March Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month

[Sean *]

This is my favorite challenge of all the livelong year, because penguins live in colonies, and this is a collaborative project.

For newer players unfamiliar with how this works, here is our site history: Three years ago, Tony and Mads challenged each other to write 300 prompts, which they completed in under three months.

Two years ago, Hammel was given the challenge of doing 100 prompts in one month, and we completed it with flying colors. Last year, we were challenged to do 150 prompts, and we completed that within two months.

This year, we are trying again to do 100 prompts in one month’s time.

The rules:

• Characters must be Hammel-related, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Alternate universe interpretations of characters are allowed.
  
• Entries must be at least 300 words.
  
• You can enter as many ficlets as you wish
  
• Ficlets must be titled with the prompt and prompt number.
  
• Staff will update the prompt list as often as possible, striking through filled prompts.
  
• Do not write a prompt that has already been filled.
  
• You may claim a prompt by posting in this thread with that prompt. You then have 24 hours to complete it and edit the post. After 24 hours, the post will be deleted.
  
• Please do not claim more than one prompt at a time. This promotes and preserves fairness to everyone.

1. Crash 2. Dim 3. Futile 4. Erratic 5. Loved 6. Soft 7. Hold 8. Shackles 9. Broken 10. Precious 11. Odds and Ends 12. Tea 13. Twisted 14. Echo 15. Soothe 16. Fight 17. Naked 18. Push 19. Alive 20. New 21. Born 22. Murmur 23. Devious 24. Isolation 25. Starve

26. Breakable 27. Winter 28. Ignore 29. Color 30. Grace 31. Belong 32. Choke 33. Reach 34. Difficult 35. Heat 36. Veneer 37. Fall 38. Nightmare 39. Contagious 40. Good Riddance 41. Magic 42. Scarred 43. Last Dance 44. Burn 45. Steady 46. Monster 47. Voodoo 48. Shine 49. Intent 50. Camping

51. Grave 52. Machine 53. Destination 54. Nowhere 55. Garden 56. I Know 57. Dream 58. Dust 59. Destiny 60. Spring 61. Sigh 62. Fingertips 63. Waiting 64. Muse 65. Revenge 66. Summer 67. Desire 68. Free 69. Celebration 70. Stars 71. Morgue 72. Space 73. Whitewash 74. Alone 75. Coma

76. Letters 77. Phone Call 78. Music 79. Silence 80. Cards 81. Emblem 82. Elephant 83. Monopoly 84. Reality 85. Serenity 86. Bone 87. Chalk Dust 88. Manuscript 89. Ink 90. Perfection 91. Ring 92. Drive 93. Missing 94. Full Moon 95. New Direction 96. Obsessive 97. Justice 98. Protection 99. Powerless 100. Immortal

[Vincent Meian]

77. Phone Call


It's been years since he'd heard from that woman. Not that either of them ever really tried to keep in contact considering they really didn't like each other, but suddenly having her message him out of the blue was something fairly strange in of itself. How'd she even get his number, anyway? Talk about stalkerish, considering that one of the first things he'd done on reaching Oxford was change his phone number and get a new pager.

Suekeichi stared mutely at the pager that lay vibrating on his desk, hand paused midway in the process of writing an answer to an English literature question as the sombre melody of a Beethoven piece filled the silent space. It was 1996, chilly as the year began to turn from fall towards winter again, and a thick fog had rolled in from the water to blanket London once more in a drearily dangerous cloud of grey. Inside his apartment, the biology major was dressed for the cold in a pale cream sweater and dark slacks, a scarf wrapped around his neck and keeping his shaggy black locks from brushing his shoulders as he hunched over the writing desk. It was depressing in London, yes... but it was better than what awaited him back in Japan.

A few long moments after the message had been received, a slender hand picked up the device and read the quick blurb of text alongside the number it hand been sent from. "We need to talk - Nik" was all it said, the English letters seeming more surreal considering that he knew where the sender had been located.

Talk? Why did she of all people need to talk to him? Nakia Kenjutsushi had always hated his guts, ever since the first day they met. She'd barely even tried being friendly towards him, despite the fact that she was dating his best friend. Well, former best friend at this point, but who was keeping score? Writing down the number on the pager, the metahuman then erased the message and put the device down, focusing back on his work.

He had better things to do than talk to her.


-------


Months went by, and every week there was the same page from the Japanese doctor who despised him so. Each time, he looked at the message, and each time he erased it without abiding by its request. There was no point to it, really; aside from his mother (and ex-best friend, up until about a year ago), Suekeichi had broken ties with everyone from his past in Japan. Why would he want to open up those old wounds again? Especially when the person who wanted to talk to him would just make everything that much worse - Nik wasn't sympathetic and tactful like his mother was, and she tended to speak her mind whenever she saw fit. Noble, in some respects, but annoying for a grieving widow.

Finally, the messages stopped. It'd been about three weeks since the last one, and the new year had passed uneventfully, leaving the Japanese botanist to vaguely wonder if something else happened without really caring either way. Thus, it caught him completely by surprise when his roommate told him there was a phone call for him. Stunned, Suekeichi had wandered into the main room and answered the device, wondering who it could possibly be.

It really shouldn't have surprised him that much.

"What part of 'we need to talk' do you not understand, Minamori?"

"I'm sorry; you must have me confused with someone who cares, Doctor. You have finally finished your residency, haven't you?" Already this wasn't off to a good start.

"I wouldn't be calling unless it was important."

"Oh, I'm sure. Not like little old me; the feckless boy your boyfriend seems to like so much who calls on a whim simply to chat. No, heavens forbid that people don't communicate when there isn't something wrong."

"Minamori-"

"Just get to the point already," he snapped. "I have semester finals in a week, and I don't have time to waste on someone who hates me."

There was a pause on the line, and when the woman's voice came back it seemed softer, more pleading... and infinitely sorrowful. "I don't hate you. I just need to talk to you. It's-"

He didn't listen to the sadness, didn't care that he could hear it from thousands of miles away. "It's always important with you, isn't it? Well, you can find someone else to whine to because I don't-"

"Damn it, Suekeichi!" The curse was a shout and a sob, and for a long moment he was silent, simply listening to the soft sounds of weeping as his conversation partner tried to compose herself. Honestly, the level of emotion was startling - Nik never cried. Finally, her voice found its way into words again. "It's Vincent, you damn fool. I'm calling because he's hurting and I don't know what to do. I can't do all of this by myself."

"...What do you mean 'it's Vincent'?" he asked dubiously. "Is he in trouble or something?" Is he dead?

"He... was hurt. He was injured, and my specialty isn't psychology, and I don't know how to help him. Gods Suekeichi, please... I... I just need someone to help me."

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"I don't know!" came the shouted response, followed quickly by a few more muffled sobs and deep breaths. "He... I just... I don't know. I just thought that maybe you could help. You know him as well as I do, probably better. Maybe if he can see he's not alone, he won't... he won't vanish on me again."

Vanish? As a group, the three of them only used that particular word for one reason - a reference to his friend's unstable and unpredictable power. "He used his powers recently? Why should that matter?"

"It... he used them under stress. It was an accident - he didn't mean to."

"...What did the military do about it?"

"Kept him for a year. Watched him, retrained him, then sent him back to me broken. He... he's not the man I married, Suekeichi."

"Married?" He hadn't heard anything about that. Then again, the college student had a stack of unopened letters somewhere in his room from his old friend. Maybe it was mentioned in there. He shook off the shock. "People change," he stated coolly. "You can't expect him to be the same forever."

There was a groan from the other end, the sound almost like an anguished mewl. "You don't understand," she sighed. "You have to see him to know. Please, Minamori - I can't handle this by myself."

"Well, you're going to have to. I'm not coming back to Japan."

"But-"

"Don't call this number again." More firmly than he should have, the plant manipulator hung up the phone, the bells inside chiming from the force of impact. He was angry, yes, but a sliver of concern had begun worming its way through the veil of anger and misery in his own mind. Snorting in derision, the Japanese man turned about and went back to his studying. Thoughts of his old friend plagued him however, even without the doctor's incessant nagging via page, and with a week he could not focus on his work. What could have spooked a woman like her so badly that she had come to him for help?

That, my friends, is why they say curiosity killed the cat.




This ficlet is canon (or close enough to for government work).

[Noah Washington]

22. Murmur

It was one of those nights. Noah had dropped by after finishing work and Valerie didn't feel like studying. Especially not when he was there to distract her. They ended up curling up together on the couch underneath a blanket, the TV playing quietly in the background. At one point she turned around, pressing herself against him and tangling their legs together. Noah threaded his arm around her neck and despite the small space, he was completely comfortable idly watching the TV while she seemingly slept against him.

Eventually his eyes closed too, and he thought that at any moment he'd probably end up falling asleep with her. But his eye twitched, his eyebrows furrowing suddenly.

Her lips had moved against the skin of his arm. He could feel it. But despite that, no sound flowed to his ears. Either she didn't vocalise what she wanted to, or it was so quiet he couldn't have heard it. A sigh followed shortly after, her breath tickling the hairs on his skin. And her lips pressed against his skin in a kiss to tie it all off.

"You alright?" Noah asked quietly. He was being cautious.

"Hn?" The sound passed through her lips in a daze, jolting her back into reality.

"I just thought you said something." He admitted, opening his eyes again and glancing towards her.

"Did I?" Valerie asked; a hitch in her usual joking demeanour. He felt a little bad then, like he'd caught her out doing something she shouldn't have.

"I guess not." He replied finally, running his hand along her arm and closing his eyes again. He knew when to leave the issue be. Besides, it wasn't like it was important anyway.

Months later, when the couple were even more secure in their relationship, she told him it was the first time she had said she loved him.

And true to form, he jokingly argued that she never actually said it.

[Odion Martins]

#97 – Justice

“Why’d you have to drag him along?” Lani whispered quietly as the three thieves walked towards the building, having parked some blocks away. Odion was getting tired of seeing Lani’s ex-boss, tired of being in Boston.

“Because he saved your ass last time,” Odion replied, not trying to hide the words. Jared subsequently decided not to hide his smug smile.

“Come on Lani, don’t ya love me yet?” Jared asked, running to catch up to the couple. “Red Rover!” He shouted, flying through their entangled fingers with his hands in the air like a maniac. Lani just rolled his eyes and Odion smirked.

“I think we should adopt him,” Odion said to Lani, whose face fell and Odion could only chuckle to himself. He wasn’t as predictable as Lani thought, was he?

“I don’t like this plan,” Lani said, going back to holding Odi’s hand.

“Why, because he’s here?” Odion asked, nodding towards Jared, who had slowed down some and was walking backwards. Lani nodded and Odion pulled him closer. “Just relax. We went over the master plan a hundred times, we can’t get it wrong.”

“But,” Lani glanced over at Jared, and then back to Odion, “I don’t want anyone to be hurt.”

Odion knew that’s what this would boil down to. “I know,” he said, “but you’re talking to a couple of thieves who have nothing to lose, so you might as well give us a chance.” Lani gave him a surprised look, before smiling impishly. Damn, Jared must’ve been rubbing off on him or something.

“Ready?!” Jared was asking as they neared. And without further preamble, he walked backwards into the building.

Odion and Lani rounded to the back of the building, Jared waving them inside after turning off the alarm according to Lani’s instruction.

Lani knew this place like the back of his hand, so Jared would stick with him, since he had shit for brains. He could charm his way through most circumstances, but not this one where there were clear sides.

Odion gave Lani a parting glance before going to do his part of the plan. He too, had memorized the building, and he had the most important part of all, just in case it didn’t go according to plan.

Stopping time, Odion went right into the main office, finding it empty and unoccupied.

Today wasn’t the final showdown, but they were going to make things difficult. Odion riffled through the files on the top of the desk – there were a few. Lani was one, himself, and now Jared. Surprisingly, Adrianna had a file as well, along with anyone else Lani had ever spoken to. Someone named Diana? Odion wasn’t sure about them all, but he knew the files and whatever copies of the files were around had to be destroyed.

“Well well well,” someone had said, making Odion jump out of the seat. When had he let time resume? He gulped hard at seeing Lani’s old boss. And why wasn’t it starting again?

--

Hearing a crash, Lani and Jared looked at each other.

“He’ll be fine mate, honestly, that ranga kid is the best actor,” Jared said, arming himself with yet another gun.

Lani sneered, “How many weapons do you need?”

Jared smirked and then shrugged, “As many as I can carry.”

Lani wasn’t going to argue, “We need to go check on him.” Jared only smirked, lacing another throwing star into his belt loop. It was nice, to see someone actually care for the soulless ginger as much as Lani did.

“Alright alright,” Jared said, grabbing Lani’s arm, ready to pull him through various walls, “you worry almost as much as he does.”

Lani didn’t respond as he could hear a struggle going on in the main office.

--

This wasn’t part of the plan. Odion was not supposed to be getting restrained by two of his peers, well, peers once upon a time. Lani himself had to be restrained into the shadows by Jared as Odion’s face was hit with the barrel of a shotgun.

“I know he’s here somewhere,” his old boss was saying, and Lani gritted his teeth. Jared had phased them through the furthest wall, to give Odion room to work, but that wasn’t happening.

Odion didn’t say anything, and the man on the left hit Odion again. The time turner held his head up stubbornly. His face looked like it had been put through a meat grinder.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and finally broke away from Jared, his power struggling against the other meta as he stepped forward. He was going to throw his boss out the window, and then...

But as Lani stepped into the middle of the room, his telekinesis seemed to disappear, and he felt exposed. It was worse than being naked, like something integral had been taken from him.

“Ah, there he is,” the older man was saying now, crossing his arms in front of him as though he had won already.

Someone jumped down in front of him, and Lani took a couple steps back. He had never seen this woman before, but he wasn’t going to take his chances.

“Let him go,” Lani was saying, but it didn’t come out as strongly as he’d hoped. Odion was breathing heavily, not struggling against his captors.

“We’re not going to play this game again, are we Lani?” His boss asked sweetly. “I was hoping you could be the next meta to join my team. Have you met Sonia yet?” He asked, and Lani could feel his heart collapse. There was no time to think.

A few other goons had appeared from behind, Jared in hand. Two more yet probed Lani in the back with what he knew was a handgun. Jared was struggling immensely as he and Lani were pushed to where Odion was, the captor on Jared’s left had a throwing star wedged into his flesh just above the eyebrow.

“Unfortunately,” Lani’s boss was saying, “I only have room for one more.” With a snap of his fingers, Odion and Jared were pushed to the floor. Jared had to be kicked a few times to stay down, and Odion looked solemnly at the floor.

Lani gulped, looking between Jared and Odion.

The last thing he Odion saw, was Lani standing before his boss, far from victorious. And he felt bad, because he knew that Lani was going to feel guilty forever.

[Calliope Gallo]

43. Last Dance - Set in 2009

The orchestral music swirled to its crescendo, the loud crashing of the cymbals rounding off the upbeat tempo to perfection. Couples separated, nodding to each other in acknowledgment and for the most part they ignore the instrumentalists that were nothing more than loud furniture in their eyes. High society parties; where they care for the music, just not the musicians.

A younger Calliope Gallo - thirteen at this time - locks eyes with a familiar companion, a year her senior. Chester's lips turn into something of a signature grin and he offers a quick tilt of his head. Calliope presses her lips together to stop the smile from forming before she makes her way over to him and says; "I've been looking for you ever since they played the Danube..."

"I got caught up." With the Chevalier's, she figures. But she doesn't say anything.

Instead, she laughs; "Eric says he's too tired. He's not as good on his feet as you are." Callie rests her hands behind her back, her fingers idly playing against each other for comfort.

"Are you asking me to dance with you? Again?" Chester denotes, raising his eyebrow. Callie shakes her head, stepping back with a bounce to her step.

"Nope." She replies, offering a smile as she turns and walks away. Eventually his fingers circle around her arm and somewhat graciously, he forces her to turn around.

"You're not a very good liar. You know that, right?" He asks, which causes her cheeks to flush slightly. Caught.

"I... Wasn't lying. I was insinuating."

"That's a big word." Chester shot out, coupling the potential insult with a laugh as he lifted her hand in his own. His other hand rests in the small of her back and - leader that he was - he leads the dance. "Your family are going away for the summer again, aren't they? Every year you do."

"Do you end up missing me?" Callie asks, not seriously. Chester scoffs, but then shrugs.

"Maybe." Chester's hold around her waist grows a little tighter as he pulls her inward. Callie's eyes are turned out towards their hands; after all, it's a waltz in front of a lot of judging eyes. He leans closer slightly, whispering; "How mad would you be if I let you go right now?"

"Don't. You. Dare." Calliope replies through her teeth, sliding her gaze towards him just in time to catch an incredibly amused smirk on his face.

"I wouldn't. I promise." He reassures, but she continues to watch him, "I swear."

"Good. Otherwise next time I'll just stick with Eric," She teases, "Or maybe Niko and his two left feet."

"Then you'd end up missing me."

...He had a point. A very valid point. So Calliope remained quiet and let the silence that befell them be enveloped in the music that surrounded. An inward smile remains printed on her lips the whole time; being able to let go and feel the different harmonies to the melody with someone she genuinely trusted was one of the best things in the world. For a thirteen year old obsessed with dancing, at least. Finding a worthwhile partner who was also such a good friend seemed to allow everything else to just... Make sense. She didn't know if it actually did make sense to anyone but her. Maybe that was all that mattered. Soon enough the song was over.

And they, like all other couples around them separated, nodding to each other in acknowledgment.

"Can't wait to hear about your trip." His words are naturally genuine, and he smiles towards her. Callie smiles back idly and turns her attention else where.

It wasn't like she knew he would come back so... Different.

"I'll call you, okay?" He says, and she nods. Callie tucks the idle strands of blonde behind her ear and watches as he walks away again. It was the last time she could recall doing that with him. Dancing. He seemed to stop dancing or even talking with her at these family events once the summer had come and gone. Callie wasn't sure why.

But she heard he met a boy.

[Odion Martins]

#46 – Monster

Odion regretted ever staying in France with Rhett. It was like staying had been the verdict on his life. He had never come across that telekinetic again in the field nearly a year ago today. And as far as he was concerned, he still didn’t have a family.

Sure Declyn had approached him in Kocher, but Odion didn’t care. He still didn’t believe he really had a family, nor did he want to have a family. Rhett’s family was awful enough.

His bratty little sister drove Odion insane, and that was just the start of the list of complaints. Odion only dealt with her to continue staying with Rhett. And continuing to stay with Rhett was starting to be bitterer, and less sweet. He would do anything for the man who wouldn’t do much of anything for him. Odion wouldn’t know how to defend himself after all.

But everyone had their breaking point.

Odion had discovered the only way out of the relationship, was to end it. Walking into their shared bedroom, Odion found Rhett fast asleep. He moved about the room in a silent hush, wondering if this could really work.

Stopping time, Odion went forwards, putting Rhett about five years into the future. And there he was abandoned while Odion returned to the present. His life was virtually free from Rhett now, but why wasn’t he happy?

Odion left their apartment and went for a walk. No sooner had he taken two steps than someone was standing in front of him.

“So that’s how it is?” An older version of Rhett asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

Odion just looked down, wishing he could disappear.

“Aren’t we in love?” Rhett asked. Odion chanced a glance at the blond, who seemed like he had everything together and didn’t need Odion for anything. Wasn’t that how it had always been? Wasn’t Odion the one doing all the chasing while Rhett simply got to be?

“You don’t know the meaning of the word,” Odion said.

Rhett chuckled, and suddenly there was a gun in his hand. “Do it then,” Rhett said, handing it over to Odion. “Get rid of me if I’m really such a monster.”

The weight of the object pulled on Odion’s forearms, and he looked nervously at Rhett, who looked so smug it made Odi’s blood boil.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Odion warned, raising the gun. The action only made Rhett laugh.

Odion cocked it into ready position. Rhett gulped. “You wouldn’t.”

--

Sitting up suddenly from the bed, Odion found himself gasping for breath.

“Are you alright?” Came a soft voice at his side, wrapping his arm around Odion’s waist.

“Fine, just... had a terrible, terrible nightmare,” he said wistfully, tears welling in his eyes.

“Go back to sleep,” Rhett said, rolling around and getting comfortable once more.

Oh, if only dreams came true.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

38. Nightmare
(or, Domestic Bliss)

It was always nice to wake up to breakfast in bed. Anastasia Neville set the tray down carefully as Sean smiled at her and sat up in bed.

"Morning, dear," the blond said cheerfully, handing over a mug of coffee then slipping under the covers beside him as he reached for a piece of toast. <content> was spilling off them both in waves. "SJ's watching cartoons. We might have as much as a whole hour before he wants to find out what mummy and daddy are doing."

Sean chuckled, reaching for the paper as Anastasia managed to steal a few grapes before finding the novel she'd left on her bedside table.

Several moments passed in comfortable silence, before Anastasia glanced up as the <sleepslurredcontent> began to grow bitter with <apprehension/frustration.>

Of course, Sean knew what she was going to ask before her mouth opened. "Metas being wrongfully oppressed, as usual." His mouth twisted down at the corners, and Anastasia patted his arm in sympathy, her blond head resting on his shoulder as she smoothed out the jagged edges of his <anger/indignation> that were pricking at the edge of her mind.

"You're doing so much for the resistance," the empath murmured, turning to press her lips to his bare shoulder. "But this is our space. We can worry about that later."

Shifting slightly, Sean wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. "Wise words," he agreed, then carefully shifted the almost empty tray onto the table beside the bed. "Now, by my calculations, we still have at least half an hour left before junior gets curious."

Anastasia smiled slowly and laughed as her husband rolled back towards her, reaching out with her arms as-

Sean's eyes opened suddenly, to find himself in his bed, with the familar warmth of Josh beside him. His skin was clammy with cold sweat.

"Whasswrong?" Josh murmured sleepily, not quite willing to open his eyes.

Sean shook his head. "Nothing. Just a nightmare."

Still, he was quite thankful at that moment that Joshua was not the telepath in the relationship

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

76. Letters - Contains excessive swearing

Dom sat at his desk, resting his palm on his forehead as his fingers dug through his fringe. He was hunched over a piece of paper, flicking a pen in his free hand.

"I need you in here." He called from the study. Well, he demanded.

Lucy appeared in the doorway a few moments later, lifting the glasses from her forehead and perching them on her nose again. She pressed her palm to the desk, leaning over him and glancing at the paper with clear cut curiosity. "Why."

Dom slid the paper in her direction. "Erase it." He shot out, glancing away. Lucy took advantage of this lack of attention, picking it up and forcing herself away. Dom turned in his chair, his eyes wide.

"Wait a sec." She raised her hand to deny him, "Lemme read it."

"Cut this shit Lucy. Just erase it."

"Nah, fuck off." She shot back, turning on a heel and walking out of the study again. "Dear... Evonne Lef-Lefef..."

"Lefevre!" Dom shouted, irritation radiating from his tone.

"Woah, hold up. Isn't that your mum?" Dom didn't answer. Lucy traced her steps back towards the study, her fingers curling around the paper in her own frustration. "What the hell?"

"She wrote to me a week ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lucy was an angry girl naturally. But this was already pushing her into that territory that Dom didn't like.

"She asked if Carter and I ever plan on visiting her at the Chateau again. She misses us."

"Did you tell her fuck no?" Lucy asked, and he shook his head. "Well you can tell her fuck no."

"Shut up, Lucy." Dom waved his hand at her, turning in his chair back to the desk. He retrieved another piece of paper and started writing. An irritated Lucy glared at his back and he knowingly ignored her. After a minute or so, she walked out.

But within moments, she came back again and tore the paper from the desk. The ground beneath the house shook with Dom's rage. "Lucy!"

"That doesn't look like a no to me." Lucy replied, glancing at the paper, "Jesus, Dom! Why would you actually wanna see her again?"

"She's my mother."

"That never stopped you ragging on her before."

Finally, Dom stood up. He left the chair and walked with purpose towards her. She stood her ground, unwavering despite Dom's intention to scare her. "What's your problem? Sort it out and accept my decision here."

"Why." She shot back, turning her gaze away. He stepped towards her and she stepped away, her back resting against the frame of the doorway.

"I'm done being angry about this. You should be too."

"She bloody well hurt you, you idiot." Lucy retorted, but her done dropped significantly. "You and your brother."

"Perhaps we should allow her to try to make amends. That letter goes a long way."

"She hurt you." Lucy repeated. "And that-"

"Don't tell me it hurts you too." Dom scoffed, chuckling at the thought. Lucy curled her hand into a fist, hurling it at his shoulder with as much force as she could readily muster. Though... She laughed too, as he took the hit with a slight flinch to the corner of his mouth. A wince from pain.

"No. It's supposed to be impossible for anyone to do." She paused, her hand reaching up and curling around his cheeks and chin. It caused his lips to purse from the push of her fingers. "Anyone but me."

"Trust me." He forced out. "I'll be fine."

Lucy waited as long as she could; they probably stood there for almost a minute before her hold on his face loosened slightly. She pulled him towards her, pressing her lips to his as gently as she could muster. Her hand trailed along his cheek to the back of his neck, her fingers curled in his white blonde hair.

And she pulled on it suddenly to force him back; "Fine. Write your gay letter."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#80 – Cards

“Doctor Neville, I do apologize for the delay, but my last meeting went a bit long. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

William Neville shook his head slightly, waving off the apology. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Good.” The man tried to peer around William, but he was so tall that seeing behind him was impossible. William was used to that – it was part and parcel of having height in the Neville genes – and he stepped to the side.

Seated behind him was a grade school boy, not yet old enough for junior high school, and clad in a school uniform despite the sweltering heat of summer in New York City. His arms were clasped tightly in his lap, and his gaze was firmly on his shoes.

“You must be Sean.”

Upon being addressed, the boy snapped his head up and nodded a single time. He said nothing.

“I’m Doctor Montague Ullman,” he said, offering his hand for a handshake. The boy looked at him with trepidation; but his inherent politeness won the struggle with his nervousness, and he took the doctor’s hand.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Ullman assured him with a smile. “Has your father explained why you’re here today?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then if you’ll come with me, we can get you set up.” Ullman turned to William and instructed, “Doctor Neville, you’ll be in the booth with my assistant.”

With that, he led them through a door in the waiting area that led into a long corridor. Everything was sterile, just like at the hospital, but there were far fewer people. Sean’s gaze remained on the floor, while his father and Ullman walked ahead of him.

When they reached the end of the corridor, Ullman ushered Sean into a room and told him to take off his shoes, his wristwatch, his belt and anything else that contained metal. Clad now in socks that provided little traction on the slippery floors, Sean held onto his father’s arm for the walk to the testing room.

Somehow, it managed to be even more sterile than the corridor.

Ullman instructed the boy to sit in one of the two chairs, separated from the other by a Plexiglas wall. The type used for prison visits.

Sean tried not to think about that too much. Instead, he sat down as instructed and stared at his socks.

A younger man in a laboratory coat came over and introduced himself to William and Sean as Daryl Bem, one of the research assistants. Bem then took William over to an observation booth, elevated over the main floor of the room, while Ullman seated himself behind the Plexiglas wall, across from Sean.

“We’re going to play a few games,” he told Sean with a smile.

The boy continued to stare down at his feet.

Ullman waited to receive confirmation that his assistant and Sean’s father were safely in the observation booth, and that that the recording devices were operational. As soon as he did, he picked up a deck of cards, a pencil and pad, and then a pair of spoons in succession. “Which do you want to play with first?”

Sean didn’t lift his head. “I can’t do the spoons at all,” he whispered. “And I’m not very good at drawing.”

“You don’t have to make it pretty,” Ullman told him. “But how about we start with the cards, then?”

“All right.”

Ullman chose five cards from the desk and held them up to Sean one at a time – face up. “There are five symbols: Circle, Cross, Square, Star, and Waves. I’m going to draw a card, and you just have to tell me what it is without seeing it. Do you have any questions?”

“Should I close my eyes?”

“That isn’t necessary.” Ullman proceeded to shuffle the cards several times. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Sean turned his head to look down at his socks again.

Ullman drew the first card and looked at it briefly, making sure that the card never faced Sean.

The boy didn’t look up. “Square.”

Ullman put that card down face up in one pile and drew another.

“Circle.”

That same card went in the same pile as the previous one. Ullman drew another.

“Cross.”

That card found its way into the same pile.

As they continued through all twenty-five cards in the pack, there remained only one discarded pile. When they finished, Ullman gave Sean a curious look. “Perhaps you should close your eyes after all, Sean.”

“All right.” The boy closed his eyes.

Ullman shuffled the cards again and then picked one up.

“Waves.”

The card found its way into a renewed pile, face up.

Twenty-five cards and a single pile later, Ullman looked over at the booth and signaled for Bem to put in a new tape. Bem did and signaled down that they were ready.

“We’re going to play another game now, Sean. Do you want to do the spoons or the drawing?”

Sean opened his eyes and looked up at Ullman. “I can’t do the spoons.”

“Drawing it is then.” Ullman passed a pencil over to Sean. “I’m going to draw something and I want you to draw what I draw. But I won’t tell you what it is. Do you have any questions?”

“May I have some Aspirin?”

“Why?”

“I have a headache.”

Ullman glanced down at the pile of cards and then nodded. Not wanting to leave the room once testing had begun, he signaled for Bem to contact one of the other assistants. A couple of moments later, a young woman entered with a glass of water and two Aspirin tablets. Sean thanked her and swallowed them quickly with a few sips of water.

“Are you ready now?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’m going over to the corner so you can’t see my arms move. You stay here and begin drawing as soon as you have an idea of what to draw.” Ullman rose from his seat and retreated to the corner as promised. He began to draw.

Sean looked down at his own paper and sighed to himself. All of his drawings always looked like stick figures. But he had to try his best.

Five minutes later, Ullman folded his paper and carried it close to his chest before seating himself across from Sean again. “Are you finished?”

“Yes.” The boy lifted his head to look up at the doctor.

“Can you show me what you drew?”

Sean held his picture up to the glass. The lines were uneven and shaky; there was no shading, and the proportions were off. Still, the picture was recognizable as a barn and silo, with a farmer and animals in the foreground.

Ullman glanced down at his own drawing: a barn and silo, a farmer feeding the livestock.

“I know it isn’t very good,” Sean remarked, pulling his drawing towards him again.

Ullman shook his head. “No, it’s very good.”

Very good indeed.

The doctor said, “I think we need to give you a test. I’ll need to ask your father for permission, but would it be all right if we did some mapping?”

Sean looked over at him with a curious expression. “What type of mapping?”

“With an EEG. Do you know what that is?”

The boy shook his head.

“It’s like an EKG, but for the head instead of the heart.”

“Oh.” Sean knew what an EKG was. He’d been to work with his father before, and he’d seen the machine used a couple of times. “Will it hurt?”

“It shouldn’t.” Ullman signaled for Bem to stop recording and then to come down, and to bring William with him.

There were many more tests to run, but Sean was the first true positive who had come through their clinic in a long time. Anything they learned would be valuable.

[Stefan Spencer]

#17 – Naked

Stefan wasn’t exactly sure on why he was laying out in the grass in the nude at 2 in the morning.

Although he was fairly certain the reasoning involved a blonde, if he had been pressed he wouldn’t have been able to say whether that blonde had been of the male or female variety. Still he had awoken while it was still dark with a grin on his face at the memory of a non-memory so to speak. It wasn’t even until he started to sit up that he realized his clothing had disappeared sometime during the evening’s escapades.

Not a problem, he had been in this situation before.

Standing to his feet, he wished he still had his pants at least. If only because the back pocket of his pants had been the last place he’d seen his flask. And there was nothing that cured a hangover (like the one he was feeling now) better than a few shots. Looking around he realized that he wasn’t outside of his own house. And while that was also a slight problem, again it wasn’t something entirely new to him.

Still it wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of just whose house he was behind that he started to really wonder what he had gotten himself into. Of course Stefan knew the two men who lived there. And considered them to be friends. So that was a plus. It was always worse to wake up in (or behind) a strangers house.

He figured there was a slight chance the two had joined him in his alcoholic tour through the town, but he wouldn’t have bet on it. While the two men did drink, Stefan didn’t think they would be the type to leave him out in the cold completely exposed.

Of course that only raised the question as to why he had wandered here then. Why leave the comfort of some lovely blonde (assuming he or she hadn’t left him first) and go to lay down in the backyard here?

He didn’t remember much about the last time he was here. Only that something awkward had happened so he’d left early in the morning without much conversation with either the two. Still the details were fuzzy and he hadn’t gotten the chance to bring it up with either man since then. Stefan had gotten the impression that the three of them were just going to pretend that whatever happened didn’t happen.

While he didn’t want to start up anything again, it was rather chilly outside. And it would be a long walk home. So he decided to walk up to the door. After all what’s the worst that could happen?

He rang the bell twice and waited. One the other side of the door, he heard some footsteps and already he was starting to hope the night would be improving. As the door opened a few inches, he attempted to cover himself a little with his hands.

“Hey there Sean,” he said, grinning while he tried to keep from laughing. After all this was a pretty hilarious situation. And he was still a little drunk. “Josh home?”

[Vincent Meian]

#8 - Shackles (AU)


The ground was cold beneath his skin. It probably would have been even if his abilities weren't being dampened, but the slick layer of grime over the worn cobblestones didn't really help the process either. Still, before he moved, the demon listened to the room - there was breathing (slightly erratic) to his right, the intermittent sound of water hitting stone in drops a ways away (a leak, possibly, or condensation), and the crackle of fire. He knew that sound more than well enough - torchwood being burned.

Determining that it was at least likely to be safe, he opened his eyes and looked about. He'd been left bound to the floor, his long legs stretched beneath him and pressed under ancient bands of iron. If he were able to use his abilities, those would be no issue; at the moment, however, they were keeping him from going anywhere, even more than the manacles that forced his arms behind his back. The crackle of fire was coming from the door, and though he longed to reach for it and regain his warmth, the demon resisted the urge to test his luck. Besides, it would have been a stretch even if his powers had been at full - the door was over thirty feet from him, and the torch small.

Turning his crimson eyes from the dancing flames, he stared about the rest of the room for a moment, memorizing the layout as quickly as possible. It was a prison cell, obviously, but it had been tailored specifically for people like him. Those with power over elements had no hold here, for the script written into the ceiling prevented such uses here. The laws of nature would not be broken by his will alone so long as he remained under its spell.

Turning his crimson eyes from the dizzying swirls of magic above him, he looked to his right. As expected, it was his companion; apparently his nose had been bloodied in whatever conflict had led them here, but otherwise the Detective was relatively unharmed. Disheveled, yes; but unharmed. This was good - he hated to drag useless people around in dangerous places, even if he cared for them as much as he did The Fox.

Apparently having eyes on him was enough for the equally bound Detective to wake, his forest green eyes dazed before he blinked them clear. "Finally," the demon mused, smirking as his companion's gaze snapped to him. "Here I thought I would have to figure this out all by myself."

The other man snorted in derision, but a grim smirk settled on his face. "Oh but Vin, I thought you were the mastermind behind all this," he quipped, flicking long black hair over his shoulder in annoyance. "After all, you do so seem to like tying me up."

"This coming from the man who has been chasing me all these years for legitimate Contracts, Minamori?"

"Legit or not, Assassin, you know the laws of my country."

"So I do." The demon looked around once more and fidgeted with his bonds, wincing slightly as the raw iron scraped his flesh. While he'd at least been left with the dignity of the cloth around his legs, the assassin's tunic had been taken in search for weapons, leaving his tattooed arms and scarred torso exposed to the open air. Or, in this case, metal and stone. At least they hadn't taken anything else - having hair as long as his in his face would have been terribly unhelpful, even in the best of circumstances.

"What can you See, Fox?"

The other man looked up, his eyes flickering over the scrawling language quickly. Though he wasn't a demon like Vincent, Minamori had more than enough uses to qualify being an assassin's companion. Deciphering magical script being one of them, plant manipulation being another. And then, there were other things...

"It's an old magic," he answered simply. "Powerful, too. Though, it looks like water may be wearing at the seal; a few spots aren't as bright as they should be. If we can push the seal into burning out, we may have a chance to get out of here."

"How much would that take?"

The effeminate man tilted his head back and forth is a display of noncommittal. "I can't say; like I said, it's old and strong. It's written in the High Language of Malakai, probably Second or Third Age if I were to place it. It may take just a good spell if it's been here that long."

"Or it could sap us both dry."

"That, too."

A growl of indignation started deep in the demon's chest as he pondered that dilemma. He knew a number of spells that used enough power to overcharge most seals, but they left him feeling drained even if they didn't work. Use enough of them, and eventually even his extended lifespan would suffer. The fact that he couldn't be sure of how much it would take also made him worry - he could spend his power into oblivion, and his friend would be left stranded here with a corpse.

"I would rather something that didn't end up with one or both of use dead."

"I would, too - unlike you, I only have about another forty or fifty years left in me."

Vincent shrugged, glowering at the ceiling. Why in the Hells were they here, anyway? Who had a place like this anymore? Regardless, if there was no other option, there was only one thing he could do.

"I've only got one thing that's likely to work," he answered after a long moment. "And she's going to be arriving if I do."

Minamori made a face. "I thought you didn't like her."

"I don't. But she's on Terra, and she has power. The sheer volume of magic should overpower this, if I can get her to acknowledge the connection."

Another snort, this time in disbelief. "And the likelihood of that is?"

Vincent grinned. "Little, considering that she's done with that book and has never liked me."

"Comforting."

"Do you have any other ideas?"

"Do we have to make it out of here alive?"

"I'll take that as a no." Closing his eyes, the demon calmed his mind and slowed his breath, muttering an ancient form of his language rapid-fire. Above, the seal flickered to life, glowing brighter with each word as the spells fought for dominion. Pushing through the strain, he reached out with his thoughts for the girl, listening for the tell-tale thrum of the thread that would lead him to her. He spoke faster as the pressure on his spirit grew, enunciating each word clearly in the hopes that it would help the process.

"It's breaking! Vincent, it's-"

There was a snapping sound, the twang of a string too low to be heard, and the demon grabbed the strand he sought before it flew away from him. Iron ripped at his skin for a moment, but then there was nothing. Just an empty black and the cacophony of the World Between Worlds.

[Vincent Meian]

#30 - Grace (AU: Fall From Grace)



Fall!


The object just barely caught her field of vision, and immediately the slight girl reacted. Spinning about, whatever it was had missed her entirely. However, the reaction caused her to slip off the beam and grasping hands could not reach in time to catch herself. She hit the ground hard, the mats barely absorbing the impact as she struck them. She bounced once, then lay still on the floor, her body aching and her near-deaf ears ringing. Aside from that small sound, she couldn't hear much of anything - the ground shook a little, or maybe that was her limbs? She hurt everywhere, though something felt odd in her mind.


Now the dark begins to rise.


Pushing herself up, she blinked the black dots from her vision, a field of textured blue coming into sight as her eyes refocused. Her arms shook, probably from the jarring impact, but something else made her feel like shaking as well. Anger. Sheer, indomitable will being brought into being by a single act and a decision. That was it.

"No more."


Save your breath; it's far from over.


The words where whispered, inaudible to all the people crowding about though they rang so clearly in her mind. Hands grabbed at her, pulled her up, forced her to look at faces she recognized but barely knew. Their lips moved, but they did not speak; their eyes were wide but held no souls. Not one of them truly cared, and nor were any of them truly alive because of it.


Leave the lost and dead behind.


There was no helping it, she supposed. People simply didn't care. She'd have to take care of this herself, eventually. Normally, she would have hid behind the black hair being brushed from her face by frantic hands - cried, perhaps - in the face of such hurt and attention. Now, somehow, her resolve had steeled. No one cared, so neither should she.


Now's your chance to run for cover.


By now, she could move more easily, and her first act was to push the hands away, speaking thickly that she was all right. Not hearing yourself talk made such an act difficult, but she endured and made herself clear. The people backed away, and shakily the small girl returned to her feet, wincing slightly at the pain in her back and shoulder. She locked eyes with her teacher (something she had not done before today) before looking away to scan the crowd of other students like her. She found the faces she was looking for almost instantly, and knew them by their noticeably straight expressions. They were the cause of this, of course. This would have to be remedied. Immediately.


I don't want to change the world.


This would solve nothing, of course. She'd get in trouble, and her family would probably be called. She may even have to transfer schools. But as she took one shaking, tiny step after another... she found she didn't much care.


I just want to leave it colder.


Stopping after a few steps, a spot of flesh-coloring appeared in her vision - a small speck against the blue. Bending slowly, she picked up the device, then replaced it in her ear without comment. Though it took a moment for her to adjust to the sounds coming from its speakers, she could finally hear again; the teacher calling everyone back to their practices, his assistant asking if she would be all right. She looked to him, staring at him in a way she never had before, then nodded without breaking the eye contact.

Apparently, it unnerved him because he left to attend to someone else. For some reason, this made her pleased. She'd just made someone go away, made someone leave her alone. Was that what it felt like to intimidate someone?

Somehow, it felt right. And it felt cold.


Light the fuse and burn it up.


However, as her gaze settled on the three of them, those who caused this, the cold turned to heat in a flash. For once in her life, she was angry. More angry than she could have thought possible. It was as if that simple action of distraction had lit a fire within her, and it was burning her inside out. Conversely hot and cold, consuming and rebuilding. Was it only a matter of time before she exploded?

Still, she stepped forward, watching as expressions of cruel delight danced in their dark eyes and symmetrical expressions. ["Oh my, are you all right, Meian-chan?"] one of them asked, her voice a parody of sympathy even as her friends snickered. ["You shouldn't be so clumsy - you'll never make the team at this rate."]

["Oh well,"] another one sighed. ["At least all the excitement is over."]


Take the path that leads to nowhere.


This wouldn't do her any good. This action wouldn't lead her anywhere but in detention. Maybe even a different school. And what good would that do? Leave one set of bullies for another? How was that justice?

Still... it felt right.

["Maybe you should just stay on the mat,"] the eldest of the three stated, a slight smirk on her features. ["After all, we wouldn't want another accident like that. You could lose more than just your footing."]


All is lost again.


And just like that, they were turning away, expecting her to hide meekly as she always did. Maybe they would punish her later for daring to come up to them like that, as if they had done something wrong. Who would believe her, anyway? Why was she even thinking about this? Briefly, her courage flickered and a doubt crossed her mind.


But I'm not giving in.


Snapping her eyes back to the three of them, a glower formed over her face and the young girl called out to their eldest by name. The girl turned, clearly shocked but enjoying the attention. ["Oh, the wallflower deigns to speak!"] she exclaimed, obviously amused even as the hurt girl began moving towards them again. ["What is it? Do you want to thank me for my advice? My concern? Well, out with it!"]


I will not bow!


["-to one such as you!"] Her voice cracked like a whip through the air, and in a mere moment she had launched herself at the older girl, her fist connecting with soft flesh and hard bones. The impact sent the girl sprawling, red spreading across one cheek even as she stared dazed at the tiny individual. She sputtered, utterly confused, and her friends stood stock still, unable to comprehend what happened.

Glowering down at the bully, the girl's eyes blazed with barely constrained anger, both blue and brown and completely cold in their fire. She stood tall, refusing to hunch over, and her clenched left fist dripped blood from where it had been cut on a tooth.


I will not break!


["You cannot break me, Sai-chan,"] she stated softly. ["This will not happen again, or you will be in worse pain that you have ever known. Do you understand me?"]


I will shut the world away.


Though the sounds of other people shouting had surrounded them, she pushed the intrusions from her mind. She did not look away, she did not move. She simply waited, motionless as the other girl teared up before her and abruptly launched herself back at her assailant.

But this time, she was ready.


I will not fall!


Moving with some unknown fluidity, she ducked her opponent's flailing strike, slipping out of the way in a serpentine motion as the other girl stumbled on the mat. No smile crossed her face; she simply stared, blank and cold, into the face of her enemy. Who then attacked again. This one was no better than the others, as the hand was deflected and the smaller of the two slipped away with a twirl and elbowed the bully in the back of the head.

Staggering away, the older girl clutched her aching skull before glaring at the Meian girl. ["What the hell! Stand still!"]


I will not fade!


Already people were crowding, keeping the teachers away from the girls as much as they could. A fight like this would keep going until one of them fell, and it would not be forgotten for years to come.

Without another word, the "wallflower" pushed forward, using the training her father had given her to duck a hasty strike and slam her hands into her attacker's ribs. The girl staggered back, but before she righted herself-


I will take your breath away.


-another palm strike landed hard in her solar plexus, releasing her lungs of all oxygen and forcing her to double over. With no change in expression, the victor closed the distance slowly, maintaining her unnerving eye contact. She leaned forward, and whispered only one word into the ear of her former bully before sending her to the floor with a combination leg sweep and push.


["Fall."]


.....



Over an hour later, her father had come to pick her up, taking leave of his last few sessions to speak with the school's headmaster and her uncle. They talked about the fight, then about the possibility that she may have powers; may be a metahuman. It would mean a transfer to the school where her father taught, at any rate, and she wouldn't be here anymore.

As they walked, her father walked her home in silence, the small girl refrained from looking up at him until he spoke. ["Do you feel better?"]

As she turned her gaze up at him, he met her eyes and did not flinch. It was only then that she smiled; a cool, unhappy smile. ["Yes. She deserved it."]

["You know that we'll have to move you to my school, right?"]

["I know. I don't mind. I can take care of myself now."]

A chuckle escaped the man, and he scooped his daughter up into his arms to carry her the rest of the way home. ["I am very proud of you, Appoline."]

They were quiet for a moment, but she spoke again with a soft surety after a few more steps. ["Father? I think I want a new name."]

["Oh? And what should I call this new you?"]

["...Lin."]

["Then so you shall be, my little shadow. So you shall be."]




AU in which Appoline has a visible backbone fights back.

[Ricio Miller]

#35 - Heat

Ricio awoke with a start to the sound of screaming and shouting in the close vicinity. He immediately regretted how fast he sad up when his head started pounding. For a moment he worried he would throw up as he stomach tossed and turned. Looking around, he saw he had been lying on the sand. There were a few empty plastic cups and paper plates littered around him. As well as an impression in the sand to his left showing that he hadn’t spent the night alone.

And that’s when he remembered.

* * * * *

He had stumbled across a party while walking alongside the ocean. Since Ricio had never been the type to run away free anything, especially free food and booze, he had stuck around and helped himself to plenty of both. At some point, he’d taken out his guitar and caught the attention of a young browned-eyed woman. While he played, he’d loved watching the light from the bonfires dance on her bronze skin. The two of them had wandered away from the light to go look at the stars. At least that was as good an excuse as any to pull away from the crowd.

The night had a slight chill, not that Ricio had noticed aside from the goose bumps showing on her skin. He had no problem sharing his warm body. At least one of them should benefit from the sensation. Of course, he hadn’t complained as the young woman snuggled against him. He remembered thinking her hair smelled like the sea and strawberries.

* * * * *

The memories of her touch and smell were stripped away as the continued shouting drilled into Ricio’s head. He made his way back to where the bonfires had been as quickly as he could with his feet sinking into the sand at each step and his body aching from too much drinking.

The others were pointing past the breaking waves to where a tangle of dark hair and bronzed skin floated in the water. And although there were already to other young men in the water, Ricio ran towards the icy water.

He reached her first, rolling her over onto her back in the water as he made his way slowly back to the shore. His limbs were aching and the progress was slow. On the sand again, he blew into her lungs and listened to her chest. He wasn’t an expert and really had no clue what he was doing, but he had to try.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. “It’s no use,” a voice said. “She’s already cold.” He hadn’t been able to tell. Collapsing back onto the sand, he wiped the sand and sea water from his eyes.

He left before the police came without asking what her name had been. And the smell of strawberries made him sick to his stomach for weeks.

[Brendan James]

75. Coma

Caleb wasn’t a particularly religious man. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d been inside a church. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed. But, with his head bowed and cradling his husband’s hand in his own, he could find a good reason to now.

Please. Please. I know, trust me I know, that I have messed up. And better people deserve their prayers answered first… But Elliot’s a good man. He’s warm. And loving and understanding. And he makes me a better man.

Tears running down his cheeks, Caleb moved just one hand to swipe them away. After raising their hands to kiss Elliot’s knuckles, his thoughts turned to their daughter. McKenna. The girl that was still too young to know what was happening, but realized in some capacity that Elliot was absent.

“Ya’ know, Kenna misses you. I do too. And I show her your picture every day. Talk about you all the time too. Just so it’ll be like you never left… when you come home. And she hasn’t been sleeping well. She’s used to you rocking her to sleep. Apparently I don’t do it right. So… You gotta get home soon. Because her up means I’m not getting any sleep.” As Caleb rested his chin on the rail of the bed, he stared expectantly at his husband. Hoping, that just maybe, there’d be something. An attempt to breathe on his own. A stirring of some sort. Something that would give Caleb a sign that Elliot’s return would be soon.

But all he got in response was the soft whirring of the machine connected to the breathing tube and the gentle beeping on the heart monitor.

Pressing Elliot’s hand to his cheek, Caleb closed his eyes.

Please. I love him. I’m not sure I can do this without him. I’m not strong like he is. I need him. McKenna and I need him.

[Elliot Morrow]

#15. Soothe

Not much sparked Elliot Morrow-Green’s temper. Not anymore. He had grown up past the childish surges of anger over the small things. Issues like his sexuality, or his family in general? He’d just started to pity people that hassled him over it. If they didn’t get it, that was their problem.

That being said, he now knew why people referred to being well and truly angry as feeling their blood boil. He felt it. He felt his fingers twitching, and the overwhelming urge to hit something.

All because of one person.

He was supposed to be the sneaky one. Hell, he’d managed to track the man down when he was twenty three simply by running a simple hacking program, undetected. He’d flown under the radar, made contact, and gotten out again.

All while tipsy on vodka coolers. He was supposed to be the one that surprised people. He was excellent at tracking people down, especially when they were tricky to find.

He had tried to make himself one of those people that were tricky to find.

The day had started so normally. Caleb had had to go to a few appointments in the morning, leaving Elliot to tend to McKenna. The three year old was rather active, and instead of chasing her around the house, Elliot had made the decision to take her to the park. It was just a few blocks away, easy walking distance for both of them. After packing a backpack with McKenna’s special plush bear, a few crackers and a juice box, and everything he needed for possible emergencies, they were ready. McKenna had her favorite purple sweater with the ears on the hood, Elliot had his battered UVM hoodie, and they were out the door.

Elliot loved spending time one on one with McKenna. Of course, they both did, and both had a very special place for their daughter. Just looking at her after a long day of coding nightmares at work made things so much better.

McKenna had hopped along the sidewalk, clutching her father’s hand tightly as she danced over the cracks and divisions in the concrete. Elliot watched, bemused, and kept a solid hold on her tiny hand. If anything happened to her on his watch, he would never forgive himself.

Once they had reached the playground, McKenna had been released to play on the structures. Elliot followed carefully behind her for a while before going to one of the benches where the other parents were stationed. McKenna knew her limits fairly well, and he was relatively at ease as she ran from one structure to the next.

He was losing track of time, caught up in watching McKenna, when Elliot realized something. There was a man standing just outside of the park entrance. He had to do a double take. ... No, there was no mistaking something like that. He swiftly got up from the bench and held out McKenna’s abandoned sweater. “McKenna?” He had to fight hard to keep his voice steady. “It’s time we go home, Gremmy.” The look his daughter fixed him with was nothing short of heartbreaking, but he was serious. “We can watch Tinkerbelle when we get home, okay?” He was trying not to rush, trying not to panic her.

But he did not want her out here. He wanted her to be safe at home, behind a locked door. On the surface he was calm and steady, but inside? His rage was slowly awakening. What in the Hell did he think he was doing here? Hadn’t he made himself clear all those years ago? How had he even figured out where he was? ... God, he hoped his mother hadn’t told him. He knew they still talked on occasion, and he could only imagine how happy she had been when McKenna had entered their lives. Who had she told about her grandchild?

Apparently, one person too many.

McKenna scuttled closer and pressed herself against her father’s leg, letting him tug on the sweater again. This time she didn’t get a choice in her transport home. Elliot scooped her up and held her against his shoulder. He didn’t care that she was almost getting too heavy to carry like that, and that his arms would probably be rubbery by the time he got home. They were getting out of there now.

He knew he’d been too slow when he’d heard his name called in a thick Irish accent. He scowled and kept moving, quickening his pace. He just had to make it home.

“Elliot, wait!” He could hear hurried footsteps behind him, and McKenna lifted her head away from his neck.

“Dad?” She patted his shoulder and pointed. “He knows you!” Elliot gritted his teeth.

“No, he doesn’t, Gremmy. He is a stranger.” He emphasized the word, because he knew his daughter knew what it meant. McKenna frowned.

“Stranger knows your name?”

“It’s complicated, Gremmy. Just trust Dad, okay? Don’t talk to him.” He continued to ignore the calls of the older man, half running at this point. Just a few more houses...

McKenna’s squeal alerted him before he felt the hand on his arm. He practically growled as he lurched forward, tearing his arm away from the other man. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he warned, finally turning to face him head on. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Justin Turner had not expected this kind of animosity when he’d first planned on visiting. Not when he’d kept it from... everyone, really. Lauren would have warned their son, and he probably would have vanished, somehow. He seemed good at that. It had been difficult to track him down on his own, but when Lauren had been gushing on her Facebook page about her new granddaughter, Justin had contacted her. It hadn’t taken much to figure out where to look for his estranged son.

His angry, estranged son. Looking at him was odd. It was like looking into a mirror, really. He’d never known how much they looked alike until now. Except he was positive that he didn’t look nearly as hostile. In an effort to look less threatening, Justin lifted his hands in mock defeat. “I just wanted to see you. And... her.” While his own expression softened at the sight of his granddaughter peeking out from under her father’s neck, Elliot’s own took on a more sinister look.

“Well, you’ve seen her. And now you’re leaving.” Elliot jerked backwards, keeping McKenna as close as humanly possible. She whimpered softly, not understanding why her Dad was being so scary. This wasn’t good for her, and exactly why he’d never wanted to see his own father.

“Elliot... things are different now. Can’t we just talk?” Elliot shook his head, looking more like a snake coiled to strike than anything else at this point. His blood felt like it was burning in his veins.

“What are we going to talk about, exactly? How you abandoned me and Mom? How you think you deserve to be in my daughter’s life now? No.” He continued to back away. If he could just get a little bit closer to the house, he could bolt for the door and lock it.

The comments looked like they’d done their job. Justin looked somewhat stung, and he’d even stopped trying to get closer. He just stood on the sidewalk with his hands held limply at his sides. Over the years he had figured the longer he was out of the picture, the more time his son would have to build up resentful feelings towards him. He’d been shocked when Elliot had sent him the message years ago. It was the first time he had really been able to see things from the other side. Since then, he’d tried to talk to Lauren a bit more, but he’d kept with Elliot’s request not to speak to him.

Well, until now. “I just thought you and I could get to know each other.” His gaze darted back to the pretty little girl. “And her. She looks like you.” Elliot just glowered.

“It’s too late for that, Dad.” It made him shudder just to say it. “Get out of our lives.” He was well aware he probably looked manic to the neighbours, let alone his father. His shaggy black hair was falling into his face, and he didn’t care. What he did care about was McKenna pressing her face into his neck. He was probably scaring her. “It’s okay, baby,” he said softly, his hand on her back before looking back at his father. “Get the hell away from my family,” he hissed before turning back around and walking up the path to their house. The door was slammed behind him, and the door locked before Elliot crouched down and set McKenna on her feet. She withdrew from him, looking upset, but curiosity burned bright in her eyes.

“You said Dad,” she said quietly, her head tilted with an unasked question. Elliot let out a slow breath.

“Yes. I did.” After a brief moment of indecision, he hugged McKenna tightly. “That was my Dad, Gremmy. But he is not your Grandpa, okay?” He kissed her forehead. “He doesn’t deserve you.” He held her against him for an extra second before letting her go. With an almost eerie calm, he went about setting up the Tinkerbelle movie, as promised, for her in the living room. He even took a moment to make popcorn and put it in a little dish for her with the Dill Pickle flavoring she liked some much.

He was a hundred times the father Justin Turner was.

When Caleb came home, McKenna ran to him and hugged his leg. She seemed no worse for wear. Elliot, on the other hand, came to the door with his hand wrapped in a dishtowel and some ice. Caleb picked up McKenna and set her on his hip, kissing her cheek before releasing her back to her movie. Concern crossed his face when he saw his husband’s state. “Ellie? What happened?” Elliot shook his head, beckoning Cale to come down the hall to the bedroom. Cale followed, fighting back a lump in his throat.

Elliot sat on the end of the bed, his gaze locked on a sizable dent in the wall. Cale eyed it before carefully sitting beside him. “Ell?”

“My father came to see me. And McKenna.” Elliot set his jaw, biting back everything he wanted to say about it. “He thinks he has some kind of goddamn right to see our daughter. I told him to fuck off.” Swearing was oddly rare from Elliot, especially since McKenna had started understanding more and more about language. “... Well, I told him to get lost. I wanted him to fuck off.” Cale frowned, his fingers reaching up to massage Elliot’s tense shoulders.

“And the wall?” The question was posed tentatively. Elliot shook his head and lifted the hand with the ice on it.

“I punched it. While she was watching her movie.” The black haired man shuddered. “I was just so... angry. He has no fucking right to be here.”

“Shh. I know,” Cale said softly, continuing to rub soothing circles on his husband’s back. “It’s okay. I promise. And if he comes back, he can answer to me.” Despite his state, Elliot had to laugh quietly.

“You can punch him. He’s lucky I took my anger out on a wall, and not his face.”

“If he asks to see McKenna, I might just do that,” Cale said with a little smile. With his free hand, he flipped it palm up. “Can I see your hand? You didn’t break it, did you?” Elliot reluctantly shifted so Caleb could see it.

“I don’t care if I did or not. It would be worth it.” Cale sighed and pressed a tiny kiss to his husband’s knuckles once they were unwrapped. If Elliot was hurt on his father’s account, then he blamed him. There was no question in his mind. And after seeing his husband in this state, he knew exactly what would happen if Justin turned up again. It would end in more than a dent in the wall.