Dolls, apparently) and if Dean weren’t already aware that she was his soulmate, those five minutes probably would have sealed it. His mouth goes dry, and he doesn’t know what to say, only manages to crack out one word:

“Wynonna?”

The brunette looks up and her eyes go wide. The recognition is there, and she almost – almost – drops her doughnut. “Fuck me sidewise.”

Dolls looks confused. “You two know each other?”

“You could say that,” Wynonna replies, before gesturing to the other man with her hand. “Uh –”

“Dean.”

She gives him a grateful look before continuing. “Yeah, Dean here and I go … way back.”

“Dean?” Dolls turns on him almost immediately, eyes studying him appraisingly because “Dean” definitely wasn’t the name of the FBI agent that Dean had just given him, but lying in front of Wynonna and having to explain it later wouldn’t have been much easier. “Your last name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Winchester,’ would it?”

He had to give the man credit for knowing his shit. Dean could only hope that he would give Dean the same amount of credit for trying to sucker punch him so that he could make a break for it. It didn’t work out as well as he had hoped because punching Dolls was a bit like punching a brick wall and the asshole is a lot faster than Dean would give him credit for.

Before he even realizes what is happening, Dean’s on the ground with one arm twisted behind his back, making a soft and pained noise at the angle with which Dolls is trying to handcuff him and there’s an exasperated noise from the woman standing next to him.

“Dean Winchester, you have the right to remain silent –”

“Jesus Christ, Dolls, he’s my goddamn soulmate.”

The larger man stops, before turning to look back at her again. “I’m sorry. He’s your what, Earp?”

“Earp?”

Of course.

Of course his soulmate would be the goddamn fucking Heir.

- - - - - -

It takes several hours of explaining, but eventually they sort things out enough – that is, Dean is convincing enough – that Dolls is willing to let him go. Being part of some group called “Black Badge” seems to help grease the wheels, even if Dean still doesn’t really understand what it means. Wynonna takes him back to her place – something he wasn’t expecting, but also not complaining about.

Better than sleeping in a motel room by himself anyway.

A lot of things go slow, exchanged pleasantries, meeting her sister, things that seem to drag on forever when he hasn’t been this close to her in literal years and he’s itching to touch her, get closer to her, if she’ll let him. But he waits, he’s patient, because he’s waited this long after all, even without waiting at all, and he isn’t going to deny that there’s a lot they need to figure out.

Wynonna, however, has other plans in mind, because as soon as he steps across the threshold to her bedroom, the door is closed behind him, and he’s shoved up against it, before a very eager brunette leans in to kiss him.

In a lot of ways, kissing Wynonna is like coming home. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt since Sam died and he leans into it, more than willing to give her what she wants, if the lady is insisting. He doesn’t understand any of this, never having put much stock in soulmates as a whole, but the world is a little brighter with Wynonna in it, and at the moment, that’s something he desperately needs.

Eventually, Wynonna pulls back from the kiss, breathless, and starts pulling at clothing. “I know there’s a lot of shit we need to work out first.”

“Understatement.”

Shirts fly over their heads. “Doing this before we do that is probably a terrible decision.”

“Eh,” Dean kicks off his boots and flashes her a lopsided grin. “I’m not really known for my great life choices anyway.”

“Oh, we’re going to get along so well,” she laughs as he hoists her up, getting her legs around his waist as they go tumbling to the bed with a grin. “Think you can give a repeat performance of last time? Kinda want to make sure it’s as good as it was in my head.”

He grins as he shifts a bit on top of her before nodding. “Oh, sweetheart, I’ve got a few tricks you’re going to love.”

They spend the next few hours together reacquainting themselves and vowing to figure out the rest later. Sure, it’s probably not the healthiest start to a relationship.

But that’s working on the assumption that either of them were that healthy to begin with.

[Part 2]

Edited 2025-09-24 22:49 (UTC)

Sam starts out his college life playing it smart.

A full ride means full food and board, and so he sees no reason not to take advantage of it. He stays in the dorms and keeps his head down, tries not to think about the things that he’s left behind, even if they still linger in instincts to protect himself no matter what. He keeps an iron rod in his closet and his first roommate moves out because he thinks that Sam’s going to bring around ants with the rock salt he insists on leaving around the doors and windows, but as far as Sam is concerned, it’s fine by him.

He hasn’t had his own room in … ever.

That doesn’t mean the sounds of the dorm don’t still exist, however, and one morning when he’s in a heavy study session, he’s startled out of his train of thought by a loud thumping that’s getting progressively closer until it’s suddenly pounding on his door. He briefly considers ignoring it, hoping it’ll go away, but he wanted to go to school so that he could have a normal life. What’s more normal than actually talking to other people at school?

He pulls the door open and is greeted with a sight where he doesn’t know where to look. It’s a girl in a towel, and his eyes dart from her messy wet hair, to her cleavage in the towel, to the bare legs leading into shower shoes, and eventually his eyes dart back up again finding a place that seems safe right over her shoulder.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” her voice is light and breathy, the kind of tone that usually come with the sentiment of I know I’m being an inconvenience, but. “I’m Allison, I live just down the hall. My roommate is out for another few hours and I accidentally locked myself out. I was wondering if I could borrow your phone to call Residential Services.” There’s a beat. “And also possibly wait in your room so I’m not …”

“Hanging out in the hallway in a towel? Yeah, sure.” He steps back so she can make her way inside with a small nod. She crosses the salt line without trouble and he relaxes a hair more, enough that he’ll even grab her a sweatshirt off his bed and hold it out to her. “It’s probably warmer.”

She grins a bit at that before nodding and slipping it around her shoulders. “Thanks.”

There’s a beat as he goes to reach for his cell phone, grateful that he’s tall enough that she doesn’t need to worry about flashing anyone. He pauses for a moment, hovering briefly over the small box, before holding up a finger as he turns back to her. “You know, it’s probably going to take them an hour at least to get out here. I may have a better idea – if you promise not to rat me out.”

It would be one thing if he had never seen her before, but he’s seen her around. He’s fairly certain he can believe her when she says she lives here. Her face brightens slightly at the prospect of not having to wait an hour to get back into her room, and she nods.

“Cross my heart. I would rather be dry than a stickler for the rules.”

Sam nods again, before reaching for the office supplies and fishing out two paperclips. He pauses only a moment as he starts to unwind them and nods back towards the door. “C’mon.”

It takes him less than five minutes to pick the lock on the door and let her inside. If he had been paying more attention, he might have noticed the mountain ash lingering on her back window or the pair of Chinese ring daggers hanging off one of the beds but for the moment, he’s too distracted by her smile as she darts in the door.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She turns to face him with a nod. “I really owe you one … ?”

“Sam. I’m Sam.”

She nods with a small smile, and after they say goodbye, the door closes behind her and he heads back to his room. If this is what making friends is like, he could probably stand to do it a little more often.

- -- - - -

When Allison’s father sent her off to college, it was because he still wanted her to do normal things. Gerard and Kate were gone and he’s focused on rebuilding the family with people they can trust, but will Allison is going to assume control when all is said and done, he wants her to have these last four years to be a normal girl.

Allison would argue that she hasn’t been a normal girl since she fell in love with Scott McCall, but that isn’t an argument that Chris wants or needs to entertain. So she does what she needs to do to make her father happy, and that involves going to school and having a (somewhat) normal life. She still makes friends with other cryptids that happen to be on campus. She still lives with Lydia, which means she’s on banshee duty, and she still deals with any “situations” that happen to arise. But other than that, she’s just your average college student.

She’s out for a run around campus one morning when she catches sight of Sam ahead of her, and she grins as she tries to catch up with his long legged stride. They’ve talked a few times since he got her back into her dorm, once when she returned his sweatshirt, and some random chats in the halls and Allison likes him. There’s something about him that she just can’t place, something familiar, and a part of her wants to know more. Sam seems to feel the same, if his smile is anything to go by, so does he.

It’s been a while since Isaac, and even longer since Scott. Maybe what she needs to be normal is just a nice normal boy.

She jogs up closer, calling after him to try and get his attention. “Hey, Sam!” No response. She catches sight of the headphones in his ears, and she manages to kick in enough speed to tap him on the shoulder. His response, however, quickly throws her for a loop. Before she can even realize what is happening, she’s flying through the air, being twisted and thrown to the ground as though she’s some kind of threat.

It’s been a while since she’s been manhandled like this, and it certainly isn’t what she was expecting, but her instincts and muscle memory kick in before she can lose control of the situation completely. As she comes down towards the ground, she scissor kicks her legs, knocking him off balance and twisting her hips to roll them both and pin him beneath her.

“Oh my God, Allison.” His eyes widen when he sees who it is he was attacking. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were …”

“Coming to jump you?” she teases before she shifts so that he can get into a sitting position. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m the one who wound up on top,” she teases. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I’m fine,” he replies in return, shaking his head a bit. “Any bruises I have, I probably deserve.” He seems like he’s about to apologize again, and she holds up a hand.

“It’s okay. I probably would have done the same thing if you had snuck up on me.”

Sam nods for a moment, but not placated at all by the concession. “I would feel better if you would let me buy you a free meal plan coffee from the dining hall though.”

She laughs, before nodding. “I think that would be acceptable, yes. So long as there are pancakes to go with.”

- - - - -

They had a great breakfast. They had an even better lunch. They would have had an excellent dinner, were it not for the fact that Allison already had plans with Lydia. They did do dinner another night, however. And a few other nights after that.

And then breakfast one time directly after, when Allison spends the night in his dorm.

They seem to just get each other so well, that it’s almost too good to be true. A beautiful, smart girl who happened to have moved around as much as he did when he was a kid, who got held back a year because of it, who struggled to fit in in a world that didn’t really know her. Sam should have known that there was something too perfect about her, and it all starts to crumble the night he hears Lydia scream.

He’s passing through the quad one night, when a scream like nothing he’s ever heard sounds from the woods behind the dorms. Instincts kick in first, and he goes running towards it, wanting to help even if he doesn’t know what he’s running into. What he finds, is a very familiar redhead, clearly caught in some kind of trance.

“Lydia,” he says softly as he reaches for her shoulders, trying to get her attention. “Lydia?”

She blinks once, twice, then shakes her head as she comes to, her eyes darting to the side until she sees the dead body and her eyes close in return.

“How long have I been here?”

It’s a weird question, and Sam blinks, before shrugging. “I don’t know. I just heard you scream.” He takes her by the shoulders gently and starts to step her away from the body. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, Sam, how many dead bodies have you found today?” Lydia’s eyes open, face apologetic almost as soon as she says it. “I’m sorry. That came out a little …”

“No, it’s okay,” Sam waves it off as he goes to find his phone. “We should call campus police. They’ll need to report it.”

She nods, before reaching for her own phone. “You do that. There’s someone I need to call.”

His conversation with the police is short and sweet, telling them to stay put until they arrive to secure the scene. When he turns back to tell Lydia, however, he finds her having wandered back to the body again, taking pictures. “It definitely is some kind of cryptid,” she’s saying to someone, presumably whoever she’s talking to on the phone. “Maybe a kanima? I’m not seeing very many defensive wounds.”

Sam almost drops his phone. He hadn’t bothered looking at the body much, but he understood far too much about what Lydia just said to ignore it.

“A kanima would have made a bigger mess,” he eventually manages, after swallowing around the dryness in his throat. “I think we’re looking for something more subtle than that.”

Lydia looks up for a moment, eyes wide, and then tips her head to the side curiously. The world drops out from under him again, when he hears the voice coming from the speakers on the phone.

“Is that Sam?” Allison asks.

Lydia smirks. “Nerd boy’s been holding out on us.”

- - - - --

As soon as Allison gets off the phone with Lydia, she asks her father to run Sam’s name through the hunter community. It doesn’t turn up anything on Sam necessarily, but he does find plenty on Sam’s father and brother, John and Dean. From what he can tell, they seem on the level, and for the moment, she relaxes. If anything, all this is a relief. No more hiding that part of herself, no more talking around things that she’s so used to talking plainly about.

Sam isn’t a werewolf, but knows and for that makes all the difference. At least it did, until he and Lydia returned to the room and the look on his face is less than pleased. She tries to prepare for the worst, but there’s a part of her that already knows what’s coming is bad.

Lydia does too, glancing between them and holding up her phone. “So, I’m going to go update Scott. I’ll let you two … sort whatever this is out.”

Sam looks like his whole world’s been turned upside down. Part of Allison isn’t sure that there’s anything they can work out. She shifts awkwardly on her feet for a moment in the silence, before she opts to break it.

“You know, I … thought you might be happier about this.”

Sam’s brow furrows and his face is cold, almost as though he’s trying to hold back whatever hurt he’s feeling. “Why would I be happy about this?”

“Because we don’t have to hide?” It’s so obvious, almost as soon as she says it, that that’s exactly what Sam is trying to do. He wants to hide. He wants to be someone else, while Allison is already comfortable in the person she is. “I tend to prefer to be honest with the people I’m with.”

“Well, you’re doing really well so far,” Sam grits his teeth as he turns to face her again. “I’m feeling really comfortable with your honesty right now.”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Is this really that bad? What’s so wrong with the fact that we come from the same place?”

“Because it’s the place I’m trying to get away from!” The words explode from him without much effort, the anger being something that she’s only seen just storming under the surface, never when it was at its full power. “Because I hate the person that I am when I’m in it. I don’t want to be a hunter, Allison. I don’t want to hunt, I don’t want to live that life, and I don’t want …”

“Me?” she cuts him off before he can finish the statement, and it’s in that moment that he falters, trying to regain his footing.

“No, I’m not …”

“No, you’re not, but I am.” Allison holds out her hands next to her. “I’m a hunter. I’m the head of the Argent family. My best friends are a banshee and a werewolf, and I grew up with all of it in my blood. I’m not running away from it, and you shouldn’t either.”

Sam meets her stare for a moment, almost as though he’s trying to gauge how serious this is, and if there’s a chance that he can change her mind. But Allison has been fighting too long to find a version of herself that she’s happy with, and she’s not going to give up because a boy she likes decides he can only live with half of her.

He looks down for a moment, before shaking his head. “I’ll help you with this case,” he says softly, before taking a step back. “After that, though – I’m out.”

Allison looks down for a moment, the words a slap in the face, no matter how gentle his tone, and she swallows before looking up again. “Fine,” she says softly. “Let’s get this done.”

Sam nods before showing himself out and heading back to his dorm room. Lydia returns to the room soon after, and glances over to her best friend with a gentle look.

“Want me to scream out his ear drums?”

“Not now,” Allison says half-heartedly as she looks up again. “Maybe after the case is closed. I’ll keep you posted.”

Lydia smirks, before going to grab her laptop. “You got it.”

- - - - -

The case ends with the three of them digging up a corpse in a local cemetery at two in the morning to salt and burn it, and in the car ride back to campus, Allison and Sam just let the silence rest between them, neither of them wanting to put the finality on the moment. If he were Dean, he’d probably lean in to the fact that Allison was a hunter, but right now, Sam wanted to be anything but. He just wants to be a normal college kid, and he’d be happiest if he never had to dig up another corpse ever again.

As the car slides to a stop in front of the dorm, Allison stops the car before looking over at him. “So.”

“So,” he repeats. “I guess this is it.”

They sit in silence again for a moment, and Allison looks back at him. “You know, Sam, ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away. The supernatural is always going to be there.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I have to invite it in.” He glances back to her again, his fingers drumming against the passenger’s side door before he finally asks. “Why? Why do you want to stay in this?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” A beat. “Someone has to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

Maybe someone does. But as far as Sam is concerned, it doesn’t have to be him. He opens the door and slides out, before glancing back to her. “Just … stay safe, okay?”

It’s not an apology, and it’s not really a goodbye. But Allison seems to take it for what it is, and she nods. “You too.”

As he heads back into the dorm, he regrets all of it, but it’s not enough for him to turn back around. In the end, he knows he’s doing the right thing. He’ll be able to find someone else who can give him what he’s looking for, the white picket fence life he’s always wanted. He just has to keep looking.

- - - - - -

Two months later, he meets Jess, and he convinces himself he could have never been happier.

Three years later, Allison awakens to the news alert of a fire in the off campus apartments, and a text from Sam, bearing only three simple words:

You were right.

Edited 2018-08-03 02:15 (UTC)

“Mom.”

The word is a hushed stage whisper, given by an impatient eight year-old as he stands more than sits on the bench, balancing precariously between a standing and crouching position so that he can whisper perfectly in his mother’s ear. He’s not obnoxious about it, and Laurel knows that he’s being very patient, but she doesn’t give in right away. Not until he reaches forward to tug against the sleeve of her jacket, trying to draw her attention away from the map of DC and back to him.

“Mom.”

“Yes, Connor,” Laurel sighs as she finally turns to face him, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“I think that’s Captain America.”

While running into Captain America in front of the Washington Memorial is both expected and not, all at the same time, when she turns to see what her son is pointing at, she almost doesn’t put two and two together. The man stretching on the side of the path seems almost smaller than he does on the news. Not that Steve Rogers is a small man by any means, but there’ something almost larger than life at the idea of Captain America, seeing the man who has to bear that ideal outside of his persona makes him seem almost normal.

It’d be a little refreshing, if she didn’t spend so much of her life around superheroes to begin with.

“I see that. But what are the rules about superheroes?”

Connor’s face falls for a moment, moving to slump quietly on the chair next to her. “That we don’t run up to them while they’re in costume, because they’re doing their job and I shouldn’t get in the way.”

“And?”

“And if they’re out in the real world, I shouldn’t bother them because it’s their own personal time.”

“Good boy,” she says softly. “It seems like it’s his day off, so let’s leave Captain Rogers alone, okay?”

“Okay,” is grumbled miserably before he flips his very green hood back over his head and heads back to the fray of children. Laurel glances back down to her map and is busy picking destinations for their trip later in the day, keeping her ears tuned to the Connor’s voice and gait as he runs around, and for the most part things are quiet.

That is, until she manages to hear, ever so faintly:

“Excuse me, are you Captain America?”

She should have known better, because she knows her son well, but she closes her eyes all the same, before glancing up and turning on the mom voice.

“Connor.”

One dark head whips around and there’s a caught expression that she’s seen on his father so many times before, for things much less innocent. Captain Rogers also turns and looks at her as she pushes up and makes his way closer, before he gives her a smile that could almost be considered placating if he didn’t seem quite so earnest.

“It’s okay. He’s not bothering me.”

“I appreciate that, but from a mom-son perspective, it’s not really okay.” Laurel sighs as she makes her way closer. “Because I told him to give you your space.”

“Ah,” Steve nods, understanding, and he crouches down so that he’s eye level with Connor. “She’s right there, buddy. You gotta listen to your mom.”

“I know, but I couldn’t not say anything. You’re my second favorite superhero.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise a bit at that, but he’s clearly amused. “Only second favorite, huh?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t take it personally. No one is as cool as Green Arrow, but Mom says it’s cuz I’m by-rassed.”

“Biased,” Laurel corrects gently.

“Green Arrow?” Steve looks confused briefly. “Can’t say I’ve heard of that one.”

“He’s a local to Star City, where we’re from.” Laurel reaches for Connor’s shoulders, pulling him in front of her with a gentle squeeze. “His bad guys aren’t quite as … large scale as the Avengers.” Laurel leaves out that he also happens to be Connor’s father, because that’s not appropriate to the current conversation, and anyone could be listening.

“Gotcha,” Steve says as he stretches up to his full height again, but somehow managing to not be imposing. “Well, I can’t say I blame you for that.”

Connor looks up pleading his mom for a moment, and she looks back in return, before closing her eyes and sighing. “Since he’s already broken the ice, would you mind if we got a quick picture?”

Steve laughs, before nodding. “Though it’s not much of an ice breaker if I don’t know your names?”

“I’m Connor!” Connor interjects as Laurel blinks at her own faux pax. “Can we take it over here?” He runs over to the nearby bench and Steve glances back to Laurel and holds out a hand. She nods before reaching out to shake it.

“Laurel Lance.”

“Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Laurel.”

- - -- - -

It takes five takes before Connor has a pose he’s satisfied with and allows Steve to carry on with his day. It’s shortly after that that Steve gives them recommendations for local places to eat in the area. Laurel thanks him again, and tells him that if he’s ever in Star City, she’d be happy to treat him to lunch. She knows a place that makes a great black and white milkshake. It’s an offhand comment that she never expects to have to follow through on, because why would he come all the way out to the West Coast just for a milkshake.

That is, until Steve Rogers walks in the DA’s office in Star City and Laurel almost drops the coffee in her hand. Fortunately for herself and the suit she’s wearing, it is almost, because Steve makes it very clear who he’s here to see by spotting her, smiling, and coming right for her.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she says, her brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area, and I think I remember someone saying something about knowing a great place for a milkshake?”

“I did.” There’s a beat as Laurel continues to probably look flabbergasted. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.” There’s a moment where Steve looks like he’s afraid he may have said the wrong thing. “Is this weird? I would have called first but I never actually got your number, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m … stalking you or something.”

“No! No, God no,” Laurel shakes her head with a bit of a laugh. “I just … I guess I never expected you to actually follow through. Which sounds terrible when I say it out loud.”

“Honestly, I never thought I would actually have a chance. I don’t really wind up on the West Coast all that often. But I have a day off, which I almost never have, and I am here, so I thought … why not.”

“Why not indeed.” She glances down at her watch, before nodding. “You know what, I have an hour before I have to pick up Connor. I think that’s more than enough time for a milkshake.”

“Great.” He looks so pleased at the fact that she agreed that Laurel doesn’t want to imagine what his face would have been like if she had said no.

She grabs her thinks and checks out early with her assistant, and after that, it’s a very quick walk to her favorite diner. Were it any other person, she probably would have been a bit more reluctant, but it’s Captain America. If you can’t trust him, who can you trust?

And if this turns out to be a huge mistake, she’s pretty sure she can blow his eardrums out long enough for her to get away.

“So you’re an ADA?” he asks, once they’ve settled into a booth and have placed their order.

“I am. I started out in legal aid and transferred over to the ADA’s office after that office closed down.”

“Not enough funding?”

“It was destroyed actually.” There’s a beat. “It’s a long story, but it’s one of the reasons why the Arrow is as much of a hero as he is. He saved a lot of people – many still died, but it also could have been a lot worse.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know,” she waves a hand. “The person responsible was brought to justice. That’s all that matters.”

“Good.” He nods and steers the conversation back towards something neutral. “Still, a government job probably doesn’t leave you a lot of time with your son.”

“Actually, as my friend Tommy would put it, if I didn’t have a son, I probably would live at the office,” she smirks a bit as she reaches for her water. “It helps when you love what you do. People in this city, more often than not, unfortunately, need someone to fight for them and hold them accountable.”

Steve smiles a bit at that, before nodding. “I think that’s true of people everywhere, not just here.”

“True,” she says with a nod. “But for those of us who aren’t superheroes, we gotta change the world a little bit at a time.”

“Fair enough. And Connor is okay with you being busy?”

“We work it out. His dad actually works nights, so it works out. He spends the days with his dad during the week, and he gets me on nights and weekends. Plus he’s got aunts and uncles out the wazoo – basically I have a really good village helping me raise him.”

“That’s good,” Steve says with a nod. “A good village is important to have.”

“It is.” She takes another sip of her water before tipping her head to the side a bit. “So what about you?”

His eyebrows go up a bit at that. “What about me?”

“What do you like to do? Tell me about yourself.” Steve continues to look confused, like these are things she should already know, and she shakes her head. “I know about Captain America, yeah. I was taught history in the U.S. But I also know the difference between propaganda and what really happened. I don’t want to know more fun facts about Captain America – I want to know about you. Steve Rogers.”

From the look on his face, she’s willing to gauge that it’s been a really long time since someone’s asked him that question. It’s hard to tell if it’s a good look or a bad one, before his shoulders relax slightly and his posture is less someone who is putting on a show.

“Grew up in Brooklyn, just me and my mom, at least until she passed away, then it was just me and Bucky. Then there was the war, and … well, you know what happened after that.”

She nods once. “It must have been hard. To wake up and have your whole world turned upside down.” It’s happened to Laurel a few times, once when she first lost Oliver, and again when she woke up after the particle accelerator exploded, but she can’t imagine what it was like for Steve to just be launched into the future like he was.

“It was. There’s a lot of things I missed. A lot of things I still don’t understand.” He takes a deep breath before brushing it off, almost like he’s shifting weight and his smile returns. “But I’m catching up. And am taking recommendations for anything important that I should probably know.”

“Oh, I am the wrong person to ask,” she laughs. “But I have a friend I can ask to make a comprehensive list for you.”

He laughs. “Any help at all is appreciated.”

- - - - -

The conversation is fairly amiable after that, just two people trying to get to know each other, and the more Steve loosens up the more Laurel finds herself just … enjoying herself. It’s been a while since she’s had one on one adult time like this, and it’s something she was sorely missing.

And the look on Connor’s face when she brings Steve home to say hi doesn’t hurt either. Or Oliver’s, because that kind of surprise never gets old. After one last cup of coffee and Connor falls asleep, Steve prepares to take his leave. As she walks him to the door, she reaches into her purse, and hands him a small white card.

Steve frowns. “What’s this?”

“My card,” she says with a small smile. “In case you want another milkshake. Next time you can call first.”

There’s half a lopsided smile at that, and he nods, before holding up the card. “I will do that. Hopefully I’ll have the chance to be in Star City again sometime soon.”

“I hope that too.”

Edited 2018-08-04 04:37 (UTC)

The thing about David Levin is that his taste in women is not always the best.

Christopher has known this from the moment Senna abandoned him for David, from the moment Senna abandoned all of them in Everworld. David Levin and women could not be trusted. Especially where blonds are concerned. Ruby, in turn, proves to be no exception. From the day they met, Christopher’s convinced that there’s something not quite right about her, he just can’t put his finger on what.

Then he finds out she’s a demon, and suddenly all of his concerns make sense.

Ruby lurks in the weird kinds of shades of gray that make it so that Christopher can never quite pin down her motives for helping them, so he feels pretty justified in just hating her, regardless. She doesn’t need to really do anything wrong, he just is comfortable going with his gut. It served him pretty well in Everworld seventy five percent of the time, so it will probably do the same on Earth.

Still, Ruby does do some things to help them out. She teaches them how to hunt, gives them a place in the world that doesn’t require them to fit in with civilization one hundred percent. Jalil dives into the research, having a brand new world of things to make sense of. April appreciates that most of the things revolving around demons are centered in her particular brand of faith. Christopher likes that he has a direction to head in, and most hunters post-hunt activity of choice is drinking.

And David? David falls in love with Ruby. Because of course he does. Which just only further proves Christopher’s point that she is bad news.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ruby is currently lingering just on the edges of the salt lines that frame his bedroom door, looking down with a bit of distaste that would probably read to other people like she’s hurt, but Christopher knows better. Mostly because Christopher doesn’t trust her.

“You just did,” he fires back as he collapses down on his bed, grabbing a rubber ball to toss up at the ceiling. Thump, thump, thump.

“What’s your problem?”

Thump. Thump. Thump. “According to April, I have many. You may have to be more specific.”

“Fine. What’s your problem with me?”

He catches the ball as it comes down from the ceiling, holding it there for a moment, before glancing over to look at her directly. “Why does it matter? As a demon, I would assume this isn’t a new experience for you.”

“I took you in. I taught you how to protect yourself. You’d think that I’d at least get a thank you.”

“A thank you.” He snorts a bit at that, before pushing to his feet again. “I didn’t know you were so worried about what I thought of you.”

“It’d just be nice to feel like we’re a team.”
“We - ” He pauses to wave his finger between them. “ – are not a team. April, David, Jalil and I, that’s a team. We trust each other. We rely on each other. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. So no – I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”

Ruby sneers for a moment, before shaking her head. “You know what. I don’t need this. If you want to die out there on your own, then fine.” She turns to walk back towards her and David’s bedroom, and Christopher shoots up to poke his head out the doorframe.

“I was surviving just fine before I met you, sweetheart. I don’t need you for that.”

She flips him the bird as she keeps walking and he flips her one right back. It’s a good status quo for them, and he intends to keep it that way until she dumps David or betrays them all, whichever happens to come first.

- - - - - -

David dies.

Christopher uses the funeral to drink himself into a stupor, but he can’t seem to get there. There’s always just a little too much awareness for his taste, but he can’t quite push them limits to liver failure territory. Instead he just sits at the bar as the funeral goes on around him, staring at the bit of whiskey remaining in the bottle he ordered, trying to decide if he’s feeling enough to convince himself to drink it.

He’s mostly trying not to think about it, more than anything else. Trying not to think about the vampire’s hand in his friend’s just, trying not to think about the way the light just disappeared from his eyes, trying not to wonder about what they’re going to do now that their leader isn’t there anymore. That is, he’s trying not to think about these things until Ruby slides onto the bar stool next to him, and all he can feel is white hot anger.

“Christopher – ”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

His fingers close around the neck of the bottle, taking another swig as he stumbles to his feet and makes his way out of the main area of the bar and towards the back alley where the cars are parked. He’s not going to drive – he’s not stupid – but he doesn’t want to be in a closed in space with her right now, and sleeping it off in his car seems like a great idea.

“Christopher!”

“Where the fuck were you, Ruby?” The words tear from him because as much as he wants to keep walking and not do this in the middle of a crowded parking lot, but drunk Christopher is driving this encounter and he has zero impulse control.

“Oh, are you trying to pin this on me? I told you idiots to wait. That we didn’t know what kind of back up the witch had.”

“She had a car full of kids that she was about to sacrifice. What the fuck were we supposed to do? Just watch them die?”

She should know better. She should know the hero she was screwing. And yet she still seems surprised that David would do the right thing. To her credit, Ruby does flinch at the question, not sure how to respond, exactly, and Christopher turns to start walking away again, Ruby reaches out to grab his arm to stop him.

That’s the last thing Christopher actually remembers clearly.

After that, somehow the grab turns into a shove, the shove turns into a slap, the slap turns into a fight, and the fight somehow ends up in a different kind of push-pull which leads to a very different kind of release. Basically, it’s a lot of things that Christopher isn’t really all that proud of. He’s not sure if it’s the guilt or just the exertion that eventually has him passing out in the back seat of his car, but when he wakes up, the self-loathing is still there, but Ruby is gone.

It’s the last time he sees her, before the end.

In a lot of ways, it’s probably for the best.

- - - - - -

“This could of gone another way, Christopher.”

“Fuck you.”

The words don’t have the bite to it they usually do, and it’s probably because of the blood loss. Christopher is slumped against one of the far walls of the house that has been shot to shit by everything that’s been going on. There are bodies strewn everywhere, demons and hunters both, each of them having known what they were getting into when they stared.

When the Winchesters call, it usually means something pretty shitty is happening. You should probably be prepared to die. After Everworld, Christopher is usually prepared for that anyway.

Ruby crouches down in front of him, before pulling his hand away from the wound in his side. It’s deep, and the blood is bright red, too red, and he knows that this isn’t the kind of thing he’s going to survive.

“Do you think there’s a Valhalla on this plane?” He asks, his voice taking on a kind of distance that shows he’s distancing himself from the situation a bit. “Valhalla always sounded really sick. The good sick, not the bad sick. I bet David wound up in Valhalla.”

“I’ve only ever heard of Heaven and Hell.” Her tone is gentle as she places his hand back, applying pressure with it. “But I’ve never really known a Viking before either.” Christopher winces a bit, but it’s more from instinct than actual pain. “I can fix this, you know.”

“Don’t.” He can see half of Jalil’s body, still and unmoving from where Christopher left him. He doesn’t hear April – if she were still alive, she would have come looking for him by now. Everyone is dead – everyone who matters to him, anyway, and he doesn’t intend to be the only survivor. He was never meant to be. “I want to go out with my friends.”

“You don’t have to go out at all.”

“Yes I do,” he laughs a bit. “Everyone’s gotta fucking go sometime. And I’m not selling you my soul to stay in a world where everything that matters to me is gone. What would be the fucking point?”

Ruby seems to see the logic in that statement, which he appreciates. “I wouldn’t have –”

“Maybe not my soul, but there would have been something. There’s always a catch.”

She seems to see the logic in that too. She takes a deep breath, before leaning in to kiss his forehead gently, then moving to sit next to him. “I’ll stay till it’s done, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

“When have you ever known me to do something out of obligation?”

“What if the Winchesters come back?”

“They won’t. They’re still chasing the thing they picked this fight to get to. I’ve got time.”

He accepts that well enough, and slumps back against the wall a little more. His vision is starting to cloud a bit, and he closes his eyes, before deciding to risk what is probably his final words on something that isn’t worth leaving unsaid.

“You know, for a demon you weren’t so bad.”

Ruby glances over to him, and even if he doesn’t see the smirk, he can hear it when she speaks. “Aww, Christopher. You really do care.”

“I still want to punch you in the face sometimes,” he manages to slip in, and Ruby laughs.

“Ahh. That’s better.”

After that, everything goes dark. He’s been teasing himself with this kind of fate for a long time, the darkness lingering just on the edge of his awareness and for the first time in a long time, it feels safe enough to just fall into it.

Whatever’s waiting for him on the other side, hopefully it’s better than what he has here.

Edited 2018-08-04 22:31 (UTC)

Occasionally, Jessica Jones actually does do laundry.

It’s usually at two in the morning, when she is drunk but can’t seem to push pass the threshold to “passed out,” and/or she’s been woken up by a nightmare, and/or Trish has been too busy to actively mother her by sending out her clothes washed for her (read: is angry with her and stops paying her bills for a while). She prefers two in the morning because there are less people there which means she doesn’t have to talk to anyone, and no one is itching to talk to her.

This particular instance is a little from column A, a little from column B. She’s up late because she’s been working, and happens to be at the laundromat not for a general load, but because the person she was trying to track down happened to puke all over her in the process (lovely), and since she didn’t want her entire apartment to smell like booze and vomit until she eventually does get around to doing laundry, she stops by her apartment to get a fresh change of clothes and other things that probably could do with being washed, and heads down to the local laundromat, where things are shady but the machines are free.

She’s shoved most of her load into one of the washers, shoves in the quarters and slumps down on one of the benches to wait, stretching out a bit so that she can lie down and stare up at the bright lights on the ceiling above her.

The door jingles, footsteps sound against the tile floor, and she doesn’t move. The footsteps move aimlessly around the room and she hears the creak of several washers, but they don’t start up. Eventually her curiosity gets the better of her, and she literally sees the last person she ever expected to see in a beat up laundromat in Hell’s Kitchen.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

She probably shouldn’t have moved, because it was the movement that causes him to spot her, flashing her a smile that probably would be charming if she were anyone but herself and holds up a shirt with what seems like way too much blood on it.

“Any chance you know how to get blood out of cotton?”

She does, actually. Jessica’s had a lot of broken noses bleed on her over the years. But the eloquent response that is conjured first by her tired brain is: “Don’t you have a butler for that?”

“I do,” he admits. “But I’m trying to avoid a lecture, rather than walk into one.”

It’s a sentiment she can understand, given how many lectures she’s been on the wrong end of, and the ridiculousness of the situation is enough to keep her engaged for the time being. “How fresh is it?”

“Fairly.”

“Soak it in cold water. There’s a sink in the back.” She turns and points to the set of sinks behind her where tubs are set up for soaking stains. Bruce isn’t the first person to stumble in with a blood stain he couldn’t remove on his own. “Rub the stain with soap, then get one of those stain remover sticks out of the vending machine and use that, then wash it. Should take out most of it.”

“Most?”

Jessica raises an eyebrow at him in return. “You’re at a shitty laundromat in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m not a laundress either.”

He seems to give her that one, shrugging before heading past her to the sink. “Since you already know my name, do I get to know yours?”

“No.” He raises an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes, before rethinking her response. “Jessica Jones.”

He glances back to her again, and the look she gets this time is slightly more appraising, almost as though he’s looking for something that he’s not sure he’s seeing. “The PI?”

That gets him a more shrewd look on Jessica’s part as well. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Jeri Horvath is a work acquaintance.”

“How unfortunate for you.”

“She says you’re one of the best.”

“She’s not wrong. But she’s also a piece of garbage, so you may want to take your legal services elsewhere.”

“She seems to be doing well for Rand.”

“Have you met Danny Rand?”

“Once, a long time ago. Have you?”

“Unfortunately yes. And he’s basically a human golden retriever. Jeri’s a lot of things, but she’s not a puppy killer. That being said, she’s still a snake, and you’re better off with an attorney you can actually trust.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jessica pushes up as the washer finishes it’s cycle, going to move her items to one of the dryers, but she can feel his eyes still following her, that appraising interest that makes her feel slightly uncomfortable. Fortunately for Bruce, he’s not close enough where she can lash out and punch him. That might change if he tries to get closer. “Does that mean her referral isn’t any good?”

That gets her attention again and she turns to look at him. “You want to hire me?”

“Jeri says you could find an invisible needle in a haystack. I have a few that could use tracking down.”

“And you want me?”

“I could use someone a little unconventional.” He moves over to the vending machine to get one of the Tide sticks and glances back to her. “Most of my usual avenues have turned up with nothing.”

“So you’re desperate.”

“Desperate’s a bit of a strong word. I just prefer results.”

Jessica weighs her options for a moment, because having a client who makes more money than God has a bit of appeal. “What do you need done?”

“There’s a competitor of mine who seems to be up to no good.”

“And you need proof.”

“And they’re so clean that you can’t find anything?”

“Let’s just say that Queen Consolidated works very hard on their image. More than Lexcorp, believe it or not.”

“I don’t.” No one is working harder than Lex Corp. Particularly because their CEO went off the deep end. That’s the kind of damage control that never ends. “But I’ll look into it. Are you going to be paying for my air fare to get there?” Queen Consolidated operates almost exclusively on the West Coast, and Jessica isn’t exactly making casual plane trip money.

“All expenses paid.”

“Great. I’ll book the ticket and send you the bill.”

“Perfect.” Bruce moves from the sink to the washing machine and leans casually against it for the moment before flashing her a smile. “I look forward to seeing what you find.”

There’s still something not quite right about any of this, but Jessica wouldn’t have trusted it if it did feel right. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly for Bruce to know and Jessica to find out.

- - - - - -

Three weeks later, she’s back in the laundromat, sitting on top of one of the dryers while she waits. A few minutes later, the door swings open and Bruce strides inside, hands in his pockets.

“Here I thought I was going to get to see your office.”

“Not this time.” Jessica replies, before holding out the file folder in her hand for him to take. “Everything you wanted to know about Queen Consolidated.”

He pauses for a moment, before flipping open the file to look through things. For the moment his face is neutral and calm, but then he reaches one of the pictures and stops, staring at it for a moment, before looking up at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“I didn’t. He did.”

Jessica points over her shoulder and out strides a young blond young man with a cocky grin on his face. “Hi, there Bruce.”

“Oliver.”

“Fun fact,” Jessica begins. “He has the same extracurricular activities you do. Only he likes brighter colors.”

“Well, I always did like a bit of flair,” Oliver Queen grins as he looks over. “Though I am a little sad I didn’t get invited to your little hero gang, Bruce. Here I thought we were friends.”

Bruce just looks completely flabbergasted, which is so refreshing, considering for everything else, he’d always seemed like he was two steps ahead. “How did you … ?”

“Don’t worry, Bruce. I’m not here to get you into trouble.” Oliver sighs. “I want in.”

“And I do not. So I’m gonna leave you boys to chat.” She slides off the top of the dryer and grabs her bag, before patting Bruce on the shoulder as she exits. “Invoice is in the file.”

Bruce looks slightly annoyed at that, because this isn’t really what he paid for, but he’s more concerned about other things at this point, and he turns to face her as she leaves. “Jessica …”

“Don’t worry,” she says, glancing over her shoulder with a bit of a smirk. “I won’t tell anyone you’re the Batman. Secrets safe with me.”

And with a wink, out the door she goes.

Edited 2018-08-07 01:37 (UTC)

Alek and Ava met in the first week of their first year, and had been inseparable ever since. It didn’t matter that they’re different houses, it didn’t matter that they were very different people – they connected. And Ava’s never been the type of girl to let a connection go to waste.

It also helps that she’s the friendliest Slytherin anyone’s ever met.

He even asks her once, why she’s in Slytherin when she doesn’t seem to match the rest of the group.

“My mom was a Slytherin. So was Grams. I’m a legacy.” She gives a small shrug in return as she pokes at her roast slowly working it into smaller pieces.

“Still. You don’t have to be what your family is.”

“No, I don’t,” she sighs. “But just because it’s what my family is doesn’t mean it’s not what I am. Ambition isn’t a bad thing.” She smirks a bit. “Besides, someone’s got to show that we’re not all walking dicks.”

Alek smirks. “You sure about that?”

He winds up with a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his face for his trouble. “Shut up. I’m the nicest Slytherin you will ever meet.”

“We’ll see.”

Seven years of school can change a person, especially in a school like Hogwarts, but as far as Ava’s concerned, the only way she’s going to get through it is being herself, and that all starts here.

- - - - - -

Ava finds out about the werewolf thing in the way you least want someone to find out about the werewolf thing. On a full moon, when Snape is being a jerk and delaying them too long for Alek to get somewhere safely. Ava doesn’t know what else to do, so she shoves him in the nearest closet and seals it with a lock charm.

She probably should run. She probably should tell a teacher. But instead she waits for the sun to come up, listening to Alek thrash and break things inside the closet, before finally emerging in the morning, using his robes to cover himself.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It isn’t one hundred percent okay – nothing she heard coming out of that room is okay, but they’re okay, whatever this is, this isn’t going to change their friendship. “Want me to walk you back to the common room?”

Alek nods and turns to follow her lead, and soon it all comes out. Their father, and how he was turned, and then proceeded to turn his family along with him. How he usually has a plan, but since he got held up, he didn’t have time to get there. Ava listens, but all the while, she can’t help thinking that there has to be a better way. A way to protect them, a way to protect everyone else, but she knows that whatever the solution may be? She’s not going to find it at Hogwarts. If she goes to one of the teachers, they’ll likely have to report it, and that will only get Alek into trouble. So once Alek is safely deposited back in his room, she heads up to find her owl and send an urgent, urgent letter to her grandmother.

The Ministry of Magic is always so uptight about underage magic. Elizabeth Spencer is not.

- - - - - -

When she returns to Hogwarts after Christmas break with a number of ingredients that are designed to last her the remainder of the school year because things will probably get suspicious if she tries to get them from Snape. Ava’s no Hermione Granger, she isn’t even close to being the brightest witch in her year, but her grandmother is a potion’s master, and she can certainly put her mind to the things she’s willing to learn.

She slides up next to Alek as they’re leaving the dining hall, and tucks her arm into his, before steering him away from whatever class he’s currently heading for and towards someplace private where they can talk.

“I think I’ve found a solution.”

“Solution for what?” Alek frowns, glancing over at his best friend in confusion.

“Your fuzzy little problem.”

Alek stops dead in his tracks, before pulling her over into one of the alcoves where they’re out of view. “You can cure me?”

“No. But I can tame you.” His head tips to the side in confusion and she continues. “My grams knows about a potion that takes the umph out of a werewolf so long as you take it every day the week leading up to the full moon. You’ll still change, but you’ll be you. You’ll be in control.”

Alek stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded, before reaching forward and gripping her shoulders tightly, hanging on her every word. “And it works?”

“From everything she’s heard, yes. But she’s never seen it in action so we’ll have to test it.” Ava hesitates for a moment, because this is her best friend, and she knows he trusts her, but this is a lot of trust to put in one person. “Do you trust me enough to be my guinea pig?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before glancing back to her. “If this works, can you teach me to make it? Do you have enough that we could make some for Connor and Ethan too?”

She had almost forgotten about his brothers for a second there, probably because Alek is the only one she spends considerable periods of time with. “It’s really hard to make. I had to practice a lot when I was home before I got it right. But I’ll see if my grams can send me more ingredients.” There’s a pause as she straightens. “We’ll test it on you first. And if it works then it works and we can try and make it for Ethan and Connor too.”

Alek surges forward in a rare show of physical affection, throwing his arms around her and pulling her in close. Part of her likely anticipated how much this would mean to him, but actually experiencing it, at the end of the day, is a little more than she bargained for. Still, she hugs him back fiercely, because this is a thing she can do. If she can make any of this a little bit easier, then she’s done her job.

“Thank you.”

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” Ava says as she pulls back. “Anything I can do to help, I will.”

He nods before giving her a small smile in return. “The full moon is on the twelfth. When do we start?”

“I’ll start cooking up the first batch for tomorrow.” She reaches forward and gives his hand a squeeze. “It’ll work, Alek.”

He squeezes her hand back in return. “I hope you’re right.”

- - - - - -

About a week later, Alek sleeps through his transformation like a baby. She totally could have teased him about running in his sleep like a dog, but she refrains, mostly because she’s just so relieved it worked.

By the time summer comes around, she’s gotten it down to a science and spends a week a month out at the Hale house making sure there’s enough for everyone. It’s probably not something she and Elizabeth need to do, but if there’s something they can do to help, why wouldn’t they?

After all, what are friends for.

Edited 2018-08-12 23:46 (UTC)

“Left at the Altar: Unfortunately it was not all blue skies for the oldest member of America’s favorite TV obsession. Last night, during their private ceremony in Beverly Hills, Freya Mikaelson and her long time love Lucien Castle were supposed to finally tie the knot in a beautiful sunset ceremony. Only when it came time to go to the altar, the Mikaelson Princess was scorned to find that her groom was nowhere to be found. No one can say for sure what went wrong, and it’s lead to some claiming that it was a publicity stunt, set up by the already overzealous reality TV fam –”

“Turn that off,” Rebekah snaps as she makes her way into the living room of the large, Mikaelson family home, reaching to snatch the remote out of Kol’s hands and shut it off.

“How am I supposed to find out about what else is going on in the world if we can’t watch the news,” he teases flashing his sister a grin.

“You use the internet, Kol,” Elijah replies dryly, “Just like everyone else your age.”

Kol rolls his eyes as he reaches for his phone and Rebekah sighs as she goes to sit across from her much older brother. “Have you seen her today?”

Elijah shakes his head, a certain grimness in his expression. “I suggested that perhaps she should still head out of town, until they find something else to prattle about, but she hasn’t given any indication one way or another. The tickets are in her name after all.”

“Perhaps, but it is a bit depressing to go on your honeymoon alone, don’t you think?” Elijah shrugs in response to Rebekah’s fairly obvious question.

“It’s probably better than being in Los Angeles.”

Rebekah glances away, because that also is a fairly obvious point, but she isn’t sure how to approach that. As close as she and her sister are, she isn’t sure how to make her feel better. “Perhaps if one of us goes with her? A family trip instead of a honeymoon.”

“Uh, guys … ?”

“That might do the trick. Presuming she is feeling up to such a thing.”

“I’m sure that she certainly doesn’t want to be stuck in LA until this blows over. Which, I’m certain will only be a couple of news cycles, but still …”

“Guys!”

Rebekah and Elijah both sigh before turning their attention on Kol, who is standing now, looking over the back of the couch at them with his eyes wide. He down at his phone again, then back up.

“Have either of you seen Klaus this morning?”

Both of them frown at the sudden diversion from their conversation, and shake their heads. Two seconds later, Elijah’s phone rings. “Elijah Mikaelson,” he sighs as he answers, and there’s a few seconds of pause before it’s followed with: “You what?”

Kol reaches for the remote again, and turns the news back on to answer whatever question Rebekah was going to ask next.

“ – and it seems that while some of the internet has been speculating whether or not the wedding itself was a hoax designed to generate more buzz for the Mikaelson’s reality show who’s popularity seems to have been waning in recent years, these rumors seem to have been discredited, at least on the Mikaelson side, when middle brother and known hot head Klaus Mikaelson was caught on camera punching Castle in the middle of a crowded street, breaking the man’s nose and possibly even knocking out a tooth. The Mikaelsons have not been available for comment.”

Rebekah pauses, takes it all in, before burying her face in her hands. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Kol smirks, before shaking his head. “My thoughts exactly.”

- - - - - -

Silence permeates the car as the town car that they ordered drives through the countryside, the two Mikaelson siblings pitted on opposite sides of the backseat. Freya has sunglasses on, mostly deemed necessary by the heavy drinking she had done the night before, while Klaus was simply looking out the window, rubbing his bruised knuckles in an attempt to soothe them. It’s a long drive up to the countryside spa where the two were going to spend their first week and change as husband and wife, and now that everything was over, it was going to be a lonely week and a half, trapped in the countryside with her brother.

She’s not entirely sure she’s in favor of this idea, but she wasn’t given much of a choice.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

“According to Rebekah, I absolutely did,” Klaus sighs as he glances back to her, before reaching over to take her hand. “But it is not some burden to be here for you, Freya. Don’t ever think it is.”

She turns just long enough to follow the direction of her hand and see where it’s going, before she sighs and leans back in the seat, looking down at his injured hand. “I’m just annoyed that you got to punch him and I didn’t.”

At that Klaus laughs. “Believe me, it was not nearly as satisfying as I thought it would be. It would have been better if you had.”

“At least we are in agreement there.” She sighs again, before turning her eyes back to the window. “I apologize for the number of romantic ‘couple’ events Lucien and I had planned.”

“I think I’ll survive,” he smirks. “And what doesn’t work for both of us, we can … reschedule.”

“One can only hope.”

- - - - - -

Three days in and Freya is almost enjoying the silence of the spa. She’s been isolated from the rest of the guests so there’s no danger of her getting recognized, and she’ been given plenty of space to relax. Klaus has been left to flirt with as many of the spa employees as he sees fit. She doesn’t know what he gets up to and more to the point, she doesn’t want to know, but she does notice when one of the employees doesn’t seem to respond in quite the same way.

It’s curious, mostly because she’s seen far too many of the women here start things, just to say they spoke to Klaus Mikaelson, but this girl doesn’t seem interested. It’s like a puzzle to solve and Freya pushes herself up and forward when she makes her way closer, tipping her head to the side curiously.

“Is my brother not your type?”

The girl pauses for a moment, just long enough for Freya to catch a look at her name tag, “Keelin” and then glance back to your face again. “Maybe I just don’t like getting hit on when I’m at work.”

Freya considers for a moment, before nodding. “Fair. It would probably piss me off too.”

Keelin seems surprised at that acknowledgement, before picking up one of the towels to fold under her arm. “To give him some credit, if he knows you’re not interested, he backs off. Not all of our patrons are that generous.”

“That is unfortunate,” Freya nods. “But my brother isn’t one to waste his time on fruitless endeavors.”

“Another point in his favor,” Keelin nods, before glancing up at the other woman again. “Though to more directly answer your question, no. Men aren’t usually my type.”

Well. That also has Freya’s interest. Not that she’s interested in getting into anything right now – she is certainly not in any shape for it – but if Keelin is implying that her interest might be elsewhere, then that could be of use to her later.

“Good to know,” she says with a small smile. “I’ll be sure to make sure that he leaves you alone, as incorrigible as he is.”

“Me and my short temper thank you.” She finishes gathering the towels and starts to walk away, before she turns around and faces her again. “Can I ask you something that you one hundred percent have the right to tell me to go fuck myself if it offends you?”

That’s already a loaded question if Freya has ever heard one, but she allows it for now, tipping her head back a bit as she leans into her lounge chair. “Ask away.”

“Was the whole wedding debacle a publicity stunt?”

Freya’s quiet for a moment, before shaking her head. “No,” she sighs. “At least not for me.”

Keelin nods in agreement, before going to head back to work. “That’s what I thought.”

- - - - - -

After that, Freya spends a lot of her time at the bar where Keelin is working, not necessarily to distract her, but just to chat with someone who doesn’t seem interested in the fame of it all. She learns that Keelin is using this job to pay her way through med school and she wants to be a doctor, and it’s so nice and normal that she almost forgets that she’s here because she’s hiding from the press and that the rest of the world is obsessed with her every waking move.

She also almost forgets that her brother is there with her, and that is probably the one thing that keeps her from acting on anything. That and the fact that Keelin is an employee and she is a guest, and she doesn’t wish to endanger her job.

But on the way out, she goes to the bar for one last drink, and scribbles a number down on a napkin and passing it to her. “No pressure, but … if you’re ever in LA and are in need of any good recommendations, you know who to call.”

Keelin pauses, considering that for a moment, before pulling the napkin towards her. “I’ll keep that in mind.” There’s a beat, and she keeps things professional. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay at Calming Acres, Ms. Mikaelson.”

Freya smiles as she finishes the last of her drink for the road and pulls away from the bar. “Immensely.”

Edited 2018-08-14 00:42 (UTC)

“This is so weird.”

Vi is sitting on one gurney in the Dragon’s Light wing, and Felicity on the other, both of them trying to shake off the woozy feeling they’ve been fighting since they came back from their mission. Felicity isn’t sure if it’s the slime that this particular Shadowkind had covered them with or the fact that she suddenly has Vi’s powers that is wigging her out more, but she hasn’t stopped growing flowers everywhere she goes since it happened, and she needs to slow down.

“You’re telling me,” Felicity sighs as she tries to curl her hands into fists as though that will stop the tingling in her fingers. “How do you turn this off?”

“It takes practice.” Vi smirks. “Just breathe, flower child. We’ll figure this out. Hopefully one of the clerics will be able to switch us back.”

“Bad news,” Rosario says as she strides back into the room. “We can’t switch you back.”

“Well, there goes that plan,” Felicity sighs. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not an ailment?” Rosario gives a small shrug. “Upside though, whatever switched your abilities is definitely on a clock. Odds are you give it a couple days and you both will be back to normal.”

“Okay.” Felicity takes time processing that particular statement, rubbing her hands against the sides of her legs for a moment as she takes that in. “Okay. It’s just a couple days. What’s the worst that could happen in a couple days?”

Vi makes a face as she goes. “You had to go and say that, didn’t you?”

“I know. I regretted it the minute it was out of my mouth.” The two of them slide off the gurneys and Vi places her hands on Felicity’s shoulders as they make their way out the door.

“C’mon. We’re going to teach you how to chill out.”

- - - - - -

Chilling out, it turned out, meant leading her in the back to Gus’s grove of trees and teaching how to grow pot. It did not stop the trail of flowers reflecting Felicity’s mood that followed them out of the castle and into the woods, but it did lead to Felicity sprawled out in the grass, lazy and boneless, as wildflowers sprouted up around them.

“It’s like the earth is humming,” she murmurs with a pleased sort of tone, before popping her head up to look at Vi. “Is this what it’s like for you all the time?”

“More or less,” Vi replies as she takes her own drag off the joint before passing it back to her. “I didn’t realize that wasn’t normal before. Or, I mean, I knew it wasn’t, but it was my normal, so I didn’t really care, you know? But now I kind of miss it.”

“Mmmm.” Felicity takes another inhale and exhales slowly, trying her best not to close her eyes and fall asleep. For all she knew, she would wake up having grown a field of sunflowers in her sleep. “I wonder if because I got all your flower power, you could open a lock in six seconds flat. I mean, it’s not a power power, but …”

Vi’s eyes go wide a bit at that, before she pushes herself up very quickly from the dirt and flashes a wide grin at her best friend. “Do you have like practice locks and stuff?”

“Do I have practice locks.” She stamps out the joint before she reaches up to grab Vi’s hand to help pull her to her feet. “I will set up a whole thief obstacle course.”

As they head back into the castle, giggling as they go and manage to take over one of the training rooms with a rather acrobatic obstacle course. Vi finishes it in five minutes flat, coming in just inches of Felicity’s best record.

Okay, this? This is cool,” Vi grins, before she goes to collapse on the bench next to Felicity. They’re still feeling a little buzzy, and Felicity drums her fingers against her chin for a moment.

“I wonder if there’s any cool stuff in the castle we could find.”

“You mean like breaking into people’s rooms?”

“Nah,” Felicity pauses for a moment, before she rethinks that. “Although …”

“You want to break into someone’s room, don’t you?”

“I kinda want to break into someone’s office.”

“Is this the kind of person who’s office is going to get us into trouble.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Then we probably shouldn’t.”

“Right. Probably shouldn’t.” There’s a pause. “But if we’re theorizing …”

Vi pauses, before looking back at her again. “What did you have in mind?”

- - - - - -

It’s safe to say that trying to break into said office doesn’t go as intended.

They’re busted easily by one of the section heads due to their intense lack of subtlety, and while they are excused because it’s extenuating circumstances, they’re high, and they didn’t actually succeed, it still feels a bit like they’re being sent to the principal’s office when it gets reported to Wynn.

Regardless, a few days later, as promised, Felicity wakes up in the morning not surrounded by wildflowers and feeling a bit like herself again, and as she makes her way down to breakfast, she smiles a bit as she leans over Vi’s shoulder.

“Glad things are back to normal again?”

“Immensely,” Vi says as she inches over with a smile, then tips her head to the side. “You know what would be really great though?”

“You want me to teach you how to pick locks?”

“I really do,” Vi laughs. “I don’t want to infringe on your skillset, but sometimes you’re not around and it could definitely come in handy.”

“You got it,” she grins, before reaching for her own stack of pancakes. “We can get started after breakfast.”

They both turn to dig in and get some food in them, before they’re both startled by Gus making his way closer and placing his hands down against the table for a moment. “I was gone for a week. Either of you want to tell me why my grove is completely covered in sunflowers?”

Felicity and Vi look at each other for a moment, before Felicity looks up with a small shrug.

“Oops?”

Edited 2019-03-10 14:52 (UTC)

“Rory. Rory.”

The word floats to his ear through the darkness of his cabin, and he knows who it is without needing to open his eyes. He knows if he rolls over and opens his eyes he’s going to see one ginger head and one curly black one, and they’re going to get him into trouble. So he stays on his side blankets tucked around him, and is determined to keep things together. He’s made it through almost this entire week of camp without Amy and Mels getting him into trouble and there’s only two days left.

He can do this.

His willpower is strong and he will withstand the pull of his two best friends.

“Rory, are you sleeping?”

Silence.

“Bet you he’s ignoring us, because he thinks we’re going to get him into trouble.” Mels always did know him a bit too well, but he doesn’t give her the satisfaction of being right, staying perfectly still and doing his best to keep his breathing level. That only works so well, however, when face with the wounded tone in Amy’s voice in response.

“Rory wouldn’t do that.”

“You sure?”

There’s a moment of uncertainty, when the silence hanging there as Amy considers her answer becomes too much, and he rolls over with a heavy sigh. “What?” he says, glancing over to them. “What could you two possibly want at this hour of the night?”

Amy seems to have forgotten the accusation as soon as she has Rory’s attention, glancing over to him with a bright smile. “C’mon. There’s something we want to show you.”

“Is this going to get me in trouble?”

Mels smirks, in a knowing way that he doesn’t entirely understand. “Oh ye of little faith.” Both Amy and Rory look at her at that, because there hasn’t been a moment when Mels hasn’t gotten herself or them into trouble, but she rolls her eyes and brushes it off. “Whatever. We promise, you won’t get into trouble.”

A promise from Mels isn’t really worth much for the aforementioned reasons, but he looks over at Amy and it doesn’t take much for him to cave. He’s always been a sucker when it comes to her, and he doesn’t think that will ever change. Amy is perfectly imperfect, and he will always follow in suit.

“Fine,” he sighs as he kicks off the blankets. “Just let me get dressed.”

He may regret this later, but at least it will have made Amy happy.

- - - - -

It turns out, the plan did happen to be fairly harmless. Mels and Amy had liberated a couple of the canoes and they were going to go for a midnight sail on the river. Only problem is, as Amy and Rory were getting into their canoe, Mels stole the paddles and shoved them off sending them floating with the current towards who knows where with no means of steering.

There was plenty of yelling from the two of them as they drifted away from shore, and a lot of Rory trying to paddle with one arm to fight the current, but he’s not getting very far. By the time he huffs to give up, Amy’s pulling him gently by the arm to lean back with her, staring up at the stars above them.

“Stop, just … stop. We’ll figure it out.” She shifts to stare up at the stars for a moment, far away from the smog of the city so the sky is nearly clear. “Besides, maybe we could just float for a little while.”

Rory isn’t sure that it’s the best plan. The further they get from shore, the harder it will be to get back to camp, but he also can’t say no to Amy either, so he nods in agreement, settling into the bottom of the canoe with her, and trying not to panic because there is very little space between them and he never thought he would actually be this close to Amy, ever.

It’s slightly intimidating.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to travel out there?” she asks, her eyes still on the sky above them. “To visit other planets.”

“Like with the Doctor?”

“I know the Doctor wasn’t real,” she scoffs, before glancing over to him. “But that doesn’t mean the potential isn’t there, right? That there are things beyond what we’ve found. So many strange things have happened …”

“Maybe,” Rory says softly, turning his attention to the stars for a moment. “Personally, I’ve never really looked that far.”

“You haven’t?” Amy asked, looking at him curiously, and he shakes his head before glancing back to her.

“You have given me enough adventure to last me a lifetime.”

There’s a moment as he manages to hold her gaze, wondering if maybe she’ll see what he’s saying without needing him to spell it out, but his hopes are dashed when she snorts instead.

“Mels, you mean.”

He falters for a moment, before deciding to fall back into a safer place. “Yeah. You and Mels both.”

She tips her head forward, resting her head against his shoulder with a happy sigh. “I’m glad we’re best friends, Rory.”

Best friends to anyone else would probably like the death rattle of their hopes for being more than that, but Rory doesn’t see it that way. The way he feels about Amy isn’t going to change, and even if she doesn’t chose him, she’ll always be the most important person in the world to him.

He can live with best friend. In fact, he doesn’t know how it could get much better than that.

They also absolutely get into trouble when Rory drags the boat back to shore in the morning, but despite the soggy shoes and clothing, he can’t help but think it was totally worth it.

Edited 2018-08-15 02:51 (UTC)

The click of the safety coming off a gun rings in Freya’s ears, and she freezes in place, her hands coming up slowly to show that she’s (currently) unarmed. Anyone who knows anything about her knows that she’s just as deadly without an implement of death in her hand. She isn’t sure who is behind her yet, but she knows who she hopes it is. They had been doing this dance for some time now, and it was only a matter of time before the American agent managed to catch up to her.

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy?”

Chloe’s voice rings in her ears and Freya smirks, before starting to turn around, laying eyes on the formidable Agent Decker for the first time in the flesh. In a lot of ways, Chloe is what Freya was expecting, the quintessential American agent, but she knows better than anyone that this particular agent is much more formidable than she makes herself out to be.

“Is it better or worse that I hoped that it wouldn’t be?” Freya asks teasingly, before tipping her had to the side. “Hello, Agent Decker. It’s been a while.”

“You’re under arrest,” Chloe says firmly. “I’m bringing you in, Freya.”

“Oh, are we still on a first name basis?” she asks teasingly, still not lowering her hands, and actually taking a step closer. “I didn’t realize we were that familiar, Chloe.”

She can almost see the way the American agent stiffens, almost as though that isn’t a trap she had been looking to step into. Freya takes another step closer, trying to use the proximity to set her on edge, but Chloe stands firm, keeping the gun at chest level.

“I’m supposed to take you in alive,” Chloe says, a determined look crossing her face. “Please don’t make me shoot you.”

Freya pauses, her head tipping to the side for a moment, before she drops her hands and extends them out to her. “I won’t,” she says softly, maintaining eye contact with Chloe the whole time. “Take me to your leader.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, almost as though she thinks this is far too easy, but she takes the bait all the same. She reaches for the handcuffs behind her and quickly slaps them on Freya’s wrists, securing her in place before patting her down for weapons, of which she’ll find quite a few. As she twists the tall blond around, Freya’s eyes meet one of the security cameras in the alcove, giving it a quick wink before she’s pulled away to the nondescript car.

And just like that, she’s in.

- - - - - -

The Mikaelson Family is one of the largest international syndicates and information brokerage networks the Central Intelligence Agency has ever seen.

Chloe had been put on the case a few months ago, after a few operations she handled went better than expected and she began to show real promise. Charlotte Richards, one of the other field agents on the case warned her that this case could be either a career maker or a deal breaker, as no one has ever managed to find evidence against any of the Mikaelsons their networks seemed to be expanding more and more every day.

Originally founded by their parents, Mikael and Esther, along with Esther’s sister Dahlia, they were forced to go underground after their protests against the Norwegian government drew them quite a bit of unwanted legal attention. While their children seem to claim no affiliation to any government, and will work for whoever the highest bidder happens to be, the aim of the game still seems to be to undermine whatever governments they can – and currently they have their sights set on the United States. They all seemed to have their specialty – Elijah and Rebekah handled most of the face to face deals, never truly handling any of the merchandise themselves. Kol and Klaus handled the wetwork, violent assassinations and the like, but they always managed to get away clean. No one could say for sure what Finn and Henrik did for the family, exactly, but Finn had always been more behind the scenes, and no one had seen Henrik since the boy was a child.

And then there’s Freya. The Mikaelson Witch, so called for her affinity for poisoning and drugging her victims, Freya always seems to have her hands in many different pots. There doesn’t seem to be one area of the business that she prefers over the other, beyond the fact that she likes information and almost always is making moves when it comes to obtaining a detail that makes no sense now, but will when another horrific deed is committed down the line.

And now she’s sitting in Chloe’s interrogation room.

“This was too easy,” Chloe sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she studies the other woman. Ever since Chloe was assigned to the case, she feels like she’s been tracing breadcrumbs, being teased by a woman who loves a good game of cat and mouse more than she does her own safety. There’s something satisfying in having caught her, but at the same time, it isn’t the feeling she thought it would be. She thought it would be harder.

“She is scary calm,” Ella Lopez, one of the techs, says from next to her as she adjusts the monitors. “Think she’s up to something?”

Chloe could think of any number of things, but for now, she’s just determined to get to the bottom of this. “If she is, I’m going to find out.”

Dan had been asking her general questions, trying to see what she would answer and Freya had spent most of the interview looking bored and uninterested, but when Chloe opens the door she straightens, attention being paid to something that truly has her interest. That doesn’t go unnoticed by either agent, and Dan straightens, getting up to give Chloe the floor, before leaving the two of them alone.

Or as alone as you can be one the other side of a two way mirror.

“Ms. Mikaelson, my name is …”

“Agent Chloe Decker.” Freya shifts forward, resting her chin in her hand with a smile. “We’re acquainted.”

“Are we?”

“Oh, I’ve been following your career for a long time, Agent Decker.” Freya grins as she drums her fingers against the table. “You interest me.”

Chloe isn’t sure how to play this, having her rapt attention in such an enclosed space isn’t something she anticipated. Even though she hasn’t lost sight of the fact that she’s trapped with a very dangerous woman, she also doesn’t feel threatened.

“Because I’m a good cop?”

“Because you’re a truth seeker. You seek out the facts of a matter, and will not settle for anything less.” She tips her had to the side, blond hair falling to brush against her knuckles and Chloe’s eyes are drawn for a moment, before they’re pointed back at Freya. “It’s convenient for I also, am searching for the truth, and I believe that you can help me.”

“Is that all you want? The truth.”

“Yes.” Freya watches her carefully for a moment. “I want to know what happened to my brother, Henrik.”

The question throws Chloe for a moment, as she blinks in response, before leaning back in her seat. “Why would we know anything about your brother? No one has seen him since he was a child.”

“Because your government took him to try and control our parents.”

And at that, Chloe laughs. Not because anything she said is particularly funny, but more because it’s simply absurd. The American government wouldn’t steal a child to try and manipulate a foreign power. That goes against everything they stood for, and she isn’t about to let Freya manipulate her this way.

“We don’t—”

Freya cuts her off before she finishes, waving a hand as she leans back in her seat before fishing out a flash drive and passing it over to her. “The only thing I don’t have is a location. Otherwise, it’s all there. Verify it yourself if you like. You can even have one of your techs look it over first if you think it might be a Trojan horse.

Chloe hesitates, unsure what to believe, but knowing that she needs to vet the information for herself before anything else happens. She reaches forward and gently takes the drive from her fingers and gets to her feet.

“I’ll check it out. But I think you’ve been given bad facts. The US government isn’t in the business of kidnapping children.”

Freya’s quiet for a moment, before a smile crosses her face. “You know, the fact that you still believe that is one of the many things I like about you, Agent Decker.”

Chloe pushes to her feet and tries to pretend that doesn’t unnerve her as much as it does as she leaves.

- - - - - -

It takes an hour for the techs to look the flash drive over to make sure there are no back doors or other viruses waiting in the wings, and then another hour after that to look through a majority of the documents, but the more she reads, the more she realizes that Freya isn’t wrong. It isn’t just the US government that was in on this, but they had certainly played their part. Using her security clearance to verify the pieces that she could only brought more certainty to Freya’s claims.

The US government stole their brother. And now, Chloe didn’t know what to do with this information.

Unfortunately, however, by the time she gets to the black site, it’s already been hit, dead and unconscious agents sprawled everywhere, and Freya is gone. Maybe that was the plan all along, to get inside, get the information they needed and get out, but when Ella and the rest of the techs checked the computers, it doesn’t seem like any classified files had been accessed.

Chloe’s pissed at herself for missing the signs, for falling down on the job and letting this happen, but Pierce tells her to go home and take a break for the evening, put fresh eyes on the problem in the morning. Only problem is, it’s hard to sleep on something when you can’t get to sleep.

Her cell phone rings a few hours into the evening and she answers it without thinking, recognizing the work ring in her sleep. “Decker.”

“I really didn’t want it to go that way, you know,” Freya’s voice rings softly in her ear, and she straightens, eyes wide as she tries to figure out how to respond.

“How did you get this number?”

“Is that really the important thing?” Freya sounds amused, and Chloe wishes for not the first time that she wasn’t so easy to fluster.

“At the time, yes,” Chloe sighs as she slumps back into her couch. “I could trace this number, you know.”

“And by the time you got here, I would be gone.” They both knew it, so Chloe doesn’t try to argue the point further. When Freya speaks again, there’s something vulnerable in her tone that Chloe didn’t know she was capable of. “Did you find him?”

“Not yet.” She curses herself for the implication that she could. Most people would have probably just said no, told her the information was bad. After all, what kind of life were the Mikaelsons really offering Henrik if he returned to them. But Chloe also can’t help but believe that this whole thing, this whole elaborate network was really just a means of trying to find their brother.

Why shouldn’t they rage against the thing that unfairly separated them from their family?

“Do you think you can?”

“I don’t know. But I definitely can’t do it for free.”

“You want me to make a deal. My freedom for Henrik’s.”

“Your family has done terrible things, Freya. Whether it was for love or not, doesn’t make this right.”

“And what the CIA did was?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that a lot of people have died because of this vendetta, and someone is going to have to pay for that.”

Freya’s quiet for a long time, and Chloe almost thinks that she’s lost her, but she comes back again, the coldness and determination back in her voice. “Don’t worry. The right people will.”

The line goes dead, and Chloe isn’t sure if she’s lost or won – but either way, she knows this situation is going to get worse, long before it gets better.

Edited 2018-08-15 03:11 (UTC)

If Neal could, he would spend all day, every day, painting on the beach.

As far as he’s concerned, it’s the most peaceful place in the world. The gentle rhythm of the waves makes it feel like time has no meaning, and there’s no pressure on him or his time. As he moves further inland, there are the demands of his employers, his friends, other members of the village. He feels trapped in a way that most people don’t. Here, on the beach, it’s just him, the canvas, and his brush.

Well, him, his tools, and the blond.

There’s a nagging thought in the back of his brain that knows what she is. He watches her sun herself on a rock in the shallows, golden tan skin fading into a glittering sea of scales, and he knows she’s dangerous. Growing up on the waterfront means he’s heard stories of merfolk all his life, but looking at her, he can’t bring himself to stay away. He watches as she offers herself up like a lure, drawing him in beyond the shallows to the deep dark where he could be hers forever.

It’s romantic and stupid, he knows, but she’s beautiful all the same, so all he can do is paint her, commit her colors and canvas, and when he’s finished, leave it curled up in a waterproof tube where she can see it.

When he returns the next day, she’s gone but so is the painting. He can’t help but hope it meant she liked it.

- - - - - -

It’s several days before he returns to the beach to find her there, resting on her stomach on a rock that’s much closer to the shoreline. Any question that she’s waiting for him is answered at the smile that crosses her face that beams like the sun.

“How did you do that? Make that picture of me.”

“I painted it,” he replies simply, moving closer and sitting in the sand across from her. Hearing her speak, after so long of just watching is almost like a balm that he hadn’t known he needed. “I’ve been making art since I was a child.”

“What is paint?” she asks, the question as innocent as a child’s but he can tell she’s smart. He pulls out one of the tubes and squirts some blue onto his fingers, knowing that she’s watching his every movement.

“It’s just a pigment. You apply it to a canvas with a brush, and you can create whatever shapes you want.”

“Why did you choose to paint me?”

“Because I thought you were beautiful,” he offers a small smile in return. “And I like painting beautiful things.”

Her smile grows even wider at that, and she reaches forward her fingers brushing some of his dark hair away from his face so she can see the blues of his eyes. “I think you’re beautiful too.” He smiles, just for a moment, before she continues. “Do you have other paintings you can show me?”

“Yes, but they’re at my house.” He turns and points towards the town behind them, some ways off the beach. It’s too far for him to go now, and he’s ready to offer to bring some the next time, but she already has her next question at the ready.

“Then will you paint me again?”

He doesn’t hesitate to agree. He would paint her every day for the rest of his life, if he had any say in the matter.

- - - - - -

Rebekah. Her name is Rebekah. He learns that the fourth time they meet, when she asks him what she should call him beyond ‘painter’ and he tells her Neal.

It goes on like this for some time, their quiet talks, him on the shore and her in the water. He’s convinced that this is all it will ever be, and at some point he will have to move on and find someone of his world to give his heart to, to do what is expected of him, but he can’t help but feel that the sea stole it the moment he laid eyes on her. Eventually he forgoes the pretense of painting, throwing himself into the shallows and trusting her not to drown him.

The sea is the first place they kiss, and she tastes like salt water and promises that can never be kept, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting her anyway.

All the stories he’s ever heard about merfolk were that they were not meant to be trusted. That their hearts were as mysterious and mercurial as the oceans they inhabited, and as cold-blooded as their fish brethren. Mermaids existed to lure sailors to their doom, that their love only lasted as long as it took the ocean to crush the air from your lungs but Rebekah never drew him in deeper to the water itself.

This is to say, it didn’t stop him from drowning, either, but it was of an entirely different sort.

“What if I wanted to stay?” She asks him one night as he’s drying off on the shore, preparing to return to his own home and Rebekah to hers. “What if I wanted to be with you? To see what your world is like, even if I can’t show you mine.”

“Then I would love to show you,” he says, without even thinking that there might be consequences to his words. That Rebekah may have been asking permission instead of hypothesizing. That doesn’t make his response any less honest, though.

Still, honesty does nothing to curb the surprise when at their next meeting, she stumbles up the shore and into his arms like a newborn deer learning how to use their legs.

- - - - - -

He takes her back to his small house in town and teaches her all the modern marvels like clothing and food and wine. He saves whatever money he can scrounge to take her on trips to see as much of the world as he can. He never asks her how she was able to do this, or how long she would be able to stay – she’s a creature of the sea, in the end. There was always a clock on this little excursion – but he simply tries to show her as much as possible in the little time they have.

For Rebekah, it was likely a drop in the bucket, for mermaids are as eternal as the sea, and always have been. For Neal, it was the rest of his life. They never had children of their own, but their life was as full as the walls of their home, endless rows of paintings from all the places they had the chance to see.

But Neal gets old, and as his health begins to fail, he can feel her beginning to wander. He wakes up at night to see her standing on the beach from his window, longing for the world she’s left behind, the world she was always going to return to.

One night, he makes it down to the beach to join her, watching as she stares at the waves. “When you leave, take me with you.”

She spins to face him, surprised to find him there, and at first, she shakes her head. “You’ll die.”

“I’ll die anyway without you,” he says gently, his withered hand reaching for the apple of her cheek. “And I knew you were going to be the end of me a long time ago.”

She leans in to his hand with a soft hum, turning and pressing a kiss to the meat of his palm. “Perhaps. But not today.”

His hand still lingers there for a moment, arthritic fingers aching at being held in place but it doesn’t stop him from stepping closer, tucking an arm around her as they head back to their home. “Will you remember me, when I’m gone and you’ve gone back to the water?”

She smiles more at that. “Of course I will.” She pauses as they step into the entryway and her fingers linger on the wooden frame of the first painting he ever made her. “You’re the only one who’s ever loved me enough to make me truly immortal.

Three days later, Neal dies in his sleep. True to her word, Rebekah takes him back to the ocean when she goes, vowing to keep him with her for as long as memory allows.

Edited 2018-08-16 01:55 (UTC)

Sir Bartholomew Henry Allen, Paladin of the Speed Force, Shield against the forces of evil that railed against the Central Kingdom, has never been so flabbergasted in all of his life.

And he finds himself flabbergasted quite often.

“Lady Lance,” he tries to stammer, drawing the attention of Lady Dinah Laurel Lance, the Black Canary, lady of Starling City and betrothed of Sir Oliver Jonas Queen of the Order of the Arrow, and giving her a bit of a confused look. “Is that not Princess Iris?”

It is Princess Iris Ann West, only daughter of King Joseph of the Central Kingdom, and object of Barry’s affection since he was a young boy, so in all actuality, the question is a dumb one. He knows very well that it is Princess Iris, but he’s hoping that he’s wrong and it is some trick of the light, for if the princess is here, then this is not going to end well for anyone.

“I believe you are astute enough, Sir Allen, that you don’t need me to answer that question for you,” Laurel teases, coming over to rest a hand on his shoulder gently.

“Does the King know about this?”

Laurel cringes for a moment, before shrugging. “Yes and no?”

Barry just blinks at her. “I don’t believe that is a question where the answer can be both, milady. With all do respect, the king either knows or he doesn’t.”

“What Lady Lance means to say is that I threatened him with it, were he to force me to marry Eobard Thawne,” Iris speaks up and Barry’s attention is suddenly rapt, just as his heart sinks at the prospect. He remembers that announcement. He was present in the crowd when it was announced. While part of him knows that marriages are often political, especially for the higher courts, he can’t help but think that it’s a bit personal, given that her betrothed is his mentor, and his mentor was very aware of his feelings.

Barry’s mouth works for a moment, as he finally catches up as to why the answer to the question is both yes and no. “So while he is aware, he has not necessarily given permission.”

“Correct,” the princess beams at him, and Barry’s heart leaps for a moment. “You were right about him, Laurel. He does catch on fast.”

Barry straightens a bit at that, glancing over to where Laurel is standing. “You’ve spoken to her about me?”

“Well, who else would I ask to keep her safe,” Laurel replies with a small smile. “It isn’t so much that the king doesn’t know, but that he can’t know. Eobard is forcing his hand, and we need time to negotiate and make this right. And until then, we can’t trust him by keeping the princess within easy reach.”

“Because Eobard can’t be trusted.” Barry is all for the princess being safe from the clutches of Eobard Thawne. “You have my word, I will keep her safe.”

“I know you will.” Laurel kisses him on the cheek briefly, before returning to her horse. “Open roads and safe travels, Sir Allen. I will send word when things are safe, but please don’t return to the palace before that.” As she mounts the horse and rides off, Barry isn’t entirely sure what he’s agreed to, but he will keep his word. No harm will come to the princess in his care. He slowly turns to face her and she seems so happy to be free of the place, even for a little while, and he can’t help but smile in return.

“Is it true that you are friends with the Legends?” Her excitement is almost palpable. “Is there a chance we may meet them?”

Barry isn’t sure that that’s the best idea. The Legends, a roving band of knights who often cause more trouble than needed and aren’t exactly the stealthiest, but then again, hiding the princess in the chaos of the Legends might be the safest thing he could do. They may not be conventional, but they would protect the princess with their lives.

“Indeed, your Highness,” he says with a small smile as he moves to fetch his horse. “In fact, I may know exactly where to find them.”

If the princess wants an adventure, than an adventure she shall have.

- - - - - -

The Waverider is a tiny tavern halfway between the boundaries of Starling City and the Central Kingdom, and is often a haven of less than favorable people, or people who don’t have the kind of honor that people would expect. Still, Barry knows that the members of the Legends who run the bar are loyal to the crown, and the princess will be safe.

At the same time, that doesn’t stop the greeting of broken beer bottles, blades and bow staffs.

Still, the princess holds her own in a way that Barry has come to love about her. She talks back with the best of them, is more than capable of holding her own ground in terms of both words and drink. When she decides to try and clean out Mick Rory, one of the hardest bandits Barry has ever met, Barry retreats to a nearby table with his own mead, and Leonard Snart, the second in command of the group, comes to join him with a smirk.

“You know, when Sara told me that you spent most of your time making heart eyes at the princess I thought that was rather predictable of you,” he drawls, bringing his own mug to his lips. “Now I’m starting to see what all the fuss is about.”

“That’s because you think all royalty is worthless,” Barry points out. “And once you’ve come to a conclusion, it is quite difficult to change your mind.”

“That is a rather harsh assessment, Sir Allen.” There’s a pause. “But a fair one.”

Barry smirks, glancing over to the poker table to follow the happy cry as Iris leaned forward to scoop up her winnings, much to the disgruntled faces of the men and women at the table. “Perhaps for most of them you’d be right, but Iris is different. She always has been. She cares about her people and about … being informed. She’s stronger than anyone would give her credit for.”

Snart is watching him and Barry wonders what it is he gives away that makes him so easy to read by others, but not the one who needs to see it most. “Perhaps you’re right,” Snart muses. “If that is the case, I hope she will continue to be a great queen one day.”

“I know she will be,” Barry says softly. So long as she isn’t forced to marry a man by the likes of Thawne. She needs a king that will give her the space to be queen, who’s ego isn’t bigger than his love for her. When Iris gets up from the table to return to Barry, Snart pushes up.

“That’s my cue,” he murmurs softly, and before the princess is in earshot: “Don’t count yourself out, Sir Allen. A noble heart counts for much more than you realize.” He gives a small bow to the princess as he offers her is seat, which she takes with a nod and a small thank you. Iris looks curiously between them.

“What were you two discussing?”

“Matters of the heart, I’m afraid,” Snart says with a bit of a smirk. “The young knight here is in love, but is worried his lady doesn’t return his affections.”

“Nonsense,” Iris says with a small smile. “Sir Allen is the most honorable man I ever met. His lady would be foolish not to feel the same way.”

Barry’s eyes meet hers, trying to see if there’s something that he’s missing, but before he can say anything, the door to the tavern is blown open, and all of them are on high alert – blades, bottles and bow staffs alike. This time, however, the paranoia is warranted when Hunter Zolomon, the Black Knight of the Speed Force and Eobard’s second in command, steps through and greets them all with his most charming smile – or at least it would be charming, were it not for the way it splintered, sitting not quite right on his face.

“Sir Allen,” he begins, setting eyes on Barry. “Thank you so much for finding the princess for us. Her betrothed has been just … beside himself with worry.”

Mick spits. “Betrothed my ass.”

Hunter rolls his eyes before turning to Mick. “Also for the apprehension of Mick Rory, one of the most dangerous criminals in the seven kingdoms.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding what’s happening here,” Snart says. “We are all well aware of what you’re after. And as far as we’re concerned, the princess isn’t leaving unless she wishes to.” His eyes roam over the room to where Iris is standing behind Barry. “Your Highness?”

Barry also looks to Iris, and though she’s clearly overwhelmed, and knows the threat in front of her, she holds her ground and shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”

“There you have it,” Snart smirks. “Guess we’ll be seeing you.”

“Very well,” Hunter draws his sword and tips his head to the side. “We do this the hard way.”

It’s after that moment that the phrase “all hell breaks loose” takes on new meaning. Barry backs Iris towards one of the walls, before reaching down and grabbing one of the swords off the wall and handing it to Iris. “My lady, just in case.”

Iris looks up, surprised. “You’re giving me this?”

“I’ve seen you train,” he replies. “And it will be easier to defend you if you are able to defend yourself. We can work together?” He looks over at her hopefully, and she tightens her grip around the hilt and nods.

“Together.”

- - - - -

The battle rages for the better part of an hour, with the Legends giving everything they’ve got and eventually back up arriving from the King including Sir Queen and the other half of the sister Canaries. By the time they arrive, Barry has continued to fall back with Iris, with Hunter hot on their heels. Before they can make it to the safety of the Starling City borders, Hunter manages to knock Barry to the side, swinging the blade wide towards Iris, but Barry is fast, given that the speed force is as strong in him as it is in his fellow paladin. He pushes to his feet and charges forward, passing between them just in time to get Iris out of the way, but not soon enough to avoid the slice of steel against his skin.

“Sir Allen!”

He drops to the ground, already feeling himself bleeding badly from the wound, but he struggles to reach for his sword, not willing to go down quite yet. He struggles to his feet, but just as he gets there, two arrows slice through Hunter’s chest and the larger knight drops to the ground. Barry blinks in surprise, before following his eyes over to Oliver, who is standing just outside of the trees, bow still drawn.

“Oh good. You’re here.”

He glances back to Iris to make sure she’s safe, and she takes a step forward, kissing him softly in response. “That is a thank you, for saving my life.”

“Always, your Highness,” he says with a small smile. “Though, it’s rather undignified of me, but … I believe I’m going to pass out now.”

And he does. He knows that Oliver and Iris will find him a cleric, and he will be fine, in the end, but for the moment, as far as he is concerned, if this is how he is destined to leave the Earth, he is more than capable of dying happy.

Edited 2018-08-17 01:08 (UTC)

“Stefan!”

The sound of his name splitting through a crowd of people is not always a welcome thing, especially in a town line Mystic Falls, but given that his brother is no longer around and most of the people who want him dead are now his friends, he thinks it’s safe to relax just a little. This feeling is doubled when he sees just who it is – one Freya Mikaelson.

He’s ninety-five percent sure she doesn’t want to kill him. The other five percent is just Mikaelson wiggle room.

“Freya,” he says with a small smile, doing his best not to be surprised as she greets him with a warm hug. It’d been a bit of time since they’ve seen each other, and he doesn’t remember her being this friendly, but he’ll take it. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes. About that.” She takes him by the arm and steers him towards one of the quieter corners of the Founder’s celebration, looking over her shoulder as she goes. “I need a favor.”

“Another one?” he teases before shaking his head. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s this friend from New Orleans who doesn’t know what’s best for him and is pursuing something that isn’t going to end well.”

“Which is a roundabout way of saying that he wants to date you, but you don’t want to date him and he’s not getting the message.”

“Exactly. So I’ve resorted to telling him I’m seeing someone who lives out of town.”

“So you need me to be the out of town boyfriend.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“You realize this is giving me quite the reputation as the Mikaelson whisperer,” he teases and Freya raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a yes?”

“Sure,” Stefan gives a small shrug. “Who could it hurt?”

There’s a small, grateful look that crosses Freya’s face at that, because she knows it’s a large ask for someone she doesn’t know well, but she likely didn’t account for the fact that Stefan is bored - incredibly bored, in fact, and Freya’s company at least guarantees that this will be somewhat entertaining. He offers her an arm with a smile.

“Shall we go drink heavily and make fun of traditions that haven’t changed since I was human the first time?”

Freya laughs, before taking his arm with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

- - - - - - -

To be fair to Stefan’s expectations, it is a pretty good time.

Freya’s got the dry sense of humor that comes with being older than dirt, but she still is being exposed to new things in many ways, so introducing her to good food, better booze, and telling her hilarious stories from the first set of Founder’s Day celebrations is how they wind up spending a good portion of their evening. She’s amazed at how little things have changed in the time since then, but he thinks she just underestimates how much humans like to hold on to their traditions.

When she gets pulled to the side by one of the witch teachers from the boarding school to discuss Hope, he takes that as his leave to go and get them another round of drinks. They both may be just on the right side of tipsy, but that doesn’t mean they won’t need help maintaining it. He pauses at the bar for a moment, drumming his fingers as he waits for his refills, when a man he doesn’t recognize approaches him.

“Who are you?”

Stefan blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had Freya hanging on your arm all night but I’ve never seen you before.”

“Ah,” he says with a nod, because while context doesn’t make it any less rude, it at least makes it easier for Stefan to know it isn’t truly personal. He smiles and holds out a hand. “Stefan Salvatore. I’m her boyfriend.” Do the Mikaelsons even have boyfriends and girlfriends? Or are they above that? Questions you never think to ask until you’re fake dating one. “

The man looks even more displeased. “Alan Wallstein. I’m …”

“Her friend?” Stefan offers helpfully, “I’ve heard she has a lot of those.”

“Well, I wouldn’t consider us just friends,” Allan replied, far too confidently for Stefan’s taste, and while this man was likely supernatural in some respects and Stefan was a boring old human again, that doesn’t mean it gives him the right to be close. “I mean, I feel we’ve been far more intimate than you two seem to be.”

Stefan raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I’m an expert in body language you see. And what I’ve been reading from the two of you screams far more platonic than anything else.”

“Oh does it?” Stefan nods once as the refilled glasses land on the bar in front of him, before he turns to walk away. “I didn’t know our intimacy needed to be that performative. Allow me to step up my game.”

Which basically translates to the Stefan Salvatore version of “Challenge Accepted.”

He makes his way back over to Freya, handing her the drink, before leaning in to whisper in her ear. “The guy you mentioned is being a tool, so sorry in advance.” And with that, he leans in to kiss her more thoroughly than is probably needed, but Stefan is never one to not make sure a job is done well.

It’s actually the first time in a long time that he’s kissed anyone. It’s been so long since Caroline and even longer since Elena and Rebekah, but he can’t say that he regrets shaking the rust off here. Freya is a very excellent kisser.

In fact, he may like it a little more than he’s willing to admit at the moment. Eventually he stops kissing her because it’s what’s expected of him as her fake boyfriend and more to just kiss her.

Somewhere in the distance there’s the sound of wood snapping and that seems to be the thing that draws them both out of it, and they turn towards the direction of the sound in confusion. From what they can tell Allan is gone, and Stefan raises an eyebrow.

“That probably won’t be the end of it, will it?”

“Probably not,” Freya sighs, before glancing back to him with a smirk. “But I’m certainly not complaining either.”

He grins. “Good.” He then glances around to the rest of the room. “Shall we take our drinks and get out of here, then?”

“I think that sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Edited 2018-08-17 21:04 (UTC)

Boy meets Girl. Girl falls for Boy. That’s how the story always starts.

In this particular story, Girl collides with Boy in the middle of a crowded marketplace while she’s having an argument with her publisher via email and is clearly not looking where she’s going. Elena Flemming, English professor and soon to be published author, probably should make a better habit of looking where she’s going, but in this particular instance this collision feels like she’s been struck by lightning and she can’t help but stumble back in surprise, to look up at the handsome face that greets her. A handsome face that she can’t help but feel like she’s seen before.

“I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re fine.” His voice is almost like a soothing balm, and she’s never heard anything quite like it, familiar and warm all at the same time. “I should have been looking where I was going.”

“Are you sure that comment isn’t meant for me? Because I totally wasn’t paying attention to where I was going either.”

Boy looks sheepish for a moment, before one hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “Well I would give you that, but I sort of had tunnel vision on those heirloom tomatoes and you just happened to cross in front of me before I could get there. Collision was inevitable, but totally my fault.”

Elena glances over her shoulder in confusion to see the pile of fresh tomatoes, rare commodities in the highly industrialized age of 2517, and she nods in agreement. “So what you’re saying is that I was almost a produce casualty?”

“If I don’t get just the right tomatoes, the whole plate suddenly becomes worthless and my supplier did not come through for me this time around.”

At that, Elena’s head tips to the side and she gets curious. “You cook? With actual ingredients?” So many meals these days are powered, processed or just goop generated solely for nutritional value, it was rare to meet someone who still made real food.

“I do. I have a restaurant actually.”

“Well, then I think you should make it up to me by making me dinner sometime.” The words come out before she clearly thinks them through and she’s about to stammer over it, apologize for being too forward, but he smiles before she can.

“I think I can manage that.” He holds out a hand to her. “Stefan Giordano.”

“Elena Flemming.” She reaches forward to shake his hand, and the second their fingers touch, she’s met with a flash of something she doesn’t entirely understand, but it’s a voice, whispering in her ear like a forgotten memory:

“Getting out of bed is dangerous these days, but we have to live our lives.”

“Who gave you that horrible advice?”

“Some guy I used to date said it once or twice.”

But as soon as she lets go, the flash is gone and she hurriedly tucks her hair behind her ear. “So. When do I get my Make Up Meal.”

“I work at Damon’s, up the road.” He turns and points over her shoulder. “I’ll let the hostess know and put you on the standing list.”

“Great. I will one hundred percent take you up on that.” And then she takes another step back, and smiles in return. “It was nice meeting you, Stefan.”

“You too, Elena.”

- - - - - -

Five hundred years ago, a boy and a girl met in a small town in Virginia. They loved and lost each other, their love fractured by outside forces and while it was epic and real, it wasn’t built to last. The girl lived her life with someone else, and the boy died to save the town they both loved.

Stefan Giordano knows none of this, however, has no recollection of the decades that his previous life had spanned, all he knows is that when he shook Elena’s hand, he couldn’t help but feel like they already met, he already knew her, and the introduction is more unnecessary than anything else. But yet, they hadn’t and he doesn’t. Which is why he’s currently slicing tomatoes with the kind of automated gesture that is bound to have someone lose a finger, which is why Bonnie reaches out and grabs his arm, drawing it back before things could get bloody.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Stefan blinks, before looking down at the tomato in his hand and noticing how that slice was just a smidge too close to the fingers he values so much. He glances up at her with a grateful look, before sliding the sliced tomatoes to the “ready” area of his cooking space. “Sorry. I spaced out for a second.”

“And you were spacing out with an implement of destruction in your hand because …” The inquisitive look on Bonnie’s face is something he knows he’s not going to wriggle out of easily, and he sighs, before shifting to lean against the counter a bit, and reaching for a rag to wipe off his hands.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“I believe in a lot of things, but I’m not sure reincarnation is one of them. Why?”

“This is going to sound really dumb.”

“Most of the things you say sound really dumb, but I don’t hold it against you because you opened my eyes to the fresh food gospel.” She shifts to face him more, before holding up her hands and gesturing to herself. “Hit me.”

“I met this girl in the market today, and … I don’t know what it was, but it’s like we already met before.”

“Déjà vu? Maybe she was a customer.”

“No, not like that,” he pauses for a moment, trying to take himself back to the encounter. “It was almost like I knew her, but a long time ago. Like I knew her, Bonnie.”

“Okay,” Bonnie begins, placing her hands down on the counter to emphasize her point. “If we are going on the assumption that what those psychologists says is true and that we’ve all get recycled through these past lives and can experience flashbacks of those lives, then it’s entirely possible you did know her.”

“I loved her.”

“Past you loved her. Present you doesn’t even know who she is. If you’re going to start falling for someone because you think a previous version of you loved her once a long time ago that’s a, skeevy, and b, totally not fair to this girl who may be someone completely different. Memories maybe the same but and I could deal with that kind of psychic phenomena maybe, but if you’re trying to convince me of reincarnation and soulmates, you have a way bigger uphill battle ahead of you.”

“Fair enough.” He grabs the next tomato on the table before getting ready to go back to slicing. Bonnie stands there, watching him for a moment, before tipping her head to the side.

“Do you want to get to know this girl better to the point where you may love her?”

“I do,” he says softly. “Not just because of the memories, but I feel like … I don’t know. There’s something special about her.”

“Then go for it,” Bonnie nods. “Just be careful. Make sure you’re not confusing past girl –”

“Elena. Her name’s Elena.”

There’s something in that name that makes Bonnie pause as well, though Stefan isn’t sure if it’s because she’s remembering something herself or if she already knows her. Still, she shakes it off, and comes back to focus.

“—Past Elena with the present one. They may want completely different things.”

Stefan keeps it to himself that he’s hopeful for that, because it doesn’t seem like Past Elena wanted him. But he nods, and offers her a small smile in return. “Thanks, Bonnie.”

“Anytime. Just stop daydreaming and don’t get blood in the food, alright? I think your brother would actually murder you if you made his profit margin drop.”

Stefan rolls his eyes in response, before getting back to work. Dinner service started in a few hours and he still had a lot of prep work to do.

- - - - - -

When Elena arrived at the restaurant that evening, she had no idea what to expect. Now that she’s actually sitting here, eating Stefan’s food, she’s starting to wonder why she never bothered to fight for more real food in her diet in the first place.

(She knows why, it’s expensive as hell, but that’s not really the point.)

Stefan is leaning across the counter from her, smirking as he works on the next order on his list. “So it’s good then?”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, trying not to talk with her mouth full, but after she swallows she gives a shy smile. “I didn’t know real food could taste so good.”

“Well, now you know,” he smirks, before placing another plate up and ready to go. “And I’d be more than happy to cook for you as often as you like.”

“Oh,” Elena pauses for a moment, before glancing around and shaking her head. “That’s really sweet of you, but I can’t afford a place like this.”

Stefan nods for a moment, before leaning in closer as though he’s telling her a secret. “I was thinking something a little less formal.”

“Oh.” Again. It makes her blush a little because it’s been a long time since anyone’s been that forward with her this soon, but she kind of welcomes it. In a way, it makes her feel safe, to dive into something so familiar. She twirls the fork in her hand for a moment before tipping her head to the side. “You should know that … when we met I …”

“Felt a little déjà vu?” he finishes for her. “Think we might have known each other in a past life?”

“Yeah,” she says with a nod. “You felt it to?”

He nods once, before placing another plate to the side and turning back to her, turning down the heat on the stove a bit. “Look, I try not to give a lot of credence to past lives in general, and I don’t really think it means anything.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “My mom always said that it was … a reward or something. Like if you’re repeating a life, you did it because you earned it.”

“So you think Past You might have suffered and died young or something?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “Or maybe she made a lot of mistakes, and this is the chance to show that I’ve learned from them, somehow.”

Stefan nods for a moment, before giving a small shrug. “I just think it was a life. It was someone else’s life, no matter how short or long it was, and it doesn’t really have any impact on mine. What I do are my choices. At least until I met you and you were just so … familiar.”

She smiles a bit at that, before picking up another bite from her plate. “Think you’re going to make the same mistakes twice? Because what I picked up about us, it didn’t sound like we lasted very long.”

“I don’t know,” Stefan says with a small shrug. “I just know that I like you, Elena Flemming. And I think that whether we work out or not – I think you’re someone it’d be worth it to know.”

She pauses for a moment, taking that in before a wide smile stretches across her face. “That is a really good line, by the way. You use that on all the girls you run over trying to get to tomatoes?”

“Nah,” Stefan says with a bit of a laugh. “Just the really interesting ones.”

Elena laughs as well, before nodding. “I’ll take it. And I would love to do this again in a less formal setting.”

“Great,” Stefan nods as he turns his attention back to the stove again. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Edited 2018-08-31 19:41 (UTC)

Iris West is eleven years-old when her mother dies.

The cops arrive to find Joe West leaning over her mother’s body covered in her blood, and Iris down the street, and her baby brother Wally asleep in his bed upstairs. When she’s brought back to the house by the cops, she tries to tell them about the red and purple lightning, and that it couldn’t have been her father, he wasn’t even awake, but she’s eleven years old. Who’s going to believe a traumatized little girl?

(And why would they? Metahumans don’t exist yet, they won’t for another fifteen years.)

Instead, they’re about to put her and her brother into the back seat of a police cruiser when a voice stops them, and Henry Allen, their across the street neighbor, flags the cops down and pleads for a little bit of leniency.

“We’re friends of the family, and they don’t have any other family that’s close. Just let them stay with us for the night? Nora and I were looking into becoming foster parents anyway.”

He tries. The cops aren’t ready to let their witnesses go, and Henry frowns, before crouching down in front of Iris. She’s the older of the two West siblings, she’s the responsible one. “It’ll all be okay, Iris. Do you remember our phone number?”

“Five seven three, five five five, six one five two,” she repeats dutifully, having memorized it since the day she and Barry became best friends.

“Very good. If anyone asks you who to call, give them that number, alright?”

She nods again, before her face crumples a bit. “Mr. Allen …”

“I know this is all scary, sweetheart, but we’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

The police keep both her and Wally at the station for the next day and a half, before social services was called and she and Wally were placed in foster care. Her father was arrested and charged with her mother’s death. It takes six months for Henry and Nora to get assigned as Iris’ legal guardian and have her placed in the Allen home (they moved, so she’s not across the street from the house where her mother died and her life fell apart), and another nine for them to find Wally, but in the end, the West siblings were together again, safe and sound under the same roof.

It’s at the end that second year, Joe is convicted for Francine’s murder, and Iris spends the night in her room crying. Around bedtime, Barry knocks on the door, his knuckles light against the wood frame before he pokes his head in.

“Iris?”

She looks up at him, his face earnest and genuine, wanting nothing more than to make his best friend feel better, and knowing that there’s nothing he can do all at the same time. She glances over at him, pushing herself into a sitting position, hands coming up to swipe at her eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Barry closes the door behind him and makes his way closer, sitting on the bed next to her. “I know. I don’t know what I would do if I was in your shoes.”

“He didn’t do it, Barry.” She looks him dead in the eye, trying to show him her conviction if her words didn’t. He meets her gaze head on, and while he looks confused, because that’s not the way the justice system should work, innocent people shouldn’t go to jail, but at the same time, he’s listening. No one else has.

“You said you saw it?” She nods, and he nods as well. “What happened?”

At first she hesitates, not sure if she can really put it into words, but Barry’s listening with no expectations, and she pushes up before turning to face him more. “I don’t know. I just heard a lot of noise and when I came downstairs my mom was just … stuck in this vortex of wind. But there were no windows open. And there were all of these sparks of red and purple electricity. My mom was yelling at me to run, and then it stabbed her and then suddenly I was down the street.”

“You couldn’t make out who it was that killed her?”

Iris shakes her head. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I know my dad didn’t do it, Barry. He can’t move like that.”

Barry nods, before reaching out and resting his hand over hers. “I know, Iris. I believe you.”

He’s not lying. She knows when Barry lies. He’s terrible at it. And in that moment in time, someone saying that they believe her is all she needed to hear.

- - - - - -

When Iris is twenty, she applies for the police force, just like her dad. Later that day, Captain Singh calls her into his office and very gently tells her that he won’t discourage her, but she’ll have a long road ahead of her if she tries. People don’t like working with the daughter of a murderer who used to be a cop.

“Screw being a cop then,” says Barry, who’s done her criminal justice degree with her thus far, and still probably intends to be a CSI at the end of the day. “There are other ways to investigate what happened to your mom without being a cop.” He stops as they’re walking past the communications building, looks up for it at a moment, and then gestures to the building as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Be a journalist.”

In many ways, it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. She’s surprised she didn’t think of it sooner.

One she graduates, she becomes the nosiest reporter Central City has to offer. Every case that’s strange and unexplained, she looks into it. She takes a train all the way up to Starling City when she hears that a guy stole a centrifuge all by himself, meets the Arrow and saves his life, which he was less than pleased about when he woke up. Outing his identity to a journalist is probably not what he wanted to do that day, but Iris proves herself useful, if nothing else.

At the end of the day, though, she returns to Central City, just in time to cover the particle accelerator for Central City Picture News. Wally, the engineering nerd that he is, agrees to go with her, and Barry is supposed to go too, but that doesn’t quite work out as well as they hoped.

“Barry is going to be so jealous when this is over.”

“Well, he wouldn’t have to be if he had been on time,” Iris sighs towards her phone that is currently on speaker.

“I hate you both, by the way,” Barry’s voice floats up to them. “Just call me when it’s over. And when you get back, I want to hear everything about your trip to Starling City.”

“You got it,” she replies before hanging up her phone and tabbing through her apps so she can start taking notes. She can feel her brother’s gaze boring into her shoulder though, and she glances back with a shrug. “What?”

“Starling City?”

“I went for a story.”

“An actual story, or are you just saying that to cover up the fact that you were looking into our story?”

Iris glances back at him for a moment with a warning look, knowing how Wally feels about her continuing to dig into their father’s case after all this time. It’s not that he’s against getting their father out of prison, but Iris’ version of events just don’t add up with any version of reality he knows, which she’s more than aware of. He wants her to not let the tragedy consume her.

She doesn’t really know how to tell him that it’s too late for that.

“Can we talk about this after?” It’s nothing personal, but the event is starting soon and she doesn’t know if this is a conversation they should be having here. Wally exhales slowly, a sigh he got from their father, before nodding in agreement.

“Yeah. Yeah, later.” He turns his eyes from his sister to the speech ahead of them. Harrison Wells is looking pleased as punch. The machine whirls to life and she’s already testing potential headlines in her mind, up until the machine makes a sickening noise. Iris glances over to her brother the engineer, her eyebrows rising in concern.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Wally’s eyes widen for a moment, before shaking his head and reaching for her arm. “We should go.”

“Wally?” She lets him pull her, waving through the crowd. “Wally, what’s happening?”

They’ve just managed to catch the edge of the crowd and he breaks out into a run for his car. He glances back over his shoulder as he pulls Iris along with him before responding. “I think it’s going to –”

The ground shakes soon after as a loud, roaring sound echoes from behind them. She’d like to say it was a bang, but it doesn’t really have a noise at all. It’s more like a feeling as a wave of energy crashes through them in a way that makes her sick to her stomach. Thunder suddenly roars above them and Iris watches in horror as a streak of lightning comes down and hits her brother square in the back.

“Wally!” His name shrieks from her lips, heart racing in horror as she tries to get to him faster, but a second arc of lightning streaks down to catch her as she tries to reach him, surging through her body, and suddenly everything goes black.

- - - - -

Nine months later, Iris wakes up to find her world completely changed. Barry is there with her every step of the way. He’s the first person she sees when she gets out of STAR Labs, he’s the first person she tells when she discovers her speed, and he manages to make her feel safe in it, to find the excitement beyond the fear and the hero that was hiding in her all along.

He’s the first person she tells about Eddie. And he’s the first person she asks when Eobard offers her the deal to change the timeline and save her mother.

They’re sitting on the roof at Jitters, legs dangling over the edge of the wall as they stared out at the city.

“I do this, and … everything changes.”

“Not everything.” Barry gives her a bit of a smirk as he looks over the sky. “No matter what happens, you’re still going to be Iris, and I’m still going to be Barry. It doesn’t matter the circumstances, I think that no matter what, we’re always going to be part of each other’s lives.”

“I’ve had a good life, Barry. What am I saying if I try to walk back on all of that just for this one thing …”

“That one thing isn’t nothing, Iris. That one thing is your mother’s life and your father’s freedom. That’s huge.”

She’s quiet again. “I’m also giving him what he wants.”

“Yeah, that’s the downside,” he sighs. “Though with all the smart people you’ve got in your corner, we could probably figure out a way around that one too.” He pauses for a moment, before he tips his head to the side. “Have you talked to Wally about this?”

“No, I can’t do that.” She shakes her head as she turns back to the city again. “Make him choose between his life and his mom?”

“He’s the only one who’s going to feel the exact same way you do about this,” Barry shifts slowly, swinging his legs back over the edge of the roof and onto solid ground again. “You should be talking to him, not me.”

“Maybe I should,” Iris replies before doing the same, and moving to stand in front of him with a small smile. “But you’re the one person who’s always believed me. No matter what. I thought you might be the best person to ask first.”

“Always,” Barry says with a small smile, before reaching forward to pull you into a hug. “I may not have super powers, but I’ve got your back, Iris.”

“I know.” She smiles softly. “There’s no one I would trust with it more.”

- - - - - -

In the end, Iris wins and she loses. She doesn’t save her mother, but she saves the world. She saves her family, but she loses Eddie, sweet, precious Eddie who she thought would be her future. Thawne had goaded her for falling in love with the ancestor of her greatest enemy, but Eddie was a good man and they were going to make their own future.

Barry is there when it’s all said and done, when the singularity is resolved and Ronnie is gone but Central City will live another day. “You okay?” he asks softly, and her face crumples for a moment before she shakes her head.

“What do I do now?”

“You come home with me, and sleep on my couch, and we start fresh tomorrow.” Barry leans forward, resting his hand over hers gently. “I meant what I said, Iris. I’ve got your back.”

She swallows and nods, and she practically collapses into him sobbing into his chest as the weight of the past few days crash over her. Barry just holds her tightly, offering whatever comfort she needs until Wally’s voice comes from over Barry’s shoulder.

“Uh, guys?”

They both turn, and her brother is standing behind them, and his hand is vibrating very quickly. Too quickly.

Barry and Iris look at each other, then exhale slowly.

“Here we go again.”

Edited 2018-09-15 03:28 (UTC)

“Whoa, easy there.”

Two hands steady the sides of Daisy’s pile of boxes and she cringes, before poking her head around with a bit of an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that! I guess I bit off more than I could chew with these boxes.” With the recent explosion of the particle accelerator and the emergence of what the city is calling “metahumans,” SHIELD thought that ARGUS could use some help with picking up the slack. Daisy is mostly interested in trying to help the metahumans like she would most Inhumans, but right now, the struggle seems to be moving in to her new apartment without causing an avalanche on the stairs.

A mop of dark brown hair and a friendly smile glances around to meet her gaze and he shakes his head and reaches to take half her stack from her. “No worries. I’m light on my feet. Let me give you a hand with these.”

“That would be great actually.” She shifts the weight to keep her half steady as she does, and one she can see over what’s in her hand, she flashes him a smile. “Thanks. I’m Daisy, by the way.”

“I’m Barry. Allen.” He hesitates for a moment like he’s going to try and shake her hand, but realizes he doesn’t have the hands to do it and settles for just tapping their boxes together instead. “Welcome to the building. Where are we moving you in to?”

“Four-seventeen,” she says with a nod and a grimace. “And unfortunately it seems like the elevator is out.”

“Yeah, it’s been that way for a while. But hey, at least taking the stairs is really good for cardio, right?” He tips his head back with a smirk. “I’m in four-eighteen. Right across the hall.”

“Well, then, howdy neighbor,” she says with a bit of a laugh.

He grins. “So what brings you to Central City?”

“Work,” she says with a nod. “My team just got transferred. It’s the kind of job where you go where it goes, you know?”

“Yeah.” A beat. “Actually, not really, my job is pretty local, but I can imagine the feeling.”

Daisy laughs. “What do you do?”

“I’m a CSI with Central City PD. What about you?”

“IT.” It’s an easy lie, because it’s what she spends most of her time doing anyway.

“Cool.” It’s fairly easy chatter up the next two flights of stairs, and when they stop at Daisy’s door, Barry turns back with a grin. “So is this everything?”

“Yep. I travel pretty light.” She nods for him to place the box down in the hallway, and smiles. “Thanks again for the assist.”

“Anytime,” Barry nods. “And as I said, I’m across the hall, so if you happen to catch me when I’m home, feel free to knock on the door and say hey.”

“Will do,” Daisy says with a nod, as Barry retreats down the hall to resume is day. If she has to move to a new city, at least cute neighbors are a plus.

- - - - - - -

Three months in and SHIELD hasn’t really gotten anywhere on the metahuman problem. Mostly because the Flash, whoever they are, keeps getting there first. And Daisy would be lying if she couldn’t help but notice how much the city loves him. She wishes a lot more places were as open to people with abilities, but then again, she assumes that it helps when your local hero manages to save the city from a black hole.

That being said, Daisy is starting to get a little frustrated with not making any progress and it shows in the slump of her shoulders as she makes her way up the stairs to her walk up apartment reaching the door just in time to see Barry heading into his apartment with a stack of pizzas and a bag of some other food in hand.

“Having a party or something?”

“Uh –” He looks startled for a minute, before shaking his head and looking a bit sheepish. “ – No. My social life is not that active, I just have a really, really fast metabolism.” Daisy still doesn’t look that convinced, but Barry is quick to deflect. “I don’t mind sharing though, if you want to come in for a slice?”

Daisy falters for a moment, considering, but given the fact that she’s starving and she could do with some company that isn’t the silence of her own apartment, she nods with a smile. “Yeah, actually. I’d love that.”

Two hours later, they’re halfway through their third episode of Dragon Ball Z because Barry is determined to get her hooked, down a pizza and a half (mostly Barry’s doing, because who likes pepperoni, olives and jalapenos on the same pie?), and she’s working through a carton of noodles as cartoon battles come to life in front of them, and Daisy can feel herself starting to relax for the first time in weeks.

“Work been rough?” he asks during one of the slow scenes, because she’s learning that Barry actually cares about other people’s feelings, which is a nice change of pace.

“Yeah, a little. It just feels like we’re not really making as much headway as we should. There’s this competitor who’s making a habit of showing us up.”

“Benefit of working in the public sector. We don’t have competitors,” Barry teases, before reaching for his beer. “But I guess that’s not really lessening the pressure on you any.”

“I don’t know if it’s pressure, exactly.” Because SHIELD and the Flash are working towards the same thing – a safer Central City. But it’s hard to know how to report it when they don’t know who he – or she – may be and if they can trust them. “But it’s definitely making things complicated.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he says with a small smile. “And hey, if you ever want to come over, eat pizza and vent, you are more than welcome on my couch any time.”

“I think I may take you up on that.” She reaches for her own beer as she turns her eyes back to the TV. “My work schedule is a little crazy, but maybe we can make a weekly thing of it?” One night off a week where she can just hang out and be a normal person for a little while – she hasn’t really had that since she joined SHIELD.

That moment actually seems like forever ago now – like she was a completely different person.

“Yeah, of course. My job is kind of the same way. If there’s a murder, I gotta run. Or any kind of case really.”

“Then deal. Tentative weekly … I mean, this is great, but I think I’ll pass on Dragon Ball Z. Maybe we can just watch Netflix?”

He laughs. “No worries.” He pauses to take a sip of his beer before glancing back to her. “How do you feel about movie musicals?”

This time, it’s Daisy’s turn to laugh. “You really are a specific kind of nerd, aren’t you?”

He grins and gives a small shrug. “What can I say? I know my brand.”

- - - - - -

SHIELD continues to not make progress with the identity of the Flash, but the Flash seems to be noticing them. Bad guys are getting dropped off all done up with a bow, while the person responsible moves too fast to be picked up on any of their hidden cameras. Barry and Daisy, however, seem to be making plenty of progress, especially considering how they’ve moved into ignoring the “Netflix” part of “Netflix and chill.” Part of her feels almost guilty, considering how much about her life Barry doesn’t know, but at the same time, it’s nice to have a normal guy she can talk about normal things with.

Also the making out part really doesn’t suck at all.

The moral qualms are something she plans to deal with later, when she’s decided if this is actually going anywhere, but on this particular evening it’s not. Mostly because just as things were starting to get good, both their phones go off.

Barry pulls back with a groan, before fumbling for the phone on the side table. Daisy does the same, reaching into her back pocket to see a text from Coulson: Metahuman shark on the loose in CC. Need back up.

Just when she thought this town couldn’t get any weirder. She sighs, running her hands through her hair a bit before getting ready to head out. “Sorry. That was work, I gotta go.”

“Yeah, me too.” Barry also looks regretful, and makes like he’s getting ready to put the leftovers away. “Same time next week.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a smirk. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She heads down to headquarters to suit up, before heading out the sight of the rampage. True enough, Coulson wasn’t wrong. A giant shark is rampaging his way through downtown Central City, and as of now, it’s mostly the SHIELD team on sight to stop him. They’re doing okay so far, up until a red and gold flash streaks in front of their vision.

“Daisy, it’s the Flash! He’s coming towards you.”

She probably should have thought this through before she reacted, but in the end, it is always going to be instinct first. Her hands stretch out in front of her, sending a quake out in a large radius around her, and watching as the Flash loses his footing and stumbles to the ground, rolling a bit away from her. As far as she can tell it’s a man, a tall, lanky man, in a pretty sick looking red suit, and he looks up at her, blearily for a moment.

“Daisy?”

The fact that he knows her name surprises her. The fact that she knows his voice surprises her more. She stares at him for a moment, trying to put the connections together, but she can see in the curve of his face that the Flash has been right in front of her all along. Before she can say anything though, his name dies on her lips as he jumps to his feet and cuts her off.

“I know this is a lot right now, but King Shark is the bigger problem.”

“But you’re –”

“Yeah, and you’re not exactly who you said you were either.”

He has a point. And it does seem like they’re both working for the greater good. “Yeah,” she swallows hard. “I think we both have some explaining to do.”

Barry nods slowly, before a small grin crosses his face. “So what kind of waves are those, exactly?”

“Seismic. Why?”

“Well, I was just thinking, if we could use your seismic waves to keep him unsteady, I might be able to superspeed punch him in the face enough to knock him out. That’ll at least make him easy to capture.”

“So basically you want to combine our powers and see what happens?”

Barry grins with a bit of a shrug. “Can’t hurt, right?”

She shakes her head before rolling her shoulders to get ready for this dramatic showdown. “You really are some kind of nerd,” she teases as the golden electricity starts to crackle around him and he beams at what he probably considers a compliment before he disappears.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Edited 2018-09-15 22:37 (UTC)

Diana knows what she has to do from the moment she sees it.

It's not that she knows what it is exactly. While her expertise extends over many areas, there are a few that lie beyond her reach - she's old and wise, but she's not ancient. The box resting in front of her, encrusted in stone and worn with age, certainly is. She doesn't recognize the language engraved into the sides enough to read it but she can feel the power resting in it – if anyone would know what it was, it’s her friend in Los Angeles.

Bruce asks her where she’s going, she makes a glib comment about going to make a deal with the Devil. She’s not sure if he took her seriously or not, but the knit of his brow tells her that he isn’t sure whether he should or not.

Diana’s always had an open door invitation at Lux, one that she regrettably hasn’t used as much as she should have, but today she still calls in advance. Lucifer’s built himself a life, and she isn’t rude enough to simply interrupt it. As soon as she walks in the door, he’s lingering behind the bar, already having mixed her favorite drink.

“Well now. Let’s see what this mysterious artifact is all about.”

“No time for pleasantries?” she smirks as she slides onto the bar stool, resting her oversized bag on the one next to her. “That’s unlike you.”

“Being your friend for so long does have it’s benefits, Diana,” Lucifer smirks, leaning in to rest on his elbows. “I know that the sooner we take care of the business end of things, the sooner we can have all the pleasantries we like.” The way he says “pleasantries” has a bit of a lewd tone to it, as is his brand, and she laughs, before nodding her agreement. He’s not wrong about her, as Lucifer is much more perceptive than most people give him credit for, especially when he’s had the opportunity to know Diana as long as he has.

“Very well.” She pauses just long enough to place the box on the bar in front of him, then reaches for her drink as she gives him time to examine it.

At first, there’s simply confusion as his long skilled fingers run over the edges, almost as though he’s trying to read it like braille. “Where did you find this?”

“In an archaeological dig in Jordan. All of those at the camp were found dead.” She straightens a bit before tipping her head to the side. “Was I right? Is it Enochian?” The language of the angels is something beyond even the Amazons learning, but Lucifer, being an angel, should be able to understand it.

“Not quite, but certainly equally as old.” He pauses for a moment as he rubs over one particular corner. “This is a prison. Or it was, at least.”

“Prison for … what exactly?”

“The Behemoth.”

She pauses for a moment, before tipping her head to the side. “A hippo?”

“A very large, very angry, very ancient hippo.” Lucifer muses for a moment. “Before my father met my mother and got around to the angel and human of it all, he created three beasts – Ziz of the sky, Behemoth of the Land, and Leviathan of the sea. Ziz mostly minds their own business, last I heard they were nesting in a volcano somewhere, but the Leviathan and the Behemoth began to feud almost as soon as they were born. The Leviathan was a beast of chaos, only wanting to consume, to take, while the Behemoth was a dangerous creature, but not inherently malicious. However, when the Leviathan started to encroach on it’s turf …”

“It started to get angry,” Diana supplies for him.

“To say the least.” Lucifer drums his fingers against the bar for a moment. “Eventually a pair of mystics a long time ago imprisoned them both away, for it was prophesized that the final battle between the two would signal the end of the world, but if the Behemoth’s been released …”

“Then there’s a chance that someone may be trying to release the Leviathan as well.”

Lucifer nods. “And again, even on the off chance that the archaeologists simply released the Behemoth by accident, this is a large powerful creature that could do a lot of damage simply in the confusion of it all.”

“Can it be killed?”

“Unlikely, given the prophecy of it all. They’re rather tedious that way. But! I may know of a man who’ll be able to help.”

“Wonderful,” Diana sighs as she finishes her drink. “The sooner we get started, the sooner I can tell the Justice League that the situation is resolved.”

“Trust me, I would like to say the same without getting my brother involved at all.”

“Getting your brother involved in what, exactly?” Amenadiel makes himself known at the foot of the stairs, giving each of them a critical look. Diana, however, greets him with a smile as she always does.

“Hello, Amenadiel.”

“Hello, Diana. What is my brother getting you into now?” He starts to make his way towards the box with a curious expression on his face, and Lucifer snatches it out of view before he can get too close a look.

“Don’t mind us, brother. We’re just going hippo hunting.”

* * * * *

“Wonder Woman, eh? You do certainly have some eclectic friends, Luci.”

The man that Lucifer takes her to is very much not what she expect for someone trained in the mystic arts, but then again, she knows by now that when it comes to Lucifer, it’s always best to check your preconceptions at the door. The man’s rumpled clothes belie someone who spent too much time drinking the night before and wound up sleeping in the previous day’s attire, but his eyes are sharp and clear, appraising them both as he picks up a cigarette to light it.

Still, if she hadn’t had Bruce run his name through his contacts while they were waiting on the time ship he was currently traveling on to land, she might not have believed it. But John Constantine, whoever he may be, seems to check out.

“Variety certainly keeps things interesting,” Lucifer muses, before tipping his head to the side. “And I’m sure she could say the same of you, Constantine.”

“So what you’re telling me,” he begins, pausing only to take a drag and exhale slowly, “is that this isn’t demon related?”

“No,” Diana says with a nod. “It’s monster related.”

“That’s an interesting change of pace.” He smirks a bit, before glancing over at Lucifer. “Not every day I get rung up by Wonder Woman and her sidekick, looking for help with a monster matter.”

Lucifer sputters. “Who said anything about being sidekicks? We’re partners.”

“Mmm.” Constantine is too amused to be convinced of that statement, before turning his attention to Diana. “The box, love, if you don’t mind?”

She hands it over, giving him a moment to study the symbols at his disposal, before giving a brief nod. “Yeah, I can probably manage this, but I’m going to have to get close, and I’m going to need time to cast it effectively. If the stories about the Behemoth are true …”

“You’re going to need someone to distract it while you work.”

Constantine taps a finger to his nose, before glancing to Lucifer. “Things like that are why people think she’s in charge, mate.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Diana and I can handle the distractions.”

“I think you might need a bit more firepower than that.”

“I’ll call Superman,” Diana says with a nod. “I’m sure between the three of us, we’ll be able to manage.”

Constantine doesn’t look so convinced of that, but he gives a small shrug in return. “It’s worth a shot. At least the lot of you are mostly unkillable.” He tucks the box under his arm before glancing between the two of them with a smile. “When do we leave?”

* * * * *

“So you’re a demigod.”

Clark’s looking at Diana with a very intent expression as he parses all of this information, but she has a feeling it’s to avoid trying to look too closely at whatever Constantine and Lucifer happen to be prepping in the corner. Mysticism is … a strange art, that much is certain.

“Yes.”

“And he’s the actual Devil. But he owns a night club in Los Angeles.”

“Also true, yes.”

“So you’re a demigod who’s sidekick is the Devil.”

“Oh good lord,” Lucifer looks up, exasperated. “Why does everyone just assume I’m your sidekick?”

Diana laughs. “Maybe it’s because you don’t work in the hero business all that often.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes again, before glancing down at their magical box. “Well, if you’re all ready to do some real work, I think we’re just about done here. Do we have a location yet?”

“Cyborg managed to track the disturbances out to a remote area of the [insert geographical location here]. There shouldn’t be a lot of people around, we just need to keep it there.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Clark says with a nod, rolling his shoulders a bit as he moves towards the access doors of the plane. “Let me know when we’re close enough to the drop zone.”

Lucifer comes up to join her, appraising Clark slightly from behind. “I have to say, he isn’t at all what I expected.”

Diana smirks as she draws her sword, before moving to join Clark. “How many times have I told you? You should learn to revise your expectations.”

* * * * *

The fight itself is rather efficient, but taxing all the same. By the time it’s done, even Clark seems to be worn some, collapsing down with Lucifer and Diana in a pile across the way from Constantine as the plane takes them back to Los Angeles. The runes on the edges of the box are still glowing as the massive creature tries to break free yet again, but Constantine’s magic is holding, only further proving he was the right man for the job.

Clark sighs as his head tips back a moment. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed,” Diana says with a bit of a smirk, before glancing over to the box. “What do we do with it now?”

“I am going to pass it off to one of my siblings,” Lucifer nods. “I believe it’s safer in Heaven’s hands than hidden away on Earth, and if they don’t happen to feel that way, then I’ll ensure that it’s safely placed in the bowls of Hell somewhere.” Diana nods in agreement. As far as she’s concerned, the world is safer if it’s taken off the mortal plane.

“I think we’ve earned a few drinks for a job well done,” Constantine smirks. “What about you?”

“Oh, that was a given,” Lucifer smirks. “After all, now that the business is done, we can get back to pleasantries.”

Diana laughs. “I couldn’t agree more.” She then turns to her friend. “What about you, Clark?”

“I think I need to get home to my wife,” Clark smiles in return. “But you three have fun without me.”

“Lovely,” Lucifer grins as he leans back into the wall of the plane, closing his eyes to relax. “I happen to know just the place.”

Edited 2018-10-13 17:22 (UTC)

Heading to the circus, initially, is more about survival than anything else. The bright colors and dazzling lights make for a lot of easy marks, people who aren’t looking to closely at how much they’re spending on various fair games so long as they win that stuffed animal or cool toy for their significant other or child. Neal doesn’t like the idea of stealing from those who can’t afford it, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s either he manages to snag something – a meal ticket, a dropped twenty, anything – in the next hour before the bus to Chicago shows up, or he doesn’t eat for another eight hours.

Personally, he’d rather not starve.

The lights of the tents give the scrawny eighteen year-old plenty of space to blend in, sharp blue eyes scanning the main fairway for viable marks. He manages to nab a little cash and a few ride tokens, enough that he might be able to trade some in afor his fare, but still not quite enough for food. He catches sight of a woman stashing some meal tickets in an open purse, and then neglecting to close it, and he starts to make his way closer, ready to prepare his best charming smile and distract just enough to get his hand in her purse and those tickets between his fingers when a hand closes around his wrist stops him, and pulls it back.

“How about we not do that?”

Neal tugs his hand just enough to get it out of the other man’s grasp, before giving a small shrug. “Not do what?”

“Take that nice lady’s meal tickets and use them for yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Like you don’t know what I’m talking about when I mention the frat boys you nicked a twenty and a beer off of, or the asshole you snaked a few ride tokens from while you were flirting with his girlfriend?”

Neal tries to fight down the flicker of a smile that crosses his face at the mention of the last one, but he presses his lips together in a thin line and tries his best to seem innocent. “Again – no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh.” The man grabbed him by the arm before turning him towards one of the larger tents. “C’mon. We’re gonna go talk to the boss.”

Neal huffs a bit but he goes along with what he’s told, letting the man lead him away. He remembers seeing his face on some of the posters coming in and he tips his head to the side. “So how’d you figure me out? Read my mind or something?”

The man’s lips twitch, but he says nothing, and just steers him into the business tent, sitting him down at a table. “Wait here.”

Neal sits, shifting to get comfortable and crossing his arms in front of his chest as he waits. Part of him scans the interior of the tent, trying to figure out if he could find a way out, but this doesn’t seem like a security room. It seems like something a bit more … casual. “Do you think I could get a bite to eat while I’m in here?” He asks after a moment, before glancing around. “I’m starving, man.”

He’s met with nothing but silence, so he huffs and just leans back in his chair. He has to be waiting maybe a half an hour before the tent flaps finally open, and another man steps into the tent with the first guy, and moves to sit across from him.

“I’m Dylan. What’s your name?”

“Neal.” The name still feels weird coming off his tongue, mostly because it’s still new, but it’s not a bad weird. In fact, it likely feels more right than a lot of things have been lately.

“Merritt said you said you were hungry.” He lifts the stryrofoam container he came in with and extends it to him, before sliding it across the table to rest in front of him.

Neal lunges at first, because he is starving, but eventually his brain catches up and reminds him that all of these people are strangers. They likely don’t have his best interests at heart. So he hesitates before opening the container, and looks warily at the two of them again.

“Why?”

Dylan raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“I’m from St. Louis,” Neal supplies. “Usually people willing to offer you free food have probably done something to it.”

“Well, all we did is cook it. I guess you’ll have to decide if you’re willing to take our word for that or not.” Dylan pulls back the container and opens it, the smell of the hamburger within making Neal’s mouth water, and Neal watches as the older man cuts the burger in half, picks up half and takes a bite, before holding his hands out to the side as though to say “see?” Neal waits, watching until he chews, swallows, and takes another bite, before he decides that’s enough proof and snatches the container back again and digging in. The first bite he takes of the burger, he gives a small moan, almost as though it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Considering the amount of chips and other vending machine garbage he’s eaten in the last twenty four hours, it probably is.

He makes it through his half of the burger, and downs some of the soda that came with it, before he manages to speak again. “You still haven’t told me why?”

“Well, you haven’t told me why you were stealing from my patrons.”

Neal swallows hard at that, and it feels weird, to take this generosity after he had been doing just what the man said. “I needed bus fare and a meal. I wasn’t going to take more than that.”

“Why those targets?”

“The frat boys weren’t going to miss it. All of their clothing was better than designer, and tailored to boot. If twenty bucks disappeared they’d probably not even notice.” He pauses, before shrugging. “And the other guy was just an asshole.”

That makes Dylan smirk, and Neal isn’t sure if it’s a good or bad thing. “What about the woman?”

It’s there that Neal looks appropriately guilty. “She had the first set of meal tickets I’ve seen. I thought that if I could just get one, then maybe she would just think she accidentally didn’t buy enough.”

“What bus are you supposed to be taking?”

“The 9:15 to Chicago.”

“Any reason in particular? Do you need to be on that time table?”

“I just needed a change of scene. Why?”

“We’re heading to Chicago. Why don’t you ride with us?”

Neal blinks at him for a moment like he has two heads. “I’m sorry – what?”

“We’re going to Chicago. Making a couple of stops in between, but you could just travel with us.”

Neal blinks again, and again, a one word question comes to mind. “Why?”

Dylan smirks for a minute. “Because I think you’ll find that a carnival is a bit more in line with your goals than you think. After all, the closer you’re trying to look at something …”

“ … The less you actually see,” Neal finishes for him, and suddenly tries to look at what he already knows about the circus in a whole new light. “So what’s the angle?”

“That I can’t tell you,” Dylan replies. “Not until I know if you’re in or out.”

Neal glances around for a moment, and he can’t deny that he likes the style of it all. The color and the drama appealed to him for a reason. And he has a feeling that Dylan doesn’t just pick up street kids for stealing and offer them a job out of the goodness of his heart. Whatever it is this guy is offering, it’s practically promising adventure.

“This isn’t like a if I tell you, I have to kill you think is it?” Neal asks quickly, just to be on the safe side. “If I decide to get off when we get to Chicago –”

“Then you can go,” Dylan nods. “Or you can stay. Entirely up to you.”

Neal weighs for a few minutes longer, before taking a deep breath and nodding. “Alright. I’m in.”

Dylan smiles, before leaning back in his seat again. “Great. Welcome to the Horsemen.”

Edited 2018-10-13 21:38 (UTC)

“Miranda.”

The tone in her father’s voice is one that stops her in her tracks. She had been in the process of chasing one of the younger children around the manor, but she’s heard it enough times to know that command in his voice. Miranda and Derek have never been as close as he and Patience have and she’s always been a bit wilder than her sister. Her mother often accused her of taking after her father, and it’s an insult Miranda would often tell her, playfully, to take back, but whatever the cause is, Derek’s “disapproving parent” tone is often enough to stop any one of his children in their tracks.

She laces her hands behind her back and straightens with a small smile. “Yes, Father?”

He watches her for a moment, before tipping his head to the side for her to follow him. There’s a small exhale of a sigh, as he turns his back to her, her face dropping as she moves to fall in step next to him, not wanting to say anything and simply waiting for him to drop whatever bomb he is holding.

“We need to talk about your prospects.”

Her face frowns for a moment, her brow furrowing as she paces through those words. “You said I would be allowed to choose my future in that regard.”

“I did. And I’m not taking that choice away from you.”

“Even with my normal human hearing I can hear the ‘but’ coming,” she says sullenly.

He glances back at her, and his face softens for a moment, before taking one arm and placing it around her shoulders. “I’m not taking the choice away from you. But sometimes you need to acknowledge potential prospects the old fashioned way.”

Miranda groans. “I already don’t like this.”

“Lord Sumpter has sent me a request –”

Her face is immediately horrified at the prospect. Lord Sumpter was an old, egotistical ass of a man, and she already knew that she would rather cut off her own hand than consider giving it to him. She opens her mouth to say as much, before Derek holds up his own hand to cut her off.

“ – For his son, Andrew.”

There’s a long pause as she processes that statement. Andrew Sumpter, Lord Sumpter’s heir was older than her by six years, and had two young children, ages four and two. She’s never seen his wife, but he most assuredly has had at least one, given the way Lord Sumpter tends to run his mouth about children born out of wedlock.

In fact, her sister in particular has been a frequent target of his jabs.

“I thought Andrew was married.”

“His wife passed away after the birth of his son. But apparently, he’s shown an interest in you. He’s requested that you come spend the summer at their manor.” He withdraws the letter and extends it to her for her to read. “Normally, the duty would fall on the potential suitor to come to you, and he says he would understand if you didn’t want to break those norms, but with his children being so young and he being their only living parent, he hopes that you will make the accommodation.”

Miranda takes the letter from him to read it herself, wanting to digest the words as though that may help her understand it. Andrew Sumpter had always seemed kind when they interacted previously, but the Lord had been blessed with two sons and the younger Sumpter was much closer to her age.

“You’re certain it’s Andrew, not George.”

Derek gives her a look. “Do you have so little faith in me? I would have rejected it immediately if it was for George.” The younger Sumpter had been developing a reputation not unsimilar to the one her father had when he was younger, though considerably less favorable with the women of the courts. While quite the lothario, he didn’t treat his lovers with the same care that Derek had, and it’s lost him some favor among the women in England and France.

“Just making certain,” she sighs. The idea of being left alone in the Sumpter House with strange men for an entire summer with no recourse is not the greatest thing she’s ever heard, but she also isn’t sure she has very many options. If she rejects the offer, she is fairly certain that there is a lecture coming about not running from the possibilities presented to her, but it doesn’t seem safe, either. Particularly for someone who’s human. “You realize the paradox in this, don’t you? By saying it’s my choice but not really being a choice at all.”

“I do. But I think that there is potential in it, so being your father, I’m allowed to nudge you a little.”

“Do I have to go alone?”

“I’ve spoken with your aunt, and if you like, Gracin can go with you.”

She exhales slowly, and nods. As much as she’s sure she can take care of herself, having her cousin as her back up is preferred to say the least. “Thank you.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Is no really an option?”

Derek smirks slightly, and leans in to press a kiss to her temple. “Simply be open to the possibilities. That’s all I ask.”

She sighs, before nodding. She’ll make an attempt. But how open still remains to be seen.

* * * * *

Andrew Sumpter is a tall man, with broad shoulders and a kind face. She remembers the gossips in Mystic Falls used to speculate for hours about who he would eventually marry, but it’s been years since she’s really seen him in court, and the expectation is quite different from the reality. A mop of dark hair sits on his head, he’s clothing simple, but well cared for, and he’s currently not paying attention to their carriages as she and Gracin make their approach to their summer home. Gracin has been watching her for most of the trip and he nudges her leg gently, drawing her attention back to him.

“I could just tell them to keep going, you know. Claim some kind of family emergency.”

“No, it’s fine.” She gives a small shrug as she adjusts her clothing. “The Hales are a family of their word. Though I would feel much more comfortable if I was a werewolf right now.”

“Hey now,” He smiles softly. “We human folks can take care of ourselves. Just because we’re not wolves, doesn’t mean we’re defenseless.”

“I know. But this feels a bit like a lion’s den.” As the carriages come to a stop, two other men walk up to join him, one stern and gray, constantly looking down his nose at the rest of them, while the other is the youngest of the three, with slicked back blond hair and his father’s same stern expression. Miranda dislikes them both already.

“Lady Hale. Welcome to the Sumpter Estate.” Lord Sumpter’s voice is even constantly condescending. “We are pleased that Lord and Lady Hale have allowed you to share our estate with us.”

“We thank you for the invitation,” Gracin smiles as he makes his way out of the carriage and Miranda watches as the faces of the other two men fall. Andrew, on the other hand, seems amused, and she isn’t sure if that’s a point for or against him yet. Gracin is also amused and he extends his hand back to Miranda to assist her out of the carriage.

“You seem surprised,” she begins, stepping down and smoothing out her dress from the journey. “Did you not receive my father’s letter with his stipulations for my journey here?”

Lord Sumpter clears his throat, straightening again as he covers his surprise. “Yes, of course. Though when he said your cousin, I thought he was referring to Amelia.”

“As lovely as it would be were my sister to be able to attend, she unfortunately is in the throes of planning her own wedding,” Gracin says, his tone managing to mock the condescension in the other man’s voice without being completely rude, a trait he learned from his mother. “I apologize for the disappointment.”

“No, not it all, my lord. It’s simply that we arranged the guest rooms – ”

“In the guest wing, I assume,” Miranda’s eyebrows raise before he could finish that sentence. “As we are guests, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course. But the rooms are quite … close.”

“Perfect,” Gracin smiles, giving Miranda’s hand a squeeze, pretending to be oblivious to the questionable location of his cousin and potentially his sister’s room. Little do the Sumpters know that whatever nefarious deeds they had planned, it likely would have been worse if Amelia was here. “It will be just like home.”

Andrew, finally, clears his throat and steps forward to put himself between their guests and his father. “Perhaps I can escort you both to those rooms? Your servants will follow with your things.”

“Yes,” Miranda says with a small nod. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Andrew offers his arm, and she takes it gently, with Gracin following close behind them. As they pass into the archway, she exhales slowly, knowing that the worst has only just begun. This is going to be a long summer.

* * * * *

The Sumpter Estate reminds her a bit of a tomb.

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, and not something she would ever say out loud, but in a lot of ways the silence is deafening. In comparison to the Hale Manor, where there are children and people everywhere and the world is full of sound and laughter, the Sumpter Estate is cold and uncomfortable, and Miranda does her best to leave the winding maze of hallways and empty rooms as often as she can. Particularly as things get worse rather than better as Lord Sumpter introduces her to his dinner guests.

“This is Lady Miranda Hale, the eldest daughter of Derek and Elena Hale, and her cousin, Lord Gracin Parrish.”

“Second eldest,” she corrects without even thinking about it, not afraid to interrupt because that’s not how she was raised. “My sister Patience is the oldest.”

Lord Sumpter eyes her for a moment, daring her to choose her next words carefully. “She is only your half sister. I know things may be different in the North, but here we do not choose to acknowledge the illegitimate.”

She raises her eyebrows for a moment. “My father claimed her as his own and my mother raised her. How much more of my sister does she need to be? This may not be the North, my Lord, but that is where I was raised, and it is not your position to tell me who is kin to me and who is not.” She’s waiting for Gracin’s had on her arm, because she knows that the dual purpose in sending him as her escort was to wheel her back when she was being unreasonable, but this doesn’t seem to be one of those moments. Lord Sumpter is clearly turning red with anger, however, and he slams his napkin down on the able as he leans in to stare her down, but she meets his gaze dead on, until Andrew clears his throat.

“Father, we do have guests. Perhaps we could debate Lady Hale’s lineage another time?”

That seems to break the stalemate for the moment, the lord looking away and Miranda settling back into her seat. One of the other guests is quick pick up the slack for dinner conversation, and once things have drifted considerably away from her for a moment, Andrew leans in next to her to whisper in her ear.

“Please don’t take that as a sign of disapproval,” he murmurs before turning back to his food. “I think he could use someone to stand up to him more often.”

Miranda isn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he does leave her with the resolve to not let herself be alone with either of the other members of the family if she could help it. Andrew, however, may just be safe.

She also spends as much time outside as she can, using it to escape the way the walls make it feel like she’s trapped in a prison. She spends most of her afternoons reading in the garden under a tree, and it takes two weeks before a tiny dark head appears from behind the tree, peering at the book in her lap. Miranda pretends not to see it for the moment, before a second head joins her, this one a boy and much less prone to quiet observation.

“What are you reading?”

The question is innocent enough, and she turns to face him more as she slips the ribbon she’s using to mark her place into the space between the pages. “It’s an adventure story, about pirates and buried treasure.”

Both children’s eyes widen and while the girl’s seem apprehensive, the boy, who can’t be more than three, seems thrilled. “I love pirates!”

Miranda grins widely at him. “Me too. And, to make matters worse, the treasure is cursed!” There’s an audible gasp from the girl, who is slightly older at about five. “And now the heroes have to find a way to save themselves from the curse, but still keep the treasure.”

“They let you read books like that?” The girl seems baffled, because pirates are certainly not ladylike, and Miranda smiles before nodding.

“My father believes that the worlds you visit should only be as limited as the number of books you have at your disposal.”

“My grandfather said that girls aren’t allowed to be pirates.”

Miranda pauses, before she leans in, “Can I tell you a secret?” The girl nods. “I think your grandfather is a dummy.” Both of their eyes go wide, and they smack their hands over their mouth almost simultaneously, though Miranda can see the edges of their smiles around their tiny hands. “In fact!” She pushes herself up from her sitting position, dusting the grass off her long skirts and placing her hands on her hips. “I think we should be pirates right now.”

Both children’s eyes go wide again, though this time it’s with excitement. “Can we do that?”

“I don’t see why not. After all, we are cunning and clever folk, ready to forge our own way in the world.” The children seem so baffled by the idea of play in general, and it breaks her heart to see it in children so young, but she’s determined to give them a taste of it now. “What say ye, mateys? Shall we go and find our fortune?”

“Aye!” the little one cries out in return, but the girl still looks uncertain.

“I can’t hear you.”

The girl considers for a moment, before she manages to find her voice and joins in. “Aye!”

Miranda grins and points off to an empty part of the grove nearby. “Then off we go!”

Their names are Sarah and Brian – Sarah after their grandmother and Brian after their mother, Brianna. They spend a good hour running through the groves and pillaging ships, making far more noise in that time than she had heard than in her entire visit thus far. It only stops, because as they are getting closer to the sitting gardens, and the children both freeze when they see their father and Gracin emerge from the manor, almost as though they’re convinced they’re doing something wrong. Andrew seems pleased, however, in his own quiet way.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he begins softly. “But I was hoping to get some time with you this afternoon, Miranda.”

Right. She’s here to see if he is a viable husband, not charm his children. She straightens a bit, smoothing her dress some as she weighs her options there, before glancing over to her cousin. “Alright mateys. I am passing control of this shift to my first mate here.” She glances up at Gracin and he nods, falling in to the ruse easily before giving a small salute, and Miranda gives him one in return. “Take care of me ship.”

“I will protect it with me life.” Pirates is a game that she and Gracing played often as children so it doesn’t take much for him to slip into the role and sending them charging off into the groves, one child under each arm.

Edited 2018-10-18 02:58 (UTC)

As they leave, Andrew silently offers her his arm, and she nods, before accepting it in return, letting him lead her on a separate path. “You’re quite good with them.”

“We have a lot of children at home,” she admits with a small nod. “We’re a big family and keep reproducing, so someone has to keep the little ones occupied. Though, this is a game that Gracin and I have been playing since we were young.”

“It sounds like a good place to grow up,” he nods, turning his eyes to look ahead. “If the remainder of these months go well, I would very much like to bring my children there to visit one day, so they can meet children their own age.”

Miranda swallows for a moment, because she doesn’t want to commit to anything, but in the context of the children, it can’t hurt. “My parents, my sisters and brother usually travel to Mystic Falls for the winter, and Gracin and I will be going there to visit when we are finished here.” She pauses for a moment. “But if things go well, I’m sure you would be welcome in the spring.”

He nods once. “I will keep that in mind.” There’s a pause. “And I am sorry, for my father’s behavior regarding your sister.”

“I just find it … frustrating,” she sighs, doing her best to remain civil. “My father and your brother’s behavior are not that different. The only change is that my father at least takes responsibility for his actions.”

“He does. And I actually respect that in him, a great deal.” A pause. “Are you and your father close?”

She hesitates for a moment, before shaking her head. “Not particularly, no.” He glances over curiously, before she shrugs. “There were five of us. Patience was his favorite – he wouldn’t explicitly say as much, but we all knew. Talia is his mother’s namesake, Clara … has a bond with him that none of us are able to replicate and Thomas is the only boy. He tried, but it didn’t really leave much room for me. But it’s probably for the best – my mother says we’re too much alike to begin with.”

“I don’t particularly get along with my father either. But that may just be the fact that he’s a pretentious ass.”

A bark of a laugh slips from her lips, because isn’t that the truth. She’s about to apologize, but that seems to get a bright smile from her companion, and she swallows it before it even starts.

“Honestly I would have rather come to you for the summer in the first place, but my father believed he’d stand a greater chance of manipulating this in his favor if you were isolated from your family.”

“If he believes that I’m inclined to be manipulated, he obviously underestimated me.”

“He did. But I’m glad to see that I did not.” He pauses when they’re a good ways into the trees of the grove, before turning to face her more. One hand finds it’s way to the small of her back, and while there’s an instinct that says to push back, there’s something about him that makes her want to lean into it, allowing him to close the proximity between the two of them enough that she can feel him against her, solid and sure. It should be unwelcome, as it’s very much improper, but part of her, at this moment, is content to throw propriety out the window for a moment. Her breath catches as she’s forced to look up at him, as he’s so sure in his stance, but it doesn’t feel like she’s trapped.

If she wanted to, she could break away. But there’s something in her that definitely doesn’t. (Maybe she really is her father’s daughter.)

“Because despite my father’s machinations, I very much am interested in the match we could make. You’re smart, kind and generous, to say nothing of your beauty and grace. You would be a good mother for my children, and a good partner for me in the world we live in. But I do not wish to force this, Miranda.”

“Oh?” she says softly, because that is a lot of compliments directed at her, and there’s a certainty to the way he speaks that almost makes her believe that all of it is true, and it’s not simply flowery language to charm her.

“No. I do not find it particularly charming when a woman is forced into my company who doesn’t enjoy it, let alone a marriage.”

That statement is a comfort in and of itself, and it reassures her that even if his father is content to push the issue, she could trust Andrew to stand up for her. Though at the moment, she isn’t sure she’s particularly interested in that, her heart pounding against her chest through all of this.

“Then what do you wish to do?”

He smirks, before pulling away, and whispering in her ear as he passes. “I wish to ensure that you see as much value in this as I do.”

“I see.”

His breath brushes against her throat in a way that makes her shiver as he releases her waist and takes her hand instead “I’m looking forward to the chase.”

She stays rooted in place for a moment, until he manages to turn her enough that she has no choice but to follow him as they resume their walk into the grove. She does her best to recover her breath and steady her gait before she speaks again, to make sure she’s not coming across as losing ground but even as she follows him, she knows she’s already lost far too much.

No matter how this ends, she is in trouble.

Stefan has been staring at the blank cursor on his screen for forty minutes straight, and he still has nothing. If he wants to be entirely honest with himself, he’s been staring at a blank screen for the past few days, but forty minutes of that time has been spent in this particular coffee shop. He had transplanted himself for a change of scene, hoping that that might get the creative juices flowing, but so far, he still had … nothing. Nothing for the follow up historical fiction supernatural thriller to his best-selling novel of the same genre, nothing for his editor to read against his upcoming deadline, and more importantly, nothing for his brother and manager to read through to tell him is garbage.

There’s a process to these things. Damon hating everything is an important part of it.

It’s moments like this he almost misses drinking.

Regardless, getting around the writer’s block is proving futile, and he’s starting to hate everything even more so than usual. All of his normal tricks are proving pointless and it isn’t until someone comes and waves a doughnut in front of his face that he manages to snap himself out of his self-loathing train of thought.

“You seem like you could use it.”

Stefan glances over and there’s a bright, beautiful woman standing next to him. It’s in that moment that Katherine and Elijah’s forbidden romance gets pushed aside for the moment and he smiles.

“You have a seventh sense for when people are in need of doughnuts?”

She laughs. “Work on this coffee shop long enough, and you tend to pick up a few things.” His eyes wander down to the nametag on the top of her apron, where “BONNIE” is embossed in black letters. “Plus it runs in my family that we’re kind of psychic.”

“Well, I am grateful to benefit from your supernatural expertise.” He takes the doughnut and holds out a hand to her. “I’m Stefan.”

“Bonnie.” She says, shaking his hand with one hand while she points to the nametag with the other. “As you can see. Can I get you anything else, while I’m dispensing some doughnut wisdom?”

“No. I think if I had any more coffee I might actually give myself a heart attack, but thank you.”

“Great. If you change your mind, just let me know.” There’s another smile as she saunters her way back to the counter again, and Stefan watches her go for a moment before turning back to his screen again, and letting his fingers find the keyboard. Maybe there is something to having a change of scenery after all.

- - - - - -

Bonnie is lounging on Caroline’s couch during one of the college house parties when she reaches for the thick, tome like volume sitting on her friend’s coffee table. The front of the dust jacket gives every indication that this is the standard bodice ripper her friend usually goes for and she’s about to put it back when she catches the author’s face on the back cover and her jaw drops. She wants to believe that it’s totally not the customer she’s been chatting/semi-flirting with the past few times he’s been in the shop, but it’s kind of hard to mistake that face.

“Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Elena asks curiously, glancing up from her place at the other end of the couch, drink in hand.

“This guy was in my coffee shop the other day.”

“Stefan Salvatore was in the coffee shop!?!” Caroline’s already high pitched voice goes a few decibels higher, and Bonnie looks up at her in confusion.

“Yeah, I guess he was working on his next book? He had a laptop and stuff. He’s a nice guy.”

Caroline immediately scrambles over the coffee table and takes the book from Bonnie’s hands holding it up in front of her. “You don’t understand. This book, it’s just … the characters are so real and complex and compelling. Katherine and Elijah just break your heart because you can tell they’re so in love and they’re soulmates, but after Katherine betrayed Elijah’s brother Klaus, she had to just flee for her life. And don’t get me started on Klaus.”

Elena and Bonnie glance at each other and Bonnie’s eyebrows go up. “You know, part of me doesn’t want to, but the other part of me feels like now I have to.”

“God. Klaus is just so dark, and charming, and sexy, and dangerous, and that kind of guy that you know you want to make out with, despite the fact that he may actually kill you, but it would totally be worth it.”

Elena laughs. “Does Tyler know you’re having an affair with a fictional character?”

Caroline rolls her eyes before turning back to Bonnie. “Does he come in a lot?”

Bonnie shrugs. “I’ve seen him a couple of times. I don’t know if I’d call him a regular.”

“Could you get me an autograph? Please, please, please please.”

Bonnie looks apprehensive. “Care, this is my job.”

“I will make sure there’s a banner promoting your next gig on the station’s website and pay for it out of my own pocket.”

Bonnie’s jaw drops. “Seriously? This means that much to you.”

Caroline places the book back in Bonnie’s hands and gives them a squeeze. “It really does.”

“Alright. Alright fine.” Bonnie takes the book from her and slips it into the bag. “I want to see the banner first, though.”

“I will put it in first thing Monday.”

- - - - -

He’s on a roll. He’s been on a roll for the past few days, which is why the headphones are in and his fingers are flying across the keyboard. He’s barely touched the coffee he ordered when he came in, which is honestly the true sign of how much he’s managed to find something that resonated. He feels really good about the direction the book is taking, and the way that the story is shaping up, and as he comes to the end of the paragraph he leans back in his chair, giving a content smile as he reviews the last few lines.

Yeah. This should be good. As soon as the draft is finished, Damon is going to tear it to pieces and make it better, but for now the soul of it is what matters, but right now the soul feels … strong.

He reaches over for his coffee and it’s that moment that he realizes Bonnie has been standing there, hands closed around the strap of her messenger bag. She’s not in her uniform, which means she’s off the clock, so he’s a little surprised to find her standing there, looking to talk to him.

“Hi.” There’s a pause. “So, this might be a little awkward, but are you Stefan Salvatore?”

His head ducks. “Guilty. I didn’t think I was that famous.”

“Oh, you’re not.” She cringes. “That came out wrong. I didn’t recognize you or anything, it’s just that my friend is a big fan, and she was wondering if I could get her your autograph.” She fishes a copy of Katerina out of her messenger bag, and he nods before taking it from her.

“No problem. Least I could do.” He flips open the front cover and smooths down the title page. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Caroline. Thanks for this. I know this is probably weird.”

“A little, but it’s something I’m trying to get used to.” He finishes the inscription. “I don’t mind. Honestly.”

“Good to know,” she says with a nod as she takes the book back from him, and slips it into her bag. She starts to head towards the door, before turning back to face him again. “Are you busy this weekend?”

His eyebrows go up, before he turns to face her again. “Not really. Why?”

She reaches back into her bag and pulls out a flyer advertising a band gig at a nearby bar. “It’s my band. We’re having a show on Saturday night. It’s kind of a dive, but I promise the music will be good.”

Stefan hesitates, because while he is pleased that she’s inviting him to see her sing, it’s a bar and him and bars don’t exactly have the best history. Still, it’s been over a year since his last relapse. It’s about time he tried to test having a normal life.

“Let me check with my manager and make sure I don’t have any appearances, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Great! Hopefully I’ll see you there.” She beams, and Stefan knows he can’t miss this show. He waits until she leaves, before reaching for his phone and pulling up a text to his brother.

Want to see a show this weekend?

- - - - - -

The gig goes off without a hitch, and Bonnie honestly couldn’t be happier. Caroline’s ads actually managed to bring in a bigger crowd than usual, to the point where she’s considering working it into their regular advertising budget if they can. It didn’t hurt that her best friends were right there in the front row, ready to cheer her on.

It also didn’t hurt that Stefan actually showed, and was leaning casually against the bar talking to a … very handsome man who seemed to know him very well. Choosing to ignore the slight moment of panic that maybe she read him and their thing wrong, she weaves her way through the crowd to meet him at the bar with a bright smile.

“You came!”

Stefan grins, as he nods. “It seemed pretty important to you, so I wanted to do my best to make it work.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Bonnie’s eyes drift back to the man behind him and after a pause. “And you brought a friend.”

“This is my brother, Damon,” Stefan nods as he taps his brother on the shoulder with one hand and Damon turns to face her. “Damon, this is Bonnie.”

“You were great.” Damon extends a hand out to her. “Totally worth him begging me to come with him.”

“Begging, huh?” Bonnie raises an eyebrow curiously. “I didn’t know you needed a chaperone.”

There’s a look on his face that has her thinking she might have hit a little too close to home, and her eyes wander instead to the bottled water sitting on the bar next to him. Dots start to connect and … oh. Stefan seems to catch the line of her eyes and he looks like he’s about to say something and she cuts him off.

“You want to get out of here?”

He blinks. “Don’t you have an adoring public to greet?” He nods towards the cluster of friends in the back corner.

She shrugs. “They’re not going anywhere. And I could really use some pizza.”

Stefan shrugs in return and glances back to Damon who waves him off. He’s getting along well with the brunette with a pixie cut he’s been chatting up, so Stefan turns back to Bonnie with a smile.

“I know just the place.”

- - - - - -

Abruzzio’s is quiet this time of night, but they stay open late to see what they can catch of the bar crowd. Stefan and Bonnie find themselves at a quiet booth in the back, and they’re about halfway through their slices and a conversation about nothing when she holds up a hand.

“So this is going to be awkward no matter how I do it, so I’m just going to say it. How long have you been sober?”

“About a year.” It’s not an awkward question to answer, but more he doesn’t always feel at ease bringing it up, so he’s grateful that she takes the opportunity to break the ice. “This time anyway. The time before that it was about three years, but … it’s a process, you know? You’re not always going to be perfect at it.”

“So was tonight your first time in a bar since …”

Stefan swallows, then nods. “Yeah, it is. That’s why I brought Damon.”

“You know, I appreciate it, but you could have just said no. I don’t want you to think you have to risk your sobriety for me or something like that.”

Stefan laughs, before shaking his head. “Trust me, Damon as my brother is a risk to my sobriety, and I manage to handle him just fine.” Then, a little more seriously. “As much as I may hate it, alcohol is everywhere. I have to learn how to deal somehow. And I really wanted to see your band. It was important to you.”

Bonnie’s head tips to the side and a slow grin crosses her face. “So does that mean I’m important to you?”

“I think getting to know you is important to me. And I like what I’ve learned so far.”

“Good. Because I think I’m liking what I’m getting to know too.”

That makes Stefan smile in return, before glancing down at is watch. “If you don’t have somewhere else to be, I think this place is open for another hour. We could get to know each other some more.”

“I’d like that,” she nods. “But we’re going to need more pizza.”

Stefan laughs, before holding up his hand to get the waiter’s attention. “I think we can make that happen.”

Edited 2019-03-10 02:50 (UTC)

“Hale? Someone came to bail you out.”

Derek glances up in confusion from his place in the holding cell and squints at the Sheriff. He hadn’t called anyone, and more importantly, he doesn’t have anyone to bail him out, and the Sheriff shrugs in return.

“Yeah, I was just as surprised as you were, but they did.” The older man gestures with one hand for him to come forward to the front and Derek does as he’s told, making his way into the bullpen. His eyes scan the room, looking for who the person in question could possibly be, and it’s not long before his eyes land on a slim brunette woman signing paperwork at the desk and his jaw drops just slightly.

“So you do know her,” the sheriff fills in and Derek nods. It isn’t long before she finally looks up and fixes him with a look that lets him know he’s in trouble.

“You don’t call, you don’t write …”

To his credit (or maybe not), he manages not to flinch at the annoyance in her tone, but his hands quietly ball into fists in the pocket of his jacket.

“Hey Fi.”

- - - - - -

They were kids when they met, all those years ago. Fiona’s sister had just started dating the local alpha’s son, down in San Francisco, and back then, Talia brought her children to their shared pack meetings. Victor and his father were the only alphas she had trusted in that respect – Derek and Cora never got taken to meetings with Deucalion or Ennis. Still, Derek and Fiona hit it off fairly quickly, and kept in touch up until the fire.

She looked for him. For years, she searched for signs of Derek or Laura or Cora, but there was nothing, up until a police report went out, talking about an arrest in a murder named Derek Hale, and she’s driving into Beacon Hills at a moment’s notice. She’s honestly surprised that there’s even a bail for her to pay with a murder, but she figures that the case isn’t that strong. All the same, the car is silent as they pull away from the parking lot, heading out into the darkness of the local roads.

“Where are you staying?”

It’s not what she wants to ask, and he probably knows it, but she asks it anyway, trying to focus on the small talk end of things before she dives deeper into the things she knows he really doesn’t want to talk about.

“Up at the house.”

There’s a breath as she processes that, before glancing over briefly as she drives. “Sorry, your old house?”

“Yep.”

“The one that literally burned down?”

“There’s still enough standing.”

Her mouth gapes, hands flexing outward on the steering wheel as she tries to process that. “That place is condemned, Derek, it’s not safe.”

“I’ll heal.” He states it as though it’s the most obvious answer, almost as though he feels like he deserves to have three stories of char and ash collapse on him, and she shakes her head.

“Nope. Not tonight.” She takes the turn for the preserve anyway, and she can see his brow furrowing at her in confusion out of the corner of her eye. “You’ve been in that cell what? Twelve hours? You probably need stuff to shower and clean clothes, and I’m assuming if you’re sleeping in the house that’s where your stuff is too.”

One eyebrow rises in response. “And you’re trusting me to come back out again?”

“Werewolf or not, six years gone or not, I can still kick your scrawny ass up and down this preserve, so if you don’t come back out, I will come in there after you and run you out.” Her tone flags as they pull up to the front of the house and she sees the extent of the damage for the first time. She hasn’t been back to Beacon Hills before now, and it’s hard to see a house that once had so much life in it look the way it does now. She swallows hard, before turning to look at him more seriously. “Besides. I just paid to guarantee that you’ll show up in court. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

Derek looks over at her, and she can tell that he’s weighing the options and which one would be the easiest for him to handle, and in the end he decides that fighting Fiona is not worth the energy. It’s both a smart and correct decision. He disappears into the house, and ten minutes later he comes back out with a duffle bag in hand that he tosses into the back seat of her SUV.

“Just until I either get cleared or you get your bail money back. Or both.”

It’s not a lot, but for the moment, she’ll take it.

- - - - - -

The hotel is somewhere between the high priced fancy buildings that Victor usually shells out for and something cheap and crappy. She talks the front desk into swapping her originally assigned room for something with two beds, and Derek doesn’t deny the fact that a shower and a clean change of clothes is actually what he needed. Instead, he stays quiet and broody, leaning against the headboard and staring out one of the balcony windows. The silence is deafening in a way she didn’t anticipate, and she’s trying to figure out how to get some kind of answer out of him.

“I know you didn’t kill Laura.”

The way he glares at her indicates that it’s a sore spot, but it’s a good starting point for filling her in on what’s going on in Beacon Hills. He continues to stew for a little bit longer before he finally spits out:

“No. Another wolf stole it to become an alpha.” Once that comes out, the rest starts to follow, almost as though he’s realizing that sometimes talking can help you feel better. “After he did, he bit some dumbass kid and turned him. He and his equally dumbass friend found where I buried Laura, decided that it must have been me who did it, and called the Sheriff on me.”

Fiona pinches the bridge of her nose. “Need me to go smack some sense into this kid?”

Derek shakes his head. “He doesn’t know she was my sister.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Derek.”

“He doesn’t know what to think or who to trust. He didn’t ask to be this, Fi. He just got sucked into things.”

She deflates, backing off just a little. “Do you know who the alpha is?”

“Not yet. I was trying to figure that out when I got arrested.”

“Well, once we get you cleared, we can move on to that next.”

His eyes look up at her, wide, almost as though he didn’t expect for this transaction to go longer than just getting him out of prison. “This isn’t your problem, Fiona.”

“Tough shit, it is now.”

“Fiona.”

“Don’t Fiona me. I spent six years thinking the worst, that you might be dead in a ditch somewhere, so forgive me if I don’t let you out of my sight for a while.”

He almost looks blindsided by the fact that she actually cares, and she has to wonder how long it’s been since he’s had anyone in his life other than Laura. Then, there’s something close to shame on his face as he looks away again. Fiona’s hands drop against the in-room dresser, slumping as she leans against it.

“Why didn’t you guys come to us? Come to Victor, at least.”

“We didn’t want to put you guys at risk.” His voice is quiet and robotic, like it’s an answer he’s been practicing, preparing for this conversation even though he didn’t know when he was going to have it. “We knew hunters were looking for us, and we didn’t want to lead them right to you.”

“You could have at least called?”

“Why? So you could try and make me feel better?” He scoffs at the prospect, and Fiona recoils, confused.

“I don’t know! But yeah, being there for you was a part of it. Because that’s what friends do, asshole.”

His head whips around like part of him is surprised that she’s insulting him and trying to make him feel better in the same breath, but there’s also something in him that relaxes. Maybe it’s the idea of having someone on his side for the first time in a while. She doesn’t know but she wants him to keep relaxing.

“This is my fault, Fi.”

She knew that that was coming, but it doesn’t annoy her any less than when she was rationalizing it in her head. “She used you, Derek.”

“And I fell for it!”

“Yeah! You’re a person! People fuck up sometimes! But punishing yourself by living in a condemned house and refusing good help when it’s offered isn’t going to help you put it right. Especially when rumor has it that she’s already on her way into town.”

There’s a mixed bag of emotions that comes with the revelation of that information, which she expected. She moves forward, placing her hands on his shoulders gently to keep his attention on her.

“Let me help you, Derek. Let me be here for you. You don’t deserve to do this alone.”

Derek sighs, before looking up at her – probably the first time since he found out she was in Beacon Hills – and shakes his head. “You’re staying whether I want you to or not, aren’t you?”

“One hundred percent.”

He sighs, before flopping back against the bed dramatically. “Fine.”

“Good,” she nods as she goes to flop next to him. He shifts slightly, his shoulder moving to press against hers briefly.

“Hey, Fi?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for bailing me out.”

She turns to face him, before pushing up and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “That’s what friends are for.” She then looks him in the eye again. “We’ll find the alpha, Derek.”

“I know.”

It’s hard to tell if he considers that a good thing or not, but for now, she’s doing her best to look on the bright side. For better or worse, they’re still in this together.

“So. Tell me about this beta.”

Edited 2019-03-09 05:57 (UTC)

Jessica wakes to the insistent buzzing of her phone across the wood surface of her nightstand which is odd for two reasons. One, most people know better than to call her at this hour of the morning. Two, she actually managed to charge her phone like a responsible adult?

She picks her head up to look at the screen, follows the white adapter cord from the base of her phone to the outlet in the wall, and silently gives herself a pat on the back. Maybe drinking slightly less is actually doing wonders for her. Regardless she slaps her hand outward to grab the phone, not recognizing the number so answering it with her usual cranky flair:

“What?”

“That how you answer the phone to everyone?”

It takes Jessica a second to place the voice, the detective that got her arm cut off in the aftermath of the whole Hand debacle. It doesn’t make her regret her general lack of manners, but it does lessen a bit of her bite. “Only when I don’t recognize the number.” She shifts into more of a sitting position, before leaning against the headboard. “But since I haven’t broken any laws lately, it’s got me wondering what you want, Detective.”

“While I have a hard time believing that, knowing you, this isn’t actually about you. It’s about Luke.”

The silence sits heavy in the room as she tries to calculate any number of worst case scenarios this could be a result of, but in the end she just swallows hard, and goes to shove herself out of bed. “Is he okay?”

“Physically, yes. Everything else … ” There’s a pause, and Jessica can already tell that he’s in some kind of trouble. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee. I’ll drop you a pin.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there.” Jessica hangs up the phone and can’t help the heavy sigh as she runs a hand over her face. “Goddamnit, Luke.”

This had been shaping up for such a good day.

- - - - -

The location Misty gives her is across the street from a night club called Harlem’s Paradise. True to form, Misty didn’t call her to some kind of coffee shop, but passed her a cup of warm coffee once she arrived. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for the free coffee,” Jessica replies, taking a long sip, before turning back to her. “Though I’m surprised you’re calling me. Danny’s probably more likely to get through to him than I am these days.”

“Oh, we have a lot to catch you up on,” Misty chuckles. “Danny’s not the Iron Fist anymore and is off on walkabout in Asia, Collen is the Iron Fist now but she’s got bigger things to worry about, and … well, there’s a chance that this could get messy.”

“So you need someone who actually stands a chance of throwing down with him.” Jessica isn’t the best person, really, but given that she’s at least taken him down once before there’s at least precedent. “What about Claire?”

Misty’s eyebrows go up. “Luke and Claire broke up a while ago. Does no one tell you anything?”

“I’m not exactly on the phone chain.” Jessica’s tone is mild, because she’s aware of how this makes her look as a friend. “With how things went down with me and Luke the last time, we were giving each other some space.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hey, at least I know Matt’s alive.” But that happened to be splattered on the front page of every newspaper when he tried to take on Wilson Fisk – again. She still owes him a punch to the face for not filling the rest of them in, but that’s a conversation for another time.

Misty laughs, before shaking her head. “Let’s not get started on that mess and just focus on the matter at hand. Which is Luke Cage.”

“So why are we standing outside some night club? I thought he was working out of a barbershop.”

“He was. Until Mariah Dillard left him the night club in her will.”

“That was nice of her. What does this have to do with me?”

“The nightclub was the epicenter of her crime empire. Whoever controls Harlem’s Paradise, controls the streets of Harlem. That’s the way it’s been since I was a kid, and no matter who’s hands it passes into, that’s never really changed.”

“And I take it giving it to Luke isn’t necessarily a good thing?” Luke is a good guy. It’s one of the things Jessica liked about him, way back when. She finds it hard to believe that that kind of moral center is going to get eroded away just because someone hands him a crime empire, but she also knows that Misty wouldn’t call her unless she absolutely had to.

“Yeah. He thought that if he had control of the streets he could use it to make things better. Work from the inside out. But you and I both know that giving someone that much power means that things can go real bad, real quick.”

Jessica swallows hard before she takes another sip of her coffee and weighs her options. She’s not wrong about people with power. It does have a way of going to their heads. But Luke has always struck her as someone who was balanced in that respect – he’s had power for a long time, and he hasn’t exercised that in the wrong ways, at least in her experience. But time changes people too.

In the end, she thinks it’s worth it to investigate. If Misty’s wrong and Luke is fine, then Luke is fine. If Misty is right, and something is up with him, then Misty isn’t wrong about the fact that there are only so many people who would be able to go toe to toe with him.

“I’ll look into it.” She swallows hard. “Let me start with what you’re looking at and see what I can dig up?”

Misty nods, before gesturing for Jessica to follow her back to her car. She pulls out a stack of police files for closed cases, some of the information redacted for privacy reasons, and she gives her a small smile. “I know I’m a hardass, Jones, but I really hope there’s nothing to see here. I want to believe that he’s doing good with this just as much as he is. But … right now it just doesn’t feel like it.”

“Don’t worry. I get it.” Jessica wishes she didn’t, but she doesn’t blame Misty for being cautious. “I’ll be in touch.”

Misty nods, before moving to get into her car. “Oh, and Jessica? Be careful.”

“Always am.”

- - - - - -

She’s halfway into a bottle of whiskey and three quarters of the way through the stack of police files that Misty had given her, when there’s a knock on her door. At first she doesn’t want to answer it, but when she waits in the silence for too long, the person behind it decides to argue his case.

“I know you’re in there, Jess.” The timbre of Luke’s voice makes her freeze, because she knows this isn’t a coincidence. She keeps silent a little while longer and he continues. “I saw your light on and Malcolm says you’ve been in there all day.”

Jessica’s eyes roll up to the ceiling, before she shuffles the papers and files out of view, into one of the drawers in her desk. After finishing the last of her glass, she pushes up to her feet and makes her way to the door to open it.

“Well. Isn’t this a surprise.”

In reality, it is. She’s not used to seeing him dressed the way he is now, dressed in a suit that likely cost more than her apartment, and flanked by two men that she doesn’t recognize. She does her best to keep her face schooled and leans in to block the entrance. She doesn’t intend to let him in if she can help it, though she likely isn’t going to.

“What do you want, Luke?”

“Not even going to invite me in?”

“Kinda busy. Working on a case. If you had called ahead, I would have told you that.”

“Is that case part of the reason why my boys caught you and Misty Knight talking outside Harlem’s Paradise today?”

“Your boys?” Her eyebrows go up in curiosity with that assessment. “You have boys now?”

“Can we talk about this inside, Jess? Please?”

She watches him, trying to get a read on him, before glancing to the men behind him. “Just you. Your boys stay outside.”

Luke huffs, then nods, and she steps aside to let him into the apartment. He strides in, eyes scanning the room as though he’s looking for something, but he smirks as the door closes. “Good to see your general aesthetic hasn’t changed.”

“Not all of us get to inherit fancy music clubs,” Jessica jabs back, for no good reason at all. She knows that it’s because he’s caught her off guard by being here, and he’s going to know that too, just by virtue of knowing her. He doesn’t seem to take offense to it, just looks amused as he goes to take a seat in front of her desk.

“So that was you at Harlem’s Paradise today.”

“Misty wanted my help on a case.” She tries to keep her tone as casual as possible, trying to make it seem like there isn’t any tension between them, despite the fact that there clearly is. “That’s where she wanted to meet.”

“So it was just a coincidence?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Am I your case, Jessica?”

She eyes him as she weighs her options, before shaking her head. “She’s concerned about you, Luke. But no. The people she’s looking for just happened to be last seen at Harlem’s Paradise. She was giving me a place to start.” She leaves out the part where Misty is concerned about Luke being the cause for them being missing. But maybe Jessica can spin it so that Luke is a potential victim, rather than a potential culprit. She raises her eyebrows as she leans back in her seat. “Heard anything about it?”

“I have, actually. And I’m handling it.”

“Handling it because you’re involved or handling it because you know who’s responsible?”

“Handling it because these people are my responsibility. Look, I don’t know what kind of story Misty’s been telling you …”

“She doesn’t have to tell me a story. She has something called evidence, Luke,” Jessica sighs heavily, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Five people, who all worked for you. And you know how Mariah and her brother liked to handle things when it came to employees they had issues with.”

“And Mariah and Cottonmouth aren’t me, Jessica. You know me better than that.”

“Do I? We haven’t exactly talked in a while.” She doesn’t say that to deride him for it because communication goes both ways and she didn’t pick up the phone either. The tense line of Luke’s mouth sets for a moment, before he exhales and tries again.

“They also usually left bodies. If I were looking to send a message, why haven’t any of them been found yet?”

He does have her there. Another silence fills the room, before she asks her next question. “If not you then who?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“You don’t have any enemies? No one trying to take your seat at the table? Someone who doesn’t like the way you’re doing things? You gotta give me something here, Luke.”

Another long silence fills the room, and this time she doesn’t jump at the chance to try and fill it. She waits him out, giving him room to find the answer that he doesn’t want to look for himself. Long beats stretch between them, and it’s almost as though she expects him to blow her off again. But before her will is broken in that regard, he spits out a name.

“Tilda Johnson. Mariah’s daughter.”

“What does she have against you?”

“Harlem’s Paradise was supposed to be hers. Or at least that’s where it was supposed to go, anyway. But from what I could tell, she didn’t really seem like she wanted it.”

“So it would be weird for her to hold a grudge about it.”

“Yeah.”

Jessica nods slowly, before leaning forward to write down the name. “I’ll check it out.”

“Jessica …”

She holds up her hands. “I’m not on anyone’s side here. Not the cops and not yours. I just want to find these people. And technically, Misty has dibs on anything I find.” Luke sobers and nods. “And you know I’m going to find the truth, Luke. So if there’s anything I need to know, tell me now.”

Luke sighs and gets to his feet, adjusting the front of his suit as he prepares to leave. “There’s nothing there I haven’t already told you.”

“Good,” Jessica nods as she goes to walk him out. Once the door is closed behind him, she leans back against it for a moment, before shaking her head. “I really hope you’re right about that.”

- - - - - -

A few weeks later, Jessica has the answers, and they make neither party happy, which likely means they’re the closest to the truth. Luke wasn’t wrong about Tilda Johnson, she certainly was trying to move against him and Jessica nearly got poisoned for her trouble. The bodies of Luke’s people were recovered, all poisoned by Johnson and left somewhere where she clearly thought they would never be found.

Misty isn’t entirely wrong about Luke either.

She’s sitting in his office at Harlem’s Paradise, staring up at the walls around them before turning her attention back to him. She’s too weak to try and be coy about this particular subject, her body still recovering from the almost-poisoning, so she just spits it out.

“You know this isn’t you, right?” Her head tips to the side, watching him as he processes it. “Mob boss isn’t really your style?”

Luke stares back at her for a moment, looking a bit more like the man she used to know. His vest and jacket were draped over a chair somewhere and the tie was gone, leaving an open collar and rolled up sleeves. The designer shirt he’s wearing had bullet holes in it, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Hazard of being the bulletproof man, but Jessica feels like this is the normal he should be looking for.

“I think mob boss is a little strong.” Her eyebrows go up, and he sighs. “But fair.”

“What happened to the whole hero thing?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, that ‘whole hero thing’ makes it hard to pay the bills.”

“So your response is ‘a life of crime’?”

“Someone had to take this seat, Jessica,” he sighs, placing his hands on the table. “If it wasn’t filled, there would have been a vacuum, and someone like Tilda Johnson or worse could have picked up right where Mariah and Cottonmouth left off. Someone needed to be in here, trying to make an effort to make things different. To control things. And you gotta admit that I’m the only person who’s sturdy enough to do it.”

“Unless someone shoots you in the face with a shotgun. Or poisons you.”

“Both valid concerns, but I can handle it. I’m not your problem to worry about, Jess.”

Jessica’s silence speaks volumes of things she doesn’t know how to say, or know if it would even be right to say. So instead of trying to sort all that out, she swallows hard and pushes up to her feet. “It wouldn’t be some kind of burden if you were.” Another pause, and she reaches for her jacket. “Just be careful, okay, Luke? Don’t put Misty in a position where she has to call Colleen instead.”

“I will. I got this handled. I promise.”

Jessica nods as she turns to walk out, because she really doesn’t think he does, but now isn’t the time or place to say that. She grabs her bag and her camera and before she can reach the door, his voice stops her in her tracks.

“It was good seeing you, Jessica.”

Her hand hesitates, drumming her fingers gently against the wood, before she glances back with a small smile.

“Yeah, Luke. You too.”

Edited 2019-03-10 22:17 (UTC)

You could hear a pin drop the moment he enters the room.

It’s a natural reaction, honestly, to seeing a man who has long since been thought dead stride his way into the Lord Merlyn’s court, but there he is, tall and strong, almost as though he had never disappeared and honestly, he takes Laurel’s breath away. He shouldn’t – there are so many reasons why – but she doesn’t deny that tug she feels towards him, that need to connect with him that’s always been there.

She feels Tommy’s hand find the small of her back. His touch is the only thing that could draw her out of her stupor, and she turns to Tommy, eyes wide. “Did you …?”

“I had no idea.”

“Lord Merlyn,” Oliver proclaims, his timbre strong and booming, and real. “I hope you don’t mind the interruption, but after seeing my family home for the first time in five years, I knew there were two other faces I needed to see.”

Malcolm seems just as stunned as they are, and it takes him a moment to recover before he leans forward. “Lord Queen, your home is my home, and that will never change. But pray tell, what of the rest of the Queen’s Gambit?”

“Unfortunately, my lord, I was the only survivor. It took the last five years for me to fight my way home.”

“I see. Please take my condolences at the passing of your father.” Malcolm looks shifty, but in the end he rises to leave. “I’ll leave you to your reunions.” Oliver nods his thanks before his attention is then brought to the couple sitting at the table in front of him – more specifically, to her.

“Laurel –”

Before he can even the sentence, she can’t help herself. She finds her feet beneath her and she runs.

- - - - -

Life in Starling City has never been a particularly easy one. The people who can’t afford to have more for their life are the ones that tend to suffer the most, as true in any town. Laurel’s family wasn’t particularly wealthy, but she was the Sheriff’s daughter, she had more of an advantage than most. Add to that the fact that she seemed to catch the eye of one of the most eligible bachelors, heir to the Queen family fortune, and her life was practically ideal.

Laurel always wanted more. She wanted to be able to fight for the people who deserved it, intended to use her position of Oliver’s wife in order to make some much needed reforms, and Oliver was willing to let her do it. Despite his wandering eyes, he loved her, and he seemed to agree that things needed to change just as much as Laurel wanted to change them.

And then, shortly before their wedding, the Queen’s Gambit disappeared, presumably never to be seen again. Five years had passed since Laurel had last seen Oliver, and she had been starting to move on, to make other choices for herself, to ensure her family’s future, and it seems almost too good to be true that that’s when Oliver would swoop back into her life again. It’s too much, and all she can do is retreat to the gardens where she can collect her thoughts.

To his credit, Oliver gives her that time, likely talking to Tommy and reforming that relationship, but even she knew she couldn’t outrun him forever. As her fingers run over the soft petals of the flower in front of her, she hears his voice behind her again.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, before.”

Laurel hesitates, the hand plucking the flower for the moment, so she had something to do with their hands. “I suppose there was no real way to avoid that.”

“Coming back from the dead can be quite complicated that way.” He takes a few steps closer, before one hand reached out to play with the end of her flower, hovering just out of the reach of her hands. “I also never meant to leave you – I hope you understand that.”

“Why come back?” She doesn’t want to believe that this is about her – she’s too sensible for that, but it’s hard to miss the quietly wounded expression at the suggestion. “You’re not exactly making any professions of love, Oliver. It almost sounds as though you’re content with the way you found things.” Her, engaged to another man. Him, free of any obligations to her. The hurt look in his eyes only intensifies, before he looks away.

“It’s complicated.”

“You’ve already said that.”

“There’s work I need to do. A promise I need to keep.” Oliver starts to step away, almost as though he isn’t prepared for the intensity of the conversation and doesn’t want to dig himself into a deeper hole.

“More important than your promise to me?” She’s quiet, hoping that he will have an immediate answer but when he doesn’t: “I care about Tommy, Oliver, but he’s not you. What I have with him isn’t the same as what we had.”

“Had, Laurel. It isn’t there anymore. There’s been too much time.” This conversation seems too easy and too convenient, but in the end, the solution he’s offering is the simplest one. Laurel marries Tommy and Oliver starts over, as any newly resurrected man probably should. Still, before he leaves, he steps back in again, and presses a kiss to her cheek gently. “I just wanted you to know that I never forgot you. I wouldn’t have made it back here without you.”

Laurel closes her eyes at the touch, before nodding. “Then I’m glad you made it back.”

Oliver gives her hand a small squeeze and he steps away, and just like that, Oliver Queen is gone from her life, yet again.

- - - - - -

Just when Oliver returns, things begin to change.

A roving group of bandits sets up shop in the woods around Starling City, taking on the rich feudal lords and somehow funneling the money back into the city, so that the poorer people could finally recoup some of the losses those rich lords had impressed upon them. It’s everything Laurel had ever wanted to do, and somehow she doesn’t have to lift a finger. The only downside to it, really, is that pressure is on her father to identify these bandits, and for the most part, he hasn’t been able to succeed. Merlyn even goes so far as to accuse him of working with these vigilantes, which is ridiculous, but it’s enough to light a fire and things start to get riskier and riskier.

She’s staying at the Merlyn Manor one night, when there’s a sound of ruckus in the rooms below. She retreats to her bedroom, closing and barricading the door behind her and trying to see what she might be able to use for a weapon when a shadow appears over her balcony. She turns, clutching a chair to her chest in the face of the hooded figure, and he holds up a hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Laurel.”

It takes her a moment to recognize the voice, but when she does, her jaw drops in surprise. Oliver never had an interest in politics. Oliver never had an interest in helping the people that served them. None of it made sense, and when he pulls his hood back to reveal his true identity, she drops the chair in surprise.

“Oliver …”

“We don’t have time. We have to go.”

“Go? Where are we … ” Before she can finish the question, the acrid smell of smoke fills the air, and she turns back towards the closed door behind her. “Is there a fire?”

Oliver takes her by the arm, pulling her towards him, and she does because it’s an easy enough choice, engrained in her after being engaged for so long, but she’s still so confused. “I promised I would keep you safe. We need to go now.”

“What about Tommy?”

“He’s going to meet us, later. Please, Laurel, I need you to trust me.”

He’s leaning against the balcony now, holding his arm out to her with his other hand wrapped around the rope that he used to climb in here. She doesn’t hesitate, reaching forward and throwing her arms around his neck and letting him carry her away to the horse below. After that, it’s not long before they’re hitting the tree line, and she wraps her arms around his waist to keep her steady on the horse.

The ride itself is a short one. They reach a small alcove in the woods where a group of men is waiting for them. Oliver helps her down from the horse, and she manages to finally put two and two together. “You’re part of the bandits. You’re the one who’s been attacking the other lords.”

“He’s not the only one.”

She turns to see Tommy standing behind her, and she throws herself into his arms, relief that he’s okay flooding her, and he returns the hug just as tightly.

“I don’t understand,” she says as she finally releases him and looks back to the rest of the group. “Why are you doing this?”

“Our parents and the other leaders of the town haven’t just been abusing the people they rule over – they’ve been planning something much, much worse,” Tommy sighs. “Spearheaded by my father, unfortunately.”

“So the fire tonight was you trying to stop his plans?”

“More or less. He retreated and he has allies, so the work isn’t one, but we’re hoping that we’ll be able to gain on him and stop him for good.”

She glances between Oliver and Tommy, her two best friends, her two loves, and she knows that this is something she can’t not be a part of – and she assumes that they have to know the same, given that they’re telling her all of this. She straightens her shoulders, nods and gives a small smirk.

“Where do we start?”

Edited 2019-03-12 02:12 (UTC)

“Maybe Derek can handle it?”

Derek’s head snaps down from the space he was staring into at the sound of his name, and he glances between his sister and his uncle as they stare him down. There’s a moment where his brain is wracking itself for a response, trying to figure out what responsibility, if any, is being handed off to him, and eventually he settles on:

“Sorry, what is Derek handling?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “The merger with Argent Industries. Kate and I have found ourselves at an impasse, so Laura is suggesting that we try to have someone else represent our interests.”

“So you’re basically sending me in to let Kate eat me alive?” Derek thinks this is a terrible idea and the two of them should be ashamed of themselves, honestly. “If Peter can’t handle her, what makes you think I can?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it might throw her off her game enough that she caves and give us everything we want.” Laura throws up her hands. “I don’t know, I just know what we do have isn’t working.”

Derek glances between the two of them, recognizing that there might be no way he’s making it out of this unscathed, but he tries for one last ditch effort. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Peter replies, placing his notes down in front of his nephew. “Don’t screw it up.”

Derek deflates against his chair as he watches both of them go, staring into the stack of paperwork that Peter’s left for him to go through. He grumbles, before moving forward to scoop it up. “This is going to suck.”

- - - - - -

“You do realize that you’re not getting anything done, right?”

Allison didn’t want to be the one to bring this up, but apparently she needs to be the adult in the room when it comes to the Hales. Every time Kate steps into the room with Peter, they begin arguing and nothing gets done. Perhaps that would have been true no matter which member of the family had been sent to meet him, and that Peter is as much of an asshole as they claimed, but none of that really mattered.

This merger is happening. Talia Hale and her father have already signed the paperwork. They just needed to nail down the details.

Kate raises an eyebrow back at Allison, almost as though she’s surprised that her niece has bothered to speak up. “He’s the one who’s not willing to concede anything – this is a merger, not a hostile takeover. He doesn’t get to leave us the only ones unhappy.”

Allison sighs as she rolls her eyes. “He can’t concede anything if we’re not doing the same. This is supposed to be a negotiation.”

“Allison does have a point, Kate,” Victoria sighs as she looks over at her daughter. “As detestable as Peter Hale can be, he can’t give anything up if we aren’t willing to compromise.”

Kate seems surprised that people seem to be siding with Allison. “What would you suggest, then? Because I have to go back to the table with him tomorrow.”

“Perhaps we should send Allison instead?”

“I’m sorry, what?” The question comes out of both of them in tandem, Allison genuinely shocked that her mother is willing to put this in her hands, but she isn’t deterred – if anything, she’s excited for the prospect of being able to prove herself.

“Allison’s been making strides in learning the ins and outs of the company, and she at least seems willing to compromise. Maybe it’ll be enough to throw Peter off his game temporarily and get us a few concessions.”

Kate glances back to Allison again, before shrugging. “Sure. I think anything is worth a shot at this point.” She moves closer to pass off her research and gives Allison’s shoulder a squeeze. “Knock him dead, Ally.”

Allison grins in response as she pulls the research to her chest. This is going to be fun.

- - - - - - -

Derek finds himself juggling multiple papers and files as he carries himself down the hallway, knowing that he’s running late, but there’s nothing he can really do about it at this point. Lateness is happening, Kate is just going to have to deal with it. Still, he berates himself with every step, knowing that she’s going to exploit this as a moment of weakness and Peter is going to kill him, but there’s only so much he can do with a schedule as packed as his is.

“Sorry!” he preemptively says as he throws open the door and makes his way inside. “Sorry I’m late, my last meeting got – ” His voice cuts off when he looks up and he blinks in surprise. “ – held up.”

Sitting in front of him is a girl closer to his own age, with shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes. He knows who she is, but his brain is short circuiting with how they both seem to be taken by surprise that all he can manage to spit out is:

“You’re not Kate.”

“No,” Allison replies. “And you’re not Peter.”

“Definitely not.” He seems to regain something of his faculties, and he moves towards the table to put his stuff down. “He and my sister thought that throwing someone else in might knock Kate off her game.”

Allison smirks. “I thought it might be a good idea to switch things up so something could actually get things done.”

“Guess we both played ourselves, then.”

Allison laughs, and Derek can’t help the smile that crosses his face in response. She has a nice laugh. The thought crosses his mind as quickly as it is gone, and for the moment, he’s not going to dwell on it too much.

“Guess we should put our money where our mouth is and actually get things done?” she says as she begins to page through her far more organized paperwork, and Derek sighs as he goes to try and get himself organized.

“Guess we should.” He picks up his pen and flashes her a smile. “I am more than ready to make Peter look bad.”

She grins and there again is that fleeting thought about how Allison Argent has a great smile. He shakes it off, and pulls up the first order of business on his laptop.

“Okay. Item number one …”

- - - - - -

“So do you think he’s hot?”

The question comes at her like a curveball during her lunch with Lydia, and Allison’s head whips around, before blinking at her in surprise. Lydia is her best friend, but Allison often wonders if she jumps to these erroneous conclusions to save herself from the boredom of the accounting department.

“What?”

“Derek Hale,” Lydia replies, as though the confusion was based on which hot guy she was talking about. “Do you think he’s hot?”

“No,” Allison replies, a little too quickly and she kicks herself for it as soon as it leaves her mouth, but she’s not going to give that away if she can help it. “It’s just business meetings.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Lydia pauses for a moment, before tipping her head to the side. “Your shoes are at least two inches higher than normal, you’re checking you make up before you go into meetings with him, and you’ve been wearing really good bras lately.”

Allison’s mouth gapes as she tries to come up with the right response. “I … am trying to distract him.” The excuse sounds lame the moment it comes out of her mouth, because even she knows it’s a lie. She’d never admit that there are aspects of Derek that she does find attractive, and that brokering this deal has been a much more pleasant experience than if she was trying to deal with Peter, but she’s not trying to date him. She can’t be trying to date him – not right now.

“So you’re trying to use your boobs to give yourself an advantage?” Lydia sounds incredulous, and she’s right, because that doesn’t sound like Allison at all. But she doesn’t try to call her out on it, and just responds with: “Okay.”

Allison sighs, before shaking her head. “Even if I did think he’s hot, that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it. We’re trying to broker a merger.”

“Sure you are,” Lydia straightens before leaning in to her again. “But eventually the merger will happen and you’ll just be coworkers. And then what?”

“Then he’s still a Hale and I’m still an Argent, and it just … wouldn’t work. No matter how much we may actually like each other.” Their families are always going to be a stumbling block, and more to the point, she doesn’t even know if Derek is interested in her like that. “It’s just a merger. It’s best to leave it at that.”

“Suit yourself.” The waiter comes to drop off the check and Lydia goes to reach for her credit card to hand off for her half of the tab. “But for what it’s worth? He’s totally checking out your butt as you walk away.”

Allison makes a show of rolling her eyes, but deep down, there’s a part of her that’s more than a little pleased at that.

- - - - - -

“You’re staring.”

Isaac’s voice snaps Derek out of his stupor, an amused smirk sitting on his lips when Derek turns around, directing his attention away from where Allison is talking to one of the managers on the floor. His mouth is a little dry, and he immediately reaches for a plastic cup off the water cooler to take care of that.

“I’m what?”

“You’re staring. Specifically, you’re staring at Allison Argent.”

“What?” Derek scoffs. “No I’m not.”

His friend snorts. “Okay. Sure you’re not.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“I’m taking lunch.” Derek starts to walk away and Isaac falls in step next to him, sliding one arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Staring at her isn’t a bad thing, you know. She’s very nice to stare at.”

“Don’t let HR catch you saying that. You might be told that you’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, because you actively staring totally isn’t doing the same thing.” Eventually Isaac tugs him into the breakroom and goes to fish his lunch out of the fridge. “And honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you’re starting to show an interest in someone again. It’s been a while.”

“For you or for me?”

Isaac gives him a look. “For you, obviously.” Derek looks as though he’s about to scoff, but Isaac cuts him off before they can. “Braedan was almost a year ago, man.”

“So?”

“So you need to get yourself back out there. Take out someone new. Maybe get laid, so you become a bit less of a dick.” That earns Isaac a glare, and this time the younger man smirks. “Allison’s nice. You clearly like her. Just ask her out.”

“We’re in the middle of a merger. I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to take advantage of her.”

“Then wait until the merger’s over, and then ask her out. The worst she can do is say no.”

Derek huffs, before moving to the fridge and fishing out his own lunch. “We’ll see what happens when the merger is over.” He pauses. “And if any of you breathe a word of this to Peter –”

“He’ll yank you out of there and force you to ask her out sooner? Why on earth would we want to do that?” Isaac teases, before flashing him a grin. “Don’t worry. I can keep my mouth shut.”

Derek sighs, starting to walk out, before he turns to face Isaac again. “I’m not that obvious, am I?”

“You would be less subtle if you were standing outside her window with a boom box.”

Derek glares again, before pulling out the door and heading back to his office to stew. Isaac just grins, before leaning back to dig in to his sandwich.

“Yep. I’m so winning that office pool.”

Edited 2019-03-27 20:35 (UTC)

- - - - - -

It’s late. It’s so late Allison should have been home by now, but they’re nearly finished with this deal, and they’ve both agreed that they weren’t leaving this room until they were finished, but these last few points that they’ve been toiling over are leaving them at a bit of an impasse. These should be the easiest parts of the deal, the parts that matter the least, but they’re hitting a wall.

After a moment, Derek huffs and he tosses his pen down onto the table. “Okay. We should take a break.”

“What?” Allison frowns, confused.

“We’re not getting anywhere, I’m starving, and we’re just going keep hitting a wall if we try to push through this.” Derek gets to his feet and stretches, and Allison tries not to let her eyes linger on the stretch of his arms as he does. “Let’s take a break and get something to eat.”

Allison swallows hard, and were it not for her stomach rumbling, she might have said no, but she is also starving, and shoving some food in her face sound really good at the moment. Still, the practical side of her needs to counter his offer. “We could just order in?”

“No. We need out of the office. There’s a diner down the street that makes a really good burger and I think being off the clock for an hour may do us some good.”

She sighs heavily, before nodding. “Alright. Fine. Let’s go grab a burger.”

Derek seems pleased that he got her to cave, and once she grabs her coat, he leads the way down to a local hole in the wall diner not far from the skyscraper of their corporate office. It’s a far warmer place than she would have anticipated, thinking that he might go for something more expensive and high class, but she also needs to keep reminding herself that Derek isn’t Peter. He’s not using every moment of his life to show off his sophistication and worldliness.

It’s honestly one of the things Allison likes about him.

They settle into a booth in a corner and she starts looking over the menu before she looks up at him. “How long have you been coming here?”

“Pretty much all my life,” he admits with a small smile. “When I came to work with my mom, she would take me to lunch here. Pretty much the highlight of the day.”

“Why? Didn’t like seeing your mom at work?”

“Oh, my mom is great, and it’s great that she runs her own company, but nine times out of ten, I would much rather be playing basketball or finding a corner to read in.” He places the menu down once he made his decision, before shrugging. “I was bored out of my mind.”

“But you decided to join her company anyway.”

“It felt like the right thing to do?” It seems like a creative way of saying that he didn’t know what else to do with his life, and she’s not looking to impugn his honor as a business man, but she has noticed that he isn’t driven in the way that Allison is. He’s not ambitious. He’s just trying to keep himself busy until he finds the right thing.

The waiter comes to take their orders, take their menus, and bring them food. Once that’s done, Allison tips her head to the side. “So if you could pick an ideal career – something that you actually enjoyed, what would you be doing?”

Derek raises his eyebrows as he leans in to match her. “What’s that question supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you don’t seem to enjoy business. So if you could pick a perfect job, what would it be?”

He’s quiet, studying her face as though he can’t tell if she’s serious about the question or not. Eventually, he takes a breath and leans back into the booth. “… I’d probably be teaching history.”

Allison’s eyebrows go up curiously. “Really?”

“Yeah. History’s got a lot of cool stuff. But teaching is rough and not really about teaching anymore so it doesn’t really seem worth it.”

“That’s a shame,” Allison frowns. “Working here kind of feels like you’re settling because it’s your family.”

“Aren’t you?”

“ … Not really, no,” Allison shakes her head. “Ever since my dad started teaching me about the business, I was just … all in. When I had good ideas, it made me feel … powerful, I guess. I really liked that feeling.”

“And you don’t find the pretense of it frustrating at all?”

“I find your uncle’s pretentiousness frustrating,” she fires back and he smirks, before she continues. “But … no. I actually kind of like it.” She pauses to take a sip of her soda. “Does that make me a terrible, manipulative person?”

“Maybe,” Derek admits with a bit of a laugh. “But as long as you’re manipulating people for the right reasons, I guess it’s okay?”

She pauses, before leaning in as she plays with her straw. “And if you’re the one I’m manipulating?”

His eyebrows go up. “I guess that depends on what you’re manipulating me for.”

She bites her bottom lip, and one foot drifts forward to brush against his leg. “I’m still feeling that out.”

The surprised look on his face draws into a small smirk. “I think we have to get through the merger before we make any decisions there.”

“True,” she nods. “So I guess we better eat fast and get that deal done.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think that I’m highly motivated in that respect.”

She laughs. “I guess you don’t have issues with dating your coworkers then.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, you will probably hear some stories about me by the time this is done.”

“Oh really?”

“Just … don’t believe anything Isaac says.”

“I think I need to get all the details from Isaac first thing tomorrow.”

He laughs. “I’m in so much trouble, aren’t I?”

“Oh, probably,” she sighs. “I haven’t even told you about Lydia yet.”

Derek groans as he finishes his dinner, before shaking his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t finish this deal and save me some suffering.”

Allison grins, before shaking her head as she goes to grab the check. “Why? Are you scared I might win?”

There’s a challenge to it, and she honestly doesn’t know if he’ll respond to that, but he grins in response, and that relaxes something in her she didn’t realize was tensing.

“Not scared. But I think I have a feeling I already lost.” He doesn’t really sound bothered by that fact, and Allison can’t help but be pleased by this refreshing change of pace.

“Good,” she nods. “Then let’s get back to work.”

Things come to a head between them fairly quickly, because apparently that’s the speed at which Derek Hale’s life moves these days. He doesn’t have time to do normal things like go out for coffee or drinks or dinner, he just gets life threatening situations, blood constantly ruining his clothes, and two people colliding like if they don’t they may never get the chance again.

He and Thea were going to be different. He and Thea were just going to be friends. They discussed it, like adults, and they both agreed that their lives were too complicated for anything more than that.

He and Thea are currently making out like their lives depended on it as Thea basically tears Derek out of his bloodstained clothes – he probably was going to throw them out anyway – and he peels his leather jacket off her shoulders.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers as his lips move over her neck, hands pausing at her waist as he tries to figure out whether that was a sign to stop or not, but then she’s pulling her shirt off over her head and dragging him in for a kiss again.

… So not a no then?

“Probably,” he murmurs into the kiss, hands at her waist sliding up over her back as he pulls her closer.

“We should probably stop.”

That makes him pause again. “Should I?” The silence hangs as he watches her, trying to attune what she wants, but she’s giving him a lot of mixed messages.

“It’s just … nothing’s really changed. I’ve got my whole Lazarus Pit thing. You’ve got your whole hunters trying to kill you thing.”

“For the record, the hunters trying to kill me thing doesn’t ever really go away.”

She smirks before draping her arms around his neck. “True. But right now our things aren’t exactly comingling beyond right this very moment, so … unless something changes this isn’t going to be … real. You know?”

He weighs that for a moment, before shrugging. “Unless we keep it casual.” He should have known that he was doomed the moment the words come out of his mouth, but in the moment he doesn’t think this all the way through. In fact, part of him is relieved at the thought of having something casual. Something that has zero pressure and no long term implications on his life as a whole. This could be good. This could be amazing, as far as Present Derek is concerned.

Thea’s eyebrows go up curiously. “I mean … I’m okay with that. Are you okay with that?”

“I’m definitely okay with that.”

- - - - --

“You are so not okay with that!”

The problem with your pack being a pack of teenage werewolves, as well as being mostly celibate is that one, they come over whenever they want with zero concept of calling first or personal space. Or just announcing other people’s sex lives to the entire pack without warning. To be fair, the most part is lastly Malia or Liam, because Scott at least has some sense of decorum, but Stiles is the one who gets incensed at the idea of Derek having a social life at all, and this entire situation somehow becomes much bigger than it needs to be.

Derek just turns on Stiles and stares at him for a good long moment, but Stiles refuses to relent.

“You’re terrible at relationships.”

“And you know that how?”

“All the women you’ve slept with have tried to kill us!” Derek’s eyebrows go up in response, and Stiles, heedless of any sense of delicacy holds up one finger. “Kate.” Another finger is added. “Jennifer.”

“That’s two. Two women out of my entire almost thirty years of existence.”

“Yeah, we’ll, your first girlfriend is dead –”

“How did you …”

“Peter told him,” Cora fills in before she goes back to ignoring the conversation, because why. Derek’s eyes roll back, but Stiles is still going.

“—and the other one was Braedan.”

“And what’s wrong with Braedan exactly?” Braedan herself asks as she makes her way over to sit next to Derek at the kitchen table, dropping her shotgun on top of the table and proceeding to start to clean it. Stiles swallows, before reeling himself back a bit.

“Nothing. Braedan is lovely, and an exception to the rule.”

“You are aware that I lived six years of my life between the fire and coming back to Beacon Hills.”

“I’m sorry, does that mean you did something during all that time other than brood and perfect the art of glaring?” There’s a pause as Derek’s stare intensifies. “See, the way you’re glaring at me right now is only proving my point.”

Cora rises up from her seat and grabs Stiles by the collar, dragging him out of the kitchen and into the living room. “C’mon, dumbass.”

“Can we at least get a list of her skillsets so we know how to take her down when the time comes?”

The door to the kitchen slams behind them and Derek leans back, burying his face in his hands while Braedan’s cool exterior cracks and she laughs. “Aren’t you so glad you decided to be Scott McCall’s second?”

“I regret it more and more every day,” he replied dryly, before getting up to refill his coffee cup.

“Are you ever going to tell Stiles that what we were was basically friends with benefits?”

“Nah, probably for the best,” Derek sighs. “If we did, he might start to have to think of me of a complex person with actual wants and needs.”

“Fair point. That’s probably more than his brain can handle.” There’s a pause as the pieces of the broken down shotgun line up across his kitchen table. “So who is she?”

He sighs taking the moment to pour before leaning against the counter. “Thea Queen?”

“Nyssa’s friend,” Braedan nods again. “She’s cute. Good for you.”

He turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of nice, seeing you be a normal person.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” she teases. “For thinking of you as a person with feelings?” Derek’s face is a little too serious and she laughs. “I think this could be really good for you.”

“Me too.”

- - - - - -

The first time Derek meets Oliver is unconventional to say the least. Mostly because it wasn’t intentional. If it weren’t for his supernatural hearing, he would have continued to sleep the morning away, comfortable and warm in Thea’s bed after a really long drive in the night before. Instead, he hears the door open, and he twitches awake, one hand reaching out to rest on her stomach gently.

“Thea?”

“Mmmm.”

“There’s someone in your apartment.” Her eyes open to look at him in confusion, only to widen even further when a male voice echoes through the open area of her living room.

“Thea!”

She leans in to whisper to him. “Maybe if we’re quiet, he’ll go away.” Derek, thinking this is a solid strategy, keeps his mouth shut.

“I know you’re here. I saw the cars parked out front. Where the hell did you get that Camaro?”

She groans, reaching for a robe nearby as she pushes herself up. “Stay here. I’ll make him go away.” Derek grumbles his agreement as he burrows back into the pillows, closing his eyes as he keeps an ear on the conversation from afar, just in case.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were back in town from Dig. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

“Because I didn’t even know I was coming until like … three AM last night. The only reason Dig knows is because I had to get my keys back from him and Lyla.”

“Since when do you drive a Camaro?” There’s something about that question that has Derek sitting up again, eyeing the door like he’s expecting danger to burst through it at any moment.

“Since when does it matter what I drive?”

“Is someone else here?”

“No!”

“Dig said he saw someone else driving.”

“Oh my God.”

Footsteps were coming in the direction of the bedroom, and Derek reacted without really thinking. This was Thea’s brother, and given that they’re not really anything, Derek wanted to do this on her terms, not Oliver’s. So when Oliver throws the door to her bedroom open, Derek is nowhere to be found, and in his place is a large black wolf. Both of them stare at him like they’re completely shocked by this turn of events.

Silence permeates the room, but eventually Oliver speaks first. “You got a … dog?”

Derek lets his tongue loll out of his mouth in a doggy grin.

“Yeah,” Thea says, rolling with it for now. “Being on the road on your own can be kind of lonely. I decided I wanted some company.”

“Oh.” Oliver almost looks sheepish. From the stories that Derek had heard about him, he didn’t think that Oliver was capable of such an emotion. Thea sighs, before reaching over and resting a hand on his arm, trying to steer him away again and closing the door behind her.

“Look, let’s have dinner later, okay? I’ll come by and see you and William and Felicity …”

“Actually, Felicity and I are …”

“I’ll come by and see you and William and we can catch up, okay?”

“Sure.” A pause. “You should bring the dog with you. I’m sure William would love it.” Derek snorts from his place on the bed.

“Last I checked, wasn’t William allergic to dogs?”

“I’m pretty sure …”

“You should double check and let me know tonight. Okay, Bye.”

Oliver is shoved behind the door with a click! followed by quiet, frustrated noises as Thea starts to make her way back. By the time she returns to the bedroom, Derek is human shaped again, and in the beginning stages of getting dressed.

“What the hell was that?” she asked, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“I can shift into a wolf. Did I not tell you that?” He reaches for his jeans and she comes up behind him, draping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close.

“No, I’m pretty sure you neglected to mention that. Is there a reason you decided to show me this now?”

Derek shrugged, glancing back over his shoulder at her. “Your brother was being an ass, and I’d rather meet him on your terms, not his.”

She watches him, before leaning in and kissing him soundly. He shifts one arm to brace her waist and keep her steady as he kisses her back. “Why are you getting dressed?” she asks softly, murmuring against his lips softly.

“I was going to go get breakfast.”

“Bad idea,” she shakes her head, before kissing him again. “You should stay in bed some more.” She leans her weight into him and he starts to tip backwards and onto the bed again, because who was he to argue with that plan?

“Good idea.”

That’s probably the first moment he should have realized that things have moved just slightly beyond casual.

- - - - - -

Things only get deeper and deeper from there. He knows, somewhere in his gut, that has moved out of the realm where he had been handling this previously, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. All he can do is just roll along with it, and hope that eventually there will be the right moment to speak his mind where it won’t come off like he’s trying to force his feelings onto her. The last thing he wants is for her to feel like he tricked her. But given how reluctant Derek is to talk about anything, ever, that moment has not happened yet.

When Derek does meet Oliver officially, he also finds out that he has a doppelganger on something called Earth-38, who’s wedding they were going to, and while Derek thought that him continuing to go was still a terrible idea, Thea manages to still talk him into going. Thea also announced to the entire superhero squad that he’s a werewolf, so he’s also been dodging slightly awkward questions about that all evening. He regrets everything, mostly because every five minutes someone is asking him if he’s related to the groom, is he the groom’s brother, why isn’t he in the wedding party, and it’s … a lot.

So he leaves.

Not entirely, mostly just going to stand outside for some fresh air and space. For a while he’s alone, but eventually Oliver’s gait comes out the door, moving to stand next to him awkwardly.

“Hi.”

Derek glances over and nods. “Hi.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “So. Werewolf.”

Derek sighs. This is probably the talk he was dreading the most. “Yep.”

“So the day I came to her apartment and she had a dog that mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again …”

“That was me.”

“Huh.” Another long pause. “Can all werewolves … do that?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“No.” At least Oliver is honest about that. “But I don’t think I want to know the answer to the other question either.”

Derek sits in the silence. “It wasn’t her idea. She didn’t even know I could do that until then.”

“So why did you?”

“Because everything that exists between you and Thea is only based in what you want. Not what she wants. If she had wanted me to meet you, she would have set up a dinner or took me to you to introduce me.” He huffs before turning to face Oliver more. “Even this wedding – she had her own invitation. She didn’t have to go with you. But you automatically steered it in that direction.”

“So you turned yourself into a wolf to avoid meeting me because it wasn’t what Thea wanted.”

“Basically.”

“You really care about her.”

It’s a rather perceptive comment that he doesn’t expect to come from Oliver. He stares off into the distance before turning back to him. “I do. It’s hard not to.”

Oliver nods, before reaching over and placing a hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “It is. I’m glad you came anyway.”

Derek should have been paying more attention, because it isn’t until the other man walks away that he hears the second heartbeat that had been listening the entire time.

- - - - - -

Eventually he does make his way back into the wedding, when the crazy dance music seems to have died down for the moment. Thankfully this wedding isn’t one that has left him worrying about his hearing, likely given the large group of people with super hearing in attendance. He’s making his way back to their table when Thea intercepts him on the way, sneaking her hand into his and pulling him towards the dance floor.

“Dance with me?”

He resists at first, letting her go until there’s not any give left before moving to follow her. His arms slip around her waist as hers drape around his neck, and she leans in to kiss him as they sway in time to the music.

“This is more than just casual for you now, isn’t it?”

He glances down to her, and part of him wants to simply blow it off, because Derek Hale doesn’t have feelings, or at least that’s the image he strives to project to the world. This doesn’t seem like the moment for it, though, so he just nods.

“Has been for a while.”

She smiles, before leaning in to kiss him again. “Good. Me too.”

Something in him relaxes for the first time all evening, dipping his head as he leans into the kiss. For the moment it’s just them, standing and swaying in the middle of the dance floor with the other couples, but when Thea pushes up on her toes and the kiss edges towards something a little more personal, she pulls back with a grin.

“Want to get out of here?”

His brow furrows. “And go where?”

Thea looks at him and shakes her head, before tugging on his hand again. “You really are a little dense.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he stumbles after her, heading back out of the wedding again and in to the mystery of Earth-38.

Edited 2019-02-11 04:55 (UTC)

Kate is sitting at one of the chairs in front of Gates’ desk when Richie gets called into the office, and that’s when he knows something’s Wrong. If this were just a normal day at the office, there wouldn’t be the need for moral support. It’s at that particular moment that his brain starts rolling through the possibilities of who could be dead, who could be getting fired, who could have been released, but he tries not to jump to too many conclusions right out the gate.

This could be nothing. This could also be everything.

“Take a seat, Detective.”

“All due respect, sir, I’d rather stand.” His voice is quiet, with the respect that is afforded someone of her station, and swallows hard. “Who is it?”

Kate gives him a sympathetic look. “It’s Seth.”

His eyes close. He hasn’t talked to Seth Gecko in years, but he’s already bracing himself for the inevitable gut punch. The last time they spoke had been the day that Seth was sentenced. It wasn’t so much speaking as it was Richie hanging in the back of the courtroom where he wouldn’t be seen while his brother, deservedly, had his freedom taken from him, but he had hoped that all the same, Seth would find a way to survive it.

“He broke out of prison today and is currently on the run.”

A breath escapes him that he hadn’t realized he was holding, relief slumping through his shoulders without warning. “How long ago?”

“About eight hours. He and his partner got involved in a shoot out at a truck stop and nearly killed a Texas ranger. Now his partner is out for blood and wants to know everything you know about the situation.” Gates stands and holds out a piece of paper with the information for him. “Your presence has been requested in Texas.”

Richie makes a face as he takes the paper from her. “Great.”

“I want you to take Beckett with you. That way you have someone watching your back just in case this goes wrong somehow.”

Richie raises an eyebrow. “My brother and I may not get along, sir, but if he was going to kill me, he would have done it a long time ago.”

“Your brother isn’t the one I’m worried about.” Gates’ tone is dry. “Ranger Gonzalez sounded more than a little vengeful already, and I have a feeling all bets will be off if his partner doesn’t survive this. Also, to be frank, if they’ve already shot a ranger, this is going to get worse before it gets better.”

Richie sighs, because he knows Seth and Gates isn’t wrong. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Your flight leaves in six hours. That should give you two plenty of time to pack and get to the airport.” They start to make their way to the door, and Gates stops them again. “Detective Gecko?”

Richie turns to face her, never really getting used to hearing that word in front of his last name. “Yes, sir?”

“Good luck.”

- - - - - -

“When was the last time you saw your brother?”

Part of him knows that Kate is prepping him while keeping it conversational, and he’s not sure if he appreciates that or not. Right now, he would much rather be talking to his best friend, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“About five years ago? When he got sent to prison.”

“You never went to visit him.”

“He was out in Nevada, so it wasn’t really practical. And he didn’t really want to see me anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Still holding a grudge at me selling out our dad and becoming a cop instead of joining the family business.” His voice goes slightly dry as he continues. “According to Seth, I should have just let our father continue to beat the shit out of him and just pretend it wasn’t happening.”

Kate scowls for a moment, having heard stories of Ray Gecko in the past, and needless to say it wasn’t her favorite subject. Richie has mixed feelings on the matter – sure, his father was a piece of shit, but he also wouldn’t be half the cop he was today without him. He does regret the way Ray going to prison managed to ruin things between him and his brother, but he’d also always known that Seth would have done anything to please Ray – even going so far as to become him.

“He sounds like a winner – no offense.”

“None taken. My brother is definitely all charm.”

“What are you going to tell the ranger?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Seth and I are so out of touch at this point, I have no idea where he’d even go.”

Kate turns for a moment, eyeing him curiously. “You know, they said Seth had a partner, but they couldn’t put a name or a face to him. Someone had to break him out, though. Do you know who?”

Richie pauses for a moment, before grabbing the newspaper he had tossed on the dashboard as she drove, rereading the article again to search for clues. “Honestly, I wasn’t really one to make friends with Seth’s friends, but here’s the thing I don’t get – you just broke out of prison, why would you stop to rob a bank and then shoot a Texas ranger.”

“According to the article, the ranger was happenstance. They just happened to cross paths and Seth didn’t want to get caught.”

“Yeah, but why the bank robbery?”

Kate pauses for a moment then shrugged. “Maybe the person who broke him out wasn’t a partner – maybe it was an employer –”

“And Seth had to earn his keep if he didn’t want to go back to jail.” Richie smacks his hand with the newspaper, before pointing towards one of the signs coming up. “Head towards the boarder. We should go to Mexico.”

“We have to meet Ranger Gonzalez stateside.”

“We’re not meeting him stateside. If we tell him what we know, then Gonzalez is just going to use that to gun my brother down and I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Do we actually know anything?” Kate glances over to him. “You just said you hadn’t spoken to your brother in years.”

“Yeah, but I know Seth, and if he’s going to rob a bank, there’s only one guy he’s going to turn to.”

Kate hesitates, unsure if going on a wild goose chase into Mexico is the best idea, and Richie isn’t even sure of that either. But if he’s going to bring his brother in peacefully, he can’t do it with an angry ranger on his heels. Then she swallows hard and turns towards the exit for Mexico.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Richie nods as he leans back in his seat. “You and me both.”

- - - - -

It takes a few phone calls and a little cajoling at Uncle Eddie and Richie manages to get the location of Seth’s supposed partner in crime. Richie knows he was exploiting Eddie’s soft spot for family, and he tries not to feel bad about that, but he hopes that by taking the initiative they’ll be able to stop Seth before he gets too far in over his head.

He just has to get Esposito on board, which was going to take certain powers of persuasion.

“You enjoy this a little too much.”

Kate smirks at him as she glances over from where she’s fixing her make up, going for something a little smokier than her usual work appropriate work. “Just tell me what I need to know about this guy.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “He’s a big flirt. Getting him to talk to you will be easy – getting him to actually say anything is going to be the hard part.”

“Maybe, but at least I’ll be able to get him out of there so we can have a more private conversation.”

She has a point and he knows it, that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Instead he just passes her service weapon over and gives her a serious look. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Kate says with a small smile, before she climbs out of the car and Richie goes to slide into he back seat where he won’t be seen. It takes barely an hour before there are footsteps on the gravel outside and he holds his breath, staying quiet and hoping that Espo hasn’t grown out of that one track mind he had when they were younger.

“Nice ride,” he hears the familiar voice say as the door opens. “This a rental.”

“Something like that.” Both the doors close and he hears the seat shift as Espo tries to lean in closer.

“Maybe you can tell me about it later.”

Richie chooses that moment to rise out of the darkness, leaning on Kate’s seat with a thin smile. “Hey, Espo. Long time no see.”

There’s a long series of swear words in Spanish that Richie doesn’t care enough to translate, letting the other man get it out of his system before he continues.

“Nice to see you too.”

Espo looks at Kate and Richie almost thinks he might be hurt. “You a cop too?”

Kate nods, before holding up her badge. “Kate Beckett. NYPD.”

“Well, I’m sure you two both know that you’re far out of your jurisdiction.” Esposito leaned back in the seat, trying to get as far from the cops and as close to the door as possible. “And I ain’t saying shit.”

“I’m not here to arrest you, dude. I’m here for Seth.”

There’s a scoff, but Esposito doesn’t say anything beyond that. Javier was one of the few people who actually agreed with Richie on how things went down with Ray, but out of his loyalty to Seth, he’d never actually articulate that out loud.

“Here to drag him back across the border and arrest him?”

“Here because if he’s breaking out of prison and then robbing a bank, then he’s probably in some deep shit that he’s going to need some help to get out of.” Javier looks away again, eyes staring through the windshield. Most people would think he’s just being stubborn. Richie knew better. “Who got him out, Javi?”

Esposito’s quiet, then finally turned back to them again. “Madrigal.”

“Carlos Madrigal?” Now Richie is the one swearing to hell and back, and Kate glances over at him, confused.

“Who’s Carlos Madrigal?”

“Bad news.” Richie replies.

Esposito nods before filling in the details. “Madrigal owns most of this territory. Seth robbed that bank so they can settle up and he thinks he’s getting a one way ticket to El Rey.”

“Where’s that?”

“El Ray is a fucking fantasy,” Richie sighed. “It doesn’t exist.”

“Seth’s my boy, and I have his back, always. But I wasn’t heading down there with him. People who walk into that club don’t walk back out again.”

“Why would he make a deal with Madrigal in the first place? He knows …” Richie goes silent. “Wait, did you say he was going to the Titty Twister?”

“Titty Twister?” It’s Kate’s turn to scoff. “Charming.”

Richie ignores her, and just waits for the confirmation from Esposito. When all he’s met with is a long stare, Richie taps her shoulder and gestures for her to move. “I’m driving.” He looks over at Esposito as he slides into the driver’s seat. “You armed?”

“Shit, I’m not going in there.”

“It’s Seth, Javi. You said it yourself, the people who go in there don’t come out.”

Esposito’s jaw sets for a moment, before reaching behind him to pull out the nine millimeter he always carries. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good.” With that, he peels out of the parking lot and tries not to feel like his mind is racing a mile a minute. If he’s not able to think clearly, he won’t be able to do Seth any good. He won’t be able to do any good for any of them.

And if there’s one thing he’s determined to do, it’s make it out of tonight alive.

- - - - -

It all happens too fast.

One second, Seth and Richie are arguing about how Seth needs to leave, now, the next Richie’s head turns, and there’s a pop like a gunshot. Next thing Seth knows, the woman Richie brought with him is screaming, there’s blood on his hands, and all he can do is react.

He and Richie may not have been on the best of terms, but no one gets to kill his brother but him.

His eyes trace his brother’s body on the floor to the smoking gun of the ranger holding it, and he and Esposito are both reacting on instinct, guns drawn and Gonzalez taking two bullets. Seth isn’t paying attention enough to know if enough damage was done to kill him, but all hell breaks loose not long after that.

The strippers have scales and fangs, people are dying left and right, and all Seth can think to do is grab Richie’s arm and drag him out of the line of fire. There’s a groan of pain from Richie as he grabs his arm, but he knows that isn’t going to last. He knows that just from looking at the bloody, blooming hole in the middle of his brother’s chest.

The woman drops to her knees next to him – Kate, he thinks her name was – and she starts doing what is probably supposed to be first aid when the big kahuna of the strippers, Santanico Pandemonium, jumps down next to them, her face every bit a monster, but somehow Seth manages not to flinch.

“I can save him,” she offers, cool as a cucumber. “But if I do, he’ll be mine.”

Seth panicks. While Kate wants to interrogate what that means exactly, Seth can only react.

“Fine. Yes. Do it.”

Richie’s eyes look wide, but a grin crosses Santanico’s face as she takes Richie and disappears into another area of the temple, leaving Kate, Esposito and Seth as the only three people standing. She stands after that, eyes wandering over the blood and guts around them, before turning to look at Seth with wide, horrified eyes.

“What did you just do?”

Seth swallows hard, before shaking his head and walking over to one of the few bottles that hadn’t been blown to shit.

“What I had to.”

“Then I hope you did the right thing.” Kate’s tone indicates that she might never forgive him if he didn’t.

As far as Seth is concerned, he might not forgive himself either.

Twenty four hours later, he and Richie are emerging from the maze, one human, the other culebra. Santanico is free, and she has work to do, and she wants to take Richie with her, and Seth knows, deep down in his gut, that Richie is going to have to. He’s not really one for the living world anymore, after all. What good is a cop that can’t walk in the sun?

He and Kate say their goodbyes and she heads back to the car. He turns to Seth next, swallowing hard as he makes his way closer.

“Keep an eye on her for me?”

Seth glances away, before shaking his head. “You took a bullet for me. Keeping an eye on your girl is probably the least I can do for you.”

“She’s not my girl,” Richie corrects, and Seth doesn’t dissect it too much, almost as though he could tell that they were something more than just friends, even if it’s not romantic. “You’ll like New York. It’s busy. Easy to blend in. Especially for a dead guy.”

Seth raises an eyebrow. “Dead, huh?”

“I’m gonna trash the Camero as soon as you let me know you’re up North. Easiest way to get rid of the both of us.” Richie sighs. “Tell Espo if he doesn’t watch your back, I will eat him.”

“Fuck you, Gecko,” Esposito replies, flipping him the bird.

Seth smirks and shakes his head. “We’ll figure it out.” There’s a brief moment of silence and he starts to walk away, before turning back to his brother again. “Hey, Richard …”

“It’s fine,” he replies, waving it off. “Just stay out of trouble, alright? I won’t be there to bail you out anymore.”

Seth stares back at him, before nodding again and heading off to the rental car. Kate is sitting shotgun while Esposito slides into the back seat. He runs his hand over the steering wheel, before glancing over to her.

“So. You want to pick the music?”

Kate looks at him for a moment like she doesn’t know if he’s kidding or not, before fumbling under the seat and pulling out a dust covered country album.

“Looks like it’s going to be Garth Brooks.”

Seth groans.

“If you’d prefer,” Esposito begins, leaning closer, “I could catch you up on the last few days of Chiquitas?”

Seth sits in silence for a moment before popping the CD in the slot. “Garth Brooks it is.”

Aside from the music, silence falls over the three of them as they start to make their way back towards the states, but as they finally cross over into Texas, Kate finally speaks up.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Seth glances over, before nodding as he turns his eyes back to the road. “If I know anything about Richard, he’ll be just fine.”

As silence descends over the car again, he can’t help but hope that if he says enough times, he’ll start to believe it too.

Edited 2019-02-21 01:31 (UTC)

Ding!

Zari sticks her head out from her position under Ava’s desk, trying to find where she left her modern day, twenty first century cell phone. She got dropped off in 2019 to work with Ray to perform an upgrade on the Time Bureaus firewalls and other tech systems, which put her in range to communicate with her twenty first century email pal. They had graduated to texting a long time ago, but it was hard to keep up with her when you spend a lot of your life bouncing around time and space and needing to leave your cell phone on the Waverider.

“Did you just get a text?” Nate’s head pops down from the space above her when she retreats back in with her phone. “Who are your texting? All your friends are either on a time machine, standing right in front of you or … five.”

Zari flashes him a look, because in some ways, not wrong, but also her need to keep her personal life personal is still her first instinct, even with however close she and Nate have gotten. The problems with being from 2042 and being five in the current timeline is that it’s really hard to have friends that are not from work who aren’t spending most of their time watching Sesame Street.

“Wally isn’t five.”

“Wally is in a monastery in Tibet, and has been totally ignoring my texts so if he’s texting you and not texting me, my feelings are about to be very hurt.”

Zari huffs, because he’s not wrong there, either. “She’s just … a friend I’ve made gaming online. She’s been introducing me to some more modern stuff.”

“That’s cool.” And he sounds so genuine when he says it that she’s half grateful, half wanting to tell him to not be gross about the fact that she’s learning how to be a real person. “What’s her name?”

“Don’t really know the name, just her handle,” Zari shrugs. “We’re just internet friends.”

“Uh-huh.” His attention drifts, and his eyes widen. “Oh there’s Mona. I’m gonna go grab a muffin.”

“Oh! Get me one too!” She shouts after him, before retreating back under Ava’s desk and actually looking at her phone.

U up?

Under any other circumstances she may have rolled her eyes, but in this instance it makes her smile, and she quickly texts back: Is there a specific way I should be answering that?

I’m never sure what time zone you’re in. Your response times tend to be all over the place.

The truth of that hits a little too close to home, so Zari just keeps it casual. Currently est. working on a big project in dc. You?

DC for me 2, but wasn’t 5 hrs ago.
If we’re both in the same town, maybe we should meet up. Have an actual face to face convo irl.

Zari hesitates, not really sure if she wants to change this dynamic. They’ve been texting for months now, and she does enjoy their conversations. Nate isn’t wrong when he says it’s healthy for her to make friends outside the Waverider. At the same time, taking this into the real world makes it very real, and there’s a lot of things that Zari would have to find some way to explain.

She places the phone to the side and gets back to work. The great thing about text conversations is that she doesn’t have to give a response right away. Computers make more sense than people do, so she just keeps wiring, up until Nate reappears, pushes a muffin into her hand.

“You need to get out here – SHIELD is here.”

Zari takes the muffin – she’d be a fool not to – but she frowns at the actual words spoken, and all she can come up with is:

“What the hell is SHIELD?”

- - - - - -

“Just … stay here.”

Ava looks frazzled so Zari refrains from the questions she wants to ask. Instead she perches herself on a nearby desk, tearing off pieces of her muffin and waiting until Ava disappears around the corner. Then she leans in to Nate to get herself a brief history lesson.

“What’s SHIELD again?”

“Kind of like ARGUS,” Nate sighs, almost as though he knows he’s already putting a nail in the coffin of Zari’s opinion of the group the moment he says it. “It was founded by Peggy Carter shortly after the end of World War II. Peggy was …”

“Captain America’s handler, I remember.”

“I was going to say girlfriend.”

“This is why Helen of Troy didn’t like you.”

Nate smirks in response before continuing. “They used to be a lot more public, but Captain America recently uncovered that they had been infiltrated by HYDRA from the beginning, so they cleaned house, went underground and started doing shady spy stuff.”

“Great,” Zari sighs. “So what does this have to do with me?”

“Nothing. They don’t have any jurisdiction over the Legends, but the Time Bureau does have to play nice with them, and since you’re temporarily on lend to the Bureau…”

“I have to play nice too. Great.” She tears off another piece of her muffin before watching as one of the computers that she had been working on starts running some kind of background program. “What the …”

She slides off the desk with ease, moving over to the keyboard and starting to go to work. This computer hadn’t been fed into the main network yet, so technically it’s unprotected and Zari isn’t just going to let someone hack in while they had their pants down waiting for this “friendly” meeting of supposed allies. She cuts her way through, fingers flying over the keyboard as she tries to keep said hacker out, and while she will say that this hacker happens to be good, she’s no match for a hacker twenty years and an underground rebellion ahead of her time.

She’s just about to send the intruder away for good when the doors to the room fly open.

“Agent Coulson!” comes Ava’s voice and Zari doesn’t stop until he comes to a stop next to her.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and Zari turns and straightens to look at him.

“I’m out hacking your hacker. I’m assuming all of this is courtesy of SHIELD?”

His head tips to the side, studying her curiously, before he crosses is arms in front of her chest. “We were told that the Time Bureau was interested in an open relationship.”

“I don’t think that involves digging into their computers without their permission, but Ava can tell me if I’m wrong on that.”

“You’re not.” Ava does not look happy. That at least helps Zari feel like she was in the right instead of just reacting to the idea of a shady government agency. “I thought whatever information we shared, we would be sharing willingly.”

Coulson is about to counter that, before another voice bursts onto the scene behind the double doors. The woman is about Zari’s height and young, with long dark hair and wearing a SHIELD uniform with some kind of gauntlets on them.

“I don’t know who designed their firewall, but whoever it is kicked me back on my ass hard.”

Zari glances over with a small smirk before waggling her fingers. “Hi. That would be me.”

Coulson straightens to make eye contact with her. “And who are you, exactly?”

“Felicity Smoak,” is what gets spit out of Nate’s mouth as he steps up to cover for her, and both Zari and Coulson glance to him, confused, and the female hacker from the back shakes her head.

“No she’s not. I’ve gone up against Smoak’s work and she’s not this good.”

“And you’re clearly not that good either,” Zari responds, still not giving any identifying information.

“She’s a contractor,” Ava replies, moving to take her place between Zari and Nate, still maintaining her position as the head of the Time Bureau. “If you don’t mind, Agent Coulson, we can take this back to the office and work on building that trust you were speaking of earlier.”

“Yes,” Coulson says thinly. “Let’s.”

As they head back into the main area of the agency, Zari scoffs before turning back to the computer again. “Is this why Ava wanted me to finish ASAP?”

“One of them,” Nate sighs, before turning to the hacker, who was still lingering in the room with them. “Hi, sorry about the tension. Nate Heywood. I actually work for the Bureau.”

“Daisy Johnson.” She shakes Nate’s hand before turning to Zari to offer the same, expecting a name in return, and she shakes the hand, but keeps her eyes on the screen.

“That’s nice.”

“Wow,” Daisy glances back to Nate curiously. “She always this friendly?”

“Pretty much. It’s part of her charm, but it especially intensifies when you mess with her toys.” Ava’s head pops back into the room, gesturing for Nate to come with them, and he excuses himself from the room, leaving Zari and Daisy alone. Zari ignores her for the most part, but eventually Daisy crumbles under the silence as she moves closer.

“Look, I was just doing my job.”

“I’m sure you were. But even you gotta admit it’s kind of bad faith to come into a meeting and immediately start hacking the people you’re supposed to be making friends with.”

“Fair,” Daisy acknowledges, leaning back against the desk next to her. “But wouldn’t you do the same, if there was suddenly this mysterious new agency that’s suddenly reporting directly to the DOD and no one else.”

Yes is the silent answer she offers, but she keeps that to herself, just focusing on the task at hand. “Better than an agency that answers to no one at all.”

“Also fair.” Daisy eyes her. “Are you really not going to tell me who you are, and make me figure it out instead?”

Zari half-laughs. “You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you.”

Daisy smirks before going to settle at one of the tables. “Challenge accepted.”

Zari doesn’t know why it intrigues her so much, but there’s something there. She wrinkles her nose as she realizes it, before turning her attention back to her computer again. “Whatever.”

There is no time for those feelings today, thank you.

- - - - - -

did u have a bad day at work or something?

The message pops up as Zari is going to town on a fantasy hoarde of creatures from the depths of hell, and she smirks in response. She may be taking out a little too much of her aggression on the game at hand, but it’s better than taking it out on the SHIELD agents who suddenly think they own the Bureau.

(She doesn’t know why she’s so protective of the Bureau all of the sudden, but she feels protective of it, of Nate, more than anything else, and she doesn’t want anything to interrupt the life that Nate is building for himself.)

She switches on the voice to text before responding:

something like that. We’re working with this new team and they are not inclined to play nice.

god, tell me about it. It’s like people never learned to share.

On my end it’s more like they never learned to ask first. They just tend to take.

There’s silence in the chat for a moment, followed by a quick: make sure you duck to the left.

Zari glances up at the scene in front of her and quickly ducks to the left as she moves through the door. The hoard rushes past her, and she remains hidden in the shadows of the tavern for at least a little while longer.

thanks for the tip.

Always swing left. It’s a bug in the code, and I enjoy exploiting it.

Good to know.

There’s another pause of silence, before another message comes up that she’s been partially dreading: you know, you never answered my question from before.

Zari cringes, because she still doesn’t know how to answer it. Getting attached to people permanently moored in 2019 has it’s risks, especially when she knows what’s coming down the timeline. Doubly especially when she finds out that the real Zari Tomaz is actually five years old.

I’m leaving on a work trip again. I’m not sure if now is a good time.

It’s a cheap cop out, but there’s not much she can do there. The silence is almost deafening in response, not wanting her to have offended her friend but carrying too many secrets to really engage the way she wants to.

You can make time for a cup of coffee, right? Just one? I want to make sure I’m playing with a real person and not just a really smart computer program.

Zari’s quiet again, weighing her options before deciding just to jump. It worked for Nate and the others – why shouldn’t it work for her. Okay. Drop a pin for tomorrow night?

Perfect!!!!! I know just the place.

She drops a pin for her, and Zari feels both happy and far more nervous than she’s ever felt about anything in her life.

See you there, Z.

Zari exhales slowly. “I hope so.”

- - - - - -

Zari should probably not be playing her favorite game on the Time Bureau servers, but she knows how to protect her access, and the server power on the company computers is way stronger than anything she has other than what’s on the Waverider. She’s sitting cross legged in front of one of the terminals, going to town on her joystick, when suddenly there’s another voice over her shoulder.

“Oh my God. Are you playing Guild of Warriors?”

Zari’s head snaps around and the headset nearly falls off her head in the process, eyes wide in surprise as she sees the face of one Daisy Johnson, looking positively pleased at this turn of events. “Uh,” she begins uselessly before finishing with, “yeah?”

“I love this MMORPG. It’s such a blast.”

Zari falters, before recovering. “Yeah. It’s not bad. I didn’t realize secret agents had time to play video games.”

“We gotta wind down somehow, right?” Daisy makes her way over to the tray of sandwiches that Mona left behind before she glances over at her again. “I’d ask what your handle is but given our history when I ask you personal information, you might bite my hand off rather than writing it down.”

“You learn fast, I will give you that.”

“Can I just ask what your deal is? Is it me? Is it my job?” Zari’s quiet again, more out of wanting to ignore the situation than being stunned and surprised, and Daisy sighs, before grabbing a napkin and scribbling something down on it. “Look, I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that it can get really lonely. If we can’t open up to people who have to keep the same secrets as we do, then who can we open up to?”

She finishes scribbling on the napkin before folding it over and handing it back to her.

“It’s my handle. You don’t have to add me, but it could be fun to just … pretend to be other people and play together sometimes.” Zari reaches up to take the napkin from her, then points to the screen. “You’ve probably found it already, but swing left when you’re heading into any room. There’s a bug that will keep the bad guys from noticing you.”

The preciseness of the advice makes her throat go dry, and she swallows hard before nodding. “Thanks.”

Daisy nods with a small smile before leaving the room, and Zari feels her stomach drop as she looks down and sees a very familiar online handle staring up at her from the napkin. She swallows hard before glancing down at her watch.

“Great. This is … great. Now I’m going to be late.”

Edited 2019-03-28 03:10 (UTC)

- - - - - -

She finds herself lingering outside the door of the coffee shop, unsure how to approach this. While she knows that the baggage sitting here is too great to be completely resolved on a coffee date, she also knows she can’t just stand her up either. There’s nothing neat or clean about this like she thought it was going to be, and while she likes her planned coffee date - really likes her – she’s not sure if she’s going to feel the same way when all is said and done.

Still, never know until you try.

Taking a deep breath, she makes her way into the coffee shop and making her way over to the table where Daisy is sitting and waiting for her date. For her. She stops at the chair, unsure what to do at first before deciding to start simple.

“Hi.”

Daisy’s head turns from the window where she’s been waiting, watching, and when she sees Zari, her eyes widen. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Meeting you, apparently.” Zari pulls out the chair to drop into it. “I’m Z. Zari. My name is Zari.”

Daisy stares at her, confused. “So when I gave you my handle earlier …”

“I didn’t have to add you, because I already had it.”

“Oh.” Daisy nods once. “Awkward.”

“I just figured it out this afternoon – I wasn’t … I don’t want you to think I was playing you this whole time.”

“No, of course,” Daisy nods slowly. “But … you always seemed so open on the game. Why were you giving me such a cold shoulder at work?”

“Because me and government organizations don’t always mix,” Zari replies, fingers playing with the edge of the table. “And also because if you tried to find out anything about me, the person you’d find is a five year-old girl, and you’d be right.” Then she swallows hard. “I’m from 2042.”

“So time travel is a thing.”

“Time travel is definitely a thing.”

“Wow.” Daisy stares at her as she processes that. “So what happened in 2042?”

“ARGUS takes over the world. Metas and inhumans are getting rounded up and experimented on. It’s … not great.”

Daisy looks rightly concerned by this news and shakes her head. “Why would SHIELD let that happen?”

“Honestly? I’d never even heard of SHIELD before you showed up at the Time Bureau.” Which is a little cold, but it’s also the truth. “I guess when ARGUS takes over, they basically wipe out the competition.”

Daisy makes a face like she doesn’t think that sounds right, but she doesn’t have the information to counter it. “How long until this happens?”

“Not long,” Zari replies. Daisy continues to look at her expectantly, and Zari shakes her head. “I can’t give you more details than that. Timelines. Things could get really bad really fast.”

The other woman doesn’t look settled by that answer, but she at least drops it for now. “Man, I have so many questions, but I feel like I shouldn’t be asking you about them here.”

“Probably not.” She drums her fingers against the table briefly. “But we could get our coffee to go and take a walk?”

Daisy nods, a small smile crossing her face, before she gets to her feet. “Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

Zari nods as she gets to her feet, and heading up to the counter to place her order. Maybe this could all backfire in her face, but at the same time, maybe Nate is right. Maybe having connections in the real world isn’t so bad.

“Is it weird that part of me just wants her to … punch me in the face?”

Scott blinks from his position on the floor. Stiles is kneeling on his feet as he does sit ups, and as he pulls up into the next one, he turns to follow his best friend’s eye line to see what he’s looking at. Working on one of the upper body machines not too far from them is a tiny brunette woman with an intense look that almost borders on terrifying. He blinks again before turning back to Stiles as he goes back down.

“I think “weird” is a pretty safe assumption.”

Stiles doesn’t take his eyes off the woman in question, but shifts is weight so that Scott’s feet doing continue to move under him. “I know, she’s terrifying, but honestly, that’s just part of her charm.”

“Who is she?”

“No idea.”

“So you’ve never actually talked to her. You just sit here and watch her work out.”

“Yes.” There’s a pause. “Maybe.” He finally turns back to Scott. “That’s creepy, isn’t it?”

“Just a little,” Scott smirks. “Why don’t you just go talk to her?”

Stiles scoffs in response. “Wow, Scott, how dare you suggest something so … sensible and normal.” There’s a hint in his tone that may imply that he’s kidding, but it’s one of those moments where Scott can’t entirely be sure. “I’ve thought about it, but you do see how intense she is, right? She’d probably eat me alive.”

Scott grins. “So what is your actual plan?”

“I’m going to impress her with my physical prowess and dedication to making myself a better me.” They had made a pact to get themselves in peak lacrosse shape by the time the semester was over, and if that happens to impress the intense gym going girl in the process, then all the better. “Then, I’ll talk to her.”

“And if we quit this in three weeks and spend the rest of the semester playing World of Warcraft on our off days when we don’t have class?”

“Scott,” Stiles looks almost wounded by the implication of exactly what he figured they’d do. “I would never. We made a pact. A blood brother pact.” Scott gives him a look and Stiles sighs. “Maybe I can use it as motivation to keep working at it?”

“Right,” Scott nods. “Or you could just be yourself.”

“When has being yourself ever gotten anyone anywhere?”

Scott sighs as he taps Stiles’ shoulder, indicating that they should switch out. “C’mon, dude. Your turn.”

- - - - - -

“That guy has been checking you out the entire time.”

Cora frowns at Erica as she makes her way over to get some water, rolling out her shoulders and stretching out as she does. “And that’s different from normal how?”

Erica, smirks before taking her by the shoulders and turning her to look in the direction of two boys across the room, one kneeling on the other’s feet while the one doing the sit ups looked like he was … struggling. “They’re not the usual cocky gym rats?”

Cora’s eyebrows go up, and she glances back to Erica. “And that’s better how?”

“Look, I know those guys. I went to high school with them. They’re not bad guys.”

Cora squints again, before turning to use the desk to stretch out her calves. “And you’re telling me this why?”

“Just pointing it out. That’s all.”

Cora stares at her again, because no, that isn’t all. “What are you not telling me?”

Erica gives a small shrug, flipping through a magazine at her place behind the desk, which honestly only served to make Cora think she’s hiding something even more. It takes a moment, before Erica sighs and looks back up at her again. “I know that you have always been not in to the dating thing …”

“Oh, God.”

“… But honestly I think that maybe you wouldn’t be working out so hard if you had … other outlets to let off some steam.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to date someone just to ‘blow off steam.’” She says that complete with air quotes.

“I know. I know. It’s not for you.” Erica holds up her hands as though to concede the point. “But if you had to pick someone, Scott or Stiles wouldn’t be a bad choice.”

Cora shakes her head as Erica gets called away from the desk, before turning her attention back to the two guys working out again. She lingers, taking in the sight and shifting uncomfortably, before turning and heading off to the locker room. She didn’t come to the gym looking for a date, and she isn’t going to change course on that plan now.

- -- - - -

“You’re going to hurt yourself like that.”

Stiles’ head snaps up in surprised when he hears the surprise female voice above him, and as he does, the weight he’s working with slips from his fingers and clatters to the floor. Both of them jump back as a response and Stiles’ eyes widen when he realizes who it is.

“Hi,” is what comes first, like a dumbass, before he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, what?”

The woman crosses her arms over the front of her sports bra which totally doesn’t help at not drawing his attention to her boobs, but he snaps his eyes back up again to look at her face. If she noticed, her face doesn’t give it away.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” She reaches down to pick up the weight and hand it back to him, and he takes it with a nod. “Your form is important, you can tear a muscle if you’re not careful.”

“Oh.” He pauses, then in a sudden surge of bravery that is completely unlike him. “Can you show me?”

“Don’t you have a trainer to help you?”

“To have a trainer you have to be able to afford a trainer,” he points out. “I’m just trying to get in shape for lacrosse.”

She sighs before moving to stand behind him, adjusting his shoulders and the direction of his wrist. “Make sure you keep everything straight, and then pull out from your shoulder, not your wrist. That way it’ll strengthen the right muscles that way.” She steps back to let him do a rep, before crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Do you feel the difference?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, before doing it again. “Oh, yeah, that’s way better. Thanks.”

“No problem.” And she starts to walk off to go back to her own routine, when he straightens up again, in another burst of bravery.

“I’m Stiles, by the way.”

She pauses in her retreat, before turning to face him again. “I know.”

She knows? She knows his name? There’s a moment of panic that flows through him because what did he do? It seems to show on his face, however, and she holds up a hand to try and get him to calm down.

“I’m friends with Erica.” She jerks a thumb over towards the blond sitting behind the gym counter and Stiles deflates somewhat.

“Oh.” A pause. “She talked to you about me?”

“Once or twice.” She seems uncomfortable with the implication, and he probably shouldn’t push it, but he can’t walk away empty handed at this point.

“Since you know my name, do I get to know yours?”

She hesitates, before turning and walking away. “Cora.”

Cora. He files it away for safe keeping, wanting to make sure he doesn’t accidentally forget it or conflate it with someone else. Mostly, however, it just seems like he’s watching her walk away, waiting for her to fall out of earshot before he turns and makes his way over to the desk.

“Hey, Erica.”

“What’s up, Stiles?”

“I need a favor …”

- - - - - -

“Hey, Cora!”

Cora’s about to start her regular routine when she hears her name from over her shoulder and straightens up in surprise. Most people aren’t looking to get her attention – probably because they’re scared of her. When she turns to see where her name is coming from, she sees Stiles and blinks in surprise.

“Hi, Stiles.” When he stops in front of her, she frowns. “What’s up?”

“Can you train me?” There’s a beat, before he rephrases that. “More accurately, do you mind if I train with you?”

Cora blinks. “What?”

“You seem to have a pretty good regimen going, and I really do want to get in shape for lacrosse. I won’t get in your way, I just … want to try and match you.”

Part of her brain is already going into overdrive. She’s trying to pick it apart, trying to figure out what the ulterior motive is, what he wants from her beyond keeping in shape. She straightens, before starting to shake her head. “I’m not a certified trainer.”

“No, you’re not,” he nods. “I get that, but I’ve seen you work out and you really seem to know what you’re doing. If nothing else, you’ll be able to help me stay focused and keep me from hurting myself by doing it wrong.”

“I’m also not training for sports, I’m just trying to keep in shape.”

“I know. Honestly, I don’t need it to be lacrosse specific. I just want to get better.”

She glances over his shoulder to where Erica is sitting behind the desk, and the blond gives her a small thumbs up. Then she sighs. “I’m not going to slow down. If you want to work out with me, you have to keep up with sets and reps, even if it’s not with the weight level.”

Stiles lights up and nods. “Done. You got it.”

“Are you sure? Because I’ve got some pretty intense work outs.”

“I’m not that out of shape. I can handle it. I promise.”

Two hours later, and Stiles looks like he’s about to collapse. He’s sweating, he’s out of breath, and he’s doubling over as he tries to catch that breath.

“Oh God,” he says softly. “I’m so out of shape.”

Cora sighs as she takes him by the shoulders. “Don’t lie down. C’mon, we’re going to walk it off.” He shakes his head at first, but he doesn’t fight her as she leads him towards the indoor track. “Suddenly stopping is bad for your heart. There’s a reason why you need a cool down period.”

“Got it,” he huffs, falling into step next to her. “Wow. That was intense.”

“I warned you.”

“You did. And I think I heard it, but I didn’t really understand it.” He rests his hands on his hips as they walk. “I think I did pretty well with keeping up though.”

“You did,” Cora nods. “Color me impressed.”

“Do you do this every day?”

She tips her hand side to side. “It’s not always with the same muscle groups because you shouldn’t do the same muscles every day, and I just go for a run on Sundays but I try to do something physical every day.”

“And you never feel lazy or want to cheat?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I like the routine.”

“Good to know,” Stiles nods as his breathing starts to even out and he starts to relax. “That wasn’t so bad. I actually feel pretty good.”

She smirks. “You probably won’t feel that way tomorrow.”

He laughs. “Probably right. But I’ll see you tomorrow anyway?”

“Yeah,” she says with a small nod. “See you tomorrow.”

- - - - - -

While Cora allows him to train with her most days of the week, she keeps those Sunday runs to herself. Which, honestly, is great for Stiles as he’s not used to the seven day a week routine and needs those days to just let his body recover. As the weeks pass, however, he starts to feel the difference, starts to feel the way his body is working but not being completely debilitated by it. It actually feels good, to be this in shape, and while there are still some days where he wants to veg and not do anything at all, he gets his butt up and goes to the gym, because Cora was waiting for him.

It isn’t even really just about getting the girl anymore. Cora’s actually his friend, and he’s not about to stand her up.

Then, a few months in, she invites him to go on her Sunday run, and he knows that this is a big step. She’s been using those runs to keep her space, but if she wants him there, then maybe she’s feeling this situation just as much as he is. Maybe he’s actually graduated into someone she genuinely wants to spend time with.

He pulls up to the address she gives him, a large beach house sitting on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. As he pulls the Jeep to the house, Cora is stretching out on the porch, talking with another guy who seems a little older than them with dark hair and a beard who’s nursing a cup of coffee. The man turns to face Stiles as he climbs out of the car and turns out he’s just as intimidating as Cora is. They’re probably related.

Oh God, she has a brother. Oh God, Stiles is going to die.

She glances over towards the Jeep and waves. “Hey, you made it.”

“I did. This place was pretty easy to find.” He swallows hard and waves at the guy on the porch. “Hi, I’m Stiles.”

“Stiles, this is my brother, Derek.”

Derek gives a wave in return. “I’ll make sure food’s ready for when you guys get back.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles nods, and he turns back to Cora. “So let’s stretch it out and hit the sidewalk?”

Cora nods. “We’re not running on the sidewalk.”

Stiles blinks before turning to follow her as she walks around the corner of her house towards the beach. “Then where are we running?”

- - - - - -

Cora is honestly surprised that Stiles is keeping up with her the way he is. Running on the beach is not an easy thing, given the uneven terrain, but then again, Stiles is used to running on a field. Some things translate, between one thing and another. As they reach the end of this stretch of a beach, she slows down and he does the same to match her, trying to catch his breath.

“That sucked.”

She laughs. “But feels good, right?”

He nods and grins. “Yeah, it’s good.” He tips his head back towards the house as he tries to catch his breath. “So you live there with your brother?”

She nods, pausing to stretch out one of her legs, casually using Stiles to steady her. “Yeah, him and my sister.”

He nods, and he’s quiet before pushing forwards. “What about your parents?”

She shakes her head. “They died in a fire when I was eleven.”

“Oh … oh sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

“No, it’s okay.” She shrugs. “My sister got custody of me since my uncle was in a coma and the house was in the family, so we just moved out here.”

Stiles nods, and then it’s almost as though he realizes something as he watches her switch legs. “Is that why you started working out?”

“What?” she blinks, surprised by the insight of it.

“I mean, probably not when you were eleven, but is that why you’re so religious about it?”

Cora pauses, before giving a small nod. “Yeah, I guess. A lot of things happened in those moments that I couldn’t control, and a lot of things that followed were out of my hands, so I wanted something I could control. And that thing was me.”

Stiles nods. “It was the same for me when my mom died. But for me, my dad was a cop. And yeah, I may have had a reason why my mom wasn’t here anymore, but a lot of people didn’t get those answers. So I wanted to try and help him with those cases.”

Cora watches him curiously. “Do you still want to be a cop?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” he says softly. “But it’s definitely high up on the list.”

She nods, before giving a small shrug. “Not a lot of people get that. The idea of controlling something when everything is out of control. Plus when I’m doing reps, I can get out of my own head for a little while.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely starting to get that now.”

There’s a moment where he’s lingering close – she’s not stretching anymore and his hand reaches out to brush against hers, tempting him to take it. For a moment she wants to, and her fingers curl to brush against his, but eventually she pulls back, not quite ready to commit to that moment, but there’s a smile there as she pulls away.

“Race you back to the house?”

“What?” he blinks, startled out of the moment as he watches her take off towards the house.

“Ready, set, go!”

“That’s cheating!” he shouts after her before picking up to follow her lead. He knows she’s going to win, even without the head start, but he’s going to do his damnedest to catch up.

And maybe later, he might actually get up the nerve to ask her out to dinner.

Edited 2019-03-28 20:42 (UTC)

The phone Steve gives Tony rings once before Bruce calls him back to headquarters to deal with Thanos.

In fact, it doesn’t even ring. It buzzes once, the kind that signals a text message. Honestly, Steve doesn’t know what to expect, and he checks the news first to make sure that there were no world-ending disasters that he’d missed while he’d been on the run. When that comes up empty, he flips the phone open and is met with one simple message.

need you to come to ny.

Steve would ask why or where, but in the end neither of these things are important – he’s just glad that Tony is reaching out. He hopes that means maybe he’s a step closer to being forgiven, but he knows not to get his hopes up. Sam doesn’t think he should go, worries that Tony will turn him in. Natasha doesn’t think it’s one hundred percent safe, but doesn’t think Tony would turn him in either.

Steve’s going to go whether they agree with him or not, but he’s glad they’re not both completely against him.

He climbs on to the quinjet, texts Tony that he’s on his way, and all he gets in response is one word:

Hurry.

- - - - - -

Returning to the Avengers Tower is bittersweet in it’s own way – the idea that they would all be able to work together, live together under one roof, be a team – ideally, it would have been perfect, if Steve hadn’t been the one to break it.

When they land, Tony’s waiting for them at the door. He doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t even really say much until they’re safely inside. He gestures for them to follow him. “For the record, we are not okay. I’m not calling you or telling you this for you.” He pauses dramatically outside one of the medical rooms, hitting the button to pull up the blinds and revealing what’s inside. “I called you for her.”

Lying on the bed, asleep but breathing steadily, is Peggy Carter.

Even laying eyes on her like this makes his heart drop into his stomach. She’s just as young as she was the day he went under the ice, and she seems perfectly unharmed, aside from the fact that she’s unconscious. He stares, mouth dry at the sight, and in the end, all he can manage to etch out is one word:

“How?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet. There was some kind of temporal mix up.”

“An infinity stone?”

“Not that I can tell. I’m still working the problem, but given that you’re the one person in this timeline who looks exactly the same as you did when she left hers, I figured you were the best bet to keep her calm until I figure out how to send her back.”

There’s a brief look of betrayal as Steve’s head snaps away from Tony and to Peggy, almost as though the idea of sending her back to her own time was a preposterous conclusion that had never occurred to him, even though it is the obvious conclusion, when he’s given more than two seconds to think about it. Tony doesn’t force him to say it, and just lays it out for him.

“She can’t stay, Cap. She’s attached to too many threads. The world as we know it would pretty much unravel if she did.”

Steve swallows hard, before nodding. That’s the way it is, after all. Steve has very few things he’s actually allowed to keep. He doesn’t let his voice betray how he feels about that, however, and Tony claps one hand against his shoulder.

“Better shave before she wakes up. She won’t be able to recognize you with that thing on your face.”

Steve nods, his fingers reaching up to linger against the window, before pulling back and heading towards one of the nearby bathrooms. Tony isn’t wrong, and he won’t shave it for Tony, but he will shave it for her.

- - - - - -

It takes a few hours before Peggy rolls over and opens her eyes to take in the world around her. The soft gray of the walls and bright light from the windows is at least disorienting her enough because it’s like no hospital she’s ever seen. Everything from the frames of the windows to the monitors sitting by her bedside are all wrong, and as one hand comes up to rub her eyes, her gaze finally settles on the one thing in the room she unmistakably recognizes.

You could change his fashion, change his hair, have him playing with some kind of device she can’t recognize, but she’d know Steve anywhere, and there’s something about seeing him like this that makes her breath catch in her throat.

“Peg?” Somewhere in the midst of this he noticed her moving, and he gets up to make his way closer, sitting on the edge of her bed with a small smile. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She reaches one hand forward slowly, placing it on his arm almost as though she’s trying to make sure that he’s real. When her hand meets the solid wall of muscle that is Steve Rogers, it confirms that it’s real, and somehow makes her doubt it more.

“Steve?”

“It’s a really long story,” he says with a soft laugh. “But yeah. It’s me.”

Her eyes soften and she surges forward, likely too fast for the monitors she happened to be attached to, but Steve is there to catch her, strong arms winding around her waist and keeping her close, almost as though he’s as desperate to hold her as she has been him.

“What happened? The plane …”

“The plane went down. I …” He pauses as more people burst into the room, and when she tenses in surprise, Steve is there to soothe her.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” Steve pauses before one of the men steps forward, wearing a t-shirt and jeans as though it’s some kind of fashion statement, and there’s something familiar about him that she can’t quite place until Steve makes it click into place. “This is Howard’s son, Tony.”

“Hey Aunt Peg,” Tony says softly, and she makes a face at the familiarity of it, though she doesn’t seem surprised – of course Howard’s child would want to call her something so familiar. Tony seems amused. “Good to know you still hate it, no matter what time period you’re from.”

“What is going on?” Peggy demands, finally, because none of this is really making sense, and Steve nods.

“I’ll explain. But can we just let the doctors make sure you’re okay first?”

“Why not both?” She raises an eyebrow at the two men. “I assure you, I’m very capable of multitasking. I think I can handle it.”

Tony sighs, before nodding. “Fine. Guess we may as well start at the beginning.”

- - - - - -

In all fairness to Peggy, she took things much better than Steve had. It doesn’t seem like it, as Steve tends to internalize a lot, but Peggy is still Peggy, and she takes all of the news: transported to the future, Steve being alive, her current predicament with the style and grace that Steve anticipates of her every time. Tony doesn’t let them leave the tower, just in case he has some kind of breakthrough, but they do tuck themselves into a corner of the lounge and soak up the time they have together, for however long it lasts.

“I wish we could leave,” he says softly one evening. “I still owe you that dance.”

“You do, don’t you.”

She glances around the empty room for a moment, before her eyes land on Tony’s records and record player. It’s close enough to what they had in 1945, that it doesn’t take her long to find a song that suits her needs, before turning and leaning back against the stereo, raising an eyebrow in a challenge that Steve understands without him having to say it.

His move.

He pauses, before getting to his feet and making his way closer. “Would you like to dance, Miss Carter?”

She smiles. “I would love to, Captain Rogers.”

He takes a few steps back before pulling her in closer, his hand remaining in hers as the other finds her waist, keeping her close. He’s seen this moment with her so many times, wished for it over and over again that he sinks into the moment without giving it much thought. All he has to do is sway to the time of the music and keep reminding himself that this is real.

“Steve?” The whisper of his name draws his eyes back to hers, she gives him a soft smile. “You’re already thinking about what’s going to happen when I leave, aren’t you?”

“No,” he says softly, pulling the hand in his closer to tuck it against his chest. “Just thinking about how glad I am you’re here.”

Peggy’s eyes water, and she surges up on her toes, pressing a kiss soundly to his lips. It doesn’t take much for Steve to melt into her hold, sinking into the familiarity and the longing, all at once. As the kiss deepens, he feels her hand gather in his shirt, and start to pull him out of the common area and towards somewhere more private.

- - - - - -

“Tell me where you are.”

He knows what she means, but he doesn’t answer her directly, instead his lips ghost against her shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Peggy gives him a look, before drawing his eyes up to meet hers again. “In the Artic, Steve. When I go back, where can I find you?”

He knows what she’s offering him. She’s offering him the chance to get his life back, to live a real life with the people who love him and in the time he was meant to live. If he wasn’t Captain America, he would take it in a heartbeat, but he knows it’s not that simple.

Just like Peggy is woven into the fabric of so many things, so is Steve. SHIELD, the Battle of New York, the Winter Soldier – Steve needs to be here, in this time, to play his part. As much as Steve Rogers is a human and a fallible one who has the right to certain things, Captain America isn’t.

“I can’t, Peg.”

Peggy turns to face him more, her hands coming up to cup his face. “You did your job, Steve. You deserve to go home.”

Steve turns and presses a kiss to her palm, eyes closed because as much as he knows that part of it is right, he also knows that home isn’t the same place it used to be.

“Job’s not done yet,” he says softly. “And I was never just a soldier.” He signed that chance away the moment he agreed to become Captain America. Her eyes water for a moment, and she tips her head back.

‘What am I supposed to do now? Knowing that you’re out there somewhere, and just out of reach.”

He smiles softly as he leans in to kiss her again. “You have an amazing life,” he says softly. “Even without me. I promise.”

Peggy sighs, pulling back and brushing her thumbs against his cheeks again. “This isn’t fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Promise me something, then,” she says softly. “Promise me that one day, when the job is done – when you think it’s done – have an amazing life of your own. Don’t let yourself become the shield, Steve. You are so much more than that.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that it might be already too late. Instead he nods, his arms reaching out to pull her in closer. “I promise.”

- - - - - -

A few days later, Tony cracks the problem that brought her here in the first place, and is prepared to send her back again. Steve says his goodbyes to Peggy quietly out of Tony’s earshot, and waits until the process is complete, and everything is back as it was before.

Eventually, Sam tracks him down scrolling through her biography pages on his phone, making sure her history and legacy were still intact and claps a hand down on his shoulder.

“C’mon man. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Won’t do me much good,” Steve reminds him, placing the phone down and looking back at his friend. “Super soldier metabolism, remember.”

“I think if we try hard enough we can find something strong enough,” Sam smirks, and Steve laughs, before nodding and getting up to follow him. They’re about halfway to the quinjet, when Sam glances back over his shoulder. “Did you get some closure at least?”

Steve doesn’t respond right away, his eyes drifting off over the New York City skyline before shrugging. “Probably as close as I’m ever going to get.” He continues to stare out at the skyscrapers ahead of him, all built on top of the city he used to know, before he turns back to Sam again. “Do you think there’s a chance for me to get out of this one day?”

Sam stops on the platform, turning back to his friend. “Do you want to?”

It’s a valid question. “Sometimes. But I don’t know what I’ll have left if I do.”

Sam pauses, before smiling softly and reaching over to give his shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll have me. Which may not be much, but it’s a start.”

Steve gives him a small smile in return, before nodding and continuing onto the jet. “C’mon. I think I know a place that might give us a good head start.”

Edited 2019-03-29 00:21 (UTC)

“So. Tell me about the roommate.”

Elena rolls her eyes at Caroline on the phone even though she can’t see it. Moving out to Seattle had been a jump after everything that had gone down in Mystic Falls, but Caroline and Bonnie were right. Taking a break and giving herself some time to see the world and live her life had been the right thing to do. Now that she’s settling in in Seattle, she’s feeling like a whole new person, and after all of the baggage that came with the Salvatores and their role in her life, becoming someone new is just what she needed.

She steps into her bedroom to close the door, hopefully taking herself out of Alec’s earshot, and smiles as she flops back on the bed. “He’s good. He’s really nice.”

“He?” Caroline’s voice is scandalized. “You didn’t say mystery roommate is a he?”

“Yes, he’s a he,” Elena sighs. “His name is Alec.”

“Is he cute?”

“Caroline.”

“What?” she says with a laugh. “It’s been a while since you and Damon parted ways …”

“You mean since he and Stefan sacrificed themselves to save the town and died?” There’s still a pang of pain there, when she thinks about how even though they had a chance to say goodbye, it still doesn’t feel like enough. Especially considering all that they suffered while she was asleep, completely oblivious to how the world around her was changing.

“Or that,” Caroline sighs. “I’m not trying to rush you. But you shouldn’t just restart med school while you’re out there. You should try and put yourself out there again. They didn’t sacrifice themselves so that you could die alone and miserable. They just sacrifice themselves so that I would die alone and miserable.”

“Caroline.” This time the admonishment is softer, but she doesn’t let the sentiment weigh for too long. Caroline lost just as much as she did, and it doesn’t feel right that they aren’t finding ways to heal together. “There’s still another bedroom, you know. You could always come out here if you want your own fresh start.”

“I appreciate that. I think Ric and the girls need me here right now, especially with getting the school up and running.” Elena admires what Caroline is doing, so she doesn’t push her, and that doesn’t mean she won’t visit, as confirmed by what she says next. “But if I ever feel like I need a break or I’m going to lose my mind, I promise you are the first stop on my list.”

“Good.”

“And, when you can sneak one, you should take a picture of hottie roommate because I’m choosing to believe that your non-answer is totally an answer.”

Elena laughs. “Of course you are.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay? I gotta go put the girls to bed.”

“Okay. Give them my love.”

She flops back on the bed when Caroline says goodbye, staring up at the ceiling as she takes another deep breath. Starting over is always scary, but it still feels good, and hopefully Caroline’s right and she will take the chance to get back out there again. She’s about to go try and see what’s around for dinner, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

Alec pops his head in and flashes her a smile.

“Hey, Elena. I was going to head down to Crash to meet some friends. Want to come?”

She considers, before nodding. “Yeah. Sounds like fun.”

- - - - - -

Crash is definitely a long shot from the Mystic Grill, with extreme sports playing on every screen and a lot of beer and other booze to go around. Alec orders a few pitchers, introduces her around to some friends from work, and Elena is hesitant to admit it at first but it’s … fun. It’s fun to get out and hang out with new people, it’s fun to play pool like she’s a normal twenty something med student instead of a girl who’s been through way more than anyone else her age, and if she’s being truly honest, it’s fun to not have anyone already know every single tragic thing that has ever happened to her.

It’s been a refreshingly long time since she had been able to just be a normal girl, and she intends to take advantage of it.

A few pitchers and a couple games of pool later, she and Alec are walking back to the apartment and she flashes him a smile. “This was a lot of fun. Thanks for inviting me.”

“You are welcome to join us anytime.” Alec nods with a smile. “We spend an embarrassing amount of time there.”

She laughs. “I had a place like that back home. It burned down a few years ago but … every weekend me and my friends would pile in there – sometimes it’s good to just go somewhere where you feel comfortable, you know?”

“I do,” he nods, hands in his pockets as he scans the street around them. “And I’m glad you came. I know what it’s like to be new in this city. I wouldn’t want you to fall into the same bad life choices I did.”

“Oh really?” she raises an eyebrow. “And what bad life choices were those exactly?”

He grins sheepishly before shrugging. “I may have done a little cage fighting back in my day.”

“Cage fighting?” Elena laughs. “Do you really think I’m the cage fighting type?”

“Hey, you’ve met Max, right? I’ve seen her curb stomp guys twice her size and not even break a sweat. I know better than to assume anything about a woman just based on looks.”

There’s a playfulness to his tone that belies the sincerity of it, making it hard to read just how serious he’s being about this particular statement, but she’s also seen Max, so she knows how tough she can be. “Fair point,” Elena says with a nod. “But I think it’s safe to say I left my days of blood and violence behind me.”

She hopes. She desperately hopes.

“So you are at least spared that wayward decision. Good to know.”

She grins. “But you seem to have landed on your feet. Got a job at Jam Pony, got an awesome new roommate.”

“You know, you are right about that. Things are definitely looking up.”

- - - - - -

As with most things with Elena Gilbert, she and Alec get close, fast. It’s hard not to, when you’re spending a lot of time in another person’s space – you either learn to love each other or hate each other fairly quickly. Conversations with Alec can border on too friendly, or dare she even say flirty, but Alec keeps his distance to a platonic capacity.

Even as close as they’ve gotten, she feels like there’s something there that he’s just not telling her. Which is fair, since there’s something she’s not telling him either. There’s a whole safe of baggage, locked away as she tries to truly give herself that fresh start, but she knows better than anyone that secrets will get the best of you every time. Eventually it’s going to come out, but for right now, Elena is just enjoying this brief time of being normal.

“Are you sure you don’t want to cook?” Alec asks one evening as he goes to town on making dinner for them, chopping vegetables with chef-like precision that is shockingly impressive, and she shakes her head around her glass of wine.

“And miss this show? Not a chance.” She grins as she goes to lean against the counter. “Besides, me trying to cook anything is a recipe for trouble.”

“Really? That med school scientist background isn’t making it work for you?”

She shakes her head before smirking back at him. “I screw up chili. You know easy it is to make chili? You dump a bunch of ingredients in a slow cooker and let it cook. I follow the recipe to the letter every time and it still comes out tasting like garbage.”

He laughs. “Well, I will take your word for it. I’ve had enough terrible food to last me a lifetime. But if I find out you’ve been holding out on me, we’re going to have some words.”

Elena laughs in return, before nodding. “Well the least I could do is pour you another glass of wine for all your hard work.”

“See, that’s the kind of hand in the kitchen that I need.”

Elena turns her back to him as she goes to grab the bottle from an opposite counter, reading the bottle as she tries to work the cork out of the top, but as she does, she notices that the gentle scratch scratch scratch of the knife Alec was using had stopped. She glances up, and Alec’s face is alert and tense, his head tipped to the side as though he was listening for something, before he reaches over, taking the wine bottle from her and placing it down on the counter.

“We have to go.”

“What?” Elena frowns, but doesn’t fight against the insistent press of his hands as he guides her around the corner and towards the door. “What’s going on?”

Before Alec can answer, he opens the front door to the sight of three men in what were definitely straight up cult robes, embroidered with snakes along the edges. Elena’s heart sinks to her stomach, thinking that they have to be here for some kind of doppelganger-related trauma, already internally swearing at how they managed to find her, and almost misses the fact that Alec says with her, in perfect unison.

“They’re here for me.”

She blinks in surprise, before her eyes turn to meet his, and again, together:

“They’re here for you?”

Alec doesn’t give them much time to contemplate it, simply yanks her back behind him in a protective gesture. As they back away from the door, the cultists force their way in and are trying to make an effort to box them in and keep them contained.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” Alec backs them up just far enough that she’s by a nearby closet, and without skipping a beat, she throws it open to go digging around for what she left there.

“That’s usually my line.”

She disappears behind the door and suddenly Alec is moving fast. Vampire fast, and Elena would panic were it not for the fact that she didn’t come out to Seattle unarmed. So while Alec disarms and disables a number of them just with his own two hands – doesn’t try to rip out hearts though, which is an oddly un-vampire like move – she gets her fingers around the first thing she finds (a crossbow) and sets up to fire at the other two.

Two bolts find their way into the chest of the nearest cultist, and he drops like a rock. No desiccation. She doesn’t give herself time to dwell on that, and turns to shoot too more into the last remaining one, as he follows in suit. She turns back to Alec who snaps the neck of the last remaining one, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the crossbow in her hand – more confused than anything else.

“We have a crossbow?”

“I have a crossbow.” Elena eyes him for a moment. “You’re a vampire?”

Alec’s eyebrows go up into his hairline. “No. Vampires are a thing?”

Elena nods. “I think we need to talk.”

“I agree.” He glances down at the bodies and makes a face. “After we clean this up.”

- - - - - -

The clean up doesn’t take long. Alec makes some phone calls and a few other people like him – young and in their twenties – show up to collect the bodies. She waits until the room is mostly clear before she finally lowers the crossbow and swallows.

“What are they going to do with them?”

Alec shrugs. “We have friends in a few different places. These will probably get incinerated at the local coroner.”

“Who are they?”

“Local snake cult,” Alec moves to lean against the doorframe. He never once comments on the fact that she keeps the crossbow in hand, even if it isn’t pointed directly at him. He doesn’t judge her or try to force her trust, convince her that she doesn’t need to protect herself from him. She’s never gotten that from someone who is more powerful, more dangerous than she in an effort to earn her trust, and if she’s being honest that helps him, rather than hurts him.

Still, the crossbow stays in her hand.

“What do they want with you?” She still isn’t convinced that this isn’t some kind of doppelganger related problem, but she is completely across the country from where she’s expected to be.

“It’s not me, necessarily. Well, they want me dead, mostly, but they also want to get their hands on Max. So sometimes, when they can find me, they like to try and go through me.”

“If you’re not a vampire, what are you?”

Alec swallows hard, before turning his back to her and tugging down the collar of his shirt. There, on the patch of skin between his shoulders and his hairline is a black barcode tattoo, the kind that she’d seen floating around on warning flyers at the hospital. The story of genetic mutants escaped from some kind of shady government lab and how the cops wanted to be contacted if anyone saw any of them. The attendings had told them to do their job first – save the life before involving the police, but Alec is the first one that Elena had actually had the pleasure of meeting.

“You’re a transgenic.”

“Yeah,” he sighs before turning to face her again. “Your turn.”

She isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t want her to lash out at him, or because he feels like he’s shared enough without reciprocity, but it’s true that she also has some explaining to do.

“Right. So … vampires.”

And it all comes out in a flow of insanity and pain – how vampires are real, how she used to be one, how she still is a doppelganger and the craziness that that entails. She mentions Katherine, and how a very old, very dangerous vampire used to wear her face and use it to twist Elena’s life around to her advantage, and she almost, for a moment, sees a glimpse of understand in his eyes. She doesn’t push him to address it now, though, and when she finishes, tries to move forward instead of dwelling in all that baggage.

“What do we do now?”

“Well, we’re going to have to move. If they knew I was living here well enough to send a hit squad, we definitely can’t stay.”

Elena nods. “I can crash at the hospital for a while. Until we track down somewhere new.”

Alec’s eyebrows climb in surprise. “We?”

Elena raises her eyebrows in return. “Did you honestly think, after hearing the entire mess that my life has been thus far, that I was just going to abandon you to deal with that on your own?”

Alec gapes. “This isn’t your problem, Elena. I also wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get far away from all of this.”

“I care about you, Alec. And I don’t abandon people I care about. Besides, I think I might actually be able to help.” He seems surprised by that as well, and she points to herself. “Mystical spell ingredient, remember? I know a couple good witches that might be able to help us twist this to our advantage. Dangerous supernatural cults are kind of in our wheelhouse.”

There’s something in Alec’s posture that crumbles, and she lowers the crossbow the rest of the way as a result. “You’re serious.”

“I am.” She places the crossbow down on the nearest flat surface, before making her way closer, resting her hand on his. “We’re in this together.”

“Okay,” he says softly, turning his hand to give hers a small squeeze. “Then I think I know somewhere we can stay. And there’s someone you should probably meet.”

Edited 2019-03-29 22:31 (UTC)

- - - - - -

A few hours later, after packing a quick bag and texting some friends to get them digging on the origins of this cult and what they may need, she makes her way into the surprisingly abandoned house sitting at the end of one of the more suburb streets in Seattle. It doesn’t seem safe, but she doesn’t fight Alec as he leads her inside, looking around the house as she goes. There are small homey touches along with a scattering of art supplies, and eventually the tour through the house stops in front of a very large man who seems to be going through a box of Little Debbie’s.

“Hey, big fella,” Alec says softly. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

The head lifts, and Elena is met with surprisingly canine features, and while her first instinct is to recoil, she stands her ground and offers him a small smile.

“Joshua, this is Elena. Elena, this is Joshua.”

Joshua raises a large, meaty hand and waves. “Hi.”

Elena smiles and waves in return. “Hi. Nice to meet you, Joshua.”

“So Elena and I need to crash here for a bit until some heat dies down. Is that okay?”

Joshua’s face lights up the moment Alec says it, clearly so excited by the prospect of not being alone. “Like roommates?”

Elena laughs. “Exactly like roommates.”

Joshua nods. “This will be good. I’ll make mac and cheese, and little hot dogs.”

Alec laughs. “Sounds perfect.”

The thing about growing up in a family like the Winchesters is that normal things don’t exactly gel with the rest of your life. Your parents are rougher than most, despite the fact that your dad is the Winchester who actually went to college. You’re taught that the rest of the world is more against you than it is for you, and the idea that going to wander around a museum all day is supposed to be fun stopped being cool when your mother taught you that half the things in there are probably haunted.

This is Olivia’s life.

Ben manages to get by through the first ten years of his life being relatively normal, but Olivia and Michael aren’t so lucky. Their parents being Bela and Sam means that no matter how hard Sam tries, there’s still always going to be a little bit of weird to their life. Bela tries to teach her children to embrace it in an effort to protect themselves, which is a point of contention between her parents, but for the most part, Olivia thinks her mother is right.

Knowing what’s out there is better than being the dumb kid wandering into the shadowy corner in those horror movies that she’s not supposed to be watching with Uncle Dean. This doesn’t, however, mean that nine year-old Olivia is able to get herself excused out of class field trips to the museum.

She tried to hide the permission slip. The school called her parents.

She tried to fake getting the flu. Her dad called Uncle Cas to heal her.

Honestly, the only upside to this trip is that Ben has to suffer with her, being talked in to volunteering to be a chaperone at the last possible second. At nineteen, she’s probably sure he has much better thing to do, but with Michael in middle school now, she has no one to mask her weirdness through, and she really doesn’t feel like trying to fake it for other parents.

She slumps into her seat on the bus, and a few moments later Ben slides in next to her, raising an eyebrow when she doesn’t protest and try to get him to move. “What? Not going to tell me to step aside for your friends?”

“What friends?” Olivia asks honestly, because making friends has never really been her strong suit.

Ben frowns, before leaning back in the seat next to her. “That bad, huh?”

“I hate museums. Everything there is haunted.”

“Not … everything?”

Olivia gives him the most baleful look in response. “Everything.”

Ben swallows hard before reaching over and ruffling her hair. “Well, it’s just for today. Hardly enough time for anyone to get into too much trouble.”

Olivia would blame him for jinxing it, if she had ever been under the impression that it was possible for this day to go well in the first place.

- - - - - - -

They’re wandering through the artifacts of early setters, looking over the various items set behind the glass as she plays with the straps on the ends of her backpack. For the most part, things seemed to have been going calmly, no one’s behavior was standing out as odd or concerning. Still, she keeps her eyes on the other patrons just as much as she is the exhibits themselves, searching for the off chance that something might go wrong.

It isn’t until they wander into the room with one of the frescas that things start to get a little … strange.

Billy Randolph, a boy who happens to sit a couple desks down from her in class was looking … different. Red-faced and angry, the normally gentle fourth grader was shoving his way through the crowd, going out of his way to pick fights with whoever gave him the opportunity, and it just isn’t like him at all. Eventually Olivia catches up to him, catching one hand in his and turning him to face her.

“Billy?”

“Get off!” He shoves her back and when she looks at him dead on, she can see the drip, drip, drip of ectoplasm leaking out of his ear and down onto his shirt. Her eyes widen and she starts to reach for it.

“Your ear …”

“Don’t touch me!” He starts to come at her, arms raised to try and grab her, and she reacts without thinking. Her little fist flies up, hitting him square in the nose and she can feel the cartilage crack against her knuckles. The ghost tumbles backwards, not expecting it, and Billy hits the floor. Black ooze is leaking out his nose now, as well, and she knows what she has to do.

“Liv!”

Ben’s shocked voice comes over her shoulder, skidding to a stop and dropping to his knees next to her. She drops her backpack down in front of her and she fishes out a canister of salt that she probably stole from the Winchesters garage.

“Give me your hand!”

Ben doesn’t argue with her, he’s too flabbergasted to, and she pours the rock salt into his hand before shoving it towards Billy’s face.

“This is going to be gross, sorry.”

The ghost struggles against the rock salt, trying to get free, until all it can do is escape from the body itself, bouncing out of the little boy’s shoulders and dissolving into a shimmer of black smoke. Once it does, she pulls Ben’s hand back as his head whips around to try and catch sight of it.

“Is it gone?”

“Not yet,” Olivia replies, before reaching forward and taking Billy by the shoulders. “Where did you see it?”

“Pilgrims,” Billy gasps. “What did you do?”

“I’ll explain later.” She won’t. For now, she’s slipping her hand into her cousin’s jacket pocket, fishing out the lighter she knows he carries there, and takes off for the pilgrim exhibit she saw earlier. As she runs, she connects the dots and it makes sense. Pilgrims often used the hair of the child to match the hair of the dolls, and it happens to be one of the few open exhibits – too far back for Billy to have touched directly, but enough of an enclosed space that the ghost could have used him to escape.

When she reaches the exhibit, she hops the metal barrier in front of it, charging closer and looking over the various items available. There are patrons shouting behind her, but she ignores them, finding the doll she was looking for and holding the hair up to the lighter in her hand. All it takes is a couple quick flicks before the hair fizz-pops into flame in her hand.

“Put that down!”

There’s a security guard arm pulling her back, and she immediately drops the doll, still on fire. The second guard charges forward to stamp it out, but the damage is already done. The ghost is gone, and if the look on the security guard’s face is any indication, she is in so, so much trouble.

- - - - - -

They sit her in a windowless room somewhere in the depths of the museum. The guards try and question her, asking her why she did what she did, but she can’t exactly tell them the truth, so she just says nothing at all, waiting for her parents to arrive and smooth things over. She knows that she’s probably going to get punished for this, but she had to do something.

She couldn’t let the ghost walk out of there wearing her friend, temporary or not. Who knows what she could have made Billy do.

For a long time she’s just alone, her legs kicking against the air, but eventually the door opens and she can see her father looming behind the security guard. Her eyes drop to her hands, and she tries to ignore the way her eyes are burning, braced for the inevitable disappointment.

“Let’s go, Liv.”

Olivia nods as she slides out of her chair and goes to take her father’s hand. He leads her out to the car, letting her slide into the back seat as he slips into the passenger’s side. It isn’t until she’s actually in it that she realizes it’s her mothers, and not the Impala.

“Mom?”

“Is smoothing things over with the museum director. It’s probably going to be … expensive.”

Her eyes drop to her hands again, and there’s a pause, before Sam’s hand reaches out to rest over hers. “I know why you did it, Liv. Ben told us what happened to your friend.”

“I couldn’t let it jump into someone else now that it was out!”

“I know, kiddo, I know,” Sam sighs softly. “But … sometimes you have to be more … subtle.”

“There wasn’t any time!”

Her father looks frustrated, and she can’t tell if it’s at her or just the situation. She wants to believe that she did the right thing, but everything is so complicated. Then his face softens. “Is this why you didn’t want to go on the field trip?”

She swallows, then nods, not really sure what else to say to defend herself, when the driver’s side door opens and her mother slides inside.

“I had to pay him back the cost of the items damaged in the exhibit, and offer to sponsor the restoration of one wing, and Olivia is never to set foot in the museum again, but there won’t be any charges filed.” Bela glances back over her shoulder at her daughter and offers her a small smile. “We do have to work on your ability to be subtle, though.”

Sam gives a small half smile, before reaching back to buckle in. “Not a very Winchester trait.”

Bela laughs. “Well, there’s some things the family genes could stand to work on.”

Her mother’s laughter lightens the air in the car considerably, and while she has a feeling she’s still probably in trouble at school, she’s glad her parents don’t seem too angry about it all. The rest of the car ride home is mostly silent, until they reach the house, where Dean pops up from the porch and flashes her a grin, holding up his hand for a high five.

“There’s my little ghostbuster!” She smacks his hand with a grin. “Nice work on your first salt and burn.”

“Dean,” Sam admonishes on his way up from the car.

“What? She saved the day, and for that, she gets to eat pie.”

Her face brightens and Olivia glances back to her parents. “Can I?”

Sam sighs before nodding. “Yeah, go for it.”

She grins as she goes to race inside. Yeah, her family is pretty weird, but sometimes it’s pretty cool too.

Edited 2019-03-30 02:33 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

plurk meme { 2018 } au august

Completed: 31/31
Running Word Count: 63,180

august 1: soulmates | dean & wynonna | 2,620

august 2: college | sam & allison | 2,985

august 3: single parent | steve & laurel | 2,119

august 4: enemy | christopher & ruby | 1,804

august 5: laundromat | bruce & jessica | 1,497

august 6: hogwarts | ava & alek | 1,228

august 7: famous | freya & keelin | 1,664

august 8: power swap | felicity & vi | 1,046

august 9: summer camp | amy & rory | 975

august 10: secret agent | chloe & freya | 2,099

august 11: mermaid | neal & rebekah | 1,414

august 12: royalty | barry & iris | 1,971

august 13: fake dating | stefan & freya | 1,083

august 14: reincarnation au | stefan & elena | 2,013

august 15: life swap | barry & iris | 2300

august 16: neighbors | barry & daisy | 1,900

august 17: sidekick | diana & lucifer | 1,900

august 18: circus | dylan & neal | 1,400

august 19: reverse crush | miranda & andrew | 3,700 | part 1

august 19: reverse crush | miranda & andrew | 3,700 | part 2

august 20: coffeeshop | stefan & bonnie | 2,232

august 21: childhood friends | derek & fiona | 1,722

august 22: criminal | luke & jessica | 2,747

august 23: historical | laurel, oliver & tommy | 1,670

august 24: office/workplace | derek & allison | 3,150 | part 1

august 24: office/workplace | derek & allison | 3,150 | part 2

august 25: fwb | derek & thea | 2,738

august 26: bff swap | seth & kate | 2,935

august 27: internet | daisy & zari | 3,287 | part 1

august 27: internet | daisy & zari | 3,287 | part 2

august 28: gym | stiles & cora | 2,905

august 29: time travel | peggy & steve | 2,289

august 30: roommates | alec & elena | 2,949 | part 1

august 30: roommates | alec & elena | 2,949 | part 2

august 31: dealer's choice (field trip) | gen 2 winchesters | 1,787

plurk meme { 2018 } au august

Completed: 31/31Running Word Count: 63,180

august 1: soulmates | dean & wynonna | 2,620

august 2: college | sam & allison | 2,985

august 3: single parent | steve & laurel | 2,119

august 4: enemy | christopher & ruby | 1,804

august 5: laundromat | bruce & jessica | 1,497

august 6: hogwarts | ava & alek | 1,228

august 7: famous | freya & keelin | 1,664

august 8: power swap | felicity & vi | 1,046

august 9: summer camp | amy & rory | 975

august 10: secret agent | chloe & freya | 2,099

august 11: mermaid | neal & rebekah | 1,414

august 12: royalty | barry & iris | 1,971

august 13: fake dating | stefan & freya | 1,083

august 14: reincarnation au | stefan & elena | 2,013

august 15: life swap | barry & iris | 2300

august 16: neighbors | barry & daisy | 1,900

august 17: sidekick | diana & lucifer | 1,900

august 18: circus | dylan & neal | 1,400

august 19: reverse crush | miranda & andrew | 3,700 | part 1

august 19: reverse crush | miranda & andrew | 3,700 | part 2

august 20: coffeeshop | stefan & bonnie | 2,232

august 21: childhood friends | derek & fiona | 1,722

august 22: criminal | luke & jessica | 2,747

august 23: historical | laurel, oliver & tommy | 1,670

august 24: office/workplace | derek & allison | 3,150 | part 1

august 24: office/workplace | derek & allison | 3,150 | part 2

august 25: fwb | derek & thea | 2,738

august 26: bff swap | seth & kate | 2,935

august 27: internet | daisy & zari | 3,287 | part 1

august 27: internet | daisy & zari | 3,287 | part 2

august 28: gym | stiles & cora | 2,905

august 29: time travel | peggy & steve | 2,289

august 30: roommates | alec & elena | 2,949 | part 1

august 30: roommates | alec & elena | 2,949 | part 2

august 31: dealer's choice (field trip) | gen 2 winchesters | 1,787

Completed: 31/31
Running Word Count: 63,180