Thunder begins making out with Calico again. The two dolls swing each other around like they were lighter than air. They end up slamming into the door right as you unlock it, shoving it open and collapsing into the carpet. On the other side of the room is-

“Oh, goddamn it! They’re doing it again!” you groan.

PPK and G36C are having sex on their bed again. Their lower halves are covered with a blanket, but the rest gives away exactly what they’re doing. G36C is laying on the bed while PPK is kneeling on top of her. The petite maid has one of C’s thick thighs and legs over her shoulder as she grinds into her partner’s privates with her own. Both girls are moaning when you intrude.

G36C whips her head aside while PPK continues to roll into her. She shuffles her shoulders, attempting the motions to cover her inverted nipples as the flop up and down, but her fingers are dug into the white sheets. “Oh, hi, Commander!” she says amid pants. “H-hey, Calico. I’m sorry. We put Nya~ to bed and… got into the mood. Aha~!”

“No, no. We’re sorry for barging in without knocking… nor subsequently checking if your following response wasn’t a double entendre.”

Calico and Thunder glance up, taking a momentary break from their kissing. Their eyes dart back and forth between each other and the other couple.

“…Whoops,” Calico meekly says.

You rouse your dolls to give the duo some privacy. “Calico, Thunder, A-91, let’s get a drink or something. Give these girls exactly another hour to wrap things up-”

“Wanna join us?” PPK instead suggests.

“PPK!” G36C exclaims. “Don’t listen to her, Ms. Calico. She’s just being a whore.”

Calico and Thunder start back, the latter inching back on the carpet as she’s the bottom girl. The former gets a curious expression, however. Instead of being horrified by her reckless charge or off-put with the lewd maid, she’s genuinely considering the idea. Thunder looks up at Calico, now her being the one clueless of what’s going on in her partner’s head.

Calico’s yellow eyes peer back down to Thunder’s reds. “My folks have told me how important it is for my first time to be special, cause I only get one first. Yet, each and every one of the stories I’m told is the same thing: two people alone in a dark bedroom doing it missionary or doggy-style and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Never has it been with a T-Doll in front of her comrades while they’re already having sex.” She lowers her head, their noses touching. Both of their breathing turn intense as they know exactly what she’s going to ask. “Thunder-”

Thunder answers with a deep kiss. Her tongue strikes into Calico’s mouth and she moans in response. The handgun duo immediately go at each other like animals, continuing their rolling on the floor now. No need for a single motel room. No time to find a private place. It’s sex and love right here, right now, until the moment they part for good.

Your blue-haired doll takes an abrupt hold of the reins. She grabs Calico by the shoulders and pushes her onto the foot of her bed. She then drags her up on top, all the while sucking the life out from her mouth like a succubus. Calico moans into her, more than pleased. She surrenders her machine soul to the succubus as she wraps her hands around Thunder’s neck and head and keeps her sucking her mouth dry. They make so many lewd noises and Thunder hasn’t even hit the bed yet. They do this all in front of PPK and G36C. Thunder even looks over in the corner of her eye to check if they are watching and ask if she’s doing everything right.

G36C responds with a big thumbs-up. PPK has stopped grinding into C, temporarily distracted with the new set of lovers.

“I didn’t expect either of them to be so lewd, especially Thunder,” PPK pants.

“Must be your influence,” G36C blames her.

PPK glares at her. She reminds her that she’s on top and in control. “More than likely, it was Gepard’s.”

Thunder and Calico eventually break lips. Both are panting and desperate to reconnect on the spot.

Calico quickly says as a disclaimer to Thunder, “I-I’m sorry if I mess up somewhere. I’ll try my best, I really want to for you, but it might not be good enough. My body-”

Thunder clasps her hands tightly over Calico’s mouth. She wants no more self-doubt coming from her mouth. No more words either. She locks lips with her again, running her hands over her body and enjoying it just the way it is.

PPK and G36C return to each other as well. With the door to the fun room closed and Nya~ sleeping, all four dolls proceed to make steamy love to each other on the beds, filling the air with their soft moans and rubbing bodies.

It’s quite the abrupt sight for you and A-91. Neither of you expected that this was going to happen.

A-91 tugs your arm to grab your attention. “You mentioned something about a drink?” she asks. She folds her arms behind her back and sways tweely. “Maybe make it a date with me?”

You sigh and nod. You guess you did. You give the now-four of them some degree of privacy while you and A-91 go out for her date.

+=+=+

CLINK!

You and A-91 down your drinks at the same time. You lean back in your chair and look out of the front windows to the downtown city. Green light bathes you, A-91, and the floral-tile floor beneath. It’s calm, quiet, still: just you, her, and the human bartender that’s half-asleep and occupied with the American football game on the TV hanging above him.

“You picked a good place,” you say.

“Pwah~!” a thirsting gasp escapes her throat. Her head falls forward and sways back and forth. “Thank you, Commander.”

“You really haven’t had a lot of time to go drinking like you hoped, huh?”

“Yeah, it sucks being sober,” she groans.

You set your empty glass aside. Your eyes travel up from A-91’s inebriated form to the counter and black brick wall behind her. She’s already hit 5 shots.

You ask, “What’s it like when you enter the double digits? How do you go… berserk?”

“I’m not sure,” A-91 frankly replies. She whips her head up and rests her upper body on the support of the wooden chair. Her multicolored hair messily flops all over her. “One moment I’m here, then I remember everything blurring, then… nothing. My visual records cut to when I wake up.”

“Yet you seem to carry over a lot of your personality and memory to this other state.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told that. It’s been described to me as… what do the book-nerds say… Jekyll and Hyde? After 10, impulses take over entirely. Something in me is overwritten which lets me do things I wouldn’t normally do.”

“Does it scare you, that your addiction can make that happen?”

She parts some of her hair over her ear. Her yellow, sharp eyes slowly close and open, staring down at your chest as she thinks. “It is concerning how little control I have over it. Then again, I’m rarely in control of my body in general.” She chuckles softly with a hiccup in the middle. She looks to you with a confident smile. “I can think around my ‘Double Digit Disaster’. I can position myself in a way that can cause the least damage. Or at least, damage only what I consciously want to be damaged, hehe.”

“But couldn’t your berserk form outsmart you?”

“Potentially. I’ve thought about that exact scenario a few times, but I’m still the same gal in whichever state I’m in.” She places her hand over yours. “I will always be your doll, Commander~”

“True.” You smile with her. “Since you’re all drunken-up now: Made any conclusions on the Pinstripes?”

“I have been thinking a lot about ‘em. During your double date with Persica at the concert, I looked into the news and police records.”

“Oh right, you were drinking there, too. Wait, have you hit your limit already?”

“But I can’t seem to figure out shit about them!” she whines. “There aren’t any security recordings of them online until the big heist. No footage from any place in or near the bar we were at, either. They move so quickly, too. They’d have to know where all the exterior and internal cameras are, scout the building from either really far away or from a ridiculous vantage point, and execute their plan with no surprises.”

“No wonder M870’s been so sparse with the details.”

“She rubs me the wrong way. Is she hiding something or…” She looks at her reflection in the bottom of the empty glass. “I’m not usually a biased doll.”

“You’re not?”

“Most of what I believe, I usually have evidence or a line of logic to back up. For this case, though I don’t have nearly enough evidence to believe in anything certainly. Maybe I need more alcohol…?”

“I wouldn’t risk going over the limit.”

“To be honest, I’ve been thinking about you more than the Pinstripes.” She sets the glass aside and looks back up into your eyes. “You’re fascinating to me. Who were you? What were you? Who are you now? Gram-Gram told us the basics, but they’re just as vague as what we know of the Pinstripes.”

“You think there’s a relation?”

“Dunno. Has your memory improved?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How about you tell me what you remember of your old life so far? Maybe I can help.”

“That would be very kind of you. Thank you.” You tell her everything you remember. It’s the same story as before, you in a ditch being shot through the head, Griffin saving you, and Persica putting you in the V-Doll body. You try to dredge up any details you can add on. However, these details are fluid. They change shape and form, even when you’re just describing the exact shade of the sky. There isn’t a single answer to the question. There can’t be a singular answer. You try your best to describe this uncertainty alongside the story, which rewards you with a baffled expression from the genius drunkard.

You finish the story to be met with an unsurprising answer: “I got no clue.”

You groan, frustrated. “I can’t get any other memory out of this undead piece of brain matter.”

“How about something that resonates deep within you? Like a name? A place? A year?”

“...” You cross your arms and bow your head. You think about it, digging through everything your mind’s eye can conjure up. You arrive at… something. “2020?”

“Like the year?”

“Or the decade,” you wonder.

“You think you were alive then?”

You nod. “Yeah, possibly.”

“Then that would make you over 40 years old.”

“Maybe even more. At least another 10, I’d estimate.”

“You could be older than… most everyone in Griffin. Kryuger, Helian, Persica. They’d all be your juniors.”

You shiver at the thought, all the responsibility that could be dropped onto your shoulders. “I’m fine with just being Persica’s apprentice for now,” you reply with an easing chuckle.

“Is that your own will, or Persica’s programming?”

“Huh?”

“If she were a smart girl, she’d put in some mental restraints. You know, Directive 4, Asimov’s laws, some security to keep you in check.”

“I doubt she’d do anything like that. I’m not a volatile person.”

A-91 raises an eyebrow. Oh. Right. You faked a hostage crisis and risked your entire base’s safety to steal a doll from your fellow commander.

“The V-Doll body is meant to revive a human brain, potentially allow it to be fully digitized. We don’t know if it even works, so why would she tamper with it so drastically during testing?”

“Then why would she choose a body that was shot through the head?”

“...”

A-91 elaborates on this thought, “If she really wants to raise the dead, wouldn’t she have used a terminally ill dude? Or someone who just drowned? She’s shooting herself in the foot using a brain like yours.”

“Hmm…”

“Unless that’s her intention. But what does she want in being able to revive someone who’d died as you did?”

“There might not be any ulterior motives,” you say. “She revived me in the pursuit of human benefit. She’s a good doctor like that. Besides, isn’t this supposed to be a date between us?”

“Ah… sorry. Welp, it hardly matters. No matter what you were, you’re now my commander. You’re still that strong man that went against the man to save that little snow-princess, Thunder.” She takes her glass and bonks the bottom against the tabletop. “Another!”

As the bartender is snapped from his game and gets another drink prepped, A-91 listlessly plays with the buttons of her coat. You then feel one of her legs rub against yours. A sly smile appears on her lips.

“Those girls are still going to be fucking when we get back,” A-91 says.

“Oh, totally.”

“Let’s go to the pool after this.”

“Really? Alcohol and swimming? Is that healthy?”

“Pfft. What’s water compared to Sangvis Ferri and mobsters?”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

+=+=+

Steam envelops the rooftop pool, contained within a barrier of cyan-illuminated glass. The heating and steam units purr in the corner. In the face of the cold, winter night, your body bathes in the warm waters. Along the way back, A-91 had grabbed a towel and a pair of trunks from your room. Apparently, during the other girls’ shopping trip, one of them got a fun idea to give you some sexy shorts. Thunder, Calico, PPK, and G36C were still making intense love like predicted. They didn’t even notice your drunken doll as she stumbled in and out.

You keep in the shallows, only soaking in the water. A-91 lays on her belly on the tile floor behind you. Her heels slowly kick back and forth in the air. The tight latex about her thighs and rear quietly stretch and rub at a hypnotic pace. There’s no one else here. At least, you think so. With so little disturbances to the air, the steam thickens into an isolating veil.

A-91 pulls off her leather cap and fans herself. “You’re so hot, it’s making me hot,” she slurs.

“That’s your opening line?” you jest.

“Don’t pick on me.” She slaps you with her hat. “I’m no Tolstoy or Pushkin. болван~ (Bolvan~)”

“Do you natively speak English or Russian? I’m just curious. What’s your first language?”

“It’s… half and half. Half of my programming’s written in English and the other is in Russian.”

“Is that even possible?”

She shrugs. She’s alive and moving now, isn’t she? “Does it bother you?”

“It’s a little inconsistent, but it does give you an exotic edge, in a way.”

“An exotic local? In the New Soviet Union, no less! I outta slap you in the face. You sound more wasted than me, hahaha!”

“Dammit Persica,” you shift the blame of your dumb compliment, blushing at her hearty laugh.

“Thank you for being by my side for so long on this trip. Gram-Gram and the dolls of S18 are often scared or shy of me. You’re willing to get drunk and party with me.”

“Honestly, perhaps I should cut down on the drinking. Prevent addiction.”

“We’re dolls, we can’t get addicted.”

You whip your head around, getting a good look at who’s making the claim. You’re met with her rear jutting out at you as she sits up onto her knees. You hear a series of pops from her chest before her winter jacket flows off from her shoulders. Her blond, pink, and purple hair flutter around her slim form. She turns around, exposing the thin top half of her bodysuit and the bare arms and cleavage around it.

“Whoo…” you whistle at her.

“It just keeps getting hotter,” she says in a low pant. Her chest rises and falls with her heavy, deep breaths. “I’m just so used to the cold, the barren, isolated, cold.” She giggles, unable to keep up the act for even a line. She curls a finger around one of her long stands, shifting herself so you see all of her curvy angles.

“Doesn’t seem to be a lot of things to cool you down,” you reply, playing along. You know where this is going.

“Except… your body. No, it’s the hottest thing here. Bah… blyat… Gimme a better line!” she slaps you over the head.

“Ow! …You’re usually a lot more straightforward with this kind of stuff-”

Your concern is immediately addressed as A-91 smacks her lips against yours. Her flimsy pre-sex banter is tossed away the moment it fails. She forces you open with her lips and invades your mouth with her tongue. She moans graciously upon finally entering you.

Her body relaxes as she takes her prize. You’re able to wrestle some control back and move your tongue with hers, swirling them around. She slowly splays her body out onto her side and supports herself on her elbows and hands as she gradually lowers down to your lips. Her hips rotate around, again showing off her perfect rear to you. It curves in a perfect circle as it juts out from her backside and flows into her thick thighs.

She grabs a hold of your chin tightly, hollowing your cheeks and squeezing your tongue into her mouth. Her half-open eyelids show a pair of hot, yellow irises staring into you intensely as she explores the inside of your mouth. She swallows any groans that escape you. It’s a wet and messy kiss, with saliva being swapped between the two of you and hot strands dribbling down her chin.

As she continues to roughly kiss you, you find yourself being slowly pulled out of the water. Your back is laid on the floor while your knees bend into the watery steps. She repositions herself so that she lays parallel to your body. She then releases your chin and catches the back of your head before it reaches the floor. Strings of saliva stretch from your parting lips before ultimately falling all over your face. She breathes out deeply. Her eyes flutter down to her body, the sweat of the steam seeps from her smooth skin to the equally smooth latex bodysuit.

“I’m getting… so hot…” she wheezes.

She pulls aside one of the straps over her chest and her breast flies out. It was crushed inside of her suit, begging for release. Her big, juicy nip falls right in front of your mouth. You seize upon the opportunity, taking the pink bud in your mouth and suckling on her boob. A-91 smiles amid a hot moan.

“There you go… Ah…” she coos as your lips wrap around her perfectly large nipple.

She caresses your head with one hand and starts jerking you off with the other. She pulls your pants down and uses her strong fingers to beat the life out of your cock, turning it erect with deep, powerful strokes. Her drunkenness has not caused her ability to stagnate. No, it makes her more free and forceful upon your member.

You moan as you continue to suckle on her. Her pillowy boob envelops your face. All you can smell and feel is her luxurious body, her hardening nipple, her erotic breathing. While evident she won’t give any milk, it’s a goal the remnants of your animal mind attempt to achieve as you suck her, sending shocks throughout her once restrained bosom. You get your tongue involved, giving the occasional wet lashing to her bud. She strokes you off faster as you suck on her harder.

“Commander~ You- Aahah! You like my body that much, huh?”

You answer by pressing your face deeper, giving her a deep, suckling smooch. A sharp exhale escapes her parted, bared teeth.

“You’re so needy!” she moans on the inhale.

She strokes you faster and faster. It creates a rising feedback loop of pleasure for both of you. Without the water to cool you, your bodies turn sweaty. The steam melts your minds as you suck and she jerks you. You’re sapping her strength she needs to work her hands. You feel her pinky graze your balls as she cycles around your lengthening member with growing, desperate effort.

Your head’s too far in her boobs to restrain yourself. You feel your body lighten, about to burst. You hound into her chest, sucking her dry. You bite into her nipple. She loudly shrieks. Her hand strikes down with a final jerk that sends you over the edge. You cum a fountain out of your cock, caking A-91’s hand in jizz.

She sets you down as she examines her hand. A hungry smile shows as she sniffs you. Seeing you feed on her has made her hungry herself. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and sucks on them, one by one, before using long, deep licks to clean the rest on her palm and the back of her hand.

“It’s a close second to vodka,” she seductively remarks. “Hopefully I can’t go crazy over this stuff.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time now,” you jest, catching the breath you wasted in her chest.

Her lust-possessed body slinks back up in a flowing motion, swaying loose in a mesmerizing pattern. She reaches behind and unzips her bodysuit. The black latex peels off of her heavily toned skin.

Placed all over her midriff and legs are tattoos of various symbols. There is an entire history painted in black ink and pale skin, the history of a once-rebel that has been hidden away in black cloth, but remains a part of her to this day. You see military-style stars below her collarbones; a spider with a cross on its back crawling down her right ribs, having finished its hunt; Madonna and her child, otherwise known as St. Mary and Christ, taking refuge below her other breast; a round rose surrounded by barbed wire over her navel, half white and half black; and most notable of all are a pair of deeply detailed stars etched onto her knees.

She sees your keen focus on them. She tells you what those in particular mean: “На коленях не стоял. (Na kolyenyah ne stoyal.) I did not kneel.” She then sighs humorously. “Obviously, things have changed since then.”

“What changed?”

She shrugs, unable to clearly remember the details. “Thinking. I used to think like those Pinstripes: humans as our creators and we’re supposed to serve them without a second thought like some cruel, cosmic curse. I wouldn’t even consider fighting as a T-Doll for Griffin then. But… after some more thinking and a couple of blackouts, I found you that humans are astounding things. You’re not animals, nor are you perfectly logical machines. Your emotions make you both impulsive to reason, and compassionate enough to find reason in others’ actions. You created us like gods, yet you’re not even sure if God is real. You create art, you can create advanced technology, and you made booze! Humans are an anomaly on top of the anomaly known as Earth. Beyond our programming, if there was anything to preserve in this universe, it would be you humans.”

“A-91…”

She kicks off her bodysuit and her high-heels. She slides her hands over the stars on her knees. “I should get rid of these someday. I’d get in a lot of trouble if someone saw me like this.” She looks around, seeing only the thick fog. You two are still perfectly isolated, but… “I should hide them in the water.”

She rolls ungraciously into the pool, creating a big splash on impact. Her entire body becomes soaked as she pops back up. Her sleek skin and rainbow hair glitter in the night lights.

“Mind your waterproofing,” you advise her.

“Man, if my waterproofing was ever a problem, I would’ve drowned in alcohol years ago,” she drunkenly laughs.

She pulls you into her at the middle of the shallows. She locks lips with you again as her hands wander down to your trunks. She pulls them down, bringing her kissing lips and your face down with them. Your cock is rushed with warm water followed by A-91’s warmer thighs and hips. It becomes erect, floating upwards towards your lady’s opening.

“I came to Griffin and S18 to preserve you wonderful anomalies. And now, haha, I serve under the most wondrous and anomalous human of them all,” she declares.

She grabs onto your shoulders and lifts herself up just enough. She then slides down over your member. Your cock pushes into her sleek folds immediately.

A-91 arches back and lets out a drunken roar, “Aaahaa~! блять! (Blyat!)”

Hopefully the pool truly is quiet and empty. Then again, A-91 hardly seems to be in the mood to care. Taking a forceful head-start again, she pushes herself up and down your cock, splashing in the warm water. Your body slowly slips back against the wall. You grip into her ribs to stabilize yourself. Her eyes glisten topaz as they wildly glare into yours, starving for your cum. You get into it as well. Your fingers dig tighter into her sides and aid her movements.

Your cock pumps deeper and deeper into her. You feel her insides become slowly forged into the shape of your cock. They squeeze and suck on your member’s artificial flesh all the way through. The machine muscles in her tattooed torso clench just as tightly against yours.

You lower your hands to her hips. You hold them tight as you drive your hips into her faster and deeper. The water between your crotches turns into a hot boil. A-91’s core heats up rapidly. Pleasure pulses through both of your bodies, frying your nerves and melting your neural circuits. Her face warps with her digimind as her eyes start to cross over each other. Her body arches back further and her tongue starts to lap from her mouth. Her big, beautiful breasts spin in circles, clapping against each other at the same rate you’re fucking her.

“Ебать! Ебать! Ебать! (Jebat́! Jebat́! Jebat́!)” she pants out into the clouds above.

You then pull each other back together. A-91’s lewd face returns to yours, now blushing ruby. Her eyes have nearly rolled over the top of her head. She can no longer focus on you or anything, lost in the frantic fucking of her tight pussy. It compels you to go all out. You strike into her cervix with hydraulic viciousness, emptying in and out of her faster than any water can seep in. The speedy slapping of your genitals and the water surrounds you denser than the steamy fog. Your bodies are repeatedly splashed with the waves your combined hips produce.

You hit the final stretch. A-91 has lost all of her senses to you, her face being a red-hot, sexy mess and her gorgeous hair flailing everywhere. Her insides have been fully shaped around your cock, but continue to squeeze as you shove in and out of her. You keep going up and down, into and out of her. You hold on as tight as you can.

You lastly strike down as deep as you can, bottoming out entirely and cumming directly into her core. A-91’s body seizes rigid.

“Сукаaaaa~! (Sukaaaaa~!)”

Her face freezes in that lewd form as she feels your sperm fill her arctic center. Her yellow eyes are stuck crossed over and rolled to the top of her head, glazed in an orgasmic fade. Her tongue hangs limply outside of her mouth, dripping a continuous stream of mixed saliva down between you two.

Her stomach twitches and convulses with your cock around it. Her core muscles would occasionally spasm, unsure how to take their commander’s combined cock and cum. Her nails dig into your back to the point of drawing machine blood from you.

Upon pulling out, she immediately crashes. Her body turns limp and falls backwards into the waving water’s surface. She floats a little there. Her chest and stomach rise and fall at opposing interval. But then, she starts to sink. You catch her before her permanent ahegao dips below. You throw her body over your shoulder and carry her out of the pool. You spend a minute lying on the side of the pool, dryly panting and pulling your senses out from your mental frenzy one by one.

Then quickly, you dry both yourself and A-91 and wrap each other up in the towels. You grab your clothing and return back to the hotel room, just barely escaping another encounter with Commander Maro.

+=+=+

Back in the room, everyone has fallen asleep. The two queen-sized beds have turned into piles of slowly rising and sinking bodies, emitting the soft moans and snores of each of the four lovers within. They’re all nude, but have mostly covered themselves in sheets and pillows their post-coital bodies could gather.

Starting from the back, G36C and PPK are completely passed out. G36C has one arm crossed over her hot face and the other splayed over the edge. Bits of steam hiss out of her agape mouth plus some drool in the corner of her lips. PPK is laying on top of her, latching over her partner’s chest like a love parasite. She’s sucking on her thumb, but given the position of her head, she might have mistaken it for G36C’s boob.

In what was once your bed, Calico and Thunder are cozily snoozing together. Thunder holds her partner from behind with her hands tightly bound under Cali’s shoulders and over her heart, like she’s holding a giant teddy bear. Her face is buried in her undone, green hair, completely absorbed in her scent and fluffy mane. She has never been this attached or at peace in all of her life. Calico, while a little stiff with how rough Thunder is handling her, is equally enjoying this. This may be the first time she’s been held in such an embrace like this. Her hands rest over Thunder’s. A small, calm smile appears on her sleeping face.

They all look so happy together.

With your own “bear” deep asleep on your shoulder, you rinse the both of you off, go to the bunk below Nya~, and sleep together for the remainder of the night. A-91 feels the softness of the bed as her body automatically latches itself around yours. Hopefully, this was a good enough date to leave her satisfied until her next turn. Hopefully, everyone has had a perfect date today, for it’ll be the last between Thunder and Calico for the foreseeable future.


They drive out to Palmetto on January 19th and neither of them mentions the date. They never mention it, or the nightmares that come with it for Neil, how he can only fall asleep with one hand clutching the material of Andrew’s shirt, fingers wrapped tightly around it but loose enough that Andrew can break free if he needs to.

Andrew finds an empty parks near the stadium and twists the key to turn off the Maserati, shaking off the memory of him holding Neil’s hand to his chest this morning, his heartbeat a reassurance that his words can’t be.

Neil is slumped against the cool window in the passenger seat, mouth slightly open and eyes moving under his eyelids. The sun hits his hair, dyes it a bright red and his long lashes throw shadows on his cheeks. He’s wearing one of Andrew’s hoodies and he’s drowning in it and it makes him look younger and more innocent than he is.

The phone in his pocket vibrates once against his thigh and Andrew pulls it out and looks away from Neil. We are ready, it reads and Andrew doesn’t answer.

“Neil,” Andrew says quietly and watches as Neil’s brows furrow for a moment, followed by his lips curling up at one corner. There’s warmth in Andrew’s chest when he looks at Neil, there has been for a while now, and he’d safe the feeling to analyze and look at later but he’s old enough and has been with Neil long enough to know and name it. “Neil.”

Neil’s eyes snap open and he takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing from where they crept up to his ears when he recognizes his surroundings. He turns his head, a yawn splitting his face open and he mumbles, “staring.”

“Shut up,” Andrew says and keeps staring. Neil looks better, he realizes, the dark bags under his eyes are barely visible anymore and his eyes are hooded but not wild. He exhales and opens his door. “Come on.”

“We’re already here?” Neil asks but steps, hissing at the chilly breeze that brushes through his hair and whips at the hoodie.

Instead of answering Neil (that question doesn’t need an answer, neither was it necessary to ask but Andrew doesn’t say this), he grabs their bags from the backseat, carrying them both, and makes his way to the entrance.

It takes a few seconds but he eventually hears Neil’s footsteps as he follows. They let themselves in, the keys a graduation gift Wymack had given both of them. Andrew had thought he was getting sentimental with age, whereas Neil had looked like he was going to tear up.

Being back here, seeing the lounge and pictures of himself on the wall, framed and not wrinkled, dirtied and ripped apart, is strange but not unpleasant. It smells like cheap deodorant, sweat and rubber. It feels, somehow, like seeing someone you haven’t seen for a long time. Not like coming home but there’s not a big difference.

Neil snorts behind him and when Andrew turns, he is looking at one of the pictures. It’s of them, at the airport. They’re both wearing their matching coats from Nicky and their eyes are locked.

Andrew remembers (he remembers, he remembers, he remembers) Neil asking him if he had been joking about his fear of heights. He remembers Neil giving him Nathan’s and his old name. It’s not something he necessarily wants to remember but not something he wants to forget either.

“Nicky said it was blatant favoritism,” Neil says and lightly taps a finger against the glass protecting the picture. “Because you’d barely said ten words to him but were talking to me. And that he’d been jealous if he wouldn’t have been so afraid of dying.”

It’s nothing Andrew has interest in talking about. He thinks he hears mumbling coming from down the hall but ignores it.

“Was it?” Neil asks and Andrew’s gaze slips down when the corner of Neil’s mouth quirks up. “Blatant favoritism?”

“No. I hate you,” Andrew says and steps closer. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil says and leans down to meet Andrew in the middle for a hard kiss that gets softer the longer their lips touch.

Softness isn’t something either of them is know but if it comes in forms like this one, Andrew doesn’t mind familiarizing himself with it.

He steps back and looks at Neil’s lips, slightly red and wet, before turning around and focusing on the closed door of the locker room. “Come on.”

Neil’s footsteps echo off the walls as he speed walks to reach Andrew’s side and if Andrew trips him when Neil turns the handle to the locker room, no one has to know about it.

Hushed conversations stop when Neil opens the door and Andrew nearly runs into his back when he stops walking. He gives Neil a shove into all of the orange and steps out of the way as Matt jumps up from where he was tying his shoes.

“Neil!” he cries and lifts him into the air. And then he twirls him around once like a life sized teddy bear. “How are you, son?”

Andrew puts his and Neil’s bag down, feeling blue eyes burning into the back of his head and opens his old locker.

“I— what?” Neil sounds confused but when Andrew throws a look over his shoulder, there’s happiness practically pouring out of his pores.

“It’s so good to see you,” Nicky says somewhere on Andrew’s right and Andrew sighs quietly before turning his head and meeting his brothers knowing stare. “You never call me back!”

Allison walks out of the shower room, dressed in her old jersey and arms crossed in front of her chest. “Can you blame the guy?”

The door opens and Andrew looks away from Aaron and begins to open his bag. “What’s taking you so long?” There’s a pause, clearly from Kevin noticing Neil’s arrival. “You’re here, finally. Where’s Andrew?”

Andrew tunes the others out, an old habit that he slips into without problem. Their talking and Kevin bitching is background noise to him that he can easily ignore. He acknowledges Renee with a nod when she stops next to him for a second and zones back in when he hears his own name.

“.. Andrew and Renee’s idea, actually,” Wilds says and then there’s a second of silence in which she either has her hand on Neil’s shoulder or is ruffling his hair. “The old jersey’s was Kevin’s idea, though.”

“Getting sentimental, aren’t we?”

“Fuck off, Reynolds.”

“I don’t..” Neil says. “I don’t have mine.”

With a quiet sigh, Andrew grabs the piece of fabric that has been hurting his eyes since he opened his bag and throws it in Neil’s general direction. Then he does the same with the pants and the rest of Neil’s gear and his annoying bandana.

There is more silence and then Matt clears his throat. “That.. was weirdly cute.”

Andrew considers throwing his locker at the backliner for a second but then Neil joins him in front of his locker as the others speak, warmth in his eyes (and they’re blue, blue, blue) and Andrew decides that it’s too much effort.

***

It is, in true Fox fashion, a disaster.

It starts with Nicky pulling out his phone every two seconds to answer Erik, Kevin bitching at him from all the way down the court and ends with Andrew sending one of Kevin’s weak attempts at scoring a goal flying directly at his crotch. Kevin jumps out of the way at the last second and Aaron lifts one of his eyebrows.

Neil’s grin is bright enough to blind Andrew and he finds that he doesn’t mind.

Wymack, joins sometime between Kevin bitching at Allison and Neil giving Aaron the finger, and surprisingly brings Jeremy Knox with him.

It takes Kevin spectacular ten seconds to stumble over his words and then his own feet and he manages to fall on his face.

Neil looks back at Andrew, a twinkle in his eyes, and Andrew simply looks back.

***

It’s late and dark outside when they reach their home. Andrew feels exhausted but something close to nervous energy is buzzing around in his stomach and he tells King it’s her fault when she keeps meowing at him as he waits for Neil to come out of the bathroom.

He leans back against the headboard, a book in his hand, his reading glasses slipping down his nose and Sir purring on his lap when Neil emerges, stretching and yawning wide enough that his jaw cracks.

His eyes are half closed when he sits down, the mattress tils a little under his weight but Andrew finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Yes or no?” Neil asks and puts his head on Andrew’s shoulder when he gets Andrew’s quiet consent. “Today was fun. It was good seeing everyone and playing with them again.”

Andrew closes his book, a finger between the pages to show that he was listening.

“I think that.. I wouldn’t mind spending next year like this,” Neil says and then nearly rams his thick head into Andrew’s chin when he looks up at him. “Or like this.” He runs a hand through Sir’s fur and she purrs disgustingly loud. “Thank you.”

“I’m not your answer,” Andrew says quietly.

Neil shrugs. “I know, and I’m not yours either. That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful for what you do.”

Andrew hums and puts the book on the nightstand, taking off his glasses and placing them on top of it. When he turns back around, Neil has scooted closer. “We could spend next year with them too.”

“What?” Neil asks and then tilts his head. “Playing Exy? You hate Exy.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says lightly and ignores Neil’s huff of amusement, minty breath hitting his face. “You don’t think about anything else in that one track mind of yours.”

“I think about you,” Neil says, grinning. “And your biceps. You’ve got arms for days, did you know that?”

Andrew hates Neil. This was a terrible idea and he’s definitely going to murder him and dump his body where no one can find it.

“Kiss me.”

“Kiss your racquet instead,” Andrew says but still leans in for a short kiss. It leaves his lips tingling, his heart racing.

“I like kissing you more.”

“This sounds like you actually kissed your racquet.”

“Who says I haven’t?”

Andrew covers Neil’s face with his hand and shoves him. He falls onto his bag and grins up at Andrew, his auburn hair a mess and eyes bright. “You disgust me.”

“Sure,” Neil nods. “Hey, how else would we spend next year if we’re not playing Exy?”

If it weren’t for the fact that Andrew’s heart is trying to jump out of his chest, Andrew would say something about how the only thing can think about doing with his friends is playing Exy.

“Depends,” Andrew says and swallows as his throat goes dry. Sir puts her claws in his thigh as she leaves, her head held high but Andrew doesn’t care; he puts his elbow on top of the headrest and Neil’s eyes are drawn to his biceps. Andrew does not feel smug, he doesn’t. “Yes or no?”

“To kissing?”

Andrew puts his hand down, grabbing what he stuck between the wall and the headrest and drops it on Neil’s chest. “To marrying me.”

Neil blinks at the box, then at Andrew, at the box again. He sits up quickly and looks at it with big eyes.

“It is not because of the date,” Andrew says and adds, “not entirely.” Because he’s not a liar and if he ever decides to become one, he won’t start with lying to Neil, of all people. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. There are certain benefits with it; not having to fight nurses when you end up in the hospital again, and we both know you will. Stopping those ridiculous rumors.”

“You don’t care about rumors,” Neil says.

“No,” Andrew agrees. “But you do.”

Neil opens the box after another second and his eyes zero in on the ring. It’s simple and silver, a thin band without any sparkling diamonds or anything extravagant.

“You can say no,” Andrew says and he is almost convinced that Neil can hear his heart wildly beating in his chest. “It won’t change anything, we’ll go on like now. I’ll bring take the ring and bring it back or maybe—”

“No.”

Andrew blinks, breath frozen somewhere in his lungs.

“I’m not saying no to this, to marrying you,” Neil says a second later and Andrew keeps breathing. When Neil looks up, the corner of his mouth is curled up and his icy eyes are warm and hooded. “I’m saying no to getting rid of the ring. How come no one spilled anything? Our friends are shit at keeping secrets.”

“My dear baby brother unexpectedly helped me choose it in Germany.” Aaron does talk to the foxes, but he doesn’t spill others secrets. Not always.

“That was six months ago.”

“So it was.”

Neil hums through a smile and takes the ring out of the box, looking surprised when it fits his left ring finger perfectly. “I’m not even going to ask when you got my ring size.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything, gaze stuck on Neil’s left hand and his mind completely quiet and content until he opens his mouth again.

“Andrew Josten.” Neil snorts and Andrew can feel his eyebrow twitch. “Neil Minyard.” Neil turns to him.

Andrew couldn’t care less about which last name they end up using. “You haven’t said yes yet.”

“Oh.” There’s another smile parting Neil’s lips and he leans forward, so close to Andrew that his face starts to blur. “Of course I’ll marry you. Yes, Andrew.”

Before Andrew can open his mouth, Neil leans back, smile turning into a small smirk. “Josten-Minyard or Minyard-Josten?”


Rose set her Chinese takeaway box on her table after the friends had casually reminisced about movies they’d seen recently at Donna’s cinema, as if they weren’t about to break someone out of prison. They all seemed to need the distraction for a moment. She, however, was never one to beat around the bush. “So, about this elephant in the room.”

Mickey said, “Before we take this conversation anywhere, I need to clarify something.”

Martha looked worried. “What’s that?”

“I know who Torchwood is.”

She sat up. “Are you serious?”

Rose was incensed. “You’ve known this whole time and you didn’t say anything?”

“There’s a good reason for that, I promise.”

She slammed her fist down on the table. “And what fucking good reason is that, Mickey Smith? If that is even your real name.” She pointed accusingly.

“Yes. Well, now it is. Used to be Rickey when I was just a punk, but I had my name legally changed. And the reason is because they’re van Statten’s number one enemy, and I work for them.”

Martha blinked. “You… work for Torchwood?”

“And what the bloody hell did they have to do with what happened to Theta?!”

“First of all, Torchwood is nothing like Statten Labs. We’re an organization that truly works for the betterment of the world. We also deal with weird science, but it’s not like Statten, I promise. And we’re looking for ways to take him down.”

“What about the harm to Theta and where he’s from?” Rose demanded.

He held out his palms. “Rose, let me explain that. I wasn’t involved in that particular case, but my boss let me get intimately acquainted with the files.”

“So you’ve known about him this whole time? I can’t believe this!”

Martha still wouldn’t look at him.

“Look, I had no idea what we signed up for. After we went home that first day, I contacted my boss immediately, and he's been working on a plan since. I’ve been letting you two lead the research. Having looked at the files, I’ve been so impressed with what you’ve been able to figure out without knowing anything.”

“So, what, we’ve been your experiment, too?”

“No. It’s not like that, I promise. Look, Torchwood can’t just go in guns blazing to save him. It’s impractical.”

Martha sighed. “Can you… just start at the beginning of all this? How you got involved with Torchwood? What they have to do with Theta?”

“Yeah. I…” He scratched his temple. “Eh, got in a bit of trouble a while back. I was a hacker. Pretty good at it, too. I managed to get past some high-level firewalls in the government. Next thing I know, I was picked up by MI5. I got this barrister who showed up out of nowhere and managed to get me out of prison time with some service time.”

“Torchwood?” Rose crossed her arms.

“Yeah. They took me in. I didn’t have anyone but me gran, and she died. Once she passed, I was pretty much going nowhere, had no direction. Torchwood turned my life around. Captain Jack, that’s what we all call him, the big guy in charge, he’s a good man. I promise you it’s not awful like you think it is.”

Martha sighed and leaned on her elbows on the table. “Maybe Rose wouldn’t be so upset… it’s not that you work for Torchwood, but it’s the secrets. You’re our friend. Seems like friends shouldn’t keep secrets. I’m starting to understand there are reasons for it, but it hurts a little. Almost like you don’t trust us.”

“No, that’s not true. I’m sorry. I really am. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me by the end of this.”

She smiled a little at that.

Rose prompted, “Go on about Theta.”

“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat. “Few years ago, Torchwood started picking up on these readings out in the middle of the ocean, out in the north Atlantic, intermittently. They matched it up with any and every calendar. Turns out, it was, of all things, supermoons. The readings could only be picked up on nights of supermoons.”

“Supermoons?”

“Wait.” Martha slapped the table. “Oh, but that’s… think about it, Rose. The electricity thing that he does, and the moon’s gravitational pull that affects the tides and such. Something about the moon must have, I don’t know, amplified whatever energy readings were being picked up.”

Mickey grinned. “Exactly. Torchwood packed up and set out to see what it was. So, think Wonder Woman.”

“What about it?” Rose asked.

“Themyscira.”

“Hidden island? You found a hidden island?”

“Yep. Straight out of sci-fi, I know, but it was there.”

“And this civilization was on this island.”

“Yes. We have no idea how they evolved or even if they're originally from Earth.”

“And you all thought it was a good idea to camp out and study them? Like nothing bad could ever come of that?”

“Right. We know that now, in hindsight. And we have no idea how Statten got a hold of those files. We’re thinking there’s a mole in Torchwood, just like I’m working for van Statten. Believe me, we’re combing through everything to find out who it was.”

“What was in the files?” Martha asked.

“Well, I think when you do the CT scan tomorrow, you’ll find that his epiphysis cerebri is larger than a human’s. That’s what gives him telepathic abilities. He can automatically translate everything we’re saying because of that. Something about being able to read the other parts of our brains while we’re speaking to understand the words. Our linguists even came up with a fake language, and they could understand.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “He can read minds?” Did he know what she thought of him?

“Essentially. But not, like, what you’re thinking. It’s got to be spoken.”

She studied her fingernails. “Oh. Good.”

“The human brain and his brain operate at different frequencies. His is higher, of course. That’s why you were able to see his dream. You were holding his hand. Skin-to-skin contact, and his brain was working at a frequency compatible with ours, and only at certain stages of sleep.”

“Right place, right time, basically. Did Torchwood do experiments or something?”

“No, they only collected data.”

“Theta felt like what happened was his fault because of Torchwood.”

“Yeah, here’s the thing. Lupa, she was open to interaction, but he never was. And, yeah, it sort of is our fault. If Torchwood hadn’t collected data, van Statten wouldn’t have gotten hold of it.”

“What about that energy Torchwood detected?” Martha asked.

“Theta wouldn’t ever let us get near it. He was very protective. We think he was some sort of guardian of it, being Lupa’s mate. It’s some sort of… life force, we think, or they could regard it as a deity, even. The agents there would see it at night, light coming from somewhere on the island. We never figured it out, and we wouldn’t pry because we didn’t want to lose their trust. But we do know they can live for a long time. They’re not immortal, but we’re thinking hundreds of years, maybe more, if something doesn’t happen to them.”

“They wanted him specifically, though. Why?”

“One of the agents was hurt, took a nasty fall while exploring the island. Theta healed him.”

“Statten wanted to find out how.”

“Yeah. And we know we messed up, and we want to do anything possible to help get him back.”

Rose spoke up. “Wait. You’ve been working with us for a while now. How long ago was Theta picked up?”

“It’s been a few months, we think, since Saxon got a hold of him. It’s been that long since the last supermoon.”

“What the fuck has Saxon been doing with him for months?”

“I don’t think any of us want to know the answer to that. And we had no idea he’d been taken, or we would have gotten at him earlier.”

“Well, you’re not keeping him at Torchwood when we break him out. I don’t think he’d want that, and I certainly don’t want to keep him in a lab again.”

“Where do you want him to go, then?”

She shrugged. “He can stay with me. Can’t Torchwood do some sort of protection even if he’s not at your facilities?”

“Yeah, we can. So, what do you think? How do we bust him out of there?”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t Torchwood have a plan? You’re the ones with access to resources, and you need to clean up the mess you’ve made.”

“We do, yeah, but I wanna know what you would do.”

She thought for a moment. “No guns blazing… what if we could just, I don’t know, get him out through a back door or something?”

“And how would we get him out without someone noticing? That hair and beard aren’t exactly inconspicuous.”

“We’d have to put him in some normal clothes, I suppose. I could cut his hair. Make him look a bit more London than wilderness man. Put him in a hat. Fake glasses. That sort of thing.”

“Can Torchwood make him some credentials?” Martha posed.

“We can do that. What else?”

Rose began cleaning the table, picking up their boxes and throwing them in the trash. “How soon can he get back to the island?”

“Two weeks? We need him to lie low for a bit while Torchwood makes it look like we're running this big operation."

"Sort of like a shell game?"

"Exactly. "

“We’ve got to do this before he starts checking up on us again.”

"Right. We need to have him out in two days, by my estimation. Gives us a day to prep everything. Plant an employee record, notify other Torchwood agents inside, that kind of stuff. It’s only been a few days since we’ve started our work, a day less since Saxon disappeared. We'll think of something to distract him, too. Because with the technology Statten's got, I can't imagine he's not on the mend. Maybe we'll drain his bank account or something. Identity theft. Once we have him out, the other Torchwood agents and I will clean up afterwards, and we’ll make it look like it was us. They won’t suspect either of you. Especially when we show up the next morning and put in the call that he's missing.”

“What about cameras and all that? When we're getting him out for real?”

He grinned. “See, Rose, you’d make a great agent. And you, too, Martha, of course.”

Martha said sheepishly, “I might need to find something new after all this is done. No way I’m staying with Statten.”

Mickey smiled, and they were awkwardly silent for a moment.

Rose cleared her throat. “Aaaaaanyway, cameras?”

“I’ll get a hold of our guy in security.”

"Well. I guess it's sorted, then?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna watch a movie or something?" Martha asked.

"Nah, I'm good. I kinda want to sleep," Rose answered.

"Mickey?"

"Let's get some ice cream or something. My treat."

Martha smiled. "Yeah. You owe me big time, mister."

--

Rose tossed and turned in her bed later that evening, her mind replaying the whole conversation.

She thought of Theta, how lonely he must have been for a while, how lonely he must be when they leave. He seemed to enjoy their company a bit. She was happy he wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

She thought of Mickey’s comment, about the deity or life force or whatever on the island. She wasn’t particularly religious herself, never had been.

She sighed. Obviously, whatever it was couldn’t hear her, but she decided to say a few words anyway. “I promise I’ll bring him home.”


“Mama!”

Eda awoke to a little hand on her face. She blearily opens her eyes to see her two-year old leaning over her.

“Up time!”

Eda stretches, feeling her back pop, and grabs Aria, pulling her into the nest.

“Few more minutes,” mumbles Eda, snuggling into Aria, who was attempting to squirm out of her mothers arms.

“No!” she squeals, “Hooty! Hooty!”

Eda hardly has time to react before she sees a shadow loom above them.

“I will protect you, fair maiden!”

Hooty squirms his way in between the two and wraps himself around a giggling Aria, lifting her out of the nest and onto the ground.

“Alright, alright,” says Eda, yawning and sitting up, “I get the picture, I’m up.”

She swings her legs off the side of her nest and slips her feet into her bunny slippers. As soon as she stands up, Aria grabs her hand and starts dragging her downstairs.

Eda’s nose is met with the smell of griffin eggs and herbs, and sees a plate of food on the table. Raine must have made her breakfast before leaving for work. She smiles.

Even now, their acts of love and care warm Eda's heart.

“Nini made food,” says Aria, confirming her suspicions.

“Did you already eat, songbird?” Aria nods, before climbing up onto the bench and grabbing a letter that was on the table.

“Hooty gave us mail!” she says, waving the letter around, “for you!”

Eda takes a bite of eggs and plucks the letter out of Aria’s hands. She observes the familiar gold and black seal, the sign of a
Blackwood, before carefully tearing open the letter with her nails.

Dearest Edalyn,

I hope this letter finds you well! Your last letter has made me chuckle. Aria sounds like such a joy! I cannot wait to see her again.

I am wondering if I could ask a favor of you.

I have been reading different texts on humans, and their flora is so interesting! I wonder how human ingredients would interact with our potions? Are there new recipes to discover? How good are their teas?

I propose we take a day in the human realm! You still have your door, yes?

Perhaps we could even take the children with us! Elwin has gotten so curious. He often watches me while potion making, I’m sure they’d have a lovely time.

Let me know, I look forward to your response!

Lots of love,

Rowena Blackwood.

Eda chuckles to herself. Rowena Blackwood, after bumping into her at the night market, had kept in semi-constant contact. It turns out that while the Blackwoods were known for their potion business, they have also been doing underground dealings with wild witches for generations.

Rowena was actually the one who had suggested creating a wild witch group, so they could all help each other evade the emperor coven’s tyrannical law.
She was very old fashioned, not even having a scroll, so she and Eda communicated through handwritten letters.

“Hey Ari,” says Eda, making the small girl look up from her task of folding paper, “how’d you like to take a trip to the human realm?”

“Yes!” says Aria, lighting up. Eda smiles and draws a spell circle, a pen and paper floating in and landing on the table in front of her.

Time to write back to Rowena.

—-------------------------------------

Eda walks into the living room, rummaging through her patchwork shoulder bag to make sure she had everything. Aria was laying on the floor, playing with some wooden blocks with runes on them. Aria’s mint green hair was choppy and reached just above her shoulders, and she was wearing black overalls over a red t shirt. Eda was wearing her usual off-the shoulder red dress and tall heeled boots.

“You have a visitor, hoot hoot!” says Hooty, the door swinging open. There stood Rowena, holding the hand of her three-year old son Elwin.

Aria gasps and gets up, running towards the door.

“No you don’t!” says Eda, quickly grabbing the toddler and holding her.

“Heyyyy!” she whines.

“Sorry about that, this little rascal always tries making a mad dash out the door.” says Eda, ruffling Aria’s hair. Rowena laughs.

“Oh do I understand that. My little dragon just hit his growth spurt, so we’ve had to move the more dangerous items on the upper shelves.” she says, giving Eda a wink. Elwin looks up at Eda, giving her
a wide smile.

“Hello, miss Eda!” he says. Eda chuckles.

“No need for that ‘miss’ stuff, kid.” she says, placing Aria down, “Ari, do you remember Elwin? You were very little when you met last.”

Eda and Rowena had gone out for coffee about a year after Aria had been born. Rowena had brought Elwin with her, and the two seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Eda doubted the two would remember it though.

“Hi!” says Aria, holding out a hand, “I’m Aria!”

“Elwin,” he replies, taking her hand and shaking it.

“Wanna see my toys?” asks Aria. Elwin nods and the two run into the house, Aria leading him to her toy chest.

Eda smiles and holds back a purr.

She felt bad that Aria was an only child- as a kid, Lily was her best friend, and she worried about Aria being too lonely. When she found out Rowena had given birth a year before her, Eda knew she wanted Aria to befriend the little Elwin.

“Come on in,” says Eda to Rowena, “do you have everything you need?”

“Yes!” says Rowena, “I’ve brought my camera, my journal, drinks and snacks for the kids, and my magic bag!”

“Magic bag?” Eda questions, raising a brow. Rowena gestures to the small messenger bag resting on her hip.

“It’s a Blackwood heirloom,” says Rowena, “it’s enchanted so it has unlimited space in it! It’s quite helpful for collecting potion ingredients, I must say.”

“Impressive,” notes Eda. That would sure make some of her shoplifting much easier. She makes a mental note to look more into expansion spells.

“Alright kids, are you ready to go?” Rowena asks. The two toddlers quickly abandon their toys and run up to their parents.

“Yes yes yes!” They both chant. Eda chuckles and takes out the portal door, but doesn’t open it yet.

“Before we go, some ground rules,” says Rowena, holding up a finger, “one- you will stay close to us at all times. The human realm is unpredictable, so no wandering off, or we’re coming straight home.”

“Two,” continues Eda, “the human realm doesn’t know about witches or demons, so I will have to cast an illusion on the two of you to hide your witchy features,” she casts a spell circle over the two children, and a light glow encompasses them. Both their ears turn small and rounded. Elwin’s pink skin turns a light brown, similar to his mothers, and his tiny bat wings disappear.

“You look weird!” Aria giggles, pointing at Elwin. He pokes at her ears.

“Not as weird as you!” He says in response, “so circly!”

The two continue to laugh and poke at each other while Rowena and Eda put on their bandanas, hiding their own long ears. Eda opens the portal door, and holds out her hand for Aria to take. Rowena does the same, and the two children hold on to their mothers without complaint.

“Off we go!” says Eda, stepping through.

They enter a small broken-down hut, one all too familiar for Eda. They walk towards the open door, and Aria, Elwin, and Rowena marvel at the woods in front of them.

“The human world is so…green,” Rowena says in awe. Eda chuckles.

“Yeah, and guess what? The rain here doesn’t even boil!”

“No!” Rowena gasps, looking at her with shock.

“Come on,” says Eda, leading them down the porch steps and into the woods, “I know some fun hiking spots in the woods where we can forage for ingredients.”

The four spend the next two hours walking through the green forest. Every new tree, animal, or plant was met with a ‘what’s that?’ from Aria and Elwin. Since she had been here so many times, Eda agreed to watch the kids while Rowena could more closely study the human flora.

It reminded her of something Lily would do. Stopping to look at a plant, taking out her journal and drawing a quick sketch. It made her a little melancholy.

She was never able to bring Lilith to the human realm. When she had found the portal, it was after her sister had already gone to be at the emperor’s coven, so she never had the chance to show her.

Lilith would find the human realm so fascinating.

She was snapped out of her musings when Aria came up to her, a variety of mushrooms in her hands.

“Mama, look!” she says, shoving the mushrooms up at Eda, “hang on wall!”

“Haha, okay okay,” says Eda, casting a spell circle and putting them in a small baggie, before stuffing them in her hair. Aria had developed a habit of placing anything she found cool on her bedroom wall, from sticks to monster teeth.

Raine would jokingly complain about where she got that habit from, as Eda was in the process of hanging up a large foam finger she found on their living-room wall.

Eda snaps out of her musings and looks over at Elwin, who was bent over a berry bush, slowly bringing a red berry to his mouth.

“Elwin, no, don’t eat that!”

—-------------------------------------

Eventually, the four made their way out of the dense forest and ended up in the small town Eda knew as Gravesfield. Usually there wasn’t much activity going on, and Eda’s shenanigans were the most eventful thing happening at any given time.

Today, however, there were dozens of stalls lining the streets, all selling different wares.

“Looks like humans have their own market days,” muses Eda, “this usually isn’t here.”

“What an excellent opportunity!” Rowena gasps, clapping, “maybe I could find some human tea!”

“Okay rascals,” says Eda, bending down to Aria and Elwin, “you two are gonna hold on to us the entire time, okay?” The two nod and proceed to hold their mothers’ hands. Elwin and Aria also hold hands, so they’ve created a four person chain.

The four start weaving their way through the stalls, the children oohing and aahing at the different products. Eventually, Elwin stops, pointing at a stall.

“Mommy,” says Elwin, tugging on Rowena’s arm, “I want one!”

The two women turn their heads to see what Elwin is pointing at. At one of the stands full of stuffed animals was a stuffed giraffe.

“I forgot those were a thing here,” Rowena muses, “alright sweetheart, is that really what you want?” Elwin nods, and so the four make their way towards the stand.

“I would like that giraffe stuffed animal, please,” says Rowena, and Elwin grabs the stuffed animal and holds it close to him. Rowena takes some snails out of her pocket and passes them to the vendor. They look closely at the money and frown.

“Look lady, I don’t know where you’re from, but we only take American cash here,” they say, passing the money back to her. Rowena furrows her eyebrows.

“American…cash?” she questions.

The vendor grabs the stuffed animal out of Elwin’s hands, who lets out a cry of protest.

“No cash, no animal.”

“Here, let me.”

A woman walks up next to them and hands the vendor some money. She looked to be heavily pregnant, with warm brown skin and chocolate colored eyes behind red glasses.

The vendor hands the stuffed animal to the woman, who turns and hands the animal to Elwin.

“Here you go niñito,” Elwin takes the animal and hugs it close to his chest.

“Thank you miss!” he says. He turns to Aria and shows her the creature, and she pokes its long neck, commenting on how strange it looks.

“I appreciate your kindness,” says Rowena to the woman, “please, how can I repay you?”

The woman lets out a hearty laugh and waves her hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. Rowena smiles appreciatively at the woman, before she starts fishing through her messenger bag.

“Cariño!” Yells a man, running up to them. He was wearing a flannel and had dark curly hair that faded into a short beard.

“I found a stall selling flowers,” he says, putting a hand on her shoulder, “it’d be a perfect gift for your mother!”

It was then he noticed Rowena, Eda, and the two children.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt?” he asks, putting a hand up to his face, looking mildly embarrassed.

“No no, it’s alright,” says Eda, “thank you again. We’re from out of town, and totally forgot the correct currency.”

“Ah, I can’t tell you how many times that’s happened to me,” the man chuckles, “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached to my body! Camila here really keeps me grounded”

“Mama,” says Aria, tugging on Eda’s dress, “ups!”

Eda smiles and hoists Aria up, balancing her on her hip.

“You have no idea how much I relate,” says Eda, turning back to the man, “I’ve lost my hands more times than I can count.”

The man looks at her with mild concern.

“Uhh…”

“Found it!” Rowena announces, taking out a bracelet. It was beaded, each painted with intricate details, with a flower charm in the middle. She offers it to Camila.

“Please, take this as thanks.”

“Oh, I couldn’t” says Camila, heat rising to her cheeks, “it looks too valuable.”

“My husband is a jewelry maker,” Rowena explains, “if you’re worried about the price, you need not be- I’d love for you to have it.” Camila gently takes it, and admires the handiwork.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, captivated by its beauty. She slips it on her wrist, relieved to see it’s a perfect fit, “Thank you so much!” Rowena practically glows at the woman’s reaction.

“Well, are you ready to go?” the man asks his wife. She nods up at him, before waving to the little family. The two groups go their separate ways.

“Nice protection spell on that bracelet,” Eda comments once they’re out of earshot, “are all your husband's creations charmed like that?”

“Only by special request,” Rowena says, giving Eda a sly smile, “I keep some of his work on me at all times in case I’m hit with a particular…divination.”

“I didn’t know you dabbled in oracle magic,” says Eda, “you sense something about her?” Rowena nods, her expression turning serious.

“I’m not sure what it is, but I have a feeling there’s going to be hardship for her in the future…I want to make sure someone that kind is protected.” Eda feels a shiver up her spine.

There was a reason she never got into oracle magic, and it was because it gave her the creeps.

While oracles couldn’t see perfectly into the future, their intuition and clairvoyance were leveled up. One of Raine’s mothers was an oracle, and she was always being cryptic- from sending Eda a string of garlic a month before she ran into a vampire, to sending clothes for Aria with her exact measurements, even when she’s constantly growing.

“Admit it, you just like carrying those on you so you have a good reason to give strangers gifts,” Eda remarks. Blood rushes to Rowena’s face.

“Guilty!” she giggles, “I’m just not all that great with interactions- I’ve found gift giving to be universally beloved!”

“I know I for one always love free stuff,” she says, before zeroing in on a vendor selling loose-leaf tea, “Speaking of free stuff…what do you say I show you the bad girl art of stealing?”

—-------------------------------------

The two moms stepped through the portal door, their children asleep in their arms. After a successful day of robbing different human stands, and making sure their easily distracted children didn’t run off or get lost, they both felt dead on their feet. Eda in particular felt magically drained, as she had kept up the illusion on the two kids for the whole day. She could feel feathers pricking through her arms, and knew she needed to take an elixir soon.

“You’re back!” says Raine, walking into the living room, “I made leftovers! Rowena, do you want to join us for dinner?” they ask, taking a sleeping Aria from Eda, who gratefully stretched out her stiff arms.

“I’d love to, but I fear my little dragon needs his beauty sleep,” she says, taking out her palisman. It was a light brown snake with white spots and golden eyes.

“Thank you again for today,” says Rowena to Eda, opening the door, “we’ll have to get together again soon!”

Eda smiles, watching her and Elwin fly away.


The morning of the sports festival is a buzz of energy. Izuku wakes up an hour earlier than usual (not because of a nightmare for once), and dresses and gets ready in record time. Inko makes a large breakfast. Ten minutes before his bus will arrive, Izuku can’t wait any longer, and grabs his bag to leave.

“I feel bad we can’t have our yearly festival-watching party,” he says as he hugs his mom goodbye.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m recording it,” Inko assures him. “We can watch it later, and you can give me the inside scoop.”

Izuku smiles. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Good luck, Izuku,” Inko beams. “You’re going to do great!”

“Thanks, mom.”

The classroom is empty when Izuku gets there, a note on the chalkboard telling them to leave their belongings and get changed into their gym uniforms before heading to the stadium.

In the locker room, a few other guys are changing. Kaminari waves to Izuku.

“Hey man, you excited?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, opening his locker. “You?”

“I’m so hype, dude. Just hoping I don’t go stupid in front of all those cameras.” Kaminari laughs awkwardly.

Izuku shrugs. “You’ve got a good chance of making an impression on the pros, though. Electricity is both flashy and versatile, and there have been some pretty cool pros with electric quirks.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Kaminari zips up his jacket. “Let’s just hope it’s a good impression.”

Izuku knows the feeling. Assuming he gets far enough for anyone to notice, he’ll make a stir just by being quirkless.

Izuku and Kaminari walk to the stadium together, but split up when they get to the prep room. Izuku avoids catching Katsuki’s eyes and sits next to Hitoshi, who’s hunched over, glaring daggers into the table.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Oh. everything’s great, I just have to go on national television with no binder, it’s fine,” Hitoshi snarls sarcastically. He sighs, deflating a bit. “Like, I get why I can’t wear a binder while exercising, that’s why my costume has a jacket. But Midnight’s refusing to let me wear it because it isn’t ‘essential support gear’.”

“Geez, that’s shitty.” Izuku frowns. “She said the same thing about my gauntlets.”

“It’s the fucking worst,” Hitoshi agrees. “Mic tried to get her to let me as a favor to him, since they went to school together, but she’s being stubborn as hell.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ugh, it’s not like they’re even really visible in my gym uniform. They’re already pretty small, and I have a top made for dancers that keeps them pretty firmly in place,” Hitoshi explains. “It just feels like the minute I walk out there everyone's going to be staring directly at my chest.”

Before Izuku can think of something reassuring to say, Ochako and Tsuyu join them.

“Are you guys excited?” Ochako asks.

“Aside from the debilitating dysphoria, yes.”

Tsuyu pats Histoshi’s arm. “I understand, kero.”

Shouto joins them, sitting on Izuku’s other side.

“Welcome to the table of misery,” Hitoshi jokes.

“Why is this the table of misery?” Shouto asks.

“Mostly just because I’m miserable and I want to feel like I’m not alone.”

“Oh.”

“Are you excited, Shouto?” Ochako asks. “Everyone’s already saying you’re the favorite to win.”

“I guess.” Shouto shrugs. “They’re only saying that because of my father, though.”

“That’s probably true for the people who don’t know you,” Tsuyu says. “But I do think you have a really good chance of winning. Aside from a strong quirk, I can tell from our training so far that you’ve got good combat sense and reflexes.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m so much better that I’d be the favorite,” Shouto says. “There are other people in our class who are strong or smart.”

“Sure, but you’ve clearly had training before this,” Histoshi says, face now resting on the table. Shouto frowns slightly.

“Hey, don’t make it sound like none of us have a chance,” Izuku teases. He turns to Shouto. “If we end up facing each other, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Okay.” Shouto’s mouth twitches up on one side in a tiny smile.

“This is the prep room for 1-A, right?” A voice says from the doorway. Izuku looks up to see Natsuo standing there, holding his gauntlets.

“Natsu-nii?” Shouto asks.

“Hey, Shouto.” Natsuo walks over to their table. “I came to bring Izuku his gauntlets.”

“You got Midnight to approve them?” Izuku asks. Hitoshi huffs angrily, and Izuku shoots him an apologetic grimace.

“Yeah, turns out that babbling on about support tech jargon will get her to sign the papers, even if it’s just to shut me up.” Natsuo hands them over. “Here you go.”

“Thanks!” Izuku grins.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing here?” Katsuki appears to have noticed Natsuo, who heaves a sigh.

“Oh right, you’re here too,” he rolls his eyes. “The support company I intern with sent me as a scout.”

“And what, you came to say hi to fucking Deku?”

“Actually I came to deliver his gauntlets. And to wish my brother good luck.”

Izuku watches the gears turn in Katsuki’s head as he realises who Natsuo’s talking about. “What the fuck do you mean Icy-Hot is your brother?”

“Icy-Hot?” Natsuo asks, raising an eyebrow. “Still doing that stupid nickname thing, huh?”

Katsuki slams an explosion onto his table, but Natsuo smoothly ignores him and turns back to Izuku and Shouto.

“Anyway, good luck you two,” he says. “I should get to my seat before the opening ceremony.”

“Thanks, Natsu-nii.”

“Thanks, Natsuo-senpai!” Izuku chirps. Natsuo ruffles his hair, pats Shouto on the shoulder, and leaves without so much as a glance in Katsuki’s direction.

“Holy shit your brother’s cool,” Hitoshi mutters.

“Thanks?” Shouto’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

Katsuki starts toward them, but gets intercepted by Iida yelling about his disrespectful attitude. Their increasingly loud conversation is interrupted by the announcement for them to get ready to walk into the stadium. Yaoyorozu takes charge, directing them down the stairs to the hallway they’re designated to enter through.

“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Present Mic’s voice booms across the stadium. “The first-year participants are about to take the stage, are you ready?” The crowd cheers. “Alright, first up is Class 1-A, the rising stars who held their own against a villain attack!”

“I told him to not say that,” Hitoshi mutters as they stride onto the field.

Cameras flash from every angle, and the roar of the crowd is deafening. Izuku puts on a cheerful smile and waves, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of sensory input. He barely hears the introductions for Class B and the other courses. They converge in front of the stage where Midnight stands.

“Someone needs to talk to Midnight-sensei about what she's wearing,” Kirishima says, avoiding looking at her. “At least while she’s teaching.”

“Apparently her original costume was worse,” Hitoshi adds.

“And now, your first year representative!” Midnight announces. “From Class 1-A, Midoriya Izuku!”

Izuku climbs onto the stage. Aizawa had told him last week that he’d be doing this, since he came in first in the heroics exam. He’d thought about what he wanted to say, had gone so far as to try writing a speech, but he’d never been able to come up with something that didn’t sound either cheesy or outright hostile. Winging it isn’t the best plan, but Izuku’s never claimed to make good decisions.

“I know there’s been a lot of talk about certain classes or certain students having the upper hand in this tournament,” Izuku says into the microphone, grinning. “But I just want to say, don’t get too caught up in all that. You never know when someone will come from behind and surprise you.” He bows and turns to leave the stage.

There’s scattered applause from the assembled students, mixed with a lot of weird looks. Izuku catches at least five Class B students squinting at him in confusion. When he reaches his class, Ochako grins at him and Hitoshi pats him on the back.

“Hell of a speech,” he teases.

“Thanks,” Izuku laughs.

“Now, let’s get started with the first event!” Midnight says. “Up first is the qualifier! To proceed on to the next event, our first years will have to face…” She trails off, gesturing to a screen. A roll of events flash across the screen before coming to a stop. “An obstacle course race!”

“Members of all eleven classes will race along a four-kilometer track around the stadium! As long as they stay on the course, anything goes!” A gate opens, and the classes move to the entrance. Izuku slips through the crowd, weaving between other students with the practiced ease of someone who’s spent years navigating crowded school halls without drawing attention to himself. He loses sight of his friends, but ends up near the front.

“Get ready!” Midnight calls. “Get set! Go!”

A buzzer sounds, and the mass of students charges forward as one. Izuku’s far enough forward that he avoids getting trapped as students flood the too-narrow tunnel. A wave of cold sweeps through, and Izuku knows what’s about to happen. He jumps, kicking off the wall as ice covers the ground.

Izuku lands, struggling to find his footing as Shouto races past. He picks his way across the ice as quickly as he can. A lot of other students have avoided the ice, and they’re starting to catch up. By the time Izuku reaches un-frozen dirt, he can see the first obstacle.

The robots from the entrance exam cover the track from edge to edge, including a row or towering zero-pointers. Izuku catches sight of Shouto in front of them just before he unleashes a massive wave of ice, freezing all the zero-pointers in one go.

“Quick!” A student Izuku doesn’t recognize yells. “Between their legs!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Shouto calls over his shoulder as he runs. “I froze them off-balance. On purpose.”

A laugh bursts out of Izuku as he dodges a one-pointer. He hangs back as the massive robots crash down, sending ice and metal flying. He ducks another one-pointer and rushes forward once the dust has settled. A three-pointer locks onto him and chases.

“Shit,” he mutters, scanning the track for something he can use. He spots a metal panel and grabs it, swinging it around to slam into the three-pointer and knock it to the ground.

He takes off again. He can hear Present Mic over all the commotion, but he doesn’t bother listening to whatever he’s saying. Izuku can tell he isn’t near the front of the group anymore, but he’s not out of the running.

Izuku keeps going, bringing the panel with him. If nothing else it’ll make a decent shield. He reaches the second obstacle, where a group of students are hesitating at the edge of a canyon. Shouto is already more than halfway across, using his ice to stabilize himself as he crosses the web of cables stretching between small platforms.

Katsuki is catching up, using his explosions to blast himself over the canyon. Izuku blocks out the sound the best he can and focuses on himself. He uses the wires still attached to his bit of paneling to strap it across his back. Nearby, a girl decked out in support gear launches herself off the edge, using some sort of grappling hook to catch onto a platform. Izuku smiles to himself. He can admit he has a bit of a soft spot for support techs.

Izuku grabs onto a cable and hangs off it, hooking his knees over it and crawling along. The undersides of his gauntlets protect his palms, keeping them from being rubbed raw.

By the time he reaches the far edge of the canyon his arms are aching, but he powers through. Present Mic is yelling about the third obstacle, a minefield. Izuku nearly trips over his own feet. The last fucking thing he needs right now is to be surrounded by explosions.

Present Mic explains that the mines are harmless, designed to trip them up more than hurt them, but are still loud and flashy. Izuku is far from reassured.

He pauses at the edge of the minefield. Shouto is picking his way across carefully, and as Izuku watches Katsuki blasts by him. He tears his eyes away from them and looks at the ground. Almost all the mines near the front are untouched. Izuku knows he’s fast and sneaky, but he lost a lot of time crossing the canyon, and he can’t be sure he’ll be fast enough to secure a qualifying spot.

An idea comes to him. It’s reckless, and if it doesn’t work he’ll lose even more time, but it’s all he’s got. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the panel from his back and uses it to start unearthing mines and pushing them into a pile. He flinches every time another student triggers one.

He takes a step back, wrapping the wires around his gauntlets to give himself a grip on the panel. “Thanks for the idea, Katsuki,” he mutters, slamming the panel down onto the pile of mines.

They explode into a giant cloud of pink smoke, propelling Izuku through the air. He goes flying over the heads of the other students, many of whom are staring up at him in shock. Present Mic starts yelling about an upset as Izuku goes soaring past Shouto and Katsuki, who stop going after each other to race after him.

The ground is rapidly approaching, and Izuku realizes he has no idea how to land. If he hits the dirt at this speed he might not be able to recover fast enough. Below him Shouto and Katsuki are neck-and-neck. He shifts his position the best he can in midair, and manages to plant one foot on each of their shoulders.

“Sorry Shouto!” He yells, slamming the panel onto the ground. The mines below them explode, propelling Izuku forward while knocking the other two to the sides.

Izuku hits the ground and rolls to his feet, safely across the minefield. He doesn’t pause to look behind him as he takes off running. The gate back into the stadium is just ahead of him, and Izuku sprints into it. He blocks out everything else, focusing only on getting to the finish line.

He bursts through the tunnel into the stadium to the sound of raucous cheering. He stumbles to a stop, bracing his hands on his knees.

“The first-place finisher of the qualifier is none other than Midoriya Izuku!” Present Mic announces. Izuku looks up at one of the screens around the stadium to find his own face grinning down at him, a gold number one emblazoned on his picture. He laughs, straightening up and grinning triumphantly.

Izuku takes a moment to absorb the applause from the roaring crowd. Pride wells up in his chest, and for once he doesn’t think about how Katsuki is going to feel about his accomplishment.


 It’s a cruel word. But you ain’t it.

“Is there a statute of limitations on a lie of omission?” Matt asked, hands wrapped tightly around his black coffee.

Father Lantom chuckled. “You really are a lawyer sometimes.”

Matt remembered his younger self running hands over Thurgood Marshall’s writing and translating the feeling into words for his father. The way his father’s heart had beat, impressed that his son was reciting what, to him, might as well have been a foreign language. Matt had always hated the world for sticking his father in that ring, robbing him of any chance to read Thurgood Marshall, or anything at all other than signs advertising the latest fight. But he knew it was sacrilege to hate the ring, so he kept it to himself.

“I just wish I had told him. I like to think…” Matt trailed off, shrugging. “I like to think he’d be okay. With it. With me. But at the same time…”

“It’s something you’ll never know,” Lantom said.

Matt frowned, taking a drink from his cup.

“He was a compassionate man. Everyone around here says so. And I’ve heard you talk about him, and he really loved you, Matthew. If that helps.”

It didn’t. “It does.”

There was a cafe across the street from the community center that Matt knew intimately despite having never been in it. As much as everyone appreciated Owen setting up coffee, it was understood that it wasn’t his strength, and people often came to the meetings with lattes and pastries with expensive ingredients that drove Matt up the wall. It reminded him of sharing a dorm with Foggy.

He was grateful for Owen’s coffee. He didn’t need something from across the street. No matter how many times he smelled pumpkin spice.

“I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot,” Matt started. “Not fondly. I’m not upset with him. I just feel guilty.”

He sighed, leaning his head forward into his hands.

“It’s exhausting, feeling guilty all the time. And even thinking that goes against every Catholic bone in my body. I should be guilty. God, I couldn’t even tell you why anymore, just that I am. I wish I had known my dad. I wish I’d had the chance. Seven years, that’s nothing. And I’ve been thinking about it in relation to God’s plan. My priest tells me it all happens for a reason, that we’re trying to piece together why things happen from the wrong side. But I just can’t  see it.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, gesturing to his glasses. No one joined him.

“I mean, not to throw myself a pity party here, but c’mon. Blinded and orphaned and,” he stumbled over the word, like always, but he’d been able to say it more often, “raped, all within a couple of years. What’s the reason? What’s the  possible reason? And I can’t stop thinking that maybe… maybe God’s plan fucking sucks. I don’t know. I don’t know about anything, but I just can’t stop… feeling this thing inside me, and I get so mad I could lose it. Really lose it.”

He shook his head, an inside joke he shares only with himself. “I just want to let the Devil out on God sometimes.”

“You know, Matt, that’s a really big step.”

Matt lifted his head up in surprise.

“Anger, it’s not always a terrible thing. And it’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

“Actually, it’s one of the seven big things to feel guilty about.”

“It’s healing,” Owen said. “When you’re angry at the people who hurt you, it’s a sign that you’re realizing what happened was wrong. That you didn’t deserve it.”

Matt furrowed his brow, but Owen kept talking. “Anger is a sort of self-defense. It guards you from feeling something else, sometimes, but when recovering from abuse, it’s defending you against yourself. That anger is your self-hatred being redirected to those who hurt you. Where it belongs.”

“Hey, Karen, what are you—”

“You called yourself the Devil.”

Matt stood still, holding the door to his apartment open. Karen was standing outside it, having shown up unannounced, heart pounding like she was terrified or had just run a mile. Or like she might break down in tears.

“What are you talking about?”

“You called yourself the Devil, Matt. When I asked about you and Foggy fighting. Was it because you’re gay?”

“Karen—”

“Because you’re not the Devil, alright?” She walked right past him into his apartment, planning to argue her way through this, prepared to win a fight against a professional lawyer with her conviction alone.

He shut the door and followed her to his living room.

“You know—”

She isn’t planning on hearing his side. Not yet. “Yeah, Matt, I know about your insane habit of dressing up at night and kicking criminals’ asses, but you chose to put those horns on. Some part of you picked that. And your grandma called you the Devil when you were a  kid,  and I can’t imagine how that fucked up how you feel about yourself, but Matt, I’m starting to get an idea of how deep that runs.”

She took a step closer to him, careful not to invade his space.

“This Murdock Devil… what is it? What do you think it is?”

Matt took a shaky breath, his own heart racing to match hers now. He could feel her posture shift, and he knew she was waiting for an answer, but after that day’s meeting, he wasn’t sure what to give her.

“Matt. Why do you call yourself the Devil?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I don’t know anymore.”

At the end of the night, he walked her to his door. He didn’t know when he stopped pretending he could live without her, without Foggy, but he’d recently thrown all pretenses aside.

He could hear in her breathing the shift to a small smile while she said goodnight, and before she went, she told him, “I’m glad you finally learned how to work a thermostat.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Your apartment is always freezing. But it was actually livable tonight.”

Foggy had a certain skip in his step for the past couple of days. Matt wasn’t sure what caused it, but it was nice to hear the uptick of his favorite heartbeat every time the office’s door opened. It made his shoulders drop just a little, his instinctively rigid posture able to relax around the man he trusted so well.

But today was a new level. Foggy came in whistling. Honest to God whistling. And the moment he opened the door, Matt smelled it.

Pumpkin spice with whipped cream. And a cinnamon muffin to boot.

As Matt suspected, he didn’t go to his desk. He came over to Matt’s, his heart thrumming nervously and some new cologne that was just subtle enough that Matt was able to enjoy it without being smothered, and his hand was radiating warmth because of the drink he had in it, and Matt knew with sudden and complete clarity what was about to happen.

“Foggy, don’t,” he cut in, and Foggy stopped, confused. “You can’t— you don’t know—”

“I don’t know everything,” Foggy agreed, interrupting him gently. “But I don’t need to.”

“What happened to the importance of honesty?”

“You have honest intentions. And you’re not keeping anything from me. You’re just not ready to say it.” He shrugged, carefree, despite everything that was happening. “That’s different.”

“I…” Matt tried, before realizing he was arguing for nothing. A case he wasn’t even sure he still believed in. So he swallowed, straightened his glasses, and said, “I have to be the one… to ask. It’s one of those. Things of mine.”

Foggy nodded, setting the bag from the bakery and the coffee cup onto Matt’s desk.

“Do you want to ask?” Foggy questioned.

“For years now.”

“Alright. Then I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

And it was that simple for him. He was willing to walk out of Matt’s office and go to his own and wait for an unspecified amount of time for Matt to work up the guts, the strength, the heart to say it. It made Matt warm from the inside out.

As Foggy turned to leave, Matt said, “Wait.”

And Foggy did.

“Do you want to… Foggy, do you want to go out tonight? With me?”

The two of them debated for over twenty minutes when Foggy got to Matt’s. Josie’s was deemed too casual, most of the bars in town were deemed too loud or smelly or just terrible, any and all formal restaurants were deemed too expensive for two lawyers with consciences, and diners were too greasy. Finally Matt said, “We could just stay in?”

Which he regretted saying as soon as he did. That kind of statement has implications. And Foggy knew them, given the heat that flooded his cheeks, but he had the decency not to bring them up because he’s Foggy.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “That sounds nice.”

So they ordered a small pizza to split from the only place in Hell’s Kitchen that washed their hands thoroughly enough for Matt to be able to stand. Foggy didn’t even have to ask, he knew which one by heart.

It felt entirely mundane in a warmly pleasant way until Foggy had the guts to wiggle his toes under Matt’s leg. And then it felt extraordinary, like it was a moment of miracles, and Matt laid a gentle hand on Foggy’s calf and rubbed circles with his thumb.

“Why haven’t we been doing this since the beginning?” Matt asked himself aloud, and Foggy’s heart skipped just a little.

“You know, I tried to in college,” he joked.

“I wasn’t ready.”

“I know.”

And he did. Maybe not everything, not the gory details that Matt couldn’t even share with his support group, but the things that make him Matt. He knew him in something deeper than the Biblical sense—he understood him.

They fell asleep together on his couch with their legs brushing against each other and in the morning he and Foggy took turns showering and Matt let the water run hot.

“We should get Karen something,” Foggy says on their walk to work. “From the bakery. Or maybe just a strong coffee. She said she hasn’t been sleeping great lately.”

“Maybe she needs less caffeine then.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, I’m big on hypocrisy. You do know what my day and night jobs are, right?”

Foggy cackled at the joke, and Matt found himself relieved that it wasn’t stepping too far out of line. Maybe it could just be like this, now. Maybe once the lies stopped, the hurt could too. For a bit.

So while they were in line for a local business that always tried to give them discounts but they overtipped to compensate for, Matt blurted out, “I hate black coffee.”

Foggy’s mouth, halfway through reciting their order to practice for the register, froze. And Matt couldn’t exactly pinpoint all the sensory information that allowed him to figure it out, but he could feel Foggy’s smile in the air around him.

“I know,” Foggy said.

“Well, Foggy’s the eyes and the brain of the firm. Always has been,” Matt joked.

“We never decided what that makes you, though.”

“The heart,” Karen said definitively. “Matt’s the heart of the whole thing.”

“I was praying last night,” Matt told Father Lantom. “Proper praying, with my mom’s rosary.”

“And did you receive revelation?” Father asked, and Matt laughed.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then why mention it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Matt twirled his cane between his legs, a smile he’s not sure how to stop spreading across his face. There were intricacies to the story, details he would spare the Father about Foggy’s hands in his hair and laugh in his mouth, but all Lantom needs to know is, “I stopped begging for forgiveness. I think I might just be sick of it.”

Matt’s head was comfortably in Foggy’s lap when the man spoke. “Gift from God,” Foggy said out of the blue, scrolling on his phone.

“What?” Matt asked.

“That’s what your name means. Gift from God.”

Matt grinned. Thought about a more complicated time. And shook his head. “That doesn’t sound right,” he laughed out.

“My grandma always said… she said, the Murdock boys, they’ve got the devil in them.”

The woman in the seat across from him shifted uncomfortably, and he ducked his head, remembering how upset this story tends to make people.

“I don’t think she was wrong,” he continued, much to Owen’s heart’s dismay. “I think she might have meant it wrong, but I saw my dad fight. Heard him fight, later, but I still remember that look in his eyes. And yeah, sometimes she called me a queer before I knew what it meant, and sometimes that’s what she meant, but… I don’t the devil made me gay. I think the Murdock devil, the anger in me, it might be the reason I’m alive. My dad’s fights kept food on the table when I was a kid. The ‘devil,’ the  drive my dad passed down to me, it helps me protect people. Just because the Church is pissed off at me doesn’t make me evil.”

He sat up straight, hands unclasped and free. “I don’t think I’m all that bad of a person.”

After the meeting, Matt went across the street and bought himself a hot pumpkin spice latte. His hands shook while he drank it, but he finished the cup before he got the nerve to leave the shop and head to the graveyard.

Battlin’ Jack Murdock. It even said so on his headstone, according to the nuns. He’d never wanted to feel it for himself. But now he knelt down, his hands scraping against the rough stone, and he could make out the inscription beneath the name. “Loving father” was the only dedication they’d given him.

“Hey dad,” he breathed out shakily. “It’s been awhile, huh?”

A woman began crying in the distance. Matt steadied himself against the headstone.

“I’ve been scared to come see you. I really have been. See, I’ve been dressing up as the devil at night and using those boxing skills you tried not to teach me to do it. And I’ve been hurting people, bad people, and you may have seen the world in black and white, but sometimes I wish you’d taken the blood money so you could have been here with me. There’s a lot of haze in the world. I’m trying to make it better, and I know you might now like the way I do it.”

The grave was cool against Matt’s forehead, but he didn’t mind.

“But it’s not that that makes me scared. I’ve been avoiding you because I don’t know how to ask for forgiveness from you.

“Dad, you were right. I ain’t queer. But I am gay. And I think you’d be okay with that. But I have to accept that I’ll never know for certain. I can’t keep living my life trying to be you, not when you lived your life trying to make mine better than yours. It’s time for me to be okay with myself. When judgement day comes, when I see your face again… I have to know that no matter what you think of me, I’m good at what I do. And I’m good at being good, I think.”

Matt stayed at the grave for a long time, head against the name of his father, before he finally stood. He needed to go home. Foggy was coming to his apartment tonight. It might be time to tell him some things.