JUST KIDS (College TRR AU): Air I Breathe, pt 2
A/N: i kind of forgot I was still updating this, but I couldn't stop thinking about what happens next, so.... here, have another chapter. I was thinking about @jamesashtonisbae while writing one bit and definitely got carried away.... I dont think she'll mind.
Word Count: 5,791
Pairing: Drake Walker x Joanna Malone
Warnings: um.... canon typical violence, death, destruction, obnoxious cliff hanger, sauciness, Neville Vancoeur being a twat.
Drake bounced on his toes as he pulled the tight white costume pants up over his thighs. As ridiculous as he’d felt looking at the get up, the little dance he had to do just to squeeze into it was worse. Definitely worse. He could hear his friends just on the other side of the dressing room door, gushing over Liam in his Lord Fabian inspired cape. Brooks was sure to go cross eyed seeing her fiancée dressed up like a matador and the awkward silence confirmed it. Maxwell jokingly had to pull them apart and Drake was glad for the separation.
Bang, bang. “Doin okay, buddy?” Maxwell called through the door, chipper as always.
“Yeah, I’m-“ Drake looked down at the front half of his trousers that fell open and grunted. “S’great.” He fiddled with the antique laces until his junk felt secure behind the thick white fabric and squatted to test its resilience. The costume was more… form fitting than he remembered it being on Liam, but it had been at least a year and Drake was not exactly of princely build. He turned over his shoulder to look at himself in the floor length mirror and groaned at the way the fabric clung to his backside. One wrong move and he’d be busting out of the trousers, he just knew it. Even worse, Brooks was liable to comment on “dat ass” with encouragement from Maxwell and Drake wasn’t sure he could stomach even light hearted teasing.
“Okay… well you’re taking a while, so I’m going to change right out here.”
“What?” Drake reached for the door to stop him.
“Too late! Don’t open the door unless you want to see my butt!”
Drake shut it the minuscule amount and double checked the lock before turning back to the mirror. His white shirt was tucked smoothly into his pants and he took the moment to tug on the shined black boots in the corner. They rose up almost to his knees and Drake shuffled forward like a pirate mid perry before shaking his head at himself and reached for the embroidered coat that hung next to the mirror. Hopefully it would hang far enough below his waist and he could avoid comments about his rear. He carefully fastened the matching vest over his chest, tugging it down to cover the laces on his pants before slipping his arms into the heavy sleeves of the overcoat. Thick blue fabric weighed down by the most intricate gold embroidery he'd ever see on himself. He looked… good. The Noble get up wasn’t usually his style, but Drake couldn’t deny it was flattering. All that was left was the starched white cravat hanging on the back of the door. Drake eyed it before throwing his hands up. Maxwell was just going to have to do that part.
Just then his annoying friend pounded on the door again, making Drake jump back in surprise.
“All done, see ya out there, buddy!” His bubbly voice fading as he sauntered out of the dressing area.
Well, shit.
…
“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” Joanna whispered harshly.
“I’m a prince,” Leo reminded her at a normal volume that, coupled with an ornate chandelier suddenly being illuminated, made Joanna cringe. The room before her was draped in satiny pinks and embroidered pillows, with heavy curtains lining the semi circle layout. It was a lot. “I’m allowed everywhere.” Leo’s voice made Joanna jump when he appeared suddenly behind her.
He strolled through the room looking somehow more at home there than the colorful den in Marrakech where he introduced her to proper shisha or lounging carelessly in white robe sipping tea after visiting a hammam in Tunis or napping on a beach off the coast of Sicily sandwiched comfortably between two Albanian models… and he looked quite at home everywhere they’d stopped so far. The journey from Spain to the Mediterranean cliffside where the wedding of the century took place was longer than necessary, but admittedly exciting. Leo’s itinerary included every exotic locale that Joanna had only ever dreamed of and made it exceptionally difficult to dislike the prince. Tagging along as his date was a small price to pay for the adventure of a lifetime. The mysterious Kate married her beloved sailor, Dean, and Leo had been in a delightful stage of denial before and after the nuptials, but Joanna watched the prince’s heart shatter slowly with every vowed syllable. Deciding not to shove him off when Leo’s head slumped into her shoulder, it was clear they were becoming friendly if not outright friends.
A fact that she questioned almost immediately after the wedding, when the prince dragged her out onto the dance floor. His heart was heavy, but Leo managed to be light on his feet as he spun Joanna around like they’d done it a thousand times. It was exhilarating and he’d chosen the exact moment her smile was widest to tell her their next stop was Cordonia. Leo watched her smile fade into something unreadable, like Liam’s face when he’s stuck overthinking. The prince wasn’t always the best at brothering, but he was capable of learning from his own mistakes and led Joanna off the dancefloor toward the bar. Her nose crumpled up at the sight of a brightly colored signature drink, but accepted it -and finished it- quickly. He presented her options. She could accompany him to Cordonia for the Costume Gala or they could part ways at the wedding and she could find her own way home, wherever that was. The ultimatum seemed to work for Joanna and without much further discussion on the matter, she and Leo were changing out of their wedding attire and into something fit for travel, the prince grinning knowingly at her the whole flight.
Joanna dragged her hands over a pair of white french doors and opened them with a flourish, half expecting bluebirds to fly out from between the rows of gowns. Her fingers had just curled around the hem of a simple black dress, when Leo leapt from his seat on an overstuffed settee to crowd Joanna from behind. She shot him a warning look and made to move away, but Leo was faster. Taking her by the waist, with objection, he wheeled her around to a different door that, when opened, revealed much more color than the one Joanna had chosen.
“Costume Gala,” Leo reminded her pointedly. “The flashier the better, I’m afraid.” He spotted her start to build an argument in her head and quickly added, “you’ll stand out more in something simple. If you want to blend in,” he lifted both shoulders, as if leaving the choice up to her, but Joanna didn’t feel like there was much of a choice. She eyed Leo carefully as he pulled something bright orange from the fold.
Joanna’s head shook slowly before ever opening her mouth to say, “no no no no-” but Leo ignored her, draping the ostentatiously feathered gown over a round leather pouf before he snatched a black garment bag from another door entirely and disappeared behind one of the pink curtains. She must have spent too long gawking at the dress, for when Leo reappeared, it was still on the furniture instead of on her.
“Well, my father’s expecting me,” he shrugged, pausing to tug the blue sash across his chest and adjust the few medals over his heart. Leo glanced at the dress then back up at Joanna without an ounce of sympathy in his sarcastic smile. “Join us when your dressed.” And he was out the door, popping his head back in shortly after, but only to tell her to follow the music.
Joanna stopped herself mid eyeroll, realizing that she’d be walking through a royal palace completely companionless and following the music might be her only chance at actually finding the person she wanted to see. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously and lifted the gown from its place to hold up to her chest, twisting gently before the full length mirror in the corner to watch the fabric curl around her shins. Taking a deep breath, she locked eyes with herself in the glass.
Here we go.
…
If only tying his own neckpiece had been the most taxing part of the evening. That was embarrassingly hopeful thinking on Drake’s part and he knew it. He still had mingling and dancing to deal with, but at least those activities came with a drink. Or two. When he spotted Leo entering the ballroom, fashionably late, Drake immediately turned away in favor of the dance floor, accepting when Riley Brooks asked him to escort her since Liam was with his father and Regina. It seemed like a good idea at the time, he’d even managed to keep his feet in time with a Viennese Waltz, until Neville Vancoeur decided to make his presence and his arrogance known. The normal jibes weren’t enough for the pompous asshat and while Drake was giving as good as he got, there was no way he was prepared to see a white glove tossed ceremoniously at his feet.
A duel. The first honor duel in Cordonia in over a hundred years. Or so said the excited whispers rippling through the crowd that had gathered in the courtyard to watch him select a sabre from the humblest display plucked out of the palace armory. The steel laid out ceremoniously across crushed black velvet glittered while reflecting the dramatic flaming torches that had been lit specifically for the gala’s aesthetic. Drake scanned each weapon carefully, though he was out of his league. He locked eyes with Brooks and nodded for her to join him. As expected, the whole group of friends followed her without question and after a brief, but embarrassing display of Maxwell’s inability to be near weaponry without drawing blood, Olivia blessedly offered her expertise without Drake having to ask. He hoped she hadn’t noticed the relief in his stature as he lifted her choice of blade and held it nose high to glance down the length. Madeline stepped up then, reminding him that losing an honor duel wouldn’t necessarily harm his family name -since there was nothing worth harming- but would look bad for Liam and Riley as they continued with their engagement tour. Drake took a deep breath, stopping himself before saying something to make everything worse, and lowered the heavy sword. Brooks reminded Madeline that he was defending her honor as much as his own, while Liam pulled him aside and reminded him how brave he was for accepting at all.
“You’re the toughest person I know, Drake,” Liam nodded in encouragement. “You can do this.”
Constantine, looking far too giddy for a man of his age, called for the duel to begin and Drake was ushered to the middle of the murmuring crowd to face off against Neville. Eyeing his opponent’s ugly plaid suit and spit shined shoes and smug little smirk under dark eyes, Drake was reminded that Neville was nothing more than a stuffy nobel. Someone who’d lived his life behind the ivy covered walls of the Cormery Isle, someone who’d never known struggle or sweat. This bolstered Drake’s confidence as he bowed his head, watching Neville stiffly return the gesture. “Let the duel…” the king started in a raspy, yet regal tone, “...BEGIN!”
Neville lunged forward immediately and though Drake blocked the initial attack, he stumbled back, shocked that a man like Neville had the balls to strike first and strike hard. The lord’s next swing was at Drake’s head, causing the commoner to drop out of the way just in time. Drake looked up into the pinched face of his rival and felt something he hadn’t been expecting. Fear.
Oh shit, Drake thought to himself, scrambling to stand again before Neville could swing on him a third time, and extending the blade out, fortified by the cries of his friends behind him.
...
The sleeves of her dress sat lower on her shoulders than she liked, the plunge of her neckline deeper than anything in her own closet made Joanna stand a little taller just to keep the heavy fabric from slipping down her chest. She stepped carefully down the halls of the Palace. Mindful of the short hem across the tops of her thighs, Joanna took short steps without dragging her feet so as not to trip on the long train behind her. The long glittery sleeves were an oddly modest touch on a dress that had orange and red feathers adorning her hips and breasts. The boning over her stomach straightened her spine and lifted her cleavage in ways her twenty year old self would have cringed at. Despite feeling both out of place and on display, there was an anxious little flutter in her gut at the prospect of seeing Drake again while dressed like a literal princess. She hadn’t taken the time to think about actually seeing her exboyfriend again, overcome the need to do so as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Between the closeness, Leo’s obvious scheming, and learning that Drake had been shot by terrorists, Joanna’s insecurities had no place and were drowned out by the need to see Drake Walker for herself, see that he was alright, hug him until he pulled away. But now… knowing he was in the same building, there developed a slightly larger fluttering at the prospect of seeing Drake on the arm of a literal princess. It was unlikely given what Leo had told her, but how much would Leo know after spending all his time either on a cruise ship or with her, partying his way back to Cordonia? There wasn’t time to dwell on that thought before she found herself at the giant ballroom doors, pushing one side until it gave way and opened at the top of a small, but no less grand set of stairs.
Joanna closed her eyes and stepped through the doors, taking a centering breath before opening them to gaze upon…
An empty ballroom.
Without the grace she’d planned to use, Joanna hastened down the half set of stairs and into the heavily decorated room only to find herself alone. A handful of servers were scattered and only half of the band continued to play, their song echoing eerily without the din of conversation or the insulation of bodies winding under the chandeliers. She must have looked as gobsmacked as she felt. Within only a few moments of gawking at the vacant dancefloor, a silver tray carrying untouched champagne flutes appeared before her. Joanna blinked dumbly as a crystal glass was offered to her and shook her head no.
“Everyone’s in the courtyard,” the girl wielding the tray informed Joanna, nodding toward a wall of floor to ceiling windows, lit up from the outside by torches. “The first honor duel in a century,” the girl whispered, a certain wistfulness in her voice, as she gazed out the windows next to Joanna. They both stood without speaking for a few more moments. Joanna was much more prepared a few moments ago, when she was sure that she’d spot Drake before he spotted her. Now, she’d be stepping into an historic event that was admittedly way cooler than her arrival in Cordonia.
The girl next to her sighed as she turned to leave. “I hope Mr. Walker wins.”
And at that, Joanna’s eyes widened.
“What did you say?”
...
“Do you know what I despise most about you and your kind, Walker?” Neville taunted, shuffling his feet gracefully as Drake carefully mirrored his steps.
“Got a feeling I’m about to hear it either way,” Drake ground out, watching his nemesis carefully, waiting for the twitch of an arm or a stuttered step to give his next move away.
“Astute,” Neville chuckled, eye the crowd around them as if to garner their support. “What I despise most… is that you have no respect for your betters.”
Drake cocked his head at that, fighting a grin as he glanced at Neville’s hesitant steps. “I have plenty of respect for my betters,” he countered, then narrowed his eyes. “Just don’t consider you one of them.”
The murmuring around them picked up around them and Neville looked agitated as a few snickers rose above the whispers. Drake swung and swung hard, using the distraction to force Neville back toward the crowd, which responded with a cloud of gasps. A few bootlickers supported the lord’s shoulders and pushed him back into the circle to face Drake again.
“Brute strength…” Neville sneered, “about what I expected from you!” With surprising elegance, his next thrust darted through the air and tore into Drake’s side so quickly the blade whistled.
Drake cried out, grabbing at his side where warmth bloomed under his ribs and spilled out through his fingers.
“DRAKE!”
He turned his head toward the voice that tore through the crowd before the body wielding it had fully emerged. People of all stations sidestepped at the distressing sound and as they parted, a vision in orange feathers materialized before him. No, he swayed. He hadn’t lost enough blood for hallucinations. Not yet at least.
“Oh m- somebody stop this! He’s bleeding!” the voice called out again and god, if it didn’t sound just like his Malone…
“Nonsense,” Olivia scoffed from nearby, crossing her arms as two guards stepped in front of the stranger to stop her from throwing herself directly into the circle. “You’d be surprised the amount of blood a man can lose and still emerge victorious from battle.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Malone. It had to be. Drake steadied himself as his eyes roved over her, looking so different in court worthy clothing, yet somehow like she belonged there, struggling against the shoulders of the men blocking her way. He couldn’t help but smile, ignoring the banter that continued on around him. Brooks and Hana and Olivia going back and forth with vaguely encouraging, but also disturbing things to say on his behalf. Whatever honor he’d felt at the beginning of the duel was dwindling as he looked on through a new perspective. We probably look like lunatics to you, Malone. Not far off.
The worst of them, however, still had a sword in hand and was ready to continue on, regardless of Drake’s level of distraction. The two traded parries and the singing of steel drowned out the crowd’s concern. Neville’s next swing came down from overhead and Drake lifted his sword to block, the crossed blades in front of his face a sobering sight. Drake threw his body weight into his next thrust, forcing Neville back a step and regaining the upper hand. Even Olivia sounded impressed with the trade. Drake lunged forward again, but Neville quickly sidestepped, favoring Drake’s left side. The next thing he knew, his arm was pulled and twisted, pain radiating from his still tender shoulder. Drake cried out loudly and swore at Neville. Typical Vancouer, acting without an ounce of honor even during a duel.
“Liam! Do something!” Malone called out again and Drake winced, collapsing to his knees. The blade slid from his hand as he reached up to clutch his own shoulder, steel clattering against stone sounding too much like defeat. As Neville taunted him from above, reminding him of his place in the dirt, Drake watched his friend halt Joanna from climbing over the guards to end the fight herself. No doubt Liam would explain that things like this could not be stopped, even by the prince. He heard Neville’s demands for his last words, bearing down on him like years of verbal abuse come to a head, but Drake’s eyes were on Joanna. The girl that knew him unlike anyone else in this world, the girl who’d only ever known him as a commoner yet loved him more than anyone else and made him feel powerful just with a look. He watched her worried face fall as Liam spoke directly into her ear, but then it unexpectedly hardened again. His girl wouldn't watch him fall tonight.
-
Joanna leapt forward again, not to evade guards or interrupt the conflict, but to make herself seen and heard over any others that might distract Drake from victory. After Liam’s brief history of the Walkers’ treatment in Cordonia, Joanna realized that the duel wasn’t merely between Drake and this Neville character, but rather between everything they stood for. How poetic. And how truly like Drake, to do more, to be more than anyone expected of him. It was an honor to watch him do that, even if she didn’t fully understand why it had to be in a duel.
On the other hand… he looked really good, dressed like a prince and wielding a heavy sword… It was like a fantasy. A literal fantasy world with glittering halls and women dripping with jewels and men with more influence than anyone she’d ever met. And there in the middle of it all… Drake Walker. The boy who made her feel like someone important, like someone worth loving. How could the boy who preferred chocolate milk in his cereal and sleeping in the woods also exist in a place as shiny and self righteous as this? The way this Vancouer fellow sneered down at Drake, blade poised for a final blow rather than surrender, confirmed that the boy she loved and the man she knew would only belong in a place like this if he made it so.
“He doesn’t know anything about you!” A girl in a white feathered gown, looking like a dove or an angel on Liam’s arm, shouted to Drake, pulling his eyes from Joanna for only a moment, but enough to make her miss them.
“Drake!” Joanna hollered louder, drawing the brown eyes back to hers. They stared at each other in a way she couldn’t remember ever looking at anyone else. Like everything unspoken was understood, but still a hopeful look, like there was ample more. Like there was room for each other still. “Show him,” she yelled for him, before changing her mind. “Show them who you are!”
Drake nodded, a grin flashing quickly before disappearing all together as he looked back at Neville, glaring defiantly in the face of arrogant courtiers. Joanna noticed the tension in his body, rippling through him until every muscle was wound tight, ready to strike. His fists clenched and though the left released after only a moment, the knuckles on his right were white. “Yeah… I have something to say. I still have one good arm.”
Neville frowned, then stumbled back as Drake awkwardly swung with his bad arm, knocking his sword out of the way. Just then Drake rose up, throwing his right fist and all of his weight behind a wild haymaker that landed on Neville’s jaw, sending the nobleman reeling back. The sword tumbled from his hand and Drake, in a swift catch, took up his opponent’s sword and held the sharp tip against Neville’s neck, drawing a single drop of blood. Joanna’s stomach lept within her, relief and pride sending her up onto her toes. She sucked in her lips to bite back the cheers building up in her chest.
“Any last words?” Drake asked smugly and it took everything in her not to jump him there.
Neville scrambled to yield, the King stepped forward to declare Drake Walker the victor of the first honor duel in a hundred years, and Joanna watched as congratulations were passed with big beaming smiles. She grinned herself as a young woman, nearly as tall as Drake in her heels, slid under his good arm and made herself smaller to hug him properly. His tired head leaned into the woman’s and that signature Walker brown hair disappeared against hers. Savannah. Joanna hadn’t seen a photo of the girl since she was sixteen and now a nervous looking man in a sweater vest was passing a child into her arms while she kissed her brother’s cheek. The toddler stretched for Drake next, but his mother tightened her grip as Drake hid a pained smile behind a scrunched up face to tease the kid from a safe distance, baring his teeth like a tiger and leaning in to kiss a round cheek when a hug would be too difficult. He shook his head at something someone said, but it was obvious the moment he caught Joanna in his periphery. Time slowed down even as her heart beat a little faster. Rooted to the ground, watching as Drake pushed his way through a congratulatory crowd and towards her. An old man with wirey eyebrows- and a costume more comical yet obviously regal even in this collection of wealth- stood apart, declaring that everyone should return to the ballroom for the remainder of the gala. Joanna watched, amused, as Drake’s attempts to finally make his way over were once again interrupted by a continuous stream of final pats on the back before everyone went back inside. Her smile broke into a more annoyed laugh than amused one when, of course, Drake was intercepted by a small team of the palace’s medical staff and pushed back the way he’d come. He was visibly annoyed that such a short distance between them still proved to be so difficult, but his right arm shot up over the heads around him, gesturing for Joanna to meet him halfway. Deciding to put the man out of his misery, he had just won a duel after all, she obliged.
“Miss, we need to-”
“She stays,” Drake interrupted before anyone could object to Joanna’s presence and locked his good hand into one of hers, pulling her from her place waiting politely just outside the circle of medics until she stumbled into his side. His hand squeezed hers tight as two sets of hands removed half of his costume and bandaged up his side. Joanna brushed her fingers over the embroidered coat where it hung limply around Drake’s forearm, as far off as it could be without him releasing her hand. Something he objected to right away. They were quiet, while gauze and tape was layered on. Drake squeezed her hand again when he felt Joanna’s mind drifting away, offering tight smiles so sincere they made her heart hurt. The question of whether he’d want to see her withered away as he ducked his head, about to speak, but the team working on his left side finished up, interrupting yet again. Drake closed his eyes, turned toward the men and women removing their gloves and thanked them.
“Drake-”
He shook his head, grunting a little as he slid off the fountain he’d been sitting on. He only dropped Joanna’s hand then to pull his shirt and jacket back on and without asking or being asked, she moved to hold the stiff fabric steady while he guided his sore arm in.
“Not here,” his eyes flit around, pausing on the large windows of the ballroom. Lights and music and the occasional curious eye still filtered through them. “I wanna show you something.”
Joanna nodded, taking his hand again, and let him lead her away from the large stone fountains into a much smaller courtyard. Expertly trimmed hedges and lush flowering bushes provided an illusion of privacy in the middle of a decadent night. There were only a handful of tall lamp lights casting shadows from the greenery and small fairy lights that somehow both honored the darkness and bathed the alcove in a glow. It was the kind of fantasy setting that fit perfectly with her image of Cordonia, a coastal kingdom with princes and balls and apparently also sword fighting. Neither of them said much as they settled on a stone ledge, hidden away from the world and surrounded only by beautiful things. Lights, buttresses, flowers, each other. There was too much to give voice to any one thing over another and the silence was easier to swallow, easier to sit in.
Drake grunted softly as he turned, pulling Joanna’s hands into his lap where his arm could hang comfortably limp, while still caressing her knuckles under his thumb. “You look like you belong here,” he mused, taking the quiet moment to fully appreciate the orange gown that had folded up under Joanna, long feathered edges falling around their feet.
“I don’t,” she laughed, leaning forward a bit without thinking and Drake caught her then. Just as their foreheads touched in a tender kiss, he lifted his chin, let his nose slide up against the side of hers nudging the familiar planes of her face against his own. The noise she made at his half nuzzle felt like butterflies against his cheek, beating wings that made their way past his throat and into his belly, they spurred him forward until it was lips that rolled up to find hers. Joanna’s smile didn’t dissolve immediately and feeling it against his own felt better than he expected. She sighed, that smile falling into open mouthed kisses that still tasted like laughter on Drake’s tongue. Yes, he corrected in his head, thinking not of Cordonia or balls or palaces, but of his arms… his heart, you do. His hand, weak but determined, found its way to her cheek, cradling the moment carefully while making sure it wouldn’t slip away. Their bodies inched closer, the short front of Joanna’s skirt was caught on the rough stone beneath them, opening for Drake’s other hand as he leaned forward more. He didn’t even notice that he’d guided them down, prone on the ledge, his knees dimpled by the gravelly surface through Liam’s perfect white pants. Joanna’s hands were on his neck, sliding from the sides to the back and up into his hair like her fingers missed him as much his missed her. The fingers of his right hand had found their way up the front of her skirt without resistance and Drake was lost to it, touching her, tender and greedy, while their mouths hung open, not really kissing, just wet and close and warming the night air with every gasp. She was close and he was grinding into the back of her thighs where they folded up in his lap and it was too good.
So good that his satisfied groaning sounded a bit too much like pain. Drake hissed at the sudden shifting of Joanna’s body under him, which did smart more than he was expecting.
“Drake,” she was out of breath as she said his name, but even still he could hear the concern in it. “We have to get this looked at.” Joanna reached out to push her fingers under the thick blue jacket, feeling the subtle ridges of the bandage wrapped around his torso.
“Someone did,” he practically whined, head lulling to her shoulder as she felt around his tender side. His body jumped when her thumb brushed under the wound a little too roughly and Joanna hummed knowingly next to his ear. Drake was reluctant to rise, but encouraged by the fact that once standing again, Joanna’s hand was in his, while her other fixed his hair. “You don’t even know where the hospital is.”
“You’ll show me,” she said confidently, pulling him toward the palace doors before stopping in her tracks. Drake looked on, amused at her visible processing, and smiled when she turned to face him head on. “You’ll show me where the royal garage is too, right?”
Drake chuckled and redirected them, locking his good arm around her shoulders as he led her toward his car. “You know you can’t drive in Cordonia…” he pointed out, not anticipating Joanna’s knuckle to dig into his hip. Rendered almost immobile by the attack, Drake retaliated the only way that made sense. He hugged her neck tighter, using his right hand to push her face towards his to kiss her hard and hold her in place as she struggled against him, but laughing into his mouth and rubbing his stomach wasn’t the most effective strategy for escape.
Drake let himself fall headfirst, watching Joanna climb into his car, much nicer than the one he had in college. She drove slower than someone who insisted on an emergency room normally would and frequently looked over to Drake for reassurance that she was going the right way. It was familiar. Strangely so. Driving together. Laughing at each other. Hell, even sitting in an emergency room felt familiar, though with the mention of Drake’s name they were seen much quicker than any of their other visits. Joanna was just starting to grasp how different life was for Drake in Cordonia. He could see her getting overwhelmed across the room and it frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t touch her then. He was shirtless on a table getting stitched up and she was rubbing her hands down her thighs, pushing at the short skirt nervously, and while he was thankful to have her there, in front of him, in the room, in Cordonia, all he could think about was taking her away from it all. There was too much chaos in this life. Not that she couldn’t handle it. Drake knew few people stronger, but he didn’t think she should have to. It seemed like he and his friends were always in the midst of some battle, fighting or running or searching for someone that wanted them gone. Joanna could be his escape from that, if she wanted to be. She was there, he reminded himself, clearly she wanted something from him. What… he had no idea, but the familiarity of them was warm and it was overwhelming. If she’d have let him continue in the courtyard, he’d have proven it to both of them right there on the cold stone ground. Romance would come second to reconnecting and he wouldn’t have cared at all.
As if the gods were taunting him, listening to his thoughts and waiting for the moment to fuck with him, gasps and cries rang out through the whole floor before going silent again. The doctor stitching up Drake snapped the final suture and rushed out of the room. Joanna stood quickly and slipped under Drake’s good arm for the two of them to shuffle out together. Every television in the place was showing the same images. An explosion. In the palace. The country was watching, Drake and Joanna right there with them, frozen in shock and stiffly locked together as the blue banners started scrolling under the chaotic scene and panicked reporters.
Royal Family Devastated.
Death and Destruction in the Palace.
Terrorist action brings gala to a fatal close.
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