was considering my ideal 'eddie finds out about The Competition conundrum' scenario but now i am stirring a big simmering pot of ruminations in my Mind about a world in which eddie is not in the dark about tommy seeing him as competition, not because buck tells him about that conversation, but because he himself already had a similar one with tommy.
'he stopped talking to me after you and i broke up' as a slight lie of omission because eddie stopped talking to him after a conversation that took place at buck's loft the day after the billy boils incident while buck was busy poking at his face in the mirror and the other two were just sort of awkwardly sharing space in their collective BoyFriend's home like
"I'm sorry you had to drive all the way over here, man. I told him I could handle it."
"No big deal," Eddie shrugs, arms crossed and leaning back against the counter. His med bag is still open on the table and he's intermittently sipping a coffee he made for himself without asking permission.
"Right," Tommy pulls a face that he's pulled at least half a dozen times since Eddie arrived. He doesn't elaborate.
"I just mean," Eddie pushes up against the tension in the air, "it's what we do. He'd show up for me the same way."
"No," Tommy laughs drily, "I'm not confused about that, trust me."
Without tearing his gaze away from that look on Tommy's face, the one he's still pulling in a slightly different font, Eddie reaches out and picks up his coffee from the counter with practiced, blind ease. He frowns as he takes a long sip. He isn't sure what to say to that and so he doesn't say anything at all.
He doesn't need to, really, when Tommy goes on all on his own.
"There are some situations where you don't show up for each other though, right?"
"Not sure I catch your drift," Eddie chuckles, head tilting with the momentum of his confusion.
Tommy studies him, like trying to suss him out, and then sighs.
"Nevermind."
"Okay," Eddie lets it go.
He tries to let it go, only, Tommy is trying to win some foot-in-mouth contest, apparently because--
"I'm just trying not to feel like I always have to compete for my boyfriend's attention, I guess is what I'm saying," he blurts out with a large, half-aborted gesture that startles Eddie aback with his mug halfway lifted to his lips.
He lowers it carefully.
He pulls a face of his own.
"Compete with who?"
Tommy stalls for a beat before he barks out a laugh. He looks at Eddie like he thinks he's stupid or something, which isn't the most pleasant experience. Eddie has gotten along just fine with Tommy for months, now, but all of a sudden it feels like Tommy isn't getting along with him and Eddie can't parse why.
"Come on, Diaz," he scoffs, "you're not that dense."
He's looking him up and down like he's reading him and Eddie doesn't care for it at all, actually. He feels transparent and he feels brittle and he opens his mouth to say something, although he has no hope of planning ahead for what, only--
"Eddie! C'mere for a sec!" Buck calls, loud and demanding from the bathroom upstairs. "Bring your bag!"
Tommy's once-over breaks, but only because he shakes his head with this frigid sort of unsurprised frustration, and only then does Eddie pick up what he's been putting down.
His jaw hinges open, just ever so slightly, and he understands the meaning of gobsmacked for perhaps the first time in his life and--
"Eddie?!"
"You gonna keep him waiting?" Tommy asks with an edge of mockery and Eddie purses his lips as he sets down his coffee and trades it out for his med bag.
He strides forward, but as he passes by, drops hand to shoulder.
"I'm not competing with you, Tommy," he says flatly with barely a pause in his step to do so.
He's a third of the way up the staircase when he catches the sigh at his back and hears the mostly-muttered, "no, you're really not, are you," that chases him up.
In all technicality, they're on the same page, but they don't really talk much after that.
Anyway, it's only a couple weeks later when Tommy breaks up with Buck, when Buck shows up on Eddie's doorstep, when Eddie is the first one to get him to smile and laugh again in a post-breakup world to the tune of loud, loud music and where are your goddamn pants, man?
It's the beer, probably, and the dancing endorphins, that makes a ghost of a thought drift across Eddie's brain:
When Sansa sees Jon Snow for the first time, he’s fucking a woman against a tree in Hyde Park.
That is, she does not think fucking. Fuck is not a word a daughter of Eddard Stark should know, and even if Arya had learnt it and from time to time hissed it at her when particularly annoyed, Sansa would certainly not own to knowing it, or use it, or even think it. That wouldn’t be proper, and she’s made it her life’s work to be proper. Perfectly proper. Her family expects it of her, to be the epitome of a lady and marry a prince or a duke or someone else they deem worthy. So no, she wouldn’t know anything of fucking or trysts and certainly hasn’t so much as glanced at the gossip rags to breathlessly learn of all the latest scandals.
She doesn’t know the word, it simply wouldn’t be proper. Which of course means it is Jon who knows the word, Jon who knows he’s been spotted. Jon who knows he’s been caught fucking in a public park. Jon who realizes he’d been teased and threatened into a position that was truly, this time, truly beyond the pale, as he, so very near the desired, er, resolution of such an interlude hears a gasp, sees a flash of auburn hair, and knows, this was every bit the terrible idea he initially declared it. A lady has seen him fucking in broad daylight, and has hurried away as fast as ever may be. That he should be grateful for, at least he is spared the humiliation of accounting for his actions.
He is spared that unpleasantness only in the moment of course, for it is not then that he learns the identity of who saw him. No, that resolution is denied him too. It’s a week or two later that he finds it is his dear school chum’s sister who unfortunately happened upon him. He drops in to discover why Robb has not been to the club since arriving in London, and as he’s standing stupidly in a formal drawing room waiting for the man to appear, he hears that exact same gasp, sees that too-familiar flash of auburn, turns quickly enough this time to bear the full force of summer-sky eyes.
Now, would Jon Snow, the bastard, as he is referred to behind his back, have ever thought to look for beauty rather than desire in a woman’s eyes? Would he compare the color of a woman’s eyes to nature? Her skin to silk or her hair to the trees of the gods he worships in the North? No, at least, not before, not as the hardened rake he’d determined to be to live up to those rumors that swirled around him, so that makes two humiliations he suffers at Sansa Stark’s hand before he has even been formally introduced.
He means to rectify that, it is just on the tip of his tongue to ask if she’s had any pleasurable walks in the parks or seen any remarkable sights, anything to cause that blush to climb her cheeks again, anything to indicate he knows, that he doesn’t care one whit, that he is not embarrassed in the slightest. Something to balance the scales in his favor, but to his everlasting horror, she shyly smiles at him. Her beguiling eyes don’t harden into horror as he expected, they don’t sharpen with scorn or adopt a sardonic look as a worldlier person’s would. No, they tell him something sweet, a little humorous, and instead of any sly words passing his lips he finds himself muttering his name and “at your service” and “apologies” for startling her, which would be perfectly adequate, good even, only then there’s something about the whereabouts of her brother, and he can’t stop himself. He’s saying something of “fine weather,” and does he—yes, unfortunately he does comment on “the state of the roads.”
Seven hells.
He’s asking after her health now, and an inquiry about how she finds London and has she been to Gunther’s yet? These are not his thoughts. How does he even know the establishment called “Gunthers”? Ridiculous name. This is why he does not mingle with fine Ton families and has embraced the reputation that was attached to him, that is his armor.
But he has never met Sansa Stark before (officially), and here she is, a woman who has like as not never waltzed with anyone other than her dance instructor before, and she’s rattled him so thoroughly without ever uttering a word he’s lost his footing, his falling under the roar of freezing waters, until her slender fingers reach in, tug the strap of his insistent helm loose until he unclenches his jaw, releases the buckle of his breastplate until he can kick free and swim towards the sun. It is her warm breath, not frigid air that fills his lungs when he breaches the surface, her hand he clings to, his sword abandoned on the riverbed. He has drowned; he has been saved, and all the while, the debutante is blissfully unaware.
He's ended a life and begun another, all while the sweet lady is staring at him with pink cheeks, her lips in a little mew, deciding whether to intervene or permit him to continue, and he would—others take him—he would go on and on and on. He’s afraid if she does not interject he will soon be speaking of shops that sell ribbons, but at last, gods have mercy and apparently Sansa too, because she intervenes.
She lifts her prim pointed chin, extends her pale, slim hand for him to kiss. She’s done it, she’s rescued him! (again)
Well, not quite.
“I suppose we must dispense with all proper decorum to dispel any lingering embarrassment between us. My name is Sansa Stark, and you Sir, are in possession of a remarkable arse.”
Robb is baffled to find a smiling and laughing Jon ensconced with Sansa in the receiving room, when as far as he knew, they’d never been introduced. He’s further befuddled by Sansa cheerfully announcing dear, sweet Jon has called to take her for a new treat that conissts of ice, of all things, and his chaperoning service is greatly appreciated. He understands it not at all when Jon is back the next day with flowers, or when Jon is suddenly interested in attending balls and waltzing of all tedious things. No sudden burst of knowledge explains his friend’s strange turn of temperament, his sister’s sighs and songs, only that which is simply too hard to believe to give it credence. Ignorance sees him being easily maneuvered until he is wrangled into walking his sister down the aisle a brisk six weeks later to wed his dear friend, but Jon is happy, and Sansa is happy, so he chooses to ignore the whispers about Sansa's surprising choice and Jon’s reputation. He also pointedly ignores that one odd occurrence during their engagement ball that has him doubting his eyesight when he almost thinks, well, he could swear he sees Sansa place a proprietary hand on Jon’s—no, surely not.
Ever since @fastcardotmp3 first started teasing a new sci-fi AU all those months ago, I've been quietly losing my mind waiting for it, and now that Runaways is finally here I had to draw something.
So here is my little tribute to the trio (with a few liberties of course).
Two versions because I wanted to sneak in more details but this one's a bit spoilery so under the cut it goes!
Dearest @fastcardotmp3 you give so much to this fandom, so we wanted to make a surprise for you.
A multivoice podfic of a this beautiful h/c steddie story.
Featuring @sunlightsymphony @hullomoon Aheada_Lettuce and me.
With beautiful cover art by dairaliz. I highly recommend people check out ao3 link ito see the full gif version of this beautiful picture.
Steddie. Rated T. 16 min
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Characters: Haley Potter (femHarry), Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley,
Rating: T
Genre: Friendship/Romance, Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn
Chapter: 7
Summary:
Number one: Malfoy was a git. Nothing new there.
Number two: He was an arrogant, annoying, little ferret.
Number three: He used every chance he got to humiliate her and – and… that wasn’t right. Last year… at the Yule Ball… he had been acting surprisingly nice toward her. To be fair, Malfoy had also spent a big part of that night annoying the hell out of her… but… he’d also been… really sweet..
…
Sequel to Songs of Yesterday. Haley Potter still has nightmares about that night at the graveyard. But is the nightmare really over? Luckily she has her friends to keep her from worrying too much. Her friends and… a certain Slytherin that is really bad at pretending he hates her.
Haley had not the slightest idea what was happening around her. It was a good thing Hermione had done most of the talking. They were currently sitting around a big table inside the Hog's Head (the world's most shabby pub of all time) planning how to go about their new Anti-Umbridge-Alliance.
There were about twenty students from all houses except for Slytherin. She knew most of them but was surprised that some of them had actually come. Cho Chang for example (Haley didn't remember talking to the girl more than once), Michael Corner as well (he had probably come with Ginny) and a few others. Justin Finch-Fletchley was there as well even though she had turned him down only days ago. Haley didn't think she would forget that conversation in a long time.
…
"Hi Haley!"
"Um… Hey Justin."
"So, I don't mean to push you or anything but… did you make up your mind yet?"
"I – actually… um…"
"It's no problem. If you need more time I can just-"
"No!"
"No?"
"I don't need more time. I've made up my mind."
"So?"
"I… I really appreciate your offer but I – I can't go to Hogsmeade with you."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry."
"…"
"…"
"It's fine. I…is it because of another guy?"
"Um…"
"I hope he makes you happy then. I'll see you on Saturday!"
…
It had been more than slightly awkward. But at least she had got it over with. And from the looks of it Justin didn't seem to be bitter about it at all. If he was he didn't show it.
Hermione was handing a list around now, that everyone was supposed to sign. It seemed like the meeting was close to the end, which meant that it was almost time to meet Malfoy for their... meeting. She refused to call it a date. It wasn't a date! Haley wasn't nervous at all. She was mostly curious because she had no idea what she was supposed to expect. All he had told her was that he would come get her once she had got rid of her friends. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Was he hiding somewhere near the Hog's Head?
Once the list was back in Hermione's hands, everyone started to get up and the air was filled with voices saying "bye" and "see you later".
"That went well, don't you think?" Hermione asked, as she stored her list inside her bag, "It's still fairly early. Shall we go to The Three Broomsticks?"
Now it was time for Haley to get nervous. She hadn't even come up with a suitable excuse to separate from her friends yet.
"Are you not feeling well?" A voice to her left asked.
"Huh?" Haley turned her head left. Blue, curious eyes were blinking up at her. Luna Lovegood.
"I'm – uh–" She mumbled.
"I think it's because of the Butterbeer," Luna said, but she didn't give Haley the chance to answer, "Sometimes the pixie dust they use is too old. It happens more often than you would imagine. It feels like there are gnomes dancing around in your body, doesn't it?"
"Uh..."
"Don't worry. It's not too dangerous. It will probably pass if you lie down for a bit. Maybe you should go back and rest?"
Haley was too perplexed to answer. Was Luna actually serious or had she made it all up? But what reason would she have to make it up?
"Did you just say there's pixie dust in Butterbeer?" Ron asked, watching the Ravenclaw in wonder. Luna nodded. "You didn't know?" She asked.
"Don't listen to her, that's rubbish," Hermione said harshly.
"It's not rubbish," Luna disagreed, sounding slightly disgruntled.
"Anyway," Hermione continued, "Are you coming, Haley?"
"I–" Haley looked back and forth between Hermione and Luna. Maybe this was exactly the excuse she needed.
"I do feel a little unwell," she said. It was only half a lie, seeing as she did feel slightly uneasy. It didn't matter that it was for a completely different reason. "It might be better if I head back early."
At once Hermione's tone became worried, "Are you sure?" She asked, feeling the temperature on Haley's forehead with the back of her hand. "Your temperature does seem a bit high. Come on, let's get you back to the castle."
No! That didn't help her at all. They weren't supposed to escort her back!
"B-but didn't you say you wanted to go to the book store and-"
"Don't worry, that can wait," Hermione interrupted her, "I'll just do it next time."
This was it. Haley had no choice but to go back to the castle with her friends now.
"I could escort you if you wanted to," Luna suggested, "I never really know what to do in Hogsmeade anyway."
This was the solution. She would just go with Luna and once they were far enough away from the village, she would say she felt better and come back here.
"You would really do that?" Haley asked in a casual tone of voice.
"Sure, that's not a problem at all!" The Ravenclaw confirmed.
Hermione eyed Luna suspiciously. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea. We should-"
"Come on, Hermione, didn't you say, you really needed that book for the OWLs?"
Haley knew she had her. The word OWLs worked like magic.
"Fine," she agreed reluctantly, "But you'll go straight to Madame Pompfrey if it gets worse, all right?"
"All right. You go and have fun!" Haley wished, feeling only slightly guilty for lying to her.
They left the pub together and once they stood beneath the sign of the Hog's Head, Hermione gave her a brief hug.
"See you later," she told her, "We'll make sure to be back soon."
"You really don't have to do that," Haley argued. But Hermione was already stepping away and leaving, waving back at her one last time.
"Bye, Haley! Bye Luna! We'll make sure to get you lots of sweets and stuff from Zonko's!" Ron called back good-naturedly. It didn't take long for them to disappear out of sight.
"I feel better already," Haley said after a moment, "It must be the fresh air."
Luna said nothing. She simply watched her, contemplatively. Did she know that Haley hadn't been telling the truth?
"I want to show you something," she whispered then, walking ahead without giving her the chance to argue. Haley had no choice but to follow the girl.
"Where are we going?" She asked, after a few minutes of silent walking. She didn't recognise the buildings around her. There weren't even shops anymore.
"Luna, I don't think we-"
"We're here," the Ravenclaw whispered, stopping in a narrow alley between two wizard houses.
Haley could hear the chatter of people nearby. It seemed like they weren't too far away from the main road.
"What do you mean 'we're here'?" Haley asked suspiciously. She was slowly growing anxious. What was the Ravenclaw planning?
Luna stepped in front of her and reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.
"Don't worry, the Ice Prince is already waiting," she told her mysteriously, "Good luck for your date."
She let go of Haley's hand and quickly walked away in the direction they had come from.
"Wait!" Haley called in confusion, "What do you mean? What are you talking about? Hey!"
She wanted to run after the girl but she couldn't take even a single step. Because someone had taken hold of her left wrist.
"What the-" She started to say as she stumbled back into the person that had grabbed her. The rest of the words died in her throat once she found herself face to face with a boy. Did she know him? He seemed familiar but something about him was odd.
The boy was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and his hazelnut brown hair was gelled back. But she knew that smirk. And she also knew those grey eyes. If it wasn't for the hair colour and the glasses she would swear this was Malfoy! But why did he look like that?
"What happened to your hair?" She asked in confusion.
"Do you like it?" The boy in front of her drawled lazily. It was definitely Malfoy. Nobody else she knew drawled like that. Haley snorted.
"You wish," she retorted. Then she noticed a silver hand mirror in his left hand.
"I knew you were vain but… is it really necessary to carry around a mirror with you?"
Malfoy simply watched her, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
"Here," he said, holding the mirror up right in front of her face. Haley reached for it reflexively and took a look at her reflection. She looked exactly the way she always did. Which was weird because she had done her hair up in a bun this morning. But now it was all over her face like she'd walked out of a hurricane.
"Huh?" She whispered, astonished.
Malfoy chuckled. "You're blushing," he told her. What? She wasn't blushing! Why would she be-?
But he was right. Her reflection in the mirror was turning redder by the second. But how? Why?
She hadn't known it was possible to blush this furiously. Malfoy kept chuckling like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Haley glared at him. Did it have something to do with the mirror?
"What kind of mirror is this?" She asked in annoyance.
"A metamorph mirror, of course," he replied matter-of-factly.
"And how does this meta-mirror thing work?"
"Metamorph mirror," Malfoy corrected, "Have you ever wanted to change your hair colour?"
"I…" Of course she had! But why was he asking her that? She looked into the mirror again. Haley knew she had her mother's eyes. She had always wondered what she would look like with her mum's red hair. As soon as the thought entered her mind, the reflection in the mirror changed. The girl in front of her had sleek, red hair that went almost down to her waist. And from the corners of her eyes she could see that her own hair was suddenly long and red as well.
Haley let the mirror fall in surprise.
"Woah!" She exclaimed as she felt the silky strands with her fingers.
"Careful Potter," Malfoy said in an amused tone, picking up the mirror swiftly, "Breaking mirrors is bad luck."
"What kind of mirror is that?" Haley asked another time.
"It's a metamorph mirr-"
"I don't care what it's called! Where did you get it from?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It's an heirloom. The charm lasts for about an hour, I think. I thought it was a good idea. No one will recognise us like this."
It had indeed been a good idea. She had to admit that. She snatched the mirror from the boy's hands and took another look at herself. Maybe she should try different glasses? Or was it possible to get rid of them completely? The girl in the mirror looked back at Haley without glasses. It was a strange sight. And it was even stranger that she was able to see her reflection clearly. If she could make her glasses disappear, perhaps it was also possible to…
"Huh!" She almost let the mirror fall once more, at the sight of her forehead that was now smooth and scarless. "I – I think, that's enough for now," she stammered and pushed the mirror back into Malfoy's hands. She liked her face the way it normally looked. She was used to it. Seeing herself without her trademark glasses and the lightning-shaped scar was odd. Not to mention the red hair.
Malfoy stored the metamorph mirror inside the shoulder bag, he had brought with him. He took in Haley's new features and smirked.
"Interesting," he commented with a chuckle. Haley rolled her eyes. As if he looked any less strange. The only familiar thing were his tailored robes. Did the guy never wear normal clothes?
"Shall we?" Malfoy asked but he didn't wait for an answer. Instead he turned around and started to walk in the direction he had come from. As soon as he realised she wasn't following him, he turned around, raising one eyebrow expectantly.
"This is not a secret plot to kill you," he said dryly. Well, that sounded reassuring.
"Where are we going?" Haley asked, not moving an inch.
"It's a surprise?" Malfoy answered in a tone that implied something like "Are you stupid?"
Haley glared at him. She didn't like that tone at all. And what was he talking about anyway? A surprise?
"What kind of surprise?" She asked suspiciously. She wasn't sure whether she was up for a surprise.
Malfoy ran his hand over his face and sighed. He walked back toward her until he was standing right in front of her.
"Haley," he said quietly, softly, like a caress. Like he was carefully trying out her name on his tongue. This one word was all it took to make her heart stop.
What? Haley couldn't do more than blink stupidly as the boy in front of her took her left hand in his and started to play with her fingers. The unexpected touch made a shiver run up her arm, making her wonder whether it was caused by the touch itself or the coldness of the boy's fingers.
"I barely slept last night," he admitted, his eyes focused on her hand, "I was too worried you might not like what I planned for today. But now… you won't even let me surprise you. Shouldn't you come with me so you can at least properly make fun of it all?"
The last part was obviously meant to sound mocking but as Malfoy lifted his grey eyes, looking into hers cautiously, she was reminded of that boy from almost a year ago who had seemed so hopeful and vulnerable at the same time.
"I…" Haley started to say but she wasn't sure how to continue, "Why… Why did you call me that?"
The Slytherin smirked in the most annoying way. "I could be wrong but I thought that was your name," he drawled smugly.
"Very funny," She replied, not sounding amused at all, "You've never called me 'Haley' before."
"Well, don't get used to it, Potter," Malfoy whispered with an amused grin. Haley rolled her eyes over his childishness. For a moment it seemed as if there was something else he wanted to say but he stayed silent.
"Follow me," he instructed, as he started to walk again, pulling her along with him.
It wasn't too long before they had reached the main road again, with all the different shops left and right. Haley couldn't have imagined an experience more peculiar than this: walking through Hogsmeade with her fellow Hogwarts students all around her, following Draco Malfoy, who was holding onto her hand like he didn't ever want to let go.
But it wasn't as bad as it seemed. Malfoy was pretending to be someone else and she was doing the same. So, technically it wasn't her who was holding Malfoy's hand, which made it all strangely okay. As long as she thought that way she would be fine.
…
DRAGO
"So, you're still not going to tell me where we're going?" Potter questioned impatiently.
She looked up at Draco in a way that seemed so innocently curious that it made him want to squeeze her or jump around in circles or do anything equally ridiculous. It wasn't so much the expression itself that made him almost giddy with joy. It was more the lack of animosity. Or the fact that he was here in Hogsmeade with Haley Potter and he was holding her hand and they were on a bloody date! He barely stopped himself from giggling like a 13-year-old girl. Barely.
As he watched the girl, taking in every detail, from the maroon muggle jacket she was wearing to her dark blue muggle trousers, he wondered why she had chosen to change her hair colour to red. Did she like her Weasley friends that much? Or was it merely a coincidence?
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Are you ignoring me again?" Potter had stopped and was frowning at him now. It was really strange to see her without the glasses and the scar; and with her hair long and red. Although Draco liked her better the way she usually looked she was still beautiful. Her deep green eyes especially.
"Yes," he whispered absently, reaching for a long strand of red hair and freeing it from one of the buttons on her jacket it had caught on.
"'Yes'? Were you even listening?" Potter inquired in annoyance.
"Obviously I wasn't," Draco stated with a sigh, "Why is your hair red?"
"Presumably because I looked into your stupid mirror," she answered oh-so-cleverly.
Oh, he loved it when her fiery nature showed. She seemed like a kitten that was trying to be a lion. It was adorable. Draco had to bite his lips to stop himself from saying something stupid like 'You're so cute I could eat you'. That wouldn't be a very malfoyish thing to say.
What were they talking about again? Right. The colour of Potter's hair.
"My mirror is not stupid," he clarified, "Why red? Don't you like brown or green or… blond?"
Was he being too obvious? She had probably noticed the way he had said blond. Was it so wrong to want to know whether she liked his hair or not? It wasn't like she'd ever tell him that on her own.
Potter looked at him contemplatively like she was pondering something.
"My mum," she murmured finally, "It's what her hair looked like."
Oh. Her mum. Draco hadn't known she had been a redhead. Was Potter somehow related to the Weasleys? No, that wasn't possible. Her mum had been a muggleborn, hadn't she? Had he ever insulted her? He couldn't remember.
"She was a muggleborn," she told him almost in a challenging way. Like she was testing him. Testing his reaction. Well, Draco wasn't stupid.
"I know that..." He said in a neutral tone of voice. It was quiet for a moment. He had no idea what she wanted him to say. Or if he should say anything at all. "Do you um… do you remember her?"
"No," Potter said quietly, looking at the ground, "I was a baby when Voldemort murdered my parents, remember?" She lifted her head to meet his gaze.
Draco looked away. This wasn't exactly what he wanted to talk about on their date. It was actually the last thing he wanted to talk about. The only thing it did was remind him of the fact that Potter and him weren't supposed to go on a date together. They belonged to different worlds. Had different goals and believes. How long could it last? Was this really the right thing? Wasn't it a mistake?
But no, he couldn't think that way. He couldn't start doubting his decision now. It was too late for that. It wasn't wrong. Not with the way it felt to be holding Haley's hand.
It felt so warm in his. So warm and real. It wasn't wrong.
It couldn't be.
…
HALEY
"Is it still far?" Haley asked after they had started to walk again. Malfoy seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Was it because she had mentioned her mum? Did the fact that she had been a muggleborn make him uncomfortable? If so, it wasn't her problem. She wasn't ashamed of who she was or what kind of blood was running through her veins.
"No…" Malfoy answered absently, "We're almost there."
As Haley looked around she noticed that they were leaving the main part of the village. The shops and houses were getting fewer. The silence was starting to grow heavy around them. It felt almost suffocating. Hadn't there been so many questions before? Where had they all gone? She watched the Slytherin's profile contemplatively. It was definitely strange to see the boy without the blond hair and wearing glasses. She could almost forget it was him. If it weren't for the pointy chin… or the grey eyes that reminded her of a clouded sky. What was he so worried about?
"You look like you just found out someone hid your pet snake at the bottom of the Great Lake," she joked, trying for humour.
"Ha ha, Potter. I don't have a pet snake," Malfoy said distractedly.
"That reminds me," Haley remembered, the talk of the Great Lake had triggered her memory, "How did you get Dobby to help you out with the gillyweed? I mean, I know he used to 'work' for your family but… I didn't get the impression he was your biggest fan… so to speak."
"I… can be very convincing," Malfoy offered after a short pause, "Besides, after I told him that I needed the gillyweed to help you, he all but agreed to do anything I asked him to."
Usually when it came to Dobby Haley would believe this right away but.. there was something in the way Malfoy was avoiding her gaze that seemed suspicious.
"Really?" She asked doubtfully.
Malfoy nodded hastily, which didn't stop the faint pink colour from spreading all over his cheeks.
Haley grinned smugly. "Well then, I'm sure you won't mind if I ask him about it myself."
"No! You can't!" Malfoy protested. The suggestion seemed to startle him so much that he even let go of her hand.
"Why not?" She asked innocently.
"That's because – because he is surely terribly busy at the moment! And – and it doesn't matter much anyway – hey, look, isn't that the place we were looking for?"
It was unbelievable how quickly Malfoy made up one excuse after another. It was also a tiny bit cute but that wouldn't stop her from getting the whole story from Dobby later on.
They stopped in front of a green patch of grass that was surrounded by tall trees. Around them the red, orange and yellow leafs were dancing, caught in the light autumn breeze that was blowing softly.
It looked awfully cosy. There even was a picnic blanket in the middle of it! It was green and grey chequered. Colours that suited a true Slytherin. Did Malfoy prepare this? Haley looked at him in surprise. But the Slytherin seemed to be busy doing something different, namely looking for something in his bag.
"There!" He exclaimed, as he pulled something out of his bag that looked suspiciously like an umbrella.
"What do you need an umbrella for? It doesn't look like it's going to rain any time soon," Haley said. The weather was actually rather nice. It was warm enough to take off her jacket. Underneath she was wearing a light blue, long-sleeved shirt.
"Umbrella," the boy repeated with a snort and walked toward the picnic blanket. He opened the umbrella – or whatever it was – and leaned it against one of the trees near the blanket.
"What are you waiting for?" Malfoy asked, watching her expectantly, "A special invitation?"
He smirked lazily. It looked just like he was back to his normal arrogant self. What a shame.
Haley thought about ignoring him and staying where she was just to spite him but… it wasn't really what she wanted to do. She walked the few steps over toward the blanket and sat down on it as far away from the Slytherin as possible.
"Let me guess. Another heirloom?" She asked with a nod toward the umbrella.
"Not bad, Potter," Malfoy said and grinned at her amusedly, "Come here, I'll show you how it works." He held out his hand in invitation and the sun made his eyes shine mirthfully. She noticed that his fake glasses were gone and his hair was starting to turn blond again.
She crawled over to him slowly – she didn't want to seem too eager – and glanced at the umbrella in curiosity. What kind of magic trick was hidden inside it?
Malfoy didn't wait for any more encouragement. "It's a time machine," he told her, in a rather casual tone. Like time machines were the most normal thing in the world.
Haley squinted her eyes at the boy in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that?" She asked sceptically. What did he take her for?
Malfoy didn't seem discouraged. "Believe what you want to but," he smirked in a superior way, "What do I get, if I'm right?"
What the hell? There was no way she would play into that. Not while there was this mischievous glint in his eyes. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling nervous.
"Fine. Show me what that magic umbrella can do," she muttered, ignoring the triumphant grin on the boy's face.
"That curious, are we?" He asked smugly. Haley rolled her eyes in annoyance. Couldn't he simply get on with it?
"So… you have to press this button," Malfoy explained, while pressing a round silver button above the handle of the umbrella, "And then it records the… essence of the people that sit underneath it."
"Like a photograph? Or a memory?" Haley asked, still wondering where this was going.
"You could say that," Malfoy confirmed. He raised his eyebrows expectantly like he was waiting for her to understand. But what was so great about a magic umbrella that recorded memories?
"And…?" Haley prodded, feeling extremely stupid.
"And…" he repeated impatiently, "Once you're done with the recording you press the button again and seal the memory with a password." He seemed really excited for some reason.
"I still don't see how that makes it a time machine though," the Gryffindor dead-panned.
"It's actually really easy, Potter," he said in an almost patronising way, "The next time you sit under the umbrella, you only need to say the right password and it will take you right back to the memory it recorded beforehand."
"Like a time machine," Haley stated, she wasn't sure whether she completely understood how the magical umbrella was supposed to work.
"Exactly."
"Sounds a bit like an Invisibility Cloak," she added thoughtfully.
"Except it doesn't turn people invisible but takes them back in time."
"I don't see the big difference. Basically people can't see you anymore, right?"
"Right."
"Cool. And why did you bring it?"
All of the confidence seemed to leave the Slytherin at her question.
"Well… I thought, if we… in case we went on another…" His eyes were big and slightly uncertain, like he was looking for something in her face he doubted was actually there. Haley stared back cluelessly.
Malfoy shook his head and looked away. "Never mind," he muttered.
Perhaps… Had he been trying to say 'in case we went on another... date'? Haley felt her face grow hot. This wasn't… She didn't know what she thought about the idea of another… date. Wasn't it too early to even think about? She hadn't even acknowledged this as a date yet.
"I…" She started to say but Malfoy interrupted her.
"You probably haven't had lunch yet, right?" The boy asked but he didn't wait for an answer.
Instead he reached into his bag and retrieved a wooden box from it that looked big enough to comfortably fit two grown cats. He placed the box between them and opened it. Inside, there were different kinds of sandwiches, pastries – she even spotted treacle tarts! – and down below, was that an actual teapot? With teacups? It looked terribly delicious.
"I can't tell whether you're impressed or trying to catch flies," Malfoy disrupted her staring, sounding annoyingly amused. She closed her mouth, which had apparently been hanging open.
"I'm… not hungry," Haley whispered, still in awe over the amount of food he had brought.
"It's not poisoned, I swear," Malfoy informed her, chuckling.
"I didn't think it was," Haley answered, rolling her eyes, "Knowing you, you probably made a house elf prepare this."
"No, I didn't," he said, unconvincingly.
"You totally did," Haley exclaimed, laughing out loud over the realisation. It was kind of amusing.
"Are you going to eat something or not?" The boy replied, in an attempt to change the topic.
She didn't really have an appetite but it all looked so good. She would at least try one of the treacle tarts. Even if she tried she couldn't say no to these. There were even plates next to the teacups. Haley reached for her favourite treat and placed it on top of a plate, while Malfoy filled the teacups with a steaming liquid from the teapot.
"You brought tea?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow. She didn't know what else she should have expected. Butterbeer? Firewhiskey? Wine? Neither of those seemed more likely. But tea was so…tame, so… ordinary.
"Obviously," the Slytherin drawled, "You don't like tea?"
"Of course I like tea. It's just… I don't know… unexpected," she replied.
Malfoy chuckled softly. "What did you expect? Firewhiskey? Dragonwine? Blood?" He placed one cup of tea in front of her. "Every respectable wizard drinks tea."
With three spoons of sugar in Malfoy's case. Haley grinned softly, as she absently took a bite from her treacle tart. Treacle tarts were usually really sweet but she imagined Malfoy's tea was even sweeter. By now he was at his fifth spoon of sugar! Did he have a sweet tooth? The thought was strangely endearing. Either that or he didn't realise how much sugar he was spooning into his cup. Haley felt herself grin as the boy lifted his cup to his mouth and took a sip. It didn't seem like he was surprised at the taste.
Haley chuckled. She couldn't help it.
"What's so funny?" Malfoy asked suspiciously, "Is there something on my face?"
Still grinning, she shook her head. The boy took another sip of his sugar tea and watched her warily.
He set down his cup and leaned closer. "Why are you grinning like that?" He asked, sounding irritated.
"It's nothing," she whispered, suddenly aware of how close their faces were. It seemed like Malfoy noticed it as well. His eyes were wandering over her face like he was trying to commit each little detail to memory.
"It's back," he breathed lowly, gazing at something on her forehead. Was he talking about her scar? Haley didn't really like people staring at her scar. She cleared her throat nervously and looked down at her hands. Malfoy seemed to sense her discomfort and leaned back on his hands.
She hadn't known he was capable of behaving in such a considerate way. He seemed so… human. Was this the real Malfoy? Or was he showing her one of his masks again? This was so confusing.
...
DRACO
Why was Potter staring at him like this? If only he knew what she was thinking. Was this good staring? As in, she couldn't help but stare at his extraordinarily handsome face? Or was it bad staring, as in, she regretted all of this and was trying to think of a way to end it as soon as possible? It couldn't be that, could it? He was going to go insane at this rate!
Potter was chewing on her cherry red lips. And no, now Draco was thinking about her lips again. Was it too soon to kiss her? Would she punch him if he leaned over and did just that? Merlin's beard, he would just do it! He would just lean in, close his eyes and-
"Can you tell me why…" Potter began, disrupting his plan, "why you were this horrible to me a few weeks back?"
Draco sighed. She wanted to talk about that now? "Can't we talk about this another time?" He asked in a hopeful tone.
"No," she said decidedly. He should have known better than to argue with her.
"It's just," the girl continued, "One day you're kind of nice and the next it's as if you despise me."
She shrugged. "Is it always going to be like this?"
Draco shook his head hastily.
"Everything I did for you last year… was real. But then after everything that happened during the Third Task and afterwards… I didn't know what was right anymore. I thought it was best to forget about... the way I felt… and just… go back to the way we were before. Enemies."
It was hard saying all of this out loud. Some of it Draco had talked to Lovegood about but… well Lovegood was not Potter. It didn't feel like every word was important when he looked into her blue eyes. But that was what it was like when he was met with Haley's sparkling green eyes that were kind of making him a little crazy.
"What… changed your mind?" She asked. Draco noticed that her cheeks were slightly pink. When had it become so hot around them? He had to take a deep breath. She was definitely driving him crazy. More than just a little bit.
She watched him in a curious way. Oh right, she had asked him a question.
"My mind?" He repeated stupidly.
"Yes… What changed it? Why did you – I mean… all of this, really… Why?" She gestured toward the picnic blanket and the food and the whole situation in general.
Why? Wasn't it obvious? But then Draco realised that he had never actually told her how he felt about her. Not in words anyway. He didn't even know for sure what it was he felt. It was definitely more than a fleeting crush. A mere crush wouldn't have been that persistent, right? Just sitting here together with her in the autumn sun made him feel all tingly inside. Made a thrill of excitement run through his body. But what did it even mean? And how was he going to relay those feelings in the right way? He cleared his throat nervously and started to play around with his empty teacup. It was easier to find the words when he wasn't looking at Potter.
"I tried… not to think about you but… somehow you were always there. And do you know how annoying it is that you're always getting yourself into trouble?"
He gave a short chuckle. Then he looked up at her and met her curious eyes.
"I didn't want to watch you fight your battle with Umbridge alone. I wanted to shake you because you were being so stupid."
Potter glared at him. Well… maybe it hadn't been the right moment to say that. He cleared his throat again.
"Um… what I meant to say is… I didn't want to just watch uselessly anymore. And I was certainly not going to sit around while you went on a date with that dull Hufflepuff."
Draco shouldn't have mentioned the Hufflepuff. A frown was forming on Potter's face. It was funny how much she resembled her usual self in that moment. Watching him suspiciously. Her glasses slightly askew due to her scrunched up nose. And her hair was short again and back to its raven colour. The top half of it was tied with a green hair tie and part of her fringe was hiding the lightning-shaped scar. Draco couldn't help but grin as he waited for her response.
…
HALEY
This was the second time Malfoy had mentioned "the Hufflepuff". The first time had been on Thursday inside that empty classroom. How did he know about Justin asking her out?
"How do you know about Justin anyway? You spied on me again, didn't you?" She asked warily.
Her accusing tone seemed to disconcert him. "So? What if I did?" He asked defensively in return.
"Well, I don't like people following me around and spying on me." She didn't know why she couldn't just let this go. Maybe it was because everything else the Slytherin had said was so difficult to make sense of.
"Don't act so surprised, Potter," Malfoy said darkly, "You wouldn't expect anything different from a sneaky, evil Slytherin, would you? And a Malfoy at that."
"That's not what I said," Haley argued hotly.
"But it's what you thought! It's what you see when you look at me! I just – Didn't you listen to what I just told you at all?" He asked, sounding upset. His grey eyes were like a stormy sea, as they bored into her own. She felt so helpless all of a sudden. She didn't understand how their conversation had escalated into a fight so quickly. It was hard enough to take in everything Malfoy had told her. Because in the end he hadn't said much at all. Couldn't he have been clearer with his words?
The hard expression on his face softened visibly. "Have you ever…" He started to whisper, "ever seen me as a boy? Without the name and the house rivalry attached to it?"
Haley thought about his words for a moment. But then the boy lifted his left hand toward her face and stroked her cheek gently. It was impossible to form a complex thought after that.
"Can't you… try to do that?" He asked softly, never looking away from her eyes.
"For five years… I have... had this picture of you in my mind... That won't magically change over night," Haley heard herself whisper almost soundlessly.
For some reason Malfoy smirked at that. Then his eyes strayed down to her lips for a moment. Haley swallowed nervously as she realised that he had somehow got incredibly close to her. He stroked his thumb over her lower lip slowly, his touch incredibly soft.
"Why don't you let me... adjust the picture for you then?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
She couldn't even begin to think up a clever reply to that because her vision was filled with nothing but his grey eyes. The emotion in them was so intense that for a second she thought he was going to attack her. But to her surprise the attack turned out to be incredibly soft. It came in the form of a kiss.
She should have seen it coming. But at the same time, how could she have known? Before she could decide whether she liked the kiss or not it was already over.
Malfoy jumped away like he had been burned, hissing lowly.
Huh? A quick glance told her that he had indeed been burned by something. His right hand was soaked with a dark liquid and the teacup that Haley hadn't touched was upside down next to it. The Slytherin glared at the cup like it had personally offended him and wiped his hand on the blanket.
Haley took a moment to take in the scene before her. It seemed so surreal and downright ridiculous that she couldn't help but break into hysterical laughter. Malfoy turned his glaring eyes toward her. Maybe it wasn't the nicest thing to laugh at him after he had kissed her. But she couldn't help it. The situation was just too funny.
"Are you… laughing at me?" The boy inquired, still glaring at her. Haley just shrugged, trying to stop herself from laughing. But that was easier thought than done.
"Do I look that funny to you?" He growled, as he got into her personal space, his nose almost touching her own. Her laughter died down almost instantly, her breath catching inside her throat. For a second she saw a mischievous glint light up in the boy's eyes. Then it was gone.
This time Haley wasn't surprised by the kiss. Just as she had closed her eyes she felt a sharp pain in her lower lip. He'd bitten her! That jerk! It was probably because she had laughed at him.
Haley pushed him away irritatedly.
"What was that?" She asked in bewilderment. Was her lip bleeding? It didn't seem that way…
Malfoy chuckled. "Look, who doesn't know what a kiss is," he said mockingly.
"I know what a kiss is," she replied defiantly, "I've done lots of kissing, just so you know."
"Really," Malfoy scoffed, "Who did you kiss?"
"I don't have to tell you that," she deflected.
"Are sure you're not just saying that because there is nothing to tell?" He asked. From the corners of her eyes she saw that his hand was slowly crawling over to where hers was resting on the blanket. She thought about pulling her hand further away just to annoy him.
"You're an expert in kissing, then?" Haley asked playfully, with one eyebrow raised.
Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "You know… a respectable wizard doesn't kiss and tell," he replied, grinning smugly.
Haley snorted. "Nice try," she said, "I almost believed you."
The Slytherin squinted his eyes at her disbelievingly, "Did you just imply I was lying?"
"Maybe," she replied offhandedly.
"That's funny. Clearly you're the one who's lying," he insinuated, as he reached her hand and covered it with his own. She noticed that it wasn't as cold as it had been before. It was probably due to the 'tea accident'.
"No, I'm not," she answered back stubbornly, trying to pull her hand away but he wouldn't let her.
"Yes, you are," he almost sang. She had never seen him in such a cheerful mood before. His fingers were gently stroking over the skin of her hand. It tickled. She suppressed a grin.
"No, I'm not," she repeated, wondering how long this was going to go on for.
"Yes," Malfoy leaned closer, making her lean further back in return, "You are."
Haley wasn't going to let him win this little competition. Her upper body was mostly resting on her fore arms. If she leaned back any further she would be lying down on her back.
"No, I'm not."
"So stubborn," he tsked, "just admit it already." He was on his side next to her now, slightly leaning over her with one hand still holding hers and the other resting next to her face. His face only inches above her own.
"You admit it first," Haley whispered, not caring the slightest that she had forgotten what they were arguing about.
Malfoy shook his head. "That's not going to happen," he whispered. She got the feeling that he, too, didn't know what they had been arguing about in the first place. His eyes never left hers and the sheer childlike delight that was reflected in them was positively disarming.
It was enough to make her give up the battle and let her body sink to the ground completely.
"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" She asked almost dazedly. She felt so weak all of a sudden.
He raised the hand that wasn't holding hers to her face and slowly ran a finger from her temple to the corner of her mouth. He let it rest there for a second, then he cupped her cheek in his hand.
Haley almost forgot to breathe.
"Yes," Malfoy said, grinning amusedly, "I do."
She was saved from coming up with a response by a pair of lips that covered her own gently.
…
This was not what Haley had thought her first real kiss was going to be like. Whatever she had expected it was certainly not this: Spread out on a picnic blanket with Draco Malfoy. Well, the picnic blanket was not the unusual part. It was a rather comfortable picnic blanket.
But she was being kissed by Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy was kissing her. And the most terrifying thing was that… it didn't feel unpleasant. Not in the slightest. It felt… nice. And also really soft because his lips were as soft as a freaking feather. Did he use lip balm or something? She wouldn't be surprised about that. It was also soft because his lips were moving over hers so gently. Hesitantly almost, like he was afraid of something. But what could he be afraid of? Kissing wasn't dangerous, was it?
It wasn't long before he pulled away. Haley opened her eyes to find Malfoy's gazing down at her already. He licked his lips that were unusually red and there was a look of wonder in his eyes. He wasn't even blinking. Was something wrong? Haley frowned slightly, opening her mouth to ask what was wrong but she didn't get that far. Whatever spell the boy had been under seemed to be broken, seeing as Malfoy rubbed his thumb over her cheek and leaned down to kiss her again.
His lips were still gentle but something was different about the way he kissed her. The hesitancy from before was mostly gone now. It felt more confident somehow. The fingers of his right hand were interlaced with her own and he angled his head to the side so he was able to reach her lips better. It was strange how little it bothered her that her glasses were sort of piercing the side of her face or that her hair tie was pressed against the back of her head in an uncomfortable way.
All of that was not important because something else was demanding her attention. It wasn't something blatantly obvious or physical even.
It was like Malfoy was telling her something through the kiss. No words. More like little impressions of what he was feeling. It was impossible to discern what each of those impressions meant. But overall there was one feeling that stood out among the others. Something warm and affectionate. It felt so raw, so honest that it hit her with the force of an oncoming mountain troll. It was all for her. The way he sometimes looked at her, the way he kissed her in this very moment – that was him. Without any masks. It was real. It had to be. Haley didn't think it was possible to pretend to feel something like this. It was a sobering realisation:
Malfoy… He seemed to genuinely care… about her. Unfortunately this realisation raised another question: How did she feel about him?
For the otp thing 👊 Astrid protecting Heather please please
i am SO sorry this is so late omfggg, shit’s been hectic. i hope ur well !! and that is somewhat like what you wanted?????? i 100% hated that scene in rtte that was all “woe is me why DIDNT u tell us U LIARS” like shut the fuck up hiccup not everything is goddamn about you you brat??????????????????
“I can’t believe you’d lie to us like this.” Hiccup emotes the words with wild, angry hand movements and Astrid’s about, five seconds away from clocking someone.
“It was keeping you safe,” Heather starts, her hands flat and open, a placating sweep of a gesture. It’s, - reminiscent. Perhaps not in a good way, but it makes Astrid think of Berk, and of Heather and Stormfly, of lies in the past.
“You lied, again.” Hiccup interrupts, taking a deep breath like he’s going to delve straight into Princess Outpost all over again.
“Like, whatever H.” Astrid sniffs, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s literally fine, move on. Nothing useful is going to come from this, it happened, that’s it.”
“You lied too,” Fishlegs pipes up, the Loki-damned traitor. Astrid sends him a glare he whithers away from, looking back down at the notes he’s working on. Snotlout snorts, but quietens when he gets a dose of Hofferson glare.
“Fishlegs is right,” Hiccup nods in Fishlegs’ direction, folding his own arms over his chest. He shifts, like he’s vying for a fight, ready to be an annoying little bother like it’s still pre-dragon riding days and he’s going to whine Stoic into submission. “And anyway, how can we trust her, if Heather’s just going to do whatever she feels like whenever she feels like?”
"Well don’t.” Astrid shrugs, the move is clunky with her metal shoulder pads but it’s effective enough. “You don’t have to trust her. But that doesn’t need to come with theatrics, and an exhibition blaming. I trust her; I understand why she did what she did, and that’s enough. Complain about methods on your own time, and respectfully.”
Heather offers her a tight smile, brushing her fingers along Astrid’s arm and they leaves goosebumps in their wake. “Thanks,” she says.
'i'll do anything. i'll be derek.' could be buck's 'it's in my will if i die you become christopher's legal guardian but i did wait a year and a half to mention that to you' if we wish really really hard like we're a ways down the road and they've been together For Real for a little while and they're having perhaps their first true Big Couple Argument because they know they want to live together but can't decide where they want to do so and this isn't the kind of thing which would ordinarily come up in an argument about living arrangements but they're them so—
"Don't imply that I don't want to live with you, Eddie—!"
"Then stop nit-picking every option I present you with! If we're going to live together, as a family, we're all going to have to compromise. It's Los Angeles. You know this."
"Yes, I do know that—"
"Which is why it's hard for me to believe that you really want this!" Eddie snaps, hands flapping with his frustration as he paces to the opposite side of the patio at what is, currently speaking, still just Buck's house. "You say you want it but you have an issue with this house, you have an issue with my house, you have an issue with every goddamned house in the county—!"
"I want it to be perfect," Buck cuts him off, but he doesn't chase him. Knowing Eddie he'll be pacing back this direction any moment now, making Buck watch the way the strung-up lights dance across the tips of his loose hair, dip their toes in his big, shining eyes. "And it fucking sucks that you'd think for— for even a second that I wouldn't do anything, wouldn't be anything so that we could be together as a—a—a family."
"Buck," Eddie sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and planting the other one on his hip, but Buck hardly hears the cut-in for what it is— an attempt at slowing them down, pumping the brakes, before they go off the rails entirely.
If Buck could catch that tone a hair faster, he might be able to stop himself from doing just that.
"I would be anything," he goes on with a peal of barking, bitter laughter, "I would have been Derek to make sure you got outta that place safe. I would've been fucking Derek for as long as I needed to be able to find a way out of there and come home to you. To Chris. I would've—"
He cuts himself off this time, no intervention necessary. He cuts himself off, because he hears himself talking, but mostly because he sees Eddie reacting. Going still. Quiet. The very fact that Eddie doesn't cut him off is probably reason enough to stop in his tracks and regroup.
Only, a little too late for that, it would seem.
"What are you talking about," Eddie breaks his stillness, but only enough to get the words out through tight lips, off of a carefully controlled tongue.
Buck sinks into himself ever so slightly on a hefty exhale. He doesn't respond, but Eddie does it for him.
"New Mexico, right?"
And Buck can hold a lot back, that's true to the end, but one thing he has only gotten worse at with age is lying to someone he loves. Lying to Eddie, in particular, is one of those things they've had conversations about since they got together, and they've both worked so hard (if not always so consistently) to figure out how to communicate that it would be—
It would be a betrayal, for Buck to go back on all of that now, no matter how much retreat sounds like the most comfortable option tonight.
"It's not— a whole thing," he forces levelness into his voice and into his hands, lifting to placate and smooth out the night air. "It was just me fighting. To come home."
Eddie looks him over and considers this sentiment and takes a step foward, another, another.
"Explain it to me," he says, a little less forcefully, because Eddie has worked hard, too. It doesn't always matter, how hard they've both worked, but back at that time? Back in that bubble around what they now exclusively refer to as New Mexico? It was untenable, how little they were talking about the things that really mattered and how much of a fight they were making out of the things that didn't.
"You showed up and they were going to kill you," Buck explains flatly, letting the distance of time add dullness to the harsh reality that sometimes still has him waking sweaty and clammy and confused, "and I wanted to convince them to send you away instead, so I told them about Christopher, I told them you had a son, and I told them I would— play their little game—"
"You-?"
"It was a ruse," he rushes to explain before Eddie can jump to conclusions.
"Sacrificing yourself was a ruse?" Another step closer, a dip in the head and a lift in the brows the way he does when he really doesn't believe the audacity of what he's hearing.
"To separate them!" Buck snaps. "So she would leave to send you away and I could handle them one at a time. So that you wouldn't be in the cross-hairs of another gun, Eddie."
Eddie purses his lips. "Not a fan of that being your reasoning, bud."
"This is— such— old news," Buck sighs, leaning sideways to put his weight into one of the support beams for the porch's overhang roof.
"Tell me about it," Eddie snarks.
Buck looks at him and takes him in and it's clear from his posture and the look on his face that—
"You don't believe me? You think—? You don't think I had a plan?"
"I think you had a plan," Eddie nods. "I think you were either gonna get outta there all on your own or you were gonna die trying." Buck balks and Eddie smiles briefly but sharply. "Right on the money, huh?"
"Look at me, look at where I am— where we are," Buck implores. "Do I seem suicidal to you?"
"No!" Eddie laughs, tosses his hands up and lets them fall. "But we're not talking about you now, we're talking about—" a hum, discontented. "We're talking about then. This was before everything blew up, do you remember? Before you had really processed Bobby? Before you got sick? And all of that played a part in making you this," he gestures broadly at Buck but there's this flash of heartache in his eyes that sends a hit straight to Buck's gut, "but that Buck was still lost and now you're telling me… Fuck."
Buck's throat tightens up and he can almost feel the ragged wetness of Eddie's voice pooling and stinging behind his eyes because sometimes he lets himself look at what they have without having to stand face-to-face with everything they did to get here, but some days are like this. When the how seeps through all the varied layers and refuses to be ignored.
He can't resent it, because it gave him a life where he gets to argue about the perfect house to share with his family, but it smarts like old injuries which never completely healed.
Buck walks towards him across the patio— it's summertime and it's a balmy night and he's barefoot on the cool walkway— and he reels Eddie in close with firm but careful hands.
"I love you so much," he murmurs, tucking his face into Eddie's neck and placing a hand at the back of his head to encourage Eddie to do the same.
"You scare me sometimes."
"Ditto."
"I love you, too."
"I'm not going anywhere," Buck pulls away, making a pit-stop at Eddie's jawline, his cheek, to leave light but meaningful kisses. "You know that, right? For real?"
Eddie sighs and lets his face be searched by Buck's roaming gaze without trying to dodge it like he once would have.
"Well," Eddie says dryly, "where would you go? You hate every house in LA."
And Buck laughs and he's sweaty with the anxiety that always ramps up when they have to talk about the times they've almost lost each other and a warm breeze crawls over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and he holds onto Eddie tight because he knows it'll come up again, like this sort of thing always does with them, but thank God, right?
"Sue me for wanting the best for my boys," he says, the words growing more muffled by the syllable from Buck ducking his chin to bury his face in Eddie's soft t-shirt, as close to the rumble of his weak laughter as he can get.
Thank God, and the Universe, and the ghosts which haunt them, Buck thinks, that they're both around for it to keep coming up.
600 words; post 8x17; they're back in the same house as if it's my fault....
Pepa has gone home and the dishes are done and Eddie is in the shower and Buck is alone with Christopher for the first time in a year and all he can think about is Eddie on the verge of cracking as he lamented the fact that his son has lost yet another person he loves when he's barely a teenager and--
"I'm sorry. That I didn't check in on you properly."
"You checked in," Christopher screws up his face, the same old way he always has when Buck says something he can't register as true.
"Not-- enough," Buck clears his throat. This kid takes up more space on the couch than he used to. Is this couch smaller than the blue one shipped off to Texas? Has Chris gotten that much bigger? "I'm sorry. I know you loved Bobby just as much as the rest of us, and there's no excuse I-- I promised I'd always be there for-- you."
Christopher looks at him. Christopher looks at him and there is a painful amount of Eddie in that gaze, the way it studies, the way it surveys a person and logs-- logs, just-- Buck doesn't even know what, but he knows when Eddie does it, he always finds himself devastatingly seen on the other end.
And Christopher is doing it. Looking at him like that. Surveying.
"It's okay, Buck," he says, like a little boy overlooking a drawn-back sea. "I get it."
"You get...?" It's Buck's turn to be confused, trying his damnedest to control the stinging at the backs of his eyes as he meets Christopher's gaze.
"I loved Bobby a lot," Chris explains deftly. "He was-- really important. To Dad and me. And he, um, helped us a lot. I remember he brought so much food to Mom's funeral that we had to give some to--"
"You gave some to me, yeah," Buck laughs wetly and lowly and Chris smiles this melancholy little quirk of the lips.
"Yeah," he agrees. "And the more I, like, look at it all? It's super obvious how much he did for us even though I didn't always get it when I was little. But it's still different."
"Different from what?"
"Different from you and Bobby," Chris shrugs. "He was family to me, but it's like. Like, for you it's different. For you it's like if I lost you, y'know?"
Y'know. Said so casually and so certainly.
Like if I lost you.
Like if I lost you, he says, in comparison to the man Buck took into his heart as a stable and consistent presence. A man to look up to, to emulate, to steal little bits and pieces from until Buck himself felt whole.
Like if I lost you, Christopher says, and Buck doesn't have any words to respond to that, only a swelling of feeling he's been holding so tightly against his chest that he couldn't even move when Eddie got up in his face less than twenty-four hours ago.
Buck couldn't move when Eddie told him about the night he spent grappling with it all alone in the dark, couldn't create follow-through from the desire in his heart to reach out and grab on, because his hands were numb and stagnant and stuck.
Now, something knocks loose.
Buck tips forward.
He drags Christopher into his arms and tucks his head under his chin and holds on tight through Christopher's quiet little laugh of surprise at the expression.
His voice is rough when he knocks that loose too.
"God, I missed you, kid."
And as a door clicks open down the hall, as steam chases damp hair and a curious, bright-eyed man into the archway overlooking the scene on the couch, mouthing okay? to Buck's quiet nod of acknowledgment, Christopher embraces him back.
