Characters: Rex Özen (nb!Detective) / f!Bobby Marks
Rated: Teen (swearing and manipulative behavior)
Synopsis: Short exploration of some of Rex’s feelings after being betrayed by their partner, Bobby, in college. Several years pre-canon.
Wordcount: ~900
This started out as the beginning of a rewrite of my first Wayhaven fic, Monster Mash (nb!Detective x Morgan, rated E, so very E, it is like 80% smut at least), which I was thinking about doing for fun to dip my toes back into writing, but I immediately veered off course when I started thinking about Rex and Bobby’s breakup after it got mentioned in the first scene.
(Y’all, I knew I hadn’t written anything in a while, but it didn’t really hit me that I really haven’t shared anything in almost 4 years!? :O So, uh, be extra nice, if you feel so inclined!)
Stupid, perfect face.
You glare down at the frozen image of Bobby beaming up at you from your lock screen; A slightly blurry selfie she’d snapped of herself with your phone when she’d snatched it to plug in her number after you met and spent the day together early last year. By the start of the following semester, the two of you had pooled your money to rent a nicer room than your old dorm, a quiet place with sunlight in a shared house with some of the older journalism students Bobby had charmed soon after enrollment. Until earlier today, it was inspiring that Bobby always knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go find it.
Or, more accurately, steal it.
The voicemail that had greeted you when you turned your phone back on after a rushed study session between morning classes still echoes too loudly in your head, the memory of a raspy-voiced college administrator scratching at your eardrums like an itch you can’t reach. A thousand polite, pointed words boiling down to one fact: They were accusing you of plagiarism for the project you’re pretty sure you’d sold off the last of your sanity to complete. You were sure there had had to be some mistake. There was no way. And yet, the impossible was at your doorstep holding your future ransom.
Somehow, you’d managed to make it through the rest of your obligations for the day in one piece before stumbling home into Bobby’s arms, tearful and panicked. She’d held you tight, uncharacteristically quiet. For once, she’d been as lost for words as you. The quiet didn’t last, and even from the steady inhale before her first word, you’d known something was very wrong.
“I was interested in doing my project about that topic, you knew that. We talked about it more than once,” Bobby had said when you’d stumbled home and into her arms, tearful and panicked, but eager to figure out how the college could’ve gotten their signals crossed. “You’ve been so tired, you might’ve copied what I told you by accident, right? You need to take better care of yourself.”
While you’d blinked at Bobby, mouth popping open and closed wordlessly, trying to assemble puzzle pieces you couldn’t seem to match up, Bobby’s smile stayed perfect. Just the right amount of crinkle around the eyes to invite softness, the right bit of quirk to the corners of her lips to promise that one day we’d laugh about this. You had a thousand memories of that beloved smile, and in an instant they all felt as the gaping hole yawning open in your chest.
“And maybe I let you inspire me a little too much, I just love listening to you when you’re passionate about something and I’ve missed talking to you.” Bobby had acquiesced when the silence stretched on, reaching out to hold your hands tight. You’d forced yourself to stay still through the alarm bells in your head, staring frozen into her vulnerable eyes, each its own pool of sincerity and hurt, inviting you to gently drown in their depths. “All you think about lately is school. It’s not healthy.”
You braced for- for… you weren’t even sure for what. God, when was the last time I was sure about anything? Every grief you’d ever experienced suddenly felt as though they clung to and added their weight to the silent answer to your own question: You don’t know.
“I want to help you, but I only have so much to give,” Bobby had said softly, her brow pinched, deepening the familiar line between her eyes where there was the first hint of a wrinkle. “Maybe this is a good opportunity to reconsider if college is the right move for you before we sink more money into a degree you’re not even sure about.”
Why did you feel like prey being cornered when you were more free than you’d ever been? Why were you always so fucking scared of that empty space where a fear could be, if you didn’t know better? You’d long since convinced yourself there was nothing there, only old traumas haunting new relationships, but for a second there in Bobby’s arms, the Nothing flinched.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, I’m so fucking stupid, but not as stupid as Bobby must think you are. Looking around yourself now, half of who you were but somehow twice as burdened, with the best of you cut up by your own hand and freely shipped away on a silver platter… you don’t know whether you can rightfully say whether her assessment was wrong.
“This isn’t going to get easier. Sometimes, the most mature thing you can do is realize when something is not working.” The sickly sweet words had dripped from her mouth, venom and honey, rotting your teeth as she’d leaned in to press her soft lips against yours. “I’d still be proud of you, sweetheart. No matter what, I’ll be there.”
You shake your head, fighting the urge to retch. Breathe. There’s so much emptiness in your chest and yet no room for the damn air. Breathe! Your fingertips have gone white before you realize how hard they’re digging into your phone case, and you force yourself to shove the device into your pocket, wiping furiously at your eyes.
You just don’t know.
A tidbit about the title! When I was a kid, I saw a documentary where they treated exposure to a poison dart frogs with honey. I don’t recall how legit it was, but although in this fic I mention venom not poison, that’s a little bit of where it came from. Something something Bobby neutralizing her own venom enough not to kill or significantly injure Rex, but it does hurt every time. So much of the shitty stuff in that relationship feeling like a frog slowly being boiled but unable to point to exactly what is wrong. And there’s also more honey than venom, so Rex should be focused on that, on the good! Why are they so focused on the venom when it hasn’t even almost killed them yet? But at the end of the day, even the sweetness is rotting them away and killing them as much as the venom, because it’s the honey that keeps them stuck. Now, it’s the honey that fills them with more terror than the venom, at least one of them is honest about why it’s there. It also makes me think of about how right now Rex doesn’t really know if they’re the Toxic OneTM (aka poisonous, like by making it on their skin and so Bobby is risking exposure by touching them) or if Bobby is venomous and the toxin is coming from her mouth (her words, her kisses, her lies, etc). The answer being of course more complex than “there was one person who was Right the whole relationship and one who was Wrong,” but that would be a much deeper and longer story that I don’t feel equipped to tell at this point.
Okay okay, I shall stop rambling. Thank you for reading and I hope you all have a wonderful day! (Gosh I can’t remember my tag list, uhhh @amlovelies @lilyoffandoms and I’ll also tag @agentnatesewell because you were encouraging and even though this is not what you ordered, maybe you’d still like to read it!)
This is an early birthday gift for @kurczakmarty :) Featuring her amazing character Amelie. I wanted to do something special for their birthday this year and decided to do a longer format mini fic of both our current obsession. And to make things extra fun for me, I added a few of my own Wayhaven OC's in it! I like to think all my friend's OC's exist in each of our little universes in game.
There are five chapters, so I will post in five parts. This is 1/5. Hope you enjoy!
She stared blankly at her coffee, too far gone in her thoughts to acknowledge the goings-on around her. It had been a tough day. One particular patient occupied her thoughts, even after all these weeks of seeing her. She’d never had so much trouble with a patient before; she was notoriously successful in her work with even the most hard-headed individuals. She wasn’t sure what was so different this time.
“Minerva!” a voice called, and the counsellor Minerva Ivanokovich smiled. The voice belonged to her friend, Sydney Noceda, a teacher from Wayhaven and total sweetheart. She sat next to Minerva with a beaming smile, and it was as infectious as always. The two liked to have lunch together when they could. They led busy lives so it wasn’t always possible.
“Syd,” Minerva nodded, giving the other woman a side hug. It was returned with so much enthusiasm that it seemed impossible they had last seen each other only one week ago. Still, Minerva appreciated it-- her hugs were the best way to get out of a funk.
“How are you?” Sydney asked, taking out her packed lunch.
“I’ve been better,” Minerva admitted. No reason to hide it, Sydney would figure it out anyway.
“Oh no, what’s wrong?”
Minerva shrugged. “A difficult patient. The most difficult one I’ve had, I think.”
“I find that hard to believe, you’re always so good with them,” Sydney frowned, biting into her sandwich. This is the difficult position Minerva often found herself in. Patient confidentiality was a must, but even a therapist needed to vent. Sydney was not a therapist, which is who she should actually talk to about her struggles. But, Minerva’s was on a three month sabbatical, and she wondered if this experience was going to peak and burst into something unmanageable. She needed grounding. Luckily, Sydney was a very good listener.
“Usually, yes...” she sighed. “I don’t know about this one, Syd. They’re a tough nut to crack.”
“Tell me about it,” Sydney offered, “maybe I can help?”
Minerva chuckled. “You are very clever, Miss Teacher.”
“Cleverness has nothing to do with it. But dealing with twenty students at a time? That will teach you some things about tough folks.”
Minerva leaned against her friend. “You know I’m not supposed to talk about patients.”
“Use an alias then! I’ll never know who it is.”
“So long as you promise not to tell another soul.”
Sydney ran a finger and thumb across her lips. “They are sealed.”
“Fine, fine.” Minerva adjusted her seat so she had better posture. “I guess we can call them...Foxface?”
Sydney blinked, eyes darting in one direction in thought. “Like the Hunger Games character?”
“...sure.”
------------
Amelie sighed in front of the door. ‘Mandated Counselling,’ her ass, this was just a way for the Agency to take up more of her free time. As if they didn’t monopolize it too much already with the training. As much as she looked forward to being an agent, all this extra bureaucracy and tasks were getting excessive. But this counselling wasn’t something she could avoid. Maybe she could get away with saying very little, complete the hours, and move on. It’s not like she had much to say anyway.
Opening the door, her senses were greeted with a pleasant waft of lavender. The office was decorated with antique furniture, a mahogany desk that would clearly survive a tornado, and chairs cushioned with a lovely velvet finish. A mountain of a bookshelf sat behind the desk, and there was one window to the side of the room. It was a cleverly laid out space-- comfort the priority, but not enough distraction to warrant a wandering mind.
Oh, no. It was not the room that would distract. It was the therapist behind the desk.
One of the prettiest women Amelie had ever seen swished the pen in her hand, finishing off some paperwork of a previous client, surely. The woman had perfectly manicured black nails, much like her own. She was wearing a fancy, almost-too-low-cut black top paired with a fresh blazer, her brown hair artfully pinned up and framing her face to show off some very impressive cheekbones. Her eyes were intense and beautifully painted with almost too much mascara, and a pretty maroon eye shadow. She had matching lipstick, and a gorgeous beauty mark below her left eye.
Maybe therapy wouldn’t be so bad after all. She could spend the entire time ogling the therapist.
She eyed the golden name tag placed on the desk. ‘Minerva Ivanokovich’ As if she had heard Amelie’s thoughts trying out the name, Minerva glanced up at her patient. A warm, professional smile decorated her features. “Miss Baschet. Welcome.”
Amelie slid into one of the chairs seated in front of the desk. “Call me Amelie,” she purred. God, she couldn’t wait to talk about how hot the therapist was to Morgan. One, because she’d probably agree and two, because it might piss her off, which would be fun in a way Amelie’s brain refused to explore further.
“Very well,” Minerva nodded, “call me Minerva, then. Welcome to your first session.”
Amelie was somewhat taken aback when Minerva stood, taking her clipboard with her to sit in the seat beside her, so that they would have no barrier of the desk. Of course, the thought was over with the sight of Minerva’s tight pencil skit and long legs, that she crossed over one another.
Minerva waited, giving Amilie an expectant look. There was an awkward pause. “So...” Amelie coughed. “Am I...supposed to just start?”
Minvera grinned. “Ideally, yes.”
Okay, the shrink behaviour was a huge turn off. She almost forgot why she was here in the first place. “Well, Doc,” Amelie nearly scoffed. “You know I’m not here by choice, so why don’t I save some time and just say, I don’t need to be here. It’s just mandatory nonsense.”
Annoyingly, Minerva jotted down some notes on her clipboard, as if Amelie had already revealed something. “I actually agree,” Minerva sighed, “it is far better when someone does this of their own volition. But the Agency is adamant about it.”
This only annoyed Amelie further. “If you don’t agree, then why do it?”
“Harm reduction,” she replied simply.
“So, better than nothing?” Amelie sighed. “Can’t we just sit here for an hour instead?”
“If you want.” Another lovely, annoying grin. “But then I’d ask yourself exactly who’s time you are actually wasting if we do that.”
“Yeah, well, therapy is a waste of time for someone who doesn’t need it,” Amelie snapped, and got up. “Listen, you’re gorgeous and all, so I don’t mind sitting here and staring at you for an hour every week. But if you think you’re going to drag something out of me so you can write notes about it and report back to the Agency, forget it. Just say I have daddy issues and call it a day.”
Minerva cut off a laugh with her hand. She spent a good few seconds chuckling. She then proceeding to write in big letters “DADDY ISSUES,” on her notes, which made Amelie feel worse.
“You know for a therapist, you suck at making people feel good.”
“Au contraire,” Minerva smiled, “therapy is not about ‘feeling good.’”
The patient paused to process that. “Then what the fuck is the point?”
Minerva glanced up at her, a look in her eye that said she knew everything she needed to. A look that sent shivers down Amelie’s spine, and not in a sexy way. “Clarity,” was all she said in reply.
Unable to fully grasp that, Amelie just scoffed and went for the door. “Sounds dumb,” she said as she left, and it wasn’t as cool and devastating as she hoped. Because as soon as she left, Minerva continued, annoyingly.
“See you next week.”
God. What a fucking nightmare.
---------
“I’m surprised she left...” Sydney said. “Has that ever happened before?”
Minerva nodded. “Oh, definitely. Therapy can be overwhelming. Her walking out told me more about her than if she had stayed silent.” She sipped her coffee. “It’s not a failure to any of us. That’s real human emotion. That’s what we hope to see.”
“But it does make it difficult, right?”
“It does. But if I wanted to talk to someone who had a perfect grasp of their emotions, I’d talk to a fucking AI programmed to do so. Because no one living has that.”
Sydney giggled. “I’d love to brag about myself being put together, but I literally cried when a student failed a test when I knew how hard they studied for it. Full sobs, while I marked it at home. I guess it’s easier to do alone, than in front of someone.”
Minerva smiled and patted her friend’s back. “That’s the hard part about being a professional. You have to keep it together when you are with them. Even when they test those waters.” She sighed. “And Foxface...they certainly tested me.”
I'll share a snippet from "Unsaid" (this is the working title from a fic settled on the days after Murphy's attack when Lorelei is receiving medical care at the facility and Nate yearns to spend time with her) :
If he had his way, he’d always choose real contacts and listen to the sound of real voices, or the comfort behind the craft of writing a letter to using one of those devices.
However, he’s standing still almost hypnotized by the screen of the phone. Who would imagine that? Not him. Not ever.
A text. Simple. Court. Direct. No subtlety to read between the lines. Or is there?
He reads Lorelei’s message once more: “Hi, Nate! Have you heard the good news? I’m being discharged tomorrow.”
What should he answer?
He planned to see her again ever since their last meeting.
“May I see you tomorrow, Detective?”
“Yes, you may, Agent Sewell.”
He arches a brown eyebrow at the unusual formality of her tone, and she chuckles. The sound of her merriment is lovely.
“I won’t call you Nate, unless you call me Lorelei.”
Smiling back at her, Nate brushes the tips of his long fingers against the back of her hand not at all by accident; the touch eliciting goose bumps on her skin.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Lorelei.”
A promise he couldn’t keep.
First it was a mission that took him away from the facility for two entire days and he couldn’t be there during visiting hours. Then it was a visit to Wayhaven to find a perfect location for Unit Bravo before approaching the mayor. Nate rushed to the facility that day, but the clock marked how late he was; Elidor haven’t allowed him to disturb Lorelei's rest, even if he hoped that wouldn’t be the case... Then all these meetings kept him busy when she’ll be discharged tomorrow. Today is his last chance.
Nate is such an interesting character in so many aspects. i really like exploring these first days and what it was like for him too, the idea of falling in love after so long and with a human like the detective.
When I received this ask, this dialogue was the first thing that came to mind and I had fun writing it.
I'll share a snippet from "Unsaid" (this is the working title from a fic settled on the days after Murphy's attack when Lorelei is receiving medical care at the facility and Nate yearns to spend time with her) :
If he had his way, he’d always choose real contacts and listen to the sound of real voices, or the comfort behind the craft of writing a letter to using one of those devices.
However, he’s standing still almost hypnotized by the screen of the phone. Who would imagine that? Not him. Not ever.
A text. Simple. Court. Direct. No subtlety to read between the lines. Or is there?
He reads Lorelei’s message once more: “Hi, Nate! Have you heard the good news? I’m being discharged tomorrow.”
What should he answer?
He planned to see her again ever since their last meeting.
“May I see you tomorrow, Detective?”
“Yes, you may, Agent Sewell.”
He arches a brown eyebrow at the unusual formality of her tone, and she chuckles. The sound of her merriment is lovely.
“I won’t call you Nate, unless you call me Lorelei.”
Smiling back at her, Nate brushes the tips of his long fingers against the back of her hand not at all by accident; the touch eliciting goose bumps on her skin.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Lorelei.”
A promise he couldn’t keep.
First it was a mission that took him away from the facility for two entire days and he couldn’t be there during visiting hours. Then it was a visit to Wayhaven to find a perfect location for Unit Bravo before approaching the mayor. Nate rushed to the facility that day, but the clock marked how late he was; Elidor haven’t allowed him to disturb Lorelei's rest, even if he hoped that wouldn’t be the case... Then all these meetings kept him busy when she’ll be discharged tomorrow. Today is his last chance.
I HC that during that first weeks of investigation, when Lorelei texted, he'd get overwhelmed by the autocorrect of the phone and the mistakes and misspelled words... Not standing the idea of her getting the wrong message, he'd just leave revised notes with the texts on her desk or reply directly with those carefully written notes with beautiful calligraphy instead of texting... it was impractical for urgent matters, of course, and she was really confused the first times it happened, but Lorelei started to find it really cute of him and saved those texts on one of her desk drawers...
That vampire is yearning. He senses the signs of attraction, of course, but he's looking for confirmation she'd want anything to do with him after being attacked by a vampire 🥺
When I saw this ask, that dialogue in the flashback was the first thing to come to mind 😊
I'm glad you liked this interaction! She's been really brave too in that context lol she likes him and the tittle keeps reminding her of the work relationship
I'll share a snippet from "Unsaid" (this is the working title from a fic settled on the days after Murphy's attack when Lorelei is receiving medical care at the facility and Nate yearns to spend time with her) :
If he had his way, he’d always choose real contacts and listen to the sound of real voices, or the comfort behind the craft of writing a letter to using one of those devices.
However, he’s standing still almost hypnotized by the screen of the phone. Who would imagine that? Not him. Not ever.
A text. Simple. Court. Direct. No subtlety to read between the lines. Or is there?
He reads Lorelei’s message once more: “Hi, Nate! Have you heard the good news? I’m being discharged tomorrow.”
What should he answer?
He planned to see her again ever since their last meeting.
“May I see you tomorrow, Detective?”
“Yes, you may, Agent Sewell.”
He arches a brown eyebrow at the unusual formality of her tone, and she chuckles. The sound of her merriment is lovely.
“I won’t call you Nate, unless you call me Lorelei.”
Smiling back at her, Nate brushes the tips of his long fingers against the back of her hand not at all by accident; the touch eliciting goose bumps on her skin.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Lorelei.”
A promise he couldn’t keep.
First it was a mission that took him away from the facility for two entire days and he couldn’t be there during visiting hours. Then it was a visit to Wayhaven to find a perfect location for Unit Bravo before approaching the mayor. Nate rushed to the facility that day, but the clock marked how late he was; Elidor haven’t allowed him to disturb Lorelei's rest, even if he hoped that wouldn’t be the case... Then all these meetings kept him busy when she’ll be discharged tomorrow. Today is his last chance.
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