Discover Top Posts Tagged with #astray

[Don't get irritated: the episodes are not written in chronological order... But no reason to shy away - can be read in order of appearance!]

1)Previous: Episode 5 here 3)Next: An 'in-between ' to Episode 2b: "Boys talk I" FFL-Masterlist

Funny Farm Life (2)

(Excerpts from a journey to happiness)

》 You meet the family.

2) Episode 2b

"Astray"

TF 141 have retired after a mission almost gone too wrong. Together, they now run a farm for holiday guests in a rural part of Scotland. Everyone has found new responsibilities and even their families appreciate this new life. Then you come along - not being the only one whose life will get turned upside down and change significantly...

141 x afab!Reader (no specific desciptions, but with a backstory; no use of y/n), Price and Gaz with wives (no descriptions for I might want to write reader inserts for them as well at some point, don't know, yet) and two daughters each

Warnings: no smut, yet; this is not going to be an all funny story!!! (Abusive past relationship) - However, there will be a happy ending! Mind the tags for each episode. Mentioning of food (To be fair: let me tell you that I have no clue whether this is going to become Soap🖤Reader, Simon🖤Reader or maybe even poly!Soap🖤Reader🖤Simon (and some Ghoap as well?!) in the future...)

(About 10.8k words)

"Brought a stray!" the Scotsman - Soap - announces, before unceremoniously shoving you, his warm hand on the small of your back, through the door into the warmth of the old farmhouse.

Eight heads turn to you in unison (and additionally there’s the one already staring at you) as the room goes quiet.

He drops your bag by the door.

A stray indeed - and oh, you must be quite a sight. Drenched and dripping from the pouring rain (a 'pelsh', he told you, a 'drenching shower'), you dare not take another step, too afraid to flood (in addition to his car) more of the tidy floor, not only with the cold water running down your almost bare legs, but maybe also with your probably muddy shoes.

You guess you must be looking exactly like you feel.

Probably even more so amidst this unexpected gathering of strangers you're confronted with. You thought it would be just Soap and you, but maybe it's not a bad thing that you're not alone with him. Maybe this even minimises the risks a woman travelling alone might have to face when letting a stranger (no matter how charming and handsome) take her to his place somewhere out of town. You could have ended worse... The farm he told you of is real - so hopefully is the place for the night he offered you back at the station in the pounding rain.

All it takes is making it through this dinner with Soap's friends (or is it his family?) -despite the heavy tiredness crawling through your bones. You can do it. You've already managed by far worse. So pull yourself together and please try to maybe even enjoy this a bit! When was the last time you were with nice people?

Actually, these people in front of you do seem nice. They're a mixed group looking expectantly not only at your companion but at you, too.

Well, except one, maybe...

When Soap introduces you to the group, a massive blond guy at the farthest end of the table has just fastened a surgical mask over his mouth before you could see his face.

His glare is far from welcoming and gives your stomach a quick flick, even from the distance.

The others show different stages of smiles and ambiguous grins - depending on what they believe you to be to the Scotsman.

Soap starts at the right side of the long, huge table made to come together at by introducing you to the woman sitting closest to him. She takes you in with a subtle but not unfriendly smile and doesn't seem surprised at all that the Scotsman would show up with some random stranger in tow.

"She's our Captain's missus," he adds, "and manages the representation of the farm. Speaking of her husband -"

You don’t have time to think too hard about the title Soap used for the older bearded man to her right. They're - obviously - into nicknames - or maybe that one actually went to sea. Exudes an underlying authority that could be hardly missed…

"Name's John Price," the Captain himself lets you know in a warm, pleasant voice, "but just call me John, dear."

You give him the same polite smile as you did to his wife. However, you notice the difference in the ways the two look at you. Despite the crowfeet indicating he smiles a lot, John's steelblue eyes are hard and piercing. It doesn't flee your attention that he's looked you over efficiently in the shortest time possible. He doesn’t even hide the calculating stare. Feels like you've just been categorised without being told whether you failed the test or not. Feels like you'd better stand your ground. It makes you square your shoulders and stand more upright, these days not even as a conscious reaction but by instinct. A predator might then choose a different prey. A lesson you should have lived by earlier...

"He's our networker," the Scotsman explains, "and these two lovely ladies are their daughters Katelyn and Stephanie."

The effects of the sudden surge of adrenaline their father has just caused to race through your body become more bearable when you look to the teenage girls. The younger one, possibly about the age of 14, is leaning forward to be able to better see past her older sister to her left. She makes no attempt to stop the wide, curious grin that unmistakably shouts at you: "I know exactly why you're here with him!"

Oh, you've got no clue, sweetling…

However, Stephanie's joyous smile can’t but be mirrored by you immediately, even more so when Katelyn (probably three or four years older) turns to look at her little sister and nudges her arm to stop her from being so indiscrete. Then Katelyn looks back to you and rolls her eyes at Stephanie's behaviour, she herself now grinning and resembling her mother surprisingly much.

This sweet, short distraction, though, is not enough to prepare you for the wall you're about to hit. How John subjected you to an inspection is nothing compared to the dissection the masked man performs on you.

Therefore Soap's words ring in your ears like taunting mockery: "Simon is th' man fur th' sweet things. Aye doin his best t' keep a' th' lassies happy wha wirk wi' 'n' fur him. 've heard na complaints sae far."¹

You're not sure you actually fully understand and turn your head a little towards the grinning Scotsman, a strange feeling sinking into your stomach, but you can't take your eyes off Simon.

With half his face hidden, you only have his eyes left to read his expression - and that's more than enough...

The blond man is excellent at donning you a cutting gaze unmatched in your whole life. The black of the mask seems to seep into his eyes reflecting nothing but murk to you. There’s absolutely nothing sweet about this looming giant who's been hawkeyeing you from the moment you set your feet in here, into his domain. He's just sitting there, unmoving, a gargoyle guarding his place. No need to wait for the night. The sun might be about to set soon but his own darkness is always ready to pounce...

A shiver runs down your spine - but it's not due to the cold wet clothes clinging to your body...

"Stop talking in riddles, mate!" the third man at the table chides playfully. He's sitting next to the empty chair opposing Simon at the other side of the table. "That poor woman will get a totally wrong impression!" His voice sounds warm and friendly and is accompanied by a perfect smile that shows his bright white teeth as a beautiful contrast to his darker skin and his dark forest brown eyes. He seems more open towards you, but you only get that impression because you don't know that he can dissect your character with a cordial smile on his face. It's an illusion to believe this man would not look you over in as much detail as the others did. It's just that most people can’t read his style.

"Simon's the beekeeper, sweetheart, and I'm Kyle, here for coordination and capacity. This is my wife." He tells you her name before she tells you that she manages the shop at the farm, which sells all kinds of different regional products in cooperation with the local farmers and manufacturers. Her smile is as warm and welcoming as his. The idea springs to your mind that she wouldn't have treated you any differently if Soap had announced you as an old friend of childhood days. You get the impression that she trusts the Scotsman to be capable and to choose carefully enough who he would actually bring here to their families - because that's what it is: the fact you're with them now and that you can stay is a display of everybody's trust (well, ok, one exception...).

"Only two ones still missing," Soap announces and doesn't seem irritated at all that Kyle interrupted your becoming acquainted with the man for all the sweet stuff. "Oor wee lassies Ivy 'n' Fern."

The cute girls (likely not much older than five years - and twins, maybe?) are sitting between their parents, well-behaved and quietly observing the adults. They show no sign of unease around you. That's an enormous relief for you. As long as the kids feel comfortable in your presence, the grown-ups will hopefully stay relaxed as well - and just maybe - with the little ones as buffers - the topics of conversations will rest tame, too...

Ivy waves her little hand at you, a gesture you immediately copy, your hand kept close to your body so that you won't have your clothes send drops of water across the set table.

Now Soap walks past you behind your back and you feel his warm hands land on your waist when he manoeuvres you a bit to the right so it would be easier for him not to hit a sideboard on his way deeper into the farmhouse building.

"Ye kin sit doon neist tae Kyle, hen. Ah will gang fetch an additional chair."

"And some towels for the two of you!" the missus adds and turns to you, "you must be freezing…"

"Wid ye lik' a bathrobe?" Soap asks over his shoulder before you can answer, not too worried about wetting the floor with each step.

"Maybe she'd rather change dresses," Kyle muses while he keeps studying you standing there somehow lost within all the new impressions.

"If that's possible, yes. I'd love to," you confirm. Putting on some dry clothes sounds great indeed.

Soap has come to a halt, smiling. "Na problem at a', bonnie. Grab some stuff. Ah will show ye where ye kin change in peace. This way."

Instead of just taking out of your bag what you might need, you pick up the whole thing (no chance you leave your belongings behind!). Within the same heartbeat, the three gentlemen prepare to carry the heavy duffle for you. John and Kyle are already getting up - and Soap has made one big step back towards you. Simon, however, leans back on his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest, looking at you. It's clearly supposed to be a sign, but for once you don't mind.

You can perfectly well carry your bag all alone, despite its considerable weight - you simply must be able to. You might have met a bunch of helpful strangers here, but that's not how things normally are in your life. You couldn't have packed more than you can actually manage on your own, simple as that. You can't afford to rely on any support. It's too late for that…

"No, no, that's not necessary." You make them stop. "Really. John, Kyle, Soap," you address each of them separately, "thank you so much for offering, but I'll carry this bag myself." Yet, you appreciate the urbane gesture.

Before the three men can possibly decide to ignore your wish and force their kindness upon you, Kyle's wife puts an end to their chivalry: "You've heard that woman. 'No' means 'no'. It's something we respect here, don't we?" She winks at you and you answer with a grateful smile.

You re-arrange your grip on the strap and finally follow Soap the way along the huge table and through a halflit hallway with some tiny dimmed LED lamps close to the ground every few steps - just enough to find the way and see that there’s nothing to stumble over.

The remnants of rain dripping off you mingle with the water the Scotsman's left on the tiles. It can’t be helped now. Maybe you can get some paper towels later and clean your mess up. At least this mess should be easy to get rid of...

___________________________

You can’t hear Stephanie anymore, who leans over to Simon, when she states: "You're so rude!"

He's grinning at her behind his mask.

"Big girl doesn't need me f' tha. 's already got her three gallant knights. And doesn't even need them."

Katelyn gets involved: "That's not the point, Simon! You know it."

He sighs in an exaggerated manner. "Calm down, my lovelies", but his tone is playful, "I'll make up for it." Then he gets up and follows the same path Soap and you took two minutes ago.

________________________

The Scotsman leads you to a spacious bathroom, clearly renovated but with the charming beauty of cottage style. Large, old tiles, creamy and white colours, wooden shelves and bathroom cabinets, an old-fashioned shower above a white enamel bathtub. A wooden chair in one corner, a small willow basket on it, containing a mixture of miniatures: soap, shampoo, showergel, even toothpaste. Some pots with fern are nice stains of colour and so are the straw brown towels next to the wash basin in front of a framed mirror.

The room feels warm and inviting, just like the softly smiling man who's waiting by the door.

"Git in, hen, 'n' tak' yer time. Will ye find yer back intae th' kitchen?"

You nod at him, returning his smile, thankful for this unexpected hospitality you stumbled upon. It makes you have to swallow the lump in your throat that's threatening to let you spill the tears you've been storing for too long.

Soap points at a cabinet. "Uise as many towels as yi''ll need 'n' then pat thaim in th' laundry basket behind th' door, a'richt? 'n' shuid yi''ll need anythin' else, juist ca'."

Before he turns to leave you to yourself, he gives your shoulder a tender, but firm press.

This does it for you. You manage to close and lock the door before you can finally let the dam break. An almost silent, shaky sob breaks free from the cage of your ribs when you let your bag fall out of your hands with a thud. One hand at the wall, your rucksack still on, you try to stabilise your trembling limbs.

Maybe this dinner will get more difficult than you originally thought... Maybe a stranger's friendliness shouldn't feel like tearing at your heart... Maybe there once was a time things were different... You can’t tell.

What you can tell, though, is that you mustn't get lost in your thoughts here in their bathroom, while the whole group is waiting for your return. That would leave a really bad impression - and far too many questions if you show up again with puffy red eyes swollen from crying.

Therefore, you treat yourself with one heartbeat dedicated to a purely blank mind. You take a deep breath, straighten up and force your body to remember how to not be shaking anymore. Then you go to work in order to get at least decently presentable. Which actually takes enough time in itself.

You wring your wet clothes into the wash basin as much as possible before storing them in a plastic bag. Hopefully you'll get the chance to dry them overnight. Then you carefully clean and warm your cold skin before you almost knock over the cabinet with more towels in it, just because you didn’t see the cute little bolt that keeps it closed when you tried to pull the door open... Just what you need, ruining their furniture... Nowadays, something like this is already enough to let waves of adrenaline whip through your body...

Luckily, you managed a fast reaction, so that you can now wrap the additional towel around your head without any drama before you put on some comfortable clothes that don't look too casual for the occasion.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror and some time to practise your smile. It lets you appear less tired - however, you are fully aware that the effort you have to put into it will eventually leave you even more exhausted... At least you can say that you've become good enough at hiding the fact it's all fake...

It's true: nobody of all the people you left behind at home could have guessed how you really felt inside... You definitely won't start now with showing any random strangers!

As your last action, when you're finally done, you closely look over the room so you will leave it in the same condition you found it in, grab some tissues out of a box on a shelf - just in case - to shove them into a sidepocket of your bag, and feel as ready and prepared as possible when you take the duffel and step outside.

Well, you aren't prepared...

Your gaze is directed at the floor because you don't want to step into the watery traces you and Soap left behind - but they are no more.

Instead, there's a shadow melting off the wall where he was leaning to wait for you.

The Scotsman's even more gentleman than necessary, you think and feel a genuine smile softly painting your lips while the man to your left grows more and more solid, gains more substance than you remember him to have. Something's different…

"Soap," you say and he steps into the light seeping into the hallway from out of the bathroom behind you.

Now you see.

This is no longer the man who took you here. It's Simon - and he's way too close for comfort...

However, you don’t step back - even though this would have probably been your first reaction in the past. These days your instincts know better: don’t trigger the beast. One single step back, no matter where to, couldn't save you anyway. Stand your ground.

He's leaning closer, keeping strict eye contact, while you're leaning back your upper body as if you were two opposing magnets.

With a mop in his hand, as you only now realise, he then silently glances past you into the bathroom - and you feel an immense relief that you've already dried the floor in there, as best as you could.

"Thank you for cleaning up. I'm sorry for all the wet stains," you offer but don't expect him to accept your heartfelt apology.

His eyes are on you again, blatantly looking you up and down, now that he’s got you close and all to himself.

"Bag's gettin' heavier and heavier, innit?"

You blink and attempt a shy smile. This is the first sentence he's ever directed at you, the first time for you to hear his voice.

It doesn't fit, you think.

How can you directly like his voice so very much when the man owning it did nothing to appear at least remotely polite?

Maybe this is his attempt to check your vibes on face-to-face level? Ok, let's try some light conversation. "Yeah, that's true. Been carrying it around all day. The muscles in my arms feel like they're burning."

Maybe he'll warm up to you after all…

You have to grip the strap tighter. The bag is heavy.

However, Simon stays glued to the spot, silent once more, not moving the slightest centimetre to make it easier for you to get past him and back into the kitchen… It's getting uncomfortable - and you're not even referring to your aching body…

You don’t think that he doesn't notice. There’s something hyper-aware in his gaze. So you have to assume he's blocking your path on purpose. But why? What's his problem?

"Well, ok, yeah. Since my duffle still seems to keep gaining weight, I'll just -" Instead of saying anything else or asking him to step aside, you manoeuvre your way around him, smiling helplessly, hitting your bag against your legs several times - but at least not against his!

Even now, Simon doesn't step aside. He's still watching you with this dead stare that sends goosebumps crawling along your whole body. Has he even blinked once?

It's official now: this man hates you.

While you are on your way through the hallway, you don't look back. Why should you? You can feel his stare boring into your neck, anyway, right there where a predatory animal would bite down to end you. You wouldn't be surprised if that man had natural night vision...

However, in the end it's Simon who saves you. His rejection and aversion keeps you focussed. Keeps you from starting to cry when the others are too nice to you...

... and they really are...

You find your way back to the bright, warm kitchen by following the sound of lighthearted chatting, which simply goes on when you step inside - as if you belonged here, too...

Soap notices you first because he's occupying a chair at the head of the table nearest to the entrance you're standing in. This chair wasn't there before, to the left side of the empty chair next to Kyle - and to Simon's right, the man who's yet to return.

He's wearing a hoody and sweatpants now, plus a wide grin reaching his cerulian eyes: "Awright! Thare ye go, hen! Come, tak' a seat. Hardly kent ye. Soaking wet, ye look completely different!"

Both Price and his missus look at the Scotsman (then at you) as if they weren't quite sure there was no further underlying meaning. Kyle's wife hides her eyes and parts of her smirk behind her right hand, whereas Kyle grins at you openly in all his charming handsomeness.

"Whit?" Soap asks no one particularly, his grin with a hint of mischief now, before his eyes are back on you.

You can’t help but smile as well and think you might have got a good impression now of how the attractive Scotsman usually shows up with some companion for the night. You don’t mind. If your situation was any different, and he would have wanted you to, then you would have more than loved to warm this man's bed...

You like him. There’s an ease to his behaviour that keeps some of your worries at bay, that allows you to think of all this as holidays, if only for one single night. That's more than you would have hoped for...

You sit down between Kyle and Soap, placing your bag and your rucksack to your left so they wouldn't be in anyone's way.

"Some bread?" Kyle offers you slices of fresh crusty baguette in a basket, and Soap immediately picks on that: "Goes perfectly with the honey! Ye need t' try!" So you do, adding some butter Stephanie pushes closer to your plate before she goes on talking about school to her mother.

Soap has slid down a little on the seat of the chair and is now stretching out his legs, arms crossed, and watches you taking an interested look at the open jar now in your hand, focussing more on the colour than on the label.

The honey smells incredibly good, dark rich gold dripping off the wooden honey spoon onto your bread and its taste immediately creates a vision of fields and meadows and forests that perfectly represents the landscape you came across during your journey. You aren't even aware of the fact that your eyes fall shut dreamily and how the shade of a truly genuine smile of delight steals onto your lips. (Do you even remember the last time anything like this happened?)

Where do they get such excellent honey? you wonder, because you would love to buy some - somewhere in the future - also to remember this moment - but then you are reminded, full force: Simon enters the kitchen. Lord of the Sweet, Master of Honey, the Beekeeper himself, whose treasure you taste in all pleasurable facettes on your jubilant tongue. With his eyes on you, you hardly manage to swallow.

Then Soap looks up to the taller man, a subtle smile on his warm lips and in his cool polished sapphires, and Simon looks back immediately, as if Soap's eyes were a command which to follow. While Simon is going along to his chair behind the Scotsman's back, their eye contact never breaks - and it’s laced with a mutual fondness that makes you wonder if it's simply jealousy that lets the masked man dislike you like this…

The moment he's seated, he stares at you again - and you're convinced it's not just because you're sitting opposite of him, no, he's clearly opposing you, regardless of your place at the table…

You look down at your plate - with the remnants of bread and butter and the bees' gift still on it, in shiny puddles on the porcelain as well - and only pick some dry crumps of baguette to chew on.

The Scotsman is watching you thoughtfully. You can feel him in a way you might find uncanny if you weren't busy pretending to eat. You glance at him for a moment with just a polite, reserved little smile before you finally bite into the honeyed bread again, reluctantly, carefully, to have your mouth full of something, anything, so you wouldn't have to speak.

He has well noticed the looks exchanged between you and Simon, and he keeps his eyes on you when he casually points out: "Ye shuid hae seen that face oan her whin she tried yer honey, Simon. Pure bliss."

Your eyes dart from Soap to the beekeeper - you feel caught out -whereas Simon's eyes never leave you.

"That so, Johnny? Wouldn't have guessed, with all that good honey goin' t' waste on her plate."

Toxic velvet, that voice…

You don’t give Soap a chance to answer.

"I wouldn't waste all the effort put into this gift of nature! " you state with more fervour than you've had in mind to, "I'm not done, yet." You take a look at your sticky fingers where you can see a shiny drop of honey running down your thumb. You lick it off without any second thought: "This is exquisite honey. Really delicious."

Simon has tilted his head and, leaning back, closely observes your features, his amused smirk not reaching out of his mask.

"Hmm. I'll make sure t' let my queen know about your opinion. She'll be glad for sure."

You can’t tell whether he's trying to be funny or making fun of you for assuming he would care. How come you opt for him mocking you…?

"I bet," you reply evenly, looking him straight into his eyes, and leave it up to Simon to decide whether you take it as a joke or seriously.

The span of silence between the two of you stretches but Soap is too fascinated by these strange dynamics as to end it right now. He can feel that something is amiss but he can’t quite tell what…

However, Kyle is either oblivious to the tension or simply ignores it. "Take some grilled chicken," he addresses you politely and by doing so breaks the spell Simon and you seemed under.

You now focus on him when he explains: "It's a bit spicy because of the fresh Scotch bonnets in the seasoning but there’s plenty of stuff to neutralise. See?" He points at a bowl of fresh yoghurt, a serving plate with roasted smashed potatoes and a variety of jars with different colourful relishs, additionally a big bowl with green salad and a dish with mixed grilled peppers.

"It's not too hot, the chicken," Ivy clarifies and grins at you behind her dad's back, "Everybody likes it. Even Katie", and she points at John's oldest daughter with her small hand.

If not for the cute girl, you might have declined Kyle's offer - somehow the interactions you're forced to have with Simon clench your stomach. You were hungry when you first picked the bread, but now you just keep eating to be a polite guest and nice to lovely Ivy, who's just getting up, taking the plate with the chicken out of her father's hand and stepping next to your seat to hold it out for you. You are touched by the child's kind gesture and pick one of the boneless, flat drumsticks, by far the smallest one, whose skin shows a nice pattern of grill stripes.

"Thanks," you softly tell the proudly grinning girl before she lets Soap pick some chicken as well and then returns to her place, "how sweet of you, Ivy."

Kyle looks at his daughter favourably, then back to you: "Be assured, this one can 'Poison Ivy', too." There’s a dark spark in his eyes - or could you be mistaken? "Don't you think you'd get the slightest piece of food from her if she didn’t like you."

"But we both do like you!" Fern chimes in and it somehow touches your heart in an aching thankfulness.

Good for you that the beekeeper provides enough of a counterweight to keep your feelings in balanced check. You wouldn't want to upset the little ones with your emotions on full display…

Kyle winks at you and takes over handing you everything the set table has to offer before Soap helps himself, too. In contrast to you two, the others are almost done eating so that their attention temporarily shifts to you when Kyle asks: "What brought you to this part of the country?"

You feel that it will be the easiest to be as honest as possible. The truth is best at hiding a lie. Or many of them…

"I always found Scotland charming. Rough nature, friendly people, you know?" You smile at Kyle, who bows his head acknowledging the compliment as it was meant, but you automatically glance over to Soap. You find him smiling back at you in a way that makes your heartbeat take up its pace. His eyes have a clearness that lets you almost believe you could look straight down into the core of his soul - if only you stared a little longer, a little harder, just a little bit deeper than your past allows…

Puzzling, you think. Then you get back into the game you had to become good at. Distraction. Shift the focus.

"Why did you all come here?"

"Our Scottish sunshine wouldn't stop praising the beauty of his homeland," John adds to the conversation, "- so when we went into mapping everything out, the decision wasn't too difficult - and it’s an ideal place for this family business indeed."

[The Captain's comment has made it perfectly clear that these people are not one family by blood but by heart and choice.

This ignites a little hope in your heart, the realisation that such deep friendship and profound affection still exists in the same world as you. You are not envious, but genuinely happy for these folks - even for Simon.]

Just keep going…

"As it is for holidays, too. I guess it's nice to live and work where others come to when they look for relaxation."

The missus takes the opportunity to answer you: "Normally it is, that's true. However, occasionally, this can completely mix up job and private life…"

"That's th' general nature o' running some change-hoose business, isnae it?" Soap points out and makes you smile with the boyish way he's grinning at you until -

"Sae, whit dae yi''ll need relaxation fae? Wirk or private stuff?"

You try to hide your quickening pulse behind some light-hearted melancholy that feels real enough even to yourself.

"Bit of both, I guess, and additionally some holidays from myself, too. Was looking for somewhere to breath freely. Scotland seemed a great option."

"Perfect choice, bonnie. This is th' place tae lose yersel'."

"And your heart…" Stephanie whispers but you hear her.

"And your job," Katelyn addresses her little sister, "if you don't have the discipline to focus."

Stephanie shrugs: "She's old enough to choose what's more important."

You are fully aware that the girls are talking about you - as if you were not sitting in arm's reach… It's a weird situation you find yourself in with them just speaking their mind - but somehow this doesn't only include you somewhat naturally here but also makes you feel safe in a way you can hardly explain…

A verse from a poem springs into your mind - and maybe it had a part in your being where you are right now. You don't even notice that you're reciting the words aloud:

"'Dark and true and tender is the north'."² Feels I might like that…

The Scotsman stares at you, blinking. "'O Swallow'…"

You nod at Soap, smiling in surprise. You wouldn't have expected him to know the poem…

"Swallow what?" Fern asks sweetly and makes Soap's grin at you wolfish - dark and true, yes, but no more tender. Makes your breath hitch in your throat before her mum exclaims: "The bird, cutie, they're talking about birds! Time for bed."

You can’t see Kyle's wide grin because he has already turned towards his girls: "You've heard your mum! Here we go."

But before he can get up, his wife takes over: "Stay a bit longer, if you like, Kyle. I need to get some appointments scheduled, anyway." When he nods at her, she presses her lips to his mouth and then turns to you: "Was a pleasure to meet you. Enjoy your holidays." She waves a general goodbye, grabs her daughters, who both wave at you, and leaves the kitchen through the same hallway you took with Soap earlier.

Before anyone else can start the conversation again, John's younger daughter demands some answers.

"So," Stephanie gets your attention when she says your name, "do you have a boyfriend?"

You really hoped this question wouldn't come up - but from the very moment you saw how the teenager was grinning at you on your arrival, you have prepared yourself for it - and what to best say. Once more, you opt for the truth: "No, I don't. "

"Are you looking for one?"

You try your best at a good-natured smile: "I've stopped looking for anything but making it through the day and will just see where life takes me."

"And then simply take every chance you come across? That sounds far too spontanious for me," Katelyn states and you get the feeling that she wants to support you by taking you out of Stephanie's curious focus.

You shrug almost casually, that same expression still plastered on your face. But how should she know how much meticulous planning you had to put into what she believes to be careless spontanity…

Her sister rolls her eyes: "Of course it's too spontanious for you! But sometimes you just need to follow your instincts - like Soap."

"And invite strangers at your table?" you ask before you take a bite of crispy chicken skin from your plate.

"Sure," Stephanie confirms chewing on a cherry tomato, "every friend was a stranger once, right?"

"We're used to having guests in general - and in private as well", the missus tells you with an affectionate glance at the Scotsman, and her oldest daughter elaborates: "Don't worry. You're not the first person spontaniously coming in for dinner."

However, Katelyn most definitely didn’t mean it the way Simon chooses to use her words: "True. Not the first lady Johnny shows up with." He grins at the Scotsman in an almost conspiratory way also showing in the crinkles around his eyes, "And certainly not the last." A cold sideways glance at you.

Ok, so jealousy is off the table… verily it's something personal, this thing between you and the beekeeper you're sure you've never met before…

It's then you actually catch Soap blushing slightly. You don't understand why he would - but it does suit him, the way his brows furrow, one hand lightly ruffling through his mohawk and his eyes avoiding yours for just a second.

"Ah kin be ferr gregarious, whiles…" Then he winks at you and is back to his normal self.

So is Simon - continuing to stare at you. You've got no idea what reaction the brooding man expected or wanted to get from you - and you simply refuse to waste your time musing about him. It's one or two days from now and you'll never see him again - any of them - so you try to sort of filter him out of your reality as far as possible.

Doesn't work too well…

You are tense - at this moment clearly because of the beekeeper - and feel like you're on pins and needles. It's not that you aren't used to mean behaviour, but it remains a mystery to you why Simon would be so hostile towards you… His ways are draining your energy - and you really need every bit of it to survive…

You're doing your best to concentrate on the conversation about hospitality in different countries and cultures everybody to your right is actively involved in. Soap keeps eating and listening and Simon - well, he keeps playing his Simon-games with you - whose rules you can’t figure out…

While you're continuing to empty your plate of the last bits still on it, almost forcing the tasty food down which you wish you could simply enjoy in relative peace, you re-arrange your feet below the table, stretching them inconspicuously.

However, one person has noticed. With a light but startling bump your foot is hit by the tip of a heavy shoe. It's nothing painful - but you can tell it's on purpose: that other foot continues to touch yours.

You stare at the man across the table, mild shock written all over your face. There's no question who this leg belongs to. This is the first time Simon has actually used a form of direct physical interaction to work against you. The gesture seems subtle, but you know well enough to worry about this unnecessary intrusion of your private space.

It always starts with little things…

"Sorry!" you mutter because you lack any smart reaction, much to your own surprise and displeasure, and then you retake a perfectly straight position on your chair again, making sure his long legs won't reach you anymore.

An evil smile that betrayes all innocence gleams in the corners of his eyes, one that's only for you.

"No problem, sugar. Was light as a feather."

You nod at the blond man with a tight-lipped smile for both Soap and Kyle are glancing at you and their friend now. This isn't a positive development of events - and you so much hope that he doesn't have in mind to talk Soap out of letting you stay here at some dry place… (hopefully as far away from your antagonist as possible…)

You decide to mentally prepare for being sent off. Should they let you spend the night, then Simon will have to be the price you pay for having met the kind Scotsman. You've learned that everything good comes at a cost. Not to speak of the toll you've already paid for the bad things…

You avoid looking at any of them and instead focus on the jar of honey in front of you on the table. It is a simple, no-frills jar, this heavy glass, that contains the golden dusk delightfulness, which for you is now eternally linked to this sinister beekeeper.

For the first time, your eyes trail to the plain label as well, just a white paper sticker, and that handwriting on it, pretending to lay open all the info that might be useful. It's Simon's. No doubt.

Neat - but unreadable. Chaos - but in perfect order…

Black ink, lines as thin as a pen can manage to offer. Letters with long descenders and ascenders, massive in their simplicity and dominance - a handwriting that doesn't care to be read. Should suffice that its owner knows. You want the content? Work for it. Find your way through the labyrinth of meaning - or go astray.

The letters could not more embody the man…

You're too much caught up in your thoughts to realise that Stephanie and Katelyn have already started to pack the remaining food into containers to be stored in the fridge here or to be taken away with them. You only notice because Stephanie leans her hand onto your shoulder to grab the honey. She winks at you rascally.

Immediately you spring into action.

"How can I help?"

Stephanie answers you, while her father's putting all the dishes into the dishwasher. "You got no clue where everything is or needs to go to. Best stay where you are, then you won't be in the way. Thanks for offering, though."

Soap takes the container with the grilled peppers out of her hand to put it into the fridge. When he returns to his chair, he remains standing behind it, both hands on the backrest.

"Part of our full board dinner service here. So" the Captain adds without interrupting his work, "relax and recommend us to your friends."

I will certainly not tell anyone, you think, but you smile at him nontheless. You could maybe manage to relax a little, indeed, but -

"How's the evenin' s'pposed t' go on?" Simon's deep voice cuts in and has you back to full attention.

Everybody stares at him - except you.

"Why?" It’s the missus with an unreadable expression in her eyes, "Looking for someone to play board games with, Simon?"

"Och, they both weren't thare whin we talked aboot it!" the Scotsman only seems to remember now and addresses you with a warm smile: "You'll git a place tae yersel' fur th' night, lassie."

Kyle is already at his smartphone to check. "Yeah, just as I thought. The late check-in showed half an hour ago. It's the small cottage, then."

Soap rubs his hands. "Lovely. Loads o' privacy 'n' a quiet night guaranteed, ah promise, hen. Ye'll nae regret comin' ere wi' me."

You're speechless for a moment while Stephanie, Katelyn and their parents turn to the door through which you entered the kitchen, ages ago, as it feels.

You're getting up, too. "Wait, a whole cottage?! No, I can't - I mean… That's too big for sure! I don't need so much space! There’s probably some small corner somewhere -"

Kyle looks up from his screen. "Sorry, sweetheart, there’s nothing smaller available at the moment. I'll go get the keys, ok?"

You hesitate. Their offer seems too generous for you to accept.

The missus turns in the doorframe: "Take it, dear. It's a really nice cottage. I'm sure you'll like it." Even John smiles at her side with an encouraging nod.

So you accept. With more gratitude than you could ever fully express. "Thank you. I really appreciate your friendliness." This is almost too good to be true…

When Soap puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer into the warmth of his body, you deliberately avoid stealing any glance into Simon's direction. No need to. You can feel him fuming. However, he keeps his mouth shut.

Then you hear Kyle's voice behind your back: "Simon, do me a favour and bring them the keys for her cottage, mate?"

Only reluctantly does the beekeeper follow his friend out of the kitchen, who didn’t care to wait for him to agree.

The Prices have just left for the night as well, so for the first time after entering the farmhouse, you're alone with Soap again.

You take a deep breath and he looks at you knowingly. "Kin be a bit much if it's unexpected, right? A' th' people…"

"I'm just tired," you admit, "and you've actually picked a friendly family for this business. They're all really nice."

Then you gently release yourself from his embrace. Despite the enquiring look he gives you. Of course he's noticed - but you will not let any negative word about Simon come past your lips. There are so many other things you need to concentrate on - and for tonight, you think, you've reached your limit. So many things happened today. You still can’t believe you really made it here, so much distance between you and - and what's behind you. Now. For the future. Hopefully…

When you get too worried that some tears might be on their way, you remember the paper tissues you took with you from their bathroom. You kneel down and let your fingers glide into the open pocket at the side of your bag, but what they touch is not what you were looking for.

You pull at the thin, cool metal chain and get up with it to study it in the light of the lamps. Golden. With a small pendant you can't get more than a glimpse of because -

"Och, keek at that! Mah necklace. Thare it is." Soap takes it out of your hand, smiling, but you are close to a panic. Within one heartbeat everything makes the craziest sense… Does Simon think…

Bag's gettin' heavier and heavier, innit?

Simon is convinced you're stealing from them… Did he see the necklace in your bag? No, how could he… How could that damn thing get in there, anyway?

"Soap! I don't know why it's in my bag! I didn’t take it!"

He ellicits a short laughter: "O' coorse ye didn’t. Tis a'richt. Dinnae fash, bonnie."

"No, Soap, listen. You don't get it! I never touched your necklace! Before! Before one minute ago! Please! You must believe me!"

His voice becomes noticeably lower. "Calm doon, love. Ah ken."

Seeing the pure, honest shock in your wide eyes, he slowly reaches out, as if not to startle you. Too agitated to even step back from him, you let his warm hand come to rest below your ear, his fingers pressing lightly into the side of your neck, his thumb repeating tender strokes along your jaw. His lingering eyes are locked with yours when he leans in closer to you.

You can’t tell exactly why you know, but you feel that this isn't for a kiss. There’s absolutely nothing romantic or sexual about this closeness that comes with him wishing to reassure, to soothe you - and it’s deep, this intimacy of the moment, in a way that creates a new fear within you.

Come time, you could fall for him… and this is something you can’t allow to happen…

His whisper is soft: "Ah maself accidentally stuffed it intae th' wrong bag. A'm sorry. Ah ken ye didn’t tak' it."

He nods at you, firmly, keeps observing the look in your eyes, carefully, to find the right moment to let go of you, to keep grounding you for as long as you need him. However, he's not given this chance.

He can see the troubled thoughts die down in your eyes when you're finally leaning into his touch, unconsciously, but it's right now that Simon comes around the corner, freezing midmotion due to what he believes to be forced to witness: a forthcoming kiss - whereas you recoil, less from the man only centimetres away in front of your face than more from the beekeeper, whose eyes are burning with wrath.

You can’t see the unspoken question in Soap's eyes when he looks at the taller beekeeper, but Simon can - a reason for him to get even more angry.

"Go ahead, Johnny. Didn’t mean t' disturb." His dark voice is almost a deep growl. The metallic, loud thud that follows is the keys to the cottage landing on the table. Simon's gone the same second. Like a ghost…

Your heart is racing and there’s an underlying tremble beneath your skin creeping through your body along your bones. You know that look in his eyes (not in his eyes, though) oh too well - bringing up memories that will probably haunt you forever…

You re-evaluate your strategies towards the beekeeper. Neither you standing tall, all naturally, nor acting demurely seem to be to his liking and subsequently reward you with some more favourable behaviour on his side… You hardly believe that he's like this all the time, to everybody. Kyle and Soap wouldn't have observed you two's interactions the curious way they did if Simon's reactions to you were his perfectly normal kind of acting, you're more than convinced…

You're taking Simon to the extreme - you, as a person…

Soap notices the one light quiver on your lower lip, even more so than you, before you press your lips together, brows knitted.

"Maybe this is a bad idea," you whisper and try to step further away from the Scotsman, but he immediately reaches for you, his hands sliding up and down along your upper arms with soft pressure.

"Dinnae fash yirsel aboot Simon. Kin tak' him some time tae relax aroond strangers. He means na harm."

You hope that you manage to hide the tension well enough that you expect to creep into your probably too sad smile, too. You've had your fair share of "no harm" in the past and solely hoped for one single calm night… Too much to ask at this point in your life?

"I can just leave if he isn't comfortable with me staying here. This is his home. I respect that."

"It's also mah home ah brought ye tae - 'n' it’s nae that Simon has tae share flats with ye, aye? Where wid ye go noo, anyway?"

"Where I would have gone without you: elsewhere. Simple as that."

Of course, nothing is simple for you these days, but he doesn't know.

The two of you keep studying each other for some time, and you wonder what Soap might see in you - believe to see…

You, for your part, see a man whose kindness towards you is factually unmatched in your life. With hardly any questions aiming to reveal your background, he made the decision to help you, back at the station. Maybe this is more of a gift than you deserve…

"Ah will tak' ye "elsewhere" noo"—Soap's melodic voice drops even lower—"namely tae th' cottage, 'n' ye promise me tae huv a go 'n' git some sleep, love, will ye?"

Finally, the small smile Soap gets to see from you is less burdened with distress.

When you nod at him, he grabs the keys, picks up your bag and leads you back to his car to take you to your safe home for the night.

It's not too far from the farmhouse, would be a pleasant short walk, and the way is easy to remember.

In the dim darkness of the evening, with its contours blurring into the tall lines of trees behind it, the cottage looks much smaller than it is from the inside.

You follow Soap into the combination of open-plan kitchen (perfectly equipped, as far as you can say) and living room (with a beautiful fireplace) that welcome you right behind the entrance, the same style you already know from their bathroom in the farmhouse, more than just a humble luxury, but you stop right there, eyes wide in surprise.

"Soap, this is… I... I really can’t take this whole house!"

You guess this place could accommodate four to six people, comfortably…

"We've had that, bonnie. Tis vacant, it’s quiet, it’s whit ah promised ye: a safe steid fur th' night."

You want to raise an objection, but he interrupts you. "A wullnae hae that, hen. Don’t break mah hert. This is a guid place ah found fur ye, a'm sure. Sae, please accept?"

With his big blue, pleading puppy eyes and a small, pretty pout that shouldn't suit any adult so well, he gets rid of your concerns in the end. That man…

He becomes immediately aware of the change in your eyes and sends you a smug grin - gone is the puppy - and back the fully grown wolf.

You've always had a liking for that animal...

He waves at you to follow him and gives you a short tour. There's a bathroom (tub and shower!) in the back plus two harmonious bedrooms, lovingly decorated, with an eye for detail.

All the time, he's the perfect gentleman. You are grateful for that - and more than relieved that he doesn't ever make any ambigous comments. The way he behaves towards you takes an active part in how your nerves are calmed. Too good to be true?

When Soap returns with you to the kitchen, you can see that he is absolutely familiar with every detail of the entire house. Without having to look for, he picks a sheet of paper and a pen from one of the drawers and starts scribbling. Then he hands it over to you.

"That's mah phone number. If yi'll need anythin', na matter whin, gimme a call"—he points at the house telephone on the coffee table by the big sofa—"and let me ken. Fur anythin' else, thir's aye someone at th' farmhouse."

You are still staring at his number in your hands, your emotions a constant up and down.

When you look up to him and quietly say "Thank you" in the softest voice possible, your profound sincerity shakes something awake within him that will keep vibrating throughout his being long after he's left your house.

In the frame of the open door, John MacTavish has to clear his throat before he can make sure:

"Ye think ye'll mak' it thro' th' night here?"

The subtle shade of a smile that steals into the corners of your mouth is his reward as you confirm:

"You made sure of it."

GIF by myanimeaesthetics

When you wake up, it’s still very early morning, night and light in a tight embrace on their bed, unclear, seemingly, which one might finally rise. Yet, you feel well and rested - a strange feeling, somehow, for you can’t remember the last time a night's rest did so good for you. No nightmares... However, you decide against staying in the warmth of your comfy sleeping place. Instead, you opt for a walk in the fresh morning. Nature calls you.

It is so peaceful here. The falling rain of the evening has changed place with the ascending breath of morning dew lingering above the ground that seems to have lost its solidity in favour of a foggy sea. The scent of the earth is cool and clean and green, the most beautiful welcome this place could have offered you. In nearby bushes and patches with trees you can hear the sounds of early birds, in the distance there is the playful whisper of a small stream that keeps you company. You understand why the people you met in the kitchen yesterday have chosen this part of the land to spend their lives on. Here, you muse, you might feel whole again, too. It's a secluded world of its own.

You find yourself going back to the main house lying in between the fields and trees like a resting animal, one eye wide open to its surroundings, you can see.

There is light in the kitchen where you arrived yesterday and you knock at the door. Of all people, it is Simon who opens it with a serious expression - somehow dismissive even? You clearly feel that he doesn't like you. Your first impression was right. Nothing has changed overnight. (No, that's wrong: at least the flaring anger seems to have vanished from his eyes!) However, that's ok, you guess. You even understand, having had some time to reflect, intruder of his privacy that you are, and now you try your best to be most respectful when you wish the masked man a good morning with a shy smile. You want to try a fresh new start. He steps aside, wordlessly, before you can manage to add anything. So you stay quiet and enter.

He's been setting the breakfast table for all of them to come together like a family and the closeness between these friends reminds you of how dearly you'd love to belong to some friends as well, sharing their lives because they wouldn't want to be anywhere else. However, you reset your focus and immediately dive back up from your melancholy. You want to show them, especially Simon, that you never wanted to take advantage of Soap's friendliness, that you can work and repay them with actions.

"Let me help you, please."

He only points at the same chair Soap gave you the previous evening.

"Not necessary. That's included."

Then he goes on fetching food he places on the table without looking at you. It's an awkward feeling that's settling in your stomach. If only one of the other inhabitants came into the kitchen as well... The silence surrounding you and Simon, wrapping you in a cocoon of heavy isolation, makes you try something you've just planned as sincere smalltalk. Maybe you can break the ice.

"I'm really glad you guys let me stay here for the night. How can I make it up to you?"

You don’t know what to think about the short huff the tall man ellicits - who still doesn't look your way. Something amused or annoyed? One moment later you learn.

" 's fine. No need t' make up for anything. Just make sure t' pay your bill, birdy."

The heat you feel shooting into your cheeks stops you from breathing. Simon notices because - with the beginning of his last sentence - he's glued his dark gaze onto you, hasn't turned around anymore to prepare the last things missing. No. Just two steps away, he's looking down at you. You could swear to see an evil smirk in the way his eyes gleam in the cosy, soft light of this homely, warm room.

"I...", you start to stammer, eyes wide with the shock of realisation, "Of course... I - "—you get up from your chair and almost stumble on slowly retreating to the exit—"I've never expected to get anything for free... I'm not here to - to be put up with! That was never my plan…" Then you turn around and hurry out into the fresh new morning. You don't look back.

Therefore, you don't see how Simon takes off his mask while he's watching your hasty retreat through the brightly lit window. You neither see his disturbingly handsome smile full of contented contempt...

On some parts of the way back to your cottage your fast steps almost turn into running. Right now the shock is too overwhelming to let you cry.

How stupid you are... How naïve... Of course you completely misunderstood Soap's offer... Because he seemed so nice... Everybody seemed so nice...

But you really should have known better... You went with the Scotsman because you'd hoped to find a safe, dry place to sleep in during the night, maybe a small corner in one of the stables or perhaps even Soap's couch. When he offered you the 'small cottage', you should have kept declining - especially after having seen how well-equipped it was...

Just be honest to yourself, sugar: of course nobody would gift you such a safe haven when it could be sold as well...

The people you met yesterday were loving and friendly to each other because they are family - whereas you do not belong here. For you mustn't forget that they are business people as well. In contrast to you, they really know how to make money... and to stay fair: with not a single word has Soap (or anyone else...) ever mentioned that your stay would be free...

It's just that you sometimes assume other people would be like you. On re-entering the expensive luxury of your cottage, you realise this mistake. The way back gave you enough time to reflect the previous evening in detail, the conversations you had that brought you to this very place. Well, had you been Soap, then the offer would have been meant the way you understood it: stay the night, keep your money, the place is vacant anyway. I'm just a stranger helping a stranger. Friendliness. The willingness to trust.

You wanted to be worth the trust Soap put in you - you simply didn’t realise that maybe he was the one not worth your trust...

Nice ruse to get someone for a vacant cottage...

While you're hastily throwing the few belongings you cared to take out back into your bag, you're calculating how much money you've actually left. You force yourself to take a few deep breaths before you take out your smartphone to check the homepage of 141-Farming. You scroll to the price lists and find your home for the night. Now finally tears spring to your eyes and a desperate sob fights its way out of your body. Really that expensive?

Then your sadness is replaced by a numb anger - directed at yourself. Your own fault, girl... Should have done the mathematics earlier - no way you could have made it up to them. You have nothing to offer that could have counted as some valid compensation... Who would give a house like this to a complete stranger - if not for rent?!

You fetch the necessary amount of banknotes and sit down at the dining table in the open-plan kitchen. On the sheet of paper you brought as well you express your gratitude for their hospitality and for letting you stay the night in such a beautiful place. You wish them all the best for their business before you address Soap specifically with another thank you. You let him know you ordered a taxi to go back to town and continue your journey and apologise for not saying goodbye personally.

Enough politeness towards the people who tricked you into renting a whole house for the night.

You place your message, together with the money and the keys, on the low table by the couch where it could be immediately seen by whoever might enter the place.

Then you grab your bag and hurry out. Feels like fleeing the place - and that's probably what it is... You're done here. More than ready to leave the farm behind. Caught in your racing thoughts, your body does all the work on autopilot. You'd be glad if you noticed.

Now walking the road through the misty fields feels different. The air seems too thick to fully reach down into your lungs, its remnants sticky along the inside of your throat.

A short, bitter laugh. You're convinced that you could have found some b&b in town that would have been far less than a fifth per night of what you had to leave behind for your cottage - not to mention that, since you can’t afford a taxi, you have to do some walking now to leave the countryside behind...

All of this because you wanted to save money... Your stomach does a flip accompanied by a rumbling sound. You're hungry. Should have taken some of Simon's breakfast at least if it was included anyway...

You're trying to estimate how long the way back to town will take you but you find that you can’t remember much from the drive in the dim, rainy semi-darkness with Soap's constant chatting to keep you distracted from your misery. You were too emotionally drained to really keep track. Third mistake of yours and the list grows longer and longer...

First: getting out of the train in this stupid town

Second: getting into John MacTavish's car

Third: letting down your guard regarding the route

Fourth: letting yourself get talked into sleeping in the cottage

Fifth: leaving without any fucking breakfast...

Correction: your second mistake was not getting a cheap room at some lousy b&b...

Damn...

Now you're again at the same point you were when you left the train yesterday - or better said, you will be back to it as soon as you're done walking. Minus a significant amount of your money, of course... So, realistically considered, you're off a lot worse than yesterday...

Then soft rain sets in again. Smirr... wasn't that the word Soap used yesterday in order to describe the falling water at some point?

You don't want to remember, don't want to think of him, of how betrayed you feel, of how much you liked him... It's in vain...

Next: 3) An 'in-between ' to Episode 2b: "Boys talk I"

--------------------

Moodboard: SIMON - The Queen's Guard

____________________________________

¹ a/n: translation, just to make it easier: "Simon is the man for the sweet things. Always doin his best t' keep all the ladies happy who work with and for him. 've heard no complaints so far."

² 'Dark and true and tender is the north' taken from "The Princess: O Swallow" by Alfred Lord Tennyson

____________________________________

#astray

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#astray