iluvroadrunner6 | get your words out { 2023 } yahtzee tracking

get your words out { 2023 } yahtzee tracking

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Running Score: 260 (8/8)
Word Count: 35,178

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Edited 2023-03-07 04:35 (UTC)

The demon wakes in a sea of candles, in the middle of a devil’s trap. It’s a clever little spell, whatever the witch did to him that made him so malleable, and he claps his hands.

“Clever, clever boy, Ezra Adin,” he smiles with inky eyes, observing the witch from a distance. “That’s a nasty little trick you pulled.”

If he’s surprised that the demon knows his name, he doesn’t flinch. In fact, he stands taller, towering over the edges of the devil’s trap with determination. “I’ve got a lot of those. I’m sure you’ll see a few more by the time we’re done.”

“You mean by the time I break out of this little trap and snap your neck?” The demon’s head lolls to the side. “If you’re here for David, you’re wasting your time. He’s long gone, and whatever little remains, I’ll take by snapping his neck on my way out.”

“My job isn’t to keep him alive,” Ezra points out. The hunter over his shoulder looks a little hesitant. It’s his job to keep David alive, and isn’t that a juicy bit of conflict?

“Your friend back there doesn’t think so.”

“He’s not the one exorcising you. I am. I think you should be more worried about what I will and won’t allow.”

“But will he let you ruin his pay day—that is the question?”

Damian, the hunter, schools his face, removing any doubt he could read from the situation. Then he shrugs. “They might pay me less, but this is the Colony. What do they care about a little death?”

The demon steps back and grits his teeth. “If you want me out, you better bring your A-game.”

Ezra doesn’t seem bothered, and chants as the battle of wills begins. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

Edited 2023-12-14 13:21 (UTC)

The first thing David does is run.

He wakes in the middle of a crappy motel room, as the only voice in his head for the first time in a long time and he bolts. For all he knows, these two men are looking to murder him, or worse, drag him home.

He slips through their fingers and runs, the cool morning breeze in his face, the burn of the muscles in his legs, none of it through the slimy filter of a demon’s presence. For the first time in longer than he can remember, he’s free, and it’s wonderful.

He slows down once he’s put a good distance between himself and the motel, thumb out on the side of the road as he tries to hitchhike himself even further away, when a sleek car pulls out next to him, and one man—the witch—pokes their head out the window.

“David, we don’t want to hurt you. We’re the ones who exorcised you.”

He says nothing, partially because talking feels unnatural, and he’s trying to figure out how to reconnect his brain to his voice. While he knows Ezra is telling the truth about the last part, he’s not sure he believes the first.

“Can we talk about this?”

“I’m not getting in the car.”

He still feels eighteen in so many ways. He knows he’s not. A demon stole those years. He hates how much he still sounds like a child.

“Fine.” Ezra undoes his seatbelt and waits for the car to pull to a stop before he climbs out to fall in step next to him. “But can we talk about this at least?”

“Fine.” David doesn’t think he can manage much more than that, but for now, he listens.

He hopes he likes what he hears.

The one benefit of being a Gainor is that the world is at your fingertips. Open a door, and you can find yourself wherever you want, as long as your familiar with the location. It’s in those moments that he spoils his husband-to-be, planning elusive weekend trips where they can get away from the Colony compound, away from his disapproving parents.

On a street in Tokyo, he runs his fingers along a selection of knick-knacks before he picks one up and shows it to his husband. “What about this one? It’s cute.”

“You’re not going to bribe me out of this fight.”

“I didn’t realize we were having a fight. I thought it was more of a mild disagreement.”

“Oh, no. It’s definitely a fight.”

David grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For whatever this is that’s making this a fight?” David can tell that will not cut it, so he sets the item down. “You think I’m running away again, but I’m not. I’m making a careful retreat.”

“A careful retreat to avoid standing up to your parents.”

“You don’t know my parents.” Colony witches don’t tolerate disobedience well. There are only so many times he can push them before they decide to break a toy they don’t want him to have—in this case, his fiancé.

“There is no standing up to them in a way that doesn’t end with you dead. And that is not what I want.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Not against them. They’re letting me marry you. That’s all the concessions they’re willing to make.”

Ezra makes a face. “Then we need a better plan.”

David smiles, before turning to pull him towards a nearby restaurant. “I was hoping you’d say that. Want to talk over dinner?”

Ezra nods. “I’m open to hearing a pitch.”

It’s storming outside the windows of the compound the day David and Ezra get married. His mother mutters something about it being an omen, and he wonders how right she is. Not necessarily about the state of his relationship, but more about what his and Ezra’s plans mean for the world that’s coming.

But they make it through the ceremony, Jaqueline’s eyes boring into the back of his shoulders, some odd mixture of relief and resentment. He doesn’t know how to reach out to her and fix things between them, but that’s a problem to solve on a day that’s not his wedding. They push their way through the stuffy reception, and the quiet panic of wondering if there would be an assassination right on the dance floor—if the promise would only make it through the wedding and nothing further. Once he and Ezra get permission, they hurry away.

He doesn’t take any chances. He takes them from the front door of the banquet hall to the hotel where they would spend their first night together as husband-and-husband. David sweeps through the room to make sure there aren’t any last-minute traps waiting for them, before turning to Ezra with a radiant smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Ezra smiles in return. “Satisfied all your paranoia for the evening?”

“Mostly. No hex bags, no murderers lurking in the closet, no special traps. We may just be safe.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever be safe. But I’ll very much settle for safe for now if it means we get to enjoy this.” This being their honeymoon, their life together, all the good things that involves.

“I love you,” David murmurs as he kisses him.

“I love you too.” Here’s to a new life together, and for everything, good or bad, that may come after.

Edited 2023-03-08 14:27 (UTC)

David sorts through the pictures of the car wreck he pulled from the local police file, and whistles low when he sees the shattered windshield. Honestly, it’s truly a miracle that they did not kill more people in this little hit-and-run, but given that one of them was a vampire and one became a vampire, that likely covered a lot of bases.

Ezra makes his way back into the bedroom. “Are you sure Harvey bought it?”

“I’m not sure Harvey bought anything—but he has enough evidence to report back in your favor. These Monroe hunters are a problem.” David still can feel the phantom wounds from their last tangle in London, and he very much would like to not run into them again if he can help it. But it seems like they’re intent on making themselves a bigger problem, not smaller.

“Do you think the Colony will do anything about it?”

“Not unless Monroe comes for them directly. Or if they think they can use them to their advantages.” David shakes his head. “And I think things have to get a lot messier before that happens.”

Ezra shakes his head as he sits down on the couch next to him. “This situation doesn’t need more mess.”

“No, it doesn’t. But that’s kind of what my family specializes in.”

“Fair point.” Ezra leans back, looking over the photos again. “Are you any closer to figuring out what cured Elena?”

“Something powerful, that’s for sure. And she was fairly tight-lipped about it in the interview. As she should be, based on who she thought we were.”

“She’s not telling me much, either.” Ezra sighs. “This is just the tip of the iceberg, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” He takes Ezra’s hand. “But we’ll figure it out together.”

After all, they always do.

Edited 2023-03-08 14:27 (UTC)

Edited 2023-03-08 23:02 (UTC)

“I need you to not be weird.”

They’re making their way to the front door of the party, Eliot’s tone firm. Fen doesn’t take it personally—his new college friends are probably not going to be charmed by the eccentricities of his old childhood friend. Eliot likes to keep these two parts of his life separate.

“Define weird,” Fen chirps, and Eliot rolls his eyes.

“Just … no knife talk, okay?” Eliot glances over at her with a softer look. “I know things have been rough lately. Just try to have fun.”

“I’m fine, Eliot. If this is a pity visit, you could have saved some time.”

“This is not a pity visit.” He says that firmly enough that she believes him. She steps forward, pushing up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“I appreciate it. But go find Margo. I will be fine.”

Eliot nods in return before throwing open the door to the party, and the entire room rises to meet him in greeting. She’s always envied how can do that—walk into a room as though he’s above it all, like he’s the king entering his castle and everyone loves him. So she sneaks off to the side, slipping in before anyone notices she’s there and Eliot has to make hasty introductions.

She first scopes out the food and drink, grabs herself a glass of wine and wanders. She rounds the corner and her eyes land on a woman and it punches her in the chest how pretty she is. Long brown hair, pleasant smile. She draws Fen in like a magnet as she sits on the patio and smokes. The woman turns, catching her gaze and turning that smile on her.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Sorry. I was just getting some fresh air. Totally not eavesdropping.” Too caught up on the beauty of the woman in front of her to try. The woman smiles wider.

“Didn’t think you were. I’m just not sure I know who you are.”

“You know everyone at a college party?”

“I know the people who matter. And I think I would have noticed you.”

Fen’s throat goes dry, and she takes another step further out onto the patio. “Fen. I’m Eliot’s friend from back home.”

“Julia. And here I thought he sprung up on campus fully formed.”

“Oh, parts of him sure did,” Fen laughs before shaking her head. “Life back home wasn’t exactly tailor made for him to be himself.” They even pretended to date for a while—all the protection, none of the benefits. “But he seems like himself here, and I’m happy for him.”

Julia’s friend wanders off, and she puts out her cigarette on the ashtray on the table. Then she points. “What’s that?”

Fen glances down and spots the leathery hilt sticking out of the back of her jeans. She pauses, as Eliot said, no knife talk, but since she didn’t bring it up herself… “It’s a throwing knife. I should have left it home, but … I don’t know.”

“Are you any good?”

“Oh, me?” Fen waves a hand. “I don’t know.”

“Show me.”

Eliot is definitely will not approve. “Yeah, sure. Got a tree nearby?”

They find one a suitable distance from the building, and wait until no one’s around, before Fen sends the knife flying, lodging the blade in the trunk. Julia’s face lights up.

“Teach me how to do that.”

Fen nods because absolutely. She will teach her anything she wants. She will follow her to the ends of the earth. Hopefully, it won’t come back to bite her.

Edited 2023-03-13 13:32 (UTC)

“Okay, stand in front of me.”

Julia does as she’s told, moving into place and allowing Fen to adjust her stance. She’s not sure how much power the other woman will have, or how good her aim is, but they picked a tree where not many people are around, so no one will probably get hurt.

“Let’s start with the easiest way to throw.” Fen holds the knife out to her, the narrow blade coming to a sharp tip. “Wrap your hand around the blade.” Julia looks at her skeptically, and Fen smirks. “The sides aren’t sharp, just the tip.”

Julia runs her finger along the edges, testing Fen’s word, before nodding. “Because the end of the knife is the only thing that has to stick?”

“Pretty much.”

Julia does as asked, wrapping her fingers around the blade, and Fen moves her arm to hold it up in front of her, hilt up.

“After that it’s easy. Just aim and throw.”

She does, and it doesn’t quite catch in the wood, but it does hit the tree, which is impressive for a first time. Julia makes a face and Fen shakes her head, quick to reassure her.

“No, that was good. Most people don’t even hit the tree on their first try.”

“Guess I’m just a bit of a perfectionist,” Julia smirks. “Gifted child syndrome, or something like that.” Fen laughs as she goes to fetch the knife, but Julia continues. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Oh, that might have been a little too eager. She swallows and scales it back. “I mean, shoot.”

Julia doesn’t seem to notice anything odd about it—or if she does, she’s not calling attention to it. “You said Eliot tries to keep those parts of his life separate. So why did he decide to bring you here?”

She realizes, now, how that statement has made Eliot sound, and she’s quick to course correct. “Oh, well, when I said that I didn’t mean me.” She’s different, or at least so she likes to believe, Otherwise Julia is right, she wouldn’t be here.

“So you’re the exception?”

“Something like that.” Fen shrugs. “But you’re not wrong. There was a guy, at school, and it ended badly. I needed a break, and Eliot offered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Fen snorts as she picks up the knife and hands it back to her. “I’m glad I found out he was a snake before I got even further in over my head. But—it still sucks, and coming to a party like this, far away from anyone else I know, except for Eliot is … easier.”

“Fair,” Julia nods. “And for the record, I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t be able to upgrade my knife throwing skills otherwise.”

Fen laughs, before passing the knife back to her again, blade first. “Try again. This time, put a little more umph behind it.”

Julia nods, taking her time and measuring the distance before letting it fly again. This time, it sinks easily into the tree and she throws her arms up over her head in victory. “Yes!”

“Nice,” Fen grins. “Now let’s try another one.”

By the time Eliot comes out to let her know that he’s going to put her in an Uber back to the apartment because he got himself another partner for the evening, she’s coached Julia through a few different forms. He leaves them with that, and when Fen offers to buy Julia a cup of coffee, she accepts.

This feels like the start of something, rather than the end, and she’s glad for it.

Coffee goes really well. Really well.

She can’t tell if Julia has recognized the absolutely massive crush that Fen has on her, but she doesn’t seem to shy away from her either. She’s just so cool and smart and Fen is a disaster bisexual for a reason. But at the end of the night they do nothing more than swap numbers as they both have to return to the real world and, in the real world, Fen is going back to her school far, far away.

It’s probably for the best. When Fen returns to school, she’s reminded that she’s a glass case of emotion in the body of a girl who loves knives and the thing that ostracized her from her friend group didn’t go away while she was gone. She can’t believe that she’s the one who was used, the one who was betrayed, and she’s the one who lost everything at the same time.

Probably because she never really had any of it.

Returning to her dorm after her first day of classes, she slumps back on the bed and covers her head with her pillow as she lets out a scream. Shortly after the sound fades, she hears her phone ring, and Julia’s name flashes on the screen. She immediately throws the pillow across the room and answers.

“Hey!”

“Hey. Wanted to see how the first day back went.”

“Oh, pretty terrible.” Fen isn’t afraid to say it, probably because she already told Julia she expected it. “I’m back to zero friends here and I’m not sure with the time I have left, I have the energy to start over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Fen knows it’s the sentimentality that matters, but she it always bothers her when people did that. “I’m just glad you called.”

“I figured you could use a friend, for better or worse.”

Fen smiles at that, that Julia considers her a friend after such a short time. “Tell me about your day.”

And she does, a flowing story of nothing of import, but just her classes and the things she’s learning. She’s bowled over, once again, by how smart Julia is, and she doesn’t know why she’s wasting her time being friends with someone like Fen, who seems to miss the obvious regularly and has a collection of knives hidden under her bed. It truly only makes her like her more and makes the distance between them seem like a vast canyon she doesn’t know how to cross.

But as Julia’s day winds down and Fen can’t help herself. She knows she’s just out of a relationship, and one that ended fairly badly, but she can’t bring herself to ignore this feeling growing for too much longer.

“Do you want to get coffee again this weekend?”

Julia pauses, as though trying to suss out what the real meaning is here. “You want to come all the way out here for a cup of coffee?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a little far?”

“Not if it’s with you.” The words come out before she can stop them, and she clamps her hand over her mouth. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, Fen. What are you doing? “Sorry. That was—”

“I would love to see you this weekend.” Julia cuts her off before she can go too far, and Fen almost melts with relief. “You can stay in my dorm so you don’t have to drive all the way there and back in one day.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” Julia smiles. “Besides, I think I’m a pretty good option to start over with.”

Fen doesn’t disagree.

Edited 2023-03-16 12:24 (UTC)

Nine times out of ten, Eliot doesn’t interfere with Fen’s life, and he prefers it that way. Fen is a big girl. She can take care of herself when it comes down to it. But then he catches her sneaking off campus without so much as a hi, hello, how are you from his oldest friend, and he finds himself suddenly suspicious.

He asks around, and when the person she’s spending time with is none other than Julia Wicker, well. Then he gets a little concerned.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Julia. He can appreciate a woman who knows how to get what she wants, and Julia's ambition in spades. But he doesn’t want that ambition to come at the expense of his friend. Especially when she’s coming off people doing just that.

He and Margo are holding court on the fountain at the center of campus, people watching and commentating as they see fit, when Julia crosses his line of vision. He lifts himself from his reclining position, projecting his voice as any trained theater performer does: from the diaphragm and with presence.

“Hey, Jules!”

She turns her head towards him, and he can see her critical brain slowly whirling as he rises from his perch to make his way closer. As much as they are friends by association with Quentin in the middle, they’re not actual friends, so why he would want to talk to JW without QC is the big question.

“Can we chat?”

“Do we have something to chat about?”

Eliot slides his hands into his pockets, as casual as can be. “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with Fen.”

Julia arches an eyebrow in his direction. “We’ve been having coffee.”

“That’s spending time together, isn’t it?”

“So what is this? A protective big brother speech?”

“Can you blame me?” Eliot doesn’t mind not having to give the speech if Julia already knows where he’s going. “Fen walks through a world of sharp edges and tries to pretend that she doesn’t have to have them. I think we both know better.”

Julia nods slowly. “Yeah. I noticed that too. It’s one thing I like about her.”

“I’m not saying you can’t be friends, or even more than friends, if that’s what you both want.” Eliot’s an evolved man, and he knows as much as Fen ignores the sharp edges, she’s often drawn to them all the same. He’s not here to tell Julia to stay away for Fen’s own safety. He just wants her to be careful with his friend that she doesn’t cut her. “I’m just saying be careful with her. Because she’s just coming off a terrible relationship and she doesn’t need to go right into another one.”

“Yeah, she told me.” Julia pauses, eyeing him curiously as she does. “Does she know you care this much? Because from her perspective, she thinks you can be a bit …”

“Of an asshole?”

“I was going to go with aloof, but sure.”

Eliot shrugs. “She knows who I am, better than most. And we all have our armor.” He shrugs. “But I also know her, which is why if she knew what I was doing, she would be pissed so…”

“Don’t worry. Secret’s safe with me.” Julia steps away, books tucked to her chest as she weighs her options, then nods. “And for what it’s worth? I don’t want to be something she cuts herself on. But I am interested in her.”

For Eliot, it’s good enough that Julia knows what she’s handling. Hopefully, Julia can keep true to her word.

“Okay, don’t make fun of me.”

It’s week three of impromptu weekend visits to see Julia, and while things still haven’t gone beyond the platonic, Fen is still happy, knowing that she Is hanging out with someone who actually wants her around. Today, Julia’s taken her to an old house antique sale. Everything smells like mothballs and old feet, but there are some cool pieces waiting in the mess.

“I love coming to sales like this,” Julia admits as she pages through the clothes. “You never know what you might find.”

“Some of the stuff in here is pretty cool.” It feels morbid, rifling through a dead person’s things, but that all flies out the window when she opens a box and her mouth drops. “Oh my god.”

“What’d you find?” Julia peers over her shoulder at the beautifully engraved knife set, with a gold set hilt and fine detailing. It’s the most beautiful piece she’s ever seen and something in her gut encourages her to check on the underside of the box where the manufacturer would be listed: Fillory and Further, Inc.

Tears spring to her eyes as she pauses and quietly does the math on the date. “My grandfather made these knives.”

Julia blinks at her in surprise. “Your family makes knives?”

“Yeah. My dad sold the company so it’s not called Fillory and Further anymore, but he wasn’t the real artisan. My grandfather was. I’ve been looking for his knives for years, wanting something of his.”

“You should get them.”

Fen glances over at the price and shakes her head. “Oh, I can’t afford this.” They’re priced as they should be, as though someone knows what they have and while it’s still reasonable for her grandfather’s work, it’s out of the price range of what she has right now. She places the box back on the table and shakes her head. “Maybe another time.”

There’s a look on Julia’s face she can’t discern, but she doesn’t want to take the time to parse it, not right now. She has too many feelings and needs to take them elsewhere.

“I’m going to go get some air.”

She leaves before Julia can tell her otherwise.

* * * * *

When Julia returns, she has the box in her hand. Fen’s first impulse is maybe that she stole it, but Julia cuts that off at the pass. “I didn’t steal it. I bought it.” She pushes the box forward into Fen’s hands and Fen panics.

“Oh, I can’t take this. It’s too much.”

“You have been driving all the way here and back for three weekends straight, and I have money. I can afford it.” She rests her hand on top of the box as Fen finally takes it. “And you deserve to have a piece of your family’s legacy.”

Fen reacts without thinking. She lets the box fold up between them before surging forward and kissing Julia firmly, as she’s wanted to for weeks, lingering in the moment and trying not to think about how what will come after.

“Sorry,” she whispers as their lips part, and Julia smiles in return.

“Don’t be. I’m not.” She then flashes her a wink over her shoulder. “If I knew all it would take for you to kiss me is to buy you some fancy knives, I would have done it a long time ago.”

She pulls the case to her chest and laughs before moving to slide back into the car. She’s not sure what it is, but this feels like a sign. Maybe, finally, she’s on the right track.

Edited 2023-03-18 01:05 (UTC)

Some nights, Thanos’ voice in her head is so loud that sleep is not an option.

It’s part of the reason they don’t keep her on the ship anymore. Those are the nights she paces, runs closer to the woman she was than the woman she now wants to be, and the safest option is leaving her on an almost abandoned planet with her hellhound protector, for her own safety.

Part of her objects to staying still, wanting to keep moving, keep running further and further away until the voice in her head isn’t an option. She doesn’t want him to keep whispering to her, telling her she should bring him her most treasured prize—the man she’s supposed to be sleeping next to. She can already hear the promises of how he will reward her beyond measure. And to her, there’s nothing more terrifying than letting Thanos sink her fingers into the best person she’s ever met.

Tonight it’s louder than it’s been in a while, and her frustration takes her outside, to the wide open space behind the house they’re living in. Part of her wants to just run, to get as far away from him as she can so that he’ll be safe, but she’s too much of a coward to do it. So she paces relentlessly, tearing into one of the nearby trees until his hand reaches up and he grasps her wrist, wrapping his hand around it firmly.

“Stop.”

“I can’t. It’s the only thing that makes it better.” Better is a relative thing, but at least her head is quieter. Parrish gently takes her hands into his, examining the splinters digging into her flesh. The pain doesn’t bother her, but it helps keep her head on straight. Remind her of what’s reality and what’s her mind playing tricks on her.

“You need a better coping mechanism.”

He leads her gently away from the tree, taking her back into the bathroom where he keeps the first aid supplies. She rarely needs much, with the way she heals, but she will not heal unless the splinters are removed well. He sets her on the edge of the tub before getting the tweezers and returning to sit next to her. She places her hand in his, letting him complete the ritual of pulling them out and then sliding her hands under warm water to wash away the drying blood.

“I don’t know if I have one. The pain is the only thing that works and I can’t sleep.”

“I’m not going to let you keep hurting yourself. So we will find another thing that works.”

Laura doesn’t argue, but doesn’t affirm either. She’s not sure there is another way. She can’t use medication – it’s all too fast for her metabolism. Maybe there’s a magic spell that will put her to sleep with no nightmares. But maybe it’s just a connection that she can’t run far enough to sever.

“I just don’t know what else to do.”

He scoops her off the tub, carrying her back into their bedroom, and letting them curl up in the darkness and silence. She can feel his eyes burning in the darkness, a sentinel against whatever may come for her, and she curls up in his lap, needing to focus on anything else.

“Tell me a story.”

Jordan isn’t the most amazing storyteller, but sometimes it does the trick. If she doesn’t have to figure out what comes next, sometimes her brain can feel secure enough to sleep. One large hand runs up her back as he thinks, trying to come up with a good one.

“Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived in a castle, on a planet far away…”

It’s a play on a fairy tale from another world—Terran, she thinks. Of a girl in a tower with hair long enough to reach the ground below, trapped because the only means of entrance and exit is her hair. Her mother keeps her trapped there, unable to rejoin the outside world, only able to watch it from a distance.

“Why didn’t she just cut her hair? Tie it to the edge and let herself down?”

“Because leaving everything you know and understand is scary, no matter how much you want to know more. Outside, the tower may have been everything she ever wanted, but at least she knows the tower is safe.”

Laura would argue that she could always climb her way back up again—the hair is still there—but that’s not the point, so she just closes her eyes and continues to listen.

“One day, a man notices her sitting in the window of her tower and tries to figure out how to get to her. After seeing how her mother uses her hair as a ladder, he mimics her and does the same. At first she fears him, but also desperate for friendship. They soon make his visits a regular occurrence. As soon as her mother leaves for the day, she brings him up to her, and before she returns, she helps him leave. Soon, they fall in love.”

“Falling in love is where the trouble usually starts.”

He laughs, and she smiles at the rumble of the vibration in his chest, buzzing against her skin and making her feel a little safer.

“You’re not wrong. Soon, her mother caught on to what was happening and caught them together. She moved the girl, sending her to a terrible place. But before she did, she cut off the girl’s hair to lay a trap for her beloved. She blinded him and sent him away, promising he would never lay eyes on her again.”

Her eyes close, not even needing to worry if the story will have a happy ending or not. Jordan’s stories always have happy endings.

“He wanders, going in search of the woman he loves, and she for him. It takes time, but eventually they find their way to each other again. It’s not perfect, the way it was before, but they figure things out together. Because in the end, what they learn is that they’re stronger together than they are apart.”

As she dozes off, she asks: “If I got lost in a terrible place, would you try to find me?”

It’s a metaphor, clearly. The terrible place is her mind, or perhaps wandering back into Thanos’ clutches. Jordan’s hand runs over the top of her head, and he keeps her close, cradled against his chest.

“I would find you even in the vacuum of space. There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t follow to bring you back.”

It should be reassuring, this promise of forever. In some ways it is, because she can already feel her brain slipping away. But she knows that coming after her could mean losing him. She hates that it feels inevitable. She also hates that she constantly feels like she needs to be saved. She doesn’t want to be saved. For once, she wants to save herself. She knows if she asked, he would help her find a way.

For now, she succumbs to safety and sleep, and maybe tomorrow will show them the way.

There’s another way things could have gone.

It starts as a whisper in the back of her mind, and suddenly, she’s in a whole other kitchen. It’s not Washington DC, she can tell as much from the view out the window. In fact, the view is one that makes her chest ache, because what it looks like is home, and she doesn’t know how she got here, or why, but it’s not the only thing that’s off.

She glances down at her hand, featuring engagement and wedding bands. She can hear the thunder of feet as they run through the house, followed by a familiar voice calling her name.

“Laura?”

Jordan looks just as confused as she does. At least that makes two of them. Part of her is glad that it isn’t just her, that they might find a way out of this together, but an older girl comes around the corner and sighs.

“C’mon Dad, we’re going to be late for school.”

A boy follows her, grabbing one muffin off the wire rack in front of Laura. He shoves it in his mouth. “It’s good,” he mumbles around a mouthful of crumbs. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jordan says shakily. “Let me just talk to your mother.”

The children seem to take that as sign enough, and dart out of the kitchen. Jordan looks back at her, before leaning forward across the counter and dropping his voice.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I have no idea.” He’s wearing his uniform from Beacon Hills, which tracks with everything else around them, but she can’t really tell much else. “This seems to be some kind of shared hallucination?”

“Can we get out of it?”

“I don’t know. Let me … do some digging. See if I can figure it out. But sometimes, the best way to figure things out is to play along.”

His lips purse, obvious that he doesn’t like the sound of that, but there’s not much he can say to refute her. “Fine. Then I’ll take the kids to school and … go to work?”

“And I’ll figure out what I’m supposed to be doing.” She already knows one thing feels different. She doesn’t feel like an alpha, and she can’t tell if that’s a side effect of the hallucination or something else. But she doesn’t tell him that, doesn’t want to worry him. Instead, she makes her way around the counter and kisses him. “Have a good day at work?”

“I’ll try.” Then he goes to round them up and take them out the door, and Laura hopes that she’ll be able to find the cracks before things get too complicated.

* * * * *

After a thorough exploration of the house, she finds some clues. One, their children are named Amelia and Grayson. They live in Beacon Hills, Laura as an in-home psychologist and Jordan as a deputy. They seem normal and happy, and the most important thing: her mother is alive. That bit of news wrecked her, and while part of her wanted to rush over and see her, she knows doing so will make her lose focus.

The pack, her real pack, couldn’t afford for her to do that.

She keeps searching through the house while she doesn’t have clients, trying to find other clues that might give away what exactly she’s here for, when she comes across a dress hanging in the closet, given special presentation, for whatever reason. She then scours the house for an invitation and finds the well wishes and congratulations. Jordan won the election for sheriff.

Swallowing hard, she sends him pictures of the invitation and the other information she found, and he calls her as soon as he’s able to.

“Have you seen your mom?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “If I go see her, I’ll never want to leave.”

He’s silent on the other end of the line for a while. “This place … it seems to be everything we’ve ever wanted, exactly the way we would have wanted them. No Argents, no alpha pack, no … mistakes.”

Laura tips her head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling above her. “None of this makes any sense. Why would someone or something show us this? What does it get out of it?”

“Maybe it gets both the Hale alpha and the local hellhound off the board.”

“Then we need to get back fast because everyone else is in trouble if we don’t.”

“I’m about to take a call, then I’ll come home after. Then we’ll start really digging into this.”

“Sure you want to take that option on your first day on the job, Sheriff?”

There’s a huff of a laugh on the other end of the line, but she can tell that the joke lands a little harder than it should. “It’s not real. It’s a pipe dream for a life I can’t go back to. I’d much rather have the one we have.”

Laura wants to agree with him, but she isn’t sure in her gut if she could say the same, when this life is the one she always wanted and was stolen from her. Unfortunately, when Jordan gets home, he seems like he’s panicking.

“Something’s wrong.” His eyes glow orange, almost as though part of him is fighting something inside of him. “I feel like … whatever’s doing this is trying to hold me here, but I belonged to something else first.”

“The nematon. It has to be.” Laura looks up at him, resting her hands on his cheeks gently. “It’s okay. Go, let it pull you out.”

“I can’t leave you in here alone.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll figure it out. You work out there, I’ll work in here, and together we’ll get me out, I promise.”

His eyes burn again, and he nods, before closing them. There’s when it doesn’t seem like there’s anything there at all, before whatever this illusion is starts filling in the gaps. When he opens his eyes again, Jordan’s wariness is gone, and he smiles.

She wills herself to play along, knowing that from here on out, she’s on her own.

* * * * *

By the time the dinner comes around, Laura has found nothing. Malia shows up to babysit the kids, and she dresses in the fancy dress and puts on her makeup and does her hair, and when Jordan appears in the doorway, he smiles.

“Wow. Look at you.”

She turns back to him with a smile in return. “Not too much?”

He shakes his head. “No. You look amazing.” He takes her hand and pulls her in closer, brushing his thumbs against the apples of her cheeks. “But you’ve been sad all day, and I want you to tell me why.”

Laura looks up at him, running through all the scenarios in her mind. “This isn’t real, no matter how much I may want it to be.”

He tips his head to the side before leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Just because it’s not real doesn’t mean you couldn’t have it. At least not parts of it.”

She grimaces, then looks up at him again. “I don’t think it could ever be this easy.”

“I think you know that the things that are too easy aren’t the things you really want.” He leans in and kisses her, and it’s almost like it was before she left. When all he wanted was her, and a version of this future still lay out in front of them. Before everything fell apart.

“Live the life you want, Laura. It’s okay to want it.”

She doesn’t know if she accepts it, not really. But the moment she believes it is the moment she wakes up.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

She says it before they even leave the hotel room, as she’s putting on her shoes at the door. It’s a reminder intended to be gentle, that what they have between them won’t change if Jordan’s not ready to be with her yet. That she understands her boyfriend is not the extrovert that she is, and that there will be certain implications from where their relationship began, although he has a different job now. That coming out tonight with her will bring him attention, and she knows it’s the last thing that he—or his career—wants.

It's an out in one sentence, and she knows he knows it’s an out, so she gives him a moment to take it in, and decide if he wants to take it. He pauses as he adjusts his jacket, taking a deep breath, before turning back to face her.

“These are going to be all politicians’ kids, right?”

“Very much so.”

“So they’ll all know that I worked for the secret service, and at one time was on your detail.”

“They will be painfully aware. But if I’m actually bringing you as a date, they will judge significantly less.”

He nods as he takes another step closer. “And it’s still your birthday?”

She smiles up at him, because she knows it’s the only reason he even considered it. “Yes, it is.”

“I think I would be a pretty terrible boyfriend if I didn’t meet my girlfriend’s friends when they’re throwing her a party on her birthday.” The words are still new, “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” but she’s enjoying hearing them. With him, they fit much better than “boy toy” or “fling.”

“Not terrible.” She gets up to meet him, her heels giving her just enough of a boost that she can wind her arms around his neck without pushing up on her toes. “Just not ready. And that’s okay.”

“I can handle it,” he nods, before leaning in to kiss her. “And I think it would be a lot less fun if I was still on the secret service and had to watch you have fun without me.”

“Fair enough,” she nods, as she kisses him back. “But I don’t care if it’s my party. If you want to bail, just give me the signal and we’ll go.”

“Deal,” he nods, before she feels his phone buzz against her hip. “That’s probably the car.”

“Mmm,” Laura hums. “Sure they can’t wait a few more minutes?”

He laughs. “Let’s do the party first. Then I’ll see about letting you take me out of my suit.”

She smiles brightly at how he knows her so well. “Promises, promises.”

* * * * *

Klaus is the hardest one to read, therefore the one that Jordan is the most concerned about, and she knows it. While she knows Klaus is a sweetheart underneath it all, and is protective more than anything else, and has told her boyfriend as much, Klaus has never intimidated one of her boyfriends before, and he will relish the opportunity.

She’s leaning against the bar, talking to Elijah, as Klaus and Jordan talk across the room, and she catches a snippet of conversation flying past her.

“I think it’s time that I should give in to what the later generations assume I should do and become conservative.”

“What?” Laura snaps her attention back to him, and he smiles.

“You’re distracted tonight.”

“Sorry,” she rubs her eyes. “Your brother is interrogating my boyfriend.”

“Ah,” he turns to lean back against the bar, taking a sip of his drink. “He has quite the high standard to measure up to.”

Laura pauses, then turns to raise an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t think that I haven’t had a boyfriend for all these years because I was trying to find another you did you?”

Elijah grins. “Well, I am ruthlessly charming and the only relationship you’ve ever had.”

“I also was the one who broke up with you.”

“You claimed it was for my own good, not because you didn’t care.” Elijah pauses. “Though I still question that logic.”

“You would.” Laura sighs. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever been with. Including you. I haven’t been this happy in a really long time.”

Elijah looks up at her with a smile before placing his hand on hers. “I know. Which is why I told Klaus to go easy on him, and given that the young man isn’t sweating yet, I assume he’s being true to his word.”

“Thank you.”

“Or it’s entirely possible that Kol slipped him the wrong brownie.”

“Goddamnit.” She leans back behind the bar and looks at Kol, who holds up his hands in a dramatic shrug as though to say he does not know what she means. Groaning, she slides off the stool and heads over to check on Jordan.

Klaus turns when he sees her coming and Jordan follows, offering her a bright smile that says she can’t trust his sobriety right now. “Hey,” Jordan smiles. “I think there’s something wrong with my drink.”

“I don’t think it’s your drink. Did my friend Kol give you anything to eat?”

Jordan pauses like he’s thinking hard about it. “There were some brownies. They were really good and fudgy. You’re so pretty.”

Laura sighs. “I should get him home.”

“I’ve already called the car.” Klaus leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, darling. I will scold my brother for you in your absence.”

“Please do.”

She slides an arm around Jordan’s waist and leads him to the door. When they reach the threshold, he looks back down at her and with a Very Serious expression, says:

“Laura, did your friend give me a bad brownie?”

“Yes, he did,” she turns up to him with a smile. “But don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you, okay?”

* * * * *

The next morning, Jordan wakes with a groan as he rolls over to face her. She got him out of most of his clothes before he passed out onto the bed with a gentle snore, but she still wakes up before him and already has a pot of coffee going.

“Hi,” she says softly, passing him a cup, and he lets out a hum of thanks.

“Hi,” he sighs. “That was not how I saw last night ending.”

“I should have warned you that Kol, besides owning the bar, is also a fan of illicit substances.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I am sorry.”

He shrugs. “I’m just sorry we didn’t get to fully celebrate your birthday the way we planned.”

“Yes, that is a shame. Honestly, we probably would have been better off without the party and sticking to our own plans.” She moves to sit on the edge of the bed next to him, before resting her chin against his shoulder. “But we could celebrate it now.”

“Not too late?”

“Never too late.”

He grins at her. “Well, let me finish this coffee, and I will make sure we thoroughly celebrate.”

She grins in return as she leans in to kiss him softly. “Perfect.”

Laura wakes in the morning, and for a moment imagines flowers left on the edge of her balcony.

What flower isn’t necessarily important, just the fact they’re there. What’s more important is what they represent. She blinks once, twice, and feels her heart sink when she realizes it's just a leaf, watching as the wind blows it away. Her limbs are heavy as she tries to push herself out of bed, knowing that she’s expected at breakfast and yet not wanting to see anyone at all.

She knows she shouldn’t be feeling this way. She’s the one who sent him away. She’s the one who said no, in favor of the marriage contract brokered by her parents long ago. It was smart and sensible. She just wishes her feelings realized that same. Ever since Daniel arrived at the manor, his true character revealed after years of tutelage at Gerard’s knee, there’s just been this ache, whether it’s for her expectations and hopes or for stolen kisses in the garden of her last tournament. Either way, there’s nothing she can do to change that fate now beyond lingering in bed a little too long, as she tries to find the will to face the music.

She goes through the motions of getting up and getting dressed before heading down to breakfast to join the rest of her family at the table. Daniel is sitting in her seat at the head, already laying claim to what he feels is his, and everything around her seems to get a little heavier.

“Good morning,” she manages, and he turns to look at her appraisingly.

“Where have you been? We’re nearly finished.”

“My apologies. I overslept.” She moves to take the seat next to her uncle, across from Kate, and tries to force herself to eat something. She can tell Peter is watching her and that he’s concerned, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. “Did I miss anything of import?”

“I’ve decided I’m going to attend the London tournament as a competitor.”

“How wonderful. I’m sure you’ll compete well.”

“Given what I know about the participants, it should be easy pickings.”

Laura doesn’t dare bring up her own opinion, not wanting to draw attention to any of the competitors—none of them deserve Daniel’s ire. Especially not Sir Parrish. She simply takes another bite of her breakfast. “I’m sure it will.”

“I’ll expect you to attend with me.”

Laura’s fork pauses over her plate, taking a moment to process those words. It’s one thing to marry Daniel. It’s another to rub it in Parrish’s face, or more to the point, have to live with her choice where other people could see it. She should have expected this request, and yet she thought she could hide in the manor for the rest of her life. How silly of her.

“You do?”

“I know you’ve been to tournaments in the past without me—”

“Be very careful how you continue that line of thought,” Peter snaps from his seat next to her, and Daniel holds up a hand.

“I’m not trying to impugn her honor. I merely wish to show that it is a new day. Besides, most jousters have their lady in the stands for luck.”

“You’ve never struck me as a man of superstition, my lord,” Laura etches out as formally as possible, and Daniel laughs.

“I’m not. But they expect appearances to be kept. So do be ready to leave in a few days’ time.”

One hand curls into a fist at the idea of him trying to order her around in her own house. But after that, she takes a breath, releasing the anger and keep her voice neutral. “Of course.”

“Good.” He gets up to leave the table, finished with his breakfast, and Kate follows, shooting the two remaining Hales at the table an uncertain look, which is hard for Laura to read as being for or against them.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Peter reminds her. “As much as he likes to think he can give orders, he’s not lord of the manor yet.”

Laura shakes her head. “It’s not worth the fight. I’ll be fine.” She pushes her half-eaten plate away, before getting to her feet and turning to head towards the door. “I’ll be in the gardens if anyone is looking for me.”

She sees Peter nod out of her periphery, but she knows he’s worried, and maybe he should be. But for now, there’s nothing they can do but keep the peace.

* * * * *

Everything about the tournament is going through the motions. Her seat in the stands, her reactions to the joust. It all feels like someone else is in her place and she’s far, far away. The only thing that feels new and seems to bring her back to the moment is the brush of Parrish’s fingers against hers as he hands her back her scarf. He jolts her back into the reality of the moment, and part of her wonders if even though she tried to be careful with him, she wasn’t careful enough.

All she wants is for him to kiss her again, but she knows it’s the last thing she can let happen. Then Daniel reacts in a Daniel fashion, taking him down hard on the field as though this was a battle to win rather than a game to play, and her reactions betray too much.

“You are my wife, Laura,” he reminds her in her tent before they go to attend the winner’s feast. “Maybe not yet by law, but in all but name. So do try to behave yourself.”

Parrish isn’t at the feast, because of his injuries, and she’s back to going through the motions again—dancing, talking with the other lords, eating the food. She retreats to her tent ahead of Daniel, and she feels her sister catch her arm as she does.

“He’ll be alright,” Cora squeezes her arm in reassurance. Laura nods, before turning back to her sister.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Marrying Daniel?” Cora’s eyes are wide, shocked that Laura is asking for her opinion on this, of all things. “You really want to know what I think?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. Derek is all too eager to tell me what he thinks, but you keep it to yourself.”

“I think it’s cruel to tell you that you’re wrong when you don’t really have a choice.” Cora’s always been the most pragmatic of her siblings, and it’s a relief that she even sees the point of all of this. Then she holds up a finger. “But—”

“There’s a but?”

“You gave Peter permission to break the contract with the Whittemores for my hand because you knew it wasn’t good for me. And despite your best efforts, you haven’t forced Derek into a marriage either, because you wanted it to be his choice. It seems like you’re being rather cruel to yourself, being so determined to keep something that isn’t good for you.”

Laura sighs as they continue to walk. “But like you said. I don’t have a choice unless we want to start another war.”

“Have you talked to Kate?”

“His sister?” Laura’s brow furrows. “Why would I?”

“Because as much as she irritates Peter, I think it’s more about our expectations of her, not because she wishes to be mean. And she only does it to Peter.”

Laura can acknowledge that much. In the few conversations she’s had with Kate, they may have been only cordial, but she doesn’t inspire the ire that she seems to be with her uncle. “That’s true.”

“She also knows a thing or two about living with the men in her family, as well as awful marriages.” Cora squeezes her arm as they reach the tent and she parts ways with her sister for her own. “Just think about it.”

Laura nods. She’s not sure that she’s ready to treat Kate as a confidant yet, but she will at least consider it. She glances over across the field. The tent with Parrish’s insignia is lit up by lanterns in the distance, and she can see the bodies moving within it. Part of her wants to go to him, but she doesn’t, turning and heading into the tent instead.

She isn’t feeling that cruel.

Most days, Laura loves being a stay at home mom. She gets to spend her days with Amelia and Grayson, and the Hales are fortunate enough not to have to worry about money. Ninety percent of the time, her kids are her favorite people.

Until that ten percent when they’re not.

Amelia’s been on a tear all day about the girls at school, and as a result everything Laura does is wrong and going to make her a loser—apparently, kids still suck and she’s taking it out on Laura. She’s also spent the entire morning making sure that Grayson doesn’t decide to climb a piece of furniture that could tip over and kill him, so by the time she needs to think about dinner, she’s already throwing in the towel and reaching for her phone. Grayson is down for a nap, and Amelia is doing her homework.

“Hey,” Jordan’s voice comes through the line and she smiles. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if you wanted to pick up pizza for dinner.”

“One of those days, huh?”

“Little bit.”

“Tell me about it when I get home?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hangs up the phone and slumps against the sofa, taking a second to close her eyes before the call of “Mooooooom!” comes from Grayson’s room. She sighs again, before getting up and moving to follow the sound of his voice.

“Coming, buddy. Be right there.”

* * * * *

She hears the door open for Jordan’s arrival, and catches the wafting scent of pizza from the door, but she can’t seem to focus on that right now. Instead, she’s zeroed in on her daughter, who’s picked yet another fight for another thing that Laura can’t control, and she snaps.

“Okay, enough.” Laura’s tone is firm as she holds up her hands. “I don’t know what is going on with you today, but I am not your punching bag to take it out on. So until you can calm down and talk to me about it, this is going to stop.”

Amelia huffs, stamping her foot as her eyes brim with tears, then runs off to her room. Jordan looks back at her with wide eyes, pizza boxes in hand, and puts them down on the table. “What was that about?”

“I do not know. But she’s been coming at me all day, like I am trying to ruin her life, and I honestly did nothing but exist. I mean, I remember being a terror as a teenager, but she’s only nine. I thought we had a few more years before all of that.”

Jordan nods slowly. “There has to be something else that’s wrong.”

“Yeah, well, she won’t talk to me about it. Only nitpick everything I say or do.” Laura buries her face in her hands.

“Want me to go talk to her?”

“I don’t know if that will do much good.” She rubs her eyes. “Maybe Joy would be better. They’re best friends. Maybe she can reason with her. Or at least tell me what happened today that set Amelia off so much.”

“Joy wasn’t in school today.”

“Was she sick?”

“No. It’s the full moon.”

Laura straightens, because yes–intuitively she knew that. She can feel it the way any werewolf can. But it puts Amelia’s behavior in a whole new context and, of course. Of course, Cora’s daughter would be an early bloomer. Jordan watches the look on her face.

“You figured it out?”

“Yeah. Help Grayson with his pizza? I’m gonna go talk to her.” Jordan nods and Laura heads to Amelia’s bedroom, leaning against the door before knocking on it gently.

“Mia? Can I come in, sweetheart?”

“I guess.”

It’s not a yes, but it will do. She pushes open the door to let herself in and closes it gently behind her. “Your dad told me that Joy wasn’t in school today. Because it was her first full moon.”

Amelia, who’s curled up into a ball on the bed, pulls the blankets around herself even tighter, and Laura nods before moving over and sitting on the floor next to her so that she can meet her daughter’s eyes.

“You’re upset because she got her wolf first.”

“I was supposed to go first. I’m older. I was supposed to tell her what it’s like, and that she’ll be okay.” Tears slip down her cheeks, and her whole body shudders. “And now I don’t even know what happening to her and she’s my best friend.”

“It happens differently, for different people, sweetheart. That’s not your fault. It’s especially complicated with kids who have a wolf parent, and a parent who’s something else.”

“So this is Dad’s fault?”

“No, it’s no one’s fault.” Laura sighs. “But I didn’t have my first shift until I was ten. Your Uncle Derek had a really rough time learning control. And your Aunt Cora? She was a bit like Joy. She started early and learned control really fast. So you are perfectly fine, and if you are a wolf, it’ll come when you’re ready.”

“What if I’m not, and me and Joy can’t be friends anymore?”

Laura gives her a teasing look. “What about our family makes you think that just because you’re human means you won’t be able to be friends with a werewolf?”

Amelia doesn’t have an answer for that. “What if I’m not and I really want to be one?”

“If you’re not, and you really want to be a werewolf, when you’re old enough, we will talk to Uncle Scott. But Hale genes are strong, kiddo. I have a feeling there’s a werewolf in there somewhere. We just have to give it a little time.”

“Is Joy really going to be okay?”

“Joy is going to have Uncle Derek with her the entire time. He’ll make sure she’s safe and okay. I promise.”

“Okay.” Amelia unfurls from the covers, climbing out of bed and pulling her mom into a hug. “I’m sorry I was so mean today. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s okay, kiddo. You’ve got big feelings. It happens. But let’s try to talk about them rather than yelling about them.”

“Okay.”

“Ready for pizza?” She pulls up to her feet and gives Amelia a smile.

“Yes,” Amelia nods. She dashes off to the kitchen and Laura follows her with a heavy sigh. She wants to think she’s ready for raising werewolves, but sometimes she’s not sure. She really wishes her mother was here, but she’s not. But somehow, she has a feeling that she will figure it out.

Edited 2023-03-24 00:50 (UTC)

This isn’t really the type of case that Stefan usually takes.

He’s not exactly a mystery solver. He’s a fighter, more than anything. You point him at a monster that’s causing problems, then he goes kill the monster, and all is well in the world. He’s not accustomed to looking for evidence or connecting the dots, but men are dead and he promised the preacher who hired him he would do his best.

“This has been plaguing good, God-fearing men, Mr. Salvatore,” the preacher explains. “They did not deserve to suffer these terrible ailments. There is some sort of pestilence in those woods, and I wish for it to be found and exterminated.”

It’s as much of a directive as ever as one. But there’s something about these killings that makes little sense for it being some kind of monster—for one, the bodies are all intact. All dropped dead in their own homes, either over a meal or shortly thereafter. The deaths are terrible, painful even. But monsters kill to eat. Illness doesn’t fit either, as it seems to affect all men alike—rich or poor, young or old, though most of them are of at least middle age. They don’t even do the same job.

What he notices, however, is that when he says he’s hired by the preacher, the people of the town clam up, and no longer wish to speak with him, as though he’s afraid he will use their answers against them. He’s going to have his work cut out for him. But when another man drops dead, and he catches yellowing bruises on his wife, as well as a split lip on his daughter, he has a sense of what’s happening.

Poisons, that is the culprit. Often by the wives of the victims or someone close to them. But this town has no apothecary, no druggist who might provide such weapons, and these women do not seem like herbalists. None of them are growing the requisite plants in their gardens. And while he doesn’t intend to expose women who had to take drastic measures to get out of an unpleasant situation, he needs to find the actual answers, so that the story he concocts doesn’t stray too close to the truth. The problem remains, no one will speak to him.

Until an older woman waves him down from her porch. She introduces herself as Mrs. Wolcott, and she insists they have tea. He goes, willing to do whatever it takes if it gets him actual information.

“I saw you at Mercy’s last night, after her husband passed,” she says as she shuffles around the kitchen. “I know you saw what you saw, but you didn’t question her quite as vigorously as you could have.”

“Sometimes the monsters aren’t creatures. And should they dispatch themselves, I see no reason to make an unpleasant situation worse.”

“Which is why I am telling you this, and not the preacher.” Mrs. Wolcott sets the teacup down in front of him, before lowering herself slowly into her own chair. “Ever since he came to town, his fiery teachings have radicalized the men. Thinks that because they’re the heads of the household, it makes them infallible, no matter how cruel they’re being.”

“And that’s a reason to poison them?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and she smiles.

“I thought you were a clever one.” She takes a sip of her tea. “Mercy came to me, desperate. She said that she would be happy to take the beatings, but Terrence had laid hands on her child, and that she wouldn’t abide. Personally, I think she should have a little more self-respect, but since she finally asked, I told her what I tell them all. If you have a man who needs taking care of, you go see the witch in the woods.”

Stefan hesitates. Technically, under the purview, a witch is a monster. But if a witch is also helping these women, then is she still a monster? He’ll have to speak to her for himself. “So she acts as apothecary, then?”

“More or less. But she does not prepare poisons without being asked, and she’s never raised a hand against this town otherwise. She is simply there as an option for women who may need help to get out of their own way.”

Stefan nods, parsing the information to himself, before finishing his tea and getting to his feet. “Thank you for the information.”

“Mr. Salvatore—you said it yourself. Monsters don’t always take monstrous shape. We need her, whether it is right to do so.”

“I understand.” Stefan lifts his chin with a nod. “More than you realize. But I still must see this through.”

The woman nods, before walking him to the door and letting him go. “You’ll find her through the back woods then. Good luck.”

He leaves her without another word, before venturing forth in the direction she shows. He hasn’t been following the worn path for more than an hour when something feels wrong. His limbs feel heavy and his balance wavers. The natural stench of the woods takes on an even more foul odor, and he realizes his fatal mistake.

He drank unquestioningly in a town full of poisoners.

He moves to brace himself against a nearby tree when he catches the sound of footsteps not far away. He turns his head, and through blurring vision, sees a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a thin figure. She tips her head to the side curiously.

“Are you well, friend?”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, but he can barely think straight. “I believe I’ve been poisoned.” His legs give out shortly after, collapsing to the ground, but as his vision slowly turns to black, he hears her soft, melodic voice speak again.

“Well. That won’t do, now will it?”

It’s not every day that fate drops Stefan Salvatore into your lap.

Freya doesn’t recognize him immediately, or she would have called him by name. By the time she realized who it was, he was collapsing from the poison someone in town had given him. Thankfully, it’s one of hers, and it’s quick work to brew an antidote to give him. Now he lays across a cot in her front room, sleeping off the remaining effects and she lingers by the fire with a cup of tea while she waits.

She knows he’s going to have questions. It’s been years since their paths have crossed, with him doing his duty in facing the monsters of the world, while she deals with the less obvious ones. And that he is close to her brother doesn’t help either. She knows Klaus wants her back—but the fact of the matter is, she’s not ready to come back and be her brother’s on-call witch. She likes what she’s doing, here in the town, helping people who need it.

It's a few hours before Stefan stirs, blinking up into the ceiling, before taking in the details of the room. When his eyes land on her, he manages a smile, even if it’s weaker than he would usually give her. “Freya Mikaelson.”

She smiles in return. “Stefan Salvatore. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?” Literally.

“I got hired to fish out a witch, apparently.” He slowly pushes himself up. It seems like he’s still groggy, but he makes it into a sitting position with a little effort. “And got poisoned for my trouble.”

“I’m willing to bet she was trying to protect me,” Freya sighs. “I don’t blame her for that, but if she asked me, I could have told her you were a friend.”

“Might have made things a little easier,” he admits, before taking a long look at her. “I didn’t take this for your kind of business, Freya.”

“It wasn’t, at first. At first, it was just home remedies and tinctures. The poisons were few, but, when necessary, for a woman or child who couldn’t escape. But lately … there have been too many. And while I cannot refuse them—I’ve seen the bruises, and the damage done—I’m wondering if there’s something bigger at play.”

“Do you ever go into town?”

“And give whatever it is a chance to take a shot at me? No. But I know that there is a new preacher in town. And given what I’ve heard of some of his sermons, I’m thinking he might be the culprit. Men who I never would have suspected have come across my register lately.”

“The preacher is the one who called me in to find you.”

Freya raises an eyebrow at that before taking another long sip of her own tea. “Did you get any sense of him? That he might have a power of some kind?”

Stefan considers, before shaking his head. “At first glance, no. But I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, then. Now, I think I might.”

“Well, you need to recover your strength first.” She gets up and moves over to the stove, opening the pot in front of her and serving him a bowl of hearty soup. “This should help with that.”

Stefan takes the bowl gently in his hands and takes a deep breath of the broth. “So, is this where you’ve been hiding the whole time? Out in the woods of some backwater town?”

“More or less,” she admits as she moves to sit on the bed next to him. “I know my brother has been looking for me, so I went to the place where he would least expect me to be.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“I know. And you can tell him I’m fine. But I won’t go back to court, Stefan. I’m tired of using my magic for political games. I want to help people who actually need me.”

“Klaus would claim that he needs you, too.”

“If he needs me as a sister, I will be here. But if all he wants of me is to be his on-demand witch, then I will have none of it.”

“Do you want me to tell him that?”

Freya takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure he will believe you. But if you’re willing to run interference, I won’t object.”

Stefan smiles. “I would hope you would know by now that I have no problem standing up to Klaus for you. And I will just as happily keep your secret if that is what you wish—so long as I can see you again. That you won’t disappear from these woods and go where I can’t find you again?”

Freya smiles at that before tipping her head to the side slightly and letting it rest against his shoulder. “I would very much like more visits from you. And I don’t plan on leaving. Not yet, at least.”

“Good. Then we deal with this preacher, and figure out the rest from there.” He tips his head to the side. “This soup is delicious. Do I want to know what’s in it?”

She laughs. “Just know that it will make you feel better and leave it at that.”

Once Stefan is feeling well enough by Freya’s metric, they make their way out of the woods, arm in arm. It’s a rather dramatic display, but Mikaelsons are nothing if not dramatic, and Stefan isn’t opposed to making a scene if the moment calls for it. The townspeople reflect two minds on their faces as Stefan and Freya pass by. Fear in the women’s, as though their chance of salvation is going to slip through their fingers, and confusion in the men’s, as though they’ve never seen this person before in their lives. Some live in the in-between—men who know of the herbal remedies that Freya provides, or women who react with disgust to a witch in their presence, but mostly, the result is a mixed bag.

The older woman who poisoned Stefan meets them before they can reach the church. Panic covers her features. “What are you doing? How are you—”

“Still alive?” He finishes for her. “Fortunately, your apothecary can cure as well as kill.”

“We are going to have a talk, Mabel, about how we treat my old friends,” Freya replies simply. “But this isn’t what you think. We’re here to solve a problem, not make a bigger one.”

Mabel doesn’t seem convinced, but she reluctantly steps aside and allows them to continue their march into town. As they come to a stop in front of the church, the preacher is already on the front steps, eyeing the woman next to Stefan with an air of caution.

“Is this the monster, Mr. Salvatore? Have you found the beast that’s been preying on my town?”

“Not yet,” Stefan replies. “But we might get there.”

Freya releases his arm, her head tipping to the side as she makes her way closer. He knows she’s likely looking for her usual witch-related signs, so he doesn’t interrupt her. Instead, he just holds the hilt of his sword, just in case someone tries to attack her. The preacher mostly looks confused, and she smirks before shaking her head.

“He’s just a man. A despicable one, but a man all the same.”

Stefan frowns, because that can’t be all to the story. That seems too neat and simple. Not that he isn’t aware that people can’t be monsters in their own right, but more that he doesn’t think that one person can change the minds of the surrounding people that quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately.” Freya steps past the preacher, towards the church. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something.”

The preacher catches her arm, gripping it tightly. “You aren’t welcome in the house of God, witch. He will smite you as soon as you cross the threshold.”

Freya hums before pulling her arm free. “We’ll see about that.” She makes her way up the stairs, pushes open the wide double doors, and steps across into the interior of the church. She waits a few moments, looking up at the sky as though she expects there to be a grand show, and when there’s nothing, she shrugs. “I suppose your god approves of my intentions. I wonder how he feels about yours.”

Stefan smirks as he goes to follow her, eyes scanning over the wooden planks stretched out in front of them. Nothing seems out of place, but Freya’s magic is like a dousing rod. She holds one hand out in front of her, trying to sense whatever it is she’s looking for.

“The preacher isn’t completely innocent,” she says to him as they pace through the room, her eyes not leaving her task. “He brought something with him.”

“You think he made a deal with a creature?”

“It’s not uncommon among men looking for power. Even Klaus has made his own compromises, much as he would prefer to claim otherwise.”

“Klaus made a deal with a monster.”

“No. Klaus made a deal with Elijah, which is almost just as bad.”

Stefan laughs as he continues to follow her, and when her hand glows with white magic, he draws his sword. They’ve done this trick enough to know that means they’re getting close. They round the corner of the altar, and Freya waves her hand with a soft incantation. The magic glow leaves her hand and settles to outline an invisible entity that sat crouched behind the wooden structure.

Realizing it’s been revealed, he hisses and charges, but Stefan is quick to act. He raises his blade to strike, and it slices through the creature with ease, landing in two bloody halves on the ground. Freya crouches down to get a closer look and she frowns.

“I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.”

“A demon?”

“Of a sort. One that feeds on fear and anger. We’ll have to burn the corpse to ensure it doesn’t heal.” As she rises to her feet, they both let their eyes land on the crowd gathering at the door. Standing at the head of it is the priest, looking pale and clammy.

“The monster has been slain,” Stefan proclaims, as all good monster-hunters do. “A demon of some power, brought here by that man.” He points to the preacher, holding him dead to rights, and while most of the men look confused, the women of the town, Mabel at their head, look at him with a cold stare that says the preacher likely won’t make it the week.

Stefan is sure he could end it now, and likely save him the suffering, but Stefan’s inclination isn’t to be kind to the man who brought him here under false pretenses. The people will see to him in their own way. The people usually do.

After disposing of the corpse, Stefan and Freya return to her little home in the woods, allowing the people to do what they pleased when he isn’t looking. It’s easy enough to persuade him to spend the night, and in the morning, he wakes to fresh breakfast cooking on the stove.

“Thought you should leave with a good breakfast,” Freya smiles as she moves to sit next to him. He pushes up into a sitting position before leaning in to kiss her.

“Will I see you again?”

She smirks. “I’m not going anywhere. If you want to see me, you know where to go. But I need you to do me a favor.” She places a wooden box in his lap, and when he opens it, he sees an ornate, jeweled crown. Each of the Mikaelsons has one just like it. “Tell my brother he’s welcome to visit me too—but that I’m not coming back.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I’m done with that life. But should he need me, I’ll be here.”

Stefan nods. “For what it’s worth, Freya, I think this life suits you.”

“Thank you.” She smiles as she kisses him again, before they get up to attend to breakfast. Stefan isn’t sure when, but he can certainly see himself coming to this neck of the woods much more often.

Edited 2023-04-03 12:21 (UTC)

Derek knows two things about the fae: don’t seek them out if you don’t have any other choice, and if you do, for whatever reason, decide you need their help, only seek the help of other wolves. Wolf shifter fae and traditional shifters aren’t that far apart, and according to his mother, out of courtesy they won’t exact too strenuous a price. It’s why when his sister goes missing in fae territory, just shy of Vancouver, he follows his nose, trying to find the one wolf shifter he knows has helped his family in the past.

Even with the rain from the thunderstorm above, the Dal is covered in Dyson’s scent, meaning he comes in there often, but he doesn’t seem to be there tonight. Hesitant, he makes his way up to the bar, glancing around for possibly Trick, who he knows Dyson works for, but finds a beautiful woman in a low cut shirt, as is the way of most bartenders, and her scent is like nothing he’s ever experienced before. It makes him want to lean in so he can inhale more of it, but he stops himself. That’s how you get into trouble.

“What can I get you?” she chirps, and he drums his fingers anxiously on the bar.

“I’m looking for Dyson. Do you know if he’s going to be in tonight?”

She glances at him, and he can tell the response that’s coming is, “who wants to know?” But she stops before the words can get that far, tipping her head to the side curiously.

“You’re not fae,” she states, curious. “But you’re not human either. What are you?”

That catches him off guard. He’s used to fae calling him out, but usually they know what they’re calling out. She seems genuinely curious, however, and this is the one place where he can answer that easily. “I’m a werewolf.”

“Like Dyson?”

“Not exactly. Kind of in-between. Not immortal but not mortal either.”

“Huh. Learn something new every day.” She sets a glass down and leans into the bar to meet him. “Dyson’s out of town. He’s running a job for the Blood King and won’t be back until next week.”

That is not what Derek wants to hear, and it must show on his face because she looks at him with concern.

“Is something wrong?”

He takes a deep breath, then exhales. He knows he shouldn’t just pour his heart out to an unknown fae—that’s a recipe for winding up with a debt he won’t be able to cash. So he shakes his head and goes to walk away.

“I’ll just figure it out myself. Thanks though.”

“Hey, wait.” She reaches forward, placing a hand over his, and that intriguing perfume fills his senses again. What is it about this woman? “Dyson’s my friend. Maybe I can help.”

“And what will it cost me?”

“Cash usually works for me.” He must seem surprised because she laughs. “Girl’s gotta pay rent. Some of us don’t have endless piles of fae wealth to fall back on.”

“Fair enough.” He doesn’t know if he should trust her, but he’s also not in a position to say no either. “My sister’s missing, and everyone I talk to says she went missing in fae territory. I was hoping he would help me track her down.”

“Oh, then you’re definitely in my wheelhouse. I’m a PI.”

“And you’re tending bar at the Dal?”

“My grandfather owns it. I help sometimes when he’s short-staffed.”

Derek pauses, because given what he knows about Dyson from their interactions over the years, there’s something about the statements that don’t track. “You’re Trick’s granddaughter, but you don’t have endless piles of fae wealth to fall back on?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You know who Trick is. That’s interesting. But fair point.” She shrugs. “In order for him legally to claim me as an heir, I have to claim for either the Light or Dark, and I enjoy being unaligned.”

That opens up even more questions, based on what he knows about fae rearing, but he’ll let that drop for now. Cash is something he can spare without hesitation. “I assume an hourly rate plus expenses, then?”

“You would be correct.” She holds out a hand across the bar to him. “I’m Bo. Let me grab us some drinks and you can tell me about your sister.”

He lets out one last breath of hesitation, before reaching forward and shaking her hand with a nod. Sometimes, especially when his sister’s life is on the line, beggars can’t be choosers.

Edited 2023-04-03 12:57 (UTC)

Derek sits across from her and Bo tries her best to hide her overt curiosity. Werewolves are a new thing in her growing collection of fae knowledge, and part of her wants to prod him for the details. What makes werewolves different from wolf shifters? Can they turn someone human into a werewolf? Do they still count as fae at all?

Questions she’s sure she could get answers to later—not when he’s about to spill the details about his missing sister.

“So. When did you last hear from—?” She lets him fill in the name that he hasn’t given yet.

“Cora.” He leans back in his seat, running his finger along the edge of his beer. “A couple of weeks ago? That’s not really out of the ordinary. I’m also not the best with technology, so I figured I was just missing her texts somehow. But then her roommate called, looking for Cora’s share of the rent and said that she hadn’t seen her since the start of the week. Which coincided with the full moon.”

“And full moons are bad for werewolves?” It seems like an obvious question, but with the fae she’s also learned it’s better not to assume.

“Yes, and no.” Derek shrugs. “We’re born wolves, so we have it easier, but a few years ago Cora got cut off from the moon cycle for several months. It can be a little up and down, so she usually tries to take her full moons outside and away from people, just in case.”

“I assume her roommate doesn’t know she’s a werewolf?”

“I guess not. She probably would have called a lot sooner.”

“Okay. Then we’ll start at her apartment and move out from there. Do you know where she goes for the full moon?”

“No, but I might know who to ask.”

“Okay. Once we catch her scent—metaphorically speaking—I’m sure we’ll find her in no time.” She finishes her drink. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Derek’s head tips back as he thinks, almost as though he has too many questions and is not sure which one to ask. But eventually he decides, and he leans forward to face her again. “I know it’s not exactly considered polite, but what kind of fae are you? I can usually identify most by scent, but I’ve never met one like you before.”

“Fortunately for you, I prefer for people to know what they’re getting into. I’m a succubus.”

For a moment, his face is unreadable as he processes that information, and she’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. But eventually he nods, as though something finally clicks into place. “She mentioned something about an unaligned succubus. But I thought they were just exaggerations, since succubi are so rare.”

“No exaggerations here,” Bo replies, leaning back in her seat. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Derek shakes his head. “No. You can’t help your nature any more than I can help mine. Just … ask first?”

“Always.” She knows the rap that succubi gets, so she can’t say she’s surprised by the question. “I was raised by humans, so I get all of those things. Consent is important to me. I don’t want anyone to get into something they haven’t agreed to.”

Derek nods. “Good.” He leans forward to write an address down on her napkin, then passes it to her. “That’s her apartment. I’ll meet you there tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” Bo nods, before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a card. “My rate is on the back. Just so you’re prepared.”

He doesn’t even look at it before sticking it in his pocket. “Money will not be a problem. I just need you to find my sister.”

“Okay, big spender.” Bo certainly won’t argue with someone who wants to pay her what she’s worth. Apparently werewolves don’t just exist, they’re stupid rich. But she can appreciate the value of what he’s saying. “We will find her. I just can’t promise—”

“I know. I just…I though I lost her once, only to find out that she was out there and I just wasn’t looking. I won’t make that mistake again. So whatever answer we find—at least it’s conclusive.”

“Okay.” Bo can work with that. She raises out of her seat and reaches out to shake his hand again. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek nods, as he shakes her hand again, though this time she can’t help but notice the way he hesitates to touch her. Almost as though he’s warring with himself between wanting to trust her and not trusting himself. Still, his handshake is warm and firm, and he steps away again.

“See you tomorrow, Bo.”

Bo wants to check out Cora’s apartment first, so Derek brings her over on the pretense of giving her roommate the money she needs for the rent. Callie, the roommate, looks up at him like she’s confused by the cash he’s placing in her hand.

“Why didn’t you just Venmo me?”

“What’s Venmo?” he asks, in all sincerity, and she snorts.

“You’re almost as bad as she is.” Callie then grabs her bag. “I’m going to class. Lock up when you leave?”

Derek nods, closing the door behind her, before Bo looks at him with an amused expression. “What?”

“You realize that the money’s just going to come right back to you, considering you own the building?” Bo asks, raising an eyebrow. Derek’s head cocks to the side, surprised, then shrugs.

“You know that, but she doesn’t know that. Cora didn’t want her to know because she didn’t trust her to not let the rent slide if she thought she could get away with it.”

“Fair enough,” Bo nods. “Does Cora actually pay rent?”

“Cora usually makes the payments, so no. But with her missing, Callie is trying to figure out how to do it herself.”

“How many buildings do you own?”

“A couple,” he admits, not used to flaunting his wealth. “One here, one in Beacon Hills.”

“Where’s that?”

“California. It’s where we grew up.”

“Huh.” Bo moves into Cora’s bedroom, letting herself scan the room for clues. “Is all her stuff here?”

Derek does a quick scan of the room—sparse in how Hales are these days, in the off chance that they need to get moving. But also like Derek, Cora enjoys her creature comforts now that she has access to her trust again, but where Derek is cars, Cora prefers high-thread count bedsheets and good food. But scanning through the room, it seems like everything is intact. All her clothes are in the closet and drawers—no sign that she was planning on making a run for it.

“That’s good. It means she didn’t intend to go missing, which means she’s not trying to cover her tracks.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “So she was probably kidnapped, and chances are high that they might try to cover their tracks?”

Bo shrugs. “Maybe. But if it is a fae problem, they often are a little too bold to think that people would interfere with them when they’re doing their thing, or that their side will clean up after them. There might still be evidence where she went missing.”

As she speaks, Derek catches the sound of feet rattling on the fire escape. He moves to open the window to the bedroom and, as the familiar scent comes close enough, he reaches an arm out and pulls the new arrival inside.

“Derek,” Dave, Cora’s boyfriend, sputters as he’s held to throat by an angry werewolf. “Funny meeting you here.”

“Where’s my sister, Dave?”

“And Dave is?” Bo asks.

The two men respond simultaneously: “Cora’s boyfriend.” Then Dave glances at the second voice and his eyes go wide. “Well, damn.”

“Hi. I’m Bo,” she offers congenially. Then she places a hand on Derek’s arm. “Why don’t we put Dave down and see what he knows?”

“See what I know? See what I know about what?” Dave glances around the room. “Cora isn’t back yet?”

“No. Apparently, she hasn’t been here in a week.” Derek drops Dave onto the bed before taking a step back and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What do you mean, isn’t back yet?”

Dave rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before sighing. “She has a hard time with blue moons. It throws her off her game. So sometimes she heads out into the woods and she takes a couple days to come back, so I usually just give her space.”

“Which is probably where she went missing,” Bo nods. “What woods are these?”

“What? Cora’s missing?”

“Why do you think we’re here, Dave?”

Dave doesn’t seem to have an answer to that, so he sighs, before turning and pointing out the window to the woods that run along the back line of the property. Derek nods, before gesturing back to the window. “Thanks, Dave. You can go now.”

“Are you going after her? I can help you look.”

“Goodbye, Dave.”

The werewolf huffs before hauling himself out the window and into the distance. Derek and Bo lock up the apartment before heading out into the woods themselves. “You know, you could be nicer to your sister’s boyfriend.”

“I will, when I’m convinced she actually likes him.” There’s people Cora likes, and people Cora will be with for a while to pass the time and he has a feeling that Dave is the latter. As they reach the edge of the woods, Derek tips his head up, searching for his sister’s scent among the trees, but Bo reaches out to take him by the arm.

“Wait. I know these woods.”

Derek glances back at her. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Not great?” Bo hesitates. “Circe lives here. She occasionally likes to lure in humans and turn them into animals so that she can keep them as pets.”

“Circe like the goddess?”

“Fae and gods run close together.” Bo huffs. “This is going to be tricky. Technically, we’re like…fifth cousins twice removed or something ridiculous, but she thinks she’s protecting these people. Convincing her to let Cora go won’t be easy.”

Derek blinks at her, and she sighs.

“My father is Hades. Long story.”

“Right.” He runs a hand through her hair. “But do you think you can get her to give her back?”

“I can try.” Bo reaches forward and rests a hand on his arm. “Whatever we do, we’ll figure it out, okay? This isn’t me giving up, this is just me stating the complexity of the situation.”

Derek doesn’t exactly feel reassured, but he nods all the same. “She’s all I have left. I can’t lose her.”

“Then we’ll make it work.” She turns to him with a smile, before nodding and moving to head into the woods. “Let’s do this.”

Derek swallows, but nods as he follows her. Hopefully, this won’t be as hard as Bo thinks it will be.

Finding Circe’s hutch in the woods doesn’t take much. You basically follow the barnyard smells that are so dense that even Bo’s normal sense of smell can pick up. As they round the corner, Bo looks over Circe’s collection of animals, trying to see if there’s anything new she didn’t have before. But before she can say anything, Derek cuts into her line of view, making his way over to a gray wolf lurking near the tree line.

Frowning, she follows him. “Can werewolves talk to wolves or something?”

“No. That’s her.”

As soon as he’s close enough, the wolf breaks from the tree line, heading straight towards him and allowing Derek to get his arms around her. She snarls at Bo, who holds up her hands to show she means no harm.

“No, it’s okay,” Derek says softly, running a hand over the top of her head. “She’s a friend. She helped me find you.” Cora relaxes some at that, but it’s still clear she feels uncomfortable in this forced wolf’s body. She buries her head into her brother’s side, and Derek looks up at Bo like he doesn’t know what to do. “How do we change her back?”

That, Bo doesn’t have a ready answer for. She knows, unfortunately, that it might come down to having to bargain with Circe, and she doesn’t let any of her pets go without a price. She exhales slowly, before turning and pointing back at the house.

“Let me go see if I can talk to her. Stay here. We don’t want to give her any ideas.”

Derek seems to catch on pretty quickly that Circe will probably just trade one wolf for another, and nods as he goes to sit in the woods, back against the tree. “We’ll be here.”

“Okay.” And with that, she turns and heads back to the house, knocking on the door. It takes two long breaths for Circe to appear, a bright smile flashing across her face in surprise. “Ysabeau! You dropped by for a visit.”

“Not exactly,” Bo sighs. “We need to talk.”

Circe frowns, but lets her in the house, somewhat neater than the mess of farmland that’s happening outside. The witch doesn’t offer her anything—she knows Bo is smart enough not to take it—but she does gesture for her to take a seat on one of her ostentatious couches.

“What can I do for you?”

“You’ve taken something that belongs to me.” She’s not sure Derek would be comfortable with her claiming she’s claimed him or his sister, but if all goes according to plan, the Hales probably won’t find themselves in Circe’s neck of the woods again. The ancient fae don’t blink twice at the idea that Bo has claimed werewolves, which proves how little they all actually understand her.

Business as usual.

“What could I have—oh, no, not my new dog.” Circe tuts. “You really need to learn to mark your toys, darling. This would prevent so many misunderstandings.”

“I didn’t realize that werewolves were on the table for what you do.”

“Oh, darling, you should know by now that with me, everything is on the table.” Circe gives her a saucy wink before turning to glance out the window. Bo can see her eyes moving to the treeline where Derek sits dutifully with his sister. “I take it he’s not for trade either?”

“No,” Bo sighs. “I prefer a complete set.”

“You would, with your nature. And he certainly is pretty to look at.” Circe sighs, before nodding. “Fine. But I’m going to need something from you in return.”

“And what’s that?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just a little chi for the road.”

Bo can already tell that “little” doesn’t mean small. At least not by her standards. But that doesn’t mean she can’t set boundaries. “I need to get back home without killing anyone.”

“You can have one of your snacks in the woods. I certainly don’t mind a show.”

Bo knows that since she’s the one making the demands, she’s not in a place to push back too far. All she can hope is that Circe doesn’t leave her absolutely starving. “Change her back first, then we’ll get started.”

Circe sighs, before snapping her fingers and soon Cora is no longer a wolf, but a naked young woman in the middle of the woods. Derek immediately pulls off his jacket to give to her, and she hopes he takes this opportunity to run.

“Thank you,” Bo nods. “Shall we begin?”

Circe’s smile widens, and she holds out her hand. “Yes. Let’s.”

About thirty minutes later, she stumbles out of the house and into the woods, feeling the gnawing lack of what keeps her balanced. The Hales are nowhere to be seen, which is for the best. She just needs to make it back to her car, and then to the Dal, and she’s sure she can find an appropriate bedfellow for the evening.

What she doesn’t expect, as she breaks the treeline, is to see Derek, as though he was coming back for her. Something in her rumbles, because Circe isn’t wrong. He truly is pretty to look at.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Bo shakes her head. “I made her a deal, and she took what she needed from me, but you need to go before I—”

She can tell by the way his eyes flash gold in return that her eyes must have gone blue. A predator responding to another predator. Derek hesitates, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to her.

“Can I help?”

“A kiss will not fix this.” Bo won’t say no, but she wants to make sure he knows what he’s consenting to.

Derek hesitates again, before nodding. “Then it won’t just be a kiss.”

That’s about all the debating she can take, stepping in and kissing him deeply. He meets her easily, and as they step back out of view and into the trees, she whispers. “I can make it easier?”

Derek shakes his head. “Don’t.”

Bo nods, before pulling at his clothes and the two of them collapse into the leaves.

* * * * *

Derek walks her back to the car once all is said and done, looking more exhausted than most fae do when she’s done with them, but mostly okay. She was worried, given that he’s in between mortal and immortal, that his healing factor wouldn’t be able to compensate, but after an enormous meal and a nap, he should be just fine.

“Thank you,” Bo says. “I really appreciate you doing that.”

Derek smirks. “Consider it part of the expenses I owe you.”

She laughs as she reaches the door of her car. “Your sister okay?”

“She’s pretty freaked out, but she’s been through worse.”

Bo nods, because that sounds like par for the course. “I told Circe that you two were mine. I’m not going to hold you to that, but it was the most efficient way to get her to give up Cora. But if you’re going to keep moving in fae territory, it might help keep you both safe.”

Derek nods slowly, because she can tell he doesn’t like the idea of being claimed, as though he’s a toy for someone to play with rather than a person. That’s why Bo’s never been fond of it either, beyond the fact that it allows her friends to move freely without turning into fae food.

“What would we have to do?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got necklaces? With my mark on them. Just wear them when you’re in town and everyone will leave you alone.”

Derek nods. “I appreciate that. I know you don’t know us but—”

“You came in looking for Dyson. Dyson is one of the people I trust most in the world, so if he trusts you, then I’m okay with sticking my neck out.”

Derek nods again. “I’ll talk to her and see what she thinks.”

“Good.” Bo offers him a small smile before going to get into her car. “It was nice meeting you, Derek.”

“You too, Bo.”

And with that, she drives off into the distance, a job well done.

Edited 2023-04-07 12:24 (UTC)

Jobs rarely go this bad.

For all the dangerous people that the Leverage team deals with regularly, they usually get away clean enough. But this one ends bad, especially in terms of the beating that Eliot takes and they need help. Hardison and Parker get him into a car with Harry—something nondescript that won’t draw attention the way the food truck does, despite the broken back window, and Hardison programs an address into the GPS.

“Drive. Don’t stop till you get there.”

“Hardison, he needs a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Eliot protests weakly from the backseat. But that’s about all he can do. His shoulder is dislocated, his knee is throbbing, and his head hurts.

“Trust me—where I’m sending you is better than any hospital for him. Just go.”

The door slams, Harry starts the car, and there’s nothing Eliot can do but pass out to the rumble of the car.

* * * * *

The next thing he hears is a familiar voice above him.

“Jesus, he needs a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Eliot protests again, weakly, and he can tell Harry is giving him a look. It’s a very distinctive look.

“That’s what I was told. I was hoping you were like a mob doctor or something.”

“Not that kind of doctor.” Lucy’s face hovers into view and he gives her a weak smile.

“Hi, honey. I’m home.”

“You’re an ass.” She sighs. “Let’s get you inside. Can you walk?”

“Well enough.” Between her and Harry, they get him up and into Lucy’s cabin. He can sense her lingering on the broken glass, the bruises, everything in between, and he knows she’s worried. But Eliot will be fine. He’s always fine.

Harry sets him down on the couch as Lucy pats him down for his phone. After fishing it out of his back pocket, she scrolls through for a number, scribbles it down, and holds her hand out for Harry’s. “Phone?”

Harry hands it over without question. “Are you worried about them tracing us?”

“Not yet. Hardison is usually pretty good at making you guys untraceable. But better safe than sorry.” She makes her way over to a box on the kitchen counter, opening the lid and sliding them inside.

“Faraday cage,” Eliot explains. “A friend made it for her. No signals get in or out.”

“What if Hardison needs to reach us?”

“Then he’ll call me. He’d expect us to take precautions.” Lucy then smiles, though it’s weary around the edges. “Dr. Lucy Preston, by the way. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Harry Wilson. And when you say you’re not that kind of doctor…”

“Doctorate, in history.”

“Huh. So how do you and Eliot know each other?”

“That is a very long story for another time. We need to get him looked at first.” She steps away, going to grab her own phone off the coffee table. “I’m calling Obie.”

“Fine.” Eliot won’t protest, as long as the doctor is coming to him instead of him going to them.

“And when he gives you the all clear in terms of head trauma, we’re going to have a talk.”

Eliot knows her well enough to know that she isn’t leaving. That this isn’t about his job, or him, necessarily. That she loves him and wants to make sure he’s safe, even if she knows his job is to get beaten up by other people. The way she says talk always makes him tense. Almost as though she senses it, she leans over to press a kiss against his forehead.

“Rest, okay? I’ll let you know when Obie gets here.”

He nods, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, though whether he’s slipping back into unconsciousness or to sleep is hard to say.

* * * * *

He comes around again when Obie gets there, letting him do the cursory examination—pop the shoulder back in, check for a concussion, brace the bad knee. Once he’s finished, he tells Lucy and Harry to keep him awake for the next six hours, just to make sure. So Lucy orders them some dinner from the place Eliot likes, and goes to pick it up, while Harry sits with him and waits.

“She seems nice.”

“She is.”

“How long have you two—?”

“A while.”

“Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Eliot pauses before giving a small shrug. “Marriage is a bit too legal for a guy like me, and she gets that.” Too many connections on paper, and people know where to punch that isn’t you. “But she may as well be.”

Harry nods, understanding that much. As much as he is still a man of the real world, and thinks in the logic that people are supposed to have—you date, you get married; you have children—he also knows that things aren’t always that simple. And those complications don’t make it wrong.

“Taken her to meet your dad yet.”

He laughs. “No, not yet. But he’ll love her.”

“I’m sure he will.” Harry leans back against the couch, and Eliot can see the nerves crossing his face. “Do you think—”

“They’re fine.” Eliot’s shoulder is too sore to rest his hand on the other man’s, but his tone is firm. Even if he isn’t there to get them out, his friends are capable people. They will be fine. He’s sure of it.

The front door opens and Lucy comes back in with bags of food. “Heard from Hardison. He said that Parker and Sophie have checked in and they’re fine. He and Breanna—who I also haven’t met yet—are heading out of state for a bit while things cool down.” She places the food down on the coffee table in front of them and gives him a teasing smirk. “Have you been hiding team members from me?”

Eliot gives her a soft smirk. “Only the two.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix that soon.” She breaks apart the to-go containers, handing out the food where needed, and once finished, she perches on the coffee table across from him. “So. Tell me about this job.”

“It’s a long story,” Eliot protests, mostly because he doesn’t want to worry her, but he knows she won’t take that as an excuse, anyway.

“Then good thing we have to keep you up for six hours.” She moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing the two men. “And you know me. I love a long story.” She pops open her food container and glances back and forth between the two of them. “So. Where do we start?”

Eliot sighs. It’s going to be a very long night.

Six hours go by in a haze of food and card games, and after that, Eliot gets to sleep—actual sleep, not the price of unconsciousness. He wakes in the morning feeling much better, even if he still feels like a punching bag. He also feels well enough to take over his own communications, so Lucy passes him her phone as she sets about making them breakfast.

She may not be a gourmet chef like her boyfriend, but she can handle frying eggs and his backseat cooking.

“This is a great sandwich,” Harry says as he takes a bite of the ham, egg and cheese, and Lucy smiles before fixing Eliot with a look.

“Thank you.”

Eliot smirks, pressing a kiss to her temple before moving to take a seat. “So Hardison says Sophie and Parker are headed for St. Nick’s. We’re going to meet them there after a few days.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry pauses. “Did he say which St. Nick’s?”

“There’s only one St. Nick’s,” Eliot replies, and when Harry looks confused, Lucy fills it in.

“They saved a church with a fake miracle once.” She swallows down some coffee before continuing. “I’m guessing that’s the St. Nick’s that you mean. So back to LA?”

Eliot nods. “Back to LA.” He doesn’t seem thrilled by that—of all the places they lived, LA is his least favorite. Easy to get lost in, but hard to really build roots in. Especially with all the bridges they burned while they were there.

“I could call in a favor with Agent Christopher,” she offers, even though she knows she shouldn’t. “The bunker where we used to keep the Lifeboat is probably still empty.”

“What’s the Lifeboat?” Harry asks, and Eliot shakes his head. Harry then takes another bite of his sandwich. “Never mind.”

“I don’t think we need to go that far underground.”

“Well, if you do, the offer’s open.” She takes another sip of her coffee before turning to look at him more, trying to fill in the gaps of what he’s not saying. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Not sure. Depends on how much trouble comes with it.” Eliot shakes his head. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowns. “Do you think someone hacked Hardison?”

Eliot pauses and Lucy can tell that he’s wrestling with the implications. If they had Hardison, then they’re all in trouble—he’s the lynchpin of so much of their communications. And that he’s communicating with Lucy should be sign enough that Hardison is Hardison. Most agencies wouldn’t know that she exists in relation to what Leverage does.

Most agencies.

They both seem to reach the same realization and she gets up and goes to put on her shoes. “I’m going to make a phone call.”

Harry frowns. “You need shoes for that?”

“Going to use the phone at the Chinese place down the street.” Lucy slides her jacket on over her shoulders. “You guys might want to find somewhere else to lie low.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Rittenhouse.” Eliot offers with no additional explanation, but something flickers on Harry’s face in understanding. Which makes Lucy stop short.

“You know Rittenhouse?”

“Before I joined the side of the relative good guys, I used to be an evil corporate attorney, and while I didn’t handle the Rittenhouse file directly, my firm did.” Harry frowns. “This just got a lot more complicated, didn’t it?”

Eliot nods before glancing back over to Lucy. “I take it back. Call Agent Christopher.”

Relieved that they’re all on the same page, she nods. “If my place is being watched, you need to get out of here. Head to the Lifeboat. I’ll meet you guys there.” Eliot knows the way, and she doubts that Agent Christopher will say no if Rittenhouse is involved. And with that she’s out the door, hoping that Agent Christopher hasn’t been gotten to first.

* * * * *

She arrives at the bunker just on the heels of Eliot and Harry. She knows he likely took his time, making sure he wasn’t followed, and Lucy did the same. As she lowers herself down the ladder of the bunker, she arrives just in time to hear:

“I’m sorry, that’s a what?”

“Time machine.” She can guess that’s what Eliot is explaining to Harry. It makes sense. “Decommissioned, but it still works.”

“So everything Rittenhouse was doing—it was about a time machine.”

“Yep,” Eliot sighs, settling into one of the old control chairs. “What did Agent Christopher say?”

“She’ll look into it and try to intercept Sophie and Parker—if Hardison is the leak, then that might be more of an undertaking.”

Eliot nods. “We have to get them back.”

“We will. I promise.” Lucy sets a hand on his shoulder. “We just need a better plan. And a little backup.”

“Which, I’m guessing, is where we come in.”

The three of them turn, and standing in the doorway are three familiar faces. Lucy greets them with a smile before moving across the room.

“Harry Wilson, this is Wyatt Logan, Rufus Carlin and Jiya Marri. My team.”

Eliot smiles as he gets up and extends a hand to Wyatt. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Anything for friends,” Wyatt nods. “Besides, I owe you one for 1916.”

Harry blinks, confused again, before moving to sit in one chair. “It’s very nice to meet you all, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I am in over my head, so I’m just going to stay here until you tell me what to do.”

“First things first. We need to get in touch with Parker and Sophie,” Eliot sighs. “And hope they’re not already on their way to the church.”

“They know me. I’ll plan an intercept, while you all start figuring out where they have Hardison and Breanna.” Wyatt moves to slide into place next to him. “Tell me what you know about the church.”

“Don’t worry, Harry. You’re not as useless as you think,” Lucy teases before moving to sit across from him. “You are going to tell us everything you know about the inner workings of Rittenhouse?”

Harry nods, seeing the tendrils of how the plans are coming together, and smiles. “Where do you want me to start?”

Wyatt does as promised, scooping up Parker and Sophie and bringing them back to the bunker. As they explain the situation, what they’ve learned and what they assume based on the information given, Eliot can already see the gears turning in Sophie’s mind. Parker is concerned about Hardison, as she should rightly be, but Sophie knows this isn’t the first time they’ve been in this situation, mostly outnumbered with their people on the line, and she and Nate figured it out before. He’s trusting her to figure it out now.

“There’s one thing we’re missing,” she finally says. “What does Rittenhouse want?”

“I assume they would probably tell us at the church,” Lucy replies. “Unless they’re related to the job you were working on?”

“Hardison would have flagged it,” Eliot sighs. “He knows what to look for with Rittenhouse, but there’s been nothing for years. Not even whispers.”

“Knowing Rittenhouse, they may have wanted to be kept off the radar. While the option for time traveling all the things they don’t like out of history was fun, I’m not sure they’re one to give up power that easily.” Rufus turns to face the rest of the Leverage team, the wheels in his head also spinning. “Tell me about the job you were working.”

As Sophie explains, Eliot has to agree with her assessment. It had seemed like a simple enough gig. Nothing they hadn’t accomplished before. But if Rittenhouse was pulling the strings behind the scenes—

“They’re doing what we do. But reverse.” Assessing vulnerabilities and bolstering the companies that need it, that feed their agenda. It makes sense, and they wouldn’t want Leverage getting in the way any more than they already have.

“I dislike the sound of that,” Sophie sighs, running a hand through her hair. “None of this gets us closer to Hardison and Breanna, either.”

“It could be as simple as eliminating the competition. Or it could try to get to the same people they’re always trying to get to.” Wyatt looks over at Lucy, and Eliot can’t say he’s wrong. Once they figured out it was Rittenhouse, all the usual suspects came into place easily. But there has to be a way around this. Someone they can call that will land this on their side.

“Which one?” Parker asks. “McSweeten or Sterling?” Sophie and Eliot both blink at her, while the rest of the group gets confused. Parker brushes at her cheeks before continuing. “They’re expecting us. They’re expecting thieves to handle thief business. What if we bring in the cops?”

Sophie’s eyebrows go up. “They certainly won’t be expecting that.”

“How do you know they aren’t on the take?” Lucy asks, a valid question in the grand scheme of things.

“Sterling cares too much about the game to go under the table,” Sophie replies, certain of at least that much. “And McSweeten is a good man. We’ve fed a lot of criminals to over the years. But I think we want to make sure that there aren’t Rittenhouse agents hiding in plain sight.”

“They’re more likely to be in the FBI than Interpol,” Eliot nods. “Sterling’s the play.”

Sophie nods, going off to make the call. While the rest of the team scatters to make their preparations, Lucy approaches Eliot, resting a hand on his arm gently.

“You okay?” His look must ask what got her to ask that question, and she smirks. “This seems like the thing you might blame yourself for not seeing coming.”

Eliot rolls his eyes a bit before nodding. “A little.” He places a hand on her hip to pull her closer. “Protecting them is my job.”

“And it’s my job to remind you that you got yourself a pretty heavy beating doing it.” Lucy reaches up, winding her arms around his neck. “You are one man doing a very tough job. And we will get Hardison and Breanna back.”

He takes a deep breath before leaning in to kiss her softly. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anytime.” She pauses. “You know, when all this is over, maybe we should get away for a little while.”

“I think it sounds like a great idea.” He’s due for some downtime, and he thinks they’re all going to want it after this. But he can’t commit to anything when the worry is still flowing through his system. “Ask me again when this is all over.”

“Deal.” Lucy turns back as Sophie comes back.

“Sterling’s on board.” She leans in to the rest of the group before holding up her hands like she’s about to sell them the world. “Here’s the plan.”

* * * * *

Sterling was the best option. Apparently, he’s been tracking the movements Rittenhouse has been making, and it doesn’t take much to get him on board with their plan. When they burst into the church to recover Hardison and Breanna, they don’t get any high-ranking members, but for now it’s enough to slow them down and realize that they’re attracting global attention.

Eliot knows that within a few months, they’ll have turned a few members inside Sterling’s team, just to be on the safe side, but Sterling claims he can handle whatever comes his way. Eliot doesn’t doubt that. It’s weird to have come to a point where they and Sterling could almost consider each other colleagues, but Eliot isn’t complaining.

Even if sometimes he still wants to punch him in the face.

Once they’re all safe back at the theater, Eliot cooks for all of them, including Lucy’s team, having finally gotten all of them in the same room. That part at the end of this, the blending of their two families really matters, and it almost feels like something they’ve been wanting for a long time.

When he goes back to the bar for another beer, Hardison joins him, leaning in closer and dropping his voice. “You know, if you’ve been thinking about putting a ring on that, I could help you out.”

Eliot frowns, not sure what to make of that, and Hardison waves a hand. “I know you think you can’t because you’re not a real person, blah blah blah, but. If you guys wanted to, I could make it happen.”

There’s silence as he processes that, trying to figure out exactly how he feels about it. He knows Hardison could build him a bullet proof identity that could live in the world as Lucy’s husband—as Hardison would put it, make him a real boy. Is that something he wants? Is that something she wants? Or is she just good with what she has?

Hardison lets him sit in those thoughts, before placing a hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze. “Just think about it.”

Eliot nods before taking his beer and moving back to his seat next to Lucy. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to be a marriage guy. He thinks it’s something he gave up on himself a long time ago. But he’d be lying if he said the possibility wasn’t tempting.

Lucy glances over at him and offers him a smile as she does. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, offering him a smile. “I’m good.”

Lucy doesn’t look as though she believes him, but before she can ask, Breanna interrupts.

“Okay, I have been wanting to ask about this for literal years, so. Please tell me about the time travel.”

The Lifeboat team glances between each other and Lucy can’t help but laugh. “Okay. Where would you like us to start?”

Eliot leans back as Breanna and Rufus get into the technical aspects, and as the table buzzes with conversation, he nods. For now, this is good enough. They’ll figure out the rest later.

Lucy knows Eliot well enough at this point to tell when he’s brooding. It’s an easy distinction to miss, given that most of the time his resting face is a scowl, and he certainly has enough trauma in his past to be mistaken for a brooder, but Lucy knows the difference between thinking something through and a true brood, and this seems to teeter right on the line. She shifts her position in the passenger’s seat and nudges him lightly with her foot.

“You okay?”

Eliot startles as he glances over at her before nodding. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Worried about introducing me to your dad?”

She’s aware of how big a step this is, especially given the very recent end to their estrangement. She doesn’t blame him for not taking her with him the first time—they had their own stuff they needed to work out and she would have only been a distraction. But she’s going to get to see an actual part of Eliot, a part that came before he was a retrieval specialist, and she knows that’s not always easy for him. Sometimes, just when she thinks she’s seen all the facets of him, given how long they’ve been together, she gets to see something new.

That, honestly, is the real prize.

Still, his shoulders relax almost immediately, and he shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” Eliot teases, before reaching for her hand. “I know he’ll love you.”

“Of course he will. I’m incredibly loveable,” she smiles in return. “You just seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

Eliot shakes his head, leaning back against the seat as he tries to figure out the right words to explain it. One thing she appreciates about Eliot is that he’s always so careful with his words, promising nothing more than he knows he can give. So she gives him the space to figure out how to phrase it.

“Something Hardison said at dinner.” He pauses, fingers tightening on the wheel. “Something I’m not sure I want to get into on the way to my dad’s.”

Meaning he thinks it might start a fight, and he doesn’t want to bring that energy to the weekend, and she can respect that. “Okay,” she nods. “Then we can talk about it on the way home.”

He squeezes her hand in response, a silent thank you, and keeps his eyes back on the road, but something in his shoulders loosens and a bit of the brood lifts. Whatever this conversation is, she trusts him. Whatever they need, they’ll figure it out together.

* * * * *

Billy Spencer is as lovely as Lucy expects, and the weekend is a warm, if slightly awkward, one. It’s clear that Billy and Eliot are still trying to find their ways around the broken pieces of their relationship and figuring out how to smooth those over, but they’re trying, and that’s what matters. By the time they leave, Lucy is left with a smile and a hug, and she steps up to slide her arm into Eliot’s.

“So I think I was a hit.”

He laughs as they get to the car. “You were. I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

Lucy grins and as they prepare to hit the road, she reaches over to take his hand again. “This weekend was good, though. I’m glad we did it.”

“Me too.” They settle into a comfortable silence as the road passes by, trees lined with the russet colors of fall, when Eliot continues. “We never really talked about marriage.”

She had almost forgotten the conversation that they put a pin in for later. She glances over at him, raising an eyebrow as she does. “No, I guess we haven’t. Though I suppose we’re probably common law at this point—or would be if we were living together.”

As much as Eliot comes home to her, his name isn’t on the lease. His life is still separate, and while that’s never bothered her, it seems like it’s bothering him. He stays silent at that, and she opts to take the direct approach to figure out what’s wrong.

“What did Hardison say?”

“He offered to make a clean identity for me. One that fits back into the real world. A real boy.” He glances back at her briefly. “If we wanted to make it official.”

“Mmmm.” Now she takes the time to think about it, to unknot all of those feelings and acceptances she made when she chose Eliot. As much as she has been engaged in the past—under questionable circumstances, to be sure—with Eliot, she’s never needed a ring on her finger to ensure his loyalty. She trusts him, and she doesn’t need a piece of paper to show that.

But she knows that there are some benefits that come with being married, in the legal sense. Phone calls she would get, rights she would have were something to happen to him, or happen to her.

“I don’t need to marry you to prove that I want to be with you, or that you want to be with me.” She starts there, because if he wants to continue as they are, she’s perfectly fine with that. “I chose you and I will not take back that decision just because it can’t be legal.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Do you want to get married?”

He’s silent for a few miles, the highway whipping past them as he thinks. “I used to. Then life became what it was, and it couldn’t make that commitment to someone else. But then you happened and—”

“Things shifted all over again.” She nods, because she gets it. She’s had a few of those shifts on her own. “I guess I think my genuine worries, given what you do, is that if something happens to you—like something almost happened to you not that long ago—I won’t be the one who gets the call. I won’t be able to see you or help, or decide because legally, I don’t have that right. That’s the one place where I think that getting married would be helpful, rather than superfluous. But if you’re trying to prove something to me about how much you care—I don’t need a ring for that.”

Eliot nods again before bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing the back of it. “Not a very romantic reason.”

“I don’t know,” Lucy laughs. “I think trusting me to decide about your well-being is pretty damn romantic, especially coming from you.” Eliot has other people placed in his hands, their safety on his shoulders more often than not. It’s rare he lets someone do it for him.

He laughs before nodding in agreement. “I’ll talk to Hardison, see what it would take.”

“Okay.” She smiles before settling back into the seat and turning her attention back to the road. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

She smiles, because even with all of this planning, that’s the only promise she’d ever need to hear.

There are several reliable things you can count on Sophie for, in the grand scheme of things, and the big one is being able to sell a little romance. She’s a romantic at heart, after all. So when Eliot comes to her for recommendations for romantic places to take Lucy, she is more than happy to plan it.

The result is a trip out of the country, to an expensive hotel with all the amenities. Equidistant from historical sites and museums to peruse in town, as well as outdoor adventures for when Eliot wants to get some fresh air. A true mingling of both their worlds, and he has to say he’s a little impressed. Especially when she notes at the bottom that the itinerary is optional, not mandatory.

They follow some of it. Sophie hits the nail on the head in terms of the places Lucy would want to see, as well as tossing in a few she wasn’t aware of prior. But they wind up spending more time outside than expected, wanting to really get away from people for a little while. They find a hike that leads up to a series of interconnected waterfalls, and settle in for a brief picnic lunch.

Lucy shifts to rest her back against his side, and he tucks an arm over her shoulders, providing a sturdy form for her to lean against. She tips her head back with a smirk. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Eliot smirks back. “I’m just glad we did this. It’s been a while since I’ve been completely off duty.”

Lucy takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. “I know it’s difficult for you to step away like this. They’re your family, and you’re worried if you’re not watching they’re going to do something stupid.”

“Oh, I know if I’m not watching, they’re going to do something stupid,” he smirks. “But I think there are enough responsible adults around that they won’t die.”

“Then maybe we’ll get to do this more often,” Lucy smiles, leaning in to kiss him and he leans into it happily. “But I know by the end of this trip, you’ll miss them.”

There’s a time he wouldn’t have admitted that, that he was caring about this ragtag crew of people that he’s collected as his own. But this far into the game, he’s long past being ashamed of caring. In the line of work he’s in now, he can afford to spare them. Getting to have feelings is something he’s still getting used to, but he can’t start running away from it now.

“Yeah, probably.” He smirks. “Definitely don’t get views like this back home, though.”

“No, we do not.” She glances out over the falls and sighs. “I guess that means you’re just going to schedule more vacations.”

“What a struggle that’ll be.”

“I know. Such a hardship. You’ll have to spend time with me and not have to punch anyone.”

“Spending time with you is never a hardship,” he says, firmly, because even if he knows she’s joking, he wants her to hear it from his own lips. “In fact, it’s how I would rather spend a good portion of my time.”

“Good to know.” She tips her head to the side to look at him. “Did you give any more thought to that thing we talked about?”

Eliot takes a deep breath and nods. “I’m still not sure yet. Because the things you said weren’t wrong. But they don’t feel right either.”

He’s not sure how to articulate how he is feeling, which is part of the problem. It’s part of the catch twenty-two of not being able to put his name on things. Because if he wants to marry Lucy—and part of him very much does—he wants to put his name on it. If he doesn’t, it feels too much like a con. He follows up quickly, before she can get the wrong impression.

“Not the you part of it. You are a yes, every time.”

“It’s everything else?”

“I don’t want this to feel like a con.”

“Where you’re pretending to be someone else in order to get something you want?”

He nods, letting his eyes wander over the water. “And I don’t want you to have to pretend that you’re with someone you’re not. But I want to talk to Hardison about my medical proxy. You’re already my emergency contact. Maybe there’s a way you can legally get set up to make those calls, too.”

Lucy nods, pushing up and turning to face him more so that she’s looking him in the eye. “I appreciate you addressing my concerns. And for wanting to get married for the right reasons. But I also want you to know that I don’t care what name is on the piece of paper. If you wanted to get married, I would marry Joe Schmo as long as it was you on the other end.”

Eliot nods with a warm smile. “That is good to know. And if you need someone to take around to events, I will happily be that guy any time.”

“Oooh, conning my colleagues. That could be fun.” She laughs, before leaning in to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” And for now, that feels like enough.

Edited 2023-04-21 22:11 (UTC)

April 15, 1923

Paris has become something of a holding station for Diana. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so for now she might as well stay. It’s not a good reason to stay, but at least Paris is familiar, whereas the rest of the world is an unknown she is not content to explore just yet. She’s still not sure how to live in the world of men, with all its complications and contradictions, but she’s trying. After all, returning to Themiscyra isn’t an option.

Still, she’s learning. She has a job now, teaching children, that she adores, and an apartment she sleeps in that overlooks the Eiffel tower. It seems ideal, even if she can’t deny that there are things she’s missing about the world. If she can’t help but feel the loneliness, the ache for someone who will see the world the way she does. The part of her heart that still reaches for her sisters, back home.

It’s those lonely nights in her tiny apartment that drive her to the speakeasies.

Diana’s not really a big drinker, but she enjoys dancing, and the press of people on all sides reminds her that there’s still people out in the world. That this world could be worth living in, if she gives it a chance. She makes her way up to the bar one night, looking over the crowd dancing ahead of her, and before she can say anything, the bartender greets her first.

“Well, hello.”

Her head turns, and she squints back at the other man in return. Slicked back dark hair, curious eyes, and something about him reads he is just as alien to all of this as she is. She tenses, unsure what to make of the man who may not be a man at all, and he leans forward to inspect her—not invading her personal space exactly, but getting close enough that she can catch a whiff of his cologne.

“I haven’t seen one of you in centuries. Here I thought old Zeus put all his children to bed on endless quests.”

It feels strange, to have someone call her what she is so baldly, out in the open of other people. The panic of it must show on her face and he quickly waves a hand.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. Humans would rather plead ignorance to the strange around them than actually admit it’s happening.” He extends a hand out to her, palm up, expecting her to put her hand in his. “Lucifer Morningstar. Pleasure.”

“Diana Prince.” She shakes his hand. “Originally Diana of Themiscyra.”

“Ahhh, that explains it. I haven’t met you because you weren’t there to find. Quite a shame, since you’re certainly much prettier company than Heracles.”

Diana’s lips quirk, amused, but she can’t help being stuck on one thing. “When you say Lucifer Morningstar—”

“I mean like the Devil, yes.” He says it’s so baldly, as though it’s simply a fact, rather than something to be proud or ashamed of. It piques her interest, even though she probably should see him as a threat. “Though you might be the first to actually believe it when I say it.”

“You’re not what I expected from the Devil.” Diana admits as he places her drink down in front of her. “From what the Christian records say about you, I would have assumed you were more of a—”

“Sinister figure? Red skin, burning eyes, here to lead the humans to their doom?” Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong—I can play the part when the moment requires, but humans bring Hell upon themselves. They’ve never needed my help. I’m just the warden, and right now? I’m on vacation.”

“There are vacations from Hell?”

“My father learned the wise lesson that a cranky Devil is a bad warden. So every so often he lets me come to the surface and have a little fun.” He smiles as he leans forward on the bar. “They really are remarkable.”

“So the Devil doesn’t hate humanity?”

“Oh, no. The Devil is just fine with humanity. The Devil isn’t good with hypocrisy. My father wants to let them have all the choice and space to make mistakes. Free will only seems to apply to them, but angels must obey. I didn’t think it was fair.”

“It isn’t,” Diana admits. She can’t say she would have considered the same choice for her to be acceptable, either. “But was being banished like that worth the cost?”

“Sometimes I think about it long enough to be angry,” he admits. “And sometimes I wish for my family. But then I look at them, taking this brutal world and still finding joy in it, and that, in my opinion, is fantastic.”

Diana looks out over the group, and she can’t say she doesn’t feel the same. That the war was a picture of humanity at its worst, but maybe that was the last of it, and they can move forward into seeing each other at their best.

“Me too,” she admits, before turning back to look at him. “Do you find yourself behind the bar often?”

“Only for a few more weeks, I’m afraid. But I’ll be back in a couple of decades.” Not a perfect friendship, but a touchstone that Diana could wait for. That seems viable enough. “But until then, would you like to have some fun with me, Diana of Themiscyra?”

Hearing her name, her real name, on someone else’s tongue feels warm and welcoming, but she squints at him. “What kind of fun?”

“A little drink, a little dancing.” His eyes scan up and down her form in a way that men do, but it doesn’t feel so invasive, even if she knows the intent. “Then perhaps we see where the week takes us?”

Diana isn’t sure about where the week will take them, but at least she knows that she’s overdue for some fun. So she nods, taking the freshly poured drink from him with a nod. “I think that would be lovely, Lucifer Morningstar.”

“Fantastic,” he grins, clinking his glass against hers. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

[next]

Edited 2023-04-26 13:36 (UTC)

June 12, 1953

“I’ve always wondered. Do you miss the wars on purpose, or do things just work out that way?”

Lucifer looks up from the piano in front of him and can’t help the wide smile that crosses her face when he sees her. “Diana of Themiscyra. How lovely to see you again.”

She’s dressed appropriately for the age, and still moves with the grace and poise of her birthright, even if it belies the warrior’s training underneath. The women of Themiscyra have always impressed him, in his own way. It’s been centuries since he’s visited the island, not since they tore it away from the eyes of the world, but he can still picture it as though it was yesterday. A veritable Eden, managed by people who know better than to put the resources to waste.

But Diana is a surprise and a delight, always, and it’s so interesting to have a friend that hasn’t aged. That he can come back, set up in a new city, and somehow she’ll find him and remind him he isn’t alone.

Diana smiles, before moving to lean against the piano. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Lucifer smiles widely. “A little of both, I suppose. The world has enough that they like to blame on the Devil. I don’t like to give them any extra excuses. That, and my time away from Hell, is rather minimal. I’d rather not spend it being depressed.”

“Fair.” Diana doesn’t get the choice. He knows that. She doesn’t have any means of escape. She lives in the world, for better or worse. “It is nice to see you, regardless of the timing.”

“Always lovely to see you, Diana.” And he means that without the salacious tone he would reserve for some of his other lady friends. Perhaps it’s the benefit of needing a genuine friend, rather than one he tends briefly before he slips away again. “May I buy you a drink?”

“I would love that.”

They settle into the back corner, and she catches him up with the movement in her life. Surviving the Depression, making her way through the war. She does her best to give people a chance to be better, and while being warden of Hell has certainly damaged his ability to see that, it’s nice to see it through her eyes, at least for a little while. Eventually, he reveals:

“You know, I went to Themiscyra once.”

Diana’s head snaps to attention, brow furrowing curiously. “When?”

“Long time ago, before they saw fit to hide themselves away. It’s a beautiful place. Reminds me a lot of my home, in a way.”

Diana nods, because she can’t imagine Heaven, necessarily, but at least it gives her some context. “Do you regret doing what you did? Fighting back when you shouldn’t have?”

Lucifer shakes his head. While he certainly has regrets, to be sure, and he wishes Hell could be someone else’s problem, he would rather be free than stuck under his father’s thumb. “You never realize how much you were chained until you’re free of them. And humans … sure, they make their mistakes, but they have so much excitement for the world.”

Diana tips her head to the side as she turns out to look over the rest of the club. Couples dance on the floor, laugh at the tables over drinks, and she smiles. “They do, don’t they? And they feel things so fiercely. I remember when I used to feel like that.”

“Is that why you stay?” Lucifer can’t help but ask, because as much as she believes she can never go home, he has a hard time believing that Hippolyta would turn away her daughter if she returned.

“I stay because I have no choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Diana.” The choices are not free of consequences, true. But the choice is there, always.

“Yes, and I made it when I followed Steve Trevor into the first World War.” Diana sounds so tired, like she’s aged faster in these past few decades, than in all of her time on Themiscyra. “It is like your fall from grace. You wanted something that wasn’t necessarily good for you and now you’re trapped in Hell, unable to go home again.”

Lucifer looks at her again, carefully, before reaching forward and placing his hand over hers. “This place isn’t Hell, Diana. Hell is a prison of your own making, living through your worst choices repeatedly. Here there’s still a chance that things could change.”

“I have been here for almost fifty years, Lucifer. And twice the world has driven itself to war. How is that not an endless cycle of pain?”

That he doesn’t have an answer for. He’s never really let himself linger too long on the more painful moments of human history. He’s always thrown himself into the excess, the celebration, the desire. He doesn’t have to live through the painful moments with them, only watch the influxes of population growth in his own domain.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “But I can’t help but feel like there would be a lot less joy if this truly was Hell.”

Diana nods before running her hand through her hair. “I don’t know if I can keep living in this world as I have. It seems almost impossible to keep doing that and survive.”

Part of him knows he can’t help her. He can’t be here for her every time the world crumbles. But he can be there to pick her up when the time comes. He reaches across the table and takes her hand. “Then do what you have to do to protect yourself. And allow me to remind you of the rest when I can.”

They’re both immortal, after all. They can manage.

She squeezes his hand in return before nodding. “Thank you.” Then she takes a deep breath and downs the rest of her drink. “How do you propose you do that?”

“Well, first, we’re going to dance.” Because Lucifer could never deny a beautiful woman a dance, even if he tried. “And then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

Diana smiles and nods. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Edited 2023-04-27 13:38 (UTC)

January 5, 1985

Lucifer doesn’t tell her much about the other angels, but after a few conversations together, she’s learned to recognize Lucifer’s minder when she sees him. He tries to go unnoticed, but divine recognizes divine, and he’s easier to pick out than he thinks. Tall and strong-backed, he stands apart from the rest of the world, eyes looking over humanity as it goes through its paces. She’s not sure what it is, but she can’t help but feel a small wave of curiosity, even as he keeps himself apart.

Lucifer just throws himself into the world when he returns to it, drinking, celebrating, dancing. But Amenadiel has no such restrictions, no need to return to somewhere else, and yet he cannot bring himself to interact with any of them. She wonders if what he’s been told is like what she was told back on Themiscyra. That the wiles of the world of men cannot be trusted.

Still, she approaches him with care, not wanting to spook him or give him away to the world around him. He seems to sense her coming; the world coming to a sudden stop around them. It’s disorienting, and she stumbles at first, like she’s had a sudden loss of momentum.

“There’s nothing I can do for you, daughter of Themiscyra.” He keeps his eyes straight ahead, on the frozen people around them. She finds that curious, and steps in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. He seems uncomfortable with that, so she steps to the side, so as not to seem like a direct challenge.

“You don’t even know what I want. How do you know you cannot help me?”

“I assume you want to speak to Lucifer.”

On that, he’s not wrong. Lucifer would be her preferred option, because Lucifer is her friend, her one touchpoint through time that keeps floating back into her life again and again. It’s odd to think that she’s come to be reliant on the Devil of all people, to keep her from sinking into an abyss that she can’t return from, but she learned a long time ago that the way humanity understands the Devil isn’t who the Devil is.

“I have a question I need answered. If you can provide the answer, then I don’t need to speak to Lucifer directly.” Amenadiel seems uncomfortable with that, because now the onus on him is to be social. Diana smiles softly, before taking him by the arm. “Perhaps if you unfreeze the world, we can make it a meal.”

“I don’t eat.”

“That’s a shame. If there’s one thing humans are great at, I’ve found, it’s food.”

He hesitates before turning back to the rest of the world. “You will not leave me alone until you get the answer to your question, will you?”

“Or until you take me to Lucifer, no. I won’t.”

“Fine.” Amenadiel releases the world, and people resume motion around them. “What would you suggest for lunch?”

They find an out of the way establishment, small and run by locals—those are Diana’s favorite. She tucks herself into the booth across from him before raising an eyebrow. “Would you like me to order?”

He gestures to her with a nod. “I assume you know what’s good.”

She smiles, before picking a wide range of options to choose from, and once the plates arrive, they spread out across the table, and she sees Amenadiel study them all with curiosity, as though he doesn’t know where to start.

“We’re sharing—so take as little or as much as you like.” She passes him one of the empty plates before collecting some for herself. “As much as I’ve spent time with Lucifer, we’ve never had the chance to get to know each other.”

“We’re not supposed to fraternize with humans. Lucifer insists, but he’s always been one to rebel.”

“Yet you still stand and watch.”

“It’s my job. My duty, to protect them. I can’t save them from themselves, but there are other forces out there. Demons, and the like.”

“And Lucifer?”

He rolls his eyes. “Lucifer is a threat to everyone, including himself.”

“Why? For knowing what he wants out of his life? For knowing what he didn’t want his life to be?”

“You wouldn’t understand. He led a rebellion.”

“Because he saw an injustice and couldn’t let it lie.”

“That is how he tells it.” Amenadiel takes a bite of the food and a pleasantly surprised look crosses his face, though he makes no further comment. “Angels are not humans. We can’t live by the same rules. He expects more of us because we are his children.”

“And humanity is just his creations? Toys that he made because he was bored?”

“No, of course not. My father is always very intentional in his creations.” He sounds defensive, and she lets out a small hum of consideration. Realizing that she has him on the ropes, he shakes his head, pushing away from the food. “You’re distracting me. Ask what you came to ask, so I may return to my post.”

Diana sighs, taking a deep breath before turning to meet his eyes. It’s true, she was stalling, more because she fears the answer than anything else. But it’s still a question worth knowing the answer to.

“Steve Trevor. Is he in Hell?”

She knows regrets and misdeeds feed Hell, and she’s willing to bet that by being a spy, Steve has more than his fair share. But she hopes for more for him, which is why she has to ask.

Amenadiel’s face softens some. “You cared for him a great deal.”

“I still do.”

He takes a breath before shaking his head. “No. As far as I am aware, Steve Trevor does not reside in Hell.”

If the answer came from Lucifer, she might not be questioning it now. Lucifer is a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. He always tells the truth, no matter how self-centered it may be. Amenadiel is a question mark in that respect, but she takes him at his word, choosing to believe that he has enough respect for her that he would tell her the truth. After all, it would be a long time before she finds out either way.

“Thank you, Amenadiel.” She offers him a small smile before waving to the rest of the food. “You can go. I’ll take this home with me.”

She waves down a server and asks for boxes for the rest of the food, and Amenadiel watches as she boxes it all up, before reaching for the one containing the dish he tried.

“You don’t have to finish all of it.”

Diana smiles and nods, letting it go, and in a blink, Amenadiel disappears. She’ll take her progress where she can get it.

Edited 2023-04-28 13:08 (UTC)

April 8, 2016

Lucifer returns to his penthouse to find Diana standing on the balcony, looking down at the street below. While he’s pleased to see her—he’s always pleased to see Diana—he has a feeling this isn’t a simple social call. Still, he will put on his brightest smile as he makes his way closer to embrace her.

“Diana of Themiscyra.” Even after all these decades, that’s who she will always be. While when introducing her to someone else, he might opt for her chosen name. When they’re in private, he will never forget who she is.

“Hello, Lucifer,” she says with a smile, leaning into the hug warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well. What are you doing in Los Angeles?”

“I was on my way back from Metropolis, and Amenadiel asked that I stop in to see you.”

He ignores the mention of his brother, because of course he did. He wants to hear more about Metropolis. “You know, I saw the most interesting new story about Metropolis not that long ago,” he smiles, moving back to the bar to pour her a drink. “Something about a large ugly abomination and the Amazonian warrior who stepped up to the plate.”

Diana laughs, her hair falling down in front of her face as she moves to take a seat at the bar. “I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. They needed my help.”

“I’m sure the denizens of Metropolis are glad you did.” Lucifer places the glass down in front of her before leaning in closer. “Did it feel good? Returning to your roots.”

Her head tips to the side briefly, and she nods. “I don’t know if good is the word for it. But it felt like me. And I haven’t really felt like me since …”

Lucifer reaches forward, resting his hand over hers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you for that. It must have been difficult getting him back, only to lose him again.”

“The problem was, it wasn’t really him. It was a wish that went wrong and I wasn’t the only one affected. I wasn’t the only one that lost something.” She sighs before looking up at him again. “But your brother was very helpful. I was grateful for his patience.”

“Which I’m guessing is why you’re here now, to tell me to go back to Hell when I don’t want to.”

“In all our years of friendship, Lucifer, do you truly think I would come here to do that?”

Lucifer hesitates because he knows he’s being uncharitable. But the problem with spending most of your life with everyone assuming the worst of you, you forget that there are a few people that don’t. “No, I don’t. But I also know that you and Amenadiel are buddies now.”

“I think that making your own choices about what to do with your life is the reason you left Heaven. And that so long as you’re not neglecting your promises, you should be free to do exactly that. And Amenadiel knows that.”

The part about neglected promises strikes home, in its own way. Not enough to send him running back to Hell, but enough to give him pause. “You know, I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“Have you?”

“I have, and … I’m not sure how effective it is, yet. But part of me wants to see how it plays out.” It’s hard to have a therapist when she doesn’t actually believe that you are who you say you are, but some conversations have been helpful. It’s enough to keep him going back for more.

“Then good. I hope it helps.” She squeezes his hand in return before leaning in closer. “But what I’m really here to ask about? Is the detective?”

“Told you about that, did he?” Lucifer grins as he reaches for his drink. “She’s really quite the spitfire. And she wants absolutely nothing to do with me.”

Diana laughs. “I like her already.”

“The other interesting thing,” he pauses because it isn’t interesting so much as concerning, “is that I have no effect on her.”

“You’re not everyone’s type, Lucifer.” She says it as though it’s not the first time she’s had to remind him. Mostly because it isn’t. “Some women—”

“Not like that.” He pauses. “Though also like that. I mean, my mojo doesn’t work on her.”

Diana’s eyes narrow, her curiosity piqued. “You’ve met the one woman in the world whose desires are a complete mystery to you. How fascinating.” He knows she’s never approved of the way he can pull people’s desires out of them on a whim, but she tolerates it, knowing that he is also a bastion of consent. It’s no fun if both parties aren’t equally invested. But finding someone he has to work for? That’s interesting to them both. “I truly must meet her now.”

“Perhaps you will. If you intend to stay awhile, that is.”

“I think I might manage it.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to keep you if you have to run off and save the world again.”

She shakes her head. “Right now, all that I have in front of me is spending time with my friend. No rushing off to save the world just yet.” She’s about to say more when the doors to the elevator open and a frazzled Chloe steps off and into the room.

“Lucifer, we need to—” She stops short when she sees Diana, and for a moment there’s a brief fluster, as there always is when she sees he has company. And Diana is a different caliber of company than most.

“Detective!” He offers her a bright smile. “What fortuitous timing. I’d love for you to meet my dear friend—”

“Diana Prince.” She gets up and moves across the room. She’s always quick to spare him the lie, even if her chosen name isn’t much of a lie these days. She extends a hand out to Chloe with a smile. “I’ve heard such lovely things.”

Diana’s grace has its usual effect, smoothing Chloe’s fluster into something more understandable. She shakes Diana’s hand and nods. “Chloe Decker. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry to break up your evening, but there was a break in the case.”

He perks up with a smile before making his way around the bar. “Apologies, Diana, but duty calls.”

“It’s fine. I’m due to have a late dinner with your brother, anyway.” She smiles in return. “Perhaps we can all have a meal while I’m in Los Angeles?”

“I think that would be splendid—what do you think, Detective?”

Chloe blinks, unsure of how to respond, before she slowly nods. “Yeah. Sure, I…sure. After we close this case.”

“Then we best be getting to it,” Lucifer gives Diana a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll find you later? You can tell me more about your Metropolis adventures?”

Diana smiles with a nod. “Of course. Good luck with your case.”

Lucifer and Chloe board the elevator, and as he presses the button for the lobby, she leans back to look at him. “Are all your female friends supermodels?”

“Actually, Detective, that one is an art curator,” he teases, but holds the rest to himself. Over time, she’ll realize that Diana is all of that and so much more.

Edited 2023-05-01 13:32 (UTC)

Diana is on a plane, heading to Greece, when she feels a familiar presence settling in next to her. It’s been years of these back and forth, catching each other at moments when they can, but Lucifer arriving out of the blue is still a surprise. She can also tell by the look on his face that this isn’t a chance visit. He’s here to see her because he needs to tell her something.

“I’m going back to Hell. And I’m not coming back this time.”

There’s a moment of silence because he’s told her things like this before. Forced back because of reasons, but he always returns. He always comes back to the world because there’s nothing that Lucifer loves so much as humanity, as his friends, his family. This feels different, though, as though he’s deciding for himself rather than for anything else.

“What happened? Is it your brother—”

“No, this has nothing to do with Michael, or Amenadiel.” Lucifer leans back in his seat, not looking her in the eye, before turning to take her hand. “I think I’ve figured out how to make things … better in Hell.”

“Better?” In Hell? Diana seems confused, but she’s willing to hear him out. “How do you mean?”

“There are so many people trapped there who aren’t terrible people, not really. They just made mistakes. They have regrets and don’t know how to move past them. They need … therapy. Not torture.”

That makes her smile. That her hope in Lucifer getting something out of therapy would be worthwhile, rather than a waste. That he would learn to engage the way he was supposed to. But it’s a bittersweet smile, on account of her friend leaving for good.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful plan, Lucifer,” Diana nods. “It’s nice to see you do some good.”

“I hope so, at any rate.” He squeezes her hand gently. “I might make a shit therapist, if I’m honest. But I’ve also seen it work, so … I’ll figure it out.”

Diana nods, before something else comes to her. “What about Chloe?”

“She’s staying here, at least for now. She still has her daughter to raise. Well—daughters, actually.”

Diana’s eyes widen. “Lucifer—do you mean—”

“I’m going to be a father, yes.” He sounds pleased by it, proud even. “I’ve even met her, Diana. She’s … she’s fantastic. But I won’t be able to be here for her, and that…”

His voice trails off, and she squeezes his hand again. If he’s willing to abandon his daughter like this, that means he must do it for reasons Diana doesn’t fully understand. She can’t offer to fix that for him—she can’t run Hell in his stead. But she can promise him this.

“She will have Chloe, and she will have me.” Maybe not all the time, as being Wonder Woman has become a much larger part of her life lately, but she can make that promise. “And Linda, and Maze, and Amenadiel. She will not be alone.”

“But it causes her so much pain.” And that he truly sounds remorseful about. “I know that pain, Diana. I don’t know if I can live with causing it for my child, even if it is towards a good end.”

“I know.” Diana can’t say she can offer him any advice. “But pain is a part of life, unfortunately. And sometimes our way of making things better for those who come after us isn’t always the easiest.” And Diana will be there for them, for her and Chloe both, no matter what it takes.

He nods, and while she can still see the regret on his face, she knows that he’s resolved. She tips her head to the side, resting it on his shoulder gently. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Hopefully not for a long, long time.” Because that would mean she was dead and also in Hell—neither of which are good options. But he turns to press a kiss to the top of her head. “But I am eternally grateful for your friendship, Diana of Themiscyra.”

“Yours as well, Samael,” she nods, closing her eyes as the flight takes off. They’re quiet in the air for a few moments before he turns to face her with a smirk.

“Also, I hope you didn’t have any pressing business in Greece, because unfortunately, I’m going to need to take you straight to Los Angeles.”

Diana frowns, before looking him at him in confusion. “Why is that?”

“Because Maze is getting married, and if you declined her invitation, she might just murder you herself.”

She laughs, before nodding in agreement as she squeezes his hand again. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” But for now, she’ll settle in and enjoy these last moments with her friend, alone, and hope that they will find each other again someday.

Edited 2023-05-02 23:00 (UTC)

What gives Eliot pause in front of his door are a few clumps of dirt lingering on the ground.

Eliot keeps a clean house. The easiest way to notice if someone disturbed something is if things have their assigned place and are always in them. His eyes quickly go to the lock, looking for the telltale scratch marks of someone having tried to pick it. No damage to the door frame as though someone has forced it open.

He unlocks the door and makes his way inside, scanning the room, trying to take in the details. The dirt doesn’t trail into the room, which gives credence to the evidence that they didn’t make it past the door. His eyes drop to the floor, scanning the area for disturbances, and that’s when he sees it. The corner of a card sticking out from under the front hall table. He crouches down, catching his finger on the edge, and yanks it out from under the table.

It’s a mass card from St. Benedict’s down the street. The same dirt stains the edges, but when he flips it open, it’s the message inside that stops him dead in his tracks. The handwriting is familiar, but shaky, looping across the empty white space:

I know how this looks, but I don’t have anyone else I can trust. I need your help.—B.

He might have thrown it away, were it not for the dirt. Instead, it leaves him getting in his car and driving over to the cemetery, hopping the fence and moving quickly and cleanly through the checker box plots until he finds the one he’s looking for: Abigail Winters, 1984-2008. He’d paid for this plot and the headstone himself—she had no one else who would have done it for her.

It’s hard to miss the disturbed dirt, like someone’s forced their way out from below. Not as though someone’s dug it up. He leans in closer, aiming the light from his flashlight down into the hole, and he sees the splintered hole that something forced itself out of.

He clicks the flashlight off, gets back to his car and speeds his way to the church.

* * * * *

Eliot slowly pushes open the door to St. Benedict’s, his eyes scanning the shadows carefully until he spots a huddled form by the prayer candles. Sitting on the stairs in front of the candles, knees pulled tightly to her chest, her long hair falls in front of her face and he can see the smudges of dirt that stand out against her bloody knuckles. His heart lurches at the thought, the idea of her having to dig herself out of her own grave.

“Bela?”

Her head lifts, and he makes out several emotions immediately. Fear, relief, distrust all warring for real estate, but looking in her eyes, he knows it’s Bela Talbot. Even if he shouldn’t really trust it. He doesn’t understand her world as well as he wanted to, but he knows there are things that can steal faces or take bodies. He lifts the small tray of holy water off the stand near the door and makes his way closer, holding it out to her as he reaches to pull a silver-plated knife out of his pocket.

She doesn’t ask, only does what she needs to do. She pours the water over her hands, then slices across her forearm with the knife. No smoke. No pain. No reaction. By all the tests he knows to perform, it’s really here.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracks in the middle, raspy with disuse. “I just woke up in the box. How long—”

“A long time.” He doesn’t know the exact amount, given how often he tries to push her to the back of his mind, but at least a few years. He moves to sit on the steps next to her, offering the strength for her to lean into, if she takes it. “I don’t work for Moreau anymore.”

“And you’re alive?”

The comment makes him laugh, the surprise in her tone, because honestly? He’s been thinking that himself as of late. Especially with Nate setting his sights on Moreau because he has to. “Yeah. Apparently, I was worth more alive to him than dead.”

“Well, congratulations on your new employment.” Her tone is dry. “Was it you who—”

“Figured it was the least I could do.” Especially since he wasn’t able to stop it from happening. “But you being back like this—what does it mean?”

“I don’t know.” She hates not having the answers. He can see it on her face. “But there has to be a catch. Nothing like this comes for free.”

“How right you are.”

The third voice enters the church and Eliot peers into the dark, making out a familiar face in the shadows. “Sterling?”

“No,” Bela is quick to correct him. “Crowley.”

“Whip-smart, that one,” “Crowley” comments, before moving to sit in the pew in front of them, one leg over the other. “You are correct, Mr. Spencer, in that this meat suit belongs to Jim Sterling. For now, I’m borrowing it.” His eyes glow red, and Eliot feels his stomach twist. As much as he hates Sterling, he wouldn’t wish possession on anyone.

“What do you want, Crowley?” She keeps her voice level, but she leans into him just slightly, for support.

“Now, now, Bela. I think a little gratitude is in order. After all, I gave you your humanity back.”

“Nothing with you ever comes without a cost. So what is this going to cost me?”

Crowley wears Sterling’s smug face well—the kind you dangle in front of someone like a trap. Eliot says nothing, wanting to force the answer out of him, but demon or not, he knows this kind of deal all too well. Whoever talks first loses. And he doesn’t intend to lose.

“I need your particular expertise. And while I could have let you rot until you were completely demonic, I decided, out of the kindness of my heart, to make you a deal. Your soul for a list of rare items. A set of retrievals, if you will.”

Bela doesn’t speak at first, her eyes narrowing, before she rolls her eyes. “Also, some things you need me to find are in places that demons can’t get to, I’m guessing?”

“Also that. See what I mean? Whip-smart.”

“So I do this—I complete your list—and I get my soul back?”

“That is the deal, yes.”

“How long is this list?”

“Considerable. Souls don’t come for free, after all.” Crowley crosses one leg over the other. “But you’ll be helping your old friends, the Winchesters. I’m sure you’ll find that quite worthwhile.”

“Do they know I’m helping with this?”

“No. I felt it was for the best.”

Bela seems to agree. Eliot doesn’t know who these Winchester guys are, but he adds it to the list of questions he’s going to ask once he’s sure they’re alone. She takes a deep breath before nodding.

“Fine. Deal.”

“Fantastic.”

“Once I see it in writing. A demon’s only as good as their word, after all.”

Crowley glances over at Eliot briefly, before raising an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure you want to do that in front of your man?”

Bela rolls her eyes. “I know better than to make an unofficial deal with anyone. If we’re going to make a deal, then we’re making a deal.”

Eliot raises an eyebrow at Crowley with a smirk. “As you said. Whip smart.”

Crowley rolls his eyes before getting up to move closer. “Then pucker up. Let’s make this quick.”

Eliot glances away, not needing that image burned in his brain. But once that’s done, Crowley leaves and Bela has a list in her hand—a list that stands between her and freedom. “You alright?” he asks, even though he knows she’s not.

“I’ll manage.” She looks down at herself, still covered in dirt and the clothes he buried her in. She opens her mouth, but he beats her to the punch, reaching out and taking her hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. And then, you can explain what exactly is going on here.”

Bela nods, before giving his hand a squeeze and letting him lead the way. “Thank you.” He leads her back to his place, trying to process that his own world has turned upside down.

Bela keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For there to be a sign that Crowley is playing games and isn’t handing her this gift. There must be strings, or a new form of torture—torturing Bela has always been more head than body, anyway.

But they make it back to Eliot’s apartment with no sign of trouble. She showers off the grave dirt, running Eliot’s shower so hot and scrubbing until her skin is raw. She takes in all the unfamiliar details that she could never have created on her own—the smell of his clothes, the feel of the fabric against her skin, that he’s here, showing the appropriate amount of distrust and uncertainty, but still making her a sandwich.

Her stomach rumbles. It’s been so long since she’s had a physical body, had to worry about food, but she finds herself ravenous.

“Thank you.”

He pushes the plate towards her, but smirks. “It’s not for free.” From any other man, Bela would expect an untoward request, but Eliot likely just wants answers. She’s not sure she has all of them, but whatever he wants to know, she’s willing to tell him. Who has the need for secrets after you’ve already gone to Hell?

“How much?”

“Let’s start with who are the Winchesters and why are they not going to be thrilled with you being alive?”

“Sam and Dean Winchester are a pair of intrepid hunters who took offense to the fact that I made money off of their sacred calling.” She rolls her eyes. Even now, their high horse is unappealing, despite the fact that she’s been to Hell. What she doesn’t think the Winchesters understood at the time was that she was always going to Hell. Nothing else she did after that mattered. She takes a large bite of the sandwich before she continues. “Dean and I had deals coming due at the same time. Things got … pretty bad towards the end. I wasn’t making smart choices, and I don’t think they’ll take kindly to seeing me again, regardless.”

Eliot nods, processing that information. She knows he’s inputting the information into a threat matrix in his brain. Things to plan for, contingencies to put in place. It’s what makes him so good at his job, and she’s grateful, not for the first time, that for now he seems to be on her side.

“Any other enemies we need to worry about coming out of the woodwork?”

There’s a slight thrill at the mention of there being a “we.” She’s been hoping for “we” but she knows that he likely spent the years in between rebuilding a life for himself, centering his world around other people. While she doesn’t want her second chance to feel like sand slipping through her fingers, she also knows that things don’t work out that way—at least not for her.

“Plenty,” she says with a shrug. “But they’re not as integral to what we’re doing. Much more easily avoided.”

“But Crowley is working with the Winchesters, so they’re more likely to find out sooner rather than later.”

“You know I’m a big girl, Eliot. You don’t have to do this for me.”

He leans closer, meeting her gaze from the other side of the counter before stating, firmly: “I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

There’s something akin to relief in it, and abandons what remains of her sandwich to the side, brushing one hand against the side of his face lightly. “I missed you. So much.”

He leans into her hand before pulling her up from the counter and into the living room. They both settle down onto the couch and she curls into his arms, letting him tuck his head over the top of hers. She closes her eyes, and she knows she’s not paid in full. There will be more questions, but she has one first.

“If you’re not working for Moreau, who are you working for?” There’s a fair share of men and organizations that could have use for Eliot’s skills, and Eliot also has a fair share of people he owes. They might not take too kindly to her interfering. Or she might become leverage, and that she likes even less.

“Myself,” he says slowly, before making a face like it’s an odd question to answer. “I’m part of this crew. We help people in bad spots.”

Bela lifts her head curiously to look at him. She knows that the work he did for Moreau wore on him, but this sounds like a complete one-eighty from the jobs he used to take. “Tell me about it.” The more real details she gets about his life now, the more solid she feels that this might actually be real.

“I got hired for this job. Stealing back plane designs from a rival company—or at least, that’s what we were told. This guy, Nate Ford—”

“I know Nate Ford.” Supernatural artifacts get ensured every so often, and she’s heard the name whispered between her thief contacts. “IYS Insurance, yeah?”

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. It’s a long story, but he quit and Dubenich found him and convinced him to help with this job. Be the innocent man on the inside that he could trust with all these thieves.” Eliot rolls his eyes. “Anyway, turns out Dubenich was a snake, and we took him down. And then we convinced Nate to keep the crew together. To find actual victims that people are exploiting and getting away with and help them.”

Bela doesn’t think that’s the work she would enjoy, but she can see that he does. The fondness with which he talks about his crew gives the connotation of family, and while she finds herself suddenly unsure of where she will fit into things when this is all said and done, she’s happy for him. That he’s found a place that feels fulfilling.

“Who’s on the crew with you?”

“Me, Nate. Alec Hardison. Parker.”

“The Parker. Isn’t she insane?”

“Misunderstood. Mostly just different.” She’ll take his word for it, but given some exploits she’s heard Parker pull off, she’s often wondered if she’s human. “And Sophie Devereaux.”

Bela’s jaw drops briefly. “She’s fantastic. But also terrifying.” You don’t come up on the London criminal scene without hearing tales of Sophie Deveraux and her exploits.

“You want to meet her?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. If you’re going to be sticking around, then they’re all part of my life.”

She can hear the question in that statement. He’s looking for confirmation that she still wants to be here, even with all the time that’s passed. They haven’t even gotten into Hell and what that means for her in terms of time. It feels like it’s been no time at all and too much time. And she can’t say what survival strategies she has buried within her like ticking time bombs that will ruin things. But she knows what she wants is a life, and if he wants to be in it, then all the better.

“I’ve always been yours, Eliot. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.” Something in him relaxes at that, and she returns to their earlier position, draping an arm over his waist and closing her eyes. “I can’t promise things will be perfect. There’s a lot I’m still processing from all of this, but—this I know I want.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” They have always complicated things—why should it stop now? “Maybe my crew can help with some items on Crowley’s list.”

“How good are they with following instruction?” Because with supernatural artifacts, there’s no room for complications. Especially not regarding accidental touching. Eliot hesitates before making a face.

“Maybe we play it by ear.”

She laughs, and it feels rusty, like an unused muscle that hasn’t been stretched in a long time, but it feels good. It feels like a step in the right direction. She closes her eyes, feeling herself relax for the first time in a long time. Part of her doesn’t want to sleep, but apparently coming back from the dead is exhausting.

“Sleep,” he murmurs in her ear. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She nods and quietly let herself drift off to sleep. If she wakes up and he’s there, then maybe this isn’t Hell after all.

They get about a week alone to figure out the dynamics of their new normal. Bela is adjusting to new technology, new world order, rebuilding her wardrobe—lots of practical things that help her avoid dealing with the emotional ones. But Eliot notices the nightmares, notices the jumpiness, notices that sometimes she looks at him like she doesn’t think he’s real and he knows that this is a slow process of healing, not a fast one.

But Bela keeps moving forward, determined to be alive rather than dead, and that’s all that he needs from her for now. Eventually that week ends, however, and Eliot has to go back to work—and break the news to his boss that taking on Moreau might be even more complicated than he has planned.

Which means he has to introduce all of them to Bela.

He walks her into McRory’s, sits her at the barstool, and tells the bartender to put whatever she wants on his tab. Then he heads upstairs to talk with the rest of his team. Sophie can tell something’s off immediately, and he sees a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

Eliot doesn’t respond directly to the question, only meets Nate’s eyes with a determination that comes with having to go through things the hard way. That’s the only way to get through to Nate when he sets his gaze on something.

“There’s something you need to know about Moreau.”

* * * * *

An hour later, they’re all staring at him in disbelief.

“Your saying … that the supernatural is real.” Nate, of course, is the hardest sell. Eliot expects nothing less. Hardison looks fully spooked, as though his worst fears are coming to life.

“Are you saying that there’s really a Hell?”

“Hardison—”

“Because I can’t go to Hell, Eliot. Y’all made me fake that miracle, and I’m not going to hell because y’all decided you wanted to play God for a day.”

“Hardison, that isn’t the point.”

“No, you’re saying Moreau uses the supernatural to his advantage?” Sophie is quick to cut to the heart of the matter. “And therefore we are out of our depth.”

Eliot nods, taking a deep breath as he looks over the rest of them. Sophie and Hardison believe at least that he believes he’s telling the truth. Parker is in a gray area—he can never really tell what she’s thinking. But Nate? Nate looks like he thinks Eliot has lost his mind.

“Prove it,” Nate charges, and fortunately, Eliot is prepared for that. He reaches for his phone and sends a quick text, hoping that Bela hasn’t gotten too drunk. A few minutes later, she knocks on the door, and he leads her into the room to place her in front of his friends.

“This is Bela Talbot. She’s the one who bought most of these items for him.”

Sophie straightens, then leans forward. “I heard you were dead.”

“Rumors of my demise have been exaggerated,” Bela quips, which is likely the best answer she could give—Sophie knows what it’s like to fake your own death occasionally. Nate examines her with a critical eye.

“I’ve chased you before.”

“When you were working for IYS, yes.”

“How, exactly, are you proof?”

“Well, each of those items you chased me for was a highly dangerous supernatural artifact. I’m sure you remember having questions about the provenances. I’m here to clear those up. However long it takes.”

“And how do you two know each other, exactly?”

Bela doesn’t skip a beat. “We’ve been friends for years. Occasionally more than friends. If you prefer, I go into more detail about that—”

“No, uh-uh, pass, thank you.” Hardison is quick to interject. “I don’t need to hear none of that.”

Nate looks dissatisfied with the answer, but he nods. “Fine. Just—let’s go through these so-called ‘artifacts.’”

They sit there for an hour, back and forth, taking Nate through all the cases he chased her on. Eliot can see the point where it all sinks in, the pile of deep shit they’re actually in, and he hopes that this fool’s errand will end here. But he knows Nate. He knows he isn’t the type to back down once he gets his eyes set on something.

“You say that you don’t work for Moreau anymore,” Nate finally sighs. “Do you know who’s procuring these items for him now?”

Bela looks at Eliot, a bit off balance because she doesn’t really know the playing field anymore. Not when she’s been off the board for so long. Eliot tips his head back, trying to remember who else runs in those circles.

“Jericho?”

She shakes her head. “He’s too principled. He’d never work for a man like Moreau. But he might know who’s still in the game on the European side. Cast offs from the Men of Letters slide into my end of the business rather than the hunter's side.”

“Speaking of hunters…”

“I’d prefer not to be shot at the moment. I say we leave them out of it for as long as possible.”

“Them? Them who?” Nate doesn’t appreciate there being a conversation happening in front of him that he’s not privy to the shorthand on.

“Old friends that aren’t really friends anymore,” Bela replies, turning to meet Nate’s gaze head on. “Nothing related to Moreau, therefore, none of your concern.”

Nate doesn’t enjoy being told what is and isn’t his concern, but he’ll take the explanation for what it is, for now. “Fine. But if we’re going to take him down, we need to know who is providing him with this information. So, Eliot, why don’t you and your friend work your contacts to find out who that is?”

Eliot tenses, because as much as he knows it wouldn’t, he wishes things had gone the other way. That they would deal with the Italian, rather than Moreau. She may be an unknown entity, but in this situation, the known is scarier. Bela looks over at him, ready to back his play, but he doesn’t have another one. He doesn’t know how to make them understand the danger of exposing himself.

“Fine,” he grits out. “We’ll work our network and get back to you.”

“Can I help from the tech end?” Hardison asks. “Are there people you need to track down?”

Bela holds up a finger because being dead for a few years does mean she’s a bit out of step. “I’m not sure how on the grid they’ll be, but that would be helpful, actually. I haven’t been in touch with some of them in some time.”

“I got you,” Hardison grins, and Eliot smells a trap. He knows Hardison is fishing for information about Eliot more than anything else, but for now, he’s willing to let them have it. For now, it’s just good to have them, including Bela, because if everything goes according to plan, she’s not going anywhere.

“Let’s go grab a booth downstairs. We can talk about it over dinner.” Hardison folds up his laptop and the two of them retreat down to the bar below. Eliot goes to follow, but Nate catches his arm, pulling him back in to a conversation that’s a bit more private. Sophie and Parker take the hint and head out to give them that privacy.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“There are lots of things I don’t tell you, Nate.” Eliot has his secrets, his darkness he doesn’t want to expose, and Nate knows that.

“Is there something you’re not telling me about Moreau?”

Eliot sets his jaw before tipping his head up to meet the other man’s eyes. As much as he’s ashamed of his past, he knows how to look someone in the eye and make sure they take him seriously when it counts. “He’s a bad guy, Nate. You’re in over your head.”

If Nate senses the evasion of the truth, he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he sets his jaw and nods. “Well, if that changes, I need to know sooner rather than later.”

Eliot says nothing one way or the other, just shakes the man off and returns down into the piney smell of the bar. Eventually, his secrets are going to come out—he knows they will. But for now, he’ll do whatever it takes to buy himself time.

Hardison leads Bela down to a workroom in the back of the bar, scattered with technological knick knacks and do-dads that Hardison likely uses for his work. He closes the door behind her, and she almost senses the change in his demeanor, a tensing in his shoulders, a grim expression on his face. This is about more than helping Bela track down old contacts. She watches as his hand moves to his ear and he retrieves something from it, placing the little pod down on the table next to him.

So. This is a conversation he wants to have without the rest of the group involved. Color her curious.

“You know, I can’t help but be curious. How did you get into all of this?”

She studies him for a moment, before weighing her options and moving to sit in the chair across from him. “Those Men of Letters I mentioned? My father was one of them. They trained me to join as well.”

“And then what? He died or something?”

“And then I killed him.”

She sees the way he flinches. That’s the problem with fancying yourselves the good guys. You don’t forget the world has sharper edges, but you stop expecting them. Bela’s never had the luxury of forgetting that the world is more evil than people would like to believe, and dying and spending time in Hell, honestly, gives her enough of a reason to not want to sugarcoat things for anyone’s benefit.

Hardison wants to know how she got here? She’ll gladly tell him.

“My father was a very respectable man in his community. So much so that people didn’t look at him too closely. He had the benefit of privilege and power, and he used that to hide the fact that he was a monster in his own right. Liked to be a little too attentive to his young daughter. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks from there.”

She sees him swallow hard, but doesn’t wait for him to respond. That’s not the part of the story he’s concerned with. It’s everything that comes after.

“No adults would listen to me, not even my mother—it’s not that she didn’t believe me. She simply didn’t want to lose her status. That, of course, is much more important than protecting your own child. So I protected myself. I made a deal with the Devil—because when you’re fourteen years old, ten years seems like an eternity.”

His face softens again, because he’s not so determined to protect Eliot that he can’t sympathize with what she’s been through. “When did your deal come due?”

“How do you know it already has?”

He glances back at the screen, tapping a few buttons on the keyboard before letting the sound file play. It’s a voicemail, with her voice echoing out from the screen.

“It’s me. I’m sorry that it’s come to this, but I thought I could buy more time. How we left things isn’t how I wanted to say goodbye, but we can’t always get what we want. I just need you to know that there was no saving me from this. There’s nothing you could have done, and for what it’s worth, other than more time, I wouldn’t change any of this for the world. Goodbye, Eliot. You made all of it worth it.”

She doesn’t remember being so sentimental, but shortly after that moment, she died. She remembers the pain, the blood, the grungy, awful carpet—there isn’t much room for the things that really mattered. When she doesn’t respond right away, Hardison fills in the blanks, as she looks away.

“See, I knew I’d heard your voice before. Just took me a second to figure out how.”

“How did you get that?”

“Eliot gets in a lot of fights. Sometimes, those fights end in broken phones. I make sure everything gets transferred from one phone to another, and the first time I made a copy, I wanted to make sure they were intact.” He at least has the decency to look embarrassed by that fact, intruding on something so personal. “That voicemail was from 2008, shortly before he joined our crew.”

“2008 sounds about right.”

“So you’ve been dead for almost three years, and now you’re not?”

“I got better,” she quips, though she knows that isn’t fair. He’s asking another question. “I made another deal. This time, to get my soul back.”

“Do you think you can trust it?”

“Hard to say, with the person involved. He’s screwed me over before in similar conversations, but at least this time I was smart enough to get it in writing.”

Hardison raises an eyebrow. “Can you take a demonic contract to court?”

“No. But magical documentation is a little sturdier. Much harder to wipe out and take back. If you're concerned about me dying on Eliot again, I don’t intend to. And he’s aware of the stipulations of my return.”

“You and Eliot keeping secrets from each other? Not really my concern, though that is good to know.” Hardison leans back and studies her carefully. “I’m more worried about the secrets he’s keeping from us.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Because when Nate asked you both how you met, you took the lead from him. Meaning you know the answer to the question, but you were leaving it up to him how much he wanted to tell us. Which means that it’s a secret he asked you to keep.”

Bela purses her lips. “If there is a secret, then it’s clearly not my secret to tell. Maybe you should ask Eliot that question.”

“You worked for Damian Moreau. But you and Eliot were ‘running in similar circles.’” She can see Hardison dancing around the question he wants to ask, the thing he wants to know more than anything else: did Eliot work for Moreau himself? Did he work for someone of an equal caliber? Someone worse?

Bela leans forward slowly, letting her elbows rest on the table. “As much as I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I will not put myself in the middle. I am here to help, but whatever concerns you have about Eliot’s loyalties, you’ll have to talk to him yourself.”

“Fine. But while I do that, what are you going to do about him?”

“Pardon?”

“The man is a mess. And don’t tell me he’s fine, because apparently you’ve been dead a few years. The Eliot I know? He’s not fine. And I’m willing to bet it has something to do with you.”

Bela leans back in her seat, thinking back on the past week and the time they’ve spent together. Aside from the first night, he hasn’t really touched her. The conversation has been one-sided, but Eliot has never really been the most verbose. But the thing that really helps Hardison’s words sink in is the way he looks at her. Like in a second she’s going to disappear again, and leave him with nothing to protect but himself. No, Eliot is not fine. She’s not sure what he is, but she knows that they’re going to have to discuss it, and getting Eliot to use his words isn’t something you can force.

“I’ll talk to him.” She can’t promise anything but that, but she’ll certainly try. “And for what it’s worth, it’s clear how much he values all of you. I know you didn’t know about any of this, but thank you. For being there for him when I couldn’t.”

“So he means a lot to you, then.”

“He always has,” Bela offers with a soft smile. “He’s always been one to meet me where I was, without judgment or guilt. It’s surprising how rare that is in the world.”

“You were working for a guy like Damian Moreau. Maybe you should have spent more time with the good guys.”

She snorts. “Self-proclaimed good guys were the worst of the lot. Trust me, I’ve received more kindness and empathy from our side of the line than I have from those who think they’re always doing the right thing.”

“Maybe they weren’t as much of the good guys as they thought they were.”

She shrugs before shaking her head. “We should focus on the task at hand. Are you still interrogating me, or should we actually get to work?”

Hardison nods, and they get back to work, as Bela’s mind whirls with worries about what’s coming next.

Eliot stops at the bar to get a beer when Bela finally emerges from Hardison’s work room. She looks a bit exhausted, which is common when dealing with Hardison, but it’s not frustration. She just seems drained, which makes him frown.

“You alright?”

She nods. “Hardison drives a hard interrogation.” He frowns, and she catches his arm before he can say anything untoward about it. “He’s protective of you. It’s actually very sweet.”

“He’s protective of me?” Eliot frowns. “I don’t need protecting.” Bela gives him a look at that, and he shakes his head. “What? I don’t.”

“Everyone needs protecting every once in a while. Especially in the world we live in.”

“But it’s my job—” The words die on his tongue when she looks back at him, and he sighs. “What did he ask you about?”

“The usual,” she admits. “Asking my intentions. Making sure my priorities are in the right place, despite the unusual circumstances.”

Eliot nods slowly, and she squeezes his arm gently. “We should go home. I think we have some things to talk about to.”

“Am I going to like these things?” Based on what she said about her conversation with Hardison, he’s guessing no. But he’s not unaware of the fact that they need to talk about a lot of things. There’s a lot of uncertainty standing between them, and they should hash it out. He wishes he wasn’t so scared of the answers.

She lets him finish his beer before they make their way back to his place. She settles on the couch next to him, and she studies him for a moment, as though she’s trying to find a tactical advantage. A way that she can get past his defenses and get actual answers out of him. In the end, she decides that the blunt approach works best.

“We need to talk about the night I died.”

Eliot tips his head back, staring past her to a point on the wall to avoid having to fully engage. The night she died is not one of his proudest moments. There’s a few starts and stops as he tries to gather his words before he finally turns his attention back to her. “We had a plan, Bela.”

“We did. And I broke it.”

The plan hadn’t been an easy one, or even cleanly thought through, but he at least would have been there to protect her. It’s not that he was unaccustomed to losing people—it’s an unfortunate fact of the life he leads, but he wanted to protect her. She didn’t let him.

“Why?” That’s the only real question he has. Clearly she didn’t have a better plan, given the result was the same, but he wants to know the reasoning.

“Because I realized you couldn’t protect me from this. In fact, you would have only died trying, and only one person deserved to die for my choices.”

He’s always appreciated that about her. Her choices—not her mistakes. Bela’s always had a keen sense of who she is and the things she’s done. Mistakes happen to everyone, but this deal wasn’t a mistake. This was a choice, made when she was too young to sort out the implications.

“You could have told me that.”

“Would you have listened?”

Probably not. He knows himself well enough for that. It’s likely why she was on a completely separate continent when everything happened.

“And, foolishly, I thought I might get out of it on my own. Crowley dangled my soul in front of me like bait on a hook and I let him lead me on until it was too late.”

“Kind of like he’s doing right now?”

Bela shakes her head. “I have it in writing this time. Sealed with a kiss and everything.”

“Yeah, that was imagery I didn’t need.”

“Sorry. But unfortunately, most of the time, that’s the only way to get them to keep their word. I wish I had realized that back then.”

He leans back against the couch, trying to figure out if he has something to say about any of this, but he finds himself stuck at an impasse. On the one hand, he doesn’t want Bela to walk away again. He doesn’t want to lose her back into the world, knowing she’s out there but not being nearby. He doesn’t know how he could handle losing her again, and everything about this precarious position tells him he might.

They can’t trust Crowley. There are hunters that will not be thrilled to find out she’s alive, and she’s being asked to collect very dangerous artifacts that could also kill her. He should let her go, figure this out, and if she’s still alive at the end, then maybe they can start back from scratch. If he’s still alive after this mess with Moreau, maybe they’ll have a place to go. But the words die in his throat and she gives his hand a squeeze.

“We don’t need to answer this now. I don’t have to know what you want right now. But I think you need to tell your crew about Moreau.” Eliot looks over at her, almost betrayed by that sentiment, but her face is resolute. “Hardison’s suspicious. He told me as much. And I’m willing to guess that Nate is as well, simply by the look on his face this afternoon. You can’t keep this a secret forever, especially if you’re going right at him.”

Eliot’s jaw sets. “They won’t look at me the same.”

“Maybe not. People are complicated—but I’m willing to bet you aren’t the only one with regrets.”

“I wish Nate hadn’t taken this damn job.”

“Did he have a choice?”

Eliot falls silent, because she has a point there. No one gets involved with Moreau if they have other options. But he can’t help but dislike how much of himself it exposes.

“So, what are we going to do? Until we figure all this out.”

“I can see if I can get back into my accounts. They weren’t tied to the name I was buried under, so hopefully they’re still intact. Get myself a car, and get started on Crowley’s list. You’re going to be busy dealing with our old friend, Damian, I presume.”

“You can stay here,” he offers. “We’re in and out with travel, so we won’t be in each other’s hair too much. And Hardison can probably help you with the accounts.”

“Are you sure? I know you don’t sleep much—”

“Just because I’m unsure about all of this doesn’t mean I don’t want you close.” Eliot pauses as he tries to determine how to phrase this. “We can be roommates for now. Until you get back on your feet.”

Bela nods. “And if you need my help with Moreau—real help—you know where to find me. It’s not as though Crowley’s given me a timetable for these things. I can take a side job if I need to.”

“Hopefully you won’t need to.” Eliot sighs. “Honestly, I’m not sure you want the questions he’s going to ask if he finds out you’re alive.”

“He’s more than welcome to try going to Hell if he thinks it’s worth his while.”

Eliot laughs before shaking his head. “I think Nate would prefer jail over death. We don’t want to start a vengeance war.”

“Fair enough.” She reaches over and takes his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. “But for now, we’re okay? No lingering questions you wish to ask.”

There are plenty. He wants to ask about the things Crowley tried to get her to do to survive, the reasons the Winchesters will not be pleased to see her. He has a feeling the two are connected, and he’d like to know what’s coming at them sooner rather than later. But in terms of their relationship, or lack thereof, for now, they’re okay. He squeezes her hand back before nodding.

“We’re okay. Wouldn’t let you stay here if we weren’t.”

She nods. “And you’re okay?”

Eliot’s big secret is that he’s never okay. It’s part of the reason he didn’t want people, because you see threats everywhere and they don’t. Ever since he’s gotten a crew, he’s been seeing doom on the horizon every time and Bela coming back to him this way isn’t helping. But he also doesn’t want to lie.

“I’ll figure it out.”

For now, it’s the only thing he can do.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

get your words out { 2023 } yahtzee tracking

Running Score: 260 (8/8)Word Count: 35,178

SET #1: PICTURES (ACES) (david/ezra)

i see earthquakes and lightning | everyone lives | 300

tryin' to make a connection with you | everyone lives | 300

just hold my hand whenever we arrive | everyone lives | 300

please turn your fears into trust | everyone lives | 300

tomorrow's coming and has gone | everyone lives | 300

SET #2: WORDS (FIVES) (fen/julia)

we were riding a wave and trying not to drown | the magicians (au) | 600

and this place ain’t no shangri-la | the magicians (au) | 600

and a million miles to go | the magicians (au) | 600

i learned you get what you can get | the magicians | 600

and i'll do, for you, anything too | the magicians (au) | 600

SET #3: WORDS (SEVENS) (laura/parrish)

and the stars are laughing | guardians | 1,200

before i knew which life was mine | puppy love | 1,300

thinking of things that i left far behind | potus | 1,200

living in the memory of a love that never was | regency | 1,400

i want to forget my bad days | canon au | 1,100

SET #4: COMBO (3 OF A KIND) (freya/stefan)

they got a black magic preacher | tvdverse (fantasy au) | 979

as you're surrounded by these fools who do deceive you | tvdverse (fantasy au) | 881

i hope you like the show | tvdverse (fantasy au) | 1,165

SET #5: COMBO (4 OF A KIND) (bo/derek)

run away from the hum drum | teen wolf/lost girl | 763

say what you want to satisfy yourself | teen wolf/lost girl | 792

i never thought i'd hear my heartbeat so loud | teen wolf/lost girl | 1,042

i can be anything you want me to | teen wolf/lost girl | 1,367

SET #6: PICTURES (FULL HOUSE) (eliot/lucy)

i wanna die with my chin up | leverage/timeless | 1,113

in fact that's where music comes from | leverage/timeless | 1,048

we've got a small family business | leverage/timeless | 1,289

let me drown in your laughter | leverage/timeless | 1,179

i'm just saying there might be a life here | leverage/timeless | 884

SET #7: COMBO (LARGE STRAIGHT) (diana/lucifer)

we'll just hold our breath tonight [1/5] | dc extended universe/lucifer | 1,033

we'll just hold our breath tonight [2/5] | dc extended universe/lucifer | 1,035

we'll just hold our breath tonight [3/5] | dc extended universe/lucifer | 1,137

we'll just hold our breath tonight [4/5] | dc extended universe/lucifer | 1,224

we'll just hold our breath tonight [5/5] | dc extended universe/lucifer | 817

SET #8: COMBO (YAHTZEE) (bela/eliot)

i'm sleeping all these demons away | leverage/supernatural | 1,410

you'd be the one i was meant to find | leverage/supernatural | 1,400

they just drove off and left it all behind them | leverage/supernatural | 1,400

this ain't no place for no better man | leverage/supernatural | 1,410

show me what that loaded gun is for | leverage/supernatural | 1,410

Running Score: 260 (8/8)
Word Count: 35,178