Summery - Egon has trouble expressing how he feels about her. When her date cancels Peter jumps at the opportunity to help his friend out.
There are many ways to express love, there's physical touch, compliments, or just flat out telling the person you love them. For Egon Spengler however showing love was complex. He never really felt romantic love for anyone, so, he showed in his own special way.
The only problem was she had no idea that he had feelings for her. The affection he showed seemed something that any normal friend would have for another. The other ghostbuster however knew immediately. They know by the way Everytime she came into the lab he made sure she had a stool to sit on. Even if it meant kicking Peter out of his seat so she could sit.
They knew by the way everyone time he was eating his snacks he would share. Which was unheard of. The first time it happened the three boys say there with wide eyes. "What?" She asked taking another bite of the Twinkie. "You're eating Spengs Twinkie." Ray explained and peter started to give Egon a knowing smile. "He offered," she shrugged. "Of course, why wouldn't he Egon is always so good with sharing. Isn't that right Spengler?" Peter chuckled leaving the room before he could get a response. Y/n just shook this off thinking nothing of it, and life went on.
Painfully Egon would watch her go on dates that would only break her heart. Knowing full well that he would never do that to her. Peter and Ray was done with his moping and small pointless hints. "You gotta do something." Ray insist but Egon only shakes his head and looks down at the file.
"Spengs, you can't live your life like this. Watching the girl you like go on dates with some other dude! That's, that's just I don't know what that is but it isn't good." Peter shook is head disappointed and Egon looked up at him.
"I don't like her." The two men looked at him expectedly, "it's more than that. It's difficult to describe. She almost has this hold on me, and I just can't seem to-"
"Oh, my God! Egon is in love. Who would have guessed." Venkman shouted hitting ray in the shoulder. "Well I had an idea." Ray mumbled, "no you didn't." Peter rolled his eyes grabbing the bag of chips off his desk. "So, what now?"
Their conversation ended with the door creaking open and some guy walking through awkwardly. He was taller and had dark hair and smiled at the men. "Huh, so Y/n has a type?" Peter mused looking at Egon. "Good for you buddy."
"Excuse me does an Y/n L/n work here?" The man asked sounding almost disgusted. "She does." Egon answered with narrowed eyes, "she like answer the phones?" They all shook their heads, and the man's smile dropped.
"She's not?" And Ray and Peter nodded with a smile. "She's a ghostbuster? Like an actual ghostbuster?" He scoffed, "what about it?" Egon asked and Pete wanted to make popcorn. "No offense, but come on do you wanna go out with a girl thats covered in ghost mucous?"
Egon stared at the man blankly, "it's called ectoplasm, and one would infer that any man would have no problem going on a date with a women such as Y/n."
"Look the whole ecto - what ever stuff isn't really my thing. Could you guys tell her that something came up?"
"It would be my pleasure." Egon smiled and the man left. "This is great!" Pete shouted, "how?"
"Egon don't you see, I tell her that the dates a no show. You come in all hero like, ask her out and boom the wedding bells might as well already be ringing." Egon looked at him apprehensive then he hesitantly nodded.
So, Peter waited and he jumped right up when Y/n finally walked in. "Y/n, can I see you in my office?"
"Can it wait, I want a shower I have a date tonight. Can't show up dripping in ecto." She laughed and Pete took in a sharp breath. "About that, he came in today and he said that something came up. Sorry Hun." She sighed looking down, "oh, that's alright. I wasn't that excited about it anyway."
"Well uh after you get cleaned up Egon was actually looking for you." She nodded and went up to the showers. Egon waited in his lab fixing his hair, and flattening his lab coat. "Hey Egon?" She called her voice not as chipper as usual. "Hey, hello how are you? She smiled, "I'm ok," she noticed how nervous we was and asked; " how are you?"
"Well, actually I um, I heard about your date cancelation, I thought, well perhaps you would go on a date with me?" He asked nervously adjusting his glasses his eyes never leaving the ground. "Egon you don't have to give me a pity date." His head shot up, "no it's not out of pity. It's out of opportunity. I have been wanting to ask you for some time." She looks at him with apprehension. "It's true. Y/n, I have had strong feelings for you since well college. Hell I've been in love with you since college. I watch you with these men and I can't help but think they aren't good enough for you." She stared at him and he closed his eyes tightly wishing he didn't say anything at all. "I apologize I just -"
"I love you too." She interrupted, "I have for some time and I was only going on those dates cause j thought they were my only option. I had no idea." She took his hand, "I love you, Egon." They gazed into each other's eyes leaning in and kissing each other lightly. It had such passion, and the kiss had such sparks that their breath was being taken away from their lungs. "Spengs! Did you ask her!? Did ya!?" Peter asked from upstairs, "Venkman! Let them be!" Ray shouted, "sorry Egon!"
A one-off fic in which reader patches up one (1) Egon Spengler after a bit of a rough bust.
~2.6k words
**Very light hurt/comfort, fluff, descriptions of non-threatening injuries
****
The lab was quiet.
You had the entirety of the firehouse to yourself. Janine was out for the night with Louis, Dana was at a late-night rehearsal, and the boys were out on a call. The entity was abnormally hostile, so it was decided that it would be best for all four boys to go. You sat at Egon’s desk, full permissions given to you by the doctor himself, an exclusive privilege you often flaunted in front of the other boys whenever Egon’s back was turned.
Egon trusted you to be alone in the eclectic mess that was his lab, and only you. Peter was too handsy and rough with delicate items. Ray could never resist trying to ‘gather up’ the lab, ultimately ruining whatever method of insanity Egon organized it by. Winston wasn't outright banned since he never cared to be in the lab unless he had business to conduct, but he kept a respectful distance, not wanting to risk ruffling any feathers.
Egon’s copy of Tobin’s Spiritual Guide lay open in front of you as you jotted down notes in one of his notebooks, taking down numerous points about creatures that may fit the description of the Dover Demon, of which there was a sudden spike in local sightings after years of dormancy. Scattered around the book were several photographs supposedly taken of the creature submitted by concerned locals. You easily debunked most of them in the last few hours, dismissed them as either animal sightings or poor development. But some seemed legit, and these were set aside for the boys to get closer looks at.
Above you, the garage door scraped open, sending a small rumble through the lab, making the lights flicker for just a split second. The boys were back. A small smile crossed your face and you trotted up the stairs, photos in-hand, excited to greet them. Peter was the first to exit the Ecto-1 and the first to catch your attention. “Peter! You guys aren’t gonna believe what I found!”
Peter snatched the photos from your hand and let out a shrill gasp as he flipped through them. “How did you get these photos?! These are private! They’re only supposed to be between me and Dana!”
Winston looked over Peter’s shoulder and chuckled. “Peter, bud, these pictures are unbecoming of you…”
“Okay, but you have to admit.” He held up the photo of a little humanoid poking its head out from behind a tree. “I look pretty damn cute in this one.”
Egon stumbled out of the Ecto-1, clamping a bloody rag to his nose. Ray held onto his upper arm to help him keep his balance.
You immediately ran up to him. “Oh, no! Oh, Egon, what happened?” You instinctively reached up towards him, but then caught yourself and pulled your hand back.
He peered down at you behind cracked glasses. The skin under his left eye was swollen, already darkening into a bruise. “Class V non-human corporeal poltergeist.” His deep voice was muffled beneath the rag. “Struck me in the face with one of its tails.”
“Is it bad?”
“He’s dying…” Peter said solemnly. “He asked us to bring him here so he could see you one last time and tell you that he lo—ow!” He yelped when Winston smacked him with a clipboard.
“How about you scuttle down and pull out the first-aid kit,” Winston said to you, “and we’ll follow you down?”
You scoffed, feigning offense. “I don’t scuttle, Winston. I am not a person who scuttles.”
You scuttled down into the lab and pulled out the enormous first aid kit from beneath a bookcase. Unable to lift it, you struggled to drag it until Winston picked the case up with a hefty ‘oomph’ and slammed it onto the table. “Damn,” he huffed. “He must have a whole ambulance in here.” He cleared his throat. “Want us to leave so you can have some alone time with the handsome mad scientist?” he muttered, inaudible to the others as they eased Egon into a chair.
“Don’t you dare,” you hissed.
Winston sauntered over to Peter, an impish gleam in his eye. “I think YN can take it from here, right boys? We should go clean up.” He nudged Peter with his elbow, who immediately got the hint.
“I agree. Come on, Ray. Let’s go up.”
“Oh, you guys can go. I want to stay and make sure Egon’s okay.”
“I’m sure she does, but I just think another pair of eyes would be m—”
“Ray,” Peter and Winston said in unison. Peter seized Ray’s arm and started hauling him up the stairs.
“Hey! Why don’t you guys think I should be down there too? It’s like you want it to be the two of them to be alo—” He gasped. “Ohhh.” The lightbulb went off in Ray’s mind. “Oh, okay! I get it! But I still want t—”
“Ray, my soft-skulled friend,” Peter said in a venomously sweet voice, tightening his grip on Ray’s arm. “Move it!”
“Okay! I’m going! I’m leaving them alone now!”
The look on Egon’s face as they departed gave you the impression that he wanted to slip into his coat and disappear. Redness blotched his face. How much of it was due to injury and how much of it was due to embarrassment was hard to decipher, but, luckily for him, most of it was obscured by the bloody rag on his face.
A stifling, heavy silence settled between the two of you as you rifled through the medical kit, pulling out various items and setting them on the table. An almost undetectable shiver went down your spine—the feeling of being watched. You glanced up and your eyes briefly met his before you both immediately looked away. Your face burned hot as you finished setting out supplies and turned to face Egon. “Can I see?” you asked, breaking the painful silence smothering the lab.
He pulled the rag away from his face, wincing a bit. Blood was coagulated under his nose and on his mouth where his lower lip had split, smeared on his cheeks and jawline, mingled with ash and soot. A few small burns and cuts were scattered across his face, but what caught your attention the most was the gash that tore across the bridge of his nose and circled around the bruise under his left eye, still bleeding. Seeing the full extent of his injuries sent an unpleasant chill up the back of your neck.
“Ohhh, okay,” you said quietly, trying to force down your anxiousness, “It’s nothing bad at all. Let’s get you patched up.” You slowly brought your hands up on the sides of his face. He tensed when he felt your fingers on the temples of his glasses. For a split moment you feared he was going to recoil from your touch, but he relaxed as you gingerly lifted his glasses off and away from his face, never once breaking eye contact with you. Your hand hovered over the gash. “I think this should be irrigated.”
He made a face. “I’ll opt to skip the waterboarding.”
“Hmm. I hear an infection joyfully cackling in the distance.”
“I think the risk is relatively low. Besides, ectoplasm has antiseptic properties and I’d like to document the healing process, so a superficial cleansing should suffice.”
You set his glasses aside. With a knot of nervousness in your throat, you cracked open the bottle of saline and prepped the first of many gauze pads. You started cleaning his face with tentative, almost fearful movements, taking special caution to be delicate when dabbing the cuts on his face, especially the large gash, which had begun scabbing over. He held completely still, peering at you with a wide, tired gaze, but his eyes would squeeze shut when you went over certain spots with the saline.
While gently wiping away the grime from his face, your other hand unconsciously found the side of his jaw to keep him steady, slightly moving his head this way and that without any thought, his sight completely fixated on you. You tilted his head up and he locked eyes with you. A split moment of panic tightened around your throat when you realized how handsy you were being with him. You were focused entirely on being careful, being gentle, completely unaware that you were absentmindedly stroking his cheek with your thumb, that your fingers were splayed down the side of his neck. You jerked your hand back, making him jump a bit.
He cocked his head. “Something the matter?”
“No, sorry.” Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to leap into your throat. “I, um, thought I did something wrong."
He shrugged. “I find nothing objectionable.”
“Right, sorry.” You grabbed a fresh pad of gauze.
“Don’t be.”
“Don’t be what?”
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you, Egon.”
He cracked a small smile, the half-smirk that was so delightfully Egon, breaking through some of the tension as you started dabbing saline on his nose. “Think it might be broken?” His breath was warm on your hand as he spoke.
"No," you muttered. "No, not at all. It’s just bruised up. I wouldn’t be able to even touch you if it was broken. We should still put some ice on it soon, though.”
“I believe the marginal benefit of an ice pack for ecchymosis isn’t worth the discomfort at the moment.”
Your brow furrowed a bit, but you weren’t going to pursue an argument.
“What are your thoughts on the laceration?”
Your finger hovered over the wound, tracing above it. “I’d honestly prefer getting you to urgent care if it wasn’t so late, but then I’d have to drag you there by your ear.”
“I believe a skin adhesive should suffice.”
You rummaged through the first-aid kit and pulled out a small ampule labeled ‘2-octyl cyanoacrylate’. “Are you sure you trust this stuff?” you asked dubiously, skimming over the instructions. “I thought it was illegal in the States.”
“You are correct.”
“Egon!”
He shrugged. “I trust you.”
You sighed and snapped the ampule open. “This might sting a bit.”
He flinched with the sting of the adhesive, despite his best efforts to remain still.
“Ooh, ooh, careful,” you cooed. You put your hand on his jaw to steady him, stroked his cheek with your thumb—on purpose, this time. “You’re okay.”
He relaxed a bit, leaning ever so slightly into your touch. You felt his jaw tighten as he sucked in air between clenched teeth, but he remained still until you finished applying the adhesive.
“You’re all done.” You let your hand linger on his jaw for just a moment longer before pulling back.
“Do you know where I keep my spares?”
“Yes.” You reached into one of his desk drawers—an immediate death sentence for anyone but you—and handed Egon his spare glasses.
“Thank you.” He slipped his glasses on and blinked a few times to help his gaze readjust, then peered up at you with a wide-eyed stare of fatigue, his soft dark eyes dull from pain and tiredness. His eyebrows drooped ever so slightly, almost giving him a look of sadness, of vulnerability with the wound tearing across nearly half of his face. The urge to hold him was overwhelming, almost painfully so. You wanted nothing more than to pull him into your arms, hold him against your chest, ease his stress and show him how much you cared for him, but Egon was not one for physical affection, even avoiding handshakes when he could. But, he didn’t seem unreceptive to your touch for the past quarter hour, your face less than a foot away from his. But, that couldn’t really be considered any form of intimacy. Basic first-aid was just a matter of business.
“You look distressed.” His voice yanked you from your thoughts. “Are you feeling distressed?”
“That’s not really the right word for it. I don’t know if I can properly explain it. Consternated, maybe? In a swivet? Conflicted.”
He shrugged. “Playwright Mark Swan popularized the phrase ‘show, don’t tell’ when he found that the expression of emotion often presented itself best through action.”
You searched his face, but his mood was inscrutable. Whether he was annoyed, tired, amused, curious, or some mixture, you had no way of telling.
Screw it.
Swallowing your fear, you slowly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him against yourself. He stiffened, but gave no resistance as you held him against your chest. He smelled of soot and ozone, the way the boys always did after an intense bust, residual fallout from proton gun fire.
He kept still, feeling your warmth radiate against his cheek, slowly letting the knot in his stomach unwind. It felt good to be held.
“I, um, I really care about you, Egon. I don’t like seeing you hurting, and when I do I want to do everything I can to fix it.”
He remained silent. You closed your eyes and breathed a small sigh.
Then, with the lightest of touches, you felt his hand tentatively brush up your back and settle between your shoulder blades. Hesitantly, he leaned against you, resting his chin on your shoulder. He swallowed, searching carefully for his next words. “I…feel the same.” His hand found the back of your head and he buried his fingers in your hair, holding you just a bit tighter against himself, reciprocating the embrace. He opened his mouth, about to say something else, but lost his nerve and kept quiet. He took a breath and sighed deeply, fully relaxing against you as fatigue started to weigh heavily on him. He could very easily fall asleep if he was held like this for long enough.
“Egon! Egoooon! Is YN down there with you?” The two of you pulled apart as Louis Tully clumsily barreled partway down the stairs. It was barely there, almost inaudible, but you could’ve sworn that you heard a grumble of disappointment from the back of Egon’s throat.
“No! I’m not here!” you called out.
“What is it, Tully?” Egon asked with a slight edge of irritation.
Louis drew in a comically large breath and you braced yourself. “Peter wanted to come down and ask you guys to hurry up because he’s hungry and wants to go eat already but he didn’t want to do it himself because he thought he would interrupt something and you would get mad at him so I said I could come get you and only go a little down the stairs so you wouldn’t be able to see me while I talked—”
Egon leaned toward you and muttered, “This man is a human run-on sentence.”
You snickered. “Don’t be so mean, Egon. You know he has a medical condition that prevents him from using any punctuation.”
Egon snorted.
“—Janine said that I should just let you guys come up on your own but Peter said he was hungry and I’m feeling hungry too and I think they want to go to Bubby’s but Winston also mentioned another restaurant so I really don’t know where—”
You whispered to Egon, “Has he come up for air yet?”
“No.”
The two of you sniggered.
“—and Ray says he doesn’t care where we eat and I still don’t know where we’re going to eat and Dana said I should leave you alone because you’d come up on your own and anyways that’s the short version of it.”
“Egon,” you muttered, “I didn’t catch anything he said.”
Egon cleared his throat, trying to conceal a burst of laughter. “The others are hungry and want to get going.”
“Ah, yes. Rushing medical care has never had any downsides.”
He stood up and nudged you with his elbow. “Come on. Dinner’s on me.”
Hello! This short fic is inspired by this comic by lilvicsart. Go check their stuff out! Really cute content.
Word count: 1085
No content warnings
“Hi, Winston!”
Winston was idly standing near the staircase to the basement, sipping a can of club soda and reading a fashion magazine borrowed from Janine’s desk. He lifted his head and flashed you a warm smile. “Hey, girlie. How was the call?”
You trotted up to him, freshly showered after a particularly nasty call with Ray, who was still scrubbing himself of ectoplasm. “Ray got slimed.”
“Hey, that’s great!”
Peter stomped up the basement stairs in a huff, scowling. “He kicked me out!” he exclaimed.
Winston nodded his head in sympathy and shut the magazine. “Ouch. Did you try to swipe his last Twinkie?”
“No. I wouldn’t be speaking to you if that happened. I’d be a red stain on the wall. My entrails would be hanging out of his mouth. You know that. No, he’s just really into his research at the moment and wants to be alone. Doesn’t want anyone to go see him.”
“Bummer, Venkman.” You patted his shoulder. “I’m gonna go see him.”
“YN, honey,” Winston said gently, “last time someone interrupted Egon’s research, he bit their spleen out. It was a huge mess. Took us three days to clean it up. You should come with us to go grab something to eat instead and leave him be.”
You scoffed. “Well, boys, with this newfound knowledge of Egon’s cannibalistic tendencies when he gets really into his research, I’m still going to see him.”
“If you survive, would you like us to bring you back something to eat?” Winston asked. “The usual?”
“Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”
“You’re gonna die,” Peter said solemnly as you approached the staircase leading to the lab. “We’ll leave the food at the coroner’s office for you.”
You shot a devilish smile at Peter before descending the staircase. Egon came into view, seated at his desk with his back turned to you. “Hello!” you called out.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Egon said pleasantly, not budging from his microscope as you drew closer. “Need something?”
“Winston says you ripped someone’s spleen out with your teeth.”
He shrugged. “It’s a nonessential organ.”
You took the seat next to him. “I like you.”
“I like you, too. Is this your way of communicating that you want some attention?”
“Yeah.”
“This documentation is time-sensitive. I'm going to be here for a few more hours.” He must have sensed your disappointment, because he quickly added, “I exiled Peter for the evening but you’re welcome company.”
Peter poked his head into the lab, having been listening in to see if Egon would let you stay. “Hey!” he whined. “How come YN gets to stay and I d—?”
“Out,” Egon said sharply, his eyes still glued to his microscope. You stuck your tongue out at Peter, who huffed and stormed back up the stairs, but you knew it was theatrics more than actual feelings. “Xiaolongbao and a side of ginger sauce, Pete!” he called out. “Thank you!”
“Bite me, Spengler!”
You scooted your chair closer to Egon. If he noticed, he didn’t show it, remaining completely preoccupied with whatever fungus he was currently studying.
He scribbled some notes on the notepad beside him, still looking intently at the fungal spores, and set the pencil down on top of it. Egon being able to write without looking was nothing new. He had his routine down pat: adjust the microscope, write notes, adjust, write, adjust, write, repeat, never once needing to look away from his spores. He put down the pencil again and pulled his hand away to switch the slide out.
You silently moved the pencil away and laid your hand over the paper, palm up, trap set. You only had to wait a moment for him to reach for his pencil and inadvertently grab your hand.
He jumped a bit with the unexpected contact and finally looked up from his microscope, directly at you, stony-faced, but you easily saw through his façade. He gave no resistance as your fingers intertwined with his. You smirked wickedly and winked at him, causing his cheeks to flush scarlet. He forced his gaze back to his microscope. He was completely flustered, but did his best to regain his composure. There was no effort nor desire to pull away from you—quite the contrary.
You pressed the back of his hand to your cheek, relishing his touch.
“Could you write down ‘cordyceps militaris, control two, seventeen microns, seventy-six hours after harvest’ for me?” he asked, slightly adjusting the focus with his free hand to get a better look at his spores.
“Of course,” you said brightly, quickly jotting down the notes.
“Average growth rate within one point three standard deviations of the mean, p-level of less than zero point zero three.”
“Got it down.”
He pulled his hand from yours to switch to another slide. The disappointment on your face melted away when he finished changing slides and offered you his hand directly this time, his eyes still entirely on his microscope. He wiggled his fingers and cleared his throat, almost impatient for you to resume contact. Your fingers once again intertwined with his. “Cordyceps militaris, experimental three, thirty-six microns, seventy-six hours after harvest and seventy-five hours after exposure.” He absentmindedly rubbed small circles on your hand with the pad of his thumb as he talked. “Average growth rate more than six point four standard deviations above the mean, p-level of less than zero point zero three. Abnormal fluorescent green coloration.”
“Got it down.”
He once again released your hand to switch out another slide.
“I’m, um, I’m not bothering you, am I?”
“No.”
"Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You aren't just humoring me? Because Winston and Peter were saying tha—"
To your surprise, he turned away from the microscope entirely and pulled you into a tight hug, cradling your head gently against his chest. “I love you,” he muttered, his powerful voice resounding deep in your chest. “Please don’t ever think your presence is less than wanted here.” He planted a kiss on your forehead and withdrew, once again returning his attention to the microscope without missing a beat, leaving you reeling from his sudden burst of affection.
He cleared his throat, snapping you from your stupor. His hand was up, fingers wiggling as he glanced expectantly at you from his microscope. You slipped your hand into his and he turned back to his fungus. A contented hum rumbled in the back of his throat. “Cordyceps militaris, control three, sixteen point eight microns, seventy-six hours after harvest.”
A fic in which Reader grows closer to Egon as the team tackles an unknown supernatural threat. Soft continuation of this one-shot.
General info:
Egon x fem!Reader, fluff, mostly light-hearted, minor angst, hurt/comfort, slow-burn (sort of)
Chapter info:
~3.0k words, no content warnings
No proofreading we die like anarchists
Egon’s back was turned to you when you ventured down into the lab, sparks flying around him as he fired up the soldering iron. You rapped your knuckles on the wall. “Knock, knock, Spengs.”
“You’re here late,” his deep voice was dulled behind the metal shield on his face. He switched off the soldering iron. “I’d advise a welder’s mask if you’re going to stay down here. You don’t want to risk corneal flash burns.” He rummaged through the ridiculously huge toolbox under the table as you scuttled over to him and handed you his spare. Once he saw that you had it on, he resumed his welding, sending sparks everywhere once again.
You leaned in a bit to get a closer look at his handiwork in-progress. "Whatcha doing?"
"Peter's neutrino wand has a cracked nozzle. Simple repair.”
“How’d he manage that?”
"He pistol-whipped the spirit after it referred to Dana in a derogatory manner and his gun jammed. I’m close to finishing up the repair.”
“Oh. How’s that work?”
“I’ve already taken the axle grinder to the break and the sander to the compromised edges. Now I’m just welding the alloy together to seal the break. Typically I use a ¾ inch aluminum spool, but since it has a fairly low melting point compared to the carbon steel alloy used to reinforce the structure of the gun nozzle, I opted to try—”
You didn’t really understand or care about the technical jargon, but you could listen to his deep, rumbling voice for hours on-end, even if the words meant nothing to you. You leaned your elbows on the table and your chin in your hands, idly watching him send sparks everywhere as he welded Peter’s proton gun. His large hands were rough and calloused, strong and robust, but still capable of the delicacy needed to repair the gun with nothing less than his usual surgical precision. Janine often swooned over what she referred to as 'big ole’ manly man hands' when the two of you had off time together. The appeal was definitely something you could see, as you were currently transfixed on the effortless, fluid movements of Egon’s hands as he idly explained to your deaf ears the process he was following, “—consulted with Winston and he recommended this type 5356 silicone alloy welding wire with a wire feed speed of 85 RPS and a voltage output of 256 amps—” You were grateful for the shield hiding the smile creeping across your face as you watched him work. The spell broke when his soldering iron turned off and his words became coherent again. "On another note, Peter claims that you and Janine are plotting something insidious against him.”
“This is true. Tell him. I want him to know. I want him to feel fear.”
He snickered. “I’ll be sure to let him know.” He lifted the protective mask and turned to you, the jagged gash on his face from the most recent call still fresh and raw. Your face fell a bit upon seeing it; even though the wound was a few days old now, the sight of it still sent an unpleasant sensation down the back of your neck. He caught the look on your face and quickly added, "It's healing rapidly. I expect minimal to no scarring since it seems the ectoplasm stimulated new tissue growth instead of the usual scar tissue."
You decided to change the subject. “Do you ever get lonely down here?”
“I wouldn’t say so. But I’m not one to pass up your company either.”
You smiled. “Anything I can help out with?”
“Yes, actually.” He rifled through several files on his cluttered desk and handed you a small handful of pictures. “I’d like to review the photographs with you again."
"Okay," you said, spreading them out across the table. "I'm assuming you have an update?"
"Yes. Our original theory was that of the benign Dover Demon cryptid, but with recent testimonies I’ve reason to suspect it’s actually a lesser entity of Ars Goetia classification.”
Your head shot up and you locked eyes with him. “You think it’s demonic?”
“Yes. It’s much more serious than we originally believed." He slid one photo closer to you, one you hadn't seen before. “Winston captured this image of the spirit from our most recent call. It looks nearly identical to these other photographs you sorted earlier, except its form is much more developed with tails and wings, and, as I came to know firsthand, the capability of direct physical attack. Look here.” He pointed to a marking on the blurred creature’s forehead.
You leaned in slightly to get a better look. He smelled good, the faintest hint of aftershave. Heat rushed to your face and you cleared your throat. “What’s that symbol mean?”
“It’s the insignia for the Cult of Shandor.” His baritone voice was smooth and calm, but you saw fear when you caught his eye. He immediately tore his gaze away and walked over to his desk, where he started flipping through a tattered notebook.
“Some of these photos show four fingers on each hand," you said, "but some have five. Do you think they’re variations of the same thing, or different?”
He cocked his head in thought, fiddled with his glasses a bit and scribbled something in the notebook. “I’m not sure.” Fatigue weighed heavily in his dark eyes, but it did little to cloud the intrigue burning in his soft gaze. “The corporeal forms of amortal entities often vary between manifestations. These differences are so minor that I’m leaning toward the former explanation. An additional digit may very well be vestigial, so it may be a matter of extra available energy when manifesting."
“Demons can’t produce their own energy,” you uttered under your breath, pawing at a pen on the table. “They need to draw it from somewhere else. Where do you think that’s from?”
"I don't know. The form variations imply multiple spawn points with variable amounts of available resources."
“Think we should recruit backup for this one? Janine and I can get a hold of Rookie’s team in Jersey tomorrow.”
“Maybe. We’d need to discuss it beforehand.”
You tilted your head a bit. “You haven’t told the others yet?”
He hesitated. “No. You’re the first.” He turned to you, concern suddenly etched on his face. “You believe me, don’t you?”
The question threw you for a loop. “Of course I believe you. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, when it comes to the topic of G—”
A siren blared and cut him off, piercing and absolutely ear-splitting. You startled and toppled out of your chair. Egon rushed over to you as you scrambled to your knees, hands over your ears until it ended. “What the hell was that?!”
“Severe weather warning. The city’s going under emergency lockdown.” He took your hand and gently pulled you to your feet. For a split second you wanted so badly to hold his hand to your face, feel the gentleness of his thumb caressing your cheek, but he pulled away.
Janine’s voice crackled through the PA system. “Everybody to the lunchroom!”
“Here.” He pulled off his coat and draped it over you, letting his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment before pulling away, making your stomach leap into your throat. “The radiator might not handle the temperature drop coming.”
You preened, pulling the coat tighter around yourself and absolutely glowing with delight. “You’re not getting this back anytime soon.”
“Good. I’d prefer if you held onto it until at least the lockdown passes,” he said, completely missing your point. “I have more upstairs for myself. Let’s get going.”
It took a few minutes for everyone to crawl out from their various spots in the firehouse and take a seat at the largest kitchen table. Winston was the last to enter the kitchen, barefoot, cocooned in a blanket and eyes narrowed, clearly still half-asleep. “This is my punishment for being the only one with a non-dysfunctional sleep schedule,” he grumbled, a rueful smile lighting up his tired face. He yawned and turned to you. “First storm lockdown in New York, eh girlie? You weren’t here for the emergency planning, but part of it includes us drawing straws in a starvation scenario to see who gets eaten first.”
“I know. Egon made me read all the protocols when I got hired.”
Winston yawned again and joined Peter at the fridge, who was rummaging for a drink. You glanced around the room and your gaze fixated on Egon’s hands as he fiddled with his tie, chatting with Ray. He caught your eye and the two of you immediately looked away. The slightest ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when Ray nudged him with his elbow.
“So,” Janine said loudly, getting the attention of the group, “headcount of six. Everybody was in-house for the alarm so we don’t need to worry about recovering anyone from outside. Does everybody have everything they’ll need for the day or so? Medications? Warm clothes?”
There were mutters of affirmation around the table.
“Good. There’s plenty of toiletries and we have about a week of food before we need to start eating each other. The current report predicts a lockdown of twelve hours or less. Since it’s one in the morning, I suggest we sleep through most of it. There’s plenty of extra blankets in the storage closet and the radiator seems to be in working order for now. Anybody got something to say before we break?”
Egon placed his soda down. “Yes. I reviewed our investigation into the Dover Demon inquiry with YN and we agree that the evidence points to something much more serious than we originally believed.” He avoided Peter’s credulous eye and looked to you for backing.
You nodded vigorously to the rest of the table. “Yeah. I think it’s something that really needs attention sooner than later. It seems pretty urgent.”
Peter groaned and ran his hands over his face. “Egon, I swear to God, if you say it has something to do with Gozer then I’m going to chew Ray’s arm off and beat you with it.”
Winston, who looked like someone plucked from a severe windstorm, said airily, “How about we save the demon discussions and cannibalistic plottings for when it’s not one in the morning?”
Ray nodded. “He’s right. A few hours of delay in talking won’t hurt since we can’t do anything under lockdown until tonight at least. It also gives me time to practice ambidexterity so I’m ready for Peter.”
Winston yawned again. “And where are we planning to put YN to sleep in the meantime? Everyone has a spot otherwise.”
“She can take Egon’s bed!” Ray said brightly, pretending not to feel Egon’s and your gazes smoldering into the side of his face.
Winston smirked, his eyes narrowed deviously. “And where would Egon sleep?”
“In his own bed, of course!” Peter chimed. “Right, Egon?”
Egon snorted into his soda, spilling it down his chin and nearly choking. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, failing to suppress the dry coughs rising in his throat, his face beet-red. You put your hand over your mouth, chortling uncontrollably.
Janine came to your rescue. “YN and I will share the pullout couch. We’ll have a little girls’ night downstairs.” She hooked her arm around your elbow. Your presence was very much a welcome one for her—this was the first storm lockdown where she wasn’t the only woman.
"Sounds good to me," Winston said, rising to his feet. "I'm off to bed. Goodnight everyone, you nocturnal freaks. Much love from Winston."
Janine tugged on your arm. "Come on, honey. Let's go down and pick out a movie that we can ignore while we talk about boys and eat junk food."
You snickered, still reeling from the boys’ comments. "Good plans."
Peter’s mouth twisted into a devilish smile. “Hey, wait, YN, is that—?" He gasped loudly, making sure that everyone could hear him. "Is that Egon’s coat?”
You stuck your tongue at Peter. “Jealous, Venkman?” you teased, flourishing the oversized coat like a villainous cape and distracting Peter while Egon slipped away to the lab. “You’re too stinky to wear this coat.”
Peter clasped his hand to his chest and gasped in theatrical outrage. “Now wait just a min—!”
“Don’t talk to us, Peter. Girls only from here on out,” Janine said sharply, leading you down the stairs like a mother hen. “No boys allowed in the lounge tonight!”
“Coward!” he called out as the two of you descended.
Once the two of you were alone, she turned to you and clapped her hands. "Oh, honey, he gave you his coat!" she squealed in delight. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! We should celebrate. Come here, come here." She gestured for you to follow her to her desk, where she opened a drawer full of sweets. "Help yourself," she said, pulling out a candy bar.
"I'm trying not to get too excited. He's pretty pragmatic with most of what he does."
"Listen, honey, when I first met that man I chased him for months. Months. I never got the attention he gives you. We talked it out eventually and he's a sweetheart-and-a-half for a friend, don't get me wrong, but there's something there for you that I don't see him giving to anyone else. Little things. You think he just happened to find a spare welder's mask soon after Ray hired you on? Hell no. He went out and bought one just for you. He won't tell you this but nobody's allowed to use it except you. He won't offer it to the other boys; he'll just kick them out." She slid her oversized glasses down the bridge of her nose to look at you directly. "Has he ever kicked you out of the lab?"
You shook your head.
"Exactly. I've seen you go down into the lab with an open welcome when just minutes before he kicked out the other boys, and you're always none the wiser. He'll tell them he's not in the mood for company, but that tune always changes when you come around. Now," she plopped down on the couch, grabbed the nearest pillow and tucked it under her chin, "tell me about those big 'ole man hands of his."
You laughed, heat rising to your face. "Yep. They're big 'ole man hands all right."
“Mmm," she swooned. "Big ‘ole man hands.”
“Big ‘ole man hands!”
The two of you laughed.
Peter trotted down the stairs. “Hey, girls, I just wanted to come down real quick to—” A pillow struck him square in the face, silencing him, and plopped onto the floor.
“No boys allowed!” Janine shouted, brandishing another pillow.
He looked blankly at the pillow at his feet before meeting your eye. "I just want to ask—"
You gleefully followed her lead and lobbed a couch cushion at him, which bounced off the top of his head. “No boys allowed!"
He bent down and scooped up the pillow and couch cushion under his arms. "Well, I was gonna ask if you had any extra pillows for Ray since his back is h—" He was once again cut off when Janine threw a pillowcase at him, which draped over his head.
"No boys allowed!" she repeated.
"Okay." His voice was muffled by the pillowcase completely covering his head. "Thanks for the stuff. Goodnight." He departed up the stairs, familiar enough with the firehouse that he could make his way around perfectly fine with his vision obscured.
You and Janine burst into fits of laughter.
“How’s Tully doing?” you asked as the two of you set up the pullout couch.
She sighed dreamily, a far off look in her eye. “I told him I loved him for the first time the other night and he got so excited he threw up.”
“Oh, wow! Did he say ‘I love you’ back?”
She smiled and nodded, her cheeks burning red. She sighed again. “He might be the man I marry…I like that idea.”
The two of you finished setting up the pullout couch and switched on a bad movie to block out the sounds of the growing storm. You tucked in nicely, still happily wearing Egon’s coat as the two of you settled in for the night.
******
The raging storm was unrelenting through the next few hours, rattling the windows and plummeting the outside temperature to the point of strain on the old building’s radiator. Janine had long fallen asleep, invisible under a mound of pillows with her earmuffs and eye mask hiding her from any disruptions. The clock was seconds from 3:00am and you were tired, albeit completely engrossed in a tattered book Janine loaned you from her desk--an old favorite of yours--before she sealed herself away from the outside world. You had Egon’s coat cozily wrapped over your shoulders, the subtle smell of his aftershave absolutely intoxicating.
Approaching footsteps had you put down your book. Egon cautiously poked his head out from the doorway, prepared to withdraw from any incoming projectiles. "Is this a good time?"
You chuckled. "Why are you hiding, Spengs?"
He tentatively crept out from the doorway. “Peter said there was a strict ‘no boys allowed’ policy. He claims to have recently survived a severe life-altering assault at the hands of Janine and yourself for violating said policy."
You sat up a bit. "Well, in our defense, we never meant to assault him. We meant to kill him.” Your tiredness gave you the boldness for your next words. “But, you can stay. Handsome boys get a pass.”
He averted his gaze, caught off-guard. A pink tinge spread across his face like spilled ink and his mouth split into a smile. He basked in the compliment for a quick second before meeting your gaze again. “Gonna be up for a while?"
"Yeah."
"Feel free to join me in the lab." He took a moment to summon his nerve. "It can get lonely without you.”
