Argument 3: “Ok, so maybe an embryo is technically ‘alive.’ But so is an acorn or a tomato or a jellyfish—and we don’t worry about their lives. Do you also fret over killing a living jellyfish?”
Rebuttal: An acorn (or whatever example they use) is a thing. An embryo or fetus is a human being. Unlike everything else, human beings have inherent dignity and immense intrinsic value, irrespective of their capacities. Surely you’re not arguing that all living things have equal value to human beings. If that were true, the act of killing a spider would be equivalent to killing a toddler. That is not the case, though. We simply do not kill innocent human beings. Ref 1. Ref 2.
Argument 4 & 5: “A Fetus or embryo is not a human being. It’s just a ‘potential’ human being. An embryo is no more human than an acorn is an oak tree. A fetus might eventually become a tree, but an embryo is not yet a human being.”
First Rebuttal: The term “potential human” is unscientific and made-up. Being human is not a matter of degrees. You’re either human or you’re not. To be human is to be a member of the species homo sapiens. The unborn are fully living, genetically unique members of our species. Science makes this perfectly clear. They might be smaller, weaker, and less developed, but they are indeed living human beings.
Second Rebuttal: The terms “embryo” and “fetus” have never referred to non-humans. They are simply two stages in the development of human beings—no different than the terms “toddler” or “adolescent.” An embryo does not become a human being; an embryo is a human being.
Argument 6: “A fetus or embryo is not a ‘person’—and only persons have rights in the constitution.”
First Rebuttal: “Personhood” is a manufactured term that only serves to exclude, marginalize, or subjugate a class of “undesirable” people. History has many examples of how “personhood” has been used as a weapon to dehumanize and deny the most basic rights of life and liberty to “undesirables”—blacks, women, Jews, immigrants . . . the list goes on. The unborn need to escape this victimization. Social justice starts in the womb. Source.
Second Rebuttal: A civilized society doesn’t assign “personhood” on the basis of size or capability—unless you’re ready to call the disabled, the frail, or those in comas “non-persons” and undeserving of life. Humanity itself imparts personhood. The only thing required to be a “person” is to be a member of our species. Source.
Third Rebuttal: When it comes to “personhood,” lets not pretend we’re dealing with some complex philosophical question of metaphysics. The definition of “person” is simple and straightforward. A human.
Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergence, Crossovers, time skips and POV changes, cheesy lines and a sprinkle of angst… maybe
Your brother is the Duke, he manages the duchy of Ramsford and the estate, he has people relying on him and people who trust him, he makes sure that House Beaumonts’ legacy doesn’t go up in flames – where do you fit in?
Where do I fit in?
The limo hits some bumps in the road, and Maxwell hits his head on something weirdly shaped. He comes to a few seconds later, realizing he’s been dozing off on his brother’s shoulder. Bertrand isn’t too fussed, he’s too busy reading something on his iPad. How Bertrand could read in a moving vehicle, he will never understand. He switches it off, uttering something about ‘needing coffee and do you want some?’. But Maxwell knows that his older brother is just being gentle on him, too gentle that it makes his mind race thinking about the worst possible case scenarios. Could all of Ramsford have burned down? Did anyone they know die? Did he get somebody pregnant?
Or maybe it’s just because Bertrand had found him with semi-wet clothes and damp, red, eyes – this sad, sad being that entered through the doors of their house in the capital.
Maxwell shakes his head no to the coffee, then shoves a hand in his pocket to make sure its still there. He traces its rounded edges, feeling its carvings press indents into his skin. And it’s a little bit comforting. He takes it out and looks at this cartoony miniature of the Eiffel Tower, bronze, with “Paris” written across the length of it in big bold words.
He and Nadia had laughed at the tackiness of it all. And yet they wore matching t-shirts proudly saying “Bonjour!”.
So, she bought one of the pocket-sized Eiffel Towers when he wasn’t looking.
Maxwell rolls his shoulders and straightens up, getting stiff in the seats. Bertrand preferred the limo when traveling to Ramsford because of that much needed leg-room, but the carpets and the plush seats made Maxwell feel like the air is being crushed out of the space. Bertrand clears his throat and scoots near the mini-fridge, looking for the cold-brew cans they kept stocked in there with the champagne.
They weren’t going to talk about it.
It must be dragging close to 10 am by now since they left at dawn, and Nadia’s probably already in New York. He can sleep away the rest of the day, judging by how nicely Bertrand has been treating him.
The thing is, Nadia knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t keep his promise. And so Maxwell found out through the other students living on her floor – Nadia left the day before. Her door was unlocked, the room left empty except for the furniture that came with it. And then he found it, the mini Eiffel Tower miniature, on the bed. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh as he picked it up. Nadia knew he thought the touristy trinkets were ugly.
What Maxwell realized in Paris is that he’s kind of really fucked. That Nadia is extraordinary, and he loves her.
“We’re almost here.” Bertrand says, sipping his coffee. He grimaces lightly, no wonder in need of a real cup soon. Maxwell nods, knowing that it’s a prompt for him to fix himself before meeting with the main house’s staff.
The limo turns down the road that leads to the vast manor he grew up in. The driveway is long and lined with trees, much like the main palace. He has time to brush back his hair – still feeling weird about its shortness – straighten his clothes, and rub the sleep away from his eyes.
After exchanging a polite welcome with the main house staff, Maxwell has disappeared off to his room in no time – and without any complaints from Bertrand at all, who simply asked him to be present at dinner at six. He tosses off his jacket and toes off his shoes, throwing himself on the bed face-down. His mother would always scold him about wearing outside clothes to bed. Maxwell squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to come – but it doesn’t.
Nadia never did say anything about not calling.
-
Nadia taps the metal ferrule of her brush repeatedly against the paint thinner can’s brim, shaking off the excess. She’s not sure how much time she’s sat there staring at the painting that never seems to be finished.
Back in New York, and she’s literally watching paint dry.
Sighing, she takes the brush again and scrapes it on the drying blob of blue paint, hardly picking up any pigment at first but eventually it gives and seeps through the strands, bright and blue. Blue.
Stop. Have a break. Nadia decides to leave the brush on the container beside the easel and stands up, feeling the strain on her back and her legs as she stretches. Quickly, Nadia opens her window to let the paint and thinner fumes out – she always forgets to, which is why she’s convinced that someday she would inhale too much and just drop dead. Then she cleans up all the candy wrappers (Gran will find out soon enough that she ate all the decorations for the gingerbread house), turns off the lights, and finally collapses on her bed, limbs splayed out – and she sighs, letting her eyes close.
It’s illogical how she hasn’t been able to sleep yet after spending a long-haul flight watching all the romcom movies available and crying. Crying is exhausting. Turns out dramatic airport goodbyes were just for movie screens – and thank god for that. A sharp pang of guilt shoots through her for lying to Maxwell. But he’s stubborn, and Nadia knew he would still try to see her off anyway.
She rolls over and sniffs the soothing smell of fresh sheets, the same old brand of detergent that her grandma always used. Their grandparents’ apartment in New York is small, but it had just enough space for the four of them for when she and Kai visited over the break. It had a small balcony for an herb garden that only their Grandpa cared for. From outside, the light pollution of the city gives casts a bluish glow in tall shadows across her room. It’s closing in on five in the morning, the sunrise late in mid-December but she can see the faint colors of dawn starting to show in the sky.
Her phone rings underneath a pillow somewhere, its muffled sounds making her heart race the longer she leaves it. Her restraint snaps, and she jumps off her bed to rummage through her room for the damned phone. Finally, she finds it underneath an orange throw pillow. She tosses the pillow away and reads the caller ID.
-
You’re not being silly, Maxwell. All this pressure and expectations, they’re insane and being compared to your brother must hurt.
Maxwell picks at his cufflinks – gold with a monogrammed MB. Bertrand hadn’t mentioned that the six pm dinner would be with a fund manager, an estate agent, and the way too slick and smart Chief of Staff; essentially Bertrand’s right-hand man and the one he would sort of replace in the near future. He wouldn’t be taken off the payroll, of course, but he had always been critical of Maxwell and his lack of involvement in estate issues. They all formally wait in line to shake hands with the Duke and his brother.
But I know your brother loves you, and he’s proud of you and all of your achievements.
It still scares Maxwell how charming his brother could be. He lags behind Bertrand and watches him exchange fond greetings with their company. Bertrand turns towards Maxwell and beckons him towards them. His heart swells when Bertrand pats his back reassuringly as he shakes their hands.
He fits here. Right?
I know what it’s like to not feel accepted or competent – but Maxwell, this is your purpose.
Maxwell doesn’t try to dazzle them with whatever he learned that semester, it would be fruitless since these people have been doing this long enough to differentiate the fluff from substance. Instead he sits quietly for once, listening and trying to absorb as much as he could – to no avail. All he can think of was that call.
You’re amazing, intelligent, and caring, and you deserve much more praise. Your brother understands this more than anyone.
You’re starting to sound like my mother and it’s scaring me.
Why do you always joke?
But she laughed. Her laugh sounded like music to his ears, even though it was in bad quality, crackling audio over a phone. Maxwell is broken out of his trance when the first course is served. Bertrand could tell he’s still completely distracted – although thankfully not as miserable as when he had found him.
I can’t handle it, it’s getting too emotional. He reaches into his pocket again to feel the little Eiffel Tower. I didn’t know how I was supposed to let you go.
That’s why I made that decision for you.
Bertrand and the others launch into a deep conversation about estate issues. Maxwell picks at his food, focusing more on the sound of the clatter of silverware against china. Has it really been one whole semester?
Yeah. It was way too quick. I used to wonder a lot if coming to Cordonia was some huge mistake. Since, you know, I didn’t exactly fit in,
He’s not entirely sure that he fits in here too. He tries, he really does. And he wants to help Bertrand who seemed like he aged ten years from all the stress of being a duke.
But Maxwell liked to think of him and Nadia as pieces of the puzzle that come from two different boxes. They had somehow found each other and clicked perfectly. It’s nonsensical, but it happened. It’s where he fits in.
Then I met you and all that went out the window. I was right where I was supposed to be.
Maxwell keeps replaying that part in his head. He took a moment to answer, willed the seconds to slow down.
He remembered everything, it pressed at him, insistent and waiting.
I love you, Nadia.
Nadia yawned softly on the other line, and then all he could hear after that was her faint breathing. Maxwell is brought back to the present, and he closes his eyes to imagine her face under the soft yellow glow of the streetlamps in Paris – wondering what if.
End
.
.
.
.
EPILOGUE
Maxwell steps outside the limo in some street that he vaguely remembers – he could only hope it’s the right one. He tells his driver to come back in a while and smooths down his black button-down shirt, the begins to walk up the strangely quiet street. Well, relatively quiet compared to the rest of New York.
He needed this peace after what just happened, waking up with his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and a pounding headache. As the one morning person in the group, of course he’s the first to wake up – even though it’s already way past the afternoon. The boys back at their suite sleepily complained about all the noise he made while in the shower.
Ha! “Noise”. Excuse you, I was singing.
After Liam disappeared with the waitress, the rest of the boys decided to fuck off and blow some cash away at the nearest high-end club they could find. He doesn’t remember how they ended up at some rooftop party full of hipsters and catching wind of a familiar name in their conversations. Some rising star in the art world. An art show in Brooklyn. Here’s the address.
-
“Nadia! Hey!”
Nadia turns and spots her cousin, Kai, among the crowd. She quickly excuses herself to pass through all the people – it’s still crazy to think about just how much her work blew up.
“You made it!” She envelops Kai in a tight hug, and holds her at arm’s length. “So? What do you think?”
Kai scans the room with an appreciative look on her face. “Are you kidding? This is insane. I’m so proud of you.”
“Not the show!” Nadia gestures at herself. “Do I look okay?”
Kai laughs. “You look like an artist with a popping art show and not to mention a fat bank account after all this.”
“What?”
“She’s saying you look fine and that we promise to step in once you start unironically wearing… berets.” Damien suddenly claps a reassuring hand on Nadia’s shoulder, holding a drink on the other. His wrinkles his nose at someone who passes by wearing a bejeweled beret.
“You’re so judgmental!” Kai stifles a laugh with her hand.
Damien shrugs and takes a gulp from his drink. “So, who do I have to beat up this time?”
“Ugh, stop it.” Nadia rolls her eyes, but smiles fondly at Damien’s over-protectiveness. “His name is Steve and you guys have to promise me that you’ll be nice.”
Kai nods. “That’s mostly directed towards you, Damien.”
“I’ll be nice, alright.” Damien frowns. “I’m just saying- it’s weird that he’s an investment banker who also happens to be a baker, volunteers at animal shelters, and his name is Steve.”
“What do you have against Steves?” Nadia laughs.
“Yeah! Steves are generally nicer than Damiens!” Kai shares a conspiratorial smile with Nadia.
Damien downs the rest of his drink. “I didn’t ask to be ganged up on like this.”
Nadia’s phone rings and her whole face lights up. “Uh oh, I think he’s outside but he’s not sure which one it is.”
Kai shoots Damien a be nice glare as Nadia excuses herself to go to the entrance. Her heart pounds with excitement as she walks. A cold gust of wind greets her as she pushes open the door, and comes face to face with – Maxwell Beaumont.
She feels like all the air has been knocked out of her lungs as Maxwell looks back at her, shocked.
“…hi.”
FACTS THAT ARE DECIDEDLY NOT FUN BECAUSE THESE ARE JUST DISGUISED AUTHOR’S NOTES also I am sad
- So it ended! FINALLY!
- No joke it was so difficult to end this series despite it only having a few chapters. It went through rewrites upon rewrites and even me deleting a WHOLE alternate ending wherein Nadia doesn’t leave early.
- They don’t end up together in both endings but I have greatly considered just throwing all my plans out the window and have Maxwell follow Nadia to New York. Ah… now wouldn’t that be nice.
- Nadia literally slept on Maxwell lolol get it
- If anyone would want to see the draft of the alternate ending I can drop you the google docs link.
- The epilogue happens on the first chapter of both books where they’re BOTH in New York; Nadia has her art exhibit, and the TRR boys are at the “bachelor” party. Again, I changed what happened in each bc… I can.
- Big thanks to @pixieferry who motivated me endlessly to write and her unwavering support, and to @littlecrookedheart for basically greasing the stuck gears (this is a weird phrase) in my brain that finally got me to writing this ending, I appreciate all her help (even the kill someone and Andy cameo suggestions)
- Thank you also to everyone who stuck by this story. I’m so so so happy that I finished it, and I’m so grateful for your patience. This is the first and last fic I will post on this account because I made a separate blog for fics (that’s pretty empty as of now).
tag list: @littlecrookedheart, @femmeshep, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @zaffrenotes, @teamtomsato, @pixieferry
Aisha heard the sound of gunfire pick up as the wolf, Jake, ran out into the open and out of view. There was the sound of high caliber rounds slamming into the ground where Jake must have been a moment before, running in and out of the snipers’ crosshairs before they could register what the hell that thing was. Suddenly there was loud barking, snarling, and screaming. Just as suddenly, the scream was drowned by the sound of gurgling and ripping flesh. Aisha had slit enough throats to know the sound intimately.
The guns for hire were yelling in Russian, trying to figure out what was going on, shouting curses, and then screaming as whatever was attacking them torn them down. Soon, there was only one voice left. And the snarling, the gutteral snarling that made Aisha’s blood run cold. The last remaining survivor of the rampage was pleading for his life, praying to God to save him from the Beast. Once more there was the sound of tearing flesh, horrible screams of pain and fear, and then the screaming stopped.
The only sounds left was a shouting over the radios, asking what the hell was going on, the pounding of paws on the cold dirt ground, and the occassional thud of a sniper round missing its mark. The fence at the far end of the compound, where they had come in, shook and rattled. Then there was nothing but the voice on the radio.
Clay stood slowly, listening. Pooch came over and helped Clay get Aisha to her feet. She leaned heavily against the metal wall.
"Now we wait for Jake’s signal." said Clay, grimacing as Pooch slowly maneuvered the shot arm to be held close to the Colonel’s chest. With Jake’s discarded shirt the Driver made strips to wrap around Clay and Aisha’s wounds. Pooch worked deftly, tying the fabric tight. With Jake’s jacket, Pooch fashioned a sling for Clay’s arm.
From high above them and a bit away, out in the dark trees beyond the compound fence, there was snarling barking, gunshots, a scream, and then silence.
"One down… at least two to go." breathed out Clay, keeping quiet as he strained to listen for any noise. Pooch quietly checked his gear, his hand ghosting over the pouch in which Jake’s glasses lay. He swapped out his nearly empty clip the full one. They couldnt afford the need to change cartridges if he needed to shoot. That done they all stood in silence, listening. The voice on the radio had gone silent.
The sound of snarling and screaming repeated three more times. Each time echoing down from a different direction. There had been four snipers, not three. Silence fell over the compound once more, but only for a moment before a long howl echoed through the dark.
"That’s it." said Clay, moving to put his good arm around Aisha to support her. "Pooch, take Aisha’s other side. Let’s go." Pooch put an arm around Aisha’s other side, transferring his gun to his free hand. They moved together.
Of all the death and destruction that Aisha had seen in her lifetime, nothing had prepared her for the slaughter that greeted them. The ground was soaked with blood. Parts of men lay scattered, torn and thrown far from their bodies. Large paw prints lead this way and that through the bloody mud. Aisha gagged and swallowed down the bile that threatened to crawl up her throat. She forced herself to focus on walking. As she did she remembered Jensen’s words, "Its…. not going to be pretty."
They were almost completely to the fence when there is a quick whistle. Aisha involuntarily jumped at the noise and looked up quickly. Cougar stood just inside the fence waving them to hurry. The wolf, Jake, stood behind him. Blood covered Jake wolfen jaws, neck, shoulders and paws. Jake was panting slightly, but his ears were up and alert. Clay gave out orders as Cougar helped them through the fence.
"Jake take point. Cougar on our six. We get to the safehouse, patch up, and move." Both Cougar and Jake nodded simultaneously. The wolf turned and ghosted into the trees ahead of them.
Everything was silent in the trees, except for the sound of their breathing and their footfalls. Every so often Jake would appear along the path in front of them, silently waiting for them to catch up, the trotting off once more. Jake was talking them on a round about way back to the vehicle, probably avoiding where a sniper lay dead, torn and drenched in his own blood. They were far enough into the trees that any sound from the compound was muffled beyond their hearing. Aisha felt a gentle breeze pushing at the back of her neck, a relief to cool her adrenaline fired body.
Jake made a gruff huff of a noise and appeared before them, trotting quickly up to them. The four of them stopped at this. Jake was sniffing the ground and the air, his manner inquisitive. He trotted right up to them, pressing his cold nose against their exposed skin, sniffing and searching for something that they couldnt smell. Aisha stiffened when it was her turn, but Jake paid no mind to it, moving on to Cougar. He scented Cougar and then moved on, sniffing the ground where they had just walked and then followed the scent up. It was a scent being carried on the breeze. Jake started to growl deep in his throat, tensing for attack and glared back into the darkness behind them.
"Jake, what is it? What is wrong?" asked Cougar, moving to stand next to the wolf. Jake broke from his staring match with the dark long enough to look up at Cougar. Jake quickly licked the back of Cougar’s hand affectionately, and then bounded off the way they had come.
"Jake!" Cougar hissed after him, but Jake was already gone.
"Something’s following us?" voiced Aisha after a moment. Cougar didn’t answer, staring into the darkness which Jake had disappeared into. Clay was the one to answer.
"Jake doesn’t growl like that when we have something trying to come up on us."
"He recognized the scent." Cougar spoke quietly. Clay and Pooch looked at each other, confused and concerned. Clay cleared his throat.
"Pooch, take point. If I’m right, Jake didnt take up that far off course and we should get to the van soon." Pooch could find his way back to his precious van blindfolded if needed but Clay didn’t voice that opinion. "Cougar, keep our six. If anything Jake can track your scent the best. We’ll rendezvous with him at the van." Cougar nodded and turned, but his eyes were hidden behind the brim of his hat.
"Yes Boss."
They are walking for another ten minutes before there is the sounds of snarling and barking and of shots being fired. This is quickly followed by yelling and screaming. They dont look back as the voices begin to dwindle. They reached where the van is hidden quickly. As Pooch helped get Aisha and Clay into the van one final shot ran out, followed by a high pitch yelp. They all froze. Cougar was tense and ready to spring. He shook with the effort to keep still.
Clay broke the silence once more, speaking quietly to Pooch.
"Help me get Aisha in the van. As soon as Jake shows up, we’re out of here." Pooch nodded, though Clay could see that the Driver was worried too. "He’ll be fine." Clay said reassuringly.
The wait was not long. Jake appeared out of the trees at a quick trot, but he was limping, favoring his right leg to keep weight off the left. He was covered in fresh blood, much of it not his own. Cougar visibly relaxed when Jake appeared.The wolf went immediately to him and licked the Sniper’s hand.
"Did ya’ get um?" joked Pooch, opening the back door of the van. Jake gave Pooch a dark glare that caused Pooch to take a step away from the wolf as it jumped up into the back of the van. Cougar followed.
"Man, you are so touchy when you get shot." grumbled Pooch as he shut the van doors and got into the driver’s seat. Jake settled into the back corner of the van, curling up on his right side. Aisha could see the bullet wound now, dark red blood matting the fur one Jake’s hip. Cougar sat next to Jake and reached into his pack for cloths to clean the wound. As Cougar reached to treat the wound Jake would move his head to block Cougar, trying to keep Cougar from putting pressure on it. Jake flinched and yelped quietly when Cougar managed to get past him. His whining got louder as he attempted to move Cougar’s hand, gently gripping the Sniper’s hand in his teeth and lifting it away.
"Let him be Cougs. He wont stop fighting you until the bullet works its way out." said Clay, resting his head back against the headrest.
"And his whining will just get more annoying." muttered Pooch from the driver’s seat. Cougar sighed and let his hand be moved. Clay and Pooch were right. Jake wouldnt let him anywhere near the wound until his body pushed the bullet back out again.
Jake, Cougar’s hand still held in his teeth, gently set the hand down on Cougar’s lap. Then the wolf wiggled as well as he could in the van, whimpering quietly as his leg was jostled, to push his head into the gap between Cougar’s arm and his thigh. Cougar moved to allow Jake access and the wolf rested his head on Cougar’s thigh. Cougar’s hand came to rest on Jake’s head, gently stroking the fur between the hacker’s ears.
Aisha watched Jake as best as she could in the darkness of the van. She saw how Jake closed his eyes tightly. Saw how he tensed and drew his wounded leg closer whenever the van went over a bump too violently. She saw how deeply the wolf took its breaths. She saw how his leg trembled.
Aisha watched him through the entire ride to the safe house. Jake didn’t move from Cougar’s lap until Pooch threw open the van doors. As soon as the way was clear, Jake bolted. He made a whimpered sound when he jumped down from the van, but did not stay. Jake hurried as fast as his limp could take him around the back of the single story building.
"Jake!" Cougar called after the wolf, jumping out of the van. Aisha shuffled to let her good leg hang out the door of the van. Clay and Pooch were coming around to help her into the house.
"He’s fine Cougar." said Clay annoyed. His own wounds were starting to fray his cool. They would need Cougar to help with their own injuries. As Aisha was helped to her feet, and they began the short trek to the safe house she heard Cougar say quietly, "He’s never run off like that…"
