Other Tags: Canon divergent, fix-it fic McHeart style
In which Ruth takes matters into her own hands after she hears about Allison and Connor’s breakup.
Two days passed quickly. A nine year old girl came in for an appendectomy, which graciously occupied Connor's thoughts for a majority of that time. Once she was reduced to bedrest, however, he found himself intentionally walking past Allison's office more than usual. Or whatever "usual" became after they split up.
Now he stood right in front of her door, pacing like an idiot. Nurses passed him with curious eyes and pretended not to notice. Their relationship hadn't exactly been a secret (if kissing in front of the entire office party was anything to go by), so he knew the news about their breakup must have spread like wildfire.
This was a stupid idea. Why was he even here? What would he even say to her? He should just turn around and head back to pediatrics and try to get some work done, but the door opened before he got the chance.
"Connor."
And there she was. He had been avoiding her like the plague for days, and he wanted to kick himself for how much he had missed her blue eyes. They cemented his shoes to the floor. He couldn't run away if he tried.
He saw the edge of another white coat behind her door and, fist curling, his mind immediately assumed it was Daniel. But then he smelled the tea.
"I'll just let you two have your privacy then," Chance hummed, slipping past Allison like a cat. If he noticed the tension in the air, he made no indication of it. Just his usual calm, far too polite self.
"Oh, Chance, you don't--"
"It's perfectly all right, Allison. I'll see you around." And he was gone before any of them could say another word. Then it was just the two of them.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
Well, things were going about as well as he expected.
He took another deep breath and realized she was still holding her cup of tea. In that moment, he would have given anything to go back to that day they were both working in physical therapy. He made them both a cup of Chance's fancy herbal tea and they just sat and talked for what seemed like hours. And everything was okay.
"Look, uh..." He scratched at the base of his scalp. "Ruth came and talked to me. About some things."
Allison shifted just slightly. Something he wouldn't have noticed a year ago.
"What kind of things?"
His arm dropped. "Everything. About Daniel. And...the drugs."
Her hand tightened around the teacup. She stepped aside and motioned for him to come in, shutting the door behind him and locking it when she did so.
"I know you don't like him, but please...don't tell anyone. It wouldn't just hurt him; it would hurt the whole hospital."
He crossed his arms. "Don't worry. Ruth's already threatened me. Your secret's safe."
Allison nodded. Sat on the very edge of her desk. Drank the last of her tea while staring at the floor. After a few moments, Connor sat on the desk with her, but kept a safe distance. She looked like a mannequin, just going through the motions, except for her right foot continuously rolling around under her ankle. She would rather be anywhere but here. He wanted to put his arms around her, but kept them clamped tight against his chest.
"So...hard to believe Daniel 'Golden Child' Summers is an addict."
"Ex-addict," she grunted at him, still staring at the floor. "I helped Daniel get sober after we found out about the amphetamines. And he gave me a lot of advice on Mr. Asher's condition. We...we were close. But it's over now. I promise."
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe her so bad. But he knew nothing they could say to each other would magically make it so the whole "broom closet fiasco" (as Ruth had called it) never happened. And he knew Allison knew that, too.
"You could have told me."
"You think I didn't hate lying to you? But Ruth and I didn't want to drag anybody else into this mess. And everything with my mom and Ryan on top of that..." Her voice broke off and her eyes screwed shut.
Connor stilled. He had almost completely forgotten about her mother. About the impending kidney transplant. He didn't even know if she had made up her mind to go through with it yet.
She swiped the pad of her thumb underneath her eye. "Besides...I knew how it would look, and i didn't want you to get jealous."
"Alli, you've got to understand, I'm not usually the jealous type. But with you..." It was different. It was always different with her. She was the outlier. He had fooled around with a lot of girls in his time, but none of them ever had this kind of effect on him; where he went out of his way to make sure things ran smoothly as possible, to make things last. He blamed everything on that day back when she was working in pediatrics for the first time, after they had uncovered the truth about Libby's illness. After she had run down the hall in tears and he had chased after her. He already knew he liked her, and he already knew she was beautiful, but when she looked up at him with those same eyes - not painfully blue, but blue enough to soften his insides - and kissed him out of nowhere, that's when he knew this girl was going to mess him up big time. When he had told her he wasn't going anywhere, he meant it.
Of course, he didn't actually say any of that out loud. He just thought about it really hard and hoped she could see it written on his face. Allison didn't say anything, but she nibbled on her lip.
"See, if you were any other girl, I'd kiss you right here, right now. But I won't. Because I know if I do, I'll regret it." He swallowed. "You deserve a guy who treats you right. And I really wish I was that guy. But even if I'm not--"
Allison touched his arm.
"You are."
He wanted to fix this. He wanted to fix this so bad.
His arm found its way around her shoulders and she tucked herself under his chin. They were quiet for a long time; just sat together and watched her fish swim around in their tank, listening to each other breathe. Then they talked about work. He told her about the appendectomy girl and she told him about the lab work Ruth had her do. They talked about the wrestling play the kids had put on. They talked about Ryan. It almost felt normal.
He glanced at his watch and realized he needed to get back. Both of them were painfully slow to the door, and even there they lingered.
"Tell you what...let's give each other a few days and...we'll go from there."
"Well, I'm...going through with the transplant. So I'll have more than a few days."
"That sounds good."
"I'm only doing it for Ryan."
"That sounds good, too."
"Would...would it be completely out of line if I told you that I love you?"
Other Tags: Canon divergent, fix-it fic McHeart style
In which Ruth takes matters into her own hands after she hears about Allison and Connor’s breakup.
“Connor. For once in your life, you’re going to listen to me, and I’m only saying all of this once, and if you repeat any of this to anyone else, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
In all his time working at Little Creek, Connor knew exactly two things about Ruth Phelps. One: she was ludicrously smart. Not just in her field, but in all of medicine. And two: she had a habit of just bursting in whenever she felt like it. Not that he was exceptionally different, particularly when his temper got the best of him, but something about Ruth, with her short stature and her wizened old eyes glaring at him over her glasses, seemed far more intimidating. (And if she ever found out he just described her as having “wizened old eyes,” he would definitely catch her hand over the back of his head.)
“Uh...can I help you?” he muttered, not the slightest clue what she was so worked up over this time.
“That whole fiasco in the broom closet wasn’t what you think.”
Connor’s jaw clicked into place. Oh, God. Not this. Anything but this. He had just gotten to the point where he wasn’t constantly thinking about catching the two of them together. Just stopped memorizing the way his stomach dropped along with that other shoe that had been dangerously dangling ever since he and Allison first properly got together. He brushed past her to grab his clipboard off the desk.
“I don’t have time for this. I have patients to--”
“Five minutes,” Ruth snapped again, stepping right in his path and poking him in the chest. “That’s all I’m asking.”
He was about to snap right back at her that time didn’t have anything to do with it. But quickly realized that butting heads with Ruth wouldn’t make her leave any faster. So he just gave her a single nod, crossing his arms over his chest. She huffed in reply.
“Allison wasn’t cheating on you.”
“Really.”
“It’s the truth! She would never cheat on you! She’s not that kind of girl!”
“Anybody can be that kind of girl with the right motivation.” He didn’t really believe that, but it sounded good.
“The only reason she and Daniel have been sneaking around is because...” Ruth gnawed on her lip, eyes darting around the room. Then her voice lowered to a near whisper, but still just as stern. “Is because Allison is trying to keep him from getting fired.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Back when John stepped down and Daniel took his place...a significant amount of amphetamines went missing from the pharmacy. He was having trouble coping with the stress.”
Connor clinked hard, slowly putting two and two together. “Daniel?”
“Trust me, we were both shocked when we found out.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. His boss was an addict. This just kept getting better and better. Well, that would explain his extended “vacation” a little over a month ago. Kind of.
“So...why is she even trying to help him? She didn’t steal the drugs for him, did she?”
Ruth made a face to the ceiling and once again scanned the office just in case anybody was hiding behind the fern in the corner or something. “No, she didn’t. And really, it is his problem to deal with. But you know how Alli is - she won’t turn away anyone who needs her help, patient or otherwise. And with the audit and Victor coming around and pulling all these files...well, they’ve been having to think on their feet.”
“She still kissed him twice, Ruth.”
“She didn’t kiss him that day he came back from his little paradise trip! That was all him.”
Connor raised his eyebrow half an inch at Ruth’s matter-of-factness. Then again, she and Allison were practically attached at the hip. If anybody would know all of the intimate, gory details about the situation, it would be her.
“And the broom closet...I’ll admit, not her smartest move. But just because the girl can perform highly invasive surgery by herself doesn’t mean that she’s great at improvising. Heck, I wouldn’t expect anybody to be, after the weeks we’ve had dealing with Victor.”
His nails clawed at the nape of his neck while he sucked in a breath. None of this really made any more sense than what his mind had been wrestling with the past couple of days. And it still didn’t change the fact that Allison had kissed Daniel, as he just loved to keep reminding himself for some masochistic reason. And something else was nagging at him as well...
“If I remember correctly, you were trying to get Allison and Daniel together once upon a time.”
Ruth closed her eyes. Rolled her mouth for a moment. Connor thought he could see steam trailing out of her ears.
“I did. But then I saw how the two of you were together. And I realized Daniel could never make her that happy.”
“Oh, it’s not like it’s for eternity. I just want to see them.”
Deuce bit the inside of his cheek. Cleo’s slender hands reached up and brushed against his temples - along the hooks of his shades.
“Cleo...”
“Just one look. That’s all I want.”
He didn’t say anything after that. As if she were handling a baby scarab beetle, she gently lifted the hooks off his ears. He didn’t fight her. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the lenses lifted up as well.
Cleo, princess of the Nile and owner of countless jewels and treasures, had never seen anything more beautiful. Gleaming brighter than the finest cut emerald, with microscopic flecks of gold swimming around his slightly reptilian pupils. Their shape, the way they sat on his face and complimented every one of his features. Cleo lost her breath.
Then lost feeling in her limbs.
She came to in her bed, every joint in her body screaming. Deuce lay beside her, cradling her in his arms, sunglasses rightly returned to his face.
“Was it worth it?”
Cleo wrapped her arms around him, head resting on his chest.
Phoebe finds a drawing of Tim’s she hasn’t seen before.
Phoebe hated picking favorites among her friends, especially considering how long they had stuck together. But she couldn’t help it when she just gravitated to some more than others. She was closest to Keesha, that much was obvious. The two practically told each other everything. But even with Keesha, who had helped to pull her up off her knees and gain some confidence in herself, Phoebe still felt like she had to puff out her chest and choose her words carefully.
That was never the case with Tim. He just had this presence...this warmth to him. Phoebe didn’t feel the pressure she usually did with him around. Not that a little pressure now and then from her friends was a bad thing. Everyday she found herself coming out of her shell more and more. But if she just wanted to be quiet for a day, without pushing any of her own boundaries, Tim let her do that. She was more comfortable with him than anyone else - even Keesha. Maybe even her father, just because of the age difference. They just clicked.
Today in particular, Phoebe came over to his house after school to study. His mother let her in, explaining that Tim was busy on the back porch spraying down a newly finished piece with sealant, and that she was more than welcome to wait in his bedroom.
On his desk was a stack of works in progress. Phoebe knew she shouldn’t have been flipping through them, but hers was an innocent curiosity. Since he had started to get serious with his art, he seemed to be working at it nonstop, and Phoebe only saw perhaps a tenth of his work compared to all those years ago.
Sketches of the view from his bedroom window, school projects, swatches of watercolors he kept meaning to use but never did. It amazed her that Tim had a comfort zone when it came to his art; he seemed like the type of artist who could do something spectacular with just about anything you set in front of him. Then, at the bottom of the stack, Phoebe found something that made her jaw drop. A big sheet of heavy drawing paper with an almost finished portrait splayed across. Her portrait. He was drawing her.
The photo he used for reference was proudly displayed on the corner of his desk: a group picture all of them had taken over their summer trip to the lake. Arms thrown around each other like one eight-headed organism, they were all pulling some sort of silly face, except for Phoebe, who was too busy laughing at something someone said. Her eyes were pinched closed and her stringy wet hair was floating at awkward angles.
Tim and his magic touch had copied every single detail about her and brought it to the page with a softness Phoebe had never seen in the photo before. The crinkles in her eyelids and her laugh lines. The way the hair at her temples curled around. The angle of her collarbone and the shape of her lips as she laughed a good, honest laugh. Tim was meticulous about his details - Phoebe thought most of his work belonged in a science textbook - but that didn’t mean his pieces were cold and structured. Particularly this one. If she dare say so herself, Phoebe had never seen herself look so...lovely. And clearly that’s what Tim saw or he wouldn’t have chosen to draw her in the first place.
There was a smaller piece of the same thick paper clipped to the corner of the drawing with swatches of color - pastels, from the look of it. She could see it had taken him several attempts to reach her skin tone and the exact reddish brown of her hair, as well as appropriate shadows and highlights. For a brief moment, she wondered how he would have planned to color her eyes had they been open.
Footsteps echoed down the hall and that’s when Phoebe remembered the bedroom door was wide open. She drew back her hand as if electrocuted, allowing the stack of projects to fall back where it was and remove all evidence of her spying.
Tim flashed her a brilliant white smile the moment he caught her. His hair was getting longer, and the wind had blown it into a new unique shape. He smelled like chemicals and fresh cut grass.
“Hey, Phoebs. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait.”
Phoebe shook her head, explained that she didn’t mind at all. For a brief, selfish second, she wondered how she looked to him right now. If he still thought she was worth drawing outside of that one serendipitous moment.
Characters: Claire Dearing, Owen Grady, Zara Young, Barry
Other Tags: Request, cop AU, depictions of murder
Detective Claire Dearing is trying to track down a slippery serial killer, but her job only becomes harder when Special Agent Owen Grady from the NCIS tries to move in on her case.
Claire stood with her face about four inches away from the murder board, flicking the dry erase marker between her fingers. Three kills in two weeks, all with the same M.O. A precise kill shot to the head followed by a lot of messy, post mortem slashes to the abdomen, leaving the victim in a substantial pool of blood. A tax adviser, a night shift nurse, and most recently a former Navy sailor. Forensics hadn’t been able to pull any prints or DNA from the crime scenes, so detectives were left scratching their heads over the little evidence they could gather from the victims’ personal lives.
“Any sudden insight?” Zara piped up from behind, fresh cup of coffee in her hands. Claire barely flinched.
“There’s got to be something we’re missing.”
“Yeah. A suspect.”
“Why these victims? Why this M.O.?”
“Maybe our guy just has anger issues.”
“Or girl,” Claire corrected, finally turning away from the board long enough to glance at her partner. “And nobody is that meticulous about leaving evidence behind if it’s just a...spontaneous act. These were premeditated.”
“Detective Dearing?”
She jumped when she heard her name in an unfamiliar voice, and turned toward the elevator. Two large men with equally large muscles under their shirts came strutting through like they owned the place. Claire had never seen either of them in her life.
“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at them with steely eyes. “I believe you gentlemen have the advantage.”
Both of them unfolded badges from their pockets, like synchronized robots. Claire sucked in a breath. Feds. She had dealt with them before. It never ended well.
“Special Agent Grady,” the one on the left answered reflexively. “This is Special Agent Barry. NCIS.”
Zara jumped up from her desk as they displayed their credentials and came to stand by Claire’s side. Battle formation.
“And what is this regarding?”
“We’re taking over your investigation of the serial killer.”
Claire’s stomach lurched. No. No no no. This wasn’t happening. She had spent too many restless nights trying to break this case open just to have the rug snatched out from under her. They hadn’t seen those bodies in person, gaunt and sticky from their own blood and left to rot. She had.
“On whose authority?” she fired back a little too quickly. The hair at the nape of her neck bristled.
“Our director’s,” the other agent answered calmly. He pointed toward the photo that was added to the murder board just that morning. “The Navy officer who was killed is a person of interest. He was a trusted contact of the NCIS and we suspect he was killed for the information he knew.”
“Well, I’m very sorry for your loss, but he’s not the only victim here.” Claire could feel her entire body flushing with anger. The jacket she was wearing had been a bad choice on her part, but there was no way she was slipping out of it at a time like this.
“Detective, I promise--”
“Have you spoken to Captain Masrani about this?” she went on, moving her hands to rest defiantly on her hips.
“We will,” Grady replied coolly, as if he hadn’t been interrupted, before turning to his partner. “Barry, you go talk with the captain. I think I’ll have a chat with Detective Dearing here.”
“I’ll show you to his office,” Zara grunted, clearly just as excited about their presence as Claire was. The two of them held a quick, silent conversation with their eyes before Zara and Agent Barry disappeared down the hall. And then there were two.
Agent Grady was nearly a head taller than she was, with five o’clock shadow that made him look more “crocodile hunter” than “federal agent.” Claire was hardly intimidated, but the bullpen was nearly empty besides them and he carried himself with a definite presence. Confident. Clever. Nonchalant. She really wanted to get out of this jacket.
“We’re not trying to step on your toes, Detective,” he said calmly. “Believe me.”
“Then don’t.”
He smiled. Why was he smiling? He had no business to be smiling.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing.” He slung his thumbs through his belt loops. “It’s just...if I had known I was meeting such a beautiful woman, I would’ve put on a better shirt this morning.”
Claire scoffed lightly, though she couldn’t help her eyes scanning his shirt to find out why it was so mediocre.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Agent Grady.”
He made a little sound - amusement, perhaps - before lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. I actually hate being called ‘Agent Grady.’ Just call me Owen.”
Claire nodded curtly.
“Fine. Owen.”
“And what can I call you?”
“Detective Dearing,” she pressed, internal walls in their upright, locked positions. This guy was the opposition.
“So what do your friends call you when you’re off duty?”
“They call me Claire,” she replied dryly, turning back to the murder board. “But I’m neither your friend nor am I off duty.”
“Touché,” he nodded, leaning his hip against the edge of her desk after a quiet moment. “You seem like a woman who’s very dedicated to her job.”
“When millions of people depend on you, it’s hard not to be.” It was the first time since he walked in that her voice let go of its agitated grate. Slowly turning on her heel, she faced him again. “Surely you understand that.”
“Of course. It takes initiative like that to be as good at your job as you are.”
Her skin felt warm for a second. Not like the flash of anger, but...something else. She stepped in close, not realizing she was practically in his personal bubble until it was too late, but she stood her ground.
“So why are you trying to get me off?”
Grady raised his eyebrows. Claire swallowed.
“The case,” she clarified, slightly embarrassed at her choice of words but determined not to show it. “Get me off the case.”
“Believe me, it’s not my idea.”
“I want you to understand something, Agent,” Claire asserted, nearly overlapping his voice. “This is my case. My responsibility. I won’t just walk away from this willingly. I can’t.”
He straightened up his posture and took a tiny step closer. Almost challenging her with his eyes, just to see what she’d do.
“So what do you suggest, Detective?”
Claire tugged on the hem of her jacket, half to get a small current moving through her clothes and half as a sign to prove that she meant business.
“Either we pool our resources and work together, or you take this case away from me and I make your life a living hell.”
His crooked grin didn’t falter, and he looked right in her eyes as she spoke. Claire couldn’t understand why the hell he was looking at her like that. Wasn’t this supposed to be an argument? But he held out his hand.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Claire took the handshake with her mouth pressed in a line. Why did she get the feeling that Agent Grady just got exactly what he wanted?
Other Tags: Casual relationship, canoodling without plot, well maybe some plot we’ll see where this goes
After Angela breaks it off with Jimmy, she’s determined to enjoy the single life to its fullest capacity. Of course, she still gets lonely sometimes, but that’s where a handsome servant of the law steps in...
The motorcycle sped through the streets, expertly weaving around the inevitable New York traffic. Angela was a free woman. More than that, she was a changed woman. The days of the girl who threw caution to the wind in the name of love and slaved away for a boss who took advantage of all her best ideas were long gone. She was high, to say the least. High on adrenaline. High on revenge. High on freedom. High on the wind blowing through her hair. High on the feeling of a hot police officer's abs beneath her hands.
"Ow!"
She was so high that she had completely forgotten about her hurt ankle when the bike pulled up in front of her apartment building. Her leg buckled when she tried to step off, but the officer was there in a heartbeat to steady her. All she could do was laugh it off. Man, what a crazy day she had cooked up for herself.
Angela was prepared to say something along the lines of 'thanks for the ride, I can take it from here,' but he scooped her up just like he had at the boutique and started walking up the stoop. Her hands instinctively latched around his neck and she didn't protest. The doorman nodded at them with raised eyebrows as they passed.
"Where to, ma'am?" he asked once they were in the elevator.
"Third floor."
He took a step forward, but she started to wiggle - "Wait, wait, I got it!" - and pushed the 3 button with her big toe. Another tenant slid into the elevator just after and Angela could feel the tension in her officer's shoulders from bottling up a laugh. The other woman got off on the second floor, but not before turning around and giving them a sincere smile.
"Best of luck to you two."
Angela flushed. "Oh, no no no. We're not--"
The door shut. They both burst out laughing and didn't stop until they reached the third floor. Angela's place was right by the elevator. She unlocked the door with the key she fished out of her purse and her officer carried her across the threshold. Cue another giggle fit.
Angela had to give Jimmy one thing: he had great taste in real estate. She loved the loft. She loved it so much. sure, it was a little tight for two people, but that wouldn't be a problem for much longer, and the staircase really gave it some breathing room. Not to mention the fact that she had her own office space to work in rather than a too-small, too-cluttered desk in her bedroom, and the window looked out to the street so she actually had some semblance of a view. She was keeping this place. Mark her words. Jimmy did the deed, after all. Why should she move out? He could bunk with Yum-Mee for all she cared.
"Thanks again for taking me home. Maybe I should hurt my ankle more often."
"You know, I can take a look at that for you, if you like. I do have first aid training."
"Mm, I'll bet you do," Angela purred.
He just smiled at her, setting her down on the couch like she was made of glass. His smile was almost as blinding as her reflection in his aviators.
"You know, I went out with a doctor once. Not as great as they're cracked up to be. He just talked about monster trucks half the time."
"Sounds like a real catch."
"Yeah. I think he was still hung up on some other girl, though." One of Jimmy's jackets - the leather one he claimed made him look like a high roller but really just emphasized the gray in his temples, she now realized - was splayed over the back of the couch. She tossed it away with a low grunt.
Tucking his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt, the officer brought her foot up to rest on the coffee table and pressed his fingers around her ankle. She hissed when he hit the sensitive spot.
"Just looks like a little sprain. Do you have an ace bandage anywhere?"
"Yeah, there's a first aid kit, um...top drawer in the kitchen."
He left her foot on the table and Angela didn't want to agitate it any further so she just left it there. She heard him puttering around in the kitchen for a second or two before he came back around the couch, unfurling a bandage that had probably been sitting in that drawer for years but had never been used. Sitting himself on the coffee table (thank God she had cleaned up the day before), he shifted her foot carefully to rest just between his knees and started wrapping up her ankle. He didn't pull it too loose or too tight, and didn't leave any bare spots except for the very bottom of her heel so that everything would lay smooth. And all Angela had asked for was a ride home.
"There," he said after fastening his work off with the little clip. "A little ice and some rest and you'll be just fine."
"A new pair of shoes wouldn't hurt, either," she muttered, holding up her pump with the snapped heel. "Well, they were only my breakup pair, so..."
"Your what?"
"My breakup pair," she repeated, as if it were common knowledge. "Ever since middle school, I've always had a special pair of shoes to wear the day I'm ready to break up with a boy. They have to make me feel especially confident and empowered, and have to intimidate the boy. Thus why they're usually heels." She tossed the shoes aside. "But I guess stomping on Jimmy's foot wasn't exactly the best plan."
"Does the guy wear steel-toed boots or something?"
Angela cracked a smile, but said nothing. Just let her eyes drift to and focus on her foot nestled comfortably in his lap. Then up to his eyes. Bright blue, she finally noticed without his sunglasses. Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth. He was staring back at her, and she felt his hands rest with a feather touch on her leg just above the edge of the bandage, which may or may not have given her goosebumps. But then he was standing up and slipping a pillow under her ankle. Bait and switch.
"I should be getting back to my beat."
"Oh." She didn't hide her disappointment nearly as well as she tried to. But she drew up a smile all the same and offered out a hand. "Well, thanks so much again for all the help, Officer...?"
He took her hand in his, but it was less of a shake and more just hand holding.
By the next time he blinked, the strange breeze blew just right to reveal a figure standing - or rather, floating - in the doorway. She was cast in an ethereal green light.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, and he didn’t think to care. He tossed the ashes down slowly, handful by handful, almost reluctant to let her go. Then after the urn was empty he just lingered, watching the last specks float down to the water and fade into thin air. Until there wasn’t anything left of her to see. Or touch.
Regaining touch was an interesting process. For the most part, it felt like getting back on a bike; something familiar in the back of his mind he hadn’t had the chance to exercise in almost eighty years. But it was hard to get out of the habit of shoving his hands in his pockets, and he wasn’t used to having anything to do with them. He brushed the elbows of nearly every Jack and Jane he crossed paths with on his way back to the apartment. Before he had just phased right through them, so it hadn’t mattered. But now he was feeling the other arms against his, and murmurs of apologies fell from his mouth at every block.
He kept her apartment keys in his right pocket, clenched in his fist. He’d miraculously convinced the landlord to let him take up a lease for the time being. He’d also gotten quite the strange look when he said he didn’t want any of the furniture from the previous tenant removed, but he didn’t care. Any part of her he could keep pristine, he would. Or at least as pristine as he could; she hadn’t been much of a neat freak. In the few short days it had been since the battle at Grace Church, he hadn’t procured much in the way of a job, so he didn’t know what he would do when the landlord came knocking for rent, but he hardly cared. He’d stay there as long as he was able. it was just as much his home as it had been hers.
When he walked through the front door and was greeted by the tacky yet strangely comforting pink wallpaper, he felt a twinge of pain in his head. Pain was also something to get used to again. He had felt pain as a ghost, but it was rare and hit all of him at once. In the living world, it was more localized. There was a pulsing in his temple; a headache. He winced. It had been a rather long day. He just needed to relax.
So, sinking himself down into the couch, he tried in vain to teach himself even the smallest nugget of information as to how to work the television. Why on Earth were there so many goddamn buttons on the remote? Whatever happened to good old dials? Andy why did he have to hold it seventeen different ways just to get the screen to respond?
But the more he fiddled with the thing, his headache only intensified. Maybe Red had left some ibuprofen laying around.
Passing through her bedroom to the bathroom always left him unsettled. The one plays in the four years they had been together he had never seen, and now that he did...he almost felt he wasn’t allowed to.
But he looked anyway. Anything to keep her memory from fading.
Red’s room was basically an oversized closet, so she hadn’t done much with it, but it still had her elements. Piles of books stashed under the bed. The color and style of the bedspread. The cheap knick-knack art hanging on the walls. Yet another tag sale lava lamp placed by her bedside, this one in a blue color. Joey wasn’t touching any of it. He just made straight for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.
Glasses cleaner, cold medicine, a box or two of feminine looking products that he really didn’t feel up for examining at that moment. Down on the bottom shelf, there was a simple bottle with simple white pills in it. Sure enough, ibuprofen was written on the side of the label. So he shook out two without reading the dosage instructions and chased them down with water from the sink, pooled with his hands. The rush of cold water against his skin was invigorating, and the most affirming of anything that he was alive. No longer just a gust of wind, but actual flesh and bone once more.
Would he make it this time?
Not two seconds after he’d shut the water off, the pain in his head spiked. It hit him like a rough wave, like a ton of bricks. Searing pain ripping all the way from his temple to the back of his skull. He clutched at his forehead, screwing his eyes shut.
“God...dammit...” he muttered through clenched teeth. Had it hurt this bad when he died? He barely remembered.
Then, just as soon as it had come, the pain was gone. His head was left with a strange ringing sensation in the corners of his brain, but other than that he felt completely fine.
“What the hell was that?”
A breeze blew through the room, which was strange enough because there weren’t any windows in the bathroom and Joey rarely kept the AC going. It ruffled his hair, tugged at his shirt collar. Sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.
And by the next time he blinked, the strange breeze blew just right to reveal a figure standing - or rather, floating - in the doorway to the bedroom. She was cast in an ethereal green light. Her hair, tucked in a loose ponytail behind her, flickered gently from some unfelt wind. And then he saw her glasses...and those stupid earmuffs.
No. It couldn’t be.
“Did it...work?” she asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion and hope.
Joey didn’t realized he had worked himself to the floor in the struggle to keep his head from exploding, but he was quick about scrambling back up on his feet. He just stared at her.
“Am I just seeing things?” he muttered, more to himself than the figure. “Am I losing it, too?”
“No, Joey.” She shook her head. “You’re not.”
When she said his name, he nearly fell down all over again. She kept surprising him. Even after he had made his peace with a proposed future.
“Red?” he gaped. “It’s...really you?”
A flicker of a smile - a real, genuine smile - crossed her features.
“It’s really me. Well, my spirit, anyway.”
“But...how?!” Joey gripped onto the edge of the sink, so many questions running through his brain at the same time.
“I did one last thing before I died,” she answered calmly, but not so calmly that it was unfamiliar. There was the tiniest of tremors under her voice; something he only could pick out after being at her side for so long.
“Yeah, I know.” Joey held up one of his flesh hands. “You brought me back to life. But I don’t--”
“That wasn’t all,” she interrupted in that way she always did with him. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have a reason.”
“Darling, don’t talk circles at me. I--” And that’s when it dawned on him. The pain in his head. He had watched Lauren battle with that headache, as well as Rosa. His stomach dropped, and then rose up to his throat.
A look of acknowledgement crossed her eyes.
“You...you made me a medium? A Bestower?”
“Got it in one,” she nearly smirked, mimicking the script from when they had first met.
“Is that even possible?!”
“Well...it worked...didn’t it?”
The two of them just stared at each other for a few moments, letting a silence settle between them. Joey’s eyes flitted all over her image - down from her face to where her legs faded off and back up again.
“And you’re my spirit guide?”
“What good would you be without one? After all, this is what we do.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Joey cracked a smile.
“You crazy broad...”
He thought he’d finally lost her for good. Made peace with it. And she kept on surprising him. She was a lot tougher than he had given her credit for. But maybe...just maybe, he would have the chance to redeem that.
Standing up a little straighter, he shoved his hands comfortably in his pockets.
Characters: Sarah Manning, Kira Manning, Helena, Siobhan Sadler, Beth Childs, Katja Obinger, Alison Hendrix, Cosima Niehaus, Delphine Cormier
Other Tags: Family, AU
What happens when none of the clones actually died and you get them all together under the same roof?
It had originally been Mrs. S’s idea. Sarah thought it was idiotic (”You get all of us under the same roof, we’re gonna burn the house down”), but the more Mrs. S pushed it (”You girls are family and this would be a great way to better normalize things”), the more the others got interested, even excited. Who gets excited about a clone dinner? Sarah thought. Well, Alison referred to it as the “dinner for genetic identicals.” The C word still made her uncomfortable. So that’s how Sarah found herself hovering over a half-made apple pie, hands covered in flour. She wasn’t much of a cook. Usually either Felix made the food or they just ordered takeout. And even then, it was never terribly fancy. Sarah felt useless, trying to crimp the crust like she had seen done in pie shops. But the dough kept going lopsided and breaking off.
Mrs. S had been taking care of the rest of the food, for which Sarah was extremely grateful. When she heard her girl’s sigh of frustration, she stepped away from the spaghetti pot and came to her side.
“Watch the stove, love,” she said gently, turning the pie pan to her side of the counter. “I’ve got this.”
Sarah, feeling no remorse for her lack of culinary skills, gladly retracted from the pie and leaned against the counter next to the stove. She peered into the pot to see how the spaghetti was doing, and gave it a rough stir.
“Mummy!” Kira’s sweet little voice rang through the house as she bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. “Look!”
Sarah bent down to where she was at eye level with Kira and looked at the long loop of glittery plastic beads and multicolored macaroni she was holding. She ruffled Kira’s hair. She had been making them all morning as presents for Sarah’s sisters.
“Ooh, monkey, I think that’s the prettiest one yet. Alison’s gonna love it.”
“I already made Auntie Alison’s, Mum. This one’s for Auntie Helena. Do you think she’ll like it?”
Sarah’s smile dimmed slightly. She could hear Mrs. S pause at the counter.
“I think she’ll love it. I’ll go give it to her right now.” She tried to take the necklace from Kira, but she pulled away with a pout.
“No. I want to give it to her.” The young girl’s voice was surprisingly stern.
Sarah dropped her hands and just looked at her daughter for a moment. Things with Helena had become complicated ever since she had more or less moved in with Mrs. S. Sarah had realized why Helena had done everything she had, but she still didn’t fully trust her around Kira, especially while she was still recovering from Tomas’ abuse. She never let the two of them be alone together. She was often reminded that this was an unfair situation for Kira, who actually really liked Helena, but as long as Sarah deemed that her sister (God, that word tasted strange in Sarah’s mouth) was dangerous, she wasn’t going to budge.
With a small sigh, Sarah took Kira’s hand and led her to the guest bedroom they had put Helena up in. There was only one light on in the room - the small bedside lamp. Helena, covered in one of Sarah’s warm sweaters and a pair of Mrs. S’s yoga pants, had rolled up into a ball, clutching one of the decorative pillows to her chest and mumbling something under her breath. She didn’t look up until Sarah spoke.
“You got a visitor.”
Helena’s amber eyes looked up at her curiously, but then were drawn to the small child bouncing around to her side of the bed.
“Look, Auntie Helena!” She stuck out the necklace to her, beaming.
Helena stuck out her finger awkwardly and ran it across the beads.
“Very pretty...” she hummed.
“It’s for you,” Kira told her simply. “It’s a present.”
Helena looked dumbfounded for a moment, as if she had no idea what the word meant. Both she and Sarah stiffened when Kira reached up on her tiptoes to slip the strand over Helena’s hair and down onto her shoulders.
“Do you like it?”
Helena, eyes still filled with wonder, clutched onto the necklace with two fingers.
“Thank you...angel.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.
Kira smiled bright, then leaned over to hug Helena’s midsection. Helena’s hands hung awkwardly in the air for a moment before she remembered what she was supposed to do with them, then rested them gently on Kira’s back.
Alison and Beth were the first ones to get there. Gemma and Oscar didn’t even say hello to Sarah. They saw Felix and Kira plunking away at the piano and ran straight for them. Alison chased them, squealing at them to at least take off their coats and snow boots. Beth was very kind, if a little stiff, about the whole thing. She greeted Mrs. S and Felix very formally. The whole night she basically tried to help Alison with the kids and not get in the way. After Alison got a little wine in her, though, she began to warm up to this weird new family she had.
Katja arrived about twenty minutes after, dressed in a ridiculously furry white coat that reached down to her shins, covering a black sequin cocktail dress. When Alison furrowed her brow and asked if the fur was real, Katja just gave her a sultry wink and said, “Don’t worry, darlink.” When the kids had gotten bored and ran upstairs to do their own thing, she plopped herself down at the piano and entertained the rest of the group with a few songs that sounded like they were originally meant for dance clubs.
Cosima and Delphine rolled in late, as usual. They were giggling ridiculously as they stumbled through the door, and Alison looked hard into Cosima’s eyes to make sure that she hadn’t lit up a joint before reaching the house. When Alison didn’t believe her, Delphine stepped in and vouched that her girlfriend was completely sober. The two of them mostly just sat in the kitchen chatting amongst themselves, and occasionally Mrs. S as she was finishing up the food.
Kira presented her necklaces as soon as the clones stepped through the door. All of them thanked the little girl with gleaming smiles and had the strands hanging from their necks the whole night (except for Katja, who just wound it around her wrist like a bracelet. It was made clear that she didn’t spend a lot of her time around children).
Before everyone sat down, Sarah brought Helena a plate of spaghetti (with a plastic spoon) and a glass of water. She had still been fingering Kira’s necklace, but stopped to give Sarah a hug (or as best she could do) when she set the food down.
The dinner was painless for the most part. The only arguments were started by a slightly drunk Alison, who usually got chewed out by a very drunk Katja. Then Helena actually came out of her room to ask if she could have seconds. (Since Helena now knew that asking for seconds was an acceptable thing in this house, she did it at nearly every meal.) Katja and Beth had stiffened at her presence, and the rest of the group tried their best not to stare as Sarah got her more spaghetti and sent her back into her room as if it were the most normal thing on the planet. But nothing was thrown or broken, and nobody left early or in a huff. The house, to Sarah’s astonishment, did not burn to the ground.
Alison was still tipsy when the evening came to a close, so Beth had to help Oscar and Gemma with their coats, and Katja was so drunk that Sarah had to call a cab for her.
“Auntie Cosima,” Kira squeaked, tugging on the clone’s skirt. “Do you like your necklace?”
Cosima bent over and took both Kira’s hand in her own, eyes as sincere as if she were talking to a grown adult.
“Kira, are you kidding? I love it! It’s gonna go so well with the rest of my clothes.”
Kira’s eyes shifted between Cosima and Delphine, contemplating for a second.
“Auntie Cosima, are you and Delphine gonna get married?”
Cosima started to laugh awkwardly, caught off guard by the question. When she looked at her girlfriend for help, Delphine’s cheeks were burning red.
“I-I don’t know, maybe. Why do you ask?”
“Because if you are, I wanna be your flower girl.”
Cosima giggled loudly and chewed on her lip a little before she spoke again, swinging Kira’s hands.
“Tell you what, kiddo: if we ever do get married, I’ll let you be our flower girl. Deal?”
Kira unlatched one of her hands and stuck out her little finger.
Other Tags: Much Ado About Nothing, mild Lizwin if you squint
Lizzie and Edwin devise a scheme to get their older siblings together.
Lizzie sat on her bed in her socks, mulling over her math homework. She flicked her pencil back and forth between her fingers, trying to keep herself from getting distracted. Luckily for her, Edwin skidded through the door and shut it quickly behind him. He wasn’t quite frazzled, but there was still something in his eyes that indicated it was big.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Lizzie immediately forgot about her work, closing her book and pushing it to the other end of the bed.
“Is this a games closet talk?” she asked, equally serious.
“I’m not sure yet.” Edwin ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up just a little bit more.
“Well, spill!” Lizzie smacked a hand against her comforter, telling him to sit.
With a small sigh, Edwin plopped himself on the edge of his stepsister’s bed. He glanced again at the door one more time, reassuring himself that it was actually closed and the two of them were actually alone. He then looked straight at Lizzie, giving her full eye contact, before he said in a low voice:
“I think Derek and Casey like each other.”
Lizzie didn’t respond. She just blinked.
“As in, like like each other,” he went on, assuming that she hadn’t heard him or was simply in shock.
She tossed her pencil at his head. It bounced off with a small plunk and then clattered to the floor.
“Ow!”
“That’s not news, you numbskull,” she retorted flatly. She had half a mind to just kick him out and go back to her math.
“So you knew?!” Edwin demanded, his voice raising half an octave.
“Of course, I knew. I’m not blind.”
“How?”
“They say that they can’t stand each other, but Casey never stops talking about all the things he’s done to her, and Derek practically plans everything he does around her. It’s not rocket science.”
Edwin had this strangely crestfallen look on his face, like he had shown up late to his own birthday party.
“Do you think they know? You know, about their crushes on each other?”
Lizzie shook her head.
“No way. They’re so oblivious to this whole thing, it’s nauseating. They really need to wake up.”
They were quiet for a second, but something changed in Edwin’s eyes and Lizzie noticed it right away.
“What?”
“What if all they needed to wake up was a little...cold water?”
She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“See, at this point, I can’t tell if you’re using a metaphor or if you’re actually suggesting that we dump cold water over Casey and Derek’s heads.”
Edwin rolled his eyes.
“I mean, what if someone made them realize how they feel about each other?” he spelled out.
“You mean, someone like us?” she asked, giving him a half-smile.
“I feel like it’s our duty as siblings, don’t you?”
That night, after dinner, they sat in Lizzie’s room and carefully planned for hours how “Operation: Cupid” would play out. Edwin sketched out a crude floor plan of the house, and marked out where they would attack with red Sharpie.
“Okay, so from now on, we refer to Derek as ‘Monkey’ and Casey as ‘Cat’--”
“If Casey’s a cat, does that make you a kitten?” Edwin asked with a smirk that would rival his brother’s. Lizzie socked him in the shoulder.
“‘Tiger’”, she edited, narrowing her eyes at him. “Derek is ‘Monkey’ and Casey is ‘Tiger.’“
Saturday was the perfect day to push their plan into action. George had to work, Nora had taken Marti to a checkup at the doctor, and Derek had gone out for some impromptu hockey practice with the guys. Casey was the only other person in the house, pacing back and forth across the house as she did the laundry. Edwin and Lizzie sat silently on the couch and leafed through the magazines left lying around, trying to look otherwise interested but exchanging glances whenever Casey wasn’t around, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
As Casey headed back towards the laundry room for what they presumed was the last load, Edwin winked at Lizzie, and then lifted his head up a little taller, hoping his voice would carry.
“Hey, you don’t believe this,” he declared loudly, but not too loudly - the last thing they needed was for Casey to get suspicious.
“Won’t believe what?” Lizzie answered in a matching volume.
“Derek told me that he has a crush on Casey.”
Immediately after Edwin ended that sentence, they heard a messy clatter behind them, like one of the kitchen chairs had been knocked over. They both took a daring glance over their shoulders to see a wisp of brown hair disappear behind the wall and a hand clenching the molding of the doorway that led into the kitchen. They winked at each other again with glinting eyes. She was listening.
“What?! Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. He’s absolutely nuts about her.”
“That would explain why he hasn’t gone on a date in months.”
“He said that he can’t even look at other girls anymore. All he can think about is Casey.”
“So is he going to tell her?”
“Are you kidding? He’s Derek Venturi! Telling a girl that he’s in love with her is, like, biologically impossible. In fact, that’s why he went out to play hockey today. He said that being left alone with her would be too much to bear.”
They heard a small gasp from where the chair had fallen over.
“Maybe it’s easier that way. I don’t think Casey would be able to handle the fact that her step-brother is in love with her. She’s so uptight.” Lizzie didn’t really think that about her sister - not completely - but she realized it was necessary to say that to help get their point across.
After that, they heard a small, offended squeak. It was all the two of them could do to keep from giggling.
“That’s what I told him! I said, ‘Derek, you have to fight this thing. She’s only going to break your heart, and then this house is going to get even more screwed up than it already is.’“
“But still, the fact that Derek is in love with Casey...”
By this point, they were walking up the stairs, praying that Casey could still hear their conversation from the kitchen. As they reached the second floor landing, they had turned completely silent. They quickly dropped down onto their knees and peeked through the space between the bars on the railing. It hadn’t been five seconds before they spotted Casey wobbling into the living room, mouth agape, gripping onto furniture for support. Her cheeks were flushed bright red and the rest of her was ghostly white. She had heard every word.
Lizzie and Edwin pressed their palms together in a silent high-five. On to Phase 2.
Getting Derek to leave the house was far easier than getting Casey to leave the house. After running hypothetically through every scenario she could think of, Lizzie eventually had to rope Emily into taking Casey out on a shopping spree, “girls’ day out” type thing. She agreed, even though she was still thoroughly confused as to why Lizzie wouldn’t give her a reason behind the odd request.
On the other hand, Derek was harder to corner in the house. There were too many variables, and he stayed in his room practically all day. Lizzie and Edwin had rehearsed this part of the plan three times just the night before, and they were confident.
Lizzie stood in the corner of the hallway, holding the doorknob to the games closet and ready to sprint if need be. Edwin placed himself directly in front of Derek’s bedroom door, and gave Lizzie a reassuring nod before he knocked. After a few seconds, nothing happened, so he knocked again, this time with the side of his fist. This brought a slow shuffle of feet. Lizzie pressed her back flush to the wall, praying that he wouldn’t come outside to see her.
Derek swung open the door and rested his elbow up on the molding, obviously irritated.
“Ed, if this isn’t important...”
Edwin didn’t pay enough attention to hear the end of that sentence. Discreetly as possible, he leaned to the side and did a quick sweep of Derek’s room. His headphones were plugged in and playing a heavy metal song at a deafening volume, but they were perched on the farthest corner of his bed, several steps (and seconds) away. He breathed a silent sigh of relief through his nose. If they had been in easy reach around his neck, there was no way they were going to have enough time to lure him outside before he couldn’t hear them. Edwin then smirked up at his brother.
“Dinner tonight’s lasagna. Just thought you should know.”
With a hand on the top of Edwin’s head, Derek pushed him out of the doorway.
“Thanks for the newsflash. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some ‘me time’ to finish.” And then the door slammed shut.
After hearing Derek’s feet shuffle to about halfway between his bed and the door, Edwin took a couple of steps away and asked, loud enough to be heard through the thin walls, “So what’s the secret?”
“Shh, not here!” Lizzie said, equally loud. She then held the door to the games closet wide open. Edwin darted in, nearly breaking his nose against Chutes & Ladders he was going so fast, and Lizzie followed suit. She didn’t close it completely, leaving just a big enough crack for a conversation to be heard in the hall. Edwin yanked on the chain for the light as she listened for the creak of Derek’s door. A few seconds later, sure enough, followed by soft steps of sneaker feet. She gave Edwin a thumbs up, and the script went on as rehearsed.
“So what’s the deal? You have to tell me!”
“Okay, but you have to promise that you won’t tell Casey that I told you. And you especially can’t tell Derek!”
“I swear.”
“Okay...” Lizzie took an audible gulp for effect. “Casey told me that she thinks she has a crush on Derek.”
“What?! Casey have a crush on Derek? As in, Venturi? I don’t believe you.”
“No, it’s true. She told me the whole thing after dinner last night. She’s been having dreams. A lot of dreams.”
They could hear more footsteps. Was that a stumble?
“At first, she thought she was going crazy, but she finally realized that she’s in love with him! She has no idea what to do.”
“Well, she can’t tell him, that’s for sure. Just think about it. He hates Casey. If he found out she was in love with him, he’d break her heart! Crush it into a million tiny little pieces! Just for fun!”
“I know this is Derek we’re talking about, but he really wouldn’t do that, would he?”
“Lizzie, I’ve lived with him longer. I know what he’s capable of.”
After that, they both kept quiet, listening to the footsteps slowly fade away from earshot. Lizzie poked her head out of the closet, signaling with her hand for Edwin to stay inside. She could see the back of Derek’s head trudging down the stairs, picking up speed as he reached the bottom. She walked out and stood on the landing, watching him pull on his coat with shaky hands. His eyes were tense with bewilderment. He yanked at the zipper of his coat, which seemed to be stuck.
“Where you going, Derek?” she asked down to him, trying to remain nonchalant.
“I need some air,” he answered quickly, an unusual rasp in his voice. He finally left the zipper in its haphazard position and headed quickly out the door, letting it swing closed.
Their work was done. Now they just had to wait.
Once again, Lizzie was in her room, trying to get her schoolwork done, and, once again, Edwin burst in and interrupted her, this time grabbing on to her wrist and pulling her out into the hall.
“Tiger’s on the move! Tiger’s on the move!” he whispered harshly, his eyes wide.
Lizzie moved as fast as she could, trying to regain her balance. She saw a hand that was far too feminine to be Derek’s shut the door to his bedroom. The two younger siblings threw themselves down onto the floor and pointed their ears toward the tiny slat between the door and the jamb and only breathed through their noses.
“What’s up, Princess?” They could hear Derek fiddling around with his guitar.
“I need to ask you something.” Casey’s voice was far less steady than his was.
“Never stopped you before.”
Casey was silent for a full ten seconds before she blurted out, “Do you have a crush on me?”
A rather sour F sharp came from the other side of the room, and there was another long pause.
“Do I...what?!” Derek’s voice came out like a strangled cat.
“It’s just that I heard Lizzie and Edwin talking and--”
“No, no, no, wait a minute...” They could hear Derek roll off his bed and move closer to Casey. “Because Ed and Lizzie said that you were in love with me!”
“What?!”
“Yeah. Completely gaga. And they said you were having ‘dreams’ about me.” The air quotes could be heard on the other side of the door.
Casey huffed. “Well, they said that you were just nuts over me, and you’ve been purposely avoiding other girls because of me.”
“Okay, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Lizzie bit down on her knuckle and glared at Edwin, whose eyes were equally concerned. This wasn’t part of the plan!
“You know, I knew you were messed up, Derek, but this is a new low. Even for you.”
“Me?! Well, look who’s talking!”
Then they were both quiet. All Lizzie and Edwin could hear was the sound of them breathing. It was that heavy breathing they always did after having a fight, but it was somehow...slower.
“So you...don’t really like me?” Casey asked at last, vulnerability poking through her voice.
Derek audibly tripped over his tongue for a moment, and then spat out, “Well, I-I mean...you don’t like me, right?”
“I...”
And then there was a pause. A long pause. A ridiculously long pause. Edwin and Lizzie glanced at each other, silently asking do you think they killed each other? When, startling both of them, the silence was broken.
“Mm...”
Both of their eyes were wide as saucers. Lizzie shifted slightly and squinted so she could look through the tiny slot between the doorjamb. Her jaw would have dropped clean off had it not been attached to her skull. She pulled on Edwin’s sleeve. He leaned over and screwed one eye shut, but after he saw what was happening on the other side of the door, it came wide open again.
Casey’s hands were weaved through Derek’s hair with a fierce grip. Derek had his arms wound around Casey’s back, pressing her as close to him as possible. They were kissing. No, scratch that, they were making out.
Casey McDonald and Derek Venturi were making out.
After Edwin let out an uncontrollable squeak of shock, Lizzie yanked on the collar of his shirt, pulling him up and practically burning the rubber in her shoes to get them back into her room before they were caught.
Once they were inside, Lizzie leaned back against her door, locked it, and then sank down.
She had basically thrown Edwin onto her bed. His arms and legs were sprawled out like a dead cockroach. Then, he leaned himself upright and said, with heave of breath, “Mission accomplished?”
Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Ivan Petrovitch, minor original characters
Other Tags: Red Room, backstory, parallels
Not everything Natasha does, she does because she was told to.
“Let’s move, ladies!” the guard behind the long line of twenty or so preteen girls bellowed. They marched along the cold floor a little faster, keeping their shoulders square, but their lower lips twitched in fear of the whip that the guard always carried by his side. Sometimes Natalia felt that all they did was march, even though most of their day was filled with training. The monotony of the marching just seemed to stick out in her mind. Left, right, left, right, left, right.
There had used to be at least one hundred girls in her group, but only a few hours ago, guards had swept through their usual dormitory, orderly and silently, and plucked certain girls from their beds, forcing them into clothes. These specific girls were then shuffled into a horse trailer, which was driven for so long that Natalia had actually fallen asleep, and then wound up in this unknown location with long, narrow halls and leaking pipes.
The guard that had been barking at them for the last five minutes cracked his whip hard against the floor, sending resonating vibrations through every surface in the hall.
“Eeep!” Just behind Natalia there came a sharp squeak. she turned around quickly. Kira clutched her mouth with both hands and her eyes shone with tears.
The guard, who the girls had come to know as Eristov, sniffed at Kira and then trudged his combat boots towards the head of the line. On the side where he wasn’t walking, Natalia reached back and enveloped Kira’s cold fingers in her palm and squeezed lightly.
Eristov was a large man who always smelled of liquor, with a prickly, unshaven face and deep set eyes. “Listen well,” he growled at them, “this is where you will be staying for the remainder of your training. Be sure to get a good night’s rest.” Without batting an eyelid, he produced a clipboard from the inside of his thick coat. “Lidiya and Anja, Room One. Madina and Svetlana, Room Two. Lara and Dima, Room Three. Kira and Natalia, Room Four...”
He went on, but Natalia tugged on Kira’s hand and the two scrambled into their designated room.
Natalia didn’t exactly remember how, but she and Kira had bonded almost immediately after starting the program. This friendship alienated her from the other girls, because Kira was the scrawny, crybaby runt of the group who always got picked on by her superiors, but Natalia didn’t care. Kira looked up to her and was in desperate need of a friend.
The small blonde girl plopped herself onto one of the two beds and shook violently. Natalia sat down on the same bed, folding Kira tightly into her side in an attempt to get her to calm down.
“I’m so scared, Natalia,” she whimpered. “The other girls are so brave, but I am so very scared.”
Natalia petted her friend’s hair in silence.
“You are the bravest of all of them, Natalia,” Kira went on, half in awe and half in self-loathing. “Are you not scared?”
If she were to tell the truth, Natalia would have said that she was growing just as scared as Kira. She had been brought into the program by Ivan Petrovitch, her father’s colleague and closest friend, who was also involved with it. He had told her that it was a type of boarding school. Initially, Natalia was nervous, but she trusted Ivan, and she knew that as long as he was close, she would never be in danger. But as time passed, the training grew more and more rigorous and Natalia saw less and less of Ivan. She was lucky just to catch a glimpse of his shoulder as he was hurrying to who knows where once every few weeks. And now, the girls had been moved to a strange, new place and she had no idea where Ivan was. She was as scared as she had ever been, but she was not about to admit that to Kira.
She brushed a kiss against her friend’s cheek and hopped off the bed.
“You heard Eristov,” she reminded weakly, hustling into the nightgown that was left for her. “We should get to sleep.”
After an hour or two, Natalia heard Kira’s soft, deep breathing from the bed across the room to indicate that she had fallen under. She, however, was still awake. She lay facing the wall, quiet and still, every so often a tear falling across the bridge of her nose and onto her pillow. Even back in the regular dormitory, she never truly slept much - only about one to three hours a night. She had made it more than once not even sleeping at all. She never wanted to sleep, because every time she closed her eyes she was back in Sao Paulo. She was the flames and heard the wails of the sirens and felt the cold water from the puddles lash against her legs as she was pushed and dragged away from the scene.
Natalia’s shoulders tightened as she heard a high-pitched, metallic moan and a dim light was cast upon the wall. Kira was still sleeping.
Someone was in their room.
Natalia remained still as a corpse, clenching her jaw and perking her ears to the low heaving breaths that steadily grew closer. She felt cold as all the blood drained from her face.
The throaty sighs could now be felt on the back of her neck. Natalia could feel herself begin to physically shake. She felt rough, calloused fingers gently touch her hair and then slowly graze her pale arm.
Then she felt those same fingers lift up the collar of her nightgown and something warm and slimy touched the base of her neck. It was a tongue.
Natalia’s elbow jarred back in reply, bending the nose it came in contact with into a new shape. She reached her hands up and grabbed the head of her attacker and willed all of her strength to push it away. There was a sharp crack of bone and a scream of agony.
Adrenaline the only thing running through her veins, Natalia scrambled off of her bed and continued to deliver blows to the figure. A punch to the shoulder. A kick to the stomach. Another punch to the jaw. A knee to the crotch. She even bit his wrist just because she could. With each attack, the stranger screamed louder and Natalia found herself screaming as well, hot tears blurring her vision but still expertly delivering every blow
The intruder fell to the floor as the door was slammed wide open. In the light, Natalia could see that the person who had placed their tongue on her neck was Eristov. She turned around sharply, more tears spilling onto the floor. There in the doorway stood an impressively tall man with a double-breasted coat and a scar, who was seething at what he was in front of him, and Ivan Petrovitch at his heels. Natalia was completely frozen. In her cold sweat, the only thing moving was her heart under her skin, pumping more than forty miles an hour.
The tall man’s stone mouth barely moved as he retched softly, “Get Eristov on his feet. I’ll take the girl.”
They took her to a poorly lit room far away from the hallway where the bedrooms were. The floor was concrete and the walls were solid steel. All there was was a long table, a single chair, and a broken lamp that swung from the ceiling with a haunting creak. Natalia was pushed down hard into the chair, which wheezed slightly under her pressure. The man with the scar - Natalia noted that the others called him Toropov and that he was higher in rank than either of them - began to pace in front of her. He was a silent stone of a man, but Natalia could hear the anger in his breathing. Eristov stood at a close distance, watching Toropov with the eyes of a Rottweiler, not glancing towards the young girl at all. During the exchange of rooms, he had developed a limp and gotten a cloth to hold to his bloody face. The silhouette of Ivan could barely be made out as he stood against the far wall, not moving at all. Natalia searched for his eyes in the shadows, but found nothing but darkness.
Toropov stopped pacing and carefully pressed his hands down onto the table that separated Natalia and him, and fiercely glared down into her eyes.
“So what happened?” he snarled, the gleam of his bared teeth giving Natalia an uncomfortable shiver.
“The little bitch tried to kill me, that’s what happened!” Eristov instantly retorted, hobbling over towards his boss’ side. Toropov held out his strong hand as a signal for him to stay away, not even looking at him. He spoke again.
“You have five seconds to tell me why you were deliberately attacking your superior before I ring your neck.”
Natalia swallowed, her mouth gone dry. Her vision was swimming with anger. Anger at Eristov for what he had tried to do. Anger at Toropov for deliberately ignoring what Eristov was doing in her room in the first place. She gripped the sides of the chair in her white fists. She choked on each word as it fell from her mouth, glaring into Toropov’s steely eyes.
“He wanted me.”
Toropov was still for a moment, processing what he had just been told. Then he quickly retracted his hands from where they rested on the table and began to pace again, tenser than before.
“Nothing you say is going to get you out of here,” he almost chuckled, and Natalia felt a strange cold running through her blood again. “You think that by making up some bullshit lies that we’re somehow going to let you go. What you don’t understand is this is your life now. You can never escape. Now why were you disobeying Eristov?”
“I was not disobeying; he wanted me,” Natalia pressed, louder and grittier than before.
Toropov snapped, turning around and slamming his fists down hard on the table, towering over her like an animal.
“STOP LYING TO ME!”
Natalia’s blood was pulsing at an alarming rate. She shoved the table into Toropov’s stomach. He let out a sharp cry as she bolted to the other side of the room. In a flash, she reached under Ivan’s coat where she knew he kept his gun and, through her brimming tears, pulled the trigger, aimed squarely at Toropov’s chest. He fell to the floor with a bang.
Eristov was at his side in an instant, weight resting on the leg that wasn’t limping. He began shouting for help and checking for vital signs. Natalia could hear a low wheeze as Toropov fought for his last moments.
Ivan came from behind her and ripped the gun out of her hands. The young girl tried to look into his eyes, but his palm made sharp contact with the side of her face in one quick thwack! She crumpled to her knees. She clutched her cheek where the skin had been broken and choked on her own raggedy breath. Tears stung in her eyes. She screwed them shut in trying to relieve the sudden nausea.
The Ivan she knew was no longer alive.
She buried her face in her hands, trying to slow her heart rate. Every place that the gun had touched her was engulfed in fire, yet she was shivering as if she was frostbitten. She had handled weapons before in training, but never like this. She had never actually shot someone. It was always a sheet of paper or a doll stuffed with sand. Never a real, living person. She never had to see that blood spill onto the floor. Never.
Faceless guards soon swarmed the room, tiptoeing around Toropov’s body. Keeping an eye on Natalia, Petrovitch pulled two of the guards to the side. He whispered, but she could read his lips perfectly.
“Take the girl. I want her fully turned by sunrise; no excuses.”
