Writing Challenge: 100 Stories. 1 Month.

[Admin!]

It's writing challenge time again. But this time, we're doing it a little differently. There won't be any votes this month. This month, we challenge all of Google to work together to complete 100 stories. The inspiration for Google came from a challenge Raeballz and I took a year ago, completing 300 prompts in two months. So Hammel, use these prompts, be creative, and make us proud.

The rules:

• Characters must be Hammel-related, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Alternative universe interpretations of characters are allowed.
  
• Entries must be between 300 and 2000 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.

1. “Now what?” 2. Physical 3. Wading 4. Smash 5. Throw 6. Swear 7. Hum 8. Content 9. Passion 10. Cartridge 11. Lifestyle 12. Crossroad 13. Curse 14. Assistant 15. Seeking 16. Feasible 17. Book 18. Package 19. Groan 20. Event 21. Alter 22. Conclusion 23. Gibberish 24. Heavy 25. Belong

26. Foreign 27. Court 28. Weakness 29. Vote 30. Rough 31. Gentle 32. Supernatural 33. Weather 34. Fence 35. Mud 36. Crash 37. Spoil 38. Renew 39. Spill 40. Rubber 41. Plastic 42. Doom 43. Admire 44. Prompt 45. Highlight 46. Road 47. Chasing 48. Hello 49. Goodbye 50. Please

51. Thank You 52. “Get lost” 53. View 54. Source 55. Addict 56. Guide 57. Stay 58. Mountain 59. Current 60. Peace 61. War 62. Faithful 63. Lemon 64. Relatives 65. Bold 66. Meek 67. Persuade 68. Large 69. Small 70. Miles 71. Branch 72. New 73. Old 74. Smoke 75. Applause

76. Rant 77. Potential 78. Manual 79. Automatic 80. Final 81. Like 82. Hate 83. Car 84. Fossil 85. Paranoid 86. Invasion 87. Past 88. Present 89. Future 90. Smart 91. Stupid 92. iPod 93. Right 94. Wrong 95. Easy 96. Hard 97. Flaw 98. Transform 99. Chaos 100. Insult

[Jonah King]

91. Stupid.

When Jonah was a baby, his mother thought he was – there’s no other word he can think of to use – ‘retarded.’

(He’s always hated that word, although he can’t work out why. It’s a legitimate term, after all. But whenever someone says it he can see the condescension in their expression. When the kids at school called him ‘retard’ he would close his eyes so that he didn’t have to see what they were saying to him.)

His mother had thought that no hearing and speech meant no higher brain function, and she had been surprisingly fine with that. Nobody could blame someone for sending away a difficult, disabled child. She could concentrate on her two clever, able children, and Jonah would be comfortably out of the picture. In an institution of some kind.

Oh, she would visit him every week, and show people the pictures he had drawn. She would tell people that she ‘just didn’t feel able to give him what he needs’ and people would pat her shoulder comfortingly, secretly glad that they didn’t have such a son themselves. Maybe she could even have cried every now and again, just to show people how hard it was.

Jonah knows he’s being harsh, but he also knows her well enough to know that it’s true. She would have enjoyed being Saint Rayna, mother of ‘that poor boy’.

He would have been calm, docile and affectionate (like a well-behaved dog, he thinks), and she would have hardly ever seen him.

She was prepared for that.

What she wasn’t prepared for, of course, was for Jonah to be fully-functioning. She wasn’t prepared for the deep anger within him, the frustration born of a lack of communication. She wasn’t prepared to look into his eyes and see the workings of a perfectly able mind. She wasn’t prepared for a large, angry, deaf boy to remain hanging around the house.

Jonah knows that his mother doesn’t admit what he is. She likes to believe that his simple speech bespeaks a simple mind (and his speech always is simple when he talks to her. She makes him too nervous for the long sentences he finds easy with Robbie and Mia), and when people ask her about him

(Does she wince, when someone asks her about him? Does she let it show on her face?)

she tells them that he’s in a ‘special school’. Sometimes Jonah wonders if she’s convinced herself of this fact, and has forgotten his telepathy completely. Maybe she really thinks that her poor, stupid son is trapped somewhere in his own silence, unable to think clearly enough to say a single word. He isn’t hurt when his siblings think the same thing – after all, they just take their cue from their mother – but it hurts that he knows what she is thinking.

It hurts that she turns away from him with a slightly pained smile, whenever he opens his mouth.

It hurts that she thinks he’s stupid.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

89. Future

There were many situations when being fashionably late was considered appropriate, even necessary. Club openings, birthday parties, pre event parties... any party, really. But some things were not supposed to be late. And there was one thing, one thing, that was not allowed to be late. Two months late. Anastasia looked at the date in her planner, then clutched at her stomach.

Oh no, oh no no no.

The usually perfectly composed woman brought a hand to her mouth and bit her knuckle hard. She didn’t know yet. Maybe it was just... just a bad few months. False alarm. She hadn’t missed a pill in... Except that... impromptu weekend in Hong Kong... And she had felt... heavier. Ivan had said she was imagining it, had not let her near scales, but...

A test. There were tests. She would buy one of those stupid cliche things and...

The bottom of her stomach dropped out and Anastasia clapped her hand to her mouth and rushed into the bathroom.

She didn’t need a test.


***


”Ivan,” Anastasia lent against the door frame, her hands clasped behind her back like a child with a guilty conscience, ”Can I talk to you?”

Ivan turned quickly, frowning with concern. She sounded... timid. Unsure. Two words that were never attributed to Anastasia van Drakke. ”What’s wrong? He asked, the energy he’d used to create his brush vanishing as the heiress felt his <concern/worry> and bit her lip.

”Ah,” she started, and now Ivan looked very concerned; Eva was not the sort to hold back her words, ”I have news. It’s not, it’s not bad news, I mean, I hope you don’t think it’s bad news, I,” Her hands were twisting and she was looking firmly at her bare feet, not even looking up when her Russian paramour ran his hand down her arm. His <worry/concern/tellmewhat’swrong> was making her hands twitch and she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the truth that she needed to get out, that was pressing behind her teeth.

”Eva, what’s wrong? Tell me,” he was touching her hair, and he looked so worried...

”Ivan,” she started, then took a breath and grasped his hand. ”Ivan,” she repeated, softly, and placed his hand on her stomach. Understand, please understand. Can’t say it.

<worry/confusion/terror/excitement/lovelovelove>

He understood. He was scared. He was terrified but... but he was happy. Oh thank god he was happy. ”I know,” she said softly, and would have been horrified to feel the tears running down her cheeks if she wasn’t so relieved. ”Ivan,”

He took his hand away from her stomach slowly, reluctantly, and looked up at her. She didn’t need to feel his emotions to know he was wondering what else she had to drop after that particular atom bomb.

”I’m going to get so fat” she said through her smile, wiping at her eyes. Ivan’s eyes widened, and for a split second he looked ready to argue, but the <disagreement> was outweighed almost instantly with <joy/excitement/terror/serenity> and he smiled wider then any she’d seen and swung her up into his arms as Anastasia laughed a slightly hysterical laugh and threw her arms around his neck.

Oh god, they were going to have a baby.



***

They were having a baby... Anastasia looked down at her swollen stomach and took a breath through her nose. 6 months down, three to go. 12 whole weeks of hysterical mood swings and having to eat carbs and not being able to wear any of her clothes.

And no wine. No. Wine. No alcohol of any kind.

She hadn’t see her feet in weeks.

Bracing her arms on the couch she pushed herself up; five years of tai chi, ten of yoga and even she was struggling to move with any semblance of grace. Another four. Fucking. Weeks.

”Ivan, I’m going upstairs,” she said tersely, but only made it three steps before the man himself was there, blocking the stairs. ”No, Ivan, no,” the blonde woman snapped, ”I can climb the fucking stairs, I’m not crippled!”

He just raised one jet brow, and Anastasia sighed and held out her arms. ”Don’t know how you can lift me, I’m a hippopotamus,” she grumbled into his neck as he carried her up the stairs and laid her down on the bed with extreme care. Ivan shook his head and smiled, then rested his hand on her stomach. He had been so careful, and Eva knew how hard he found it when she started burst into tears over a television commercial, or spent three hours a day locked in the bathroom expelling every single bit of food in her system.

”Happy today?” he asked, and Eva knew it wasn’t about her. Despite the aching legs and stupid stretch pants and horrible print dresses, and the future 12 weeks stretching out before her of more of the same, Anastasia managed a tired smile. ”Very,” she rested her own hand over Ivan’s, and it was not her they were talking about. ”Excited. Getting ready for the world.”

***

Ivan was not a man who was used to feeling afraid, or helpless, ever. The plastic seats in the hospital waiting room were too small, and the coffee was horrible, and there were strange people he didn’t know with his... with his Anastasia and he couldn’t do anything.

The night nurse glanced at the scowling man pacing through the waiting room and occasionally kicking a chair, but didn’t tell him to stop. She’d overheard him threaten one of the doctors attending Miss van Drakke... at least, she assumed it had been a threat. It had started with ‘If anything happens to her,’ and then had started to speak in some angry foreign language. The doctor had gotten the gist though.

With a sigh, Ivan sank into one of the stupidly small chairs and steepled his fingers, his mouth pressed into a thin line. What if something happened in there? Anastasia had forbidden him from being in the room, had banished him to the foyer, had told him they would both be fine and that it wouldn’t take long at all. But the <calm> she had sent through him had not lasted, was not enough, and he could hear her screaming and whatwere they doing to her?

Then the screaming stopped and it was worse. It was so much worse. She was so small, so thin, so fragile and so very very important... The door cracked open and Ivan was on his feet in a fraction of a second, hands clenched tight.

”Mr Avlang, Miss van Drakke and the baby,” the doctor, a middle aged man with a shaved head and glasses started, but was cut off when Ivan grasped the front of his scrubs and hoisted him up and against the wall.

”There are 27 ways I could kill you right now and make it look like an accident,” Ivan said quietly, teeth bared, as the smaller man blinked in shock.

”No, no, Mr Avlang, please,” he gasped as he tried to detach the huge man’s hands from his clothes, ”they’re fine. They’re both fine, if you would please,” he stopped abruptly as Ivan dropped him and pushed the door open, leaving the doctor gasping on the floor.

<calm/relax/love/overwhelmingjoy>

She was alright. He could smell blood, and Anastasia’s eyes were ringed by exhaustion, her hair was limp and her face was glowing with perspiration but she smiled at him with a pink bundle in her arms. Trying to sit up she fell back into the pillow and sighed, still smiling.

”Ivan,” she said softly, her voice croaky, ”Ivan, look. Look. She’s so happy,”


Ivan paused, for a moment. For a no more risks, will have to be careful, will be so careful moment. But the moment passed in the beat of a heart as small as a quarter as the couple, the soulless, monstrous, bloodstained couple, looked down at their future.

<allourlove>

[Robbie Wilkes]

74. Smoke

Taking a long drag from the slim white stick between his fingers, Robbie tilted his head up to release the smoke from his lips. "You're not going to quit that are you?" The tall man beside him signed, shivering in his coat as the winds blew forcefully through the bus stop they were sitting in as they waited for the bus that was bringing his girlfriend home to him.

Robbie had come along to welcome his boyfriend back to Pilot Ridge but the reunion would be a bittersweet one for them. Bitter for the boyfriend. Sweet for Robbie. "You know," Jonah King coughed, a puff of cold air formed in front of his face every time he breathed. Robbie turned to face the other boy for easy signing. "It's not entirely Jake's fault this time." He persuaded his friend. Jake Willows had been Robbie's longest relationship since Hammel and so far, he had been nothing but trouble. Robbie didn't know why he kept clinging on to the older man.

"You keep defending him, Jonah." Robbie's words were accompanied by tendrils of white smoke. A bus came and went, leaving both of them in a cloud of black smoke. You would think after years of talk of the ozone layer, buses would change their stance on diesel. "Every time you do, we find that no, the girl didn't just happen to slip on a banana peel and on to his dick." The blond weather manipulator gave out a humorless laugh as he once again took a long drag from his cigarette.

"But he does love you. I can see it in his eyes." Jonah signed before he gave a small smile, tightening his coat around his body as he leaned out to see if there were any other buses coming in. Robbie sighed, a small cloud of cold air formed in front of his mouth before disappearing. "He loves that I let him win all the time." Robbie signed before stabbing his thumb into the corner of his eye.

Jonah had nothing to add so he kept quiet. After a beat, he patted Robbie's back, squeezing the other boy's shoulder lightly. A bus rolled down the bus stop and a familiar dark haired young woman stepped off the steps and dropped her bag on the ground before doing a running leap into Jonah's arms. "God I've missed you." Robbie heard the small young woman whisper. Jonah laughed at his insane little spider monkey before pulling away but still holding on to her tightly, a huge smile on his face before his lips descended upon hers. "I've missed you too, Mia."

Robbie looked away only to find himself involuntarily smiling at the handsome Jake Willows with his messy jet black hair and piercing blue eyes. Jake walked over and pressed his lips against Robbie's before nuzzling his neck. "You've been smoking." Jake's gruff voice had a teasing lilt to it to which Robbie nodded, pulling the cigarette stick up for the other boy to see.

"Love the taste on you." Jake whispered before giving Robbie a deep kiss, one Robbie leaned into but quickly caught himself. "Jake, we need to end this." Robbie said firmly, stepping backwards. Jonah and Mia turned to look at the two before the tall man dropped his girlfriend and grabbed her bag from the floor, pulling Mia away. "We'll wait in the car." Jonah said over his shoulder, leaving Jake and Robbie staring at each other.

Jake's eyes bored into Robbie's and for awhile the weather manipulator held the gaze before turning away to take a strong drag from his stick. When he dropped his hand, the stick rolled from his fingers and down to the floor. "I heard about Nina and Caitlyn." Robbie pulled in his lower lip into his mouth, sucking on it lightly. "I don't want to hear your explanation I just want out. Clean break all right? I've left all your stuff at your house. You can call a cab home." Robbie walked away from Jake who didn't even bother calling for him back. Jake's blue eyes looked down at the cigarette stick still producing long tendrils of smoke.

Slamming the door shut, Jonah clapped Robbie's shoulder from the back. "Are you okay?" He signed when Robbie faced him. "What happened?" Mia then asked. Robbie turned back to the front for a bit as he composed himself before looking back to his two friends with a smile. "I'm fine. I think I'm going to quit smoking."

[Ann Hudgins]

44. Prompt

"Go on." Encouragement.

"You can do it." Advice.

"You've done it before." Exaggeration.

"Please get it over with." Whining.

Ann looked sideways at Aiden, his big eyes boring into hers. She sighed deeply and folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him. He was her best friend, yes, but he was such a dork sometimes. She was not going to be in the middle school talent show with him, by doing a sparing demonstration. No one at school, besides Aiden and two of her teachers (because said teachers children took the class she was in) knew that she took Tae Kwon Do with Aiden, or that she had acquired her black belt a month previous. Ann didn't want other kids to know because they already treated her weird enough for being a girl, and for being shy.

Aiden grabbed at her hands and pleaded, "you're the only one I can do it with, and Granny said it was a good idea, and I just know she'd wanna see you do it too!" That was a low blow. Aiden knew how much Ann loved his grandmother--her own lived too far away for her to be close with, and Granny was just as much as her grandmother as Aiden's. She'd recently moved in with Aiden's family because of her last fall and broken hip, and Ann saw her and talked to her nearly every day. Aiden also knew that by bringing her into the conversation, he won Ann over.

She sighed. "I'm really going to be hitting you, you know." She wouldn't let him win either. Her spinning, jump-roundhouses had been improving since she'd gotten to where she could do the splits. Aiden had been absent on those few times she'd hit the flapper target so hard it flew out of her instructor's hand. Aiden grinned faintly and nodded his head.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, you know."

-~-~-

Two months later after that fateful day, the talent show was upon them. Ann and Aiden had both invested in a white uniform with black trim which would show off their black belts (they had tested at the same time). She breezed through her personalized warm up and glanced at Aiden, who was leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. "The wall can support itself."

It was a line their instructors told anyone that leaned against the wall while they waited. They were supposed to sit up straight and look eager to be there at all times, even when exhausted--especially when exhausted. Aiden mocked her for a moment but he did stand straight for a moment.

Then the MC's for the evening went on stage to introduce their act; "You know Aiden Sharpe, isn't that right, Dougie?" One said to the other. After a moment the other boy replied.

"You know what, I do. We've been buds in Mr. McCormack's History class. We have lots of things in common, you know like not paying attention." The crowd responded with a surprised laugh but it quickly went silent.

"I'll bet. But did you know....that Aiden has a black belt in Tae Kwon Do?" The first MC asked and the other boy chuckled into the microphone.

"Of course I do! We all saw the youtube video." Aiden had gotten jumped by a few high schoolers for being cocky, and instead of falling victim, he kicked all their asses. One of the high schoolers was kind enough to get it on video and put it on the internet; it was why he hadn't been to class the past few times. The crowd chuckled as they remembered the video.

"And of course you know the always-silent but cute Ann Hudgins that's always seen near Aiden's shadow..." Ann grunted, exasperated at that and Aiden clapped a hand over her mouth and pointed a finger at her in warning.

"Yes....but what's she have to do with this?" The MC boy asked, she could hear the forced annoyance.

"Did you know that she also has her black belt?" A surprised reaction from the crowd, Ann rolled her eyes. She would have muttered something, but Aiden wisely kept his hand over her mouth.

"You don't say."

"Oh I do, and for our viewing pleasure, they will be putting on a bit of a show for us." There. That was the prompt. It was time to go on stage. They hugged quickly while the curtain was being drawn and they ran to opposite sides of the back stage, they were to enter on separate sides. They waited while the rest of the curtain was being drawn out and Ann watched as Aiden did a few flips ending with a no-handed front flip to his spot on the sparring mat that was put out for them. Ann took in a deep breath, looked at Aiden who was grinning at the crowd and waving at the people he knew, which was everyone.

To not be outdone, Ann slid into a cartwheel which turned into a front hand spring, which turned into a back hand spring, which brought her soundly onto her side of the mat. She got a surprised cheer. She grinned faintly at the crowd before she faced him, he faced her as well and they both smiled, and bowed towards each other. Once they both came out of their bow, they yelled themselves into ready positions, bumped fists...

And Ann totally kicked his ass into the ground. She was good at dodging his head-level kicks (he had a good six inches on her), and she was fast with her kicks as well. Aiden was by no means a bad fighter, or slow, but she knew how to work her disadvantages like a smaller reach to her advantage. After three minutes, she knocked him onto his back and tapped his neck with her foot. When he popped to his feet, he lifted her hand above her head like they did on Tv to show the winner and she got a standing ovation. Aiden gave her a hug and they skipped off the stage together.

"Girl power!" The MC shouted before he came back on the stage to introduce the next act.

They didn't win the talent show, they came second to a Aerosmith cover band, but Ann hadn't cared about winning or not, she was just proud that she did it in front of the entire middle school, plus parents.

[Autumn Buckland]

3. Wading

It had been a long time since the Bucklands had been to the sea. The serene crash of waves on aging, salt-licked rocks and the abundance of fresh food had brought them back for what would possibly be a "barbecue summer".

Autumn had no idea what one of those was, but she didn't care. Her toes dug into the sand and burrowed around, bringing up shells and little shards of smoothed glass. Each one would be lovingly dusted off and pushed into a pocket, ready to be strung into a bracelet or necklace later. As her family went rock pooling for clams and crabs, the young redhead drifted over towards the lull of waves on the beach. Running a sandy hand through her hair, she moved out into the water and simply stood there, feeling the water wash past her knees and soak the scrunched up fabric of her skirt. There was something nice about the seaside, it reminded her of holidays and peace.

The seaweed sang rude shanties that bubbled up from the currents of water, and a few seagulls added a simple accompaniment, their winged bodies hovering over the Buckland's raiding party, hoping for a few crabs to be tossed aside for being too small. But this was peace. This was everything Autumn had missed in her time at Hammel, and though the holidays were never as long as she hoped, she loved the time surrounded by her extended family. Wading further out till her thighs were wet and the bottom of her dress was sodden, she drew patterns out on the water and watched the waves rip the ripples away.

"A ship sailed from china with a cargo of tea." Autumn sang, dancing away in the water as her mother called out for lunch, her hands on her hips, hair blowing in her face as the wind picked up. "All laden with presents for you and for me~" The voice was sweet, but she obeyed, skipping back up the sand with soggy phlaps as her soaked dress hit her legs. "The seaweed told me a rude song." She yelled eagerly, falling into her mother's arms and burrowing into the blanket held out. "I should like to teach it to Eric, may I write him a postcard?"

Autumn grinned toothily as the smell of roasting shrimp and clams hit the air, and though her beloved dog licked her face, she made a mental note to buy a penny postcard and write the lyrics to the ingenious song to her dear, dear friend.

It was only a day later when the postcard was written, and the lyrics (written in pencil) stared out crudely from the white backing;

A pigeon is a seagull
Without the bigger beak
And sea salt isn't tasty
When the children take a leak
So close your mouth, Don't open it
Next time you're in the sea
Else a saltiness will most certainly hide
A stronger taste of wee.

[Jackeroe Connick]

Prompt 43: Admire

[/b][/center]

I love how strong you are. I mean, in the mental sense. I know that you’re strong enough to rip open doors and punch down walls and stuff, which is super awesome, by the way. But I mean, you have a lot of emotional strength within you too. I don’t have to know your whole past to know that, or even the snippets that you’ve decided to grace me with. I’m a pretty observant guy, I think. I’ve noticed things about you, things I keep to myself because they’re things only a friend should know. I could never break the trust between us, because to be honest I think you are the only woman that doesn’t think I’m just a tad psychotic.

There was a time where I swore I was going to date you. When I first started working here, you were the one who invited me to do something out of school first. You ate lunch with me. I felt like the new kid on the block all over again. And you were the kid who sat with me at lunch and asked me, constantly, how many kinds of jelly I could put on my sandwiches. (For the record, the day after you asked me if I had mixed grape and strawberry jelly together, with that little quirk of your eyebrow and that lilt of laughter in your tone, I came back with a sampling of every jelly and jam in my fridge. There were eight flavors in that sandwich. I still eat my PBJ that way and I always will.)

But then, I got to know you, and I learned about your powers and the baggage that came with it. I would be lying if I told you that I slowly came to the realization I wasn’t the one. I had that particular epiphany one night lying in bed. You and I would always be best friends, but we weren’t made for each other. I would never be able to understand your past fully or ever be able to touch the bottom of the depths of your pain. I can’t swim that far down. But I would still always be there for you. Because you deserved someone who you could sit and talk to and get advice from that was only a friend. I would never be able to do that if we had dated. Do I feel like I’ve missed out? Every day. Do I feel like I’ve been cheated out of something? Never.

Do you know how I define love?

I define it as putting someone else’s life before your own.

I love my Mother, my sisters, my brothers. But outside of that small group, I love only one other.

I love you, Clarisse.

And I admire your strength.

[Karashi Usaki]

72. New

New. The word itself described most of Karashi’s life. She used to live in Japan, where everything was old, and basically routine. Get up, brush your teeth, get your things together, grab a fruit on the way out the door, and so on and so forth. She had grown so used to it. When she found out that she was going to a new school, things changed. New things started to happen. She found a new power that she didn’t even know she had. She made new friends. Everything was just so…new to her. She hadn’t been sure that she liked new things, but she decided that there needed to be a new her as well, so she went with the flow.

At first she didn’t like these new things. It had changed her life, and to her, had made it worse. She felt lost, even though she had made some new friends, and was in a completely different place. This word ‘new’ was basically ruining her life. Or so she thought. As she went through her new life, talking to her new friends, getting to know her new teachers, and learning her new classes, the new things began to turn into old things. Slowly, the word new was beginning to fade away, and she felt that she was finally getting into an old lifestyle. She was comfortable. And then the word ‘new’ took control of her life again.

She learned that she was going to a completely different country, and she knew that there would be all kinds of new things there. She was excited, but also scared. She didn’t like new things, especially new things that she didn’t know about. When she got there, it was like she was a new person. The language was new, the people were new, everything was new. She knew it would take her a while to get used to her new lifestyle. She learned of the family she was staying with, and she met her new family. She was very eager to learn all of the new and interesting things that the country had to offer. She was ready to start her new life, and to make herself a new person. And that’s exactly what she did.

Words: 375
Muse: Great!

[Lala & Reese Degreas]

62. Faithful



Lamora had never had trouble breathing before in her life. Not even when a heavy desk had been dropped on her foot. In fact…it had been what seemed like millennia since she’d even referred to herself as Lamora. These days she only vaguely remembered the name. Like a distant fragment of a memory that had never really belonged to her. Had anything really belonged to her ever?

Her heart clenched, beating too slow, then too quick in an arrhythmic tap-dance against her rib cage as she stumbled over grounds that had once been her home. Since being seized by the government, the compound had been leveled clean. New, struggling grass peppered the crusty earth. Lamora let her large, blood-shot brown eyes flutter closed for a moment, taking in the scent and sound of the area. Everything was weak, so very weak. It was if she was barely there at all: a ghost of her dead sister.

But her feet still carried her.

Bare against the new grass, Lamora’s toes dug into the old earth she’d once turned over in a burial rite. She toppled, clutching her stomach where a bullet had torn through her other stomach.

Marisol. Gone.

O Lord Omnipotent,
Who permittest evil that Thou mayest draw good therefrom,

“Gabriel..” She wheezed, opening her eyes as best she could to reach out a shaky hand and clutch at the withering sapling over his makeshift grave. Her hand fell short, collapsing into the grass over the grave like so much lead. Sweat rolled off her brow as her body struggled to find equilibrium against her severed consciousness. She couldn’t remember how’d she’d gotten here.

Only why.

give ear to our humble petitions,

Using her nearly useless hand and her thin fingers clawing in the earth, Lamora hauled her quivering legs underneath her and crawled along the ground like a snake, pressing her burning face into the ground and breaking into sobs of pain and grief.

“Gabriel...?” Gone. She knew it. But how could he be gone and she still be here? How could her sister--her self--- be gone, but she still be here? Who was Lamora? Who was Marisol?

Where was Gabe?

She choked against her tears, her breath coming slower and more labored, but coming all the same. She wasn’t done. Not yet…not yet.

whereby we beg of Thee the grace of being faithful unto death,

“Not yet…Gabriel” She reached a shaking hand into the pocket of her dress, drawing out a clanking chain of dog tags. They jingled pleasantly against each other, the chains holding them tangling and entwining until Lamora could not possibly tell which blood-stained hunk of metal belonged to her and which to her sister.

Lamora curled up, her long curling hair plastering to her cheeks as she laid against the cool earth, coiling herself around the weak tree as best she could, hugging her chest to the earth. Closing her eyes, she laid the dog tags over the grace. Home. Marisol and Lamora. Gabriel.

Together.

Home.

evermore conforming ourselves to Thy most holy will.

“Amen.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

#9 - Passion

There were no curtains in the living room. Sean had no motivation to put curtains in the living room, because he didn’t walk around nude and the living room was common, friendly space used during the day when people wanted sunlight or at night when sunlight was no concern. He lived on cul-de-sac where he didn’t have to worry about unwanted peeping, and the kitchen was his first stop after coming downstairs. There was no need for curtains.

And yet the sun’s rays beat down on him – most unwelcome – bathing him in brightness and forcing him to consciousness.

Why was he in the living room?

Turning and finding Josh’s head right next to his gave the telepath the answer.

Not again. One day, he was going to sit the other man down and have this conversation. But not today. Not ever, since the morning after they never had that conversation. It was always easier to focus on the here and now. While this was unfortunately common enough, they usually managed to make it to his bedroom.

How much had they drunk last night?

The floor was littered with beer bottles what looked to be the remains of his celebratory scotch and sake.

That would do it.

It also explained why his back hurt. As did his neck – not unusual although less common – and his arms – unusual. He brought one arm close to his face and found it red and scratched. Rug burn?

He couldn’t remember what, precisely, had caused that...but good for them. Not bad for two men who had lived half a century.

His congratulatory thoughts were interrupted by the aroma of coffee. Still tired, he wanted to thank the other man for being so considerate as to put a pot on. Then it hit him. Josh was still asleep next to him. So who had put on the coffee?

Rapidly waking up, he pushed himself to his feet and looked around blearily. There was clothing all over the furniture, as was to be expected. Pants, shirts, boxers...a brassiere.

A brassiere?

Where on Earth had that come from? They’d gone sailing yesterday and then had come back here for supper. Just him and Josh and Anya who had wanted to go sailing with them. Then they’d started talking and had done shots before starting a game of strip poker...

Anya?

Anya.

Mary, Mother of God.

Sean’s eyes widened and his body flushed with embarrassment. This was inexcusable. Josh and his dance was fine when they were alone, but in front of a guest...A guest half his age who was also his colleague, no less.

The aroma of coffee mixed with the sizzling of bacon. She was actually cooking breakfast. As much as he wanted to hide from embarrassment, this was his house and she was still his guest. He had to play host.

Walking carefully, lightly to avoid waking Josh, he searched for his pants. He’d wear Josh’s if only they fit, but he had half a foot on the other man and they couldn’t share clothing. It took longer than he would have liked, but he found them behind the sofa. Unfortunately, his shirt was nowhere to be found.

Shirt or not, at least his shame was covered.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he walked the distance between the living room and the kitchen. He looked like a disheveled mess, but he wanted to minimize it.

Anya greeted him with a bright smile, although she looked only slightly more put together than he was. She was wearing her summer dress from last night. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“No. No, of course not.” He was never this awkward around Josh the morning after. Then again, practices makes perfect. “Would you like some help?”

“I’m fine. I hope you don’t mind that I rummaged through your cupboards.”

“Of course not.” Perhaps soon his vocabulary would remember that it consisted of more than four words.

He busied himself with pulling down mugs for the coffee and setting the table. When his back was to her, he felt slightly more at ease.

The silence didn’t help. Ignoring it didn’t help the way it did when it was only him and Josh. And since Josh wasn’t currently awake, Sean was free to follow his natural instincts and address the problem head on. He cleared his throat, “Did either I or Josh do something…untoward last night?”

“You were gentlemen.”

Sean took no relief from that. If he had been anyone else, he might have believed her, but the telepathy robbed him of the ability to live in a fantasy world where polite lies became truth. While perhaps she meant what she said, in this context the definition of gentlemen had been expanded to include pulling pillows off the sofa before... His cheeks flushed a fresh shade of red.

“I’m sorry. We’re not usually like that.” They weren’t usually like that in front of an audience. Certainly not with audience participation.

He had to sit down. Shakily, he reached for the nearest chair and sat, covering his face with one large hand. Although he could no longer see her, and his blush was largely blocked now, no physical barrier could prevent the leaked memories. He was too mortified to pull on his mental shields, and besides, it was too late. Turning a blind eye did nothing to alleviate the underlying problem. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that she, too, had rug burn, but on her...

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. His apology wasn’t merely for the act itself, but for the entire breach of trust, for destroying their professional relationship and quite possibly their friendship as well.

A mug of coffee was placed in front of him, prompting him to move his hand from his face. Anya had apparently been waiting for that opportunity, because she gave him a gentle chastising look. “May I be blunt?”

“You’ve earned the right.” He wouldn’t tell her otherwise, not after last night.

“You are surprisingly enthusiastic, when you finally relax.”

There was nothing to say to that. And apparently it was not his turn to speak, because she continued, “You said he was an acquired taste, but I didn’t expect that.”

“Don’t judge him when he’s had too much to drink,” the telepath requested of her. “And he’s never been with a woman before.” Sean didn’t know how to break that to Josh, but he supposed he would cross that bridge when they got there, whenever the other man woke. If he was observant – which he wasn’t always –he would notice the brassiere and remember, or at least deduce. If not, then perhaps he wouldn’t remember or realize, and Sean could take this to his grave as a blood pact with Anya.

“I can tell.” There was no judgment in her voice, only the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “He flails.”

“And he snores. You get used to it.” The humor helped combat the embarrassment somewhat. This was a change of pace from having to shoulder the aftermath himself in silence.

The bacon was done, and Anya piled it onto a platter, before moving on to the toast. “May I ask a question?”

“I think we’ve passed the point of formalities, don’t you?” That was accompanied by a hand gesture, encouraging her to ask her question.

“Do you often use your telepathy that way?”

Sean’s memories of the night before were still lacking in the details department, but given the context, he could answer without specifics. “Usually. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t. Not that you should trust my memory right now.”

“And you haven’t been on a date in two years?”

Sean was taken aback momentarily; how had she known...right, the drinking the night before. He had likely apologized in anticipation of poor performance. “When you get to be my age, dates come fewer and farther between.”

“You should advertise.” When he raised his eyebrow, she went on to explain. “I know what you told me about prejudices against psychic abilities, but I think if people considered the possibilities, they would be more willing.” She smiled then, remembering.

Because Sean’s mental shields were lowered, he followed the train of thought and managed not to cough, although once again, his face darkened. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Truly, he meant that. To hear the sentiment from someone in her late 20s gave hope to an old man.

“Sean? Do you mind if I use the shower?” The third member of their triad asked as he stepped into the kitchen, behaving as though he hadn’t woken up nude on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered beer bottles and discarded clothing. Josh was dependable that way.

“Go ahead. When you get back down, I’ll make sure there’s something you can eat on the table.”

“Thanks.” Josh turned to leave and then noticed the woman in the yellow dress for the first time. “Good morning Anya.” He left then, without further comment.

She gave the telepath a peculiar look. “He didn’t realize?”

“Give him a minute.”

Sure enough, no more than thirty seconds later, a mortified “Oh Sh*t” came from upstairs.

Anya’s composure broke and she began to laugh. And Sean, somewhat more relaxed, joined her.

[Evan Brackett]

50. Please

((Apologies to Tony and Pryce for borrowing your characters. I hope you don't mind.))

"Hello!" Evan called as he closed the suite door behind him. A hand shot up from the other side of the couch and gave him a little wave in greeting. It was something Evan had come to expect when he got back from basketball practice. He usually found his roommate lounging there after school, a tattered backpack kicked halfway across the room for some reason or another. As Evan leaned over the back of the couch and dropped his own bag on the empty cushion, he looked over at the younger boy with a sympathetic frown. "Had a bad day again?"

Levi sighed. "As usual." He was still struggling to play catch up with his classes. All the progress he was making was coming slow, and he still relied heavily on the older boy's help. Evan was happy to be there for him, but recently--as the days rolled on and winter transformed into spring--Evan realized that more and more of the time they spent together was being wasted on doing schoolwork. He didn't want that to be the only thing they did together. Now that it was warmer out and he could drag the other boy outside, he'd rather spend time doing something fun anyway. Evan began to fiddle with the strap of his backpack as he thought it over.

"Well," he finally announced, "If you're not up for doing homework at the moment, I do have a better idea."

The other boy immediately brightened up. "What?"

"You'll see," Van said with a grin. "Put your shoes on, we're going to Pilot Ridge."

Not thirty minutes later, they had arrived at their destination. Levi tilted his head as he looked at the shop sign. "A cafe?"

The taller boy nodded. "They've got the best fried ice cream in town. I figured it was warm enough for it now." He grabbed Levi’s hand, pushed the door open, and led him inside. “Hi,” he greeted the waitress at the front, “Can we get two fried ice creams, please?”

“Sure thing, Hun,” she replied with a welcoming smile, “Just take a seat.”

“Thanks.” He dragged Levi back outside to one of the cafe tables and sat down.

They could have spent the entire afternoon at the cafe enjoying the spring breeze and their ice cream, but both of them knew that they needed to get back to school soon if they didn't want to stay up late doing work. Once the check was paid, they bounded off again. The boys were relatively quiet as they walked back to the Hammel Institute, but it was evident that the trip had brightened their day. There wasn't a single complaint between the two of them.

When Evan heard a car coming up behind them, he instinctively looked back. He didn't know what it was about the car that bothered him, just that it did. With a shrug, he turned his attention forward again and marched on. He frowned, however, when he realized that what bothered him was that he'd seen the same car several times already that day--when they were leaving the school and later when they were leaving the cafe--as if it had been stalking them. At first, he told himself he was just being paranoid, that it was a figment of his imagination. Many compact cars looked the same. However, as this one neared the pair, Van's curiosity got the best of him. His walk slowed until he stopped completely and spun around to watch the car approach. Creepy. It was normal for someone to be aware of pedestrians as they drove past, but this was different. The woman driving was staring at them.

"Levi," he called to his friend.

"Yeah?" Levi hadn't even noticed that Evan had separated from him. He turned around to look at the taller boy, and then took a few steps back in his direction. After a moment of silence, Levi followed the phaser‘s gaze, but all he could see was a rather uninteresting car. “What are you looking at?”

The creeper was getting close to them now, and it was ever more obvious that she was watching them. Evan sighed in frustration when Levi didn‘t seem to notice. The Junior was about to point it out to the younger boy when he saw the woman stick her arm out the window, the object in her hand aimed at his friend. It only took Van a second to register what she was holding. By the next second he had shoved Levi out of the way, but by doing so Evan had put himself in the line of fire. The shooter, seemingly unfazed by the action, pulled the trigger of her gun.

With an earsplitting crack the bullet left the barrel, and while the original mark was no longer where he was suppose to be, the bullet hit his substitute with expert precision. The burning pain growing in Evan's chest went ignored as he looked for Levi, but the other boy wasn't standing beside him. He tried to find his friend, to ask where he was, but it was difficult to do between his sputtering breaths and fading vision. He couldn’t breath. The panic came in a rush, followed by lightheadedness, and the forest seemed to turn on its side. It wasn't until his head hit the grass that Evan realized he had fallen over. Then the world was engulfed by darkness.

Delilah pulled her arm back into the car and tossed her gun onto the passenger seat. She glanced in the rearview mirror and watched with disgust as the boy fell. "Oh, please," she scoffed. Not only had she missed her target, but she had also shot some moronic bystander that decided to play hero. "Serves him right. Idiot."

Already the Twins were getting irritable, and they would be pissed when she reported to them about this. Levi knew information about M.S.A.D. that they didn't want getting out: the types of weapons they had, their outside resources, how many of them were left. He was a liability and a threat to their revenge. The longer he lived, the more likely he was to tell someone about those things. It was such that they had tasked Delilah, their new mercenary, with his assassination.

It hadn’t taken her long to track the boy down; Hammel got a hold of all North American metas one way or another. No, the hard part had been the wait. It had been nearly a month since the order for Levi’s assassination went out, and this was the only opportunity she had found since then to catch him off school grounds. The boy's friend had already proven to be a thorn in her side by clinging to the target all day and making it difficult to cleanly do the job, but she couldn't let them make it back to safety. Deciding it was better to take out both boys instead of no one at all, she waited for them to leave town and then pursued the pair. She hadn’t expected the target’s friend to notice her, though, let alone screw up her plan entirely.

Under different circumstances, she would have just circled back, gotten out of the car, and taken out the boy face to face, but there was already another car coming over the hill behind her. No doubt the kid would flag it down for help, and in a small town like Pilot Ridge, the driver would comply. It was definitely too risky to try anything now, and she could only hope that neither of them saw her face clearly. There were never supposed to be witnesses. Fortunately, she expected Levi to be out more than once in the upcoming days, meaning there would be more opportunities for her to complete the job. If he visited his friend at his grave, or if the boy she shot did survive long enough to make it to the hospital, she could track them down and take care of them both at once. After all, what reason did they have to hide from her? As far as they knew, this was just a random act of violence. Yes. Things could be worse.

Back at the scene of the crime, Levi watched in horror as his friend toppled over. He had tripped when Evan shoved him, ending up with his face in the dirt and scrapes on his hands and knees. There wasn't time for him to be angry, however. He knew immediately what the gunshot was before he could turn around to look. He was more familiar with the sound than he should have been.

"Evan!" he shouted as he scrambled to the other boy's side. He could see that his friend was having trouble breathing, and that there was a bloodstain forming on his shirt. Levi thought of Gabe's dead body sprawled out on the study floor, and the time he and Evan talked about dueling back in February. Evan had mentioned dieing...and he was already passed out.

"No! No, Evan. Don't die. Please, don't die!" Levi shouted futilely. Tears were already streaming down his face as he clung to the phaser's shirt. "Please."

[Cobalt Weaver]

8. Content

“You’re being obstinate.”

“And you are whining. Again.”

“Dammit, Cobalt, quit condescending me. I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

Cobalt turned to look at Ben with an eyebrow raised challengingly. “I’m not condescending you. I’m telling you how I see things. I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

Ben let out a gusty sigh, air puffing out his cheeks. Cobalt hated it when Ben did that. Like Ben was so patient and long-suffering with his pain-in-the-ass partner.

And granted, that was probably true, but it didn’t mean Cobalt liked it any more.

“You are allowed to do whatever you want, Cobalt.” Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I am allowed to think you are being a douche about it.”

“You think I’m being a douche about everything.” Cobalt rolled his eyes, shoving the dishes in the dishwasher aggressively, “I think you do this when you know I’m right and you don’t want to admit it.”

Ben let out a disbelieving huff. “If that were true, you’d be right way more often than you actually are.”

“You’re just mad because I don’t let you win arguments like you apparently believe I should.”

“Oh for the love of Christ, Cobalt.” Ben snapped, irritated. “I expect you to not be such a dick to me every once in a while. That’s something called respect, maybe you’ve heard of it? I know it’s a little strange to you, but try to keep up.”

“Whoa, hey.” Cobalt turned around, dropping the dishtowel angrily, “First: you are the one being a dick here. I was able to get through this argument without any unreasonable ad hominem, but you feel the need to insult my very character the moment you feel threatened, so… good job.” Cobalt shot him a sarcastic look, “Furthermore: I’m not quite sure where the issue of respect even comes in here. Of course I respect you. That’s not what we’re arguing here.”

“No, but the way you deliver your arguments to me could be a little more respectful. I’m not stupid—”

“Of course you’re not. If you were, I wouldn’t even bother.”

“Oh, thanks so much. Good to know you deem me worthy to bitch at.”

“Oh, what do you want from me? I give you honesty, you get all pissy. I tell you I think you’re smart, you still get pissy. What am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t turn this into me being unreasonable, Cobalt. I’m just asking you to talk to me with more respect.”

“No you’re not. You’re asking me to coddle you. I won’t do that. I respect you enough to not pussyfoot around things. We’re past that now.”

“Oh great. Good to know that with more emotional honesty comes some verbal abuse.”

“You are so dramatic, I don’t abuse you. I love you.” Cobalt rolled his eyes, turning back to the sink, reaching for another dish.

“… Your face is dramatic.”

Cobalt turned to look at Ben, his eyebrows raised and his face torn between disbelief and supreme amusement. Ben flushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Slowly, a wide grin grew across the younger man’s face.

Cobalt laughed, “You idiot.” In two steps he had closed the space between himself and Ben, leaning up to kiss him lightly. “Also, I win. ‘Your face’ is not a valid argument. Trust me, I checked.”

Ben laughed, shrugging, before wrapping his arms around Cobalt. “Well,” he murmured, a smile on his lips, pressing against Cobalt’s neck, “It was worth a shot.”

Cobalt chuckled again, leaning into the embrace. And this, this right here, was all Cobalt had ever wanted, and was far more than he ever hoped to get.

It was perfect.

[Sawyer Carson]

#28 Weakness
(it is au so if anyone actually knows Sawyer's back story you'll be able to spot the differences. Actually... the whole story is a difference. LOL enjoy)

Its these days. These days that seem to last forever. Those are the ones that haunted her mind. The ones that in the stillness cause chills and induce the panic within. Getting up off the floor of the rehearsal room, Sawyer Carson rubbed her face. She didn't remember how she got there. She was dressed for rehearsal. So she must have brought herself here. But that didn't explain the hour it was now or the throbbing in the back of her head.

It made no difference to her. She was just going to go on back to her dorm and sleep it off. She'd grown accustom to waking up in strange situations. While dance rehearsal wasn't a foreign thing to her, waking up there with little to no recollection of the day, was. Grabbing her bag and her sweater she made her way back to her room. Oddly she passed no one on her way there. Was it really that late? It was.

Beliefs are a questionable thing. But lucky for Sawyer, she was a firm believer in the "Tomorrow is another day" theory. Getting up bright and early, she dressed and went to class just like any other day. Though she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. Something was off balance. And typically when she had a feeling like that it had something to do with her brother. after her classes she looked for him in the halls. But never found him. Had he not even gone to class that day?

The world around her worked along its usual path. But Sawyer strayed that day. A mistake that could have cost her her life. She'd spent so many carefully laid out moments going over the details to her high. What kind it was, how long it would last, what she would be able to actually do during the high. None of it mattered today. She'd got it in the mail. A set of grimy dog tags reading "Private Braxton Carson." She held them in front of her face now as she rode out the waves her body felt as the drugs moved into veins. Along with the dog tags was a wedding ring and a picture of a pretty young blond girl. On the back it read "My sister, my one true love."

Her memories poured over the room from her head. Her ability had a tendency of running wild. But what was she missing here? The envelope. The envelope was already open when she got to it. Someone was reading her mail. What if they'd stolen something of his! Getting up she crossed to her vanity and found the package. But something caught her eye. The reflection in the mirror didn't match the face she thought she had. She looked.... Ten years older. And so very very tired. She hadn't gone to school the other day. And Braxton hadn't been missing from class. She hadn't woken up in the rehearsal studios. It was all her. Her mind keeping up appearances so she didn't have to face something. Something terrible.

The pieces began making sense as her memory played back their graduation, His wedding to a beautiful woman. The day he left for war. And... The day the two men from the army came to the door. "Alice you go an answer it.. I just can't move today." Her stomach was round with her first child. Sawyer had eventually settled down and married the right man. As her sister in law answered the door she heard her cry out in almost the same moment. Quickly getting up Sawyer went to the door were Alice was on the floor sobbing. Looking up at the men she searched their faces. "We're terribly sorry for your family's loss. A grievance counselor will be along tomorrow to help sort out Private Carson's affairs. Our deepest condolences to you and your family Ma'am."

He was dead. Where was she? The room from her school days melted away into the white walls of her room now. A padded room. Her belly was still round; clearly it hadn't been long since the accident. "What's happening to me?! Where am I?!" Running to the door she pounded on it with an open palm. "Please!! Please you have to get me out of here. I can't be in here like this! There has to be a law against this or something!!" But no one was there. Sawyer Carson felt exactly the way she did in her days at Hammel. Alone. Tired. Hurt and scared. And the only thing she could say for it all was Love was her greatest weakness.

[Dr. James Campbell]

64. Relatives

"Maeve, you look exhausted."

She hadn't even been back at work for a full two minutes before the first custumer of the day came in, the woman who ordered the flowers each week for the nursing home down the street.

Mrs. Patterson, just like always, leaned on the display counter and smiled her warm, friendly grin. "Your son was lighting fireworks, wasn't he? I could hear your party from my house."

Ma Campbell waved off the not-complaint and took the piece of paper her friend held, though a decade of filling the same order each week meant she knew exactly what was on it already. "Every year I tell Mike not to bring any, because someone is going to blow their fingers off. This year it was almost Jordan."

"Doesn't it scare the little one?" The Campbells had too many grandkids to remember which one was the little one at that point, but she knew there was at least three under the age of five.

"Spencer? I don't actually think so, but James took him inside anyway, because he doesn't like the noise either."

"James came? Well, isn't that nice. What does he do all summer, when he isn't teaching?" She, like all the other neighbors who inquired after Maeve's oldest child, believed that he was teaching English at some fancy New England prep school. Doing something with himself, despite the shotgun wedding and subsequent divorce.

She smiled fondly as she entered the order into the computer, then printed a receipt. "It's a year-round boarding school, but yes, he made it this year. They're staying until Wednesday."

Mrs. Patterson was, of course, interested in that too. She'd even met Lucy Campbell once, during the brief time she'd been Lucy Campbell. "He brought Ginny too? How old is she now?"

"Fourteen. And a wise ass, just like him."

"It's a shame he never settled down." The woman tutted, but she was smiling anyway, "You know, I have a niece a few years younger than him...."

"Well...." Oh, it was going to come out around town anyway, Maeve thought, so it was useless to try to hide.

And really, she wasn't ashamed of her son. He was happy, and that was all that mattered. "He actually brought someone home for us to meet, a nice young man named Chase. He teaches at the same school."

"Oh! I didn't realize he was..." Mrs. Patterson tried to word her sentence carefully, but ended up with "...that way." all the same.

"Neither did we. Well, Ginny knew. Apparently she met Chase a few months ago. But he's a nice man and they're happy together, so we're happy for them." She handed the receipt off to the older woman, then waited, because there was going to be some sort of comment.

"That's just...a bit of a shock, isn't it?"

"He's my son," Maeve said simply, "And he's found someone who loves him. We're just going to deal with the rest."

Mrs. Patterson smiled then too, and nodded. "Tell him I said hello. Now, I have to be going."

*****

Three years later...

"Norah!" Maeve said brightly as her regular, Monday morning customer came in. "I've got pictures to show you."

"Really?" As always, she handed over her order, but this time she got a photo in return. It was James, with his arm around the man she assumed was his boyfriend. His other arm was slung around his daughter's shoulders, and on his hand... "Did they...?"

"Yes. I am furious at them for not telling me, but James said they wanted a small ceremony." And if it was a proper Campbell wedding, that would have been impossible. But they were happy, and she was going to deal with the rest.

[Jonah King]

NOTE: This is AU. Jonah is not a telepath, and therefore never went to Hammel.
Thanks to Neon, who let me use her girlie.

77. Potential.

Mia was perfectly aware that she was staring.

Then again, everyone else in the bar was staring. It wasn’t like she was out of place.

The unfortunate recipients of this attention were a group of four people, in their mid-twenties, who were sitting around a table having an energetic, good-natured conversation…in hand-blurringly fast ASL. Needless to say, it was this detail which was catching attention – it wasn’t the kind of thing you saw every day, after all. The party was made up of three men and a woman, all relaxed and smiling, who were conversing away as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Which, Mia reminded herself, it was – for them.

Mia herself had had little contact with deaf people during her life. A friend of a friend had been first-language ASL, but both had found that using an iPad to communicate was easier, and they hadn’t seen each other all that often, anyway. Hammel had few deaf students, and none that Mia had ever interacted with. They were all in different year groups.

She was embarrassed to admit that she was fascinated by the conversation going on in front of her. She couldn’t understand a word of it, but their graceful movements and complete silence were engaging to observe. One of the young men – wearing a Gallaudet hoodie – caught her staring, and scowled darkly. The taller one next to him followed his gaze, and gave Mia a half-smile of amusement. There was no spite in it, though. No ‘what are you staring at?’ It was just a smile. Mia felt her cheeks redden as she looked away. Caught in the act.

It was her round (hey, CIA operatives all gotta drink, right?), so Mia headed over to the bar. Bad timing, Keystone – she had failed to realise that the taller man from the group of four was already there, waiting to place an order. There was no bartender in sight. Mia glanced quickly up at him (tall, ears, football player’s build), and was once again the victim of bad timing as he looked down at her in the same moment.

They shared an awkward smile.

Mia Keystone did not apologise for anything. But by way of making amends for staring at him earlier, she held out a small hand for him to shake. ‘Mia Keystone,’ she told him. It was odd, having someone look at your mouth and not your eyes, but he gave her a warm smile and dwarfed her hand in one of his.

He had a nice smile.

‘Jonah King.’ She hadn’t been prepared for his voice – guttural and unclear. But he was watching her face carefully, and she didn’t let her surprise show. He released her hand after a moment. ‘Sorry about my friend,’ he said, gesturing towards the table where the man in the hooded top was eyeing Mia as if she were a viper. ‘He‘s always like that.’

‘What, a dick?’ Mia asked, and Jonah appeared to be trying not to laugh. His friends were all looking at her now, and she resisted the urge to make all of their mobile phones explode in bolts of lightning. ‘What’s their problem?’ she asked, and felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. As she turned back, she realised that she had been facing away from him as she spoke. ‘Sorry,’ her cheeks were red again. ‘I just asked what their problem is.’

He looked at the group – each person was signing energetically, and Mia had no doubt it was about her. Then he looked back down at her. ‘Deaf politics,’ he told her, smile amused but eyes irritated. ‘And Chris is asking me why I always go for hearing girls.’

‘And do you?’ His quizzical gaze asked her: ‘what?’, and she clarified. ‘Always go for hearing girls.’

His grin was bright, and full of mischief. ‘Maybe,’ he replied, and she smirked up at him, the trademark Keystone smirk. Her eyes flicked down to the pocket of his jeans, and he pulled out his cellphone, which was vibrating in his hand. Frowning, he pressed a few buttons and read the message she had sent to it:

Want to give them something to talk about?

He looked back at her, face full of confusion. ‘Meta human,’ she told him by way of explanation, and his expression broke into understanding. He glanced at the message again, then back at her, smile now full of interest. ‘I’m in’, he seemed to be saying. Mia didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who could say something so eloquently with just facial signals.

‘So, Jonah who always goes for hearing girls,’ she took a step closer and smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with fun. ‘Ever kissed a meta?’ In one quick movement she reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him down into a deep kiss. She could hear her own colleagues wolf-whistle, and she could also feel Jonah’s smile against her own lips. His hands on her back were warm, and his arms tightened around her waist gently, but firmly. Finally, they broke apart. ‘Do all deaf guys kiss that well?’ she asked with a chuckle, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling.

‘Just me,’ he told her, as seriously as he could. ‘Do all metas kiss strange guys in bars?’

‘Just me,’ she replied with a grin. Stepping neatly out of his arms, she threw a smile at him over her shoulder and went to the ladies’ room. As she opened the door she saw his friends reacting to what she had done, and their incredulity made her smile widen even more. Jonah appeared to be refusing to say a word about what had happened – he was just smiling serenely in the face of their amazement. Mia watched him for a second or two. It was barely the work of a moment to send him another text message:

You know something, King? I think we have potential.