warnings: this chapter includes descriptions of unhealthy behavior and alcohol abuse. reader discretion is advised.
thirty-three | thirty-four | thirty-five
They sat outside the little bakery, elbows brushing on the cramped metal table, half-eaten pastries between them. The hot chocolate here was decent — she wouldn’t go so far as to say good — and she teased him for it with a smile and a glint in her eye that made something in his chest warm a little.
They spent their time passing wordless judgement on the terrible playlist overhead, debating whether almond croissants were overrated, flicking stray crumbs at one another. Liam was unusually quiet, but she tried to let it be.
The two of them sat in the corner by the windows, sharing a perfectly toasted almond croissant and a pair of mismatched mugs. She furrowed her brows at how much of his drink still remained in his cup, likely gone. When she looked up at him, she found his eyes already on her.
He tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “What, have I got powder sugar on my face again?”
She smiled around the rim of her coffee cup. “Maybe.”
He chuckled, low and short. Then his eyes flickered back to the street outside, distant for a breath. It was then that she brought it up, all tentative and careful. “You mentioned your brothers. Um, the other night.”
The words felt like skipping stones — light on the surface, hiding how deep they wanted to go.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, drawing out the word like he was stalling. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, though it didn’t need it. “I did. I mean, I do.”
“Will I…. ever get to meet them?” she asked, aiming for lightness but hearing her hesitation betray her.
The man across from her shrugged, casual but too quick about it. “Eh, they’re all usually pretty busy.”
It was a bad excuse.
She knew it.
He knew she knew it.
“They sound pretty important to you,” she said instead, trying again, busying her fingers by folding and unfolding her paper napkin.
You’re important to me too, she didn’t say.
Lando's posture shifted, barely, but enough. There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders, and a tension in his jaw. He still held the coffee, but he wasn’t drinking anymore.
It hit her then—that twitchy, haunted kind of defensiveness he slipped into when something precious was threatened. Like if he admitted it mattered, the world would hear it and take it away.
The wave of vulnerability had apparently passed, and she’d have to wait patiently until the tide rolled in again. That seemed to be a pattern with him, she’d noticed – sometimes he’d unknowingly show her a glimpse of his heart, holding it out with careful, trembling hands like it was something precious to be held. But moments later he’d retreat within himself once again as soon as he was aware of what he’d done. That’s when he’d put the soft parts of himself away where no one could reject or abandon them like he had once been.
Her gaze traced over his silhouette against the soft light that emanated through the murky sky outside, the passing clouds casting flickering shadows over the contours of his face.
“Don’t leave me.”
“Just… please. Stay.”
“Last night… it shouldn't have happened.”
She breathed deeply and gave him a sad little smile, the kind that didn’t ask for anything back.
“It’s okay,” Y/N said softly. “I didn’t mean to push.”
I just wanted to be part of your world. I wanted to meet the people that matter most to you. I wanted to be part of your world the way you are part of mine.
He said nothing.
She set the napkin down. Even though it was soundless, it still felt loud to her somehow. “I was only curious. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
A beat of silence passed. Then another. She could just feel herself flushing with the awkwardness of it, a hot undercurrent of regret crawling up her spine as her face grew hot unpleasantly.
Stupid, stupid, you always want too much—
But then he spoke, voice low and rough around the edges.
“I… Just…”
He seemed to struggle to find the words.
“Give me a little time, yeah?”
She blinked, startled.
He wasn’t looking directly at her anymore — his thumb brushed over the rim of the mug like he needed something to do with his hands — but even she could tell that his words were real, earnest in a way that almost hurt to hear.
Her heart twisted, traitorous and tender all at once.
“Okay,” she whispered, smiling at him through it, even when it hurt. “Take all the time you need.”
I’ll wait as long as it takes.
The awkwardness didn’t quite leave after that, shifting and swirling between them like smoke. But there was something else beneath it too. It was a sincerity – a thread tying them together, thin and invisible, tugging a little tighter with every truth shared.
Outside, the clouds floated between all the shades of grey, like even the sky couldn't decide whether it was going to storm. Y/N watch people stroll past the windows, deep in conversation and huddled together, wearing their sweaters and light coats.
Inside, she watched Liam stir his coffee too many times and thought:
I’ll wait. As long as it takes.
Meanwhile, Lando’s thoughts had already drifted well beyond the cold coffee in front of him. Being reminded of his ‘brothers’ made a pang of guilt go through his chest. Even the image of his parents grave didn’t fail to remind him of a different one — the solid granite headstone that he placed with his own two hands after he buried his friend.
He needed to be more careful if he wanted to make sure he didn’t make a mistake again. He would die before he let anyone lay a hand on them again. He’d die before he let anyone lay a hand on her. It would be a cold day in hell before he let them take someone else away from him again.
No matter how much he wished he could continue to live in these half-delusions of stolen moments of peace that lived far away from the blood running down the back alleys of Monte Carlo, he knew that he was also the one who would have to put his gloves on and get his hands dirty.
After all, there was dirty work to be done, and there was no man in all of Monaco who was better at what he did than Lando Norris.
It was a few days later when the large door to Lando’s office creaked open hesitantly.
When Carlos stepped through the heavy oak doors to the boss’s office, he half-expected to find it empty, like it had been most nights lately. Truth be told, the rest of the Circle still hadn’t quite gotten used to Lando being gone so much now, to him haunting someone else’s walls instead of his own more often than not.
But tonight, the old desk lamp was the only thing lighting the room, throwing warped shadows across the mess inside. Carlos stopped short.
When he looked inside, he froze.
Papers carpeted almost everything in sight – the desk, the floor, even pinned to the walls. The walls were littered with a hodgepodge of photos, CCTV stills, maps, receipts, scraps of connection that barely held together. A timeline snaked across the length of the room, erratic and angry with time stamps circled in red pen several times over. Eleven from where he stood, he could distinguish certain images in the sea of evidence.
Grainy street cam images of a blurred figure moving past the caféA printed photograph of the type of knife used on DanielCross-references between the Leclercs and Gasly’s crew, the names scrawled with a furious hand. Points of contact. Suspected hideouts.
It looked like the inside of a man’s unraveling mind.
In the center of it all, Lando Norris stood like a statue, pale under the dim light, staring at it with the hollow-eyed intensity of a man who hadn’t slept right in days. Maybe longer.
One hand raked through his messy curls, his other hand drumming against a photo of the front of Brews & Books hard enough that the edge bent under his fingers. Lando didn’t look up when he spoke. His voice was low and scratchy, raw from misuse.
"Y’need something?"
Carlos swallowed thickly. "No, boss. Just… erm, I am just checking in."
For a long moment, the only sound was the relentless tap of Lando’s fingers. Carlos carefully stepped closer, unsure whether approaching was the right thing to do. It was only when came near that he was able to notice that the room wasn’t the only thing unusual. Lando wore an unfamiliar expression on his face, dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath until Carlos came to stand beside him.
“There’s something missing," he said, voice low but shaking with fury. "I keep going over it. In my head, in the street cams, Logan’s pictures, the data—"
He turned around, his hand suddenly slamming down and sweeping across the desk, sending papers, pens, an old coffee mug crashing to the floor. Even the Spaniard flinched back, caught off guard.
"It doesn’t make any fucking sense!" he bellowed, chest heaving. Lando leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles went bloodless. For a second, it looked like he might tear the whole thing apart with his bare hands.
Lando ran his hands through his hair yet again, standing up only to begin pacing his office back and forth like some caged animal. He spoke again then, but this time quieter, his voice colder than ice.
"I’ll kill them."
His dark eyes were wild, glittering in the dim light.
"I’ll hunt ‘em down like dogs," he whispered. "Corner them like the fuckin’ rats they are.”
“Mate, what are you saying? If–”
It was like the Brit didn’t even hear him.
“I’ll break his fingers one by one so he can’t ever hold a weapon again. I’ll cut his tongue out before he can even think of fucking lying to me. I'll– I’ll find something he loves and rip it apart right in front of him so he knows what it feels like."
His voice dropped even lower to something more sinister. He stood, pacing the room, hands running through his hair, eyes wild as he rambled like a madman.
“What they took…” His voice trembled as if he could hardly speak the words, fury rising in his chest. “What they took from us, from me, from– from her…”
He froze, as if suddenly realizing something. His gaze darkened. “How dare they try to fuckin’ touch her? How fucking dare they?”
He turned abruptly, fixing Carlos with a look that made his blood run cold. “They made a mistake. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure they pay for it. I’ll teach them a lesson, alright. I’ll find their weakness because everyone has one. And when I do…”
He clenched his fists, teeth grinding together, his voice now dripping with malevolence. “I’ll find Leclerc. I’ll– I’ll rip him apart if I have to. I’ll leave him on the floor, gutted, so everyone will know. So everyone will see what happens when you try to take what’s mine!”
Carlos, still standing in the doorway, took a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow the knot in his throat. “Lando…” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “We need to talk about this, hermano. You are not thinking straight.”
But Lando didn’t answer him. He was already back at the desk, his eyes locked on the screens, desperately searching for something that would make everything fall into place, a last missing piece.
He wouldn’t rest until he found it.
Lando’s hands shook as he sifted through the files again, muttering to himself. He was practically stumbling now, so consumed by the need to find answers, to pinpoint the one thing that would make all of this make sense. His eyes were wide, dark with frustration, and the bottle of whiskey had already been cracked open, half-gone, and yet he kept reaching for it.
“Alright, no more drinks tonight,” Carlos grimaced, scrunching his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol from Lando’s breath. He took a half glass that Lando seemed to have forgotten about for the time being and poured it into a potted plant nearby instead. “And when is the last time you slept, eh?”
Carlos moved to the other side of the desk as he watched Lando focus intently on pouring himself a new glass. He gently plucked it from his hand and set it down far out of his rech, hoping he was too inebriated by now to go after it. He wasn’t too far off, it seemed, as Lando just went on, lost in his thoughts.
“Fuckin’ gunman was too smart,” Lando muttered, eyes glazed over. He didn’t even notice Carlos moving the glass. “He avoids all the cameras, didn’t leave a trace. Look, see? He uses the hat. I hate hats like that.”
Carlos turned his attention to where Lando was rapidly pointing between a series of photos, snapshots of the gunman leaving the scene of the shooting that killed that old lady.
Lando continued, undeterred by the lack of audible response. “S’not… messy, y’know? He’s not– not arrogant like Gasly or Leclerc. They would’ve been more sloppy. They don’t give a shit No, this guy’s... this guy’s different. He’s, uh, tall. Tall and fast. Maybe… Maybe it could be Esteban? Yeah, yeah... but Esteban doesn’t have the cause…”
Carlos bit back a sigh, sitting down across from him. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he couldn’t let Lando keep spiraling like this.
“But if it’s not Esteban,” Lando continued, his voice rising in pitch, the frustration clear, and he stumbled over his words, “then who the fuck is it? Who’s fast enough, who’s quick enough to get in and out like that? The little one? What his fuckin’ name, the little Leclerc… Him, maybe?”
Carlos didn’t even get a chance to butt in, before lando cut himself off, mind whirling faster than even he could keep up. “It could, he’s fast, but–”
He growled in frustration. “But– No, no, he’s too young, too dumb. Fuck! I don’t know.”
He slammed his fist onto the desk again, hard enough to make the bookshelves tremble against the walls.
Carlos’s voice was calm, soothing, though the older man was struggling to keep his own anxiety in check. “Lando, you need to take it easy, mate. You are not going to figure this out in one night. You need to sleep. You need to rest.”
But of course, Lando was well beyond hearing him. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, trying to piece together the jumbled mess of thoughts that never seemed to fit. He was a man unraveling at the seams, and all Carlos could do was watch, powerless.
“Charles — no, it’s not him, not his height,” Lando muttered, shaking his head violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “It has to be someone on his fucking behalf. Someone quick, young, someone who could’ve gotten in and out fast... but who? Fucking who, Carlos?”
Carlos leaned forward, trying his best to keep his voice level yet again. “We don’t know, hermano. Let’s slow down, alright? We’ll figure it out, but you need to take a step back.”
But Lando’s eyes were wild, unfocused. He wasn’t listening. “It’s Pierre,” he hissed, almost to himself. “It’s Pierre who would’ve known about her shift—Kika works with her. He could’ve... he could’ve known when she was there.”
Carlos knew there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. Lando had worked himself into a frenzy, and the more Carlos tried to calm him down, the more agitated he became. It was like watching a man fighting himself, and Carlos wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.
He couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Lando,” Carlos said, his voice sharp. “Stop! Just— stop it. You are not thinking straight. This isn’t right.”
But Lando wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even aware that Carlos had been speaking. He grabbed another file, tossing it across the desk, frustrated. “I’ve got the CCTV, I’ve got Logan’s pictures, I’ve got the bullet shells—what the fuck am I missing? What is it?” His voice cracked, barely audible now. “I’m so fucking close.”
That’s it.
Carlos sat back, his mind racing. He couldn’t let Lando keep going like this. It was clear he wasn’t going to listen to reason, not like this. The younger man was running on empty, and the all the liquor he’d consumed wasn’t helping. The man needed rest, not more whiskey. He needed someone to help him see past the blur.
With a deep breath, Carlos made the call.
“Max,” he said quietly, into the phone. “Lando’s... not alright. Can you come get him? He’s not in a good place right now.”
As the conversation ended, Lando continued to ramble, his words barely making sense, his movements jerky. “I’ll get them, Carlos,” he muttered, his voice lower, darker. “I’ll fucking get them for what they did. To her. To me. To Daniel.”
Carlos stood up, his hand on Lando’s shoulder, trying to guide him away from the desk. “Come on, mate. You’ve been at this for almost two days. You need rest. You’re not gonna get answers like this.”
Lando didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dull and bloodshot.
Max Fewtrell arrived moments later, his face taut with worry. He looked at Carlos and then at Lando, who had fallen silent, his body sagging as if the fight had been drained out of him.
“Take him home,” Carlos said, his voice resigned. “He needs sleep. He needs... something.”
Max nodded, walking over to Lando and gently taking hold of his arm. “Come on, mate,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”
There was an odd knock at the door. Not urgent or rhythmic, just... offbeat and uneven.
Unfamiliar.
Carefully, she opened it to find a stranger standing there, slightly out of breath, his arm slung firmly around a half-conscious Liam. Liam, who looked like he’d been poured into the shape of a man and then left out to dry, his form rumpled, sagging, his eyes glazed.
“Hi,” the stranger said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He appeared young, likely around Liam’s age, if she had to guess. He seemed well kept, so she could probably rule out him being one of those weirdos that lived down the block. “I— I’m Max. He’s, uh...” He gestured down to the weight dragging on his side. “He’s drunk. I think he could use some company tonight.”
She nodded once, her hand already reaching out for Lando’s weight. “Thank you for bringing him home, Max.”
Max gave a small smile, half-gratitude and half-apology. “Yeah. Of course.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but Lando groaned and shifted, and that was cue enough.
Instead, what he said was, “He’s heavier than he looks. Good luck.”
With a nod, Max turned and disappeared down the hallway and into the night.
She eased Liam inside, his full weight slumping into her side until he was half-carried, half-dragged to the couch. He mumbled something that might’ve been her name, or perhaps it was a string of consonants meant to sound like it. Lando leaned more of his weight against her. “Smells like you,” he mumbled, somewhere between recognition and comfort, and she huffed a laugh, guiding him inside.
“Yeah, well. That tends to happen when you’re in my apartment.”
“Mm,” he hummed.
When she dropped him gently onto the cushions, he sighed as if he’d been holding tension in for hours.
Then, he blinked up at her.
“You were reading,” he slurred, his eyes falling on the book still splayed open on the armrest. “You always read.”
“Well, yes. I like reading,” she replied with a soft smile, moving to tidy up the blanket he’d bunched with his elbow.
He reached out suddenly, his fingers catching a lock of her hair between them. “I like your hair.”
Her breath caught, half-amused. “You told me that last week.”
“I did?” He frowned, like the thought surprised him. Then his face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Smart me.”
Once she got him settled on the couch, she helped him out of his jacket one sleeve at a time. He flopped back with a groan, arm over his face like the light hurt.
“You okay?”
He didn’t answer right away. His hand dropped to the side, head turning until his gaze settled on the book she’d set face down on the coffee table.
Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, and he sighed like the tension was melting from his spine. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The TV flickered quietly in the background, the only sound in the room besides the rhythm of his breathing.
“I don’t like being drunk,” he admitted softly, voice slurred but honest.
“Then why’d you drink?”
He paused at that. She leaned back to look at him , waiting patiently to listen to his answer like it mattered.
“Because if I stopped thinking tonight, I thought maybe I’d stop feeling too.”
She didn’t respond right away. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say – so she settled for saying nothing. Instead, she just ran her thumb along his temple, slow and steady.
He looked up at her then — not smiling, not joking, just watching her like he needed to memorize the shape of her kindness.
“I like it here,” he said, voice quiet as if he was sharing a secret someone else might accidently overhear. “With you.”
She could’ve said something witty, or maybe even deflected like she always did. But tonight, she just whispered, “Good. You know you’re always welcome to stay.”
He smiled again, sleepier this time and let his eyes fall closed for a long blink as he leaned his head back against the couch.
“Don’t disappear, yeah?” he mumbled.
“I won’t,” she promised, soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”
After Y/N returned from the kitchen with some electrolytes and pain medication for the inevitable hangover he’d suffer tomorrow, she returned to find him sitting up again, halfway between sleep and consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering, barely hanging on.
He reached for her before he could stop himself, one of his hands curling itself loosely around her wrist, the pad of his thumb tracing absent, slow circles against her skin. There was nothing sexual or even intentional about it – just a kind of tethering, like he didn’t want to drift too far.
“You’re good t’me,” he mumbled, barely comprehensible. “Don’t get it. But I like it.”
Her heart fluttered so rapidly that it felt like her breath had escaped her, and took anything she could have thought to say along with it. She focused on the only thing she still could, just brushing his hair back from his face with her, feeling something soft and stupid settle in her chest.
Finally, the soothing motion of her hand stopped, causing him to blink groggily. “Alright, buddy,” she murmured, “let’s get you horizontal. You should probably get some proper rest.”
He blinked owlishly, looking up at her as if it was his first time ever seeing her. “But you were readin’.” he slurred.
She glanced at the book she’d put aside when she heard Max knock on the door. “Yeah, I was.”
“That’s nice. You read nice things.”
“I try to,” she laughed. “Come on, lay back before you fall over, stupid.”
“Nice,” he said, genuinely. “You’ve got the kind of face that should always be near a book. Or in a paintin’. Or…” He swayed. “In my lap. Wait—no. Me? My head. In your lap.”
She couldn’t help it — she snorted. “You’re so articulate when you’re drunk.”
“Mm, yes, ’m very talented,” he replied solemnly, then immediately missed the couch by a few inches and collapsed half-on, half-off it with a dull thump.
She rolled her eyes, crouching beside him to help maneuver his limbs. “Alright, Casanova, come on.” She guided him up and onto the cushions, and when she finally sat down, he immediately curled onto his side and nudged his head into her lap like it was where he belonged.
She froze for just a second — surprised at how naturally he did it, how much he seemed to trust her this way. Her fingers hovered over his curls, indecisive, before she allowed them to settle there gently, simply resting their comfortable weight.
Oh, Liam. Why do you do this to me?
It took what was probably a concerning amount of effort for her to try and breath very, very slowly in hopes that it would quiet the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. It would be quite embarrassing if he could hear it.
Mortifying, really.
Just as soon as she’d deemed her efforts mostly successful, his eyes fluttered closed before opening again slowly, like he was afraid he’d miss something if he blinked too long.
His fingers brushed her wrist again, then lazily trailed to the hem of her sleeve. He smiled up at her, squinting like she was glowing under a sun only he could see.
“So pretty, you are,” he murmured, words thick and slow. “Can’t believe you’re real.”
Oh, fuck me.
You can’t just say things like that.
To his credit, however, it was hard to distinguish of he was even aware he’d said that aloud, or if he simply thought he was talking to himself. She raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m, uh, I am very real, I assure you.”
Apparently satisfied with her answer, his eyes fluttered closed. “Mm. Dunno, you feel like a dream. Like, the good kind. One of the good ones. The ones you wake up from and try to fall back asleep for.”
She swallowed, heart tripping over itself.
“Liam…”
Her heart gave a quiet, reluctant thud.
“You should sleep,” she said gently, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. It was like she couldn’t help it – hopefully, he’d be too hungover in the morning to remember any of this.
“But you were reading.” He blinked up at her, almost pouting. “Read to me?”
“I’m not reading that to you,” she laughed, nodding at the very nonfiction-looking book. “You’ll have nightmares about European history.”
He hummed like that was a genuine concern. “You’ll protect me?”
She smiled despite herself. “From Napoleon?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Of course. Always.”
A beat passed. He blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Y/N had always found it remarkably unfair how he naturally had such long beautiful lashes, ne that framed his eyes so perfectly it was like God personally wanted her to suffer knowing how beautiful his eyes were
“I like your laugh,” he murmured, already drifting. “And your hands. And your whole… you-ness.”
She didn’t answer. She just kept brushing his hair back, slower now. His breathing evened out, lips slightly parted, finally quiet in a way she hadn’t seen him all week.
“Can you still read to me? I just… I like hearing your voice.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the way he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Hm? Y- yeah, of course. Just relax, you can close your eyes too, if you want to.”
Lando’s lips twitched in a sleepy grin, and he gave her a slow nod, letting his body go limp. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her last words, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore — his tiredness was taking over. She turned to the book, brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead as she began reading lowly in the quiet room.
He shifted a bit, restless at first, but she kept going, her voice steady and warm as she read. It wasn’t anything special, really — just the hum of her voice and the rustle of pages. But then he shifted again, and again, clearly unable to get comfortable.
She paused, glancing down at him. “Hey, something wrong?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand, tentative and slow, stretched up from his side and reached for her free one. She blinked, unsure at first, but then she let him take her hand. He pulled it gently to his head, bringing her fingers to lightly brush against the soft strands of his hair, as if seeking permission.
This boy will be the death of me.
She didn’t question it. She just let him, sensing the need for something more than what words could give him right now.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she began to play with his hair, the soft, rhythmic motion easing into something natural. His head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he leaned into her touch.
Without saying anything else, she resumed reading. It was a slow, gentle ebb of words, her voice falling into a soothing lull as the minutes passed. By the time she reached the end of the page, his breathing had already deepened, soft and steady.
He was out like a light — his face relaxed like’d never known anything but sleep as restful as this. Like he’d never known stress, or fear, or grief. Like those things would never be able to reach him again.
Even once she stopped reading out loud, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, continuing to run her fingers through his hair as he slept. Something in the quiet comfort of that moment made her chest tighten, but in the best way — like she was finally allowed to just be, without the weight of the world pressing down on her, or him. Like she was allowed one more glimpse of him, another sliver of this dream she’d begun to crave so deeply.
It was a pocket of peace, the two of them in this bubble. The last thought she remembered having as her own eyelids began to drift close was how much she wished she could freeze this moment in time, a snow globe capturing the sweetest of dreams.
a/n: i'm so sorry this wasn't out when promised. yesterday was a shit day. sorry if this is shit.
Warnings: Collars, A/B/O dynamics, mentions of knotting
Part 1 Part 33 Part 33.5 (18+)
Part 35
--
"Isn't she precious?"
Robotnik rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour.
For the first time since he had come back from his brief stint in prison, he had finally gotten some time away from the countless projects that had been forced upon him. It was as if the whole of GUN wanted to use him as their personal engineer.
From weapons to useless gadgets, he had to create them all. He had to ensure everything worked perfectly, or who knew what GUN would say to something that would malfunction. No doubt they arrive in ten minutes, ready to seize a member of his pack.
There was never a time he didn't have to be working on something, glancing at the clock constantly to make sure he didn't miss a deadline. Luckily, Stone had been on top of those and kept him steady.
Robotnik was sure he would have killed someone by now if he didn't have Stone.
His agent turned mate seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Robotnik's stress levels. He would pop up with food, a latte, or even come and lay his head in Robotnik's lap. Playing with his large, silky ears was one of Robotnik's preferred ways of calming down.
Although, by doing this, Stone was running himself ragged.
Robotnik's previous concerns had been amplified. After he had knotted Stone, he had hoped that would settle Stone's dependency.
It made things worse.
He had gotten Stone to be away from him for up to almost an hour, but now, if he attempted to leave Stone's eye sight, the Hybrid would begin whining. Hell, Robotnik could barely get him to eat if he didn't start eating to reassure Stone he was fine.
Robotnik was clueless as to fix this.
There was only one thing that distracted Stone and allowed Robotnik to sneak away.
Lost in his thoughts, Robotnik didn't notice the tiny fist reaching for his face.
"Fu--!" Cutting off his curse, he glared down at the gummy smile Ivo Rodriguez was giving him. The puppy's grip was far too strong as he kept yanking on Robotnik's mustache. "Let go, pup."
"Ivy!"
Rosa, the puppy's mother rushed over, cooing at the baby while she loosened his grip.
Giving the baby back, Robotnik massaged his upper lip and checked to see if he lost any mustache hair. All seemed in order. Glaring at Rosa's back, he mentally grumbled.
For some reason, everyone had decided the puppy's nickname would be 'Ivy'. Carol said it would help differentiate between him and the baby, but he pointed out that nobody except Walters ever called him by his first name.
At his feet, he could feel Stone leaning heavily against his legs. In his arms, he held a different baby. She had fallen asleep in his arms, her ears flicking at the small commotion. Stone stared down at her lovingly, his fingers running over her head as he rocked her.
The new facility had been completed, allowing the Hybrids to move in with their pups. More pups had been born, bringing them to a total of five so far. Stone had been ecstatic, begging Robotnik to let them visit as often as possible.
That's how Robotnik discovered that as soon as Stone had a baby in his arms, he completely forgot about him.
"She has her mother's ears," Stone breathed out.
"I'd be surprised if she had someone else's," Robotnik grumbled, resting his cheek on his fist. He never got the appeal of babies. Hybrid puppies were cuter than human babies, only because they had dog ears and a tail. Other than that, they cried too much and needed to be changed every two hours.
At least they got Stone's attention.
Stone didn't seem to register Robotnik's comment, instead he adjusted his grip on the baby to hold her in his lap.
Letting out a huff of breath, Robotnik let his eyes wander over the nursery. Rosa had moved to another corner to feed Ivy, the puppy's hands having been wrapped in mittens so as not to scratch his mother.
The mother of the pup Stone was holding had left to take a nap, fully trusting him and Stone with her baby. Robotnik had wanted to berate her, but the dark circles under her eyes had stopped him.
He needed to get out of this leader of a pack thing as possible. He was losing his edge.
It didn't help that everyone seemed to know that he and Stone had had sex. Rockwell had laughed, explaining that since they used a knot, Stone's body had released a smell indicating he was now mated. Before, he only had Robotnik's scent on him. Now, they were officially mates.
He would rather have people not knowing his personal life.
Not to mention, he had found time between his projects to craft a new collar for Stone. He had created ones for the rest of the pack as well, but Stone's was special.
The black leather shone beautifully under the light, the red stitching emphasizing its craftsmanship. His logo was once more stitched into the side, but that wasn't the only claiming mark. There was now a golden plate with 'Robotnik' on the front. Stone had smudged it with how much he had run his fingers over the engraving. He had practically pounced on Robotnik when he clasped the collar around Stone's throat.
Meanwhile, he had made Carol and Rockwell their own personalized collars as well. Like last time, he had his logo stitched in black so it wouldn't be as obvious. This time, the other stitching was silver, showing off both women's higher status in the pack.
As for everyone else, they were given simpler collars, all with his logo in black stitching like with Rockwell and Carol's. It allowed for them to move around without as much attention.
However, every collar had the same hardware.
All of them would allow him to track their vitals, their locations, and have the emergency button. This time though, he had fixed it so that the collars could reboot if overloaded with excess electricity. No more tazering mishaps.
When he had presented the collars to the pack, he could see the wave of excitement in the crowd. They were now part of his pack and given full protection. Carol and he had talked it over with them, all of them coming to the agreement that their children could accept a collar when they were adults.
Rubbing his temple, Robotnik glanced down at Stone. Still holding the baby and smiling like a fool.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Lifting his head, he saw Carol standing in the doorway, gesturing for him. Clicking his tongue, he saw one of Stone's ears flick towards him.
"Here. Take the chair. I'm going to the bathroom."
Robotnik had to shove his hands under Stone's arms and haul him to his feet before the Hybrid even knew what he said. Watching Stone settle into the chair, Robotnik knew he hadn't heard a single word.
He had probably an hour before the baby's mother returned and Stone realized he was gone.
"Doctor," Carol greeted him as he stepped out of the nursery. They fell into step together, weaving their way out of the building. "How is Ivy?"
"Fine." She didn't need to know about his near de-mustache-ificition.
"You know, now that you two are mated--"
"Drop it," Robotnik snapped. "Stone already annoys me with the whole puppy talk."
"In bed?"
"Shut up."
Carol chuckled as she opened the front door of the building for him, letting him step out first.
"I've gathered the intel you wanted."
"Good. What has Walters been up to?"
"He's been spending time at the Hybrid Division."
"Why?"
"From the rumors, it sounds like he is personally helping to pick out the next head of the division."
Robotnik frowned. He clearly remembered Walters stating he didn't have any power when it came to the Hybrid Division. And now he was helping to choose its successor?
"That's not all," Carol spoke lowly. She walked close to him, staring ahead. "He's been visiting one of GUN's prisons frequently."
"Who is he visiting?"
"I couldn't get my hands on any prisoner information."
"I doubt he's going for a tea party," Robotnik scoffed. "Has he ever gone there before?"
"I don't know. I haven't worked for him that long. But, looking back at his schedule for the last five years, he has a few meetings that were never specified."
Robotnik nodded. Walters had always had his back; he had even gone as far as to stick his neck out to have Robotnik released. So, why was the old man being so secretive now?
Did it have anything to do with the Hybrid Division?
"Keep your ears sharp," he said. "You still have your contact as the Hybrid Division?"
"Yes. He says that there's been a lot of changes."
"Positive ones?"
"Seems so. The breeding facilities have all been shut down."
His eyebrows rose. That was a serious change. Hopefully things would continue in that direction, or else his deal with GUN would go out the window and he would ferry his Hybrids away in the dead of night. How, he wasn't sure, but he would figure it out.
"There's one more thing, doctor."
"What?"
"You and Stone have been cleared to leave the base."
His feet stopped moving, leaving him in the middle of the path. Fingers curling into fists, he could feel his teeth threatening to grind into dust by how hard his jaw was clenched.
They had been cleared for field work.
Not only would they be away from the pack, he would have to deal with Stone's anxiety while trying to keep them from being killed on whatever mission they were sent on.
“Martin A. Deeks, NCIS Victim Liaison,” Kensi read, examining Deeks’ new ID. They’d arrived at his new office twenty minute early, so they were killing time.
“Yep. I also got a shiny new nameplate and a desk smaller than the one I had in college,” he said. “Though my supervisor says that’s temporary.”
Once he’d accepted the official offer, everything had come together with head-spinning speed. He’d spent a week getting his life picked apart and then another four weeks in orientation classes. In a way, Deeks was glad it happened so fast, because it didn’t give him time to second guess or overthink.
“You look sexy, by the way,” Kensi complimented him. She touched the collar of his suit jacket. “I’m just surprised you went for full business attire.”
“Eh, I’ll be on my best behavior and then when they can’t do without me, I’ll break out the board shorts and flip flops,” Deeks joked. Kensi smiled at him, her eyes bright with more than amusement.
“What?”
“I’m excited for you.” Inclining her head, she admitted, “And, I’m also nervous.”
“You worried I’m gonna screw up?”
“Absolutely not,” she said immediately. “I’m nervous for me. You won’t be my partner anymore.”
“I haven’t been your partner for months,” Deeks reminded her.
“Now it’s official. I’m also gonna have to train somebody new, which I hate. It’s going to be really different.”
“From everything I’ve seen, you’re going to kick ass like usual because you’re a ninja assassin.” Deeks winked at her and Kensi titled her head, giving him that look that told him he’d remembered something.
“You used to call me a ninja assassin before,” she said softly, her smile bittersweet.
“At this rate, I might remember our first year together soon.” Kensi didn’t say anything, so he nudged her shoulder. “Hey, it’s gonna be ok.”
“I know.” Kensi rubbed her hand up and down his arm and sighed deeply. “It’s just going to be weird to see you at work sometimes and not have you by my side.”
“I’m only going to be a few miles away,” he promised. “If anything goes wrong, just text and I’ll be there, breaking down the doors to your super secret headquarters.”
“I’m counting on it.” Leaning forward, Kensi kissed him for a few second, then pulled back. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you, Kens.”
Kensi pressed her lips together and waved her hand in front of her face. “Ok, you have to go and I need to leave before I start crying,” she said, giving him a gentle push towards the passenger door.
Sneaking a final, quick kiss, Deeks stepped out of the SUV and walked towards his new future.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Malevolent (Podcast)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: John Doe & Arthur Lester, Dennis "The Butcher" Collins & John Doe & Arthur Lester, Dennis "The Butcher" Collins & John Doe, Dennis "The Butcher" Collins & Arthur Lester
Characters: Dennis "The Butcher" Collins, Arthur Lester, John Doe (Malevolent), Andrew Larson | Wallace Larson, Andrew Larson, Jack Larson | Uncle
Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Serial Killers, Assassination Attempt(s), Whump, Angst, Restraints, Threats of Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Blood, Blood Loss, Demonic Possession, (eldritch god possession), Vignette, Fear, Oddly Homoerotic Descriptions, POV John Doe (Malevolent), Hurt No Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Podfic, Podfic Available, Podfic Read by the Author, British English, No AI was used
Series: Part 2 of We, Us and other stories...
Summary:
Podfic recording of 'We and Us', a fic exploration of John’s unheard perspective from part 34: "The Butcher”.
The boys have been kidnapped by Collins, trapped in a creepy basement waiting for Larson to ring unable to communicate and, as per canon, are not thrilled. Especially poor old John! :(
Part 34 The Butcher was really cool to me because we got to see Arthur from someone else's perspective and notice all the pauses and subject changes and times he hesitates because we know John is in there and we're only getting a 3rd of the story because we couldn't hear him for the first time
Thinking about how Arthur didn't want to marry Bella because it felt wrong and how Bella didn't want to marry him not just because it felt wrong but because she did not love him nor his job, and he was selfish. Thinking about how Arthur had no excuses as to why it felt wrong but it just did. Thinking that maybe Arthur isn't as straight as i thought he might be. In today's essay i will-
