Emma Nolan/Brendon "the Shark" Park
Warnings/Tags: Soft Brendon being absolutely in love with Emma Nolan
She left them on again. The lights.
Brendon wondered where she landed tonight as he toed off his shoes and placed them on the rack by the front door. He moved slowly. Making each moment last in an effort to decompress from the emergency surgery that pushed his 12 hour shift to an eighteen hour one.
It was a motorcycle wreck. The biker was hit on the left side and their leg was crushed by the impact. In a rare show of intelligence, the biker was wearing all of the necessary protective gear resulting in a salvageable limb. Still, the surgery was long and so would the recovery. But they had their life, and that counted for something.
Brendon placed the thoughts of the case in the bin with his dirty scrubs. Effectively cutting off any more before he moved further into the house. Pushing past the barrier of outside and settled into the warmth of his home.
Barefoot, he padded gently to his source of light. He came up behind the couch and found his girl sprawled on the couch sleeping. Her mouth was parted slightly as soft snores filtered into his ears. A soft smile made its way to Brendon’s face as he recalled the comment he had made weeks ago about how she snored. Of course his Emma went to apologize until she had seen the smirk on his lips and let out an annoyed huff of laughter and burrowed deeper into his sheets at his teasing.
“It’s cute,” Brendon said as she drew her hands up to cover her face in an attempt to hide from him.
“It’s not,” came out muffled between her hands.
“It is,” and before Emma could deny his claim again, he stretched his left hand towards her and gently clasped both of her wrists in his hand. He gave her a chance to resist him, but when there was none he moved her hands away from her beautiful flushed face. “It’s cute because it’s you.” Brendon said it with such finality that the gentle flush that had creeped up Emma’s cheeks had spread all the way down her neck. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought the room was on fire.
This time Emma’s hands came up to his face to cover both his mouth and his eyes. He was too much. Sometimes Emma wondered if she would combust on account of not being able to handle the way Brendon looked at her. Let alone the way he looked at and spoke of her. Unfortunately, her hands were too small to smother the intensity that seemed to pour out of him whenever he looked at her. That, and the fact that he laughed so hard at her sudden bashfulness as if they hadn’t done wicked things to each other.
Cute he thought.
He hadn’t noticed it then. Her habit of leaving the lights on while she slept. But after multiple late night shifts and the path of a soft yellow glow leading him to where she slept, he took notice of this quirk of hers.
Brendon rounded the couch and squatted down so he was only slightly above his sleepy girl. The soft light of the lamp made her brown skin glow, almost as if the light was coming from deep within her. A short amused huff of laughter escaped Brendon at the curls that managed to fight their way out of the bun Emma had placed them in before she fell asleep on the couch. Brendon moved them out of the way. Tucking them behind her ears before he began stroking her face.
“Emma. Time to wake up love,” Brendon rumbled as he watched her eyes move beneath her lids before she blinked awake groggily.
Sleepily she smiled at her giant man as she leaned into the hand that was caressing her face.
“Hey baby,” Emma rasped out. Her voice was thick with her French Creole accent he only discovered months into their relationship. It wasn’t often he got to hear her speak in her native language, but if she was tired enough or on the phone with her family back home, he would listen to the lilting speech as she spoke.
“Did you just get in?” Emma questioned softly as her big doe eyes locked onto Brendon. He was only in boxers after having stripped every other layer off before he moved further into the house. A habit he had never been able to kick after Covid.
“Yea baby. I was gonna go up for a shower, but I couldn’t go without seeing my favorite girl.” Brendon’s trademark boyish grin split his face showing off those sharp shark-like teeth that many flinched away from. Not Emma. She loved his pointed teeth, especially seeing that they could easily leave evidence of his love all over her skin.
“I was waiting for you,” Emma said as she sat up.
“I know.” Brendon’s response was met with a confused furrow between Emma’s brows that he moved to smooth out as he began speaking again. “You leave the lights on to stop yourself from falling asleep. It doesn’t really work because I always find you sleeping, but I find it incredibly endearing.”
He was met with that beautiful flush again. His Emma could never hide what she was feeling. Not with those big eyes and her penchant for getting so bashful. He loved it. He loved her.
“Come on Bambi,” Brendon uttered as he scooped her up from the couch. Emma squealed in turn, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he secured an arm under her. “Let’s get ready for bed.”
He carried them away from the couch and towards the bottom of the stairs. But not before he stopped at the lamp and turned the light off, immersing them in darkness. That was okay, seeing as he was holding all the light he would ever need in his hands.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Frank tracked this gang all the way to Ohio in search of the man funding the operation. Now that he’s found him, all that’s left to do is take him and the rest of the gang out.
Isaac just wanted this all to be over. His past is catching up quicker than expected and his methods of trying to fix things have only made it all worse.
Things rarely go to plan.
Or
Frank reluctantly adopts another child
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Billie "Bills" Anderson
Warnings/Tags: Mentions of nausea and dizziness, disordered eating, OC Black Woman
You don’t eat.
Well, that’s not entirely true. You eat just very small amounts. Too small for the amount of fuel you need to power that big brain of yours.
The thing was he knew you loved to eat. He’d been on the receiving end of your wistful sighs when watching videos on your phone of recipes you planned on trying the next time you went grocery shopping. Despite that, he never actually saw you eat more than a few bites. Kyle didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but it wasn’t until you called him asking if he wanted some of the “extra” soup you had made that he decided to broach the topic.
“Bill I know you never make more than you can eat and store in your freezer when I’m on a mission, so what’s this about “extra” soup you’ve made?” He could practically see the eyeroll you were no doubt giving him despite being over the phone.
You let out a resigned sigh “Kyle I can’t eat it, so just come over when you have the time after work and take the bowls that are in the fridge okay? You can share my portion with the boys and keep yours for yourself.” There was an edge to your tone. Frustration. Something was wrong but you were too damn stubborn to ask for help.
“Alright love. I’ll see you ‘round 7.” You barely responded before you ended the call.
The rest of Kyle’s day was slow. He had a meeting with the rest of the 141 and oversaw some training for the new recruits, but besides that his day was unusually quiet. Kyle wasn’t one to get antsy and worried, but he didn’t know all the variables with you. Despite knowing you for only two years, the two of you grew close. He found camaraderie and a brotherhood on base within the Task Force, but he found himself growing lonely being one of the only black men regularly on base. It made him homesick for times he didn’t truly appreciate until he was knee deep in enemy territory wishing he was back home listening to his mother singing hymns around the house. It wasn’t until you had found him staring cluelessly at the produce in Emmanuels and took pity on him that he found a piece of home standing right in front of him.
“So you’re trying to make your mom’s soup but never asked for her recipe?” You stood before him with your basket propped on your hip and your head titled in disbelief. Kyle had stared back at you speechless, caught off guard by your American accent for a moment before embarrassment began to creep up his neck. He rubbed at his neck in an effort to rid himself of the feeling, but the longer you squinted up at him through your thickly framed glasses the stronger the feeling grew.
“I uh- I haven’t talked to my mum in a while and thought that if I came in I would recognize the ingredients and be able to make it myself.” A pang of sadness rang deep in Kyle’s chest at the truth in his answer. You must have seen it on his face as your features softened into understanding.
“What kind of soup?” you asked instead of prying.
“Jamaican pumpkin soup.”
“You’re Jamaican?!” Your eyes had lit up with content surprise as Kyle nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” you began. The familiar accent of home bled into your words warming Kyle’s heart almost as much as the possibility of his mum’s soup. “You help me shop for the ingredients and pay for them, and when I make it I’ll bring it to your workplace and we can share a bowl?”
A chuckle escaped Kyle at the look on your face that dared him to challenge you. He could only nod in response.
You didn’t show up to Base until Friday of that week and at that point Kyle thought he had gotten swindled out of his money until Soap came barreling into the Rec Room announcing to everybody that there was a pretty American lady asking for a “Kyle Garrick” while he wiggled his eyebrows and made kissy noisies. Soap’s obnoxious announcement had caught the attention of Price and Simon but he didn’t care. Instead, a bolt of excitement ran through Kyle as he rolled his eyes at his team and moved towards the door so he could greet you at the receptionist desk.
You were sat in one of the chairs that had been there almost as long as Price had been enlisted. In the chair next to you was a truly large lunch box and your purse. You were alert sitting there. Almost as if you weren’t sure if he had punked you and sent you to the wrong place, but when you saw him walking towards you the tense way you sat in the chair bled from your frame. Before Kyle could reach you, you had stood up, picked up your things and walked towards him.
“Kyle,” you greeted.
“Are you finally going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to keep calling you “Glasses?”
“You’re a smartass you know that?,” you shot back at him. “My name is Billie, but friends call me Bill.”
“That’s what they tell me,” Kyle grinned at you. “It’s nice to officially meet you Billie.” You were wearing heeled boots and the sharp ‘click-clack’ of your boots interrupted the monotonous sounds of base, drawing the attention of every person the two of you passed on your walk to the 141’s private lounge area.
“I didn’t think you would actually show up,” Kyle said as he ushered you into the lounge, moving towards the kitchenette. He pulled out seats for the two of you at the small circular table that they rarely used. You nodded your thanks while you unzipped the lunchbox and started unloading different sized tupperwares filled to the brim with soup.
“Yea well you looked like a kicked puppy dog in the grocery store so I decided to take pity on you. Plus you did pay for my groceries.”
“More like I was forced,” slipped out of Kyle with a grin on his face.
“I don’t see you complaining with that twinkle in your eyes.”
You were right of course. Kyle hadn’t had his mother’s cooking since he had enlisted. He rarely found himself full anymore with the way he longed for the taste of home. He looked at you for a moment while you busied yourself with organizing the bowls before you managed to take the covers off of the two you would eat together.
“Billie,” Kyle began. His tone must have alerted you as your head snapped up to meet his eyes in response. “Thank you.”
A soft smile of understanding found its way onto your face. “You’re welcome,” you said as you pushed Kyle’s bowl of soup and spoon towards him. “And it’s Bill. I don’t cook for just anyone you know. Let alone a strange man nearly crying over fresh produce. And anyway we’re bredren now. We look out for each other.”
By the time Kyle made his way off Base it was an hour past when he had said he would be at your place. He figured you would still be awake by the time he reached your flat considering your night owl tendencies but when Kyle found his way into your place he was surprised to see you asleep on the couch. It must have caught you off guard because your lamps were still on while the television played quietly in the background.
Kyle catalogued your appearance as he crouched in front of where you lay. Your brow was furrowed and covered in sweat as Kyle placed the back of his hand against your forehead to gauge your temperature. You were warmer than usual but he did remember you telling him that you overheated when you slept.
Softly he called your name as he rubbed circles against your back to gently rouse you from sleep. Slowly your brown eyes blinked at him, sleepy and unfocused.
“You made it,” you rasped out to him.
“Yea, well I was promised a ridiculous amount of soup if I showed up,” Kyle responded with a smile. Usually you would have rolled your eyes or smacked him on the arm for sassing, but he watched with a frown as you struggled to focus on his presence in front of you.
“What’s wrong Bill?” He waited as you sat yourself up on the couch. You began to shake your head before you suddenly stopped and gripped the side of your head. The line between your eyebrows grew deeper the longer he watched you.
“It’s nothing,” was your reply.
“It’s clearly not nothing. Are you sick?”
Kyle’s good fortune must have run out right at that moment as the face you made could have cut glass as you mumbled “when am I not.”
“I’m missing something here aren’t I?” Kyle asked while still observing you. You didn’t say anything to him. Instead you got up from the couch painfully slow, and stood there, drawing in careful steadying breaths.
“The containers are in the fridge and one of the grocery bags should be laying around so you can pack them in there.” Your voice was soft, as if speaking at a normal volume was too much for you at the moment.
Kyle moved in front of you before he spoke, resting his hands on your arms to both stabilize you and ground you.
“Come eat with me,” he spoke just as softly as you had.
You peered up at him with eyes squinted in pain.
“I can’t,” you started before he cut you off.
“You can,” Kyle paused before he began speaking again. “Have you been dry heaving or is this an aura?”
“Aura,” you responded. This time your eyes squinted more than before and he knew it was because your patience was running thin.
“I’m not going to force you to eat, but your doc said it was best to eat through the feeling to rewire your brain so you feel less nauseous than you usually do.” If your eyes squinted anymore they would close.
Got ya Kyle thought. “C’mon Miss. Money,” he began as he guided you towards the island in your kitchen. “Let’s eat.”
The sweet smell of the pumpkin lingered softly in the kitchen filling Kyle with a warmth that was more than just the promise of food. He’d busied himself reheating two bowls of soup for the two of you.
He had kept an eye on you while the food was reheating, checking to see if he had pushed too far or if you were really up for this “exposure therapy” as your therapist had called it. Kyle figured after you had flipped him off—you couldn’t roll your eyes in fear that you would make your dizziness worse—with both hands after the third time he turned around to not so subtly watch you that you were okay. And just to be sure that Kyle received your elegant message, you demanded that he stop watching you. So now, after ten minutes of waiting for the soup to be properly piping hot, Kyle dished it out into the colorful ceramic bowls your friend had gotten you before you moved across the pond.
“Here we are,” Kyle said as he placed the blue and green bowl in front of you while he sat with the red and orange one. He was hungry, but not too hungry where he couldn’t wait for you to whisper a soft prayer over yours and Kyle’s food before you began eating. It was slow going, but Kyle matched your pace regardless. He didn’t want to make you feel rushed when every spoonful was a battle for you. It took a while before the both of you finished your bowls. There had been moments where you simply sat and breathed before you could continue eating, but you finished and he was proud of you.
Kyle reached over and held your hand and squeezed to let you know he was there. It was silent between the two of you, but for different reasons. Kyle was happy that you had finally ate and let him see this vulnerable side of yourself whilst you were grateful to have the support.
It wasn’t perfect. This process of exposure therapy would take some time but now you knew you could do it. For now, that was enough.
He found her in the bathroom sitting on one of the kitchen barstools.
Her tongue was poking out of her mouth as her fingers were swift as they moved over and under each other as she weaved three pieces of her beautifully curly hair into a cornrow. She was meticulous about it. She would spend a couple of days digging through pictures on Pinterest before she decided on the style she wanted. After, she would make a day of not only washing her hair, but pampering herself. Once every other month she would do a clay mask or a steaming treatment. Then came her wash routine before she moved onto using her products to section, detangle, and then finger curl her hair to perfection. Some Wash Days were simple and quick. Other times, he found her up at 11:08 pm when she should be sleeping. Like now for instance.
“Imagine my surprise to find you halfway done with your hair when you said you would wait for me,” Brendon began as he walked up behind Emma before leaning forward slightly to place a soft kiss to her forehead as she cringed. She’d been caught red handed. Brendon squinted down at her through the mirror as he straightened up behind her. A quick glance at the inspo picture let him know she’s been combing her hair for a while now.
“I agreed to wait for you when your shift was supposed to end at a normal time.” She grabbed the spray bottle on the countertop and wet the uncombed half of her hair. “I didn’t agree to making you help me out with my hair when you’re ready to crash after working overtime.” Her left eyebrow lifted in that smug way when she thought she expected him to have no response. Brendon would see that her eyebrow joined its sister in their rightful place on Emma’s face where they were void of any smugness.
“First of all, I offered to help you with your hair. You aren’t making me do anything, I want to help.” Brendon spoke as reached over Emma to pick up the rat tail comb that was leaning precariously into the bowl of the sink. “Secondly, I was mainly doing rounds and charting so I’m not that tired. And lastly,” Brendon continued to talk as he carefully used the tail end of the comb to part Emma’s hair. “I had a coffee thirty minutes ago and could use this as a way to burn the excess energy.”
Emma and Brendon’s eyes met in the mirror as his speech settled. It wasn’t until the sound of her laughter broke through their shared silence that the tension he unknowingly held in his shoulders loosened.
Emma rolled her eyes at him without any heat. If she didn’t know any better, she would have believed he wanted to be a lawyer with the way he listed out his rebuttals.
“You can help me with my hair but you’re still on parting and twisting duty! You’re cornrows still need some work and I need this style to last.”
Brendon nodded seriously at her words as he picked up the comb and saluted her reflection with a comically serious “Yes ma’am!” He got to work parting and clipping her hair in sections so she could cornrow the front while he worked on parting the back to start on the mini twists.
They worked quietly together. Both focused on the task at hand to talk to each other but the space wasn’t empty with silence. It was filled with intimacy that words couldn’t touch or express.
Every now and then their hands would brush together as they placed a sectioning clip down and as if they had a mind of their own, their fingers would tangle together before separating and finding their way back into Emma’s hair. They were touches of love and care. Of kindness and consideration. A surgery of meticulous patterns they wove their love into visible evidence for all to see. Some parts weren’t perfectly even but it didn’t matter because they were made with intention.
Brendon remembers the first time he had seen Emma getting ready for her Wash Day. She hadn’t said anything but the sad tilt of her eyebrows accompanied with the frown marring her face told him all he needed to know as she gathered her combs and products together on her small bathroom counter.
The sadness curled and tightened around her as the steam from the shower caressed Brendon’s skin. He waited for her to find the words to share with him what was bothering her as she cut the water off. It was when Emma was sat in front of her white vanity that she finally spoke.
“My mom used to help me wash my hair when I was back in Michigan,” Emma began as she toweled the ends of her hair dry. “Maman had taught me how to care for my hair since I was a little girl. At some point I started washing and combing my hair without her and that was that. When I started nursing school she started doing my hair again. She claimed that I wasn’t taking care of my hair as well as she used to so she started doing it again. We both knew that was a lie.” A soft laugh escaped Emma even as her eyes filled with tears. “I guess maman did have a bit of a point though. I wasn’t prepared for how much time studying would take and I wasn’t as consistent with my routine as I had been. Maman saw how hard it was for me to keep up and decided to take care of me again.” Her tears began to fall in earnest but Emma kept working on her hair so Brendon watched her in the mirror from where he was sitting on her bed until she was done speaking.
“Up until maman started taking care of my hair again we weren’t that close. She was proud of me in the way moms are proud so they can use their kids to brag to their friends on WhatsApp but we were never close beyond the length of my certificates. Pops said it was because we’re so similar that we butt heads but I’m not too sure about that.” A huff of laughter left her at the thought of her father. God she missed her family. “I think maman doing my hair again was her extending an olive branch. I mean it worked. I’m crying like a baby over my mom when my very sexy boyfriend is alone in my bedroom with me.”
“Hey,” Bredon started softly. “It’s okay to cry. Especially when it’s about your mom.” As he spoke he made his way to where she was wiping her tears. Her face was flushed with emotion and so Brendon bent down in front of Emma and waited to speak until she turned to look at him.
“I can’t say I understand the bond that you and your mom built together over your hair, but I can tell you love and miss her,” Emma nodded as Brendon spoke. “Maybe you could schedule calls with your mom when you're combing your hair,” Brendon suggested.
“I know it won’t be the same as being together, but I’m sure if you miss her this much she does as well. This could be a way to keep your relationship strong while being far away.”
Emma didn’t say anything and Brendon thought he fucked up when more tears began to spill from her beautiful brown eyes.
“Fuck Bambi I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Brendon said as his hands made their way to Emma’s cheeks to wipe away her tears.
“You didn’t make me cry baby. I just can’t believe that your shark brain came up with that before I did,” Emma’s laugh was thick from her tears but there was also happiness in her eyes and that was all he could hope for.
By the time Brendon focused back on the task at hand Emma was finishing the last twist.
“You okay back there Shark boy?” Though he tried to stop it, a smile still found its way onto Brendon’s face.
“Yea I’m okay Bambi.” He watched as sprayed a dollop of mousse on her palm before spreading it into her hair.
“I talked to maman earlier today.”
“Yea?”
“Yeah. I showed her the style I wanted to do and she said that the next time I’m home I have to do her hair this time.” The smile that split Emma’s face was so wide that her eyes closed with the force of it.
Brendon walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom to find her pink bonnet laying on her pillow. When he walked back into the bathroom Emma had cleared the counter top and was leaning on it waiting for him.
He went to turn her to face the mirror again when she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Thank you.” She looked at him so earnestly it made his chest hurt.
Brendon’s head tilted in confusion as he asked “For what Bambi?”
“For that day when you listened to me and pushed me to reach out to my mom.”
Brendon’s breath rattled in his chest as he looked at this beautiful woman in front of him. His breath was shaky when he responded. “Of course.”
Emma looked at him for a few moments longer before reaching up and placing a gentle kiss on his lips before turning around and letting him put her bonnet on.
It was when she was sprawled out on the bathroom floor and letting the chill from the tiles cool her body when the shrill sound of her phone shattered the dull throbbing in her head and brought it to a sharp stabbing sensation. Her hand slapped around on the floor in an effort to find her phone and decline the call when the sight of Kyle’s name made her pause. Billie stared at the picture Kyle had added to his contact info when she wasn’t paying attention. It was of him wearing that ratty old baseball cap. Slowly the chill of the bathroom tile faded as warmth spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes. She answered the call.
“Thought you were gonna let it go to voicemail Miss. Money,” Kyle began. Billie could nearly see the teasing smile that she knew was on his face. Instead of hitting him back with her own smartass reply, a sob burst out from deep within Billie’s chest—snuffing out the warmth before she could let it soothe her—nearly breaking her open before she muffled the sounds with her fist jammed into her mouth trying in vain to hold the pieces of herself together.
It didn’t work of course. Kyle had always seen through to the parts of herself she would have rather cut out and burn. And so, as he sought to soothe Billie and figure out what was wrong, she layed there for a few minutes, crying before she hung up on him and then promptly vomitted in the toilet.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/Billie "Bills" Anderson
Warnings/Tags: Mentions of nausea and dizziness, disordered eating, suicidal ideation, weight loss, medical setting, mentions of injections, neglectful and disrespectful doctor, bad mental and physical health, self-hatred
It was quiet in the flat. Billie used to dream of being an adult in an apartment that housed only herself and now, despite the fresh warm air gently circulating through her flat she feels cold.
Kyle had been on a mission for six days now and his lack of presence left a gaping hole in her chest. And so now, Billie was sitting in front of her small kitchen oven as her pain moved from the base of her neck to the crown of her head and then settled behind her eyes. She sat there and watched her biscuits bake, praying that this time the pain wouldn’t stick around for weeks on end. Billie knew better though. It was already day two of this migraine and her rescue medication had done nothing to dull the blistering pain that immobilized her. Instead, she was stuck on the kitchen floor staring into her oven while what thoughts she could manage to string together gathered and stopped at Kyle Garrick.
She had never intended to let it get so far. This thing that she has with Kyle. It was supposed to just be soup and occasional conversations. Not soft looks and touches or caring hands and the never ending patience. It wasn’t something she was used to. The kindness that seemed to pour out of him and into her; as if it would make her think better of herself. It wouldn’t. What was Billie Anderson worth? She was nothing more than a puzzle that would never be finished when he realized there were too many parts of her that would never fit within the borders of the pristine clean image.
For now, she basked in his kindness and let it warm her. It wouldn’t be long before the coldness of her being spread to him and snuffed out his heat, effectively killing whatever this was between them and leaving her once again, alone in the cold.
It was when she was sprawled out on the bathroom floor as the chill from the tiles cooled her body when the shrill sound of her phone shattered the dull throbbing in her head and brought it to a sharp stabbing sensation. Her hand slapped around on the floor in an effort to find her phone and decline the call when the sight of Kyle’s name made her pause. Billie stared at the picture Kyle had added to his contact info when she wasn’t paying attention. It was of him wearing that ratty old baseball cap and his signature grin. Slowly the chill of the bathroom tile faded as warmth spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes. She answered the call.
“Thought you were gonna let it go to voicemail Miss. Money,” Kyle began. Billie could nearly see the teasing smile that she knew was on his face. Instead of hitting him back with her own smartass reply, a sob burst out from deep within Billie’s chest—snuffing out the warmth before she could let it soothe her—nearly breaking her open before she muffled the sounds with her fist jammed into her mouth trying in vain to hold the pieces of herself together.
It didn’t work of course. Kyle had always seen through to the parts of herself she would have rather cut out and burn. And so, as he sought to soothe Billie and figure out what was wrong, she laid there for a few minutes, crying before she hung up on him and then promptly vomited in the toilet.
“That’s it? That’s all you can do?” Was all Billie could say to the neurologist looming above her.
“As I said before, if you can remember,” the man—her doctor—started with a tone so heavy with condescension that he might as well have sneered at her in disgust. “You will have to decrease the dosage you’re on progressively over the course of six weeks. During this time, I highly advise against any consumption of alcohol or any other substances.” As he finished, his head tilted down toward her as he glanced at Billie over the top of his glasses. Almost as if he was an elementary teacher who was repeating words to the “troubled” child in their class that they knew wouldn’t listen to their direction.
“Yes, I remember when you told me the first time,” Billie said shortly as she met his gaze head on. “I’ve gone through this process three times already. You’re not the first doctor to tell me this and with the way this appointment is going, you won’t be the last.” Maybe there was something wrong with her beyond her condition because the satisfaction that filled her chest at the embarrassed blush that creeped its way up his neck made Billie feel a little better at being stuck in this doctors office with another shitty doctor. “Why are you recommending more pills? My previous neurologist said that if this combination of medication didn’t work we could try the monthly injections, or revisit the Botox injections.” As much as it made her shudder, if Billie had to she would go back to being stabbed in the face if it made her life easier to live.
“Yes, well as your new neurologist, this is what I want to do.”
“It’s not about what you want to do. I’m here for you to provide care to me as long as I agree and find it suitable. Seeing as you seem to forget what your job actually is, I will be getting a second opinion and possibly a new doctor.” The light blush on her now former neurologist quickly became a screaming shade of red. Billie gathered her bag and walked to the door before she turned around and met his glare with one of her own. “This appointment is over,” was left to echo in the man’s ears as the door shut crisply behind her.
She was in the bathroom getting ready to take a shower when the sight of her ribs outlined against her skin caught her eyes. Billie stopped her movements and placed her shower cap on the sink before she faced the floor length mirror and raised her hands above her head. Fuck. It was the only thing that Billie could think as she stood and counted the outline of each of her ribs.
She tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard to ignore as she washed her body and felt the ridges of her ribs beneath her washcloth. Slowly it crept up on her. It moved through her stomach, weaved and hung off of her ribs until it settled right behind her heart. Disgust. It filtered into her bloodstream and traveled throughout her body until not one part of her wasn’t polluted by the feeling.
This body that she lived in wasn’t hers. First it had given under the words of her mother, then to the pain that came when it pleased and left nothing but a weak vessel and an even weaker mind. Now she could see the evidence of her failed battles in this body that was deteriorating without her notice.
Billie cut her shower short and toweled herself dry while avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She’d seen enough of herself and the failures that seemed to grow out of her body to last a lifetime. She’d had enough. Enough of this pain and the meaningless relationships. She’d experience grief in abundance and she was ready to rest. Billie liked to think that it wouldn’t be a bitter rest like her mother. How even until the end her mother held contempt in her heart for her own flesh and blood. Her daughter. Billie hoped it would be her granny that she emulated but she knew better than to think that she could be anything like her grandmother. A huff left her as she shook her head. I can add that to my ever growing list of things I can never achieve.
It was only three in the afternoon but it wasn’t like Billie had anywhere to go so she skipped the dresser that held her day clothes and moved straight to the one that housed her mumus for bed. She slipped the first one off the pile and felt it settle softly above her knees. Slowly she moved through the rest of her current routine: socks, slippers, house cardigan, and a scarf to tie her hair up with.
Billie shuffled into the kitchen and put the kettle on before moving towards her tea box in search of her instant ginger tea and honey. She grabbed her grandmother’s Jamaican flag mug from the dish rack before fixing her tea together and a few tough crackers to help fill her up.
She sat down at the small kitchen island letting the warmth from the hot mug seep into her bones. It made sense now. Why she was getting the chills and was even more fatigued than usual. Her body had nothing to help it function well. Not that it ever functioned well, but weightloss wasn’t something she had to worry about in years. Billie brushed the thoughts aside as she lifted the mug to her lips to slowly sip at the hot liquid when a knock sounded at her door.
Her head snapped up leaving her lips cold from the loss of warmth as she looked at the door. She shook herself gently going in for a sip when the sound came again. Okay, so I’m not hearing things. The mug met the island with a clink before Billie got up and walked over to the door.
Her breath caught when she peered through the peephole. She turned the lock before twisting the handle and pulling the door open. Then she found herself face to face with Kyle Garrick for the first time in months.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Frank tracked this gang all the way to Ohio in search of the man funding the operation. Now that he’s found him, all that’s left to do is take him and the rest of the gang out.
Isaac just wanted this all to be over. His past is catching up quicker than expected and his methods of trying to fix things have only made it all worse.
Things rarely go to plan.
Or
Frank reluctantly adopts another child
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Frank tracked this gang all the way to Ohio in search of the man funding the operation. Now that he’s found him, all that’s left to do is take him and the rest of the gang out.
Isaac just wanted this all to be over. His past is catching up quicker than expected and his methods of trying to fix things have only made it all worse.
Things rarely go to plan.
Or
Frank reluctantly adopts another child
