Summary: The second time around, reevaluated, Poe proposes properly. Almost.
Request for persephoneepeone on the archive and sequel to Unproposed
I wonât lie to you. I might like this one a little bit more than the first one. Makes me a little mad that the one that took me over a year to complete maybe isnât as good as the one I popped out in a week on a whim
AO3 Link
Poe smoothed his fingers over the wide scars covering his stomach. He could feel the grafts, the seams, the difference.
It was a big difference.
Iâll propose at the perfect time on this date. Iâll propose as soon as I can get discharged. Iâll propose right after this round of therapy. And so on.
Recovery became Poeâs life.
It had been so fast, all the ambition, the drive, the energy, hit a wall, shattered, and every time he so much as thought about picking back up he fell harder in this broken slog that just. Took. Time.
His body felt second hand, like he had gotten it back again and forgotten how to use it.
Everything was working, it was just so, so much less than he was used to. He had nothing but gratitude to the trauma team that cut and stitched and wrapped him back to functionality, but if he didnât know any better, heâd think they put him back wrong.
He was back, though, now. He was. Everything physical.
That was the one thing Poe couldnât tackle.
He could walk again. All his organ function was above average. None of that was that hard.
Nothing came close to as hard as what heâd been told.
You need to forgive yourself for needing this.
He couldnât forgive his body for this.
The ejection failing, the engine catching fire, the nose crumpling against the rock, all those things he could forgive. They happened.
But taking the hit, not seeing it coming, pulling up as hard as he could but clearly not nearly hard enough, almost being destroyed, getting burned and crushed, he couldnât forgive himself for it because he did all that to you.
Every second he was getting surgery or unconscious or having a bad time or going back in you were there, working on top of it all.
Poe wasnât an emotional irregulated person. He wasnât out of touch with his feelings. He loved everyone and he let everyone love him and he wasnât shy about it.
But those times he wasnât himself, when he was detached and agonized, he didnât recognize it in himself, he couldnât, but he saw the after of it in you.
And he hated the way it looked.
He didnât, he couldnât ask it if you. Which scared him. He didnât think before thatâs what he was asking. Two words, both ways.
Marry me.
He would be honored to be what youâd been for him but it broke his heart to think he had and was taking it from you. That you freely gave your time, sleep, sanity, to him, because you loved him. Well, it was egocentric for him to think only he could love you that way. Maker willing you would never need him like he needed you, but what was done was done.
He dropped his shirt, then tucked it in.
He stared at the ring on his desk. He had been so sure, so certain, and now most days he couldnât tell if he even knew you well enough to ask. He felt so much older before, but now it was all he still had his whole life ahead of him, he would be so young to go out like this, now he was fresh and accomplished again, ready to get back out there. And maybe finally complete the first part of one of the biggest decisions he would ever make.
You had already said yes, you had asked him, but that was so long ago Poe didnât even know if it still meant anything. He knew it did, intellectually, of course, but he had changed. Heâd been told injuries like this could change a person a lot. Well, he barely hurt his head, it was really his chest and side that took the whole inside of the chassis. So he was still himself. Just thinking about it, the crash, makes him feel weightless, burning, barely breathing.
He didnât want to go back there.
He sighed a breath out and plucked up the ring, rolling the wrought metal between his fingers before throwing the chain over his head and slipping it under his shirt.
He couldnât waste another second. He couldnât stand with letting this question of how youâll continue your lives now keep sitting.
He knew in his heart what he wanted. He knew it was what you wanted.
He just had to go through with it already.
âHey, starstuff,â Poe called, giving you a wave.
âBlackbird! Or should I say commander. I havenât seen you up here in a minute.â
âYeah, well. Been indisposed.â He joked, leaning on your work surface.
âNeed something?â You said.
âJust you. You ready to go?â
âTen minutes, need to finish up.â
Poe checked the time.
âCould it be like six?â
âIâve got to get through these orders before I go. You can sit. Just as soon as Iâm done.â
He nodded, pulled up a crate, and sat beside you.
People passed, carrying pads and boxes and turning in for their shifts, your secluded corner stuffed with screens is hardly as private as an office should be, which Poe thinks is weird, considering no one on base got new socks or floss if you didnât put in.
He watched you work, cross referencing, checking items off.
Twenty-three minutes later, after no less than two interruptions of last minute requests, you closed up your pad and shut down your station.
Some of that brightness in your features has been lost since heâs known you. Now, there was never a time he didnât see you tired. Stretched thin.
You grabbed dinner from the nearly empty mess hall, Poe knew the guy on shift and got you a little extra of everything, a bottle and a dessert.
You didnât think anything of it. It was so nice to see his smile, watch him stride like he isnât afraid heâll pull something and start bleeding internally and need to be rushed into surgery immediately with no time to even understand what was wrong except that if they didnât act immediately Poe would bleed out, grip your hand in his.
You climbed up to the roof and sat out on the meticulously carved moss covered rock, crisscrossed and finally to yourselves.
You ate and chatted and caught up on the little things, sharing straight from the bottle.
As it deplenished, he felt looser, less distant.
You finished everything and laid in the comfortable quiet. Quiet that meant his opportunity. His moment.
âSo uh, I had something I wanted to ask you today.â He got up, straightened out his clothes. âItâs been a long while since we talked about it.â
You looked up at him. The dinner, the seclusion, dessert.
âI havenât gotten to ask properly, really⊠finalize it.â
He reached for his necklace chain.
Oh. Oh.
âYouâre doing that now.â You nodded, sitting all the way up. âShit.â
He looked at you.
âThatâs umâŠâ not the response he was expecting. He held the chain clasp, mortified.
You pulled yourself to stand. âPoe Iâm leaving.â
His heart sank even deeper.
âWhat?â
âMy parents, theyâre losing so much with the First Orderâs spread. They need to move. I donât know when Iâll be back.â
âWhenâ when are you going?â He asked, derailed. Off course.Â
âTwo weeks.â
âYou didnât tell me.â
So much outside his control. Outside the loop. He feels like heâs being swallowed by this information.
It was so messy. He couldnât predict or change things, wasnât a Force user or a general or anything but a lovesick, recovering pilot.
He couldâve been single or comatose or without use of his legs.
He couldâve been dead.
But he wasnât. And it wasnât up to him.
He didnât want you to feel like it was your fault you were needed, that you had to go.
Both ways.
That was the only way this worked.
âI was going to give you this before I left,â you were still speaking, Poe had to sweep his thoughts aside. âTell you. But I wasnât sure, I was going to talk to you about it today.â
You pulled out a plain silver wedding band from your pocket, and Poe felt faint.
âIâve been so scattered, Iâm really sorry. I didnât know if you were still so sure, I mean itâs been so hardââ
âAgain.â He said.
âHuh?â
âYou did it again,â he cried.Â
âDid what again?â
âYou asked first!â He said, laughing. âYou beat me to it a second time!â
You barely remember. The takeaway, yes he wanted to marry you, but not who asked who or how.Â
He hugged you around the waist and pulled you close, rubbing his hand up your back.
âWas I not supposed to?â You asked, genuinely uncertain if this was a hug of delight or defeat.
âNo. No youâre the best. No oneâs ever been ahead of me like you are. It drives me. It keeps me. I donât know where Iâd be without it.â He cupped the back of your head. âWithout you.â
You hugged him back tight and buried your face in the scent of him. âPoe. Me too. Youâve no idea.â
âNext time you tell me. I donât care whatâs going on. You tell me whatâs happening.â
âIâm going to.â
When you finally space he extended his hand to let you slide the ring onto his left fourth finger. He turned it in the light and see the way the well toned metal shimmered, a spectrum of colors.
âPoe Bey Dameron,â you tilted his face up. âWould you marry me?â
âI would.â
He did the same, finally putting his momâs ring where it belonged, glad he got it fitted and it fitted perfectly.
âWe can make this work.â He nodded, then looked to you. âIâll go with you.â
âGo with me, Poe, youâve spent so long getting better, you donât have toââ
âYour parents work in distribution. I work in recon. Youâre the perfect cover. Where and who is being driven out and why is invaluable. Itâs best Iâm not back in a ship yet.â
âIâ yes, butâŠâ
âI need to be with you and we need to talk so much more and I canât do that if youâre away. I just got me back. Please donât let me lose you. Thereâs still so much I want with you.â
âYou wanna meet my parents?â
âYeah, I do,â
A smile pulled at your lip. âThen youâre serious, because no one wants to meet my parents.â
âDid I miss something.â
âOh, Poe.â You put your arms over his shoulders. âYou still want anything with me by the time we get back, itâll be a miracle.â
You took a deep breath.
âI havenât told them a thing about you.â You whispered into his shoulder. âTheyâre going to be so mad. Theyâll think youâre too good for me.â
He hummed. âWell, Iâve always been an overachiever.â
âNo. They know your parents, Poe. As in they heard about them. When I was a kid. My dad used to say âthat Shara Bey never missedâ.â
âShe definitely missed.â Poe said. âMy graduation. Which you know I guess wasnât her fault; she was dead.â
You stifled a laugh against his clothes.
âIâm sorry.â You inhaled slow and exhaled heavily.
âNo, itâs okay, I wanted to make you laugh. And I donât want to wait however long it is to hear it againâ
âAlright then.â He doesnât think heâs ever seen your eyes so clear.
âItâs still gonna be a while before we really get this.â
You felt a buzz in your stomach, maybe the carbonated drink. âYeah?â
âBut weâre maybe halfway there.â
âDefinitely.â
You rubbed your nose against his and held each other till the sun started to set, finally feeling certain, engaged.
Summary: Steven and Layla head for Egypt on the Scarab, and their relationship deepens with their understandings of each other and their mission as they are pursued.
Crunch was unreal Iâve been working kind of nonstop on this for days but I got it in before the end of mermay, this and chapter five kind of split right in the middle so the next should be done pretty soon itâs already mostly complete
AO3 Link
He sounded so, so desperate.
Layla had never heard Marc beg like that.
For her help, when she wouldnât caved otherwise, she guessed she shouldnât have been shocked under the circumstances.
Then she had saltwater on her pants and bike seat, a big sad looking goldfish in her sink, and a mythical creature in her bed.
The sitting area was silent.
Well. She certainly wasnât going to be sleeping in her bed.
This Steven felt unsafe. She made it so he could rest, so, she was doing her part as far as she was concerned. She would roll out the sofa bed and try to get some sleep herself.
Things would make more sense once they could talk.
âThey got away, sir.â
The building was tall, piled with boxes and crates of goods.
Arthur Harrow sat on one of them, crisscross, the head of a short staff in hand, female bust with the head of a snake on one side of the head, male with a beard on the other. Like a coin. One of the few relics pertaining to his god.
âSo I heard.â He had been mulling over the events in his head. The easy capture. The ignorance. The delay of his escape. It was as if he only tried once his life was in immediate danger.
Only one thing pointed to sense in it. This Marc was far more broken than he previously thought.
He could use that. This personality was calm, neurotic. He wanted to be listened to. Heard. He could use that.
âTheyâre still here in the city.â Bobbi continued. âThey were seen heading for an apartment. We found the Scarab at dock.â
âLaylaâs ship.â He murmured.
âShould we board it?â
âNo. Donât touch it.â Harrow put the staff upright, twisting it, feeling the ancient metal heavy in his hand. He took the womanâs hand as she offered it to help him down. And to his gratitude, as his bad leg caught in a crack in the concrete and he buckled, quickly righting himself with her assistance.
âThereâs only one reason they wouldnât be halfway across the world already.â He said, patting her arm. âLet them leave. Prep ours. We depart at sunset.â
Bobbi nodded and turned on her heel, leaving the warehouse and Harrow standing quietly in the middle of it.
âI canât believe he hid it in my favorite book. What, does he think Iâm that dense?â
Out on the Scarab, Layla was still grappling with the fact she couldnât leave Steven, or Marc, or whoever one of them he was, alone for even a minute.
Bounty hunters and other pirates had been after him before and he knew Marc could handle them, but Harrowâs gang was another whole problem. She was just glad he had the sense to call her.
âAt least he kept it safe, yeah?â Steven tried.
âSure. Safe.â Stevenâs hands werenât what Layla would call safe.
Arthur Harrow had crossed paths with Marc and by extension, Layla, many times. He was not only some kind of fanatic, obsessed with the power the gods and sea beheld and believing he alone could wield it justly, but a formidable pirate captain. He used to be what Marc was, some sort of warrior or protector. Layla clearly voiced her distaste in that every time it came up, and refused to get into it.
They were working together, in close quarters, and every time she met his eyes less than a foot from his face for more than a moment Steven felt the urge to kiss her.
He felt as if he already knew her. They were so close. She touched his shoulder and arm and steadied and shadowed him so easily, more intimate than heâd ever been with any mer. And yet he knew not one thing she did.
The sun warmed his skin so much faster out on the deck, Layla had slathered him down in sunscreen before he could find out firsthand what sunburn was. There was no sail, this ship was motorized, all the switches and controls far beyond Stevenâs understanding.
She taught him the basics of the sea, how to tell direction and steer, starboard, port, stern, bow. Steven tried to pay attention, it was fascinating, but truly what he turned their conversations to was things he wanted to know about humans. Stories, history, culture, behaviors, beliefs.
Like the Egyptian gods. The Ennead.
Her job. Swashbuckling archeologist.
Sleeping under the stars, in what Layla aptly called a sleeping bag, one of the most comfortable things Steven had the pleasure of putting himself in, he had awoken to a great fright of a towering falcon skull headed being. The other voice.
Layla asked him what the hell was wrong and if he could keep from screaming in the middle of the night, and Steven had pointed only for Layla to tell him there was nothing there.
Steven began to doubt his own reality again, if anything was real until Layla told him it was probably Marcâs business, some god named Khonshu who granted his ânot dying and stuffâ.
The sun began to rise, Layla returned to the cabin, and as Steven watched the figure come into the light and stride the length of the deck, found he wasnât nearly as scary as he thought.
âWhat exactly are you?â He asked quietly, as not to alert his sea partner.
âThe god of the moon!â Khonshu boomed, stamping his staff. A gust from his feet.
âGod of the what? What?â Steven flinched, then straightened, scrunching up his nose. ââThe god of the moonâ? That doesnât make any sense.â
He has expected him to say death, or taxes, or something. But if there was one thing he knew it was that there was no god of the moon.
âMers worshipped the moon, but not the god of it, thereâs no such thing, they prayed and gave offering to the moon itself; herself. Luna. The measure. The tide giver.âÂ
âBlasphemy.â The god sneered. âYou know not what you speak of.âÂ
âI do, actually.â Steven shrugged. âWhen I donât understand something I open a book.â
âI do not find your insolence amusing, flounder.â
âGoldfish.â
âGuppy.â
âMerman.â
âFishboy.â
âSteven.â
The god huffed.
Steven puffed his chest. How much easier could he be to bait?
âHey, Layla!â He called back.
âKinda busy right now!â She answered. âWhat is it?â
âDoes he ever shut up?â Steven side eyed him as he spoke, a small smile on his face.
Khonshu bristled.
âNot as far as I know.â Layla said.
âYou jest at such a dire hour? Useless. Fool.â
âCan you seriously not hear him?â
âNope. Thatâs all Marc. And you, I guess. Just ignore him.â
Steven nodded and pushed off the railing, standing up straight, looking out over the open water.
The Scarlet Scarab swayed on the waves of the Mediterranean Sea. Layla had cut the two week trip from the British coast to the shores of Egypt in half working through the night to get their ship along the quickest route, and they were now just a few days out from the Nile.
And she was looking exhausted.
The amount of coffee she consumed frightened Steven. He didnât know if it was his place to say anything.
Between deciphering the map and navigating and sating Stevenâs curiosity about the mundanest of things as well as the most complex and fantastical, things she had wanted to talk with someone about her whole life but had never found in Marc and never had time to find in anyone else.
She wasnât confused with the way he was looking at her. The tension was becoming palpable. If she had to keep it all to herself much longer she was going to lose it. She had felt the want to lick his fingers while they were eating. She almost did. And then he did, and she cleared her throat and put her calf into her lap, unnoticed by Steven.
She hadnât seen Marc, and that part of her was glad for it.
Everything Steven said of his life painted this lonely outcast bookworm Layla couldnât pretend she didnât fancy. But it was too weird. He was Marc, somewhere in there, and she still wanted to rip into him. If she was going to get anymore friendly with Steven, she would have to break it to him they were going to split. Which pained her. But Steven was already homesick, she could see it. She couldnât keep him from that.
Off the stern, Steven wished he could see below the surface. The waters rushing back from the cut of their ship. He thought of all the mers they passed, hidden away, under all that great endless teal.
âI wish I could pop down there.â He thought aloud. âFeel some water in my fins. These legs are nice but Iâve never missed swimminâ so much. Probably do some good for you to, âf we had time to stop.â
âI canât swim.â Layla yawned, scratching her scalp through her frizzy curls, joining him.
Steven did a double take.
âYou canâtâ you canât swim??â
âNope.â
âWhyâre you on a bloody boat if you canât swim!âÂ
âSailing?â She raised a brow.
âShouldnât you be wearing one of thoseâ those preservatives?â
âLife preserver?â Layla stood up straight.
âThat! Yeah!â
âI am wearing a life vest. Well, usually.â She looked at herself. She had taken it off a while ago now.
âHow do you⊠get here, not knowing?â
âMy parents didnât like me getting in the water, so I never learned.â She shrugged. âI donât see the big deal.â
âThatâs bloody bonkers. I canât imagine not knowing how to swimâŠâÂ
All life Steven remembered living happened in and with water. People going their whole lives never even being submerged in it shocked him. That there were humans walking around who hadn't been weightless since the womb.
âI could⊠I could teach you, maybe?â He offered.
âYou? Teach me how to swim?â
âYeah.â
âNot with that foot of yours, I donât think. How did you get that, by the way?â She changed the subject so smoothly Steven hardly noticed.
âMy fin?â Steven curled his remaining toes in Marcâs modified boot heâd been wearing. It helped a lot with the walking. âOh. Iâve had it forever.â
âYeah, I know. Marc never told me how he got it. I was thinking if you remember things he doesnât maybe youââ
âI dunno! I had some sort of accident or something when I was a child.â
Layla stared at him.
ââS notâ âs not important.â He said. âSorry.â
Waves splashed against the hull, turbulence.
âIâve no idea.â He said quietly.
The scarring had always suggested he lost it, but Steven didnât have a good reference for so many of these things, and he wasnât sure about much of anything having to do with himself since heâd been impaled. Marc could have cut it off for all he knew.
âWell. Thatâs good to know.â Layla pushed off and headed back into the cabin.
âLaylaââ
âNo, I get it. I tell you everything you want to know about my life, all the stories I grew up with, what I do, what a taxi is, and you donât want to answer even one thing about yourself. You donât remember. Itâs fine. You donât remember anything.â
Layla looked past Stevenâs shoulder to a speck on the horizon, hackles raising.
âOh, shit.â
âWhat is it? Whatâs wrong.â
âWeâre being followed.â
Layla pulled out a spyglass and climbed up the outside of the cabin, leaning off to get a good look.
Gulls cried overhead, their screeches like a warning for what was coming. If only they could have been a little earlier. There wasnât a thing on the radar, and sheâd been monitoring it since they cast off.
âTheyâre going to catch up to us.â Layla huffed. âIf it was just the one Iâd say we could take them but I spot Harrowâs boat and some not friends of yours.â
âBounty hunters,â Steven inhaled, touching his chest through his shirt. âTheyâll try and kill me.â
âGet Marc. We need his suit.â
âHis suit?â
âThe suit! The robes, the armor.â She climbed down and gave him a look.
âNo.â Steven said. âNo Iâm not letting him. Iâll figure it out.â
âSteven he knows how to fight and this is going to be a fight. We canât let them get the map.â
âSheâs right, for once.â Khonshu folded his legs where he sat atop the cabin, looming over them. âGive Spector control.â
âYou keep it.â Steven said, picking up and tightly wrapping the paper, setting it in her hands. âI can do whatever it is he can. Donât make me go away, I donât know if or how I can come back again. I canât lose this.â
Layla met his eyes.
âYou can summon the suit?â
Steven nodded.
âI can see him.â He looked up at the god, skull tilted down at the both of them. âI donât see why not.â
âI really hope youâre right.â She said.
âFool of a trout.â Khonshu sighed.
âGoldfish...â Steven muttered, pouting to Gus in a small tank fastened into the seat at the console.
Arthur Harrow let down the shroud of mist concealing the ships. He didnât care for working with such characters, and he could live with them having Marcâs heart if he got the one he was after. He was hoping it wouldnât come to that.
His own hurt from holding the magic so long, his connection to his chosen patron god still weak at best, a familiarity, the traces of its magic by nature unpredictable.
He would let the hunters approach first. They were not to be part of his new world anyway.
They sent a harpoon into the side of the Scarab, winch winding with a loud whir.
Steven and Layla turned to where the sound of metal piercing metal rang loud through the air, the bounty huntersâ ship still at least a thousand feet out.
âYouâre going to want to hang on to something Steven!â
âIâm going to want to what?â
Four bounty hunters zip lined across, boarding the ship, and Layla swung the wheel, sending them starboard and turning the deck to a forty degree angle.
Steven tumbled into the console, securing the lid to Gusâs tank with his foot as it sloshed dangerously.
âNow would be a great time for that suit!â Layla called.
âWhat do I say suit?â Steven asked.
âSummon the suit!â Khonshu bellowed in his head.
âCome on Steven let me,â Marc demanded. âYouâre not up for this.â
Steven pressed his hand into his head and staggered out onto the deck as the boat righted itself.
He dove out of the way as a pirate lunged for him, and Layla hit the attacker up the head with the back of her rigging knife, taking his cutlass and slicing it across the chest of the longer haired one next to him, throwing the one that tried to grab her from behind forward onto the first, and finally clashing swords with the last.
âReally, really great time!â Layla said, louder.
Steven pulled himself up and narrowly avoided Laylaâs backswing.
âI donât know how!â He cried, terrified and awed as he watched Laylaâs swordplay and her dirty kick to her opponentâs shins that landed her enough height to smash his nose into her knee.
She kicked pirate number four hard in the chest as pirate number two went for her wrists, trying to wrangle the sword from her grip.
The third got up and made for Steven.
He was only a child. Couldnât be more than twelve.
Steven backed up towards the railing.
âPlease donât hurt me.â He shook his head. âCome on I canât be worth this.â
The boy brandished a knife and made a stab for him. Steven stumbled back on his feet, blinking. He was on the opposite side of the deck. There was blood on his fists. The kid was face down in the deck. Layla was getting the upper hand against the bounty hunter.
Steven hoping the blood wasnât the kids and having been paying some attention to his surroundings the last few days threw a toolbox over one of the pirateâs backs as he started to get up, regretting it as he turned and put his cutlass to Stevenâs throat, nose bleeding down his chin.
âNo, wait wait wait!â He screwed his eyes shut and his back hit wood. He was on the bounty huntersâ ship, against the mast.
Several crewmates were unconscious under him. He was holding a knife he dropped at the sight of blood trailing down his arm. One of his wrists was in a shackle he spotted the key for on one of their belts. He got to his knees and hastily freed himself with shaking hands.
âJesus, StevenâŠâ Marc tsked as he looked over the carnage.
âWhatâŠ? I didnâtâ Arenât you doing this?!â
âNo! You wonât give me the body! You think I fight like this?â
âThen who the hellâŠ?â
One of them started to get up, and he had a gun, a pistol just inches from their face.
âDonât shoot.â Steven immediately put both hands up. âIâm sorry, please donât shoot me.â
He heard the trigger click and fell on his face, back on the Scarab. He pulled himself up, spinning, looking around in disbelief.
Layla threw a body over the railing into the water, the boat accelerating unevenly a moment later.
âWe you stop standing around and do something to help!? Suit up, come on!â She shouted, dragging the next up.
âThis is mental.â Steven panted. His whole body was lagging, it felt like, or maybe just him, trying to catch up with where he was.
The kid made a grab for him, baring his teeth, and Steven only just got out of the way.
âStop him, idiot!â Khonshu bellowed.
Steven got ahold of his jacket, holding him to the railing. If he could knock all these people out he could hold a child till they could get him back to land and to his parents. He was stronger than him.
âThe Watery One returns!â The boy spat in his face.
âHey, whatâ?â Steven didnât get to finish his sentence.
The kid kicked off his ribs and sent himself hurtling over the edge, not just into the water, but the propeller of the boat.
Steven covered his mouth with both hands, crumpling back into a crate.
He couldnât do this. He was going to be sick.
âWhoâs the Watery One? What is Harrow even planning on doing with this heart heâs after!?â Steven cried. âThis is bloody ridiculous!â
âHarrow plans to attempt to summon Nun, the primordial chaos. We cannot let this occur.â Khonshu said.
âOh carp, which one was that!?â Steven pressed his temples.
Layla called his name, and hurried back to the cabin where she was.
She put his arm around her where he held tight, then spun and spun the wheel, skirting capsizing as she drove the boat in the direction opposite the bounty huntersâ.
She quickly realized the tether they had used to board them was still attached.
âI need you to hold the wheel, hold us on course.â She said, putting his hands at ten and two.
âO-okay?!â Steven looked at her and than as where Gus was duct taped into his tank, breathing hard.
Layla pulled a knife from her belt and slid to the railing, but before she could cut them loose the rope pulled taught between the ships and the whole deck lurched.
Steven was thrown through the window towards the water and only just caught the railing, boxes and glass and supplies splashing behind him till he was submerged. The deck took on gallons before buoyancy won over and pulled them back.
He wretched himself over and fell into his shoulder on the deck, gasping as he tried to breathe water and air and once and just made himself sputter. The sounds of the engine had stopped. He couldnât see Layla.
Harrowâs boat sidled up to theirs, easily twice the size. A plank was lowered, bridging them.
Harrow had watched, deducing. Steven, Marc. It was remarkable. The shift in him was enormous, instantaneous. He needed to remain vigilant against whatever he could be.
He took each step slow, peg hitting wood and then a thin layer of water as he stepped right onto the deck.
âPoor thing.â Harrow plucked an unmoving Gus up. He pressed his chest with his thumb, then flung the body into the sea.
Steven blinked up into the double lights, shifting a box as he tried to lift himself. That goldfish. No.
âSeize him.â Harrow commanded, sounding almost bored.
Billy and Bobbi both took one of his arms, dragging Steven up to him.
âYou remember me?â He requested, leaning his head low to look at him.
Steven kept his head down, staring at the flooded deck, his tail making any kind of resistance up here impossible.
âNo? Very well. This is Victor. He makes soup.â
Victor, as introduced, gripped Stevenâs shoulder and punched him so hard in the gut bile lurched up the back of his throat.
He hit him, again, and a third time, and then Harrow put his fist up, signaling for him to stop.
He didnât know why he wasnât blacking out, now, he needed it, his body hurt as bad as his heart, pain fill him completely, he couldnât believe Gus was gone.
âYou killed my fish.â Steven voiced, high and broken, breaking into a fit of coughs as soon as the words were out.
âThere you are.â Harrow said.
âHe was my fish, he was, I took care of him.â
âHeâs food, now.â
âIâm vegan.â Steven breathed.
âOh,â Harrow nodded, hand over his chest. âMe too.â
Steven glared at him through his curls. âHow could you?â
âIt was just a fishâ what did you say your name was?â
âSteven Grant.â Steven said.
âSteven,â he repeated. âArthur Harrow. Itâs good to meet you.â
âYou tortured me.â Steven pulled up defiantly, fin curling.
âYou must forgive that. I didnât know I was talking to you. You look just like him. Marc. You can understand my confusion.â
âYouâre not confused; youâre sick. Youâre a horrible, sick man.â
âItâs the world that is sick, Steven. You can let go of him, heâs no danger.â
The two goons set him gently on the deck, releasing him.
âI apologize how I treated you our last meeting. My attempts at reasoning were disingenuous. I did not realize you could truly be reasoned with.â
He crouched in front of him so they were eye to eye.
Reason, Steven thought. Something he could pick out in the pandemonium thus far. Metal. Blood. This could come to a reasonable end. No one else had to be hurt.
âWhat is it that you want this for? This power. The heart. Khonshu said you wanted to summon Nun. What for? What does that mean?â
âI take it your familiar with the Great Flood, an account in many religious texts.â
Steven practically scoffed.
âOf course. Itâs merhistory.â
âWell. It was but a taste of the waters of creation. I think itâs about time for another.â
âSo wait. You want to punish humans. Thatâs not very original.âÂ
âNo, Steven. I want to bring back the age of primordial chaos.âÂ
âThat would kill most of the merlife as well.â
âIt would. The worthy and fortunate would survive to bring about a new world.â Â
Stevenâs eyes searched him like the page of a book. Reason his tail. He couldnât believe what he was hearing.
âYouâre talking about killing billions of people!â He cried.
âSo that billions more may live. Think, Steven, think! I can tell youâre well read, act like it. Do you think change comes from mer swimming in their schools and courting and dying from pollution or starvation, or does it come from rising up against the powers that threaten us?â
âThis is not what that meansâŠâ
âCaptain Harrowââ Steven said.
âArthur.â He corrected.
âYou canât be bloody serious! You canât just murder all humans!â
âMurder implies Iâm killing them, and theyâre people. Neither of which are true. Think of it as cleansing, Steven. You would let vermin infest your garden.â
Steven stared at him, appalled.
âDidnât think so. Find her.â Harrow instructed Victor, standing. âShe couldnât have made it far. We need that map.â
âYou want this? Harrow?â Layla stood atop the cabin, half soaked, pearl inlay in her raised hand catching the light, sword at her side.
Harrow looked up. âGive that to me, now, and I will let both of you live.â He held out his hand.
âGo and find it!â Layla pitched the flat wooden box far out over the water, where it unceremoniously fell into the ocean with a plop! and began to sink.
âDo not let them make an escape!â Harrow called, rushing to the port bow, hair whipping in the salty wind, trying to pinpoint it in the water.
âYou will regret that.â Harrow glared back at her before hoisting himself up and across the plank back to his ship, Bobbi following close behind.
Two pirates. Their swords flashing.
Layla drew hers.
Steven needed a suit. He had to help her.
Like Marc. Just like Marc.
He took a deep breath, pressing his eyes shut. He could do this. He needed to. He couldnât let anyone else get hurt, or killedâ He threw himself onto his front.
He opened his eyes, looking at his reflection in the water over the wood. A cowl and hood concealed his face, wrappings surrounding his body, his hands, his forearms. Gold armor shone on his chest, a crescent moon. He had two knees braced against the deck, a loin cloth and cape trailing in the wet.
He got to his feet, balancing easily in the boot fitted perfectly to his disability.
He landed a right hook clean across the larger male pirateâs face, quickly apologizing before realizing heâd knocked him right out.
Steven blinked, but nothing changed. He did that.
Layla jumped down and joined him.
âMarc?â
âSteven!â As he spoke the hood pulled away from his face.
âYou did it!â She exclaimed.
âI did!â
âLook out!â
Steven caught the swing from Victor, throwing him to the deck where Layla stomped his lights out.
She took one of the discarded swords and cut through the harpoon, then tore into the cabin and got the motor back on, sending them speeding away from the two boats.
âWe lost the map,â Steven cried. âWeâll never find the tomb in the kingdom of the lost ocean without it.â
âThis map?â Layla pulled a damp wad of paper out of her chest pocket.
âWhat? How did youâ?â
âShit, I thought it had that thing on it?â She grit her teeth, inspecting the smudged ink.
âSpells break if the object is broken or tornâ you didnât let them have all of it!â
âOf course not.â
She carefully laid it out. It was legible. The important parts.
âHe has the outer part but all we need is the exact location.â Layla said. âWithout this heâll be gallivanting all over the desert searching. We get there first, we find it, we win. And I know where this is.â
âOh my gods I canât believe it. We might actually make it out of this in one piece.â
âWe just need to get to shoreââ
An explosion rocked the ship. Then another, harder, closer.
Steven held tight to her, terrified.
They both hurried out to the deck. They were sinking.
Another torpedo hit, this one practically under their feet, and sent them flying. Steven hit the deck, his ears ringing, and he heard Layla yell, and then a splash.
âLayla!â Steven screamed. He forced himself up looked over the side to no sign of her. He spotted her life vest floating amongst the ruined cargo of the Scarab.
She couldnât swim, she couldnât breathe. So much had happened so much faster than Steven could possibly understand, but he knew one thing: Layla would be dead in minutes if he didnât do something.
He dropped the armor, threw himself over the railing, and dove in after her.
Worlds Apart - goldfish merman!Steven Grant x pirate!Layla El-Faouly | Chapter Three
Warnings: awkward nudity (mentioned), angst, dry boarding, more mentions of violence and fictional genocide, skin irritation
Words: 3.7k
Rating: T
Summary: Steven goes on land and sleeps in Laylaâs bed, avoids Marcâs relationship issues, meets one of the enemies hunting them, hears a new voice, and uncovers what Marcâs been keeping close to his chest that everyone seems to want.
Happy MerMay everyone! I was finally able to come back to this and many other projects after a long period of kind of actually nonstop difficulties. I hope you enjoy and as always my beta is asleep
I didnât reread the first two chapters before I finished the third of this so I dunno if itâs inconsistent Iâll fix it later
AO3 Link
ââŠTake me with you.â
Steven had only seen the outskirts of land civilization, the bits and pieces near the shores and piers and beaches, the occasional car on the highway. He had never seen the city, filled with crowds, towering buildings, and traffic, and people, so many human people, his heart was racing and his ears were pounding as he clung tight to Laylaâs waist on the back of her Vespa.Â
Itâs smooth and mostly consistent movement would have put Steven to sleep if he werenât so enamored. Every little thing. Above the surface was so much more than heâd ever imagined or seen in books and the few movies he watched. Bricks. Weeds. Ladders and doors. Tiny short grass.
He felt as if everyone could tell how out of place he was. Even when he could confirm for himself by looking down that he was as unremarkable and ignorable as any other human, he still felt as if all eyes were on him, that they were silently picking him out and apart.
He buried his face against Laylaâs back and breathed deep, his helmet knocking against hers whenever they hit a bump.
Layla, contrastly, did not have time for this.
Still soaking wet from having to get down to help drag Steven up the cliff, she was in far from a good mood.
The more she heard Steven speak, the more clear it became this was much larger and deeper than a simple lapse in memory, an identity crisis, or some kind of head injury.
He was a different person.
She parked close to the entrance and helped him up.
He followed close behind her, into what she called an apartment, clinging tight to her arm to make it up the steps.
He hung back on the handrail in the exterior corridor while Layla dug out her keys to unlock the door, and in his tired absent state he turned his head out, over the courtyard.
The last of the sun was setting out over the south London skyline, hundreds a buildings. The wind whipped through his crusted curls.
He was overcome with a wave of vertigo at the height, shuddering at the lack of density and buoyancy he realized would make a fall from there nothing less than maiming.
Before he could dwell much longer on just how very many ways and times he had nearly died in just the last week Layla took his hand and waist and helped him inside.
âThis is amazing. This is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me.â
âIâm glad. Could you get the door?â
Steven pushed it closed, cutting off the last of the setting sunlight from the apartment.
Layla let out a long sigh and flipped on the light, leaving Steven squinting.
âIs there any place for a fish, a proper fish, Gus?â He asked as Layla set him in a chair and wrestled off her boots.
âGod no, but I canâ Iâll figure out something.â Sheâd seen his little friend while she was helping him get his pants on again.
Steven pulled him out of his bag and checked he was good, still swimming, and watched as Layla put the plug in and filled half the kitchen sink with water. He handed Gus over and she carefully slid the anxiously flapping fish out of the bag and into the temporary home, setting a cutting board over him.
âSatisfactory?â She asked.
âItâll have to do.â
âYeah.â
ââKay so um⊠sorry, but I donât think Iâve slept in three days. Is there like, could I justââÂ
âYeah, sorry, back there.â Layla pointed.
âOh, merci, thank you.âÂ
She supported him less than before into her room and left the door cracked, going on take care of whatever else while Steven without another thought flopped back and let the bedcovers consume him.
The weight was strange, he was so used to the pressure and support the water gave, he felt heavy and untethered in the flat, dry bed. It didnât even matter, it was soft and as soon as Steven got the covers wrapped tightly around his legs for security he was out, soundly and dreamlessly asleep.Â
He groaned and turned himself over, stopping when he felt he wasnât in his cot, and was most definitely not in Stevenâs underwater bed.
âShit,â Marc sat up and started to get up, and nearly fell on his face, not realizing his legs were bound up in the sheets like heâd been tied down.
He slipped one foot out and then the other, stumbled out of bed, straightened, and then stopped, anchored in place.
Laylaâs wedding dress.
He hadnât seen it yet; he wasnât supposed to.
Shit, she still had it. She still had the dress like they were still going to be getting married.
He reached out and his fingers glode along the silken fabric, the delicately stitched details, golden lace shapes with glass beads sewn in along the edge, matching the veil hung with it. He pulled his hand back. His eyes stung. It didnât feel real.
He dug around till he found some of his things tucked to the side of the closet, then dressed in a pair of dark gray canvas pants, a navy tee shirt and burgundy button up left unbuttoned.
He opened the door and headed down the hall to the kitchen, standing in the doorway.
He watched her for a moment, till she noticed and looked up at him. He straightened his posture and held his breath.
âMarc?â Layla said.
âYeah.â Marc sighed.Â
âYou asshole!â Layla not so gently threw down her coffee, storming the few feet between them and shoving him. âYou lying, lying asshole!âÂ
âYeah.â Marc closed his eyes. âI lied. I am an asshole.â
âIf you didnât want to get married, you could have just told me, if you were scared of being hunted forâ for being this, I wouldâve protected you.âÂ
âThatâs kinda the problem!â
All the things heâd dreaded about having to face her again were piling up one by one.
âYou donât have a suit, Layla. Just one bullet, one goddamn thing goes wrong and youâre dead.âÂ
âWhy didnât you tell me about any of this?âÂ
âYou wouldnât have understood.âÂ
âI am probably the only person who could have.â Layla pinches her brow, taking in a long breath and releasing it. âI was so scared for you, Marc, God.âÂ
âYou shouldnât have been.âÂ
âWhat was the plan for the heart? You took the map,âÂ
âI was going to find it before they did.âÂ
âRight. Without me.âÂ
Marc hesitated. âYes.âÂ
âYou are a real piece of work, Marc.âÂ
The small kitchen is still.
âSo about this⊠Steven. Whatâs that about? Whoâ who the hell is he?â Layla said.
Marc sighed and dragged his hand down his face. âSteven,â he said slowly. âHeâs, justâ look itâs not important.âÂ
âIâm sorry?â Layla deadpanned. âYou showed up on the bottom of the Thames as a mermaid with no memory of ever even meeting me, but that isnât important?â
âItâs not!â Marc snapped. âStopâ goddamnit, I donât want to discuss this.âÂ
âClearly. Why donât you go on ahead and tell me what is important to you, Marc?â
You, Marc so desperately wanted to say, but he just pressed his jaw.
âHey. If youâre likeâŠâ Layla gestured to her head. âThatâs not your fault, you know. Itâs not wrong. You donât have to hide that. Not from me.âÂ
âIâm not crazy, okay?âÂ
âI didnât say that.âÂ
âYou meant that.â
âI donât know, Marc! I donât know what this is! I justâ I want you to be okay.âÂ
âI am fine. Iâveâ I am not crazy. I have this under control.âÂ
âYou do not.â
âI do!â Marc shouted.
It got quiet.
âAsshole.â Layla shook her head.
Marc sighed and wiped his face with his thumb.
âYou should get rid of the dress.â He said, gesturing back to the room. âWonât be needing it.â
âI donât think youâre in any position to be telling me what to do.â
âOh so youâll listen to him but not me.â
âMarc, all this shit, I want to end it and be with you again! This sucks and I miss you so damn much every single day!â
It was all Layla had to not sob.
âPlease, talk to me, work with me, we can figure this out, we can try, please, Marc!â
She was not supposed to want to be with him anymore. Marc thought he had made sure of that. Just complete cutoff, no matter how much he wanted to pick up that phone and hear her voice and beg her to take him back he hadnât done it.
âIf you and Stevenââ
âNo, frick you, frick Steven, frick all of this! Weâre done.â
Layla grit her teeth. Â
âYou canât keep that map from me.â
âItâs not yours.â Marc spat.
âItâs what my father worked his whole life for. What he died for.â
Marc froze. His gaze drifted behind his eyelids and Steven fell forward on his bad foot and exclaimed loudly in alarm.
Layla only just got ahold of him before he fell on his face.
âOh my God, are you okay?â
âAh, great scallops.â
âSteven?â Layla said at the tone and choice of words.
âWhoa, thatââ Steven blinked, now wide awake. âThat was weird. How did Iââ he looked behind him to the hall and then to his clothes. âNo you know what actually nevermind.âÂ
He dabbed at the tears on his cheeks in confusion and shook his head.
âI didnât know you would justâŠâ
âYou were talking to Marc.â Steven said slowly.
Layla sighed. âI was.â She said.
He looked her over in silent worry for a moment. She looked numb.
âWhereâs the um⊠the⊠where you pee and stuff?âÂ
âBathroomâs in the hall.âÂ
âAh. Thank you.âÂ
He was slowly, almost maybe getting a hang of the walking thing. It felt more natural, now, he just imagined he was Marc out on the deck of one of those ships or in the streets.
He combed out his hair, completely obsessed with how very fluffy his curls were dry, how they framed his ears and face.Â
That odd wrongness heâd always felt at his appearance, it made more sense now. He was meant to be someone else, he had been someone else. It wasnât just him he was seeing in the mirror all those times he loathed his always droopy eyes or his too big nose.
It was Marc.
The clothes felt off, but he sort of looked good. Like one of the Spanish pirates from the illustrations in his books. The context that was very well what he was made Stevenâs head spin a little.Â
He was still a mer. That was still real.Â
He experimentally took a cupped handful of water from the sink, hiked up his cargo pants, and spread it down his thigh, watching the golden orange scales of his fishtail appear everywhere it touched.Â
âOh thank goodness.â He sighed, twisting his leg to inspect them, the way they sparkled in the sunlight from the high frosted shower window.Â
âWicked.â He murmured, grabbing the hand towel from the hoop by the sink and dabbing them away.Â
Steven finished up, left, and found Layla sat on a stool in the kitchen scratching harshly at the shiny scarlet patches scattered down her legs.Â
She looked up, then stood. âWow.â She shook her head. âYou look great.âÂ
âWhat?â Steven said. âYou think⊠you think I look nice?âÂ
âOf course I do.â Layla smiled and cradled his ear for a moment and Steven was sure he was having palpitations.Â
âUm. Wassat?â He inquired, clearing his throat.
âWhatâs what?âÂ
âOn uh⊠on your legs.âÂ
Layla tilted her leg out and looked at it.
âOh, itâs just my skin condition. Eczema. Itâs always bad after I get saltwater on me. Itâs fine.âÂ
âNo, I mean that.â He looked down and pointed.Â
Layla followed his gaze. âMy leg hair?âÂ
âLeg hair. That is wild. That is so cool.â Layla quirked a brow but said nothing, rolling down her pant legs.Â
She crossed to the fridge and opened it.
âYou hungry?â She asked.
âVery.â Steven said.
âGreat. Iâll make an omelette.â
âWhatâs⊠what is that?â
âThought youâd know, itâs French. Itâs just eggs andâ stuff mixed in.â She rattled some old condiment bottles as she dug through takeout containers.
âOh, um, I donât eatâ Iâm uh, Iâm vegan.âÂ
âYouâre a vegan mermaid?â Layla turned to eye him, trash in arm.
âMerman. Yeah.âÂ
âHuh.â She closed the fridge, tossed the weeks old containers in the garbage.
She looked him up, then grabbed her keys. âLetâs go out then.âÂ
She didnât want to stay here anyway.
âSo wait, are you also kosher? What, is there fish Yahweh?â
Steven and Layla walked down the London sidewalk, close, avoiding crowds. One foot after the other. Easy.
âI mean, itâs all the same history and culture, just cut off from yours now. I donât think Iâve met a Jewish mer, but they definitely exist.â
âThis is mind blowing. I wouldâve thought your entire culture would be different. Youâd have your own language, languages, religions⊠but we understand each other. Mostly.â
âI donât know what to tell you. Us fish arenât too different, in some ways.â
Layla stopped them in front of the cafe.
âWe do have some of our own religion. I could tell you all about it if you like.âÂ
âSome other time.â She said against her better curiosity.Â
âOf course. Itâs a little⊠busy?âÂ
âUh-huh. Alright, wait here. Donât stare at anyone and donât wander off.â
âYeah. Yep.â
The door jingled as Layla stepped inside and Steven sat in the metal chair under the overhang.
He breathed in. He didnât think heâd ever get enough of it, the scent of Earth and plants and cars. Land. He was falling even more in love with it.Â
He didnât know yet what he was going to do with being a landwalker. He would figure it out after breakfast. He wanted to see more. Do more.
He didnât care what Marc said.
He looked in the window and spotted Laylaâs vest, standing in line. A few people passed. Steven kept his eyes down to his folded hands. He got a strange prickle in his neck, and ignored it.
All at once there was a hand with a cloth around his mouth, a scream not leaving his throat as he inhaled and the sunny patio faded in an instant.
Consciousness seeped in slowly. He was in a chair, tied to it. There was light, but he felt a blindfold and his eyes were heavy to open. He lifted his head, and heard shuffling. Everything spun.
âMarc Spector.â Came a voice. âYou are not yourself, are you? So easy to capture. Please, untie him, thereâs no need.âÂ
The blindfold was tugged from his face and Steven blinked his eyes open, met with a frail, sharp looking man. His disheveled, cropped silver hair was tucked behind his ears. A checkered scarf was secured around the crown of his head, all the same leaving some in his eyes.
Steven noticed his foot appeared to be wood. It clicked against the floor with every other step.
Two other people similarly dressed were on either side of him. He recognized them. They had walked past the coffee shop. They undid the binds around his wrists.
The man leaned against the wall of some soft of office, wood panels, windowed door, where, he had no idea.
âLast we met you had the suit. What, have you broken free of that service?âÂ
âService?â Steven pulled at his ropes still binding his legs. Dead tight. They didnât budge.
âTo Khonshu. Donât be recalcitrant. You never win this game, only prolong it.âÂ
âI thought you were going to untie me?â Steven noticed he was keeping distance.
âIâm not foolish, Marc.â He said.
âIâm sorry, but Iâm not Marc Spector. I mean I am, but Iâm not. And I donât know what youâre talking about.âÂ
ââNot Marc Spectorâ.â He chuckled. âThatâs your best yet, marauder.â
He slowly began to circle his chair.
âMarauder,â Steven repeated. âNo, you have it wrong.â
âA hunter of our own kind. Ruthless. Vengeful.â
Steven chilled down to his bone. âMy own kind? What are you talking about?â
âDonât think I donât know what you are.â
His voice got loud behind him as he read, quoted.
ââFreshâ, well, Iâm sure they were fresh, âreal mer hearts; eyes, bone, scales, flesh, and sinews, priceâ negotiableâ, isnât that nice.â
âWhatââ
âThe six half and full mer you murdered. Canât stand the idea anyone gets to have what you havenât, can you?â
He held up a phone to his left open to photos of butchered mer parts, organs and muscles and limbs. It looked like a shop table.
Stevenâs stomach riled. âNo. No, thereâs no way Marc would do that.â
He didnât, he couldnât believe it.
The man put the device away, standing in front of him.
âIt doesnât matter. I believe you have something that rightfully belongs to me. Tell me what you did with the map. I donât want to hurt you, Marc. I really donât. I donât believe in what you do.â
âDonât you dare tell him, flounder.â A guttural voice stung his ears.
âWhat?â Steven blinked, trying to turn his head to the source, but it seemed to be all around him.
âGive control back to the sharp one. You have no idea what youâre doing.â
âNo, I donât.â
The blond gave a displeased hum. âWhat is happening? Who are you speaking with?â
âI donât knowâŠâ
âSo desperate, to resort to random bullshit?â
âIâm not bullshitting you, this is the second voice Iâve heard this week, I donât know about it either.â
âKhonshu.â He muttered. âWho else?â
âThatâs what Iâve been trying to tell you! Marc.â
He shed his coat and sat back in his seat across from Steven, his cheeks pushing his eyes up in scrutiny, bare arms across his chest.
âGet started.â He said with a sigh. âDonât be gentle. I have a feeling he doesnât remember the last time.â
He stood and left the room with a dull thunk of the heavy door and Steven was left alone with the two humans, their hands on him in an instant, securing his arms.
Stevenâs already shallow breath started to punch frantically out of his chest, he pulled, they held him down, his head back, his legs still restrained to the chair frame, he struggled as they stuffed a dry rag into his mouth, gagging when it brushed his palate.
One of them pulled a long strip of tape, snapping it and fixing it over Stevenâs mouth and nose, almost completely cutting off his breathing.
Steven really started to panic, already starting to get lightheaded from lack of oxygen, not salivating nearly enough to do anything to the dry cloth in his throat, adrenaline flooded his system and overtook his senses, he screwed his eyes shut tight in a pounding fit of desperate breaths and when he opened them again, he was in the middle of the street.
Stumbling to his knees, momentum told him heâd been mid jog, despite sitting less than a fraction of a second prior. He blinked, feeling his heart race, and looked up, then behind him.
Pirates.
He heard wheels screech up ahead.
Layla.
âCome on! What are you stopping for!?â
She tossed him his helmet he only barely caught and got it on his head before Layla pulled him behind her and took off.
âBroad damn daylight!â Layla snarled, her knuckles pale on her Vespaâs handlebars.
Steven buckled his helmet with one hand and clung for dear life.
âDid you give the map up?â She asked.
âThe⊠map? What map?â Steven cried over the roar of the motor. âWhat is all this about a map?!â
âIâm talking to Marc!â
âHeâs notâ I donât know where it is, I donât know where he is!â
âWe need to get out of here. I have a copy of Marcâs passport. Somewhere like Turkey maybeââ
âWait!â Steven shouted.
âWhat!?â Layla peeled to a stop, and Steven clutched her tight around the waist as they slid, his eyes screwed tight.
âWe need to get Gus!â He said as soon as they stopped moving.
âOh, you have got to be kidding me.â Layla took a deep breath and revved the engine, screeching off in the direction of the apartment.
Steven got Gus, gently put him back in the bag with a few bits of cracker he found in the pantry, apologizing again and again for dragging him every which way. He got his clothes, his fish, that was everything he came with. Except the book.
He turned her room upside down for it, it had been dark last night, but now he could see and he didnât let his attention linger on the wedding dress.
âDo you have everything? Come on.â Layla called from the hall.
âThere was a book, I had. A French poetry book. I need it.â
âDid you check the drawers? We donât have time for this!â
Steven stood back as she pushed past him and started to sway and carefully let himself down onto the carpet, rubbing over his heart.
His eyes drifted to something hidden, tucked between the edge of the door of the closet and the frame. He blinked, not believing it was real. He hadnât put it there. He took both hands and jostled the closet door to pull it free.
Desbordes-Valmore, Les Pleurs. The sillohuete of a woman in profile with two children playing with lanterns in the flower filled grass in the positive space. Steven wasnât sure how the title escaped him so many times, it was almost as if he was looking at it and only now seeing for the first time.
When he turned it over, it fell open to something tucked in the pages, an impossibly thin wooden box with layers of thick papyrus folded into it, like a frame, the bottom side was carved into to make a circle with four supports to each side, and inlaid in the middle was a flat irregular pearl cross section, its iridescent full spectrum of colors flashing in the sunlight.
âLayla?â Steven said, carefully lifting the delicate thing out, half the parchment unfolding and spilling into his hand as he did.
Layla slid the drawer shut with a rattle and turned to him, sitting back on her haunches. She looked first at him and then at his hands, her eyes going wide.
âThe map,â she said.
Steven met her eyes. âI think I just found it.â
Sorry, Habibti - Bassam (Body of Lies) x reader | Chapter Two
Warnings: cursing, lies, gun violence, more heated arguing, indirect child endangerment, killing, general angst
Words: 2.6k
Rating: T
Summary: You work closer with your husband than you have in years and find his old work is hardly over when your already packed day is interrupted.
I swear to fuck no one fucks with Bassam like I do
At last! It has returned! I actually got this ass movie on dvd just so I can enjoy him anytime
AO3 Link
Bassam got the breath knocked out of him all at once as his daughter jumped on top of him with all the energy and force a hyper kid possessed by a wild cat.Â
âBaba!âÂ
Bassam sputtered, coughed and groaned, and as he started to roll over, wakefulness hit him like a brick, his arm catching, twisted awkwardly behind his head, barely keeping the soft tissue in his daughterâs head from colliding with the floor.
âHana, Christ, stopâ climb back, baby.âÂ
She hit him in the gut as she hopped backwards, leaning across his stomach.
âIâm hungry.â
Bassam let out a long sigh, but smiled, rubbing her stomach.
âI havenât eaten anything proper in days. Oh, tell me we have food in the fridge, Iâll be glad if thereâs even one bit of egg or bread.â He shuts his eyes and his head slumps, imagining the kitchen he had of good things he hadnât had the likes of in what felt like an eternity.
âBaba!â Hana shook him and he startled, nearly dozing in just the seconds it had been.
âRight! Breakfast, my love, you need it now?â He was still exhausted. If it were up to him heâd stay here for another day or more.
She nodded vigorously.
âThen now it is.â He forced his tired body up, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into the kitchen.
Bassam had been having a good day, the best he couldâve hoped for after losing the thing keeping himself and his family afloat through all this instability and recession, his only source of income.Â
He had been hopeful and upbeat and looking forward to spending time with you, glad you werenât nearly as angry with him as he felt he deserved, delighted to see his daughter again after so many days, when heâd had to reconcile with himself he may never see her again.
Now the one beer didnât feel like nearly enough to even get to the shops.Â
It was crowded, as to be expected.
You and Bassam hadnât been shopping together since early in your marriage, before Hana was born.Â
It felt a little strange, because it was like back before he even started his no longer current job as a freelance informant, when you were newly married and still working out your lives, who did what, the responsibilities you shared and shouldered. They had all been shared up until youâd divided them up.Â
It was like youâd gone backwards.Â
Reading prices aloud to you while you held the basket and read the off the items on the list, synergistically working one item at a time.
âDid we not get last monthâs check?â Bassam asked after you made him put back the more expensive tea.Â
âNo.â You shook your head.
âShit! I didnâtâ I didnât get any severance, we donâtâŠâÂ
âThey didnât pay you anything for cutting you off and making it so you canât work in your industry after six years?â You scoffed. As if there wasnât insult enough piled on injury.Â
âYeah, well.â He sighed, shrugging. âThatâs Americans for you.â
âThere has to be some sort of legal recourse for you to get what youâre owed.â You said.Â
âNot when I already signed my silence. I signed everything.â Bassam groaned. âThey shredded my contract. I was just trying to get back home, and be put down.âÂ
You took a deep breath, then reached out and touched his arm.Â
âHey. Itâs alright.â You rubbed up and down his shirt sleeve.Â
He turned out of your grip.
âIâm sorry.âÂ
âHuh?âÂ
âIâm sorry Iâ sorry I just left you there like that on the street corner. That was shitty. I was just so overwhelmed. I canât feelâ I was almost happy, for a second, everything was not so bad, and now itâs like I donât know what Iâm feeling or if itâs even okay or I canââÂ
âBassam, baby, shhh. You had it in the first half.âÂ
âI am not angry with you. This isnât your fault. If itâs another kid I know Iâll love it. Promise. I wonâtâ Iâm not angry.â
âI know you will. I know. One thing at a time.âÂ
âTwo things at a time. Or I will start to panic.âÂ
You rolled your eyes a little but nodded, standing up straight.
âHow are we on rent?â He asked.Â
âClear to next month.â You said. âWeâll ask for help. My sister. We can ask her. She understands what a mess this is.âÂ
Bassam picked his head up, the worst kind of revelation flashing behind his eyes.Â
âDidâ did you tell her I was going to go to Balad?â He asked slowly.
âYes.â You looked at him.
âOh shitâŠ.âÂ
âWhat is it?âÂ
âYou were not supposed to tell her that! Fuck⊠What possessed you!âÂ
You blinked, glancing at the few other patrons in that part of the shop.
âI just said you were headed up and thatâs why you couldnât come to her party.â You replied lowly. âI didnât know it was spy stuff!âÂ
Bassam rubbed over his brow hard, like he was trying to wipe his brain out of his head completely.Â
âYou told her when you were working up farther north for the week last year,â you said. âI just thoughtâŠâÂ
âThat was not fucking sensitive information.â He snapped.Â
âBassam, do not speak to me that way. Do not curse at me.â
Yes, maybe you had screwed up, but things like this had never once been a problem before. You could name one time total you had even talked about it before today.Â
Bassam swallowed the embarrassment of being commanded by his wife in public, keeping his focus to the most pressing things at hand.
That irritation that made you slap your spouse of eight years for the very first time rose in your chest again and you bit your tongue to not tell him off while he was down, seeing your part in everything and feeling ashamed as well as annoyed.
âHeâs so fuckinââŠâ he growled, then hummed hard, breathing in deep through his nose, his arm on the aisle shelf.
You opened your mouth to speak but didnât get to.Â
The glass of the storeâs front windows shattered, suddenly finding yourself on the ground with Bassam on top of you, scanning the front part of the store with wide eyes. It took a second before the other patronâs screams registered in your ringing ears.Â
âBassam what in the name ofââÂ
âNothing good, I need you to get down and stay down!â
He crouched back and pulled you to your knees, all but shoving you behind the nearby shelf.Â
âIâ whatââ more glass shattered and you tucked your head into your arms.Â
âGet out the back door, I will meet you in the alley.â
âBassam Iââ
âNow, I will meet you, go!âÂ
You looked to him and than to the feet between you and the exit and when he pushed you again you ran for it.
You burst out the door into the shaded afternoon sun, heart racing, feeling like you needed to throw up. You didnât even realize there were tears streaming down your face till you wiped it and felt your shirt wet. You let the brick wall opposite the store hold you up as you took deep breaths and tried to pretend the gunshots you heard inside were just the clatter of shelves and bottles.Â
More crashed. Glass. Groceries. Gunshots. You stayed put.
Bassam appeared a minute later from the same door you came out of, anxiously pulling at his loose hair, breathing hard.Â
âWhat is going on?â You demanded.Â
âYalla, habib.â He hurried up to you. âWe have to go, câmon.â You tore your wrist out of his grip.Â
âBassam we were just shot at I am not going anywhere until you tell me what is happening!âÂ
âI donât know!â He screamed. âI donât fucking know but I cannot keep you safe here!âÂ
You saw what looked like blood on his sleeve.
âWe need to stay off the streets, out of sight, get back home and figure out what the hell weâre going to do. Now, come on.â He held out his hand.Â
You stared at your knees. Your chest hurt, the alley was spinning. You had milk on your clothes. You hadn't even noticed the floor in there was wet with it.
âHabibti. Come on. Please. Before someone else shoots at us.âÂ
You raised your head and hesitantly took his hand. âWhat kind of trouble are we in?â You asked softly.Â
He shook his head.Â
âA lot of it.â He said.Â
Bassam pushed the bed out from the wall and tore the wallpaper back, pounding by the baseboard in intervals until a panel popped open. He pulled a thick tactical duffel bag out, set it on the bed, then spread out and started assembling a shotgun.Â
Your gaze dragged over the spread, your breathing increasing as you processed that everything in front of the both of you had been in your home. For years.Â
âHabibi you said you cleared all the guns out the house when Hana started walking!â
Bassamâs eyes flicked to yours, but only just; his focus was on the gun pieces in his hands.Â
âYeah, I lied.âÂ
You took a deep breath, dragged your palms down the sides of your face. You almost wished he hadnât come back.Â
That terrible calm over his features, that mask, it was a character, and not one you had seen in a long time. You hated it, because it was not the man you married, and not one that belonged in your home.Â
You wanted him to snap out of it, but at the same time you knew you needed him on full alert and at his professional best. For both your safety. If you had any hope of getting out of this alive.Â
Bassam finished assembling the shotgun and then loaded it and the pistol in the pouch of the bag, tucking it into the back of his waistband.Â
You were about to ask him what you should do when he shoved you behind him, rushing forward and colliding with some stranger somehow in your doorway. Two bullets hit your wall.
A shotgun hit the intruder.
You husband rushed out into the hall and you heard struggle, more shots. A man crashed back through the doorway, hitting your dresser and sending clothes everywhere.
Bassam kicked him in the head before he could get back up, pulling the pistol from his back and shooting him in the face, splattering blood across your bedroom carpet.Â
He loomed tense over the body, his brow knitting. He crouched and opened the assailantâs jacket.Â
âHeâs American.â He said.Â
âWhat?â You couldnât look.
âHeâs an American contractâ oh fuck.âÂ
He quickly stood, dropping the wallet and turning to you.Â
âHabibti we need to get out of Iraq as soon as possible.â Before you were even quite sure what he had said he was wrenching you up and all but dragging you over to the closet.Â
âOnly what we need, hurry, we do not have time. None at all. I don't know how soon thereâll be others.âÂ
âI donât understand, I thought you said you canât leave the countryâ!âÂ
âIt doesnât matter, if we stay here we are dead, not a matter of if, just when. We will be dead.â
You met his eyes, dark.
âWe have to leave.âÂ
âHana.â You said.
âTell her itâs an emergency but she needs to stay calm, she needs to get Hana across town, sheâs going to have to stay with your sister.âÂ
You nodded, catching the phone he tossed to you and taking his hand. He pulled you up.
âTell her no matter what she cannot bring her back to the apartment.âÂ
You glanced down to where her room sat through the wall.
âFor how long?âÂ
Bassam swallowed hard didnât meet your eyes. Your heart dropped.Â
âOh God.â You murmured, fighting to keep the tears down.Â
âHey, we will see her again, I promise, I just donâtâ she will not be safe with us. But we will sort this out and come back.â He put a hand on your arm soothingly and pulled out another of his many burner phones, shaking it for emphasis.Â
âFerris gave me a contact, I know a guy, he can get us out of dodge and from there I call Ferris and he can stop whoever the hell is out to get us.âÂ
âOkay,â you nodded weakly, trying to keep it together. âHanaâll be okay. Weâll be okay.â
âYes, come.â Bassam pulled you alongside him.
You gripped the strap of the bag youâd filled with only your most important possessions, as well as two changes of clothes and a first aid kit.
The woman down the hall from you with three small children. One of them was clinging to her pant leg, his wide eyes fixed to the glint of your husbandâs shotgun as you left your apartment.
âGo inside. Donât come back out.â Bassam instructed.Â
You stuck close behind him down the stairs, hardly feeling your legs move.Â
Bassam halted when you reached the bottom and checked around the corner before gesturing down the street you were going to take.
You breathed in measured silence between paces, moved careful, close steps from each point to the next, through doors, down stairwells, along halls and alleys and roofs, until you finally with a pounding heart and aching ankles made it past the curfew guards and out of town.
The sun was setting as you left the complex, and now it was dark, the last unpaved street past the last few scattered buildings was open desert, dark and wide and full of stars. You kept low along a ridge out of sight of a convoy heading into town and settled beside a gravel slope leading to the road.Â
Bassam made a call, and you crouched there hand in hand in silence for what felt like hours, your jacket only just keeping the chill off your skin and the rocks from digging into your back, before headlights blinked on the horizon and a truck stopped off the road up the ridge.Â
He conversed briefly with the driver, and then you both clambered into the backseat, adrenaline having worn off, you finally let yourself breathe properly, in and out.
Bassam felt you over for injuries and even though you knew you hadnât been shot, the shock in your bones and the unpleasant buzz of every nerve makes it feel as if you have. You close your eyes and press your head into the seat, trying to let the dark seep deep enough for you to rest, but it doesnât want to come.Â
âI am so sorry, habibti.â You open your eyes. In a strange way you had almost forgotten he was with you. Heâd been so quiet, so focused. Like an instructor rather than a guide.
âThis was never supposed to involve you, our neighbors, HanaââÂ
âI knew what I was getting into when I married you, habib.â You reached to hold the back of his neck tight and pulled his head against yours.Â
âDid you?â He whispered.
The car rumbled over rocks. You held your husband and hoped your baby was okay. Both of them, if you had another now.
If you all survived and made it back together it would be enough.
Warnings: Marc is so autistic he may give secondhand embarrassment, canon typical violence to open, Steven and Jake are here but not here
Words: 1.2k
Rating: T
Summary: Marc barely makes it in time to save your relationship, only to find nothing needed saving.
Imagine and pretend with me I finished this when I started it in February
AO3 Link
The blade sinks straight through to the pavement, lodging in the composite like cold butter.
He thrashes, one last feeble grasp at self preservation, then falls limp, dead, against the icy sidewalk.
Marc breathes a sigh, as much relief as anguish. The guy had a closed up piercing in his left ear, like all the older kids were getting when he was in school. Heâs not gonna forget this one anytime soon.
He frees his weapon, stands and catches sight of the moon through the clouds. Itâs moved much, much more than it should for the time of night it is.
He makes off down the street, panicked. Heâs super late.
For a moment Marc has no clue why the cashier is looking at him like that âhe hadnât even been talking to himself in the storeâ but as soon as they hand the bag over and he reaches to take it he cringes at the white of his wrappings, holding his breath till heâs down the street and can drop the armor, let it peel and pull away, leaving him in his meticulously picked street clothes touching everything. Everything.Â
He smooths his curls back and paces out his steps like bullets in a magazine, loudly venting criticisms under his breath even though heâs pretty sure Steven isnât around. Terrible, inconsiderate, incapable.Â
He gets to your building and is about to ring the buzzer to your apartment when he stops himself, checking his reflection in the metal plate by the doorbells. Jake rolls his eyes back, teasingly.
He looks really. Just too much. Tired. He tilts his head. Good enough? SĂ. Good enough.
Good enough.
He presses the button.
âHello?â Your voice answers a few seconds later.
âItâs Marc.â
The door clicks and Marc opens it, striding up the stairs, leaving degrees of February chill behind with each step till heâs to your floor.
âHey,â he says when you open the door wide awake in your pajamas before he even knocks.
âAre you okay?â You ask in a serious tone above a whisper and below speaking, concern piercing his chest.Â
He doesnât answer. He holds up the bag. âI promised you weâd do something for Valentineâs Day, so, hereâs something. Iâm sorry itâs so late.â
âHuh?â
Marc inhales, lets his lungs fill and his expectations empty. âIf⊠if this is it, I get it. Itâs fine.â
He wonât plead, or try and make any promises, heâll just leave.
âMarc, what are you talking about?â
âYou told me if I blew you off one more time we were done.â
You stare at him.
He shifts on his feet.Â
âWe didnât have plans today.â He says.
âNo. We didnât. You told me you had work.â
âI did??â Now all Marc can think about is how that guy didnât have to die, how Steven is overstepping and getting involved in his relationship, unless he just forgotâ
âYou are so weird. You want some popcorn?â
He stops mentally reading back through your texts, interpreting words, and just nods.
âYeah.â He says shortly.
You push the door open and he follows you inside, shedding his jacket.
âIf it wasnât you, this time of night, I wouldâve thought someone had died.â
He sets his shoes a bit away from yours and rubs his ear.Â
âSorry.â
âDonât be,â you stretch your back, âIâve been up.â
âI can see that.â He murmurs, dragging his mind along. He takes in your den, the blanket spread on the couch in front of the TV.
âYour roommate?â He asks.
âOut.â You say.
âRight.â He sets the bag on your coffee table.
âOh. You didnât have to get me anything,â you start, and quiet immediately as you open the bag to no less than three big slices of convenience store cake. âNever mind.â
Marc softens, glad something simple enough for him to get down was enough to get a smile. Thatâs all he wanted.
âHold on, Iâll get some forks, put on some tea.â
You pad into the kitchen and Marc feels you leave in his bones, itâs like the temperature drops, it gets dimmer.Â
âDonât just stand there,â you call from the kitchen, not even having to look. âSit down.â
He smooths his shirt out and sits in the far corner of your couch. He doesnât touch the big bowl of popcorn in your spot.
You come back a minute or two later with two mugs of tea, matching tiny plates, and silverware.
You dig through the plastic and pop the red velvetâs clamshell case open, roughly split it with your fork, tilting half onto the plate closest to him.
âUh, I got it for you. I wasnât reallyââ
âBaby eat some cake with me.â You eye him with an annoyed smile on your face.
Youâve never called him baby before.
You cut the chocolate heart on top in half and set it next to his piece, seeming to forget you brought a second plate and putting a big bite of crumb and frosting straight from the container in your mouth, humming contently.
It contrasts.
Marc eats as you do. Takes when you offer. Thinks with every action.Â
The snow falls. The diffused dark lessens. His fingers get salt and powdered sugar on them. You turn the show back on. Sounds flatten and fill.Â
He drinks his tea, lightly sweetened clean against the taste of preservatives, butter flavor, and cheap cocoa lingering on his tongue. Theobromine and sucrose cling to his system like sticky weights. The back of his throat goes from clear to thick while his head does the opposite.
Thinking less.Â
âYou need another pillow?â You ask, nearly startling him. On his face he just looks on the edge of sleep. He isnât.Â
He processes the room again. You again.
The episode has ended. Or maybe you closed it. Itâs quieter.Â
âNo, Iâm gonna go.â He glances to the window, exhales, starts to get up.
He didnât notice your knee was against his thigh, now heâs stopped, staring at your hand on your leg nearly on his.
He doesnât know if the two of you are this close. He canât remember if youâre touchy or reserved or if you expect something more than heâs been doing, if heâs already screwed something up.
Your eyes say no, but heâs been wrong before.Â
âSunâs gonna be up in like two hours. Itâs freezing cold. Just stay here, itâs fine. Please stay.â
Marc doesnât want to leave. He doesnât want to go back out there. But this was your home and your things and heâd already overstayed without appointment, showing up this late, taking your time and attention, letting himself lose track.Â
âJustâ not my bed.â You say, pulling comfortably away from him. âHave the couch.â
Thank God. A line. Tangible.
Something he can work with. Comprehend.
âWeâre not there yet, itâs good weâre not there yet.â Marc rattles off a little anxiously. âIâll stay on the couch.âÂ
âYeah, tell me about it. Always so much pressure. Iâve got secrets in there, man. âNight!â
ââNight.â He sighs.
Itâs so fast, you stash the few things away, dishes, trash, turn out the lamp, and disappear into the hall.
Marc waits for your bedroom light to go off, as long as that takes, he waits, then he lays flat on his back in the warmth your body left, eyes lidded to the ceiling, his breathing even, his clothes unbunched.
Calm.
Tepid.
Alone.
The blankets smell like you.
And he feels safer, no stakes, no danger, no complex signals, nothing to navigate, away from everything cold and severe, safe falling asleep.Â
One arm over his forehead, the other across his stomach.Â
One date at a time, he could allow himself this. He could.Â
Warnings: embarrassment, fluff, possibly insensitive jokes, Marc isnât in the relationship but heâs in the relationship, kissing, a little dirty
Words: 1.2k
Rating: T
Summary: Steven finds a lot of people liked your wedding photos for a reason he didnât notice.
AO3 Link
When you walk into the apartment Steven is at the table with his mouth in his hand.
Spread across the table is three thin envelopes. Your confusion turns to excitement turns to concern when you realize what they are.
âHey, whatâs wrong?â You tug off your coat and ask.
âMn? Oh. Nothing, love, nothing.â
âThese the prints?â
âYeah,â he nods. âThereâs the⊠they really got the sunlight, nice, and your dress, just brilliant.â He pushes a couple more out, absently tapping the table.
âWhat is it?â
âThey look really great. She did amazing, she did.â
âWhatâs this then with yourâŠ?â You gesture to him, all of it.
Steven takes in a long breath and slides one photo to you.
You warm instantly. Itâs one you want to frame, for sure. Really simple, elegant, big, genuine smiles, almost laughter, both of you in profile embracing each other.
âOh, thatâs a nice one.â
âIt looks like Iâm feeling you up!â Steven exclaims, rubbing into his eyes. He adjusts in his seat. âThese are all over your and her page and no one said a thing!â
He pulls out, opens, and holds up his phone, and you squint. You tilt the screen up and try to decipher whatâs happening with the UI amongst huge text boxes. You have no clue how he navigates apps with it.
âUh, Steven, the comments are down here.â You say, tapping them open.
âWhat?â He takes and looks at it, breathes in, then stops. âHold on does that say 4,6k as in four thousand??â
âYeah. I told you. People really loved our wedding photos.â
âFour thousand people liked it!?â
âWell, lot are probably bots.â
âOh my God, how many people noticedââ
You show your teeth. âLooks like a lot?â
Steven shuts off his phone and dumps it one the table. âIâm gonna die. Oh God, that couldnât possibly be any more embarrassing. Why are that many people following her! I mean great for her, really greatâŠâ
You pick up the photo off the table. It really isnât obvious until you give it a good look. What draws the eye is your faces, the light. The boob grab is tertiary.
You remember why it happened. Steven had been holding you around the waist, a little too close, a little too uptight, continually glancing into the camera.
âIâm ruining the photo.â He murmured, reaching and tugging at the tab at the back of his shoe, tapping his heel in like he had done a hundred times.
âItâs okay.â You said.
âItâs not okayâŠâ
âJust relax.â
âYou know the word relax is like designed to stress you out as much as possible.â
You thought a moment, staring at his lapel, lifting your eyes to his and tucking a curl off his face beside his kippah.
âMaybe we should stress you out as much as possible.â You said. âDo you think we could get Marc to object in the middle of the ceremony? Just object, and start a big fight with you, right before it happens, right in front of everyone.â Â
Some of your friends knew Steven had some sort of disorder, that he was neurodivergent and all around atypical, but not a soul other than you and Layla knew he was more than one person, and he wanted to keep it that way.
The sheer absurdity of what could be the most important day of his life being completely ruined, so irrevocably and spectacularly, by his alter at the altar, punched a nervous laugh from his chest, first pulling away from you, breaking that forced, uncomfortable performance, then moving back in with a fond smile.
It was an instant, just a snapshot, where his hand brushed across the top of your breast, ending up on your shoulder, then cupping your face while he responded discreetly, teasingly, how he would seriously, never in his life forgive Marc if he did such a thing. The prospect he even would was so ridiculous, it stopped his spiral in its tracks.
Disconcerted, sincere, calm.
Unintentionally candid, three clicks.
And it wasnât only the best one, it was really a perfect photo. Right in that second, all Stevenâs anxiety disappeared, knowing he was so loved and his trust was so well placed no such thing could never happen, being with someone who knew him well enough to joke about it and not even feel bad, the rest were fine, right after was a little sappy, before he looked freaked out, but just between, you were smiling wide and confident, and Steven looked just about the absolute happiest he could be.
It was weird to think none of the hundreds of people liking the photo could see or know that, why he was really happy, the joke you were sharing, how his laughter shifted through a Rolodex of emotions as varied as his identities.
It was why you picked it to post. You, him, and Marc had all looked at that smile and said yeah, thatâs him, thatâs Steven.
âI think itâs sweet.â You say. âIt was a complete accident. You were having such a hard time relaxing, and, well, you got very relaxed.â
Steven groans and leans his head back.
You shrug. âItâs not a wardrobe malfunction. Itâs not even really inappropriate. Just an accident. Kinda funny.â
âItâs raunchy.â He takes it, gives it a disapproving look and sets it face down. âMay as well be up your fanny picking berries out of frame.â
You snort.
âItâs not funny!â
âSorry,â you drop your smile and yourself into the seat next to him. âWhat do you want me to do?â
He sighs. âI dunno. Iâm just sorry I didnât notice it sooner.â
âI think it looks fine. And Iâm not just saying that.â
âDoesnât make me look like a pervert?â
âNo,â
âYouâre sure like, âcause Iâm only seeing how naughty it looks. People were sayingâŠâ
You stop his hand before he can reach to pick his phone back up.
âSteven, we were married like two hours later. You werenât doing it on purpose. No photo could ever look just right because nothing is that perfect.â
You brush his fingers one at a time till you get to his ring.
You lean in. âBut you know, later that night you sure were.â You sneak a kiss under his earlobe and he folds like youâre hot to the touch, practically whining.
âLove!â
âNo one saw any of that except Marc, huh?âÂ
Heâs fully flushed now, shading his face.
âHe helped you lose your virginity.â
He puts a hand up. âNo, not directly, he minded his own business during, he did.â
âAnd his business after.â
âNo, stop!â He laughs. âHe didnât. He did not!â
âHe can handhold as much as he wants.â
He clears his throat.
âHe mightâve, a little,â Steven mutters. âLike we said would be fine.â
âIâd be disappointed if he didnât. Like, what, he doesnât want you to do a good job?â
He shakes his head. Your back and forth with Marc was possibly his most favorite thing. It just clicks. âI love you.â
âI love that smile we got in this photo.â
Stevenâs eyes lower. âYeah, all right.â
âAll right?â
âYeah. Itâs er⊠it is really pretty.â
âYou sure are.â
You press a kiss to his lips, just a soft peck against his labrum, and he tilts his head to smooth the two of you together, shoulders hunched and pads of his fingers trailing your jaw.
You break apart and Stevenâs eyes follow you with affection as you pull your chair up closer and gather up the rest of the photos to start sorting.Â
Warnings: serious injury, near death, whump, low angst, proposal disappointment (you do get engaged! Sorta)
Words: 1.3k
Rating: T
Summary: Poeâs plans are ruined when you ask him first, but he can hardly complain.
A short oneshot from way back when that I completed
We are not fans of hothead Poe here this is workaholic Poe that just wants his engagement to be perfect. Someone tell him you usually talk about getting married before you propose
AO3 Link
Miraculously, he was alive.Â
His X-Wing had been shot down, controlled crashed through the trees into a pit of underbrush.Â
He had been suspended from his safety belt, half the control panel lodged against his left side. Multiple things had ruptured, he was bleeding internally, bones were compounded, skin was missing.
There was so much blood, the smell of burnt flesh.Â
He was conscious, blinking mutely up at the bright lights when they brought him in, breathing shuddering, shallowly, painfully.Â
It was the worst pain heâd felt in his life. It didnât seem to come from anywhere, it was inside, outside, all of him. When he looked down he could see nothing but red and char, he tasted blood and sick, and there was so much noise, but between the ringing and oxygen over his face it was all muffled and sharp in the sides of his head, no words, just stabs of shouts and hurried crashes of back and forths.Â
He recognized the colors of medical droids and doctors, the real and artificial voices overlapping. Why he wasnât unconscious, he had no idea.
âGet him a sedative and prep anesthesia, we need to operate stat!âÂ
Sedative, was all he could latch onto. Please.
He wanted to sleep.
Ever so slowly, his eyes opened just enough to take in the room. He could see, that was good. He was back at base, on Dâqar, he recognized the stone.
His eyes landed on you, curled in on yourself, in a seat to his right.
It took him a minute to speak, like he had to find the parts of his body inside himself one by one and reconnect them.
âHey. No cryinâ over me. Thatâs not allowed.â He rasped with a smile on his lips.Â
âPoeâŠ!âÂ
He could see the smeared teartracks down your face, how tired you looked. His body still hurt, but not nearly as much as knowing how bad you must have been hurting seeing him like this.Â
Youâd been together months on at this point, serious stuff, dancing, cuddling, after meetings together, late night rendezvous with smuggled games or snacks.
He was so happy to see your face again.Â
âStarlight.â He couldnât feel, much less move his arms, but he so much wanted to hug you.
âPoe,â
âWhy am I breathing weird?âÂ
âThereâs a⊠thereâs a tubeâ your left lung, it was punctured, collapsed, there was bone in it, they had to get you oxygen.âÂ
âThereâs a tube in my lung?âÂ
You nodded.Â
âLike a straw. Real high tech stuff.â He joked flatly and coughed a couple of times.
His chest heaved stutteringly.
âEverything fucking hurts.â He wheezed, wary to shut his eyes, genuinely afraid he wouldnât have the energy to open them again.
âI am so sorry.â
âWhat are you sorry about?â He teased. âThat was me. Iâm alive. I am alive, right?â
You tapped your fingers over the readout from his heart monitor. âYep. Still alive.â
He hummed. âCanât complain then.â
You smiled and hummed, wiping your nose.
âThey said you might not remember what happened. Well they said you might not remember anything at all.â
âI crashed,â he groaned. âI remember that much.â
âYou donât remember waking up before now?â
âNope.â
âYou were awake a couple times. Werenât really here. They upped your meds.â
âDidnât say anything weird, did I?â
âNothing weirder than usual.â He sneered playfully at that, ignoring the pull on the tubes down his face.
He glanced at the food packaging and trays on the table beside you, which confirmed what he already thought.
âYouâve been here since I was brought in.â
You nodded.
His heart clenched.
âAnd how long has that been,â he said, softer, making your skin prickle.
âTen days.â
âGrief,â he sighed.
âYouâve been grounded through the year.â
âWhat?â He alarmed himself and grit his teeth around the pins erupting through his skin.
âGeneralâs orders.â
âOh that is such bullââ
âPoe thatâs the soonest youâre going to be able to see if thereâs going to be lasting damage to any of your organs. Itâs not gonna be for another month you can even try to walk.â
âI donât need to walk to fly a ship.â
âYou have got to be kidding.â
âIâm gonna talk to her.â
âYeah, you know, as soon as you can sit up.â
Hearing you say it made it sound a little ridiculous. In a few weeks, thoughâ no. This wasnât that easy.
âIâm sorry. You know, maybe some time down will help I⊠I forget other things are important.â
Heâd taken this mission and blown right through his date, nearly lost everything.
âYou are so fortunate, you know that? It doesnât seem like it, but you were really almost gone there.â
âIt doesnât feel real.â He said. It didnât feel like almost two weeks ago. It couldâve been nothing and he wouldnât feel any different, at least he doesnât know how he could be more numb.
âI know. Believe me, I know.â
You took a deep breath and sat in the quiet of the recovery room.
âI wonât go back up.â He said. âUntil this⊠healing, passes.â
He didnât like saying it, acknowledging it, but he meant it. He needed to slow down. This was the softest warning he could get that would really change his mind. He couldnât risk not being here.
âThank you.â You said.
âDonât mention it. Please.â
He would need to find other ways to contribute or he would drive himself nuts. One thing at a time. You were exhausted.
âHey, as much as I love having someone to talk to, for the love of all that is good get a walk, get outta here. Iâm fine, Iâm like ninety-five percent sure.â
âYouâre lucid and you want me to leave?â
âI can tell just looking at you. Youâve done way more than anyone should have to. You look awful.â
âYou canât see yourself right now.â
He raised his brow and sighed. âNot wrong there. Iâm sure itâs not so bad. Come on, donât make meââ
âPoe I want to get married.â
Poe was sure he hadnât heard you right.
âYou donât have to answer. I just spent this whole time so scared I was going to lose you and I donâtââ
âYou havenât been getting enough sleep.â
There went his plans like the wreck of his ship. You were tired, you couldnât mean it.
âPoe, itâs fine ifââ
âOf course Iâll marry you.â He chuckled. âIf, and I mean if, you walk, right now, get air, some sleep.â
âAre you serious. Iâm sorry, I know you need to rest, you donât have to say.â
âI am. I said it. Itâs okay. Iâll be here.â He smiled, cherished your face with his gaze. âIâll marry you.â
You lit up.
âWas there a necklace, a necklace I was wearing when they admitted me?â He asked seemingly out of nowhere.
âIâ I donât know, you went in to surgery, I didnât see anything.â
âShhhit.â Poe inhaled. He took that at face value. Heâd lost it. Heâd known it was a risk, wearing is everywhere. What mattered was he was still here. That he could still get married at all.
âThough there was this bit of metal that was with your clothes, there was this.â You dug around between the things of flowers beside his bed and held up a little loop of steel.
âOh, thank goodness!â He laughed, relieved, not truly realizing how much he needed it. Proposing to you without it wouldnât feel right. Though, he would need his hands for that. Standing wouldnât hurt either, or, well, it would for a while, rather.
âYou keep that. Keep that safe.â He said.
âI got it.â You nodded. âWhat is it?â
He was still going to do it properly. It wouldnât be perfect, it didnât need to be, but Poe was nothing if not a listener to his heart.
âIâll tell you later.â He said, and his eyes crinkled with felicity. âGo.â
You pressed the lightest kiss to his temple, stroking his exposed fingers, and left to go find a bed with the ring clutched tight between your own, your mind finally restful enough to sleep, but your heart pounding with joy.
Just Like Gardening, Just Like Piloting - Poe Dameron x reader
Warnings: childbirth, pregnancy, survivorâs guilt, angst, bittersweet, crying, the Hosnian Cataclysm, mentions of pee blood and amniotic fluid, male fertility issues
Words: 5k
Rating: M
Summary: Poe just barely gets you and his unborn child off the planet before itâs destroyed, but it puts you into labor.
or
In a galaxy far, far away where Poe never went to pilot academy, never joined the Resistance, and instead settled on one of the safest planets you could find to start a family with the love of his life.
Happy May The Fourth!
This came to me as a way of dealing with excruciating period cramps, and it worked, and now you can read it too.
AO3 Link
âComing through!â
Poe pushed past you into the house, a large gnarly plant in his hands.
âI was just going to get you!â You called across the sunroom into the kitchen.
âDo you know if weâre going to have rain soon?â He called back, setting the huge bulb into the âgarden sinkâ and peeling off his gloves.
âWhy would I know that?â You walked over to him, leaning over to get a look at what he was doing.
âLook, see? I told you. Something is in that soil eating at my perennials.â There were two tiny little bite marks.
âPoe, are you all done outside?â You chuckled, rubbing his shoulder.
âYeah. Just a sec, Iâm gonna check the weather, I need to see if sheâs staying overnight; I donât want her to get too much sun in here.â He nudged his head to the big sunroom windows streaming midday sun in.
âYou donât think about anything else, do you.â
âNope. Except for you and our little one.â He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, finished drying his hands and rubbed the swell of your very pregnant stomach.
âWhoâs coming real soon.â He added softly with an assuring nod. Not that you need it.
It would be so soon, so close, now, finally, after four years, that you would birth your first baby.
Poe worked as a mechanic, and a damn good one at that, but his heart wasnât in it. Said it reminded him too much of his mother, and so he mostly took on speeder repairs, sold and installed parts, and spent every other minute at home and in the garden.
Getting your home ready. The third seat at your table, the bedroom down the hall, the chest of toys in the living room, the space between the flower beds in your yard.
Your family, everything you had been working towards.
âShut that off.â
You reach behind you to the knob in the nightstand, cutting off the reporterâs voice.
Late morning sunlight spills in through the curtains on both of you still in bed, wrapped up in each other.
âYou think you shouldâve joined the Resistance.â You say, twisting that curl that wonât stay off his face around your finger.
âThat First Order nonsense, itâs just that. The Empire fell.â He pulls his head back and smooths his hand down your front.
âWhat we have here,â he says.
âBack pain.â You deadpan.
âThe other thing.â
You give him a look.
He curls his fingers sideways against your belly. âRight there, our baby.â
You reluctantly make a heart with his hand and he leans back, looking right into your eyes.
You spread your fingers to thread them with his and press your palms flat. You feel a little pressure moving laterally against your hands, a gentle greeting.
âThatâs a lot better. I am so happy we made that. âStead of running off and doing somethinâ stupid.â
You shift your body up, perturbed. âYou hear the things theyâre saying.â
âWhoâs saying?â He shrugs, a frown on his face.
âEveryone, Poe.â
âThat was my momâs war. They won it so I donât have to leave my baby. What. You donât want me to leave, do you?â
âNo.â
âI donât want to throw years of my life away just so everyone can say it was fine, the New Republic was strong all along. You want me to go and risk my life?â
âNot even a little bit.â You shake you head hard.
âMe either. Iâd make a terrible lieutenant.â He sighs.
It hadnât been easy to have this family.
Poe had a low sperm count, through no fault of anyone. Conceiving took time. And patience. And a lot of love.
He wasnât going to put that off for some far off threat. Not when it took so much to build. As sure as he was since the minute he met you, knowing more each day was his journey. Not giving up.
He was a decent, maybe even great pilot, but it wasnât his calling. This was.
The unrest felt everywhere, it would continue with or without him.
The Galaxy would spin on.
âItâs nuts out there. I love being here.â He says. âWith you.â
You settle back against him, smiling with a wistful sadness behind your voice. âMe too.â
Poe pins down your upper half with his body, kissing you deep, clambering over you.
You break the kiss, breath stolen. âWatch out for theâ baby, Poe!â
âWhat baby? Are we having a baby?â
He trails deep kisses down your neck to your tender breast.
âOh, this baby.â He lands on your belly, stroking it. âFive years in the making. Two weeks throwing up. Three months making you wet yourself four times a day.â
âOh itâs barely down to once a day.â You slump back.
âYou sure about that?â
âI donât count leakage, only what doesnât get caught by the pad.â
âOh so itâs actually more?â
He pinches your breast through your shirt.
âPoe!â He bites playful marks to your chest and neck, and you laugh till youâre nearly in tears until he eases up, rolling over to snuggle and spoon you with his chin fitted to your shoulder.
 âSo mean.â You reach around to keep playing with his curls. âYou always been like this?â
âWell, when I was about ready to propose, and I looked at you, and I said I want a baby, I want a baby more than anything else in the entire Galaxy, if I marry you can we have a baby? And you said yes, Poe, yes, I wanna have your baby so badly, you should put your weak little sperm in me right now, thatâs such a great ideaââ
You jab him in the stomach and he breathes stifled laughs into your bare skin.
âI was about the same.â
You were glad he could joke about it now, for months and months he felt so awful about it.
âI put my momâs ring on your finger, we had the most beautiful, beutiful wedding, and then we failed to conceive for four years, three months, nine days; until eight months ago, when you showed up at the shop with a positive little test.âÂ
âThat was a nice day.â
âYeah, it was.â
âYou did that. Even though your sperm werenât their best.â
âOnly needed one. Only one needed to be good enough. To get accepted.â
âI am sorry my eggs are such little primadonnas.â
He hums.
âItâs good they are. Itâs how we got such a strong baby.â
âOh, donât remind me.â They were settled right now, but the kicksâŠ.
âThank you for not making this,â he gives his head a tilt. âA fight again.â
âItâll be okay out there.â You say, leaning into him. âThereâs many other pilots.â
âYeah. Tons.â
He starts to drift back off and you concede this will be a nothing getting done kind of day, which you were more than happy with if Poe was.
He opened up the console in the hall and sighed, scrolling through the notifications. He paused, staring at the satellite readout. The weather was gorgeous, clear for days. There was nothing to worry about.
And yet a terrible sensation filled his chest.
He threw open the closest window and looked up. There was nothing, but the feeling only grew by the second.
âWhat is it?â You asked, stepping into the hall where he was.
âWe need to go.â He murmured.
âWhat?â
âWe need to go right now.â He grabbed his jacket, threw it over your shoulders and ushered you out the back door.
âPoe whatâs happening?â
âI donât know, just trust me.â
âShouldnât weââ
âThere isnât any time!â
He took your hand and you followed him as quickly as you could with your pregnancy weight as he nearly dragged you out to the speeder.
On the way to the shop all the online systems in your home and every other went off, sirens blared, a wall of sound and confusion. Crowds were forming, watching the skies, people were running all ways, panicking. You heard fragments of announcements, contradictions, Starkiller Base, warning shot, false alarm, First Order, test, already fired.
Poe climbed up into his family ship and helped you aboard, hurrying to the pilot seat, powering everything on.
Red light filled the sky.
You got ahold of the passenger seat and strapped yourself in just as Poe hit the propulsion and you lurched back, clutching the seat.
The ship rumbled the whole way up.
Moments after you broke orbit the planet blew to pieces, sending your ship hurtling into space where Poe wrangled with the controls to keep the ship steady enough to not smash into any of the huge chunks of rock flying past.
He threaded through speeding debris like water to the lowest point, barely breathing till you cruise to the edge of the solar system.
You looked out at the remains of your home with wide eyes.
Seconds.
By the time anyone could see anything it was too late.
If it had been just seconds later, you, your husband, and your baby would all be dead.
Neither of you could look away. It was everywhere.
You both startled as an alarm went off.
âIâm going to get us into hyperspace, weâre not safe here.â Poeâs voice barely escaped his throat.
It was so fast. You couldnât think.
He prepped to make the jump and the thing that brought you back was a deep, harsh pressure through your back and abdomen.
âPoeââ
âOne minute,â
You shut your eyes and braced against the front of the console. The ship jostled and you bit your jaw shut around groans of pain.
âShit. What is wrong with that damn hyperdriveâŠ!â
You dropped out of hyperspace and Poe started a diagnostic, flipping switches and dials.
âPoe!â You shout, nearly in tears, fist curled in your shirt.
âWhat is it?â
âI was going to get you to tell you,â you splayed your fingers over your abdomen, rubbing deep circles.
âYouâŠâ he looked down at your stomach.
âOh, no. How long?â
âSince last night.â
âOkay.â His brow drew. âOkay how close together are they?â
âThey just ramped up, I couldnât tell if they were false or not and I didnât want to drag us to the hospital again, I thought we had time. I just wanted you to be able to finish in the gardenââ
âJust tell me how far apart they are.â
âI donât know, I was going to get you to help me time them.â
âRoughly how long are they lasting?â
âF-forty? Forty seconds.â
Poe slicked his hair off his face, took your hand and brought up a star map.
âClosest planet with medical facilities⊠ten hours from here. Donât even know if itâs there, Iâm not picking up anything, thereâs so much noise.â
He was shaking.
âWeâre on our own for now. Letâs just see what supplies we have.â He said. He helped you up and when he did you both saw the passenger seat and the floor under it were wet.
Poe set you in the bunk across from storage. He was still dressed in his muddy boots and garden clothes, his overalls.
He set a heart monitor to fetal and placed it below your belly button.
Your doula was dead. Your OB-GYN was dead. Everyone at the birth center. Poeâs flowers. Whatever had been eating at them. The nurse that took first images you kept copies of in the little box under your bed.
âPoe, your dadââ
âI need to focus, starlight.â He said.
You inhaled and tried to keep it together.
You had no idea how many attacks there were, if the other Republic planets were safe, if anywhere was safe.
Another contraction interrupted you and you breathed through like youâd worked on with Poe at your classes.
âBreathe, just breathe.â
âMmm-hm.â You hummed.
You thought back to last night as youâd laid breathing through what you thought were false labor cramps, not wanting to wake Poe up for the fourth night in a row when he was such a heavy sleeper and already so exhausted from everything the last few weeks. Your constant discomfort. He was gardening more to try and keep his stress down.
And as they started to get more intense around sunrise, you convinced yourself you were imagining it, to get back to sleep, and let Poe rest from the endless worry.
âHow long was that?â You asked.
âSixteen minutes since the last, forty-nine seconds. Okay, we might have to deliver the baby here.â
âI am so sorry,â
âYou have nothing to be sorry about.â
âI shouldâve said something.â
âYou did say something. There wasnât time for anything else.â
He helped you out of your bottoms and you flushed everything from the last few days out in the refresher along with some more mucus and waters from the amniotic sac.
As much as you didnât want it to be happening your baby was coming today.
Deep squats, stretching, pacing. The next few hours were quiet, inconstant labor. Anticipation hung you both.
âDeep breaths, nice and easy.â Poe held you under the arms, swaying with you, humming songs he knew from his childhood like youâd planned to handle the first stage.
If you just kept your eyes shut and moved with him you could pretend you were at the birth center, or in your living room.
âLean on me, I can take it.â All you could hear was Poe and your own breathing. Just trying to stay calm, keep getting your cervix ready. It was so heavy, where you were supposed to be excited replaced with dread.
You werenât going to get to anyone in time, there was nothing but endless space surrounding your tiny ship. All you could do was keep at it and hope for the best, whatever that was.
You find Poe out in the nursery, sitting against the wall in the dark.
âHey,â
âHey.â He looks up at you as you sit beside him, discreetly wiping his face.
âYou doinâ okay?â
You had gotten the second, more comprehensive test results back. Low everything. Something with his testes.
âIâm doing great, why wouldnât I be?â
You donât respond.
âItâs that stuff they were saying,â he breathes through his nose. âThere arenât that many. They swim weird.â
He feels his forehead and looks at you.
âStarlight, what if I canât have kids?â
âWe can find some other way.â
âNo, what if I actually canât get you pregnant?â
âWell, we donât know that.â
âI donât want to do any of that other stuff, I donât want to get into thisâ chasing it thing, I just want to have sex with my wife and make a baby, why is that so hardâœâ
You flinch.
âIâm sorry.â He murmurs, sighing. âGardenâs more fertile than me.â
âItâs fine, Poe. I donât know why. I donât.â
âI mean it is me I am to blame everything on your end is good, itâs meââ
âWeâre a team. This,â you held your ringed hand up. âMeans itâs both of us. Weâre struggling to have a baby.â
âWeâre struggling because of me.â
âNo, you didnât do this, did you?â
âNo. Itâs what I didnât do.â
âWhat could you have done that you havenât?â
He opens his mouth and closes it again.
âI donât know.â His voice breaks.
You slide an arm around him and pull his head to yours.
âIf itâs possible, itâs gonna happen for us, okay? Because we did it.â
âIs it? Possible?â
âThereâs a chance. If you canât take all the credit, you donât deserve any of the blame.â
âI canât take any credit, thatâs nothing. I mean itâs everything when you canât, but after, itâs justâ itâs all you. Iâm just here to help.â
âUntil then Iâm here to help you, too.â
âIâm sorry I woke you up.â
âItâs okay. Youâre still my husband, Poe. Baby or no.â
âBaby, please.â He holds your hand, you thumb his cheek and press kisses to his crown and face until the tears stop.
Three weeks later you wake up achey all over. You had missed your period but hadnât tested, didnât want to get ahead of yourself.
Poe was working so you got an appointment in on your own, same day, and met him at the shop right after with the news.
âYouâre sure?â He has grease smeared across his cheekbone, his hair is a mess.
âSee for yourself. I asked them to triple check everything. I got all the tests. Itâs just sixteen days old. Do you wanna know the sex when they get full results?â
He takes the test in his hands with wide eyes.
âNo, I wanna keep it a surprise, I just, itâs good, it-it-itâs healthy, itâs not abnormal or going to miscarry orââ
âNo so far it looks good. It all looks good.â
âIt looks goodâŠ!â He rubs your arms and dirties your clothes, but you donât care.
âOh, baby.â He says, hugging you and burying his face in your hair.
âI was going to ask you, I was looking if we should do treatments, hormones, that stuff, I didnât know, I was starting to feel like it wasnât gonna happen.â
He pulls back.
âThereâs so much we need to do I mean youâre taking the supplements, we gotta make sureâŠâ he shakes his head.
âWe will but it can be anything at all, Iâll love it. I love it. Itâs perfect. Thank you so much.â
âYouâre happy?â You tease, smiling wide.
âI am so happy!!!â He squeezed you, nearly lifting you off the ground, pressing kiss after kiss to your face.
âIâm a dad! We have a baby. We actually have a baby! I donât know if anythingâs ever gonna begin to outdo this.â
âMaybe when itâs born.â You say as he finally rests his hands on your waist and you rest yours on his.
He nods. âI hope so.â
It dragged on, the unceasing aches building in intensity and frequency.
âPoe, Poe, I need to sit down.â
Another contraction came and you gripped your husbandâs arm for dear life. He sucked a breath through his teeth and eased you onto the bunk, checking the chrono.
âThatâs really close.â Poe said, gently spreading your legs.
You couldnât respond, every bit of your body was overtaken with the tight, overwhelming pressure. Your baby was settled into your pelvis and it was harder not to bear down than bear down. Hard to move.
The contraction ended and you whined, pressing your face into your husbandâs chest.
He rubbed your back and shook his head.
âI donât know what Iâm doing.â He said. It wasnât often he felt so, so helpless. âSomeone who does was supposed to take over by now. Are you fully dilated, are you not fully dilated? Is it facing the right way? Is anything right? Of course not. I donât know.â
âItâs coming either way. Did you finish reading what I gave you?â You asked, your voice shaky.
âYes, but thatââ
âItâs going to have to do.â
Poe took a deep breath and put a hand on the back of your head.
âIf I can pilot a ship I can deliver a baby, right?â
âYes. I canât do it by myself.â
He pressed his eyes shut.
âHappy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Weâre having a baby. Weâre having a baby. I can pilot anything. I can do this. You can do this.â He looked up at you, taking your hand.
âWeâre gonna do this.â He said gravely.
You nodded. He gave your hand a squeeze.
âOkay.â He exhaled. âLetâs do this. What position do you wanna push in?â
âCan you get that box?â
âOf course.â
You pulled yourself to standing with it and rocked your hips back and forth, trying to find a balance that aligned things the most comfortable.
âRight, gravity, good.â Poe said, nodding.
He grabbed the last few blankets from the storage cabinet and padded the floor under you.
The box shifted forward and you bit out a curse, grabbing a smaller box and putting it between the larger one and the wall.
âPeople have done this for forever, all over the Galaxy, this isnât any different. We just need to make sure nothing goes wrong. Easy. Like piloting a ship. Just like piloting.â
He undid his overalls, rolled his sleeves up, and took a knee.
âYou need to only push with the contractions, you got that? With the contractions.â
You nodded.
âRight. Alright. Get it together.â
âThis is as together as Iâm getting.â
âNo, no no no, Iâm talking to myself. I put this baby in you and Iâm gonna get it out of you. Weâre gonna get it out together. Okay? With the contractions. On your mark,â
âRight,â you tried to relax, to center your body on this, just this. Like he said, you could do this.
Poe was on top of it, around, down, over as they came. Holding your hand, holding you everywhere you needed him when the next came and with them grunts that became vocal screams. It burned.
âI can see a head!â Poe exclaimed.
You pushed and pushed and the contraction ended. It felt like the baby moved back.
âBreathe, baby, you arenât breathingââ
âStop telling me to breatheâ Iâm trying!â You snapped, gasping around the awful stagnant sensation. You didnât know if you were doing something wrong.
He rubbed your thigh.
âOkay, we need to rethink this. Can you put your foot up here on my leg? We need to get this open, itâs moving but not enough, not the way we want.â
You panted, humming to yourself to try and distract from how overwhelmingly stuck it felt.
âSweetie, your leg, can youââ
âYeah, yes.â
He hoisted your left foot up on his leg.
It felt a little better.
You kept breathing, kept rocking.
The pressure hit you again and you pushed with everything you had.
The babyâs head crowned, Poe shouted, and by the end of the contraction with all your effort popped out. You felt it. That meant you were almost done, right?
He was breathing ragged.
âI promised you I wouldnât be sick.â
âWhat?â You opened your eyes.
âItâs fine, Iâm good, you focus.â
âDoes it look bad?â You asked.
âNo. No Iâm sorry. I shouldnât have said anything, it looks fine itâs just bloody, not a lot, itâs okay. Donât worry. Itâs just a little blood.â
The next one snuck up on you, it was so little reprieve, you tried to push and you did but it was broken, you couldnât make any progress by the end of it.
Poe shushed your crying, offered as much as he could, comforting you. Â
âNext contraction I need you to keep pushing, keep pushing, get the shoulders out, and I can pull âem the rest of the way. You hear me? Youâre doing so good. You are so close.â
âPoeâŠâ
âThis is the one as soon as the next contraction comes, you push as hard as you can, keep breathing. Itâs almost over.â
âIt hurts so bad.â
âI know if I had anything to give you I would. I would in a heartbeat.â
âDo you think it hurt?â
âWhat?â
âThe planet, the whole system, Poe, everyoneââ
âNo, no not now. You have to get through this. Just get through this. We can talk after but right now you need to push, okay?â
âIâm doing good?â
âYou are doing so good. Best Iâve seen.â
You managed a little of a laugh and he pressed his forehead against your hip.
âYou keep it up, okay? This is it.â
You shuddered and lifted yourself off your elbows, seeing marks and dents in your skin from all the ridges of the box.
You pressed your head forward, filled your lungs.
âCan you keep this leg up? Iâve only got two hands.â
You nodded and Poe dragged his toolbox under your foot, getting up off his haunches.
You bore down with the contraction, braced and hummed and pushed hard till it ran out, leaving you pulling breaths in and dropping them.
âThereâs a hand, we got a hand, just a little more, keep going.â
âI wanna stopâŠ!â
âYou canât, baby, you gotta push.â
You werenât trying to give birth in the dark quiet of space. You were home and safe and in the trained hands of your trusted birth workers youâve gotten to know over the last few months. You needed to push and you were more than capable, you hadnât just lost everything, you werenât cut off from all the resources you needed in case you started to lose this baby or your life.
âAnd let go, donât keep pushing! Don't keep pushing after the contraction, just rest.â
You breathed out hard.
âThis time, this time.â Poe said, cradling the babyâs head. He was so gentle. âYou are so strong, I know you can do this. Iâm right here.â
âI donât think I can,â you cried.
You were alone with this except for him, but you did have him. He had both of you.
âYou know youâre the strongest person I know, itâs why I married you. Youâve got this. Please. Do this.â
You forced your shoulders and jaw to loosen, relax. You and Poe synced your breathing.
You gave it all you had, everything, pushing, engaging your whole body.
Poe caught the rest of the baby in his hands, securing it close to him.
âAh! It⊠itâs a boy!â
Sudden lightness.
Poe turned him over and rubbed his back as he took his first breaths in and started to cry, small, warbled, shrill, full of mucus, a sound that brought a wave of relief washing over both of you. Those were healthy little lungs.
His laugh made you weak and this was no exception.
He covered him against the open air with a clean rag and put his arm around yours, helping you back into the bunk.
Poeâs arms and chest were smattered in blood, sweat, and fluid, cradling his squirming, still blue newborn close to his chest.
The umbilical cord tugged and Poe hunched closer to help get your shirt open for skin to skin, putting the baby on your chest.
He was bigger than he felt, you could hardly believe you actually fit him through your hipbone. He was warm. Covered in vernix. His skin was squishy. He had a big nose and doey eyes just like Poe. He looked stunned, like a little bird. You could look at him forever.
The placenta came with considerably less effort a little while later, in one piece, and Poe checked your blood pressure, temperature, and heart rate all over again.
All normal.
Baby had all his fingers, toes, good lungs, good grip, good color, and was kicking as much as he had been the last few months.
Healthy, good.
Once it faded to a dull white, Poe tied the cord with a sanitized cable organizer and snipped it.
He cleared up, got a washcloth, carefully avoided your parts, got his front and your face and legs clean of everything, put a cloth under you for the bleeding.
He pulled his boots off, sat and nestled himself next to you, held his little boyâs hand in his own.
âThank you, Poe.â
He broke down, a flood, he held you so tight it hurt and cried, and cried, and cried.
You would have too if you had the energy.
âI was so afraid.â He said softly after a good long while, your baby sleeping soundly. âI just knew I needed to get you off that planet, I couldnât think about anything else, but then the baby wasnât moving and I was sure I was killing both of you and there was nothing I could do. Oh hell, I think I tore you, Iâm so sorry.â
âIâm okay.â You managed.
âI know youâre okay but you almost werenât. You almost werenât and I couldnât do anything about it. Shit,â
He pressed his head back to the hard paneling.
âI donât know what that was. I just had this feeling, like a voice, it wasnât saying anything, it just was, but I just knew it said I had to get you out of there. I had to.â
He looked at you, lightless.
âIâm so sorry I was right.â
Poe walked the baby, swaddled in threadbare blankets. You hadnât wanted to leave him with his thoughts, but sleep came, and he put his jacket over and let you.Â
A ship picked up your distress signal and got you to the nearest inhabited planet.
Poe covered the babyâs eyes and ears as you limped a little down the bay and across the airfield to a med team.
You got stitched up and the baby weighed and measured, vaccinated, all the things he needed, and a fight to keep them from doing anything unnecessary, which took both of you as you were still so exhausted, and truly, the adrenaline was wearing off. It was being replaced with guilt.
There were so few refugees, you were three of tens. Tens. Out of over a hundred and fifty billion.
Hundreds had made it to the ships; almost none had escaped the debris.
You had been so prepared.Â
Poe just tried to secure your funds and a place to stay, go through the hoops of his sonâs birth certificate even though he wasnât born on a planet.
It was all he could do to distract from it.
You had almost nothing. Everything you owned, everyone you knew, was destroyed.
Except for Poeâs father, Kes Dameron.
He was safe on Yavin 4, so thatâs where you got transport scheduled to as soon as was safest for a newborn to light travel.
You knew Poe could barely live with it. That he hadnât done something. No matter how much you assured him it couldnât have made a difference.
If you care about people with trisomy 21, listen to them. Read about them. Talk about them. Bring them up. They are neurodivergent and disabled. They are ignored in conversations about neurodivergence and disability. An extra chromosome is frequently an extra helping of bullshit from the moment youâre diagnosed, even from your own community. Celebrate and adore and be angry for and grieve with people with trisomy 21 the same way you do for people with other disabilities.
Drop the hard r from your vocabulary along with slow, stupid, and idiot. Donât joke about institutionalization. Wear some fun bright socks. Understand what health issues they deal with. Tell other people about what health issues they deal with. Above all, acknowledge they exist and are worthy, capable, and common kind of human. Donât keep them buried in your advocacy, bring them to the front. From my family to yours, have a great day >>>
Today is World Down Syndrome Day and I find it really sad that there that much buzz about it on Tumblr.
We talk about mental health awarness, autism awareness, adhd awareness, chronic illness awareness, etc. but Iâve really seen very little content on Down Syndrome. Every type of disability/difference should have the chance to be seen, to be heard. Every disability/difference deserves to be recognized for what it is and have the change to discredit all the stigma and misinformation that is passed around.
I recently starting working with a 2 year old with Down Syndrome and she is just wonderful. She can be a handful at times yes but so are all kids at some point. Iâve gotten to the privilege of having my preconceptions put to the test and to have them completely obliterated. Did I mention that she is afro-american? Because Down Syndrome isnât just present in white people but in people of colour as well.
I wouldnât be doing my part if I didnât mention World Down Syndrome Day and it would be wonderful if you could all help me spread the awareness. You can also wear mismatched socks today which is the sign used to show solidarity and awareness and to start conversations (unless you always have mismatched socks but then hey today you are doing it for a great cause!)
