Despite the burning pain in her stomach, Elizabeth rushed through the ER patients, healing the worst of the worst as quickly as she could. Thanks to her quick action, not a single life was lost at MPH that day. Even still, the odd incident with her glasses and Mr. Yagi’s clothes had never strayed far from her mind. And when there was a lull in patients, she made her way to Dr. Akiyama’s office, ignoring the horrible cramps in her stomach.
“Dr. Akiyama,” Elizabeth called, stumbling into her mentor’s office after the worst of the worst was taken care of. “There’s something important I need to—Oh, I’m so sorry, sir!”
Her mentor sat behind his minimalist black desk; his age-spotted hands folded in front of his weathered face as though he had been in deep discussion with the man sitting in an uncomfortable, but stylish, black metal chair in front of Dr. Akiyama’s desk. Despite his age, Dr. Akiyama still had a full head of steel gray hair and lively brown eyes. When he noticed Elizabeth, those lively eyes took on a bright sparkle, the way they always did when she was around.
The old doctor had never had any children, and his many nieces and nephews never cared for the medical profession, so Elizabeth was like a replacement child – or grandchild – in his eyes. They had corresponded for years before Dr. Akiyama hired her from her agency in the US and had grown very close.
The man Dr. Akiyama was speaking to turned in his seat to face her, and she recognized a pair of bright eyes, shadowed by a lack of sleep and a shock of lion’s mane hair.
“And here we have our very own Florence Nightingale,” Dr. Akiyama said, standing from behind his desk.
“Sir, I’m—” she started, but her mentor dragged her through the gray and white office over to the desk.
“My pride and joy,” he said, meaning every word.
Elizabeth felt her ears go bright red and ducked her head, her fingers clamping onto the hem of her All Might-themed scrub top. She hated it when he paraded her around like this. The limelight was for heroes like All Might, not two-bit healers from a no-name town in the Southern US. Not for girls like her.
And she especially hated it when he called her Florence Nightingale. Like he was daring someone to guess her hero name.
“Thank you, sir,” she grumbled.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be all shy. Yagi is an old friend of mine.”
“Hello again, Ms. Pennington,” Toshinori said, amusement in his tone.
“Hello, Mr. Yagi,” she whispered, staring hard at her toes. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“I’m not bothered at all,” he said, standing and drawing her attention to his glowing blue eyes. “And I’m glad to see you’re healed. You were very beat up this morning.”
“I’m use—” she started, stopping herself halfway.
Secret identity, dummy! She hissed at herself. You’ve been a hero long enough; do better!
Hey there~!! Sorry for not updating on FTYTD yet! I’m working on it, I promise! Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this art cover I drew for it! I haven’t drawn in a while, so as I draw more of Harry, I’m sure he’ll look different each time as I slowly get better and more comfortable when drawing him. Thank you for your patience and I hope you all have a good day! <3
(Note: Do not re-post my art. Comments, likes, and reblogs are welcome but don’t steal my art.)
“Seems like a good time to share things about each other. Secrets, maybe.” Mike’s tone was light and playful, and Stan bit his lip because that smile was imminent.
“Michael, you’re crazy if you think you’re getting my secrets for free.” Stan chided teasingly. “And on live television no less.”
“Come on. You could share one good one with me.” Mike assured him, his voice so soft and soothing it drew Stan in. “I’m real good at keeping secrets.”
“It’s hardly a secret if all of Panem knows it.” Stan reminded him.
[Remus] noticed that the hall looked eerily similar to the way that he remembered it, even though he didn’t remember exactly the way it looked after the battle.
After all, the last time he was here was –
Dying.
Read this chapter on AO3 here! | Read from the beginning!
a/n: I AM BACK!!! this story went on a bit of hiatus because of school and work (also i had major writer’s block for a while) but i am back and in business. thank you for all of the comments and love for this story. enjoy!
summary: you just wanted to keep your job at the starcourt mall movie theater. all you had to do was find out how these kids were sneaking into the movies without coming in the front door. your small little movie theater conspiracy ends up pulling you into something a lot bigger, and a lot scarier.
previous part / series masterlist
chapter seven: closest thing to fate
You guys were stuck in a goddamn Russian elevator. After you all had your “freak-out moment,” you proceeded to pull out water bottles and snacks from your backpack – making sure the kids got some first. Steve made a comment about how you were always prepared, smile on his concerned mom face. You only had enough supplies to las you all for about two days – if that. Erica didn’t seem keen on sharing her water bottle.
You, Robin, and Steve decided to take shifts so the kids could get some sleep. You and Robin took the first shift, letting Steve take a two hour power nap. When he woke up, you urged Robin to go ahead and nap next – you weren’t sure how much sleeping you’d be able to do anyways.
Which left you and Steve Harrington sitting with your backs against the elevator door. The two of you had played multiple games of tic-tac-toe in your notebook, plus a couple rounds of hangman. Steve snorted when he realized one of your sayings was ‘Ahoy Captain Steve’. An hour had passed, and it must’ve been sometime after 3am. Games seemed boring after a while, so you turned to asking each other questions back and forth.
“Licorice fingers or popcorn ears?”
“What the hell kind of question is that, Harrington?”
“…Dustin.”
You had to cover your mouth to muffle your snickers. Steve gave you a pointed look, running his hands through his silky hair. Okay, sue you, but the more time you spent with Steve in this creepy Russian elevator, the more you were starting to like him. And his hair. If you were going to die there, you might as well enjoy yourself before it happens.
“Okay, favorite color?”
“Blue,” He answered simply.
“To match your uniform? Or the oceans of flavor you sail on?”
“Oh, shut up.” He nudged you with his shoulder. “Is your ass really on the line at work?”
Ah. Serious questions now. “My manager basically threatened me. Those kids of yours like to be a tad rowdy in the theater sometimes. But I’m more worried about dying here than my job at this point. If we get out of here, I’ll sneak you all into however many movies you want.” You sent him a smile, which he returned. You glanced over at Dustin and Erica, who were soundly sleeping on the floor. “You and Nancy, you guys broke up halfway through senior year.”
Steve tensed for a moment, but let out a sigh, “Yeah. The question?”
“Did it have anything to do with what happened to Barb?” Your question seemed to have hit something within him, and Steve stared at you harshly.
“Why are you asking?”
“It was just a question, Harrington.”
He huffed out a laugh, but it seemed more bitter than anything. “Is this all a game to you? Just more answers to whatever conspiracy theories you have in your head? The Russian thing. Me sneaking the kids into the movies. My relationship with Nancy. Now you have to ask if I’m involved in the government shit that got Barb killed?” He was whispering aggressively, still doing his best not to wake up everyone else, though you could tell that he was getting upset. A pang of sympathy went through you and you frowned.
“I never said that you killed Barb.”
“And now you’re going to assume I did.”
The tension in the room was high, and you didn’t want him to blow up any more than he already had. “Steve…” you take in a breath, “I’m sorry. My brain just runs wild and I don’t like not knowing things. And I’m a little freaked out right now. I don’t think you killed Barb. I’m not sure what happened, but even after eight years, I’m pretty sure you’re still the same ten-year-old kid who just wants someone to care.”
“What?”
Fuck. “Never mind. What I’m saying is, you’re good, Harrington. You’re so goddamn good and you just want to help. Dustin obviously looks up to you for some reason and trust you with his life. And frankly, so do I. Not sure if I should, but I do.”
And that was true; you did trust him. Maybe that trust carried over from when you were kids. Or maybe your brain just recognized the fact that Steve wasn’t a total asshole anymore. It was probably a bit of both. The nostalgic part of you had utterly missed him, and being close to him again, it made you feel a little less lonely. It was like you were adopted into this crazy little family – all because he had snuck those kids into the movie theater where you worked. You didn’t believe in fate – you had a whole list of reasons why destiny was dumb after she and Jen discussed ‘love at first sight’ – but this seemed the closest thing to it.
Steve called your name, causing you to look at him. The wrinkles in between his brows – the ones that appeared when he was either concerned, frustrated, or confused – caused you to shake your head fondly. You grabbed your backpack from beside you and pulled out one of your granola bars, holding it out to him. “I noticed you gave Dustin yours earlier, you need to eat something.”
Steve looked like he was going to argue with you, until his eyes narrowed. He was staring right at you, like he was trying to use x-ray vision. His name was about to leave your lips, but he suddenly tore his gaze away from you, grabbing the granola bar from your hand. Steve settled back down next to you, chewing on his snack.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, mouth full of food. You glanced at him, and he swallowed, before continuing, “And sorry, about blowing up on you. It’s just a touchy subject and I haven’t thought about it for a while.”
“Apology accepted, Harrington.” You smiled in his direction, “As long as you tell me the actual reason why you work at Scoops.” A groan came from the sailor next to you, “No no, don’t complain. I won’t judge, you know that.”
Steve did tell you. He went on about how his dad was a douchebag – which you knew already, you remembered meeting him once when you were kids, he hadn’t changed much – and how school wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go to college.
Not that you would remember everything he said, since halfway through his rant you had fallen asleep, head falling on his shoulder.
You also wouldn’t remember the way that Steve Harrington had smiled softly at you, content to give you a few hours of sleep before everyone had to wake up and make a plan.
am I actually writing more of far too young to die?? yes. has this series been on pause for months?? yes. but dammit if I don’t finish this series before the year is over my dudes.
