You Can Do Whatever You Want

Art for Glory Beyond Mere Biology

sunryder — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 20:26:50 GMT

This was done for the mpregbigbang here on livejournal, and I was able to work with psyko_kittie . She wrote Glory Beyond Mere Biology, and there were so many adorable moments that it was difficult to choose. But there was one moment that I particularly loved, where both Steve and Tony are crashed on the couch at the beginning of the story, and I went with that. Now go read psyko_kittie's story, it's brilliant!

MPreg Big Bang Art - Tim/Dick (Red Robin/Nightwing)

sunryder — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 04:36:46 GMT

Art done for the spectacular somehowunbroken found HERE . The story was so sweet and honest, and that's the emotion that I wanted to capture between Dick and Tim. I hope you like it, and go read the story!

losing the veil | part3/3

sunryder — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 03:56:57 GMT

John didn't see Mycroft for two days after their initial shouting match, and foolishly John thought that might be the end of it. And it was, until John stripped down to his pants and undershirt and curled up in bed, only to open his eyes and see Anthea had materialized out of nothing on top of the bed next to him. John groaned, "You couldn't have been visible before I got in bed?"

Anthea didn't both looking up from her phone, "I get my kicks where I can, Doctor."

John gave a pointed look to Anthea's short skirt and the miles of perfect leg that it revealed and replied, "I doubt I'm the best kick you can get."

"Mr. Holmes prefers that I restrain my flirting only to those that we can be sure will never be bought or convinced to report back on either of us for any reason."

"So, when I told the lads that Mycroft was a git and if I wasn't sure he'd disappear me I'd like to punch him in the face, that was a bad thing?"

Anthea gave a tiny smirk at that and replied, "I believe that is common enough information that you don't need to be concerned about revealing it."

John smiled, "Not that I'm not always happy to have a woman hangout out at my bedside, but is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes. You can consent to Mr. Holmes's request that you return to London."

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't a request," John snorted.

Anthea gave him a pointed and disapproving look. "It was, in fact, as polite a request as Mycroft Holmes is capable of managing."

"Well that's terrifying."

"Indeed. And yet, he made the attempt nonetheless."

"Uh huh. And why was Mr. Holmes attempting and failing to be polite to me?"

"The Oracle of London," she replied without looking up.

John buried his face in his pillow for a moment and silently wished that she could've sprung all this on him in the morning. Then he groaned, "And I suppose that means exactly what it sounded like?"

She quirked an eyebrow, "That the Oracle of London sent one of the most dangerous and powerful users of magic in her country to Afghanistan to retrieve you and bring you home?" She waited for John's replying grunt then finished, "Yes."

"And I don't suppose she decided to tell you why?"

"The Oracel did not see fit to reveal to Mr. Holmes the higher purpose behind your calling. However, if it is any consolation she has been very clear that you are to come home out of your own free will and choice rather than out of any bribery or blackmail on his part."

John looked at her in disbelief and Anthea shrugged, "He has had exceptional difficulty in adhering to those instructions. He has several plans involving your sister and her ex-wife, some good, some bad."

John popped up out of bed, "If you think-"

Anthea looked up from her blackberry just long enough to fix John with a look that she must have learned from Holmes that declared John was undoubtedly an idiot if he continued that sentence. She'd already explained to him that Mycroft was attempting to show restraint, there was no need for threats about how threatening him wouldn't work. John just sighed, "I belong here, Anthea. I'm not going back."

Anthea stood abruptly, and brushed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her jacket, "You are a far better man than I, Doctor Watson."

John snorted, "Any why is that?"

"Because I would spend the rest of my life wondering what it was fate had in store for me. What I might have been if I'd been willing to take the chance."

The woman instantly vanished into nothing, though it was difficult to disguise her presence when John's door seemingly opened of its own accord when she left. John heaved a great and irritated sigh and dropped back down on to the mattress, silently cursing because he knew she had got him.

XXXXX

The first thing John noticed when he regained consciousness was the smell. Or rather, the lack of it. He'd been captured before, imprisoned before, and places where they hold people prisoner don't smell like freshly laundered sheets. The second thing that John noticed -- which was really rather more disconcerting than the first -- was that he was naked. John sat up immediately, only to be confronted with a woman standing at the foot of his bed.

She was, John could admit, quite lovely, with a delicate green blouse that hugged her curves and a white skirt just short enough to show off her thighs but not nearly enough to be improper for a woman of her age. If John hadn't been unnerved by having nothing more than a sheet for protection, he certainly would have been by the way she was staring at him. Like Sherlock's ability to see straight into your soul, but she looked like she didn't want to know so much about John as she wanted to strip off his skin and wear it for a pair of boots. Which was quite concerning since John's lack of veil let him look at her know she wasn't just a beautiful woman, she was a rather powerful Succubus.

After a long moment of staring at one another across the length of the bed John fought the urge to draw the blankets up to his chest like the heroine of a BBC period drama and instead mildly asked, "I don't supposed you'd be willing to tell me where my pants are?"

That got him the smallest tick of a smile before she hiked up her skirt and began crawling on her knees up the bed. John had a brief moment to suppose she'd had practice with this sort of thing because she looked far more classy while doing it than John thought was possible, before he went to dive out of the bed, pants or no pants. Only, he found himself unable to move. With a quick word she'd bound John's hands to the headboard, keeping him sitting upright, and tendrils of magic holding his feet and thighs down right where they were. And best of all, his jaw was clamped shut preventing from the hope of screaming.

John tried very hard not to panic, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to press back and away from her. He'd seen soldiers die at the hands of Succubi and Incubi before, and it was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone. Sometimes the spells protecting the doors and windows of hospitals would fail, and the demons would slip in, sucking the life out of patients who were already so close to death that the demon didn't even need sex, just one long kiss to end their life. (There'd been an Incubus in Afghanistan, there to kill patients that John had drug off the battlefield then spent twelve hours in surgery to put back together again. John had shot the bastard in cold blood and hadn't lost a moment's sleep.)

The woman settled herself on John's sheet-covered lap, skirt rucked up and thighs exposed, and began running her fingers through John's hair. Despite the fact he had been given only the slightest bit of room to maintain a struggle, he was working up a sweat, a sweat that the woman seemed to take great pleasure in. She titled forward, burying John's face in her breast while she gave an obscene sniff of his hair. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to John's ear, murmuring with hot breath on his skin, "You're not what I expected."

She dropped back to John's lap in what should've been a painfully arousing position, only in John's terror in couldn't even have pretended. "My dear Sherlock is not exactly one for people in general, let alone people who are quite so common. You're not handsome, you're not clever, you're not even inadvertently powerful. You're just human."

She'd left him enough freedom to twist his head away from her touch, which she seemed to be enjoying, so when she leaned in to kiss him with her obscenely red lips John had enough space to wrench his mouth away and ram his forehead into her nose. She reared back with the pain and quickly whipped around her elbow to smash into John's face. She caught him in the jaw, the force of the blow cutting open his lip on his teeth and sending a spray of blood down onto the sheets. She tightened her mental grip of John's face after that, holding him still while she leaned forward and licked up the thread of blood that was trailing down John's chin. She leaned back and spat the blood down with a sneer, "You don't even taste good. What could he possibly see in you?"

fxxx

The pressure on John's jaw decreased, letting him unclench his teeth just enough to mutter, "Sod off."

The woman gave him a leer of a smile before she pressed her mouth to John's and bit down on his bottom lip at the same moment she dug the knife-fine edge of one finger into John's chest. He tried to lean back from the shock, but her teeth dug into the tender flesh of his lip to keep him in place. After she'd made the mark, she ran her free hand through John's hair and crooned, “Don't you worry, Johnny-boy, the next one won't hurt any less,” and she buried her nail in again.

The doctor part of John was able to pull back from the experience and catalogue the injury. They were scalple-like cuts, clean and precise, slicing through muscle while managing not to nick the bone. John didn't like what the precision said about how many times she'd done this before. By the time she was done, there were three letters etched into the skin over John's heart, each throbbing and dribbling blood unable to clot. From upside down the two letters at the beginning and end appeared to be the same, both like uppercase L's with the vertical line tilted in, while the middle letter looked like a backwards F. Irene let John look his fill before she leaned forward and licked a long stripe up over the cuts, lapping up the blood and closing the wounds with her tongue

Finally she looked up and smirked, "Now Doctor Watson, lets try this again." John clenched his teeth and struggled against his inability to fight. Her nails lengthened into claws and she ran them along the side of John's face, scratching enough to make them felt but not enough to make him bleed this time. "I'm going to keep you here, little human, keep you tied to this bed and spend days sucking you dry until you regret that fate ever wanted a thing to do with you. Or," she paused and licked across his lips, "you can tell me now, and I can kill you quick."

John glowered at her, unwilling to use his little space to bother responding. The longer he held out the more likely that Sherlock would find him. She must've seen the resolve in his eyes, because she tutted, "Oh little human, he's not going to find you." She ran her hands through his hair, attempting and failing at faking the soothing gesture. "I know Sherlock's magic like I know every other aspect of him," she leered, "And I've kept this building from his Sight. He won't be able to find you until I change the runes on the windows to let him in."

John managed to glower at the woman, and she just leaned forward to suck on his earlobe, appreciating the way he fought, but couldn't pull back. And John did fight, because the most important thing in her mocking, the thing that John didn't think the woman didn't even realized that she'd admitted to, was that she assumed Sherlock was looking. she'd taken the precautions to keep Sherlock out, but those precautions meant she thought he would be trying, and the least John could do was try to stay alive as long as possible to give Sherlock a chance.

She ran her nails down John's chest and straight for the blanket that was keeping his lap covered and whispered, "I'll have every bit of you John Watson. Every bit of you that has sucked Sherlock in, every bit that makes you so special to the spirits. I'll take all that, and whatever it is that makes you worth notice, it'll be mine." She leaned in and licked a long stripe up John's cheek while she ran claws over the lowest part of his belly, "By the time I'm done I'll make you regret you'd ever been born."

Then, because the situation wasn't quite horrible enough, Mycroft's voice interrupted, "I'm sure the good Doctor already does."

The woman on him bared her teeth at John, teeth that rapidly devolved into fangs as she sprang off John's lap and straight for Mycroft's neck. Only she was struck mid-leap with the blunt end of his umbrella. John saw nothing special about the stick, but apparently there was magic to it because the woman went down like a bag of bricks. She slammed into a wall, hesitating there for a moment before she rolled over onto her back, enough presence of mind to slide up her leg, hiking up her skirt in what was meant to a beguiling pose. "Mycroft, my dear. Your brother will be so disappointed. You know how he hates when you meddle in his affairs."

"I do not believe you will be one of his affairs for much longer."

She put her weight back on her elbows and arched up in a way that made her breasts as prominent as possible before replying, "If you wanted a turn Mycroft, all you had to do was ask."

The woman very deliberately began to unbutton her already tenuously connected blouse, and while John's upbringing demanded that he look someplace that wasn't her chest, Mycroft simply cocked an eyebrow and stared at her like he wasn't impressed. "Your willingness to spread your legs and distract my brother when he gets bored notwithstanding, I doubt he will look kindly upon your attempts to suck the life out of the man who will be his mate."

Adler all but slithered to feet and thrust herself into Mycroft's space, hissing silent words through inhumanly-sharp teeth, "Sherlock has no. such. thing!"

Mycroft was unmoved, "Ah yes, because you're smitten with him that must mean that somehow Sherlock lacks a soul, like you?"

She slashed for Mycroft's throat with a demonic screech. Of course, Mycroft remained completely unruffled while he flipped around the umbrella like it was a baton and caught her wrist in the crook of the handle, wrenching it around with enough force to snap the bone before clubbing her in the throat and dropping her to the floor again. "My brother is human, Ms. Adler. Despite all his gifts he comes complete with a soul, for all he rarely uses it. And he will banish you with all the might of the gifts he pretends he doesn't have when he finds out what you tried to do here today."

She snarled and tried to push herself back up, but Mycroft kicked her in the ribs with his fine Italian leather shoes and this time she had the sense to stay down. Mycroft didn't even pause to make sure that she'd stay where he put her, and instead strode straight over to John who was still magically bound to the bed. With a waive of that -- obviously charmed -- umbrella, the invisible bindings on him released.

John shifted, experimenting with all his muscles to see that everything was still in its proper working order then gave Mycroft a nod and a, "Thanks for that."

Mycroft just cocked an eyebrow, then pointedly looked down at his watch, "Were you intending on coming with me, Doctor Watson, or are you quite comfortable where you are?"

John rolled his eyes, "I'm naked here, you git. So unless you want me running around starkers-"

Mycroft held up a hand, "No, no, that will not be necessary, thank you. However, I'm afraid I didn't think to bring any extra pants with me when I came to your rescue. So perhaps you could simply make due with the sheet for the duration of our teleportation. I'm sure someone in my employ will be able to retrieve a spare for you."

John sighed, but decided that since the man had just save him from having his life and soul sucked out of his body, now was not the time to call him on his derision. John flicked his fingers at Mycroft, which the man had the good grace to take as a sign to turn around so John could try and make a toga out of the blanket in peace. While he fiddled with the fabric John asked, "How did you find me, anyway?"

"CCTV, Doctor Watson. And when you passed out of our sight there, one of Anthea's assistants scried for you."

"Scry?"

Mycroft looked very much like he wanted to snap something at John that would've sounded more natural coming out Sherlock's mouth, but he restrained himself and answered calmly, "A vial of your blood is used by a Witch to track your location."

"But she said the wards were so powerful that you wouldn't be able to find me."

"In the process of threatening you, she spilled your blood." Mycroft poked at the edge of the blanket currently giving him some semblance of modesty and John noticed a few flecks of blood from his split lip. "Her runes were to protect against someone finding you by your blood, but magic gets particularly mutable when the you search for blood that has been spilled. Magic works for the preservation of all life, so even a spell so simple scrying can override the protection runes she had up on this apartment."

John 'hmm-ed' for a moment then awkwardly held out his hand. Mycroft just stared at the extended appendage before John snapped, "Aren't we supposed to be teleporting someplace?"

Mycroft puckered his nose in distaste, but extended the point of his umbrella anyway. John rolled his eyes, because if anyone got to be irritated about this situation, it was him. He grabbed the end of the umbrella at the exact moment that Irene reared up behind Mycroft, neither man having noticed her rapid recouperartion. Her beauty had grown terrible in the minute she'd been on the floor. Her black hair floated around her like a twisted halo, and her eyes glowed with an unnatural light. The bones in her right wrist had knitted together, and she silently drew back that hand to slash her claws across Mycroft's exposed back. John ripped the umbrella forward, pulling Mycroft off his feet and out of the way as the blow descended.

Irene hissed at them, a sillibant sound slipping from the now forked tongue nestled behind her pointed teeth. She lunged again, and John shifted Mycroft behind him while he surged forward. She cut out with her claws, and John ducked to avoid the blow, quickly accepting that she was fast and probably more dangerous than him, given that she had razor-edged claws and the practical reality that there was no place in John's sheet to tuck a Browning.

So, John did the only thing available to him at the moment and tossed that sheet in Irene's face when she lunged forward for her next strike. He took the distraction for what little good it did and tumbled back into Mycroft, getting a grip on the man's umbrella along the way. And from one heartbeat to the next, they were gone.

John suspected that somewhere along the way he must've blinked, because before his body could even recognize the change, they arrived in a well appointed sitting room that looked like it should have Jane Austen in a far corner frantically scribbling notes. There were only two disjointed things about the space. The first was the view outside the window showed a proper English garden, small hedge maze and all, on a balcony extended over The Strand. (John stared for a moment at the utter impossibility of the plants growing like that in planter boxes, let along the size and weight of the balcony itself. Then he remembered there was probably some sort of magical contractor who specialized in impossible architecture.)

The second was that Sherlock was in a shouting match with the most poised woman John had ever seen. She had blonde curls pulled into a high and stately bun, with one long line of white cutting through the otherwise perfect color and betraying her age. She sipped on her tea, paying Sherlock only the slightest amount of attention while he paced in front of her setee, shouting, “And Mycroft of all people! How could you tell Mycroft!”

John and Mycroft had appeared in front of the room's door, putting them directly before the woman, with a furiously pacing Sherlock between them. She paused in bringing her cup to her lips, fixing John with a raised eyebrow, though at his nakedness or the cuts on his chest he couldn't tell. It had been years since John had felt embarrassed about his own nudity, but this was like being naked in front of your Mum. John slowly moved the folds of the umbrella over his groin, which put Mycroft's hand unfortunately close to his bits.

That only made the eyebrow go higher.

Sherlock noticed that he wasn't even getting perfunctory attention anymore, and whirled around in a swirl of greatcoat to see who dared to interrupt. Then he froze.

Then he turned purple.

John had had a commanding officer who used to get so angry he'd turn that shade, but John had assumed that Sherlock of all people wouldn't have so obviously emotional a tell. Everyone in the room just paused for a moment, none of them daring to move while Sherlock made his deductions. And then Sherlock erupted.

For such a lanky thing he could move like a fury when he put his mind to it. He surged forward, ripping a throw off the back of a wingback chair as he went. Mycroft and his concealing umbrella were summarily shoved back, getting his hands as far away from John as possible. Sherlock tossed the throw around John's shoulders and drew it tight over his chest before he snarled at Mycroft, “Why would she do this?”

Mycroft fixed Sherlock with the same look he gave John when he thought the soldier was being particularly stupid and just snapped his fingers. The faintest of tinkling sounds filled the air, and Mycroft dryly replied, “I should think that was obvious, dear brother.”

John ignored the shift of Sherlock's face that meant he was about to pounce and asked, “How did you know where I was?”

“Reasonable deduction based upon the people who are simultaneously foolish enough to attack an associate of mine and powerful enough to hide it from me," Sherlock rambled.

“And that got you to Irene?”

Sherlock paused, then rushed out, “Accompanied by her preference for that brand of sheets.”

Sherlock pulled back just enough of the blanket around John's shoulders to examine the cuts she'd made in his skin, but John was undeterred, “She was a Succubus.”

“You are correct.” Sherlock traced the lines with his fingers, checking the depth and precision of the cuts.

“Succubi drain the life out of you.” John said it with such certainty that Sherlock looked up from where he was studying John's skin through a magnifying glass. He quirked one eyebrow in a way that obviously asked, 'What's your point?' and John just stared back with 'You know damn well what the point is.'

“Succubi can drain humans through sexual contact. The more involved the sexual contact, the more potent the draining. However, when they attempt to drain a fellow magical being, they have to be stronger than being to successfully drain.”

“And you're stronger than she is?”

Sherlock huffed, “Of course.”

Whatever else John might've asked or Sherlock might've said was interrupted by a precise knock on the door behind him. Only then did John realize that the tinkling from Mycroft's snap was their version of ringing a bell.

Mycroft called out, “Enter,” and in stepped a particularly wizened looking goblin, tufts of whispy white hair gathered in strips above his squarely pointed ears. “Ah, Carruthers,” Mycroft greeted, and handed over his umbrella. “Do see that gets sanitized, and perhaps we can get Doctor Watson some cover that is not an antique stitching gifted to the Marquess of Daltham by the Queen of France?”

In his finely pressed three-piece suit and bow tie Carruthers fixed John with the same eyebrow as his mistress before him and replied, “I shall see if we can find something suitable.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but before he could snap back something about how a particular ruffle on his sleeve meant he was stealing the silver or something, Carruthers reached out one spindly finger and nudged aside the blanket, completely exposing the mark on John's chest that Sherlock had tried to hide at the first sound of the knock. The goblin took a long look at the strange shape Irene had carved into John's chest before both fluffy eyebrows went up and his eyes widened. Carruthers turned to Sherlock and asked, “Will the royal magician be necessary?” There was a challenge to his tone, like the goblin was daring Sherlock to say yes. John once again expected something foul and insulting to follow, but Sherlock flushed and looked away from Caruruthers's unblinking stare. The goblin huffed in disappointment, then with a snap of his fingers, John was dressed. Thick woolen trousers and a fine, white shirt that, if they had been three sizes smaller, could've been from Sherlock's closet. The goblin kept his disapproving glower on Sherlock, then added, “Mistress Holmes, Miss Adler has arrived and requests an audience so that she may retrieve the property your eldest son stole from her.”

There were too many new pieces of information in that sentence that John didn't know who to interrogate first. The poised woman, Mrs. Holmes apparently, took it out of his hands and replied, “Of course, Carruthers. Show her up.” She paused, “Slowly, please.”

Carruthers gave his mistress a small nod, fixed one final glower on Sherlock, and strode out of the room. John turned on Sherlock and demanded, “'Mistress Holmes'?”

That seemed to break the stupor Sherlock had fallen under and he snapped, “Really, John? That's what you choose to focus on?”

“I have no idea what the rest of it means, so yes, I'm going to focus on that fact that your Mum saw me naked!”

“Mostly naked,” she interrupted, then paused to take a sip of her tea. “The umbrella was perfectly servicable for modesty purposes.” The last bit she delivered with a small smirk that made her sons twitch. She set down her cup and held out one lean, graceful hand and John felt like a cad to leave it hanging there, so he stumbled forward to shake. “Since neither of my sons seems to remember their manners Doctor Watson, I shall have to introduce myself. I am Lady Imogene Holmes, the Oracle of London.”

John paused for half a moment while all the necessary pieces took over his brain and suddenly slammed into place. He stumbled out, “Oh,” before he caught himself and replied, “I mean, Hello. I'm John Watson.”

Imogene smiled back far more genially than either of her sons seemed capable of, “I am aware.”

“Yes, well, I supposed you would, what with the telling Mycroft to bring me to London and all.” John tried not to let his irritation show at having his resignation from the military and every ounce of his life for the last three months be a product of this woman's meddling, but it was difficult. And John didn't even have to turn around to know that Sherlock had snapped into a glare at Mycroft for keeping back that piece of information.

Imogene gestured to the chair beside her, and John took a deep breath before sinking into the place, asking, “So, let me see if I've got this right. You think I'm important for some reason, and this Irene woman--”

“Miss Adler.” Imogene interrupted.

“What?”

“The 'Irene woman' is Miss Adler, who is on her way up.”

John puffed out a deep breath, “That's not good. And how is she walking around after Mycroft took the umbrella to her?”

“That, Doctor Watson, is an excellent question.” Imogene looked to her eldest son, who tensely replied, “She has the support of a higher level demon. They must be funneling power to her for her to survive the spells inherent in my umbrella.”

Imogene looked furious and even Sherlock pursed his lips, so John asked, “And that would be a bad thing?”

“What would make you think a more powerful demon would ever be a good thing?” Sherlock huffed. The detective dropped onto the chair across from John, crouched with his feet on the seat and sitting on the back.

“Feet off the chair Sherlock,” Imogene intoned in the same weary way as mothers everywhere. Sherlock kept his hands steepled before his mouth, but slipped onto the seat proper. After a day John knew no explanation would be coming from that quarter, so he turned back to Imogene and asked the question he wanted to since the first time Mycroft had turned up in his room, “What is it you think I am?”

“'Think' nothing my dear, I know.”

John did his very best not to look skeptical, and given all he'd seem Sherlock do today, he shouldn't. But Shelock himself didn't credit his own skill to any supernatural power. Imogene smirked at John like it was a response she'd heard so many times before she had passed through irritation and come straight through to bemusement on the other side. “I know, Doctor Watson, in the same way Sherlock knows.”

“Sherlock doesn't know,” John interrupted. “He deduces, there's a difference.”

Sherlock smirked, the expression on his face far more fierce and feral than on his mother's. Imogene looked at Sherlock with the sort of hopeful disapproval that only mother's could manage and added, “I know the future in the same way Sherlock knows the present. He could be omniscient about the subject, but instead he uses to utilize the human aspects of his Gift rather than the whole because he feels it demeans his science.”

“Which is a tragedy,” Irene interrupted,” because when you have the means to convince Sherlock Holmes to See for you, he's quite good.” Irene was just as she'd been ten minutes before when they'd teleported away. Her arm was still unbroken, the formerly darkening bruises were now gone, and neither a hair was out of place nor a crease in her white suit. In fact, she'd be picture perfect human if it wasn't for John's blood smeared across her mouth like lipstick.

Carruthers stepped in behind Irene, obviously having been overstepped by the Succubus to make her grand entrance. But still, the Goblin did his duty and announced, “Mistress Holmes, Irene Adler to see you.” Irene ignored how Carruthers quite obviously left out the introduction of 'Miss', while Imogene Holmes raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Irene's arrival, like she was surprised to find that her neighbor's dog had made its way into her garden once again. “Miss Adler, I do believe I have made my opinion on your presence in my home quite clear.”

With a pleasant smile Irene settled herself onto a padded bench across from Imogene's lounge, obviously putting herself in counterpoint to the Holmes matriarch. “If your opinion still held any weight in this matter I wouldn't have been able to pass the wards at the front door without turning into a husk. Since here I sit, We shall assume that whatever spells you've worked to keep me out of your family,” she paused and her smug smile turned lecherous, “or your family out of me, are no longer in effect.”

She crossed her legs, and now that she was secure in her victory she felt no need to bear more skin than she chose to. Instead she continued, “After all, Doctor Watson is tied to Sherlock. The efforts of various and assorted assassins both and home and abroad have been no match for the strings of fate that have been pulling the two of them together. It will be Sherlock Holmes and John Watson for as long as they both shall live, and now John belongs to me. If you want the good Doctor to keep on breathing and functioning with a will of his own, then you'll need to be in my good graces. And of course, if you kill me, you'll kill the good doctor. Beginning now.”

Mycroft and Imogene were completely blank, making Sherlock the only member of the Holmes family who was willing to show he was furious. Though, for Sherlock, furious was less of a facial expression and more the complete relaxation of all the tension in his shoulders. John had never been one to wait on other people to move first, so he demanded, “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Irene all but sneered, “Didn't they tell you?” she tutted, “Oh you poor boy, all wrapped up with this family and they didn't even care enough to tell you what they'd done. That lovely little mark on your chest means that you're mine.”

John laughed, “Are you serious? Some cuts on my chest make you think you have any say over me?” 

She turned to Sherlock, white teeth between red lips showing the barest hint of fang, but it was Mycroft who answered. “The rune over your heart is a sigil for Thralls, creatures who have had their will subsumed by an Incubus or Succubus. They carve the sign into a Thrall with their own hands, and seal the bond with intercourse.”

“A Thrall?”

“A permanent source of life. The Succubus will call the Thrall to their side and feed on them when necessary.”

“What does bleeding the life out of me have anything to do with my will!” John demanded incredulously.

“Your life force and your will are tied together, Doctor Watson,” Imogene interrupted. “ A trait I'm sure you've noticed if your patients. Those who have the will to live continue to do so, those who do not, don't.”

John just stared at her, like she should have been the one with an ounce of common sense and telling the rest of them that that they were idiots. “But I never had sex with her!” he protested.

Irene was the one to answer this time, “Oh sex is just the sealing of the bond, John darling. The bond has already begun. You'll feel the pull to me in your veins, growing stronger and stronger the more your struggle. Eventually you'll succumb and find your way to my bed where the whole thing will be sealed. Or,” she re-crossed her legs to force attention to her exposed calves, “I can get bored and nab you again and just have my way with you.” 

Mycroft was staring at the fire behind his mother, Imogene was looking at her tea, and Sherlock had relaxed completely against the chair. Every last one of them was furious, but not one of them seemed to have a plan. John however, was at peace. According to Soo Lin he was there to change magic, and according to Imogene he was there for Sherlock. For all their gifts in magic none of these people seemed to understand the common sense way of doing things. John just raised an eyebrow at the Succubus and replied, “There's a flaw in your plan.“

Irene grinned at John like he was a child scrambling for her attention and replied, “And what's that, John?” 

John leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees to make her understand, “In my own right mind, I'd kill myself before I'd let you use me to control Sherlock.” Everyone in the room paused, as though they couldn't have possibly heard him right. The Holmeses glanced at one another to verify, then all turned in unison to stare at John in disbelief. Irene however, kept her eyes on John. When he felt the entire room looking at him, John continued, “You said yourself that the seal isn't complete, that I'll have who knows how long where I'm free of you, and all I need is a moment. All I need is one breath with my Browning to swallow my own sidearm and whatever hold you think you've got over him will be done. Shot out with my brain.”

It was obviously a possibility Irene had never thought of before, expecting John to value his own life quite as much as she valued her own. Of all the people to speak that John had been imagining, it hadn't been Sherlock, who demanded, “Why would you do that?” John turned to him and Sherlock continued, “You have no respect for fate, and you believe that death should be fought, not submitted to. So why are you doing this?”

John smiled at him, genuine and more at ease than he had been since he was in Afghanistan with his company, “Are you telling me the great Sherlock Holmes has found something he can't deduce?”

“Sentiment,” Sherlock replied, with none of his usual bite. Like it was an perfectly rational answer for why he was coming up blank.

“You believed I was innocent from the first moment you saw me. Lestrade said all the evidence pointed to me and Angelo said the magic was so convincing that no other Magican in London would've believed I didn't do it.”

“It was interesting.” Sherlock objected, but his heart wasn't really in it.

John snorted, “You don't take clients with you to Angelo's, and you don't let them boss you about and make you eat dinner. That's what you do with friends. And apparently if we had a bit more time you were going to be the best friend I ever had. So I'm doing this for the friends we might've been.” John shrugged, “Can't be much better than the man I met today.”

Carruthers had been silently padding through the routine of a properly prepared cup of tea throughout this whole conversation, the process unimpeded by the fact that a man was discussing his own suicide. The goblin carried over his tray and set down four cups of perfectly prepared tea beside their intended recipients (John's own was the straight black of Earl Grey, and he could see a splash of cream in Irene's). Sherlock's own, however, was the same mug that he had been drinking out of before the whole episode began. He'd left it half-empty on the side table beside his mother when he began his tantrum, and Carruthers had done nothing more than move it the three feet from that table to the one beside Sherlock's own chair.

John had no idea what the point behind that snub was, but Sherlock seemed to since he downed the rest of the cold tea in one motion and stared at the dregs of the cup like they held all the answers in the world. They must've told him something, because Irene slipped out of her comfortable stance and dropped both heeled feet to the floor to declare, “Really, Sherlock--”

“I didn't deduce you were innocent,” Sherlock interrupted. “Well,” he rotated the cup ever so slightly, “I did after a moment. But I didn't see it until I'd Seen it,” and John could hear the capitalization. “My gift, my Sight. It burst out the moment I laid eyes on you and I knew I couldn't let you go to prison.”

“John came across two assassins in Camden, and there were three more waiting,” Mycroft murmured. “On at New Scotland Yard, one in the holding facility, and one at the courthouse. Each with instructions to complete the task should their predecessor fail.”

Irene scoffed, “Really Sherlock. You're just making my case stronger. Your Sight wants him alive, which means you're not going to let him die for you.”

Sherlock plucked the compact magnifying glass out of his breast pocket to examine the dregs clumping at the bottom of the empty tea cup while he idly muttered, “No, I don't believe I will.”

Irene smirked, certain that whatever Sherlock had seen in his mug was the inevitability of her plan. Only, instead of resign himself to whatever she had in store, Sherlock tossed the mug to his mother. The flight of the china that probably cost as much as John's rent was enough of a distraction that Irene didn't even notice Carruthers standing behind her with a smoking mug. Carruthers poured the liquid that he'd prepared alongside the tea over Irene's head, and she screamed the moment it touched her skin.

Carruthers put the cup back on its saucer and mildly told Sherlock, “Two minutes, Sir.”

Sherlock hadn't bothered waiting for the confirmation, and had instead leapt across the space between the chairs to kneel before John. He gave no sign that he'd heard Carruthers, but the Goblin was obviously well adjusted to dealing with a Holmes in a snit. Sherlock ripped on the buttons covering John's mark and hesitated for half a moment. That moment was enough time for John to look at Sherlock and understand why the detective had kept his eyes down before he moved. The smokey grey that usually made up his iris had bled out, and the whole of his eyes were soaked in grey. That was all John had the chance to see before Sherlock pressed the palm of his right hand to the skin over John's heart.

It was not unlike being shot.

John fought back a scream at the sensation, and found himself braced against Sherlock's chest. His own hands were curled around Sherlock's biceps, clenching for all he was worth to avoid being bowled over by the pain, while the detective had his free hand threaded through John's hair. The man was whispering something low and soft in John's ear, closer to Latin than to English, and the burn in his chest grew.

John stopped trying to fight the scream and just let it out, a great bellow that he was a little ashamed he still had it in him to make after surviving basic training. Apparently the freedom of the scream was something that Sherlock needed, John turning himself over to the magic Sherlock was working on his chest, and with a great rip, the pain started to ebb. In exhaustion John dropped his chin to his chest and watched as the blackness floated off his chest and gathered on Sherlock's hand until the pain and any trace that Irene had ever touched him disappeared. Sherlock held his hand out to the side, fingertips down, and the blackness dripped down the line of his hand and puddled on the floor.

As seemed to be a theme for the day, Carruthers waltzed over and poured his latest cup of tea over the blackness, and at the touch of whatever he had in that cup the darkness retreated in on itself and went up in smoke.

John drew in and out several deep breaths and devoutly ignored that his head was resting in the cradle of Sherlock's throat. They sat together for several long moments before both men cleared their throats and separated with more than a little embarassment. They had to snap out of that natural response quickly when Irene came back to herself and reached out for John, only to be burned by the touch of his skin. She reared back with such force that she landed back in her chair and sent it reeling to the ground. It is difficult to make yourself look dignified when you were climbing off the floor, but Irene still tried. The glare she fixed on Sherlock lacked any and all affection that she had assumed in their conversation before and she hissed, “What did you do?”

Sherlock looked on her with his grey eyes and replied, “I know all things in the now, and at that exact moment I Saw into his heart, and I revealed the clean truth of him at the center.”

“You healed him of me?” she spat, aghast.

“There was nothing to heal. He wasn't yours. No matter what you did to him he would always be mine.” Sherlock rose to his feet, “I advise you to find something particularly good to appease your master, because the moment you leave here he'll know that John is no longer tied to you, and can no longer be tied to anyone else.”

I rene slid to her feet, every moment regaining her calm, “You're going to let me live?”

“It pays to have a Succubus owe you.” Irene gave Sherlock a smirk and strode out of the room, like there wasn't going to be a bounty on her head the moment she crossed the threshold. Sherlock smiled, like he found the whole thing terrible amusing and dropped a kiss to his mother's cheek before he started for the door.

From his spot still on the floor John demanded, “How did you know you could do that?”

“Do what?” Sherlock held out a hand and pulled John to his feet.

“Do what! Rip her out of me!”

Sherlock tossed on his coat, turning up the collar as he strode towards the door without so much as a goodbye to his brother. “Tea leaves, John. Tea leaves!”

“You read the damn tea leaves?” John followed after him, pausing at the door to look back and forth between Sherlock disappearing down the hall and the family who'd just helped Sherlock save John's life. Carruthers snapped his fingers and out pulled a much less battered version ofJohn's favorite coat out of thin air and fixed John with a look that said, 'Well, go on with you.'' John gave them all a nod before he started after Sherlock, who had apparently been explaining the entire time John hadn't been listening to him.

“I admit tea reading is one of the vaguer methods for telling the future, but it serves its purpose.”

“I thought you could only See the present, not the future?”

“The present is my natural inclination and where I am the strongest, but having the Sight at all means that to a lesser degree I can perceive the future as well as the past.”

John paused, thinking of Sherlock's description of how he'd Seen John's innocence when they'd first met, and asked, “Seeing like that, all in a rush, it's not common for you?”

“The last time my Sight took over my deductions was the last time I overdosed.”

John slouched back in his chair, not at all pleased with the information that Sherlock had been an addict. “And what did you See then?”

“My death.” Sherlock ignored the elevators and strode into the stairwell, long legs taking him down at a fast clip.

“But you're not dead,” John demanded, tailing after him through the door.

Sherlock's look declared John was an absolute idiot, but Sherlock had decided to trust him anyway and he replied, “Perfectly sound analysis, John, but I was expecting more.”

“You're supposed to 'know' everything about the present, but you didn't know your own death.”

“That's because 'fate' is doing just as must guessing as the rest of us. Except for me, of course. I never guess.”

“Yes you do,” John teased.

“Given the amount of cocaine in my system I should've stopped breathing before the paramedics ever had the chance of reaching me. It wasn't fate and it wasn't divine intervention, it was my own continual exposure to large doses of cocaine that kept me from responding in the way of a lesser addict.”

“'The way' being heart failure.”

"'The way' being luck and so such thing as fate."

John 'hmm-ed', but didn't comment. Sherlock signed, “You believe in fate.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Sherlock furrowed, “Then why aren't you agreeing with me?”

John stopped walking, forcing Sherlock to actually look at him rather than deduce things about the concrete walls they were passing. “Because I think you chose to live. I think there was a moment there where you could've left, and you chose to stay.”

“And what on earth does that have to do with fate?”

“If we're the masters of our own destiny, and you chose to live, then that's what you'll keep choosing to do. That's who you'll choose to be, and you've made your own fate.”

John shrugged and started back down the stairs until Sherlock interrupted, “Like you chose to die rather than betray me?”

“No different than finally accepting your gift to save me,” John called over his shoulder, not bothering to stop. Sherlock grinned and strode after John, his long legs covering the space in a few short moments.

At the top of the massive staircase behind them there stood Imogene and Mycroft, watching their Sherlock grin at his human like the man was fascinating. Mycroft sighed, “He'll be insufferable now, you know.”

Imogene ran a soothing hand along her firstborn's shoulder, “He was insufferable before, at least now there's a chance John might be the making of your brother.”

“Or make him worse than ever.” Mycroft retorted.

With a small, private smile Imogene's eyes faded to white and she whispered, “No, I believe they will something to adore, this Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson.”

Losing the Veil | Part 2/3

sunryder — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 03:53:24 GMT

Title: Losing the Veil
Author: sunryder
Artist: artconserv
Verse: Sherlock BBC fusion
Word Count: 22,582
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Irene (offscreen), John/Sherlock (pre)
Warnings violence
Summary: John never would've suspected that there creatures out there in the world if he hadn't been shot. Of course, he never would've thought that knowing about those creatures would get him accused of murder either. And no one, absolutely no one, would ever have expected the Seer named Sherlock Holmes.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

A/N: This work was due to be posted for the holmes_big_bang on the 2nd, but I had a family emergency that pulled me out of town and away from my computer for the last week. My beloved artconserv and the mods let me get away with murder and push back my posting date. They were amazing, beautiful people to do this for me, taking a huge burden off my shoulders so I didn't have to worry while I tended to my family. Really, they should be fussed over in the extreme. I wouldn't have had anywhere near the patience if I'd been artconserv considering just how spectacular her art is, I would've demanded it be seen immediately. Go HERE, and make the biggest fuss that ever fussed, it's stunning, and striking, and perfect.

It turned out the posh bastard of a Warlock who no one wanted to be treated by had gone to his superiors and complained about Captain Watson. The superiors didn't make John stop, but they did wonder where this previously completely human bloke had gotten the ability to know what he was treating. From there word about John just got passed up and up and up the ranks until it crossed the desk of one Mr. Mycroft Holmes: Minor Government Official, Grand Mage of London, Chief Advisor on Human Affairs to the Council of Elders, and interfering git.

Two months after his run in with the Warlock, John finished a fourteen hour stretch of surgery where he'd pieced together the guts of a boy who'd never been out of Brighton before he came to Afghanistan. He stepped into the room he shared with two other surgeons and found Mycroft Holmes sitting at the room's lone desk, immaculate in his three piece, Savile Row suit, drinking a tumbler of scotch from a bottle that Harry had posted to John and he hadn't found the occasion to drink just yet.

Looking back, he could admit it probably wasn't the best time for a first meeting with anyone, let alone a chap drinking his scotch when he desperately wanted a glass.

John's first impression of Mycroft Holmes was that the man practically stank with magic, more than any one person had to themselves naturally, which meant that Mycroft was either more powerful than John had been led to believe the Folk could become, or he was hoarding magic that wasn't his to begin with. Either way, John instinctively reached for his sidearm and felt the cool press of a pistol muzzle up against the side of his head, despite the fact that there was no one there. Mycroft set down the glass, using one of John's books as a coaster and replied, "Doctor Watson, I presume?"

"If you've got a Witch with a gun to my head I'm assuming you already know who I am."

Mycroft gave a nod to the empty space beside John and simultaneously the gun disappeared and a woman appeared out of nothing. "Anthea is terribly protective of me. Given your marksmanship ratings she was rather justified in her concern."

John remained right where he was in the doorway and asked, "And how do you know about my marksmanship scores?"

Mycroft flipped open a manila envelope he had resting on the table and casually began to read, "'Captain Watson's scores are exemplary in the extreme. Were it not for his status as a surgeon I would recommend him for further marksmanship training in pursuit of a new classification as a sniper.' Some of the later documents request that you be given sniper training anyway in the hope that they could use you as an assassin where others are not permitted to go. However, that is an offer you turned down." Mycroft looked up from the paperwork with a derisive quirk to his eyebrow, "The question is, Mr. Watson, why did you tell them no?"

"Doctor Watson."

"Pardon?" Mycroft replied dryly.

"My name, it's Doctor Watson, not Mr. Watson."

Mycroft just smirked at him, like there was some sort of grand secret John had revealed in that statement (and at the time John didn't yet understand that that probably really was all a Holmes needed to understand him). From under the manila folder Mycroft pulled out a thin stack of papers and set them on the edge of the desk so John would have to go to him if he wanted them. "Doctor Watson, I would like to offer you employment."

John snorted and dropped down onto the empty bed beside the door, but still opposite Mycroft and Anthea. "No."

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow in amusement, like he was enjoying John's refusal, "No?"

"Oh god, no," John smirked right back.

Mycroft waited a moment then accepted that John meant his refusal and Mycroft's face went hard. "You are a healer, with only a passing acquaintance with being a soldier. You do not belong here."

"Oh?" John quirked his eyebrow, going for amused but probably coming off as pissed, "and what makes you so sure of that?"

"You assured me that you are Doctor Watson, not Captain Watson. Which tells me all I need to know about your proclivities."

"My proclivities?" John all but spat back.

"Of course. You're in a war zone, not because you particularly believe in what you're fighting for, but because you need the fight. You practice medicine because you want to do some good in the world, but you're in the military because you couldn't stand the thought of spending the rest of your days in some hospital in Edinburgh made you want to scream. And so, you are here. I am perfectly capable of providing you with the adventure that you're seeking Doctor Watson, and the chance to do your daily allotment of good. But back in civilization."

John had responded to that by putting his gun in Mycroft's face and tell the pompous git to get the hell out.

Relations with Mycroft had not since improved.

And yet, despite that, here John was in a car with damned Mycroft's right hand, and considering that he was being driven to North London, John thought there was a fairly good possibility that she was going to dispose of his body so that John would no longer be any concern of Sherlock's. John didn't bother trying to chat with her, he'd learned the hard way in Afghanistan that she wasn't one for idle conversation when there was a blackberry to be dealing with. Though when they pulled up outside Camden Lock Market, John thought that maybe a question or two wouldn't have been out of order. But before he could ask, Anthea slid out from the back of the car, eyes still glued to the device in her hands, and called out, "Mr. Holmes."

John looked out the open door, expecting to see the strange sight of Mycroft and his pressed suits in a place like Camden, but instead what he saw Sherlock walking down the street and doing some frantic texting of his own. "Mr. Holmes, you seem to have misplaced something."

Sherlock, being Sherlock, huffed like he hadn't misplaced a murder suspect and declared, "He wasn't lost Anthea, I've been texting him."

John rolled his eyes, "You mean texting me to a phone that the police have locked up in evidence at Scotland Yard?"

Sherlock grunted like that was information he couldn't possibly be expected to keep track of and declared, "You need a new phone then," and twirled around in a swirl of coat and headed straight into the market.

John watched Sherlock walk off for a moment before Anthea declared, "You're meant to follow him."

"Right," John muttered as he stumbled out of the car. He paused for a moment, straightening his jacket and asked, "How do you work for one and haven't killed him yet?"

"Mine is less stressful than yours." She retorted, then climbed back into the car.

John didn't waste any time trying to think that through and instead took off after Sherlock, quickly catching up to the wily man before losing him in the crush of people flowing through down the aisles. John had been to Camden before and kept his eyes forward, focused on Sherlock and his black coat rather than the chaos of people and goods around them.

Of course, that plan to follow Sherlock vanished the first time John bumped shoulders with someone in the crowd. She was done up in the Goth style, long black hair, a maroon corset binding her waist so tight it hurt John to look at it, and a thick rim of makeup around her eyes that made them glow. He murmured an apology and was ready to move on when her hand shot out and grabbed John by the bicep, pulling him close. With a lick to her lips she asked, "Why the rush, stranger? Why don't you let me show you something worth seeing?"

John inadvertently leaned in, completely intending to tell the woman no, but not quite remembering the right word when Sherlock slipped between them, taller than them both and managing to menace. The second eye contact was broken John's mind cleared of the sudden fog he'd been in since the woman had entered his space. While John shook his head to clear away the last of the cobwebs, Sherlock threatened, "He's not for tasting. And you'd do well to tell the rest of your coven the same."

The woman sneered, revealing the fangs that she'd managed to keep from John while he was under her spell and snapped, "You're all for tasting."

She pressed closer into Sherlock's space, though John wasn't sure what she planned of achieving by that, and Sherlock calmly closed his fingers around her wrist. She hissed at the sudden pain and stumbled away from him with fear in her eyes. She cradled the reddened limb to her chest and whispered, "Holmes."

Sherlock gave her a sharp nod and replied, "Now spread the word," grabbing John's arm heading off back into the crowd. John looked over his shoulder and saw the woman had vanished into the throng of people, and asked, "What was she?"

Sherlock snorted, "Don't ask questions that you know the answer to."

John thought he could be forgiven for being disbelieving, but he supposed after all this time he ought to have adjusted to existence of all these strange species. "So, she was, was a Vampire, then?"

"Obviously."

"I've never met one before Sherlock, how am I supposed to know?"

"Even you people have stories about vampires, they're in the media all the time. Though they're wrong every single time, at least you're familiar with them."

"A horror movie isn't the same thing as real life, Sherlock."

Sherlock paused for the barest of moments in the beaded doorway to another part of the market and muttered, "You'd be surprised."

John was quiet for a moment at that, but doesn't let the situation go and continued, "I couldn't see her teeth, and I would've gone with her." John was so busy ranting that he didn't see Sherlock's minor flinch at that information. "It was like my brain turned off and I didn't even have the common sense to object."

"Many predators have some ability to lure their prey into a sense of peace before consuming them."

"So, she was going to eat me?"

"Don't sound so shocked, it's what they do." Sherlock snapped.

"They ki-" John stopped himself when he realized he was yelling, and leaned closer to hiss, "they kill people, Sherlock."

"Rarely." Sherlock snorted.

"You just said,-"

"I said she'd eat you, not that she'd kill you."

"Sherlock," John replied shortly, "when I eat a fish, I kill the fish."

"Because you are going to eat the meat, which can't be replenished. Drinking a human's blood is like picking fruit off a tree. You don't kill the tree to get what you want because then the tree can't grow anymore fruit."

"So, vampires take what they need, they snack on us so they don't run out of blood?"

"Coupled with the fact that any vampire who kills a human by drinking will be hunted down and killed."

"Hunted down? By who?" Sherlock didn't break his stride but twisted around and walked a few steps backwards, staring at John like he was an idiot. Which, after the last three hours, John supposed that Sherlock the Vampire Hunter should've been his first thought.

Sherlock wound his way through the different areas of the market, cutting through the backs of stalls and jumping fences to make his way towards the furthest corner of the market. John did his best not to stop and stare along the way, but with some of the Folk they passed it was rather difficult. There was a hookah shop with a small round table out front filled with goblins. (John finally understood where Patrick got his long nose and strangely flat ears.) Then there was a beauty parlor staffed by Faeries (John got hit in the face with a handful of sparkly dust. Sherlock actually laughed at that one). John watched them all, the Folk creatures roaming around Camden, looking almost wild, like they belonged in the story books he'd read as a child. These Folk seemed so different from the well-groomed, nearly human patients he'd been treating at the clinic in Kensington, and John wondered how much of this world he'd been missing out on.

Along the way John paused in the middle of the path, too busy staring at a Mermaid who was drifting in a massive tank to pay any attention to where Sherlock was off to. The woman's tank served as a wall to a restaurant/club on the other side. Chestnut brown hair floated in a halo around her heart-shaped face, a trail of green scales slipping down the outside edges of her forearms and trailing down to flare out on the side of her breasts before dipping in to trace the line of her ribs and turning into a slick tail. The mermaid favored him with a coy grin and pressed her hands to the glass, slipping her body down to John's height to make eye contact with him. She puckered her lips and was a breath away from pressing her plump red lips to the glass in a taunt, when Sherlock grabbed him by the back of his jacket and hauled him down the aisle. John stumbled along behind him, trying to keep his eyes over his shoulder and on the mermaid, stumbling out, "Sherlock, that was a mermaid."

Sherlock grunted something in reply and John snapped, "No, Sherlock, that was a mermaid! I've never seen a mermaid before!"

"You've only see Folk in Afghanistan and in Kensington of all places, of course you haven't seen a Mermaid."

"Then why in the hell are you dragging me away from her!'

"We're not here for you to make an idiot of yourself over a Siren!"

John stumbled over his feet and finally turned his attention back to Sherlock, "Siren? But she wasn't singing!"

"You honestly believe that the Folk would allow all the stories about them to be accurate so your people know precisely when to panic? Sirens emanate a pheromone that draws people in, their voices are faster but unnecessary."

John obviously wanted to ask a few more questions about the existence of Sirens, but Sherlock ignored the opportunity and instead hauled him through thick hanging curtains that were spelled with enough wards that even John and his barely present sight could see them. "Um, Sherlock…" John tried to ask, but he twisted around in Sherlock's grip and came face to face with a waiting room that looked like came out of a storybook. The walls of the shop (which John though was a rather generous description, really it was nothing more than a narrow alley between two buildings) were brick walls lined with thick, brocaded fabric, a ceiling made of plywood, and with the whole thing held together by duct tape and spells. There were thin chairs scattered around near the opening of the alley that looked like they belonged in one of those period pieces Harry used to make John watch when she was nursing a crush on every incarnation of the Jane Austen heroines, and thick oriental rugs lining the blacktop to make it seem like they war actually inside four walls. There was a powerfully warded curtain at the back of the space functioning as a line of demarcation between the waiting area and the back room where Sherlock was headed.

Before Sherlock had the chance to flip open the fabric and disrespect the space, a Asian woman stepped out from behind the curtain, wearing a long dress with a high neckline, and a frown. "We've discussed your penchant for invasion of privacy, Mr. Holmes."

"And you know full well that you can't invade the privacy of a Seer."

"As honored as I am that you seem to believe I always know when you're coming, a person still likes advance notice."

Sherlock snorted and shrugged off his jacket, striding past the woman and into the back. The woman was too classy to roll her eyes at Sherlock, but she did release a restrained sort of sigh and pressed her hands together to give John a perfunctory bow. "I assume you are Sherlock's latest client?"

John gave a terribly uncomfortable bow in reply and said, "I thought Seers were supposed to know, not assume."

"Few things in this life are certain enough that they can be known, Doctor Watson." With a flick of the shawl wrapped around her shoulders the woman disappeared back behind the curtain with Sherlock, leaving John to stand awkwardly in the waiting room.

He stood there for longer than he liked to admit, unsure about whether or not he was welcome before he dropped down into one of the empty chairs, only to have Sherlock toss open the curtain and demand, "Are you coming or not?" and flip the curtain closed behind him. Under normal circumstances John would've reminded Sherlock that he'd never actually told John what he was here for, but John had learned early on in the day that such practical conversations with Sherlock went poorly.

John slipped between the curtains and settled in on the chair Sherlock had left across the small table from the woman, while he paced in the small amount of space behind John. She ignored Sherlock's antics and turned down the oil lamp on the right-hand side of the table (that John was fairly certain was to the north), and lifting a stick of incense from a small bowl resting at the other side of the table and re-lighting it. While she held the incense to the flame she asked, "Tell me Doctor Watson, what question do you have for the cards?"

"He's been falsely accused of murder," Sherlock interrupted. "We want to know who did it and why."

The woman stared at Sherlock unmoved and replied, "Those are two questions Mr. Holmes, both too vague for the spirits to answer properly. The answers that I can give you are only as good as the questions that you ask. You know that."

Sherlock grumbled under his breath about her supposedly ridiculous penchant for complicating the process and stepped over to the table. Sherlock paused for a moment, closing his eyes and drew a deep breath before he rested his hand on the deck of cards that waited in the middle of the table. When Sherlock slowly expelled the breath the cards glowed for just a moment, and though John had no idea what it meant, the way the woman gasped told him that wasn't the card's usual reaction. However, Sherlock seemed unmoved by the events and they both decided it was better to ignore. "There," Sherlock snorted, "now the cards are fully informed."

The woman sighed, but Sherlock's certainty was enough for her that she let his unusual approach go. The stick of incense was burning smoothly now, a thick stream of smoke rising from it. She lifted the incense and traced a triad of interlocking circles in the air, with the center point focused on the space between her eyes. While she drew she intoned a spell, and the more she spoke the more the ribbon of smoke solidified in the air. When she repeated the words for the second time John glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock who had returned to his pacing. Just quietly enough that he didn't interrupt the incantation Sherlock muttered, "It's to open her third eye for a clearer reading."

"Reading?"

"She reads the cards, John. Do keep up."

The woman pointedly cleared her throat to silence them both, but refrained from telling them off like John was sure she wanted to. (John supposed there must be something to be said for Sherlock's status as a Seer if he was allowed to be rude like that without any disapproval.) She gestured to the deck still in the middle of the table and explained, "Doctor Watson, please shuffle the deck in any way that is most comfortable for you." Living with soldiers meant John had spent his fare share of time playing card games, so he gave it a quick shuffle like the lads did during their poker tournaments. He leaned forward to put the deck right back where she'd left it, but the woman interrupted, "Take the deck in your left hand please, and separate it into three piles, moving from your left to right." Sherlock snorted behind him, so John assumed this was more ritual than magic, but John supposed this might be one of those 'wild magic' things that were beyond Sherlock's skill set, so he followed the slightly awkward instructions as best as he was able.

The woman gathered up the cards, placing the center pile over the stack to John's left, then those together on the pile to John's right before she gathered them over to herself. She closed her eyes and waived her hand through the smoke from the incense resting in the dish and hummed to herself before she intoned in a detached voice, "You are asking the spirits for knowledge about the situation that faces you, and so-"

"It's a fact-finding spread." Sherlock snapped. "You don't have to be vague and mystical. Six cards laid out in a row: who, what, why, when, where, and how. The mysticism is unnecessary."

She glowered at him, and snapped, "Sherlock Holmes, were you any other man I am certain that the spirits would punish you for your disrespect. In fact, I am not certain that they will not see you humbled for it anyway."

"The first time I denounced the spirits I was five, Soo Lin, and they haven't punished me for it yet."

She paused and let the silence draw out before she replied in a mocking tone, "Have they not? You see everything, and yet feel nothing."

"Sentiment." Sherlock sneered, and John knew this was about to get ugly so he headed it off at the pass. "Sorry," he interrupted, "but if you two are just planning on shouting at one another, do I need to be here? Because someone out there is trying to frame me for murder and I'd like to look into that if you don't mind."

The woman smiled at John, unwillingly pleased by his response she immediately explained, "This position tells us who is involved in the situation, who it is who seeks to have you framed." Rather than wait for Sherlock to interrupt once again she flicked over her top card and placed it to John's far left, leaving John to respond, "Well, that can't be good." The image on the card was of a satyr, crouched on an altar and clutching chains that were wound around the throats of a man and woman. Honestly, all that wasn't particularly troubling to John since there were probably real satyrs out there someplace, but the prominent text at the bottom of the card declaring him 'The Devil' gave him pause.

Soo Lin gave John a gentle smile, "He is not the Christian Devil, he is Pan, the god of pleasure, of desire, of wild abandon. His stands in this spread for the one trying to have you framed, meaning that the one who seeks your downfall is charismatic, able to draw others into their web. The Devil shows ambition, power, persuasion, temptation" her eyes flicked ever so quickly up to Sherlock, "he is the puppet master. The one you seek is no lone gunman. They will be well loved, and well protected."

She waited until John gave a sharp nod, signifying that he understood what he was warning him about and completely ignoring the impatient tint that Sherlock's pacing had taken on. "The next position in this spread will tell us what the situation involves," and she flipped over the next card, placing it next to 'The Devil,' one step closer to the center. The card was of a king, alone on his throne and clutching to his chest a bag of coins marked with stars. John took in the image for a moment before he looked up to Soo Lin with absolutely no idea what it meant.

"This is the Four of Pentacles," and only then did John catch the Roman numeral for four in the upper corner of the card. "The king is hoarding what he has, unwilling to share, or to use it for some other cause. All he seeks is possession."

"The miser card," Sherlock snapped, "move on."

Soo Lin glowered at Sherlock, "That definition is inaccurate. He hoards more than money, he hoards all the good things in his life. Which I imagine is far more pertinent to Doctor Watson's case than money." Sherlock snorted, but that wasn't a denial. She turned her attention back to John and with a slightly apologetic tone of voice replied, "Unless you believe that someone might kill you for your money."

John shrugged off the apology, "Since I haven't got any, it's unlikely."

"So, the situation involves someone who wants to keep what they have, presumably you pose some threat to what The Devil has, and they are seeking to protect it from you."

John gave another quick nod to her since Sherlock's irritation was beginning to grow, they both knew it. The cards weren't telling Sherlock much he couldn't have deduced on his own -- after all, crap telly had taught John that jealousy was a good bet for the reason behind most murderers. Soo Lin quickly explained, "This next position tells us why these events have happened," and flipped over the next card, only to pause in uncertainty. Sherlock had been paying only the scantest attention to the reading at this point, but her pause called him back.

She placed the card in the dead center of the table, and John didn't understand the problem. It was 'The Sun', done with the same graceful script as before, only this time there were no disturbing creatures, just the red and gold sun taking up the whole face of the card. John barely glanced at the simple card and looked to Soo Lin, who was ignoring the card completely to stare at John like he'd just re-arranged her perception of the cosmos.

"You are The Sun."

John looked back and forth between Soo Lin and Sherlock, with her staring at John, and Sherlock staring at the card like maintaining eye contact would change whatever meaning he was seeing. "Sorry, I don't know quite what that means."

"The Sun is light. It is glory, and triumph, the ideal."

John took another look between the two of them, "Right. You both realize that that still has nothing to do with me?"

Soo Lin's unflinching stare at John finally lightened just a bit, and she explained, "It means that you have been framed because you are essential. There is something about you that assures victory, and since that victory will result in The Devil losing what they covet, you had to be disposed of."

"Right, and what victory am I supposed to be ensuring here?" John asked, not believing any of this nonsense other than the fact that Sherlock was standing behind his shoulder, still staring at the card like it had baffled him.

Which it had. Sherlock's brain was taking several long minutes to adjust to this new information. John's presence assured victory, assured that the powerful person who was setting him up would lose whatever it was they held most dear. The Sun card in and of itself, even in this particular reading, didn't have to mean any kind of grand victory, but Soo Lin was no fool, and she'd felt the ripples of strength when she laid down the card. John Watson was a piece that would guarantee something outstanding, something interesting.

Or so Sherlock would believe if it weren't for the fact that he'd lost control of his Sight the very moment he'd met John, and it had been sticking its nose where Sherlock didn't want it in the hours since. He'd stepped into John's presence and been slammed with the sure, Sight-given knowledge that John was innocent, then Angelo had been scanning the clinic and Sherlock had Seen that Soo Lin would be able to help them. (Sherlock had no gift for seeing the past or the future, but he was unmatched in knowing the truth of the present.) Sherlock had been so wrapped up in the surety of his Sight that he'd walked right of the clinic and completely forgotten John, though the man didn't seem too put out. Then walking through Camden Sherlock had been around the corner when he'd Seen that John was about to get bitten.

And then, then the most outrageous use of his gift of all. Sherlock had touched the Vampire, intending to force her off with a bit of magic from his skills as a Magician, but he'd put skin to skin and she'd been burned. Sherlock Saw the truth, and the truth in him had seen the lie in her control over John and punished her for it. Something Sherlock had never done before. And worst of all, Sherlock didn't know if his Sight had developed a new skill after being pent up for years, or if it would only go that far when protecting John. When protecting 'The Sun'.

Sherlock felt John's gentle hand on his arm, pulling him away from the card that he'd been staring at while John and Soo Lin stared at him, waiting for an answer to John's question about what this higher purpose was supposed to be. Rather than bother to come up with a lie, Sherlock flicked his fingers, gesturing for Soo Lin to lay out the next two cards, and with an irritated huff she complied. The next card was 'The Tower,' telling that the pursuit of John began with tearing away false sight in favor of the truth, and the card for where was 'The Chariot,' symbolizing war.

John stared at the card for a moment and said, "Wait, this whole thing started months ago when I was in Afghanistan? When I got shot and the stupid veil got pulled back? That's what this is about? Are they pissed that a human can see their world?"

Soo Lin stared at Sherlock, "I imagine it is more complicated than that."

John looked back and forth between them once again and demanded, "What?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and stepped away from the table to return to his pacing, but John demanded, "No, Sherlock. Seriously. What is going on here?"

"If Soo Lin would turn over the last card, I could tell you."

She glowered at Sherlock, knowing full well that he had some sort of idea but wasn't sharing it, and turned over the last card, laying it atop the row of five. The card was an elegant woman atop a throne, a crown on her head, the crescent moon behind her, and 'The High Priestess' inscribed on the bottom. Soo Lin looked at Sherlock again, every inch of her expression demanding that he explain himself to 'The Sun,' while she declared, "All of this began with one who has the Sight."

John quirked an eyebrow and turned to Sherlock and asked mildly, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Sherlock stared at the cards laid out before him like suddenly something made perfect sense, but of course, Sherlock being Sherlock meant that rather than explain to John what precisely what he'd come to understand, he stormed off, leaving John and the room in a swirl of greatcoat. John turned to offer his thanks to Soo Lin before following Sherlock on another mad dash, but she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back to his seat.

John waited a moment, expecting her to declare some portent to him about all of this, but when she just sat silently John quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Yes?"

"I would tell you how dangerous this association is, but I imagine that would only draw you in further."

"It is one of the perks of being a grown man, I can make these kind of decisions for myself."

"That is the problem. You're not choosing anything," she grimaced. "You are nothing but a plaything of fate."

John rolled his eyes, "Aren't we all. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"They will kill you Doctor Watson. There are those who treasure Sherlock Holmes and his Sight and there is nothing that they will not do to keep it for themselves."

"You think this is all about Sherlock?" John asked, incredulously.

Soo Lin laid her hand down on the High Priestess in the middle, "This tells you what set these events into motion, and it's telling you that this all began with a Seer."

"So you think this is all about someone thinking that I'm trying to take Sherlock away from them?"

"You won't have to try, Doctor Watson. You are The Sun. You will take him whether you intend to or not. Whether you try to or not."

John leaned forward to make his point clear, but kept his hands flat on the table to reassure her. "Look, I'm not taking Sherlock Holmes away from anybody, I just don't want to go to prison for a murder I didn't commit."

"I told you John, you're a plaything of fate. You were set up for murder to keep you a man you'd never met. But fate has a mind of her own, and in their attempt to keep you apart they brought you together. Brought together in desperate circumstances that have made you far more fond of Sherlock than you would have been on your own. The person who did this, they will decide that if fate cannot be tricked, then you must be made to see reason."

"And if I don't?"

"Then they'll kill you."

One didn't spend the day with Sherlock Holmes (or several years in the military) without picking up some observational skills, and behind him John caught the ruffle of the outer curtain as someone came in, too silently to be a patron. John pulled back from the table and twisted around to keep his back away from the door and hissed, "You told them we were here?"

Soo Lin gave him a disappointed look, "There are people who devote their lives to tracking Sherlock Holmes, I didn't have to."

John was ready to force his way through the flimsy back wall of the shop and out into to the alley that it really was when Soo Lin grabbed his wrist and with terrified eyes demanded, "See reason, John."

And of course, that moment's pause was enough time for a spell to catch him in the side and drop him unconscious.

Chapter 3

Losing the Veil | Part 1/3

sunryder — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 03:28:25 GMT

Title: Losing the Veil
Author: sunryder
Artist artconserv
Verse: Sherlock BBC fusion
Word Count: 22,582
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/Irene (offscreen), John/Sherlock (pre)
Warnings violence
Summary: John never would've suspected that there creatures out there in the world if he hadn't been shot. Of course, he never would've thought that knowing about those creatures would get him accused of murder either. And no one, absolutely no one, would ever have expected the Seer named Sherlock Holmes .
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

A/N: This work was due to be posted for the holmes_big_bang on the 2nd, but I had a family emergency that pulled me out of town and away from my computer for the last week. My beloved artconserv and the mods let me get away with murder and push back my posting date. They were amazing, beautiful people to do this for me, taking a huge burden off my shoulders so I didn't have to worry while I tended to my family. Really, they should be fussed over in the extreme. I wouldn't have had anywhere near the patience if I'd been artconserv considering just how spectacular her art is, I would've demanded it be seen immediately. Go HERE, and make the biggest fuss that ever fussed, it's stunning, and striking, and perfect.

John never would've suspected that there creatures out there in the world if he hadn't been shot.

Even then, John probably would've found a way not to notice them if Murray hadn't sprouted bloody wings while he was pulling John's broken body behind a bombed out wall in the middle of Afghanistan.

John stared at the wings for a moment, then – because if John was going to die, he was going to die as British as possible – he just quirked an eyebrow and grunted, "I thought you chaps were supposed to have feathers?"

Because the wings were not feathered. Definitely not. They were thin and translucent, bug-like. There was a particular word for that kind of material that John vaguely recalled from a secondary school biology class, but John thought he could be forgiven for forgetting it since he was bleeding from a shoulder wound that would most likely kill him in the next few minutes. Murray gave a hysteric sort of giggle in reply, the kind that came when you couldn't properly breathe and it was either giggle or break down into sobs. "Not an angel, Doc."

"No? 'Cause I don't know if you've noticed this mate, but you've got wings."

Murray snorted out another laugh, and pressed his hands harder against the hole spidering out from the tip of John's collarbone. "I'm a Faerie, you daft sod."

John bit out a laugh that devolved into a sob when Murray increased the pressure to stop the spurts of blood that were slipping their way out between his fingers. John had been about to tease Murray about knowing that already, since not two weeks ago he'd walked in on Murray snogging a bloke from the Australian Special Forces in the field hospital's supply closet. But it was surprisingly difficult to mock when he couldn't breathe anymore.

Murray's wings fluttered in the air behind him, a hum of panic that he was trying to hide but couldn't quite manage. John thought that that was odd; Murray was usually the epitome of calm. John tried to reach up and pat Murray's hand, to tell him to take a deep breath because panic wasn't going to help anybody, but instead his arm just twitched, and he gurgled from the effort of trying to move. 'Ah,' John thought to himself, 'that would be why he's panicking then.'

"Doc!" Murray snapped, and John opened his eyes without realizing that he'd closed them. "Doc, they're not gonna be here in time."

John did his best to fix Murray with a look that said, 'you're not supposed to tell a patient on the battlefield that they're dying.'

Murray knew John well enough to know that look and said, "I can save you. It'll still be a hell of a wound, but it won't kill you."

Again, John refrained from wasting what little breath he had left on speaking and instead gave Murray an eyebrow quirk that he knew meant, 'Then why in the hell aren't you doing it?'

Murray let out another breathless sort of laugh replied, "It'll change things for you, Doc. You shouldn't be able to see my wings; I shouldn't be showing them to you. But if I go through with this, you can't go back to that. Can't go back to not seeing my wings. You'll see everybody's wings. Or their flippers. Or their magic. You won't be straight up human anymore, Doc."

John gave Murray the steadiest look he could and croaked out, "Won't be dead."

Murray gave John as steady a nod as he could while still being mostly terrified and pressed all his weight onto his palms spread across John's wound. Murray froze for a moment, then closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, just the way John had taught him to when he was terrified but a patient needed him. Murray's wings stretched out behind him, a steady straight line that showed he was ready. When Murray opened his eyes John couldn't quite bring himself to be surprised that they were glowing.

Of course, all higher thought and analysis of the situation fled at the blinding rush of pain that came from having his shoulder bound back together by a power his body knew nothing about, and John slipped into unconsciousness.

Now, as John sat here, staring at the walls of the tiny room they'd stuck him in, vaguely listening to a young Sergeant tell him how she couldn't believe a doctor of all people would've murdered his patient, he thought that if this was how he was going to spend the next twenty years of his life he should've let Murray leave him to die instead.

XXX

Sherlock Holmes swept into the West London clinic with no thought for the police roaming haphazardly through the place, the useless lot of them obviously not looking too devoutly for the wealth of information that Sherlock could see scattered all over the building. Lestrade had texted Sherlock despite being already quite sure of his murderer, only wanting Sherlock's affirmation because the murderer in question had been particularly convincing about his innocence. If the evidence was clear enough that even this lot could understand it, then the whole affair was a waste of Sherlock's time and abilities, for which Sherlock was not amused and he planned on retaliating by making one of the lesser investigators cry before the night was out.

However, Sherlock took a quick look around the upscale clinic and saw one of the useless PCs escorting one of the clinic's many aides towards the exit now that she'd been thoroughly interviewed and all contact information obtained. The woman was obviously considered a witness to something judging by the wretchedly runny state of her mascara from fake tears and the smell of excitement pouring off her when Sherlock bumped into her.

But, more importantly, she was a Nymph. (Specifically nymphae naiades oceanides, presumably of the districtes species native to the Lake District of England, judging by the healthy solid line of blue scales arching across her cheek bones and down the column of her throat. If she had been native to the Thames then her scales would have likely been a dirty shade of green and present in a far narrower strip. And a Thames species was unlikely to be present at a clinic in this particular neighborhood.)

The officer, of course, had no idea about the Faerie Folk status of his useless witness, because no one on Lestrade's team had any of the Folk blood in them. Which meant that every last one of these useless investigators was seeing a lovely young woman with bright blue eyes (though they probably missed the eyes in favor of the breasts), and not an Oceanid.

With that in mind, Sherlock took in the careful selection of paintings that lined the walls, colors a touch too vibrant to be done by human hands, and the wards he could see humming along at all the doors and windows and knew this was a clinic for the Folk.

Which meant that there was a chance this case was potentially far more interesting than Lestrade's incompetence. Which Sherlock needed. He was getting bored of the increasingly simple cases that Lestrade called him out to consult on, like Sherlock was someone to be employed when a case got too hard for them rather than when it might be interesting to Sherlock. (He didn't like to listen to Irene's concerns about Lestrade, but the more mundane the cases the more Sherlock suspected her concerns about the restraints of the police force might be legitimate.)

But this, this seemed interesting.

Sherlock traced the ward laced around the outer edge of the clinic, tugging off one leather glove to run his fingers along the wall, getting a feel for the density and strength of the spells that they had protecting the clinic from the outside. He could sense the standard spells to protect the building from attack and disaster, extra protections on those inside the building, and some of the more unique medical wards that protected those inside each room from the spread of a disease that wasn't the one they had brought in with them, which would keep the patients from leaving more ill than they came and the healthy from getting sick at all. The wards surrounding the back entrance were undisturbed, and the windows were spelled to shriek when they were opened, meaning that whoever had committed the murder had either come in through the front door, or was very, very good. (Sherlock would have to check the monitoring spells the clinic had laced to their 'cameras' to be sure which.)

Lestrade came storming down the hall after Sherlock, irritation evident in every line of his stomp. "Sherlock, you're not supposed to go roaming around the scene on your own!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade's utter lack of common sense at the persistent assumption that Sherlock would ever go anywhere that Lestrade told him to. Sherlock pointed to the back door and replied, "No signs of forced entry. Your murderer likely came in the front door."

Lestrade actually had the gall to snort at Sherlock for that, replying, "We knew that one, Sherlock. We're not idiots. I called you in because I'm doing my due diligence and the murderer seemed a little too sincere for my tastes." Sherlock was ready to snap that there were so many things wrong with Lestrade's sentence that he didn't even know where to begin, starting with the fact that Lestrade contended he wasn't a fool but still felt the need to call in Sherlock to check on his work. Before Sherlock could snap off his reasons and storm out of the building, Lestrade headed down the hall in the direction of the crime scene.

Sherlock shoved his hands further into his pockets, utterly unmoved by Lestrade's little temper tantrum, and followed after him. He was more than willing to let the comments sit for a few minutes until he pointed out some Folk-related piece of evidence that changed the whole team's entire construction of the case. Lestrade would automatically think back to this moment and be embarrassed that he'd said they're weren't idiots. Just like what happened every time Lestrade tried to defend the intelligence of his team in comparison to Sherlock.

The crime scene in question was one of the clinic rooms, standard plastic waiting table with the horrid roll of crinkly paper spread out over the surface, a small suspension desk tucked into the corner with a computer above attached to a hinge so the doctor could twist it around to face the patient on the table, or to the two, mass-produced chairs lurking in the far corner beside a table of terrible, yet surprisingly in date, magazines. The singular window was tall and narrow, letting in natural light in the office's attempt to appear 'homey', but had no marks indicating that its solid, un-opening panes had been tampered with in any way. The carpet was high priced but short, and currently doing its best to avoid soaking up any of the blood that had been split by the corpse on the floor.

The murder victim was male, mid-sixties, having fallen with his back to the door and his pants around his ankles. He'd been in the midst of changing out of his medical gown and back into his three-piece suit when someone had surprised him from behind, strangling him with a plastic tourniquet. The body had been disturbed, turned over by someone to check for a pulse in an attempt to carry out CPR. In the garbage bin were several plastic tips from the office's thermometer and several wooden tabs from checking the throats of various patients, as well as the powdered residue of a the murdered weapon already taken from the trash and added to evidence.

Lestrade saw where Sherlock was looking and gestured to one of the techs standing terrified at the door for the evidence bag in question. The murder weapon was stretched at the ends, pulled apart by the tension needed to strangle a man. Sherlock could see the occasional smudge of a fingerprint in the dust lining the strip, and assumed there would be skin cells imbedded in the tears.

Anderson couldn't take the wait anymore and sprawled up against the door frame like he was the hero on one of the science fiction television shows that Irene's secretary was so fond of watching when she was irritated by Sherlock's presence. "The fingerprints match our murder suspect." Anderson sneered, like he should be praised for doing his job properly for once.

Sherlock was bored, and so didn't bother restraining himself; "I should certainly hope your suspect has their fingerprints on the murder weapon."

Before Anderson could snap back, Lestrade interrupted, "Fingerprints on the weapon, trace of the same kind of plastic found in the victim's neck, and the nurse said that the murderer never left the room."

"But the murderer is contending that he left the room to allow his patient the chance to change in private before returning to discuss his illness and finding the victim dead," Sherlock postulated.

"Yup. The nurse says she was at the desk outside the entire time, and didn't hear anything from the room until the doctor started calling for help. She came in, found our vic on the floor as you see him and the suspect administering mouth to mouth."

Sherlock 'hmmed,' then replied, "I'll have to see the murderer, of course."

Anderson snorted, "His confession is almost as useless as you are on this case."

Sherlock blew past Anderson, snapping "Not quite so useless as those blue pills you're taking, Anderson," in reply. Sherlock didn't need Lestrade to point him in the direction of the doctor's room where they had the suspect waiting; he could already hear Donovan scolding the man from here. (And really, to inflict Donovan on the man as his keeper was cruel punishment for anyone, even a murderer.)

Lestrade tried to grab Sherlock by the arm and stop him, to explain all the evidence that they had (like Sherlock might've missed any of it), to make sure that Sherlock was fully prepared when he went in to deal with this terrible killer who hadn't uttered a word the entire time Donovan had been telling him what deserved to happen to scum like him, who killed decent upstanding members of the community. Sherlock snorted that once again Donovan could have all the evidence laid out before her and still come to the wrong conclusion.

Their victim was an Ogre who'd taken great pains to keep his nature concealed at all times, obvious in the square nose and squinted eyebrows. The fact that he hadn't reverted to his true shape to Sherlock's eyes, even after death, meant that he'd been the subject of some particularly complicated spells in the effort to keep his true self hidden from his wife. The wife whom he regularly beat and treated with fertility potions in the attempt to get a part-human heir out of her.

As it was, Lestrade was obviously ready to scold Sherlock for all the terrible things he could possibly say, but Sherlock wasn't in the mood to endure Lestrade's fussing. Sherlock was bored with the pile of evidence and the utter lack of purpose to his presence here. Lestrade just wanted to satisfy his own conscience and had dragged Sherlock into one of the easier cases on record because he wanted heartless Sherlock to be the one to tell his suspect that he was going to prison for the rest of his life rather than have to do it himself. So he ignored Lestrade's grip and tossed open the waiting room door, only to be slammed into by his latent gift.

Which was… unexpected.

Sherlock kept unstinting control over his own Folk affliction, the cursed extra ability that came with his Fae blood and got in the way of his observations by making absolutely no rational sense. The gift hadn't stormed over the top of his mental blocks since the last time Sherlock relapsed, and the power was so pent up that it was beyond Sherlock's ability to cast aside, no matter how much he preferred to.

Sherlock's vision whited out for a split second before coming back into focus on the accused doctor before him. The world surrounding Sherlock was clean and defined in the way that he had grown accustomed to seeing only when high. He looked at the downtrodden Doctor, the man who all the evidence said was actually a cold-blooded killer. Sherlock's Sight agreed that the man was not nearly so harmless as he looked, but he was no killer. In fact, the man was so overwhelmingly innocent that Sherlock's gift had reared up its ugly head from Sherlock's subconscious and forced him to know it with all the certainty that came with having the Sight.

Contrary to Sherlock's most devout wish, Lestrade was neither a genius nor an idiot, and either would have been better than the semi-sense of awareness that kept him just clever enough to get in Sherlock's way but not smart enough to be of any use. Which meant that Lestrade was aware enough to know that Sherlock knew something, but not clever enough to know what it was. At least, he wasn't clever enough to know for certain, but Lestrade took one look at Sherlock and slouched against the wall beside him, murmuring, "Well, damn."

"Be grateful, Lestrade. This case just got interesting."

"I don't want an interesting case, Sherlock. I wanted a case where everything got wrapped up in one day without you bounding about the city doing terrible things to my blood pressure."

Donovan pounced to her feet before Sherlock even made it through the door and demanded, "What are you doing here freak? You're not wanted here." Sherlock dragged a long look down Donovan's front, slow enough that she shifted in her coat and pulled it tighter across her front like Sherlock was actually running his fingers over her skin. She snapped, "What are you doing?"

"Considering your taste in men Donovan, I consider it a compliment that you don't want me."

"My taste-"

"I can't imagine anyone who could be simultaneously attracted to both Anderson and myself at the same time." Donovan had just enough time to draw a breath before Sherlock continued, "Of course, your attraction to Anderson has nothing to do with his own personality and everything to do with how your father was prone to cheat on your mother and in your effort to be as unlike her as possible you've become the one who does the cheating rather than the being cheated upon."

Donovan lunged forward to wrap her hands around Sherlock's throat, but Lestrade grabbed her by the shoulders and with a sharp whisper send her down the hall with orders to go check on the witnesses. Sherlock ignored the byplay between them, certain that Lestrade would handle his subordinate because no matter how much Lestrade wished Sherlock would take the first steps to making peace between them, he knew there was no way it was going to happen and the least Sherlock could do was defend himself. No, Sherlock's attention was off them and was on the doctor, who so obviously wanted to scold Sherlock for his harshness in dealing with Donovan, but couldn't quite summon up the will to care about her mistreatment when she'd spent the better part of the last twenty minutes being told he was a murderer.

Lestrade closed the door behind Donovan and paused for a moment to rest his forehead against the wood before he turned around and asked, "You really couldn't let it slide, just this once?"

"I'll be happy to let it slide the moment she does. Now, are you here to scold me for the lack of interpersonal skill that you knew I possessed when you called me, or would you like to progress to the reason that I'm here?"

Lestrade muttered something under his breath that Sherlock was content to ignore while he sat down in front of the doctor who was watching them both like he was unsure about whether or not he was allowed to laugh. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The doctor suddenly found the situation not quite as funny. "What?"

"Your tan lines indicate that you've been someplace with the sun, but not sunbathing. The lines were deep when you returned to London, too deep for your complexion to have picked up over one vacation. So, an extended amount of time in exceptionally harsh sunlight, but they've faded too much for you to be on leave. So, extended time in the sun, but not sunbathing, added to the very special requirements for working at this particular clinic, and that means Afghanistan or Iraq."

The doctor stifled a start at Sherlock's announcement about the clinic, and he fixed Sherlock with the sort of studious glare that meant he was wondering what he'd missed in his initial scan of both Sherlock and Lestrade for elements of the Folk. The little human would see nothing on either of them, but Sherlock's knowledge would lead him to guess that Sherlock was just another human lacking in the veil between him and magic, a presumption that Sherlock was content with.

Of course, rather than leave Sherlock to handle the questioning, Lestrade had to butt in and ask, "What's so special about this clinic, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and replied, "Mycroft."

"My- you mean your bloody brother?"

Sherlock simply 'hmm-ed' and let Lestrade leap to his own conclusions about Mycroft's association with the clinic, but paused at how the doctor's eye's widened at the statement about Sherlock's family connections. "Ah, Mycroft hired you then."

"Hired isn't exactly the way I'd put it."

Sherlock flicked his gaze over the doctor again, taking in his stiffly folded arms and the determined set to his jaw to fight out his fate and replied, "You're not the kind of man to succumb to blackmail, so I assume he prevailed upon your sense of patriotism. That somehow removing yourself back to London would better serve your country and your fellow soldiers than actually being in the field."

The man snorted, "His secretary actually."

Sherlock gave a small tick of a smile, "She can be quite persuasive."

"Stop!" Lestrade shouted, waiving his arms to try and get them to cease speaking long enough that he could demand that they let him catch up. "What in the hell are you two talking about?"

"Do keep up, Lestrade. Your supposed murderer-"

"John Watson," the man interrupted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but continued, "John was a surgeon for Her Majesty's Royal Army until he was wounded in action. He was given the option to return to the war, but tragically enough for him he caught Mycroft's attention and was conscripted to this clinic. Which is another detail that renders his status as your strangler completely impossible."

Lestrade sighed and looked down at the ground, desperate to let the whole thing go without any probing questions, but he had to ask, "What in the hell are you talking about, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Your victim was killed by strangulation-"

"With this man's prints on the murder weapon." Lestrade interrupted, catching the way John's eyes widened in honest surprise at that detail.

"Yes, but there are no traces of the murder weapon on him." Lestrade furrowed his brow and Sherlock grumbled about idiots before plowing on, "Look at his hands! There was powder on the surface of the tourniquet to prevent it from sticking. Powder which was present on the victim's neck, and present in the garbage can where the murder weapon was so carelessly and obviously thrown away. However there is no powder on John's hands."

"He could've washed it off." Lestrade shrugged.

"And yet, there was no powder on the victim's chest where John was found doing compressions by your witness who places him at the crime. Neither were there any watermarks on the victim's silk shirt from freshly washed hands, nor any paper towels in that same obvious garbage can to suggest that he'd dried his hands off after washing them. As for your witness, the first thing she did after calling the police was to post on Twitter that there'd been a murder at her office. Her Facebook page was similarly updated, and her phone history shows that she was examining photos of an ex-girlfriend with her new lover at the time when John supposedly never left the room."

"How did you-?" Lestrade asked, only to stop with a sigh when Sherlock pulled a yellow phone out of his pocket. "Sherlock, you can't just lift things from a witness's pocket."

"You neglected to examine her phone Lestrade, someone had to do it. Besides, it will add nicely to the excitement of her day, and the drama of being able to tell people that her phone was stolen will please her more than the irritation of having to retrieve it from Scotland Yard. Coincidently it was that same penchant for drama that got her dumped by the aforementioned ex-girlfriend."

"Brilliant." John accidentally interrupted, staring up at Sherlock in stunned disbelief. Silence hung in the room for a moment and John blushed a charming shade of pink at saying his praises out loud.

Sherlock puffed up ever so slightly but pressed on, "The lack of trace evidence on your murderer, coupled with the fact that your star witness in unreliable in the extreme, you have Mycroft, who keeps detailed records about the psychological profiles of all his employees, Lestrade. If someone has the penchant to snap and sell state secrets Mycroft likes to be warned beforehand."

Lestrade just stared at Sherlock for a moment before he muttered, "You want me to let him go."

Sherlock just quirked an eyebrow like that was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. "He's the only person who's going to know who went to such trouble to so thoroughly accuse a doctor of murdering one of his own patients."

"Sherlock," Lestrade groaned, "right now every last shred of evidence that those techs have brought me points to him as the murderer. All I've got against it is you saying so."

Sherlock stood up and flicked closed his jacket, doing up the buttons while he murmured, "It's entirely up to you Lestrade. If you're comfortable sending an innocent man to prison knowing full well that I've never been wrong about this kind of thing before--"

"Alright!" Lestrade snapped. "But I can't just let you run off with him, Sherlock."

Sherlock just snorted, "Please, Lestrade. Seventy-two hours and I'll have him and all the pertinent evidence proving him innocent back in your hands."

"Seventy-two? Sherlock you've got a day."

"Lestrade, you forget that not all of us have cars that light up and clear the way through London traffic. Forty-eight at least. Especially considering all the time other people spend sleeping."

Lestrade sighed and muttered obscenities under his breath before waiving Sherlock and the doctor towards the back door. "Fine Sherlock, but get the hell out of here before the others realize that I've let you go."

Sherlock slipped past Lestrade, not bothering to waste any time telling John to come along, and it was Lestrade who tipped his head towards Sherlock's retreating back and explained to the stunned doctor, "Go with him. If you try and escape he'll get pissed enough to capture you for proving him wrong about you and he'll do a hell of a lot worse than any of us would've done."

The doctor slipped past Lestrade in turn and replied, "Forty-eight hours and you'll know I didn't do it. No running away."

The doctor dashed out the door and after the man in the billowing coat who didn't seem to care at all that he'd just convinced a DI to release a supposed murderer on his own recognizance. John caught up to him just outside the door and muttered, "I get the feeling that you usually don't convince DIs to let murderers go."

"No. Often I put murderers in prison. You, however, are no murderer and your case is interesting, meaning I'll keep you out."

"So, are you saying that if my case wasn't interesting then you'd leave me in prison?"

"Wrongly accused people rarely have uninteresting cases." Sherlock replied, drolly.

"Well, that didn't answer my question at all. And how did you know about… the clinic?"

"Surely you didn't think you're the only person who's lost the veil that blocks out magic?"

"Is that how you knew all those things about the girl, and about me?" John asked hesitantly.

Sherlock stiffened at the accusation, "My ability to see the presence of magic is no different than yours, though undoubtedly far more refined, and it hasn't granted you any more observational skills than the average idiot."

John held up his hands placatingly, "I haven't met any other humans who're missing their veil, Sherlock. I don't have the data to know the difference."

Sherlock caught the slightly teasing note to John's voice and unclenched, putting aside his irritation at the automatic assumption so many had that Sherlock's deductions were the product of his Fae blood rather than his own thoughts, though there was no way John could know about the Sight. So instead of telling John everything he knew about the man's masturbatory habits, he explained, "Her phone. It was the latest model, but not well tended. She buys the latest in technology not because she needs it, or wants it, but because she wants to be seen having it. That means appearances are very important to her, being regarded well is very important to her. Where is it the people go to get seen today? The internet. Simple. From there it's easy. She's devoted to the internet but her computer screen is clearly visible to most of the room, that means she needs to do her surfing on her phone. I took her phone and checked the login history on the most likely apps."

"But how did you know about the ex-girlfriend?"

Sherlock paused and quickly replied, "That's the page her Facebook app opened up to."

John fell behind Sherlock half a step, unprepared for both the laundry list of details and the admission that he'd stumbled across something. John trotted for a moment to catch up and replied, "That. was. amazing."

Sherlock stuttered for a step after that, trying to pretend like he hadn't been thrown by the announcement and replied, "That's not what people usually say."

"Why? What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

John giggled at that, the sound of a little boy who was unsure whether or not he was allowed to laugh in this situation but unable to contain himself, and for the first time in more cases than even Sherlock could remember, he cracked an actual smile in reply. They stayed together, side by side keeping pace on their way to wherever it was that Sherlock was leading them. Together they made their way east in a cab through the city, both rather comfortable in the other's presence and neither really feeling the need to ramble to fill the silence.

Eventually they made their way to a small restaurant just off Northumberland, a little Italian place that had never crossed John's radar at any time he'd been in the city. Sherlock tossed open the door and waived John over to a bench beside the front window, ignoring the way John paused on the threshold to stare for a moment. Every employee in the store and half the restaurant's patrons were Folk. Sherlock smirked a little when John seemed to freeze, but he quickly got himself under control and slipped into the bench across from Sherlock. John rolled his eyes at the smirk on Sherlock's face and replied, "You could've warned me, you know."

"Given the amount of time you've been able to see the Folk you shouldn't need warning."

John leaned forward, elbows on the table and replied, "How did you know I could see?"

"You're a human working at one of the most exclusive Folk clinics in London." Sherlock replied like it was completely obvious.

"Yeah, but I might just be the token human on staff."

"The Folk don't care about token anyone. In fact, most of us find your species dreadfully dull and utterly incompetent."

John smirked, "So your disdain of people comes from being Folk, then? I can't see any magic on you."

"Have you encountered anyone who isn't entirely human that you haven't seen traces of Folk on?" Sherlock replied snidely.

"Just because I haven't seen it doesn't mean it's not possible. And your brother has Folk to him."

Sherlock snapped, "As a doctor you should know that the genetics of siblings are different."

Rather than get offended or quiet like so many people John just rolled his eyes and replied, "You don't have to answer any of my questions you know Sherlock. You can just say that you're uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable." Sherlock snapped.

John just gave him a look that declared Sherlock was a complete and utter idiot, which was honestly, not a look Sherlock got all that often. It was surprising enough that Sherlock didn't respond when one of the waiters handed them menus and John ordered a local brew for the both of them to drink. John sat there in amicable silence for several long moments, letting Sherlock's mind reboot from the wholly unexpected reply.

Sherlock had yet to recover convincingly enough for John by the time one of Angelo's more talented waiters realized that Sherlock was seated out front and informed the owner of that. Angelo came out balancing both of their plates (and how did John order for Sherlock without his noticing?), as well as a bottle of wine that suited the meal far better than the brew. To the human observer Angelo simply had them all balanced beautifully on the flat of his arm, but to the Folk in the room they could see the plates humming with a gentle spell designed to keep the dishes from spilling unless they were dropped with intention. When John didn't react to those particular spells Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and the doctor replied, "One of the nurses was a witch, she spelled the surgical trays with the same thing to keep them from overturning."

Angelo swept over to their table with a bright smile and a half-shouted, "Sherlock! My waitresses came to get me the moment you ordered, they thought you had to be dying since you've never done more than drink here." John paused, like he was going to apologize for being presumptuous, then he took one long look at Sherlock's weight compared to his height and decided that a plate of pasta was exactly what Sherlock needed. Angelo seemed to take that as a good sign and deposited each of their meals with a little grin, giving John a nudge as he went and stage whispering, "You know, this man got me off a murder charge."

Devious bastard that John was, he leaned closer and in just the same tone of voice replied, "Me too."

"I'm working on it." Sherlock mumbled.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock," Angelo teased, "You can't let the poor chap go accused of murder. Otherwise you'll never get a second date."

Sherlock was un-amused by the accusation that they were on a date, while John just laughed. With pinched lips Sherlock replied, "Unlike your case where you were unable to commit your crime because you were housebreaking at the same time, John was not engaged in any such behavior during the murder he was accused of."

Angelo grinned, "That's what you get for being a responsible citizen, mate. But don't worry, Sherlock'll look after you."

"Actually, I could use with your assistance on this particular case." Sherlock interrupted.

"You need pasta?"

"No."

"You need me to boost a car?"

"No." Sherlock was un-amused.

"Ah, you need my other talents."

"Quickly as possible."

Angelo gave a brisk nod and picked the plates back up again, taking them with him towards the kitchen. John moved to object but Angelo replied, "Don't worry mate. I'll just put in in a to go box for you. You and Sherlock can still have your dinner while I take a look at things for you."

Sherlock tried to object to eating while on a case, but John stomped on his foot to shut him up before he could say it. The second Angelo made it out of hearing range Sherlock turned to glower at John but John scolded, "Have you tasted that pasta Sherlock? It's delicious."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but held his tongue.

XXXXX

Life with the ability to see that magic that apparently had always been around him was practically just the same as before. Sure, he could see Murray's wings all the time now, and it turned out that pretty red-headed nurse he'd spent the last few weeks flirting with was really a Shifter (could change back and forth into a doe, which was simultaneously beautiful and boggled everything John thought he knew about the human body). For the first few weeks of John's recovery those were the only Faerie Folk he came across, but they were diligent in teaching John all the basics about the Fae so he wouldn't be too out of touch when he finally returned to England.

Patrick was the first Fae that John met after the veil was removed from his eyes. The boy was nineteen and part dwarf. He'd joined the military when after his father died his mum had realized that she'd spent her whole life married to a chap who wasn't just on the short side of things, he was a fairy tale creature. He was a good lad, sturdy and in a perpetual good humor, and despite the fact he wasn't technically John's patient, he quickly realized that the boy had an iron deficiency. Or, at least, he showed all the signs of one, but all his tests came back with his iron precisely where it should be. However, John figured that this might be a Folk thing, and a Dwarf might need a bit more iron than a human, so he had the Shifter nurse get Patrick on some supplements, and in turn the boy perked right up.

And that's where his reputation started.

Patrick went back out into the field, and every last one of the Folk he came across he said, "Next time you're at base you ought to get that looked at by Captain Watson." Then suddenly John Watson was the go to doctor for every Shifter, Mer, Were, Selkie, Goblin, and Vamp in Afghanistan (the Americans and Canadians included).

According to Murray there was an official doctor who'd been appointed to the base by some sort of council that was in charge of keeping the Folk safe and separate from the human world, but none of the soldiers liked him. He was a smug bastard (a natural state for Warlocks according to Murray), and he talked to the lads like they were beneath him, both because they couldn't do with magic what he could, and because none of them were officers. John didn't much concern himself with who they were supposed to be seeing, he always treated the soldier in front of him to the best of his ability, with as much respect as possible, and the lads appreciated it.

In the back of his mind John had assumed that the doctor they were all avoiding was no worse than any of the dozens of doctors that John had been subjected to in his time, with the self-importance that tended to come the better a surgeon you were. Of course, John learned better the moment the man stormed into John's medical tent and shoved a finger in his face, ranting about who in the hell this upstart thought he was. John let the man shout for a minute, just long enough to be sure what precisely it was he was in trouble for, before he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted him around, bending him over while he wrenched back the his arm at a painful angle. Then John leaned in a little closer and murmured, "Now, perhaps you and I ought to have this conversation someplace else. Like civilized people."

The man thrashed as much as possible in John's grip and shouted, "I'll have your license for this!"

"Yeah, mate," John snorted. "You can try, but I'm pretty sure all these lovely people are going to testify that you came after me. And I defended myself."

The man sputtered and growled in indignation, but it was difficult to give a formidable objection when you were being hauled out of the room by two of the Were lads who'd taken to fussing over John, trying to protect the singular human in their extraordinary company. John never asked what the boys said to the doctor after they dragged him out, but John assumed it was enough because he never saw a trace of the man again, and for a few months things went on as they had since John learned about this new aspect to his world.

Of course, that's when Mycroft turned up.

XXXXX

John steadily worked his way through the plastic container of pasta, seemingly unmoved by the situation before him. He was propped up on the secretary's desk at the front of the empty clinic where the murder had taken place, eating his spell-warmed meal while Angelo made a slow tour of the building, a branch of sage in his hand while he traced all the seams and windows of the establishment, tailed through the building by a pacing Sherlock. Every few minutes Sherlock couldn't take the monotony of something he couldn't participate in and strode up to John, who goaded Sherlock into taking a bite of pasta before he stormed off again to see what sort of progress Angelo had made. John let Sherlock fidget away all the calories he might've gained from any bites while he was wrapped up in his own meal, but when he set aside the empty container he started asking Sherlock questions, partly because he was curious and partly because he wanted to irritate Sherlock into staying in the room long enough to actually eat something. "So, Angelo's a Magician then?"

Sherlock snorted at the painfully obvious question, but John rolled his eyes in reply like the politically correct term for any of this was beyond him and it wasn't his fault he was trying to get it right. "And you're not a Magician," he continued.

"I'm not a Magician by blood, but I have some skill with their abilities. If I was a true Magician you would've been able to see the magic on me."

"If I was able to see all magic then I would be able to see whatever it is that Angelo is looking for, wouldn't I?"

"No." Sherlock paced, plucking out of John's hand the piece of garlic bread that he had patiently extended to Sherlock. "Your sight is the result of overexposure to magic, removing the veil that all humans have over their eyes blocking out the Folk world. Had you been born with the actual Sight then you might be able to determine the kind of spells that have been cast here, but all your sight does is make you normal for the Folk."

"But you can't 'see' the spells either."

"Typically I'm able to. The Magician at work here is one of the more skilled that I've ever come across."

"Better than you?" Sherlock flicked aside his barely touched piece of bread like he was disciplining John for asking by not eating. "I'm going to assume that refusing to answer means, 'Yes, John. The man who's framed you for murder is a better Magician than I am, but don't worry, Angelo is better than us both.'"

Sherlock's response was, of course, to snort and stomp down the hall to check on Angelo. John chucked at the tantrum, unwillingly amused by all of Sherlock's drama and impressed by his skills. He knew that logically he should be panicking, should be calling the emergency number that Mycroft had given him when he transferred John to London, but he trusted Sherlock. The man was detached from the world and unimpressed by anything that wasn't an intriguing case, but John trusted him anyway. Although, after several long minutes without Sherlock making another appearance at the front counter, John slipped in back past the police tape and went to see what Sherlock and Angelo were up to, only to find Angelo standing there alone, gathering up his gear.

Contrary to Sherlock's obvious opinion, John was not a stupid man, and one look at Angelo was enough for him to say, "Sherlock's run off, hasn't he?"

"Don't let it get to you, mate," Angelo comforted. "Sherlock's no good when he's on a case. Impossible for anyone to keep track of."

John puffed out a breath and reminded himself that it wasn't Angelo's fault that Sherlock apparently didn't find John as interesting as John found Sherlock. "Can I ask what you found?"

Angelo grinned, "Of course, mate. Usually Sherlock's good at this sort of thing, one of the best in the city. But he's weak in certain places. Sherlock's magic is organized, high class and whatnot, so it's harder for him to see the wild magic like I can."

John leaned against the wall, pretending like none of this was new and interesting information and asked, "So Sherlock is a Magician then?"

Angelo snorted, "Magician? No mate, Sherlock Holmes is a bloody Seer. Best rogue practitioner in London."

"Rogue?"

"Seers who don't work for the Crown. The government has plenty of Seers working for them, but none of them can hold a candle to Sherlock's Sight. They say the only Seer in the whole of bloody Europe who can keep up with him is the Oracle of London, but the people who know Sherlock would never in a million years get in to see her, so none of us common Folk know for sure. And the people who know her, Sherlock hates, so he'd never See for them."

"So all those deductions he makes, he's using his Sight?"

Angelo dropped his bag and checked over his shoulder, like he was nervous that Sherlock was going to come popping out of nowhere. "Never accuse Sherlock's deductions of being anything but observation, mate. If you say any of it comes from cheating with the Sight he'll make you pay for it."

John shouldered the bag for Angelo and guided him towards the door since the other man was obviously done with studying the location. "I don't think the Sight is cheating, Angelo. Everyone has talents and being able to See is no less a talent than being able to observe."

"Sherlock doesn't think so." Angelo snorted. "To Sherlock, the Sight is cheating. Especially considering lots of Seers rely wholly on what they See with that third eye and completely detach their brains. They foretell without any clue about what they're telling, and Sherlock despises them all for that."

"So he's a Seer who pretends like he's not a Seer?"

"Not like he's not, but like he's less than he is. He'll willingly 'see' spells, and he practices magic like he's nothing but a Magician. Well," Angelo grinned, "when I say 'nothing but' I mean one of the best Magicians in the city. Most Folk think his sight of spells and such came from being a Magician, not the other way around."

"And the reason he couldn't see this magic is because it's… wild?"

"Yup. There are two kinds of magic in the world John, the organized kind and the disorganized kind. Sherlock's magic, it's organized like the man's got OCD. His magic is well-behaved and structured, and he works best with Seeing magic that's organized. Since most people have organized magic, he's just fine. But the Magician who's setting you up, he's got wild magic, and Sherlock can't see that."

"So he called you."

"Yup. Though I wasn't much help."

"Howso? You looked pretty helpful to me."

"Nah, if this Magician wasn't quite so good I would've been able to remove the magic that he's got tying all the evidence to you."

"Wait, tied to me how?"

"This chap cast a spell that latched all the evidence he left behind to your magical signature. So any fingerprints will be your fingerprints, any DNA will be your DNA, and even the magical signature that a Folk copper would be able to pick up would be your magical signature. Even I'm seeing your magic all over the place. Honestly, the only thing that's saved you is, well…"

"Sherlock's got the Sight."

"Sherlock's got the Sight. Without him there's not a Magician in the city who'd think you were innocent."

"And now he's vanished into thin air."

Angelo clapped him on the back. "Don't let it get you down mate. Sherlock'll be wanting to know who in the world would go to the trouble of employing a Magician that good just to frame a doctor for murder. The case is too mad to leave you on your own."

John was tempted to snark something back about how none of Sherlock's skills meant a damn thing if the NSY found him roaming around the city all on his own after he'd been entrusted to Sherlock's care, but a posh black sedan interrupted the comment. Angelo and John exchanged a quiet look, like neither one of them was entirely sure who the car was there for, but then the door swung open to reveal Anthea's long legs, and that answered John's question. John heaved out a put-upon sigh and handed Angelo the bag of tricks that John had been carrying for him. Angelo stuck out his hand for a shake and replied, "Good luck, mate. Hope you live through it."

John shook back and replied, "It looks unlikely, but thanks for the sentiment," and climbed in to sit beside Anthea.

Chapter 2

Erik's Moving Castle: Part 3/3

sunryder — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 01:17:37 GMT

Title: Erik's Moving Castle
Author sunryder
Artist amoralambiguity
Verse: First Class AU
Word Count 16,810
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Erik/Raven, Erik/Charles
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fusion
Summary: Carles Xavier had accepted that he was doomed to be ordinary while Raven and Hank got to be extraordinary. Of course, that was all true right up until Charles flirted with the handsomest fellow he'd ever seen and got cursed into a crippled old man for his trouble. Now Charles is hiding out in a moving castle with a fire demon named Logan who has a cigar problem, a magical apprentice and accidental firestarter named Alex, and the same handsome man who got Charles into this mess in the first place. A man who just happens to be the great and terrible Wizard Erik.

Link to art master post: HERE
Links to chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

A/N: This fic was done for the xmenbigbang, which once again was run like well-oiled machine. The mods are awesome! All of my love and devotion goes out to amoralambiguity who has been amazingly supportive through this process despite the fact that I re-wrote the story half a dozen times. Her masterpost is HERE, and I tell you that you have to go and make a fuss, it's so amazing!

Charles's sleep was surprisingly comfortable, something that he attributed more to his exhaustion than to the lumpy mattress that Alex had brought him. Judging by the quality of the light coming through the windows looking out over the Wilds it was still fairly early in the morning, but late enough that if he'd been at home Charles would've felt like quite the layabout. As it was, he took advantage of the spryness that came with a good night's rest and pushed his mattress away from Logan's hearth and over to a wall that seemed a bit more out of the way. Logan, it seemed, didn't wake until Charles began precisely folding the blankets and placing them in the just off center on the bed so they wouldn't be knocked over or impede someone who felt like sitting there. Logan, of course, snorted at Charles's fussing and said, "You could'a left the mattress where it was, kid."

"But how would you have spouted flames the next time you wanted to terrorize Alex if I left it there?" Charles teased, and Logan had the good grace to smirk in return. (At least, Charles was fairly sure it was a smirk. There was only so much one could tell about the facial ticks of a talking flame.)

Once he got the bed squared away Charles took at long look around the room that was intended to be a kitchen, but judging by the shelves full of mismatched bottles and jars, and the loose papers and books that seemed to take up every spare surface, he assumed this functioned as a living room and study as well. Charles walked over to the closest shelf and ran his finger over the wood, leaving a thick dark line behind in the white dust that covered the surface. He blew the coating off his finger, only to break into coughs when he breathed the foul stuff back in. "Is there some manner of organization to this mess that eludes me, or is it just anarchy?"

Logan smirked in amusement (again, Charles assumed more from the tone of his voice and the bright yellow of the fire than from the shape of his mouth), "Erik pretends that he's got a system. When he goes looking for something he just rips through all the crap until he finds it."

"Well, that's… terribly inefficient."

"Freakin' stupid is what it is, you can say it, kid."

Charles snorted, "I believe I shall refrain from insulting the man whose kitchen I'll be sleeping in for the near future. However, I do believe that I have found a way to induce Erik into letting me stay."

"You're gonna be his maid?"

Charles rolled his eyes, "I do believe that the socially appropriate term is 'Assistant'."

One particular flame over Logan's eye quirked up in a manner vaguely reminiscent of an eyebrow and the demon snarked, "Alex is his assistant."

Charles ignored that flaw in the plan and made his way over to the kitchen cupboards while he replied, "And a man cannot have two assistants?" Unfortunately those cupboards were filled with books rather than food, so Charles made his way over to what appeared to be a bureau instead. "Besides," he continued, "Alex will be Erik's assistant to further his own study of magic, I will be his assistant in business. Two entirely different things."

"And what do you know about business, kid?"

Charles was about to snap something back about how he had successfully been in charge of the family shop since he was nine, thank you very much, but he stopped himself before the words could come spilling out. Telling the intimate details of his life to a fire demon who already knew about his curse seemed like a thing so foolish as to be on par with Raven and Hank storming out into the wilds to get a spell from Erik in the first place, and seeing how that plan was going, Charles was not in the mood to repeat it. Instead he turned back to Logan, his own clearly delineated eyebrow raised and replied, "You're going to have to work much harder than that if you want my story, Mr. Demon."

"Nah, I don't think so," the demon smirked, and this time Charles was sure about that expression.

Charles just huffed and pulled open the bureau drawers to find a block of cheese, bacon, a jar of half-drunk orange juice, and eggs rolling back and forth like they were unbreakable toys. Charles stared at the contents for a moment, wondering what sort of organizational system would lump these things together, but decided he was too irritated with Logan to ask.

Of course, he didn't have to, and the fire demon interjected, "Erik divides the food by meal. The bread'll be in the middle drawer for lunch."

"That… actually makes a surprising amount of sense."

Logan shrugged, "He ain't stupid."

"No, I don't imagine you could be and manage to be a wizard of his caliber."

Charles slipped the necessary ingredients into a basket that was functioning as a lantern-shade and made his way back towards Logan's fire, stopping to grab a long-handed frying pan from under the sofa. Then he stopped and stared at Logan in shock for a moment before he said, "I'm sorry, I didn't even think, do you mind if I use some of your flame to cook breakfast?"

Logan just stared at Charles like he had been speaking a foreign language. Charles stood there for a long moment, certain that flinching away from Logan's stare would be exactly the wrong thing to do in this moment. Charles let himself blush as the object of such unrelenting scrutiny, but he remained still. Eventually Logan settled down into his logs, shrinking in on himself in a way that that spread out the mass of his fire to make for more even cooking. Or at least, Charles assumed that was the purpose of Logan's motion, but he stayed put until the fire demon growled, "You gonna cook or not, kid?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, of course. Thank you." Charles lined the pan with bacon and gently pushed it forward into Logan's space, careful not infringe too much on the fire demon. Of course, Logan's response to that was to grab the edge of the pan and pull it all the way forward like a blanket. Charles had the good grace to laugh at his own sensitivity, and cooked the rest of the breakfast with far less timidity, chatting pleasantly at Logan about how fond he was of cooking.

The smell of bacon was enough to draw Alex nose first down the stairs. Charles smiled brightly at the boy and wished him a good morning, which, in combination with the warm food that the boy looked like he hadn't seen in months, actually got Charles a smile back; unpracticed though it may have appeared. The boy went to clear off one end of the table, attempting to create enough space for the two of them to sit when Charles interrupted, "You know, perhaps we should have breakfast over here, you and I."

The boy paused in his already awkward tidying, "Like, on the floor?"

"Well, perhaps we could find a pillow or two to spare my knees the discomfort of stone, but I thought it might be nice for all of us to have breakfast together."

"Together?" Both Alex and Logan replied simultaneously.

"Of course! We can't all just sit in our separate corners and not speak to one another."

The man and the fire demon look at one another like Charles was addled and Logan replied," Yeah we can," while Alex quickly tacked on, "We usually do."

"Yes well, despite what you might 'usually do', if I am to manage this business I must insist that we all spend a little more time together."

Alex opened his mouth, clearly about to ask what 'together time' had to do with the running of the business when Charles steamrolled right over the top of him and declared, "Now, Alex you grab the plates, I'll grab the pillows, and Logan let me know if anything starts to burn." Charles discovered that the benefit to being a little old man was that the young seemed disinclined to tell you when they thought you were being ridiculous, and Alex grabbed the plates with no complaint. Together Alex and Charles settled in on the pillows, and placed the sturdiest of the plates as close to Logan's fire as they could manage. Logan, of course, stared at the plate like he thought Charles had lost what little was left of his mind after the stress of being changed, but he didn't comment, and Alex was too busy devouring his breakfast to care. Despite the initial shock, together the three of them ate a content breakfast, Logan mocking Alex for eating like a wolf, Alex mocking him for being intangible, and Charles laughing at them both. In truth, the breakfast was quite pleasant.

Of course, it was pleasant right up until the front door of the castle shook.

Beside the door was a hand-sized dial that Charles had somehow missed in his earlier perusal of the space. The dial was a flat metal circle divided into four sections, each marked by their own messy stripe of paint. There was a notch scratched into the wall above the dial, which Charles supposed was the Wizard's rather unsophisticated method of demarcating which section was the one in use. The entire time Charles had been here the dial had been turned to the strip of green paint, while the kitchen windows all showed the Wilds outside. Now the dial spun so the deliberately drawn line of black was turned to the mark and the windows showed nothingness.

Alex shoveled in his last few mouthfuls of egg like he thought he was going to get into trouble for daring to eat. Of course, when the door burst open to reveal the Wizard Erik slipping out of an uninterrupted slick of blackness, Charles could understand Alex's concern. The door flicked shut behind Erik of it's own accord, and he tossed off his jacket onto the floor, not even aiming for the coatrack that Charles was almost certain was a still living tree. Erik began rolling up his sleeves and went to yell for Alex, then froze when he took in the scene of domesticity before him.

While Erik stared at them all like he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at, Charles did the same at the man in question. If possible, Erik was even more striking than Charles remembered, a benefit of seeing the man in his natural habitat, he supposed. The man was dressed casually, a loose shirt tucked into long breeches and nothing but the black overcoat that he'd tossed off to the side. Frankly, for a man of the wizard's station he was very nearly undressed. And yet, it suited him, like this level of dishevelment was precisely the way he was meant to be and any time you saw him otherwise was the mistake.

Inadvertently Charles put his hand up to check his own hair, a guttural reaction that no one could seem to tamp down then they were stuck by the beauty of someone. Then Charles remembered he'd been aged several decades and no amount of primping would have ever made him handsome in the first place, let alone now that he was bald.

Unlike Charles, Erik quickly got over his own surprise took a look around the room, picking up details that might explain why Charles was there before he settled his focus on the rucksack by Charles's mattress. Charles puffed out his chest and snapped, "That's my bag," though to be honest, he didn't quite know why he was so offended by Erik paying attention to his luggage.

Erik ignored Charles's statement and looked to Logan with an expression that Charles would almost categorize as surprise. Then, because neither one of them had the temperament to make things easy on Charles by just speaking, Logan seemed to answer Erik's question with a flicker of the flames around his face that Charles had no idea how to interpret.

Then together both man and demon turned their attention to Charles. He had the vague impression that the two of them were attempting to separate Charles's skin from his bones by using their thoughts, but after a long moment of nothing happening, Erik actually reached out his hand into the empty space between he and Charles and pulled. Charles felt something like air but decidedly not, rip past him, and still nothing happened.

Charles quirked an eyebrow and dryly asked, "If you're quite done trying to see if I'm something unsavory then perhaps we could move on to the business of the day and then maybe Logan will be kind enough to let you have some breakfast."

Erik just blinked, then turned back to Logan with an expression that Charles knew full well meant, 'what the hell'? Charles cleared his throat again and strode over to collect the really rather posh jacket that had no businesses being on a floor quite this disgusting. "Wizard Erik, I presume? My name is Charles, and Mister Logan has contacted me about being your business manager." Charles ran a soothing hand over the bark of the tree masquerading as a coat rack until the tree shivered and stuck out a branch for Charles to hang up Erik's jacket. "I had thought Mister Logan was exaggerating about the state of your affairs, but now that I've seen your utter lack of organization and the frankly appalling state of your laboratory, I have decided to accept the job offer."

Logan somehow managed to have his elbow propped up on one of the logs and his chin resting in the palm of his hand, watching Erik be steamrolled over the top of like it was hilarious. Erik turned to the fire demon and Charles tried to just keep on talking so Erik wouldn't have the chance to question anything until the opportunity was long past, but Erik tossed up his hand to silence Charles, and based off Alex's frantic hand signals, Charles decided to keep his mouth shut. Rather than reply, Logan just grinned, which seemed to be all the certification the Wizard needed.

Erik smirked, something dangerous and feral that did things to Charles's blood pressure, and stepped directly into Charles's space, staring down at him like he had when they were dancing. Charles flushed red and cursed that age was supposed to strip you of these guttural reactions to the handsome. "So, what precisely are you intending to manage?"

"I should think that was obvious," Charles snarked, stepping out of Erik's personal space.

Of course, the wizard took his as a sign to follow after him and somehow trick Charles into pressing his back up against the wall, penned in by the strength of Erik's arms. Which Charles had to admit, was going to be fodder for dreams for many nights to come. "You'll be handling me, then."

Charles forcibly reminded himself of Raven's laughing face and dropped under Erik's arm and out of range, pointing over to the bookshelves full of mismatched papers and unlabeled vials, "I was actually going to focus on those first. Any handling of you as a businessman will have to wait until I've seen you actually interact with a…" Erik came to stand behind Charles, the length of his front pressed up against the line of Charles's back, "customer."

"I assure you," he breathed into Charles's ear, "I am excellent at… interacting."

Charles sunk back into Erik's embrace for half a moment, drawn in by the way the man made his blood sing, but after that moment Charles forced himself to straighten up and move away. "I do believe that if you ask nicely then Logan will let you make some breakfast, but I would like to get started the organizing. As it stands I fear there's a very good chance I might perish of old age before I get things finished."

With his back to Erik, Charles began to make sense of everything scattered across the kitchen table, planning to use that as his base of organization. But because he so ardently refused to look at Erik, Charles missed the frustrated look that the wizard and his fire demon exchanged.

XXXXX

Charles spent the rest of his day working on the anarchy that was Erik's kitchen, beginning with the piles of paperwork that seemed to have taken up residence practically everyplace in the room. There were stacks lining the kitchen table, several binders tucked under the couch cushions, a notebook in the dinner drawer (with no food), and spare scraps of paper tucked into every nook and cranny that Charles happened to stumble across. He made it his first order of business to get all the paperwork into one place, and then hopefully begin dividing it into categories.

While Charles organized, young Alex spent the day on Charles's mattress in the corner, a pile of books beside him and trying to figure out how to light a candle without a match. (Apparently Alex's natural gift was for fire, but it tended more towards large explosions than controlled finesse.) Alex set a few random bits of the kitchen accidentally on fire while he studied (thankfully avoiding the kitchen table every time). When something would burst into flames Erik would look up from the book he was pretending to read and with a flick of his wrist pull the flame back into nothing. (Charles was desperately curious about the relationship between these two men, because despite Alex's obvious frustration, never once did he shout at Erik for the exercise.)

While Charles worked and Alex studied, Erik sat in the window bench overlooking the wilds and watched Charles organize while he pretended to read. Charles never actually caught the Wizard looking of course, but the hair on his neck stood up every time he turned his back to Erik. Added to that, occasionally he could feel the brush of Erik's magic along his skin, a little different every time it touched him, but there was something about it that was so uniquely Erik that Charles knew the wizard had spent the whole day staring at him for reasons unknown.

Just as Charles was contemplating pulling both men away from their work in favor of lunch, there was a furious knock on the door. Logan was sprawled on top of one of the logs in the hearth, aimlessly puffing away on his cigar when he grunted, "Hammer Bay door." The poorly painted dial beside the door twisted around so the blue streak pointed up to the mark on the wall. The scene outside the kitchen windows shuddered into a view down a long boulevard and into a city by the clear, blue seaside.

Erik didn't look up from the book he was 'reading' to toss a mostly empty bottle at Alex's head. The boy groaned and complained, "Come on man, I handled him last time!"

"And yet," Erik snorted, "I don't care because you're living in my house."

Alex dropped back onto the bed with a groan, mumbling about the annoyance that was little old men. Charles ignored the bite of pain that came with wondering if despite all the small affections that Alex had shown him that was honestly his opinion, and instead stormed for the door. He dramatically rolled his eyes at the both of them, the useless lot that they were. Erik gave no sign that he saw or even cared, and simply flicked his wrist and wrapped himself up in invisibility. Charles snorted; it was just like the man to skirt his responsibilities. Charles lifted the door's heavy latch and swung it open, only to be barreled over.

The 'little old man' that Alex had been dreading was, in fact, not quite so little at all. He was broad in the shoulders, with a strong jaw, and a long, lion-like mane of thick, while hair. (And no, Charles was not bitter about his own baldness at all.) The man immediately began to ramble in a language that Charles had never heard before. He stormed over to Alex on legs that were far more sure than Charles's own, and Charles began to suspect that the man wasn't nearly as old as his white hair would lead you to believe.

Alex just sighed at the fuss and went over to the bookshelves that Charles had yet to tidy and began looking for whatever it was the man was so ardent about getting. While Charles was distracted by the show, hands came out of nowhere and grabbed Charles underneath his arms and hefted him back to his feet. Charles very nearly squeaked at the motion, but even after a few scant touches he knew that it was Erik. The Wizard tugged Charles out of the way of the door and ran a soothing hand along Charles's spine before he removed the touch and became nothing.

The white-haired man's tone slipped from chiding to angry, and he and his screams stepped far to close to Alex for Charles's liking. The boy looked ready to set the man on fire for whatever he was saying when, from one step to the next, Erik materialized behind the shouting man. Erik seized him by the back of the jacket with far less care than he had used on Charles and started to drag him to the door. The man looked over his shoulder to turn his screaming to whoever was touching him, but he froze at the sight of Erik. Of course, he quickly regained himself and went back to shouting, but that pause was enough for Erik to cross the whole of the kitchen and throw their visitor unceremoniously out the still open front door.

The door slammed shut behind the man of its own accord, and the dial twisted immediately back to the green paint of the Wilds. Alex sagged onto a cleared corner of the table and groaned, "I hate that old bastard."

"If it's any consolation he won't be coming back for a month." Erik shrugged.

Alex looked up at him in horror, "You threw him out on his ass and he's not gonna stay away for years?"

Erik gave him a leer, "If he doesn't get his potion he doesn't get it up."

Charles blushed furiously, "You're making him a potion for, for… that?"

Alex snickered and Erik deliberately loomed over Charles, "You mean a potion to get him hard, Charles?"

"I mean," Charles sputtered, "whatever it was that you meant."

Erik pressed up against him, pushing Charles up against the wall beside the door, "I mean he's strung himself out on potions and spells trying to regain his youth so he can keep his much younger wife interested. It's such a shame isn't it?" Erik paused to put his hands of Charles's hips, "to be stuck with someone who doesn't burn your blood, doesn't make you feel alive."

The dial beside Charles's shoulder thankfully chose that moment to spin. The sound pulled away Erik's attention for long enough that Charles regained his common sense and got away from Erik's looming presence. With a cackle, Logan called out, "Capital door." Erik rolled his eyes and looked back to the wall where Charles had been, then glowered at the old man when he realized that Charles had fled the scene of the flirtation and taken refuge on the other side of the room. Erik was obviously irritated about something; probably that Charles wasn't playing along in his quest to successfully seduce everyone, old men included.

Erik tossed open the front door while he was busy glaring at Charles and thus missed the frankly stunning woman standing at his front door. She donned a teasing smile and asked the shoulder that Erik had facing her, "Is this a bad time?"

Erik jumped and turned to the door with a look that Charles almost thought of as panic, "Emma!" Erik calmed immediately and slouched against the doorframe trying to look casual, "I wasn't expecting you."

The tease to her smile grew a little more like a smirk, "Yes, I can see that." They stood there awkwardly for a moment before she asked, "May I come in, or are you intending to perform a spell for me on the stoop?"

Erik started and moved out of Emma's way, letting her sweep into the room and everything looked pathetic in comparison. (Not that Charles had managed to make the room anything near presentable over the course of the day, but he didn't need one of Erik's women making it look worse.) She glistened, long curls of white-blonde hair bound up at the crown of her head, exposing the long, pale line of her neck, and leaving the shimmering white lace of her dress uncluttered. If Charles hadn't been so torn between heartbreak and disgust then he would've been tripping over his own tongue at the sight of her. But as it was, Charles desperately wished that he could be anywhere but here. Anywhere that wasn't watching Erik plaster on a smile for this woman, a smile so perfectly reminiscent of the one that Erik had used on Charles on May Day.

Emma cast an amused but accepting glance around the room, "Erik, darling, I didn't know you were planning on renovating. If you'd told me I would've sent along the man who did all the work on my townhouse."

"We're organizing, not renovating," Alex snapped. The boy was slouched up against the wall beside his pile of books, guarding them all against Emma's presence. Charles had assumed this Emma was just another posh lady (or, more likely a particularly beautiful one) living in the capital, but Alex's reaction meant she was someone to be avoided. Of course, Erik ignored that completely in favor of the opportunity to have someone to flirt with.

Which Erik did with a vengeance.

He constantly invaded the woman's space, sliding up close and peering down at her from his advantageous height (which was not nearly the discrepancy that Erik had with Charles). He crossed the whole array of lascivious smiles, none of them the one that came naturally to Erik's face, but all of them striking nonetheless. Erik waived her over to one of the chairs that Charles had cleaned off just this morning and proceeded to flirt with her furiously under the guise of seeing how the latest spell was treating her. Of course, it didn't help matters much that every time Erik stepped behind her she tipped her head ever so slightly back, exposing the smooth path down the column of her throat and down to her breasts.

Charles wanted to escape, but he had never been anywhere else in the castle, and he felt uncomfortable with this being the first time that he browsed around the rooms. He moved to a tower of books in the far corner of the room where he could at least pretend to give Emma the privacy that was due to a client and pulled Alex along with him to help. He left Erik and Emma to their flirting, ignoring the roiling in his own stomach and made Alex read off book names to him while he wrote them down as the first step to an index.

As his transaction wore on, however, Erik started to get frustrated. Charles could see it in the tense line of his shoulders and how the occasional reply to her questions was blunt in its honesty rather than delicate. (Erik was naturally predisposed to be as aggressive as possible in his words, but Charles was well aware that it was something he kept pent up when he wanted to make a good impression.) By the time they were done Erik spent most of his time glowering either at Charles or at Logan, who was contentedly masquerading as nothing but a fire. Judging by the way Emma snapped back on her gloves, she was not pleased with the utter and obvious lack of attention. She left in a fury, barely waiting for Erik to do his duty and open the door for her.

The moment the door closed behind her Alex once again snapped, "And I hate that smug bitch, too."

A day was plenty of time to teach Charles that Erik didn't like being questioned, and the Wizard snapped back, "We need her, Alex. She's and her family are the most well respected Ladies in the kingdom. One good word from her gets us commissions that last for months, and when she's pissed then you and I get stuck eating nothing but buttered noodles!"

Alex was no wilting flower, and he stormed forward shouting, "Starving would be better than having her around!"

Charles moved to step between the two men, to interrupt their tirade before it got ugly, but he felt the sting of heat on his hands stopping him. Logan had stretched up and out of the fire to glance one of his own fingers against Charles' skin, not enough to burn, but enough to grab his attention. Logan gave Charles a minute shake of the head, telling him not to interfere.

"You can't hate everyone in the city for having money, Alex. That's a sure way to make sure you starve!"

"Oh that's rich," Alex snorted, "You lecturing anyone on the drawbacks of hate!"

"I'm allowed to hate people who want to kill me!"

Alex tossed up his hands, "And what do you think Emma wants done with me?"

"She doesn't want you dead, she wants me to marry her so she can have Witches for children!"

Alex just stared at Erik like he was an idiot before screaming, "And what happens to me when you do? If I'm not in your care I go back to the prison and I'm hanged!"

All the fight drained out of Erik and he wrapped Alex up into a hug. The boy struggled futilely for a few long moments, refusing the warmth of Erik's comfort, but soon enough he just collapsed against Erik's chest and mumbled, "I don't wanna go back."

Erik gripped the boy tighter and hissed, "No matter what, you will be protected. I've made arrangements with every last Witch and Wizard I know that if something happens to me then you'll be taken on as student by someone else. You'll be a Wizard Alex, I promise, and then that damn sentence won't matter anymore and you'll be free to live your life however you choose." The two men stood in silent comfort for a moment before Alex realized that they were hugging and slipped back in embarrassment.

The boy's cheeks burned bright red, and he awkwardly cleared his throat before he muttered, "Glad we got that cleared up," and ran up the stairs to hide in his room.

Erik just grinned at the boy's retreated back, then he looked over to Charles and the smile immediately faded into a grimace. Charles stuck out his chin and tried to pretend that he wasn't wondering what he could've done in the last hour that made the sight of him so distasteful. Erik gave both Charles and Logan a stiff nod, then swept up his coat and stormed out of the castle and out into the Wilds.

Charles sunk down on the ground next to the hearth and asked, "Logan, what just happened?"

The fire demon shrugged, "The kid's got talent with fire."

Charles stared at him foolishly expecting a more thorough explanation than that, but when none came Charles supposed it did make enough sense. Alex was predisposed to flashes of temper that burned hot but not terribly long. It made sense that he and Erik would communicate, not through discussion, but through the occasional bought of vicious yelling until Alex's temper got the better of him and he said what he really meant under all that bluster.

Charles drew his knees up to chest, "If I may ask, what was the other thing they were talking about. The… 'sentence'?"

Logan puffed out a long breath of his latest cigar (which he'd reached for the moment the door had closed behind Emma and he no longer pretended to be an ordinary fire). He stared at Charles, once again taking the measure of him before speaking, "Usually kids don't come into their magic until they're sixteen. They come in early for two reasons: sheer power, and trauma. Alex is both." Logan paused to take another long draw of his cigar, a surprisingly gentle action that let Charles have a moment to regroup.

"Whatever other magic Erik manages to teach him, the kid'll always be a fire starter. It's what he is, and he's one of the best that there's ever been. And coming from a fire demon that's saying something. About the time the kid should've been accidentally lighting the fire for dinner or making water boil, his mother got re-married. The bastard she picked liked to smack around Alex and his mom."

Charles's features settled into a hard look, "I assume Erik has taken care of the man?"

"That's the trouble, Alex took care of it himself." Charles started in surprise, and Logan continued. "One night the bastard turned his fists against Alex's baby brother, and the kid lost control. He set the bastard on fire, burned him alive. But the kid had no idea what in the hell was going on, no idea how to contain it, so the house burned down around them. The bastard and the mother both died in the blaze, but Alex had enough innate skill that he wrapped his arms around his baby brother and the both of them walked out of the wreckage unharmed."

"Please don't tell me that Alex got charged with murder for a moment of accidental magic."

Logan gave a sharp and frustrated puff, "Got it in one. Luckily for the kid, Erik was in town. He turned up at the courthouse and explained that it was an accident, there was nothing the kid could've done to prevent it. Then Erik swore on his honor and his magic that he'd see Alex trained properly so that nothing that this would happen again. And the judge accepted those terms."

"So if Erik was to turn Alex out…"

"The kid would be hanged for the murder of two people."

"And his brother?"

"Erik offered to keep the kid here, but both he and Alex decided that this was no place for him. Erik's got enemies aplenty, and all his enemies are Alex's enemies now, so Erik put the kid someplace safe."

Charles thought for a moment, "The black dial?"

Logan smirked that Charles had it figured it out so quickly, "Yup. Once a month Erik will bring the kid in and he'll spend the weekend with Alex. The kid is annoying as hell, but Alex gets happy when he's around, so there's hope for him."

There was a tone of finality to Logan, so Charles left the rest of his questions for another day, returning to the tidying. He went on steadily like that for another hour before Alex came back down the stairs looking sheepish. Charles just smiled, but held back his comments on what had happened earlier in the day, making the boy a sandwich instead. Alex blushed, but gave Charles a grin in reply. Alex put aside his studies and spent the rest of the afternoon helping Charles restore order to the main room of the house. Something seemed to have unblocked between them now that Charles had seen Alex and Erik fight it out, and suddenly the boy was telling Charles all about his studies (he had a habit of turning anything into an inferno when he was angry, so Erik was teaching him control), his family (the little brother was named Scott), and some of the adventures he'd had with Erik (Charles really didn't want to ask what the who of them were doing stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean in the first place).

By the time night rolled around and Charles fed them both again he was really quite happy, magically inflicted old age and Erik being off goodness knows where aside. The second half of the day was really quite beautiful, right up until the moment that Erik strode back into the castle, smelling of ale and with lipstick smudged along his mouth.

Erik didn't have the stumble of the well and truly drunk, but neither was he truly sober. He went straight to Alex and dropped a kiss into his hair, grinned back when the boy smirked at him like he was an idiot. The wizard then slid over to Charles and ran a hand along his shoulder, only to have Charles smack it away. It seemed every moment of happiness Charles eek-ed out of this castle and his terrible condition, Erik managed to come crashing in and rip it all away once again. Charles was not in the mood to be Erik's plaything while he dealt with his boredom. The Wizard tried to tease, but Charles rose stiffly from his wobbly chair and sighed, "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I am… tired."

Erik put his hand low on Charles's hip, "Come on-"

"No!" Charles snapped, surprising them all. He took a deep breath and continued, "I am old, Erik. I need my rest from the flights of such young men."

And to Charles's heartache, Erik let him go.

Erik stared at him until he settled peaceably into bed, then stormed up the stairs without so much as a goodnight. Alex looked up from his book and gave an awkward smile, "There's this girl in Oxford, near the Wilds. He, uh, he thinks she's interesting. Which for Erik is a pretty high compliment."

Charles gave Alex a sickly sort of smile in reply, then settled down into his bed and wrapped the covers up over his head. He had intended to stay awake until Alex went up to his own room, but the boy seemed determined to keep watch over Charles until he fell asleep. Eventually Charles gave in, sinking into slumber while Alex forced himself to keep trying that candle.

Hours later, when Alex had gone to bed (leaving his books still scattered about), Charles rolled over to see Logan still awake in the fireplace, puffing on another cigar. "Why're you still awake, kid?"

Charles wanted to snap something vicious about he deserved to be as irritable as he felt like, thank you very much. He’d been robbed of decades, forced from the moment when his life was just beginning to instead be shuffled off to the very end. He’d finally thought that perhaps it was his turn to have something good, something with steel blue eyes and a smile that made his heart stop, only for that something to willingly flirt with everything on two legs, including Charles’s own sister. A sister, who according to Alex, was the light of Erik’s life, and who had been snogging not twenty minutes ago with a man who made Charles’s soul ache, a man who had gotten Charles cursed in the first place. Charles bit his tongue and said instead, "Logan, may I ask you a purely hypothetical question?"

The demon smirked, "Sure, kid."

"If, perhaps, I might want to have a consultation with the Witch. How would I go about arranging that?"

Logan puffed out a slow breath, like he was surprised by the question and trying hard not to show it. "She's gonna charge you for turning you back."

“As will you, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Whatever I charge you for the information, it’s gonna be nothing compared to what she’ll ask of you, kid.”

Charles thought about replying with something mocking, but lying to Logan felt wrong somehow. He sunk back into the pillows and murmured, "I don't particularly care. I can’t go on like this."

Erik's Moving Castle: Part 2/3

sunryder — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 01:13:52 GMT

Title: Erik's Moving Castle
Author sunryder
Artist: amoralambiguity
Verse: First Class AU
Word Count 16,810
Rating T
Characters/Pairings: Erik/Raven, Erik/Charles
Warnings: AU
Summary: Charles Xavier had accepted that he was doomed to be ordinary while Raven and Hank got to be extraordinary. Of course, that was all true right up until Charles flirted with the handsomest fellow he'd ever seen and got cursed into a crippled old man for his trouble. Now Charles is hiding out in a moving castle with a fire demon named Logan who has a cigar problem, a magical apprentice and accidental firestarter named Alex, and the same handsome man who got Charles into this mess in the first place. A man who just happens to be the great and terrible Wizard Erik.

Link to art master post HERE
Links to chapters 1 | 2 | 3

A/N This fic was done for the xmenbigbang, which once again was run like well-oiled machine. The mods are awesome! All of my love and devotion goes out to amoralambiguity who has bee amazingly supportive through this process despite the fact that I re-wrote the story half a dozen times. Her masterpost is HERE, and I tell you that you have to go and make a fuss, it's so amazing!

And so it went for days. Charles dealt with his customers and made his potions like he was a wraith, unable to smile at them all like he once had, bled dry of the buoyant life that had been keeping him afloat in the months since the Wizard Erik had first entered their family's shop. He felt hollow, and no amount of lunch with Hank, or tea with little old women could bring him back to the pleasure of before. (And no matter how he called himself a fool for holding on to it, the halo of daisies stayed safely on his dresser, apparently unable to wilt thanks to Erik's magic.)

Over the days Charles began to put aside his heartache and pick up his anger. Slowly but steadily Charles got furious, thinking to himself all the nasty things he would say to the infamous Wizard Erik the second he got the chance. But always at the base of it was the ache of disappointment that the one time he'd been noticed was the result of nothing more than his sister.

Over a week after May Day Charles was sitting at the shop, quiet and isolated in the few minutes before closing up the doors for the night. Angel was away visiting Raven at Armando's, leaving Charles there to handle the shop on his own, which did make things simpler for Charles to run the business, but there was something soothing about having his stepmother’s voice in the background while he did his work. Save for the few regular customers who came in to take their tea with Charles, it had been an almost painfully quiet week.

Charles was in back setting up for one of the experiments that he could only conduct when he was sure he wasn't going to be interrupted, when the bell rang at the front of the shop, signaling that a customer was there. Charles bit back a sigh of irritation at having to plaster on his fake smile and make nice when he was so close to being done for the day, but he did it anyway. He straightened his, admittedly rumpled, vest and strode out to the front counter with a smile that was painful to maintain.

The best description for the woman standing there that Charles could summon up was dignified. Her white hair was drawn up into a complicated braid of a bun at the crown of her head; Her dress was an exquisite dark brocade that Raven would've called about a hundred years out of date. She held herself stiffly, like her bones had grown tired of holding up her not inconsiderable weight. While Charles looked his fill of her, she glanced around the shop with an expression of severe distaste and Charles had to stifle the urge to inform her that they were closed for the evening just so he wouldn't have to put up with her. Instead he shored up his smile and asked, "How may I help you, ma'am?"

The woman took one long look up and down the length of Charles, like she was sizing him up for roasting before she replied, "That depends. Are you Mister Xavier?"

Something about this woman, for all her posh aloofness, set off warning bells in Charles's head, but Mister Xavier could only be him or Hank (or Raven as the case may be), and he would far rather that this woman and her dead eyes came looking for Charles instead of his siblings. "Yes ma'am, I am."

She hmm-ed to herself, disappointedly, while she took a quick tour around the shop. She poked at several of the vials Charles had on display along one wall, and then flicked her fingers like there was something distasteful now coating her skin from touching them. Charles bit his tongue and with all the geniality imprinted on him by Angel he asked again, "May I be of assistance?"

"I am unimpressed, Mister Xavier," she sighed in disappointment. "Erik has a gift for finding the most interesting of companions," she paused and gave Charles a look that was simultaneously lecherous and demeaning, like she was dealing in subjects that a man so plain as him would never find a way to understand, "and he has had many, many companions my dear boy." Charles unwillingly blushed, which she seemed to be waiting for before she continued, "I was prepared to forgive him for his little dalliance if you had proved interesting, but you have proven to be one of the most pathetically uninteresting creatures I have come across."

Plain and simple though Charles may be, he was fully capable of putting two and two together when it was staring at him across his shop counter. This woman had come for Raven. So while Charles's pride and his temper demand that he throw her out of his home before she could stain the place with her insulting demeanor, he held his tongue. Through gritted teeth he replied, "I'm sorry you find me so disappointing Madame, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

She gave him another demeaning sort of little smile, "Oh you don't, do you?"

"No, ma'am. I don't know any Eriks. Least of all ones who would be worth your attention."

She sneered and the shadows around her seemed to grow and writhe with her displeasure. "You honestly think that you can get away with lying to me, Mister Xavier?"

"It's not a lie, ma'am. I’ve never been introduced to any Eriks!"

She stormed over to the door and smacked the wood with the palm of her hand, her power echoing out and causing everything in the shop to rattle with the force of her magic. Charles thought it was some sort of tantrum until faint lines began to appear on the wood, steadily growing brighter until the whole surface was covered in a complicated sigil of knot work. Before Charles had the chance to recover the woman shouted, "Now do you mean to lie to me?"

Charles tried to refute since he had no idea what was going on here, but at the moment he couldn't seem to find words that meant something, only stuttering. The woman sneered, "That is the mark of the Wizard Erik, a sign in magic that he has tied to his power and only he can make. Erik has blessed your pathetic little shop, leashing it to the well of magic that supplies his own strength. It is among the greatest honors and most powerful gifts that a wizard can leave on a location and you mean to tell me that you don't know who he is?"

And well, without declaring to all and sundry that Erik was apparently quite besotted with Charles's sister, there really wasn't any defense against evidence like that. So Charles bit his lip and let the woman think whatever she wanted to. And based off her frankly murderous expression she thought the worst.

She sneered at him again, as though he was even more pathetic than she had first realized and snapped, "Child, I am the Witch of the Waste, and I have never been fond of competition. Even competition so laughable as you."

Charles abruptly paled at that, fully aware that all of the horrible things that Erik was rumored to be, the Witch of the Waste actually was, and it was more than likely that he was about to be killed where he stood. Instead, the Witch just flicked her flicked her wrist at Charles, tossing nothingness in his direction. Charles tensed, expecting some sort of crushing pain and his life flashing before his eyes, but instead there was nothing. He opened his eyes to see the Witch smirking at him like he was a child. She smiled at him, all teeth, and hissed, "Whatever beauty it was that Erik saw in you, he will know better now. And of course, as with all my spells, you'll never be able to tell anyone about it." And with that, she was gone in a flick of overdone dress.

Charles stayed frozen on the spot for a moment before he tried to dart to the door and lock it, for all the good that would do, but he stumbled like his legs weren't capable of carrying him. He caught himself on the counter and looked down, only to see his hands, that not ten seconds ago had been thin but sturdy, were now knobbed and wrinkled, with bulbous veins breaking the line of his thin skin. Those new hands immediately shot to his face and found sagging skin on his cheeks, and deep wrinkles around his eyes. Then, ever so slowly Charles slipped his hands to the top of his head and… merciful heavens he was completely bald! Charles slowly sank to his knees, feeling the kind of ache in his joints that meant it would take him time to get back up. He stayed there for several long minutes, sucking in deep breaths while he fought back his panic.

These minutes were all the time Charles gave himself to wallow in his newfound fate, because any longer and he never would've gotten up off the floor. He knew full well that he couldn't stay here, Angel would have a meltdown and there was a more than decent possibility that Raven would find out and go to hunt down the Witch of the Waste herself. No, there was nothing to be gained by staying curled up in a ball on the floor of the shop, but if Charles got to his feet and made his way out into the wilds there was a chance he might come across Erik, and despite the fact that the man was a scoundrel, he was still a wizard, and perhaps he could put Charles back to rights. (After all, it was the least he owed Charles for making a fool of him.)

With the hope of that chance Charles pushed himself to his feet and climbed the stairs to his room, where he gathered into a bag a change or two of clothes, and the few things he couldn't bring himself to be without (the halo of daisies included). Bringing together the remnants of his life was the work a few minutes, and then Charles put on his coat, left a note telling Angel he'd gone to another apothecary's shop to look at ingredients, and slipped out the door and into the waiting night.

The shop was by no means in the center of town, so it was only a few minutes hobble to the edge of Westchester and the beginning of the Wilds. Charles tugged his coat a little tighter around himself against the slight chill of night – no matter how pleasant the air would've been when he was a young man – and didn't even bother looking back.

Charles took one of the easier paths up into the hills that he knew from when he and his father would go looking for interesting herbs to experiment with. The path took him on a gentle slope up through the greener part of the lands, not terribly far from a stream deeper in or the main road further out. He went along slowly and stiffly, but consistently, for about an hour before his knees finally decided to make their displeasure known. Charles was sure that if he sat down on one of the rocks that were looking more and more appealing by the moment then he wouldn't be getting back up for the rest of the night. Instead, he went to lean against the nearby bush, just for a moment, but the hedge growled at him.

Charles had a terrible moment where he thought he was about to meet his demise – and really, this is why people weren't supposed to be leave the safety of the road – when instead, the bush barked. Charles crouched down as far as his unhappy knees would let him and saw a tail beating frantically within the confines of the hedge. It appeared that the dog had gotten stuck and had tried to find his way out by pushing forward instead of back.

Rather than leave the poor thing to its fate and the hope that somehow it would work its way free before something larger came along to eat it, Charles reached into the hedge and grabbed the dog high on his hind legs. The dog flailed as much as the shrubbery would let him, but Charles just ran a soothing hand along the dog's thigh and crooned, "No, no, no, my friend. Don’t worry. I'm not going to hurt you." The dog calmed surprisingly quickly, but given how Charles' thighs couldn't stay crouched for much longer he chose not to think too deeply about that. Instead he slowly began pulling the dog backwards out of the bush over the path that he'd taken in the first place. The dog remained calm and still for the whole process, and when Charles finally got it free it gave him a genial little 'yap' before running off into the darkness.

Charles stayed crouched there for a long moment, utterly baffled by this strange turn of events, but then the long-limbed, red-haired dog came running back to him and barked at Charles like he was saying he wasn't going to wait all night for Charles to come along. Charles just stared at the dog, then decided that his night couldn't possibly get any stranger, and followed after him.

The dog trotted along peaceably in front of Charles for another two hours, sniffing his way along the trail of what, Charles couldn't possibly imagine. Just when Charles had reached the point where he was ready to lay down in on the grass beneath his feet and sleep until he couldn't sleep anymore, he followed the dog over a rise, and in the valley below he saw a castle.

Erik's moving castle was tall and narrow, and looked like it had been hewn out of stone. The whole building rocked back and forth while the spindly legs underneath carried it along, only a slight motion at the bottom that swelled to wide arc at the top. As the castle swayed, pieces of it caught the moonlight, glinting with the sheen of metal. Charles assumed that all that movement couldn't be good for a building made of stone and mortar, and so the crumbling bits had been pieced back together with slabs of shining copper. And yet, it pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with its own instability.

The dog nudged Charles in the back of the knee, obviously directing him towards the building that was slowly and effortlessly moving from one end of the valley floor to the other. As seemed to be the trend for the evening, Charles decided not to question the exceptionally strange cards that fate had dealt him and stumbled down the hill towards the castle that he honestly hadn't ever expected to find. He made it halfway down the hillside before he realized that his red guide dog wasn't following him. He turned around to find the dog sitting at the top of the hill, watching to make sure that Charles hadn't fallen. "Aren't you coming?"

The dog barked and pointed it's nose off to the left, implying that it had places to go and people to see someplace that wasn't the moving castle. "Well, if you're sure." Charles replied, determinedly not thinking about the fact that he was conversing with a dog. "You've been excellent company though, and thank you for all your help!" The dog gave a happy yip of welcome, but remained standing at his spot, just in case. Charles rolled his eyes at being coddled by an animal, but he slowly made his way down the rest of the hill and towards the castle.

The building wasn't moving particularly fast, and despite his now worn out knees and the exhaustion he had been feeling moments before, Charles still managed to catch up to the floating castle before it escaped him completely. (Apparently dashing was good for the joints.) He caught the thick metal railing attached to the back steps and hauled himself up off the grass. He paused for a moment, more than a little winded from the effort, then pushed himself up to his feet in time with the swaying of the castle and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

Considering the movement of the castle meant that Charles was more likely to be thrown from the stairs than not, he only waited a few spare seconds and then pounded again, and a moment later it swung open to reveal a boy with tousled blonde hair, who seemed no older than Hank. The boy crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his chin as though that would make him formidable and demanded, "What do you want?"

Charles was thoroughly not in the mood to deal with mouthy teenagers considering he'd just been cursed on behalf of one of them and instead nudged past the boy and into the room behind him, declaring, "I should think that was obvious."

The door opened into a warm room full of anarchy. There was a massive kitchen table shoved off to one side and covered with all manner of debris, stacks of paper spilling over into indeterminate mounds, random half-empty vials with poorly maintained stoppers, and more than a few bottles of what Charles was fairly certain was either paint thinner or alcohol. And that table was a good barometer for the state of the rest of the room. Any surface that could maintain the clutter did, as well as a mountain of documents impossibly perched on the spider thin top of a lamp.

Certain that he wasn't about to be set upon by any sort of wild creature, Charles shifted a pile of documents off one of the chairs and tugged it over to settle himself in front of the hearth. The blonde boy continued to spout all the reasons that Charles couldn't be there, until Charles turned to him and glowered until the boy stopped talking. Charles paused for a moment and focused on the way the little old men in the village would scold the youths when they thought they were out of line and replied, "Young man, I am tired, and it's unpleasant out there in the Wild. I happened across your castle at precisely the moment when I thought I would drop to my knees from exhaustion. I choose to take that as a sign."

"But it's not my castle!" The boy shouted, almost desperate.

Charles quirked an eyebrow at him like the thought of this child owning a castle was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "I know full well whose castle this is, young man."

"No," the boy lurched forward and dropped to his knees to meet Charles eye to eye, "you don't. And he's not gonna be happy when he gets home and finds you here!"

Charles put a hand on the side of the boy's face, "Is he going to hurt you?"

The boy snorted and smacked Charles's hand out of the way. Charles would have been offended if he hadn't seen the way the boy relaxed at a little gentle human touch, so he chalked the reaction up to embarrassment. "Of course not! He's probably going to turn you into a toad though."

The boy stormed across the room, pacing out his frustration while Charles muttered to himself, "At this point an amphibian would be an improvement. I know what to do about that."

The boy whirled around to shout something new at Charles, only to be stopped by a deep and gritty voice that declared, "Let him stay, kid."

The boy turned his wrath, not to Charles, but to the fireplace beside him and yelled, "You just want him to stay because it'll piss Erik off!"

The boy and the voice continued their shouting match, but Charles couldn't bring himself to pay any attention to the content of their conversation once he caught sight of the source of the voice.

There was a creature in the fire.

No, not a creature in the fire, it was the fire. The lines of the creature’s body were poorly defined, ever changing with the flickering of the flames that made up his mass. But Charles could make out two arms (since they were gesturing furiously at the boy), a thick body (well, thick compared to the rest of his small frame), and what Charles was forced to call spikes of flame jutting off his head in the place of hair.

After a minute of coarse shouting between the two men the fire finally realized that Charles was staring and snapped, "What are you looking' at, bub?"

"My apologies for staring," Charles replied automatically, good breeding easily taking over, "I've never seen a talking fire before."

The fire grumbled at him, "'M not a fire."

"Again, my apologies, but you look like a fire."

The not-fire propped himself up on the log in front of him, leaning forward as menacingly as possible for a creature that Charles was fairly certain was restrained in the hearth and murmured, "But we're not always what we look like, are we?" Charles's eyes widened in shock, but before he could ask the not-fire how in the world he knew about the spell when the Witch said it was impossible, the not-fire turned to the boy and ordered, "Go upstairs and get the kid a mattress and some blankets, Alex."

"But Logan-"

"Now!" the not-fire roared, the flames along his shoulders roaring up to flare uncontrolled out of the fireplace. The boy, Alex apparently, squeaked and dashed up the stairs at the not-fire's command.

Charles settled back into his chair, determined to not be intimidated by the not-fire (much easier to do now that he knew its name), and asked, "How did you know?"

"I'm a fire demon, kid. Ain't no kind of magic that I don't know about."

"Does that mean you can fix me?" Charles asked, trying not to sound quite so desperate as he was.

"Nope."

"But you said-"

"Knowing it doesn't mean I can change it, kid."

Charles sunk back into his chair, suddenly feeling the weight of his newfound age settle on his shoulders… and he was tired.

The demon reached out a fiery hand smacked the toe of Charles's boot, "If you're just gonna lay down and die then it doesn't matter if there's anyone out there who can help you."

Thunking his head against the back of the chair Charles replied, "If you can't help me than I assume Erik can't help me, and there's no one else I can think of."

Logan grumbled something under his crackling breath that sounded vaguely like, "Humans," and snapped, "Erik might, but the only person you can be sure can take it off is the Witch."

Charles slammed back to consciousness and shouted, "You want me to have anything to do with that madwoman! She turned me into this!" Despite lacking definite facial features Logan still managed to give Charles a look that screamed, 'Duh'. "No. Absolutely not. I refuse to have a thing to do with her. Besides, it's quite likely that she'd do far worse to me the second time."

Logan reached into a hole in the bricks and pulled out a cigar, lighting the tip of it with one of his sparks of hair. He took a long drag on the cigar, blowing out a cloud of smoke easily distinguished from the smoke that trailed off from the top of his head. "What did you do to get yourself changed into an old man?"

Charles awkwardly cleared his throat, "It was a simple case of mistaken identity."

"Apparently not that simple. And you didn't try telling her you weren't who she was looking for?"

Charles bit his lower lip, an expression so young that Logan could see the image of the youth he must've been before this whole thing started. "Because I would rather have her after me than the person she was really after."

"Well then, it seems like you're going to have to give the Witch something to make it worth her while to change you back."

"You're suggesting I bribe the woman who did this to me in the first place? And just hope that she doesn't make it worst once she has what she wants?" Charles asked dryly.

The fire demon shrugged, "That’s up to you, bub. I'm the age I'm supposed to be."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You don't think I'm giving away this information free, do you kid?"

"But you've already told me to go to the Witch."

"I've told you to go to her, not how to get there."

"And what is it you want in exchange?"

"I'll tell you when it's time."

"That is an absolutely ridiculous bargain. I don't agree to deals that I don't know the terms of."

Logan took a mocking puff on his cigar and replied, "Then you can stay an old man."

Alex thumped down the stairs; tugging a mattress along behind him with blankets flung over his shoulders and trailing along like an awkward cape. Charles tried to push himself to his feet to help carry them, but his knees weren't having it. Alex grumbled at the effort but said, "Stay put, old man." Charles accepted that he'd be even less use lugging things than he had been before. Despite the harsh words Alex pushed the mattress over to the hearth in front of Logan. Charles gave him a small smile for the effort, but the boy just blushed and grunted, "Logan'll be able to keep you alive long enough for you to explain to Erik what in the hell you're doing here."

That didn't stop Charles from reaching out to grab Alex's forearm and replying, "Still, you have my thanks." To which the boy just blushed all the harder and dashed up the stairs, shouting his goodnights to the fire demon.

Charles slipped out of the chair and straight onto the mattress beside him, pausing for a moment to straighten the sheets that had come undone during transit. With that he pulled off his boots and stripped down to his undershirt before sliding under the blankets, reveling in the unearthly warmth of Logan. The fire demon had been watching Charles go through the motions, pretending like he wasn't paying ardent attention while he puffed away on that cigar. The moment Charles's head hit the pillow Logan withdrew on himself, tugging in on his light so he just barely glowed. Eyes closed from the exhaustion of his day Charles murmured, "Thank you, Logan."

The fire demon was quiet for a long moment before he replied, "You could be young again."

Charles snorted, "Or I could be a toad," and within a few breaths slipped into sleep.

To Part 3

Erik's Moving Castle: Part 1/3

sunryder — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 01:07:11 GMT

Title: Erik's Moving Castle
Author: sunryder
Artist: amoralambiguity
Verse: First Class AU
Word Count 16,810
Rating T
Characters/Pairings: Erik/Raven, Erik/Charles
Warnings AU
Summary: Charles Xavier had accepted that he was doomed to be ordinary while Raven and Hank got to be extraordinary. Of course, that was all true right up until Charles flirted with the handsomest fellow he'd ever seen and got cursed into a crippled old man for his trouble. Now Charles is hiding out in a moving castle with a fire demon named Logan who has a cigar problem, a magical apprentice and accidental firestarter named Alex, and the same handsome man who got Charles into this mess in the first place. A man who just happens to be the great and terrible Wizard Erik.

Link to art master post: HERE
Links to chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

A/N This fic was done for the xmenbigbang, which once again was run like well-oiled machine. The mods are awesome! All of my love and devotion goes out to amoralambiguity who has been so amazingly supportive through this process despite the fact that I re-wrote the story half a dozen times. Her masterpost is HERE, and I tell you that you have have to go and make a fuss, it's so amazing!

There had been a time in his existence when Charles Xavier stayed up late because he couldn't stand to put aside his research. He would sit at one end of the stout kitchen table with his father at the other, and together they would spread out enough books to overwhelm the surface, spilling manuscripts over the side into mountains of their own. Angel would just smile and make them both tea, poured into enchanted mugs that would keep the brew warm no matter how long they both forgot to drink. Then she would drop a gentle kiss to each of their temples and leave her husband and stepson to bask in their experiments. Those were good nights, with Charles taking in the steady silence of his father, secure in the knowledge that within a few minutes Hank would creep out of bed to join them at their books and, loathe to be left out, Raven would sneak down as well, despite the fact she would fall asleep out of sheer boredom within the next twenty minutes.

These were beautiful nights, and a beautiful life… up until the moment Brian Xavier laid his head down on that kitchen table and didn't get up the next morning.

Now Charles was up late going over the bills rather than his books. (Still in his chair at the other end of the table. Not his father's spot. Never his father's.)

Brian Xavier had always been a talented apothecary, the undisputed best in their town of Westchester. But for all man’s skills with the inherent passive magic that came with potion making, he never had been particularly productive. Now his death had left his family in a terrible position. Without Brian, all manner of creditors were finding their way out of the woodwork to demand their sums out of Charles. Since it had been Charles’s intention to never leave his father's apothecary shop, quietly plodding away at potions for the rest of his days, he wasn’t too perturbed that this is what was expected of him. But the thought of his vibrant siblings condemned to the same made him ill. Raven and Hank each had their own vision for the future, and Charles was awake in the dead of night trying to make those come true.

Charles's stepmother, Angel, had done the best she could by her two younger children, finding them apprenticeships that she thought they would enjoy, and weren't too terribly far away from home. But like her husband before her, Angel had the best of intentions and the worst of outcomes.

Raven had been secured a place at the front counter of Westchester's most reputable bakery, Cerebro. Angel's thinking was that since her own position as a shop girl at the apothecary had led straight to her marriage with Brian Xavier, it was exactly the sort of thing that Raven would want as well. It was a wonderful idea, were it not for the fact that Raven resented people who paid attention to her svelte curves and curly blonde hair rather than her mind, and the men at the front counter of the bakery were not likely to ignore Raven's more prominent… attributes. (Really, it was an easy mistake for Angel to make, considering that when a man didn’t pay a sufficient amount of attention to those attributes then Raven was likely to make him cry.)

Like Raven, Hank had been acquired an apprenticeship that supposedly fit him perfectly. Angel had sent him to Oxford, the next town over, and to the Wizard Armando. Her thinking was that Hank's fondness for helping Brian with his experiments meant that, like their father, Hank harbored a secret longing to become a wizard. Once again, Angel had done the best with the information in front of her and come out wrong. The trouble was that Hank helped with the experiments because he loved the process, not the magic (and doing it for him was the only way to get Brian to keep proper records). At heart Hank was a scientist, and he preferred when his experiments followed the predicable rules of order and logic, something that could never be guaranteed with magical reactions.

With both of his siblings so unhappy, Charles had barely slept in the last week, diligently going over the finances to find a way to cut back even further so that perhaps his siblings could at least switch apprenticeships. Armando, of course, would be willing to take in the whole family if they wanted, wonderful friend of their father that he was. But the baker at Cerebro was more than irritated by the whole mess and would only exchange one Xavier sibling for another if Charles managed to find more money than they would ever have on hand. And so Charles worked, and he pushed himself, and he spent far longer hours at the apothecary shop than he should, trying to make more potions than they ever had before so he might save his siblings.

He went over the accounts every few days in the hope that perhaps some new source of income would magically appear, which is precisely what he was doing on this particular night. He’d been up since before dawn churning out batch after batch of anti-nausea potions (and Charles felt guilty about being so grateful that the flu was going around). The exhaustion of the long day settled into his bones beside the unending struggle of trying to find a way out, and between one breath and the next, dropped his head to the table and fell asleep.

In the months since his father’s death Charles had grown accustomed to being plagued by nightmares about losing their home, being stripped of the shop, having no money to give his younger siblings a chance in the world (even if they weren't particularly pleased with the apprenticeships they had been given), and seeing Angel's bright smiling eyes turn leaden because he couldn't fend for his family in the way that his father had.

But on this night, Charles slept soundly. Despite being lost deep in his dreams he thought he could feel strong fingers combing through his hair and a soft voice whispering strange words of comfort in his ear. Charles woke the next morning to the warm light of sunrise and he couldn’t help but smile. He was refreshed, filled with hope, and for a few long moments he believed that perhaps everything would turn out fine. The financial documents still scattered on the table dampened his mood somewhat, but it couldn't undermine his newfound good mood.

Apparently a positive attitude was all Charles needed, because as the day went on every last potion turned out well, each quite a bit more potent than he'd expected, and customers who Charles hadn't seen in years suddenly felt the need to return to Xavier's Apothecary rather than the more prominent shops at the town's center. Within a few days Raven dropped by for a moment, proclaiming that she'd been moved to the back of the store as a junior baker rather than salesgirl and she was loving every moment. Then there was a letter from Hank rambling about all the new things he'd learned with Armando. With one night of good sleep it seemed that suddenly everything had turned around.

Things at the shop quickly grew frantic, an endless stream of people coming in for potions to bless their gardens, lotions to increase their beauty before the May Day celebrations, and cures for summer colds. Charles knew that their shop had always been the best of the Westchester apothecaries, and he assumed that this sudden boom in business was due to the same high quality products as always, only now coupled with Charles's sense of reliability that Brian had lacked.

Of course, it didn't hurt things that people seemed so genuinely fond of Charles. The little old women who came in once a week for their joint tonic liked to sit down with him to tea, and they all swore that no potion made them feel better than a few minutes conversation with young Master Xavier. (Charles would just blush at the assertion and stumble into the back of the shop to have a sturdy wall between him and the giggling women.)

The shop began to do so well that Charles sent Hank a tentatively worded letter to ask if perhaps, Hank wanted to come home. It wouldn't be the same as being a wizard, but he wouldn't be homesick anymore, nor would he have to endure the fickleness of magic. Hank's letter took longer to return then Charles had anticipated, and when it finally came, the note simply told Charles to go and see Raven at the bakery on May Day. Confused at his instructions (particularly considering that Hank hadn't even answered his question), Charles waited the few days until May Day, closing the shop with a note on the door that declared he was taking a particularly long lunch and would be back later in the afternoon.

The day was bright and pleasant, with a festive air that colored the whole town. Streamers of leafy green and sunshine yellow framed shop windows while thick garlands hung from the street lamps, and the young people of Westchester all but danced down the streets with flowers in their hair.

Charles, of course, was unadorned.

He ducked through the side alleys to avoid the river of joyous people, wanting to make his way quickly to the bakery without the burden of exchanging pleasantries. (Apparently the trouble with being a successful businessman was that people wanted to speak with you.) For the most part his walk across town was uneventful, catching only glimpses of the festival that had consumed the rest of the city, and hearing echoes of the music calling them all to dance. It was, he admitted to himself, a tad bit lonely to make the trek alone, knowing that when they were done he would leave his sister in a circle of adoring acquaintances while he made his way back to his quiet little shop, only to work late until he didn't ache quite so much at being left behind.

Charles was so thoroughly engrossed in his melancholy that he didn't notice the man standing in his path. Instead, Charles walked headlong into a broad chest that felt roughly akin to smacking into a brick wall. He tilted back his head to apologize and scamper on his way before the situation got anymore awkward. However, the man standing in front of him was… stunning, and seemed to have stripped Charles of his ability to form a cogent sentence.

The man was all sharp, unyielding angles, and the long lines of his black tailcoat accentuated the broad planes of his chest. Charles failed to bite back a gulp at his almost visceral reaction to the man's handsomeness, but judging by his smirk, Charles's response did not go unnoticed. For all his beauty though, the man’s eyes were strange. They glinted with a steel blue, but they seemed hollow somehow, like there was wall up between the man’s soul and the rest of the outside world. His grin slowly turned fierce, and as if the situation wasn't mortifying enough the man had now caught Charles staring. He blushed scarlet before he muttered out an apology and tried to scamper down a side alley where he could be alone to combust in mortification in peace.

Charles successfully made it two steps away before the man in question snatched Charles by the arm and twisted him around, tugging Charles tight to his chest. Charles stood there for a moment, absolutely frozen and unable to breathe before the man smiled at him again, less teasing this time and far more pleased. "Where are you off to?"

This was exactly the sort of situation that Charles had warned Raven about, being trapped in an alleyway with a strange man, but Charles couldn't find it in himself to be nervous, simply flustered at the man's unyielding attention. "Uh, I'm going to Cerebro’s."

The man took a shuffle of a half step, slipping even further into Charles's space and asked, "Why?"

The question was ridiculous enough that Charles was able to regain a fragment of himself and reply, "I should think that was fairly obvious. It is a bakery after all."

If Charles had expected the man to draw back, upset with Charles's mouthiness, he was disappointed. Instead the man grinned even more, like Charles was providing him with some good sport. He trailed the hand he had on Charles's upper arm down the front of the muscle to somehow find the way to Charles's waist. Charles’s breath caught at the motion, and he became painfully aware that the only touches he’d received since his siblings were sent away had been brushes of fingers as he handed over products and the occasional pat to his cheek when a client told him ‘you’re such a good boy, Master Xavier’. The touch of this man’s fingers to the thin fabric over Charles’s side was positively obscene in comparison. "And yet,” the man teased, “you don't strike me as the sort of fellow who'd put off purchasing his May Day pastries until halfway through the festival."

"What makes you so certain of that?" Charles retorted, despite the fact that it really was quite an accurate assessment of him.

The handsome man ran his free hand through Charles's combed back hair, mussing it, with his hand now slipping from Charles's waist to rest at the small of his back so Charles couldn't properly pull away. (Not that Charles was trying too desperately hard to get away from the man. Despite the motion of the man's hands, all his attention seemed to be on Charles's face, and Charles couldn't quite bring himself to break that.) "I'm sure because there are no flowers in your hair. You don't even have one pinned to your lapel like the old men do when they think they're too dignified for blossoms."

"I've been in my shop all day," Charles challenged.

The man tugged him a little tighter; hand pressed low to Charles's back and slowly began to sway to the rhythm of the music playing in the public square at the far end of the alley. "And yet you came out into this chaos, to go to the most popular bakery in the city, while everyone who isn't quite so orderly as you is buying pastries."

"I was going to see my sister. She works there." Charles blushed.

"Ah, your sister." The handsome man took Charles's free hand in his own and shifted into a waltz. Charles automatically rested his unheld hand on the man's shoulder, easily keeping time while the man led them both through the small space of the alley and towards the large square filled with revelers.

Charles stumbled in the man's grip, not wanting to go out in the humming chaos of all those people when he could avoid it. The handsome man grinned again, like Charles was something to be teased and cajoled into coming along. The man tugged Charles tighter to his chest and pulled him back on rhythm, and out into the square.

Together they waltzed across the space, twisting in between other spinning couples while they made their way through the music and towards the bakery on the far side. The moment was ethereal. Flower petals drifted on the breeze, the air was thick with the scent of spices, and for the first time in his life, Charles was wanted. Raven was the beautiful one while Hank was the clever one, and for his whole life Charles had simply been there. He was reliable, and dependable, and 'oh, such a sweet boy'. But just this once someone had deemed him worth paying attention to. This man was beautiful, with his sharp features and crystalline eyes, and of all people it was plain, steady Charles that he was dancing with. Charles felt like all that good fortune that had so blessed the shop had finally settled on him as well.

With the last few notes of the song the man spun Charles out of his grip and dropped into a deep bow, with his teasing smirk entirely intact. When the man didn't pull Charles back into his embrace, Charles realized that they'd crossed the wide expanse of the town square and brought Charles safely to bakery's front door. Charles was man enough to admit to himself that he didn't want to go in. For the first time in his life he felt like he could engage in the dancing and revels that so consumed the others on May Day, like he could be happy spending the day being ridiculous with this man.

But Charles Francis Xavier was nothing if not reliable, and so instead he gave the man his most besotted smile and turned to slip into the bakery. But once again, the man stretched out his hand and took Charles by the upper arm, slowly twisting him back around. Charles looked up at him, almost tempted to believe that this was going to be one of those fairy tale moments that Angel so liked to talk about. That the man might lean down to kiss him and suddenly everything about Charles's life would change.

Of course, that's not the way Charles's story was meant to go. So instead, the man plucked a simple red daisy off the bouquet on the hat of an old woman passing by and tucked it over Charles's ear. The man brushed his fingers over the petals with a grin, and then winked at Charles before he disappeared back into the crowd. Charles just stood there for a moment, utterly baffled by the whole chain of events that had led to this moment, wanting to chase after that man and see what would happen. Instead he straightened his spine, steeled himself for the chaos of people, and turned to walk into the bakery. [FN: red daisy means that the person being given the flower has beauty that they know not of.]

Compared to the quiet solidity of the man's presence, the anarchy inside the shop almost gave Charles a headache. But he had a flower in his hair from the handsomest man he'd ever seen, and that was enough to guide him safely through the thumping throng of people demanding their baked goods and to the door that led to the back of the massive bakery. Charles slipped past the various work tables and mixing counters, finding his way to a nook at the very back of the shop where Raven spent her days devising new recipes.

Charles immediately slipped off his jacket because Raven's little corner of the kitchen was quiet and homey, warm like summer thanks to constantly working ovens. He let his sister hum to herself over the intricacies of a spice mixture for a new variety of apple pie while he waited for her to look up and pay him attention.

Though, now that he thought about it, there was something wrong with that image.

Raven was never one for diligent testing methods, and based on the pages and pages of meticulous notes that were scattered around her station, Raven was applying the scientific method to the development of these recipes. Behavior that was not at all like Raven, but entirely like Hank.

For just one moment that thought was enough to change the image of the sibling before him. Suddenly Raven's blonde curls melted away into the scruff of Hank's always mangled short brown hair. Her perfect profile became Hank's sweet face, complete with slightly too large glasses. The image quickly flickered away, back to precisely what Charles would've expected Raven to look like in this situation, but now he knew the truth.

Charles sunk back on the stool that was kept in the nook for all those left to wait for 'Raven' to pay attention and sighed, "Oh Hank, what have you done?"

Hank looked up from his notebook with a jump, obviously surprised that Charles had seen through whatever magic the boy had concealing his identity, but Charles could see the relief in his brother's eyes that he wouldn't have to find a way to break the ice. He gingerly set aside his notebook and stumbled out, "Well, Raven and were both… less than thrilled with our apprenticeships."

Charles fixed him with a stern look. "You were both miserable and brokenhearted, Hank. I remember."

"Yes!" Hank all but shouted, "And you were trying so hard to fix everything for us, to change things so that we could have someplace where we'd be happy, but Raven and I decided that it wasn't fair for us to just sit there and wait for you to save us. We had to take matters into our own hands."

Charles knew his siblings well enough to know that explanation meant that Raven had dashed headfirst into something ridiculous and Hank had been pulled along for the ride. Noble though either of their intentions may have been (and Charles doubted that nobility was really anyone's chief purpose here), he slouched into the stool and sighed, "Hank…"

Hank bit his bottom lip and burst out, "We went to the Wizard Erik."

Charles paused, drawing in a painfully slow breath through his nose and then out through his mouth, stopping himself before he snapped back exactly what he thought of that plan.

The Wizard Erik was powerful but reckless, having gotten fed up with the rules and regulations that normally confined Witches and Wizards in polite society. Instead he had taken up residence in an enchanted castle that roamed through the Wilds that made up the borderlands between the Kingdom of Genosha and the Waste. Given Westchester’s position on the edge of the Wilds of Genosha, most of the town’s citizens had caught a glimpse of the castle slipping through the mist. There were whispers about him, that he could perform magic so great that he could accomplish any spell you asked of him, but he would charge you your soul. Charles didn't believe rumors so ridiculous (there would have been an official statement from the Council of Wizards if Erik was practicing an art so dark as that), but all the whispers about the Wizard still gave him pause. Especially considering that Raven and Hank must've roamed out into the wild hills outside Westchester and gone looking for Erik's moving castle.

Hank could read the expression on Charles's face and frantically began explaining, "He really was very nice!" Charles quirked an eyebrow and Hank amended, "Alright, not exactly nice, but not terrible either. After all those stories I've heard about him I was expecting candles and chanting, and to have to swear an oath over a bowl of blood, but he wasn't so terrible as all that. The main room of his castle was filthy, to be sure, but he was perfectly polite, and respectful."

"Tell me Hank, what did he ask for in payment?"

"He, um, didn't." Hank blushed, well aware from the few lessons on business that Charles had been able to force into his head that that was a terrible idea. Hank rushed on before Charles could scold him and storm out of the bakery to hunt down the wizard in question, "Raven explained our situation and talked him into a spell that made her look like me and me look like her, and we offered to pay him, but he said that we wouldn't be coming to him if we had the kind of money that the spell would require, so he'd think about what he wanted from us and come to perform the spell and explain his payment in three days time."

"He came to the house?" Charles demanded, offended that a rogue wizard had violated the sanctity of his home.

Hank darted around his worktable and held up his hands to calm Charles down. "Yes, but he didn't do anything! At least, I don't think he did anything. We went downstairs to meet in him the shop so you'd never see him since you were still up at the kitchen table, but by the time we made it downstairs he was already there, sitting." Hank paused then rushed out, "sitting at the table drinking tea."

"Where was I!" Charles sputtered.

"You were asleep. We didn't now if you'd just fallen asleep looking at all the finances again or if he'd put a spell on you." Hank hesitated, "Neither one of us thought it would be a good idea to ask." Before Charles could snap out anything else Hank pressed on, "Seeing you there, working so hard to give us what we wanted, it changed his mind. Whatever he'd been meaning to ask for in payment he said it didn't matter anymore. And he gave us a more powerful spell than what we'd bargained for." Hank extended his hand to Charles, showing off a thin, braided strap of leather wrapped around his wrist. "It's a powerful enchantment, designed so that when people look at us they'll see what we want them to see."

Charles huffed out a calming breath and examined the knot work in the braid, the apothecary in him unwillingly impressed by the obvious quality of the enchantment. "So your employer looks at you and sees Raven."

"Yes. Though Raven says that after she'd impressed Wizard Armando for the first time she confessed to him that we'd switched."

Charles paused, "The spell on this was so powerful that Armando couldn't see through it?"

"No. Erik said it would be impenetrable until we chose to make it otherwise." Hank gave him a hesitant grin, "I guess Erik didn't plan on you."

Charles snorted, calming down enough to see how nervous Hank was to tell him all this, obviously more than a little terrified that Charles would stay furious with him, or even force them both to go back to their original places. Charles sighed and swept his younger, but taller, brother into his embrace and whispered, "I'm happy you're happy, Hank. I just wish you would've told me. I would've helped you any way I could."

Hank buried his face in the crook of Charles's neck and heaved a desperately thankful sigh, mumbling, "I wanted to. We both wanted to. But we felt like it was something we had to do on our own."

Charles snorted, "Well that's ridiculous and you should never think such a horrid thing again. I'm your brother, I will always be there for you, not matter how ludicrous your plans might be."

Hank giggled, and Charles knew that all would be well. He prodded his brother down onto the other spare stool and demanded that the boy tell him everything about his time at the bakery, everything he would've told Charles if they'd been talking like they should. With bright eyes Hank rambled to Charles all about his newfound infatuation with baked goods. Hank was still too skinny to get much enjoyment out of eating them, but the process of taking a merely adequate recipe and experimenting until it was perfect had given Hank the kind of stability he never would have gotten as a Wizard.

When Hank finally wound down, Charles gently took Hank's hands in both of his and asked, "Are you happy here, Hank? Because if you want to, you can come back to the apothecary. We're making enough that you don't have to stay here."

Hank smiled back, "I am happy here, Charles." Hank reached out with one of his long arms and grabbed a stack of papers off one of the nearby shelved and tentatively handed them to Charles. "I've been thinking, if you know how to properly make the medicines, to do all the things that an apothecary shop is supposed to do, and I know how to make them taste good, then perhaps we could become and entirely new kind of shop." The papers on top were Hank's experiments to take a potion for the cold - one of the few recipes that Hank had always felt comfortable with - and put it in a cookie.

Charles quirked an eyebrow, "A chocolate chip cure for the common cold?"

"Actually," Hank pushed his glasses up his nose and pointed to a chart of results on page three, "there's something about the cocoa in the chocolate chips that the ingredients for the potion doesn't combine well with. Chocolate chip cookies, fudge brownies, anything chocolaty can't be used for the cold potion. However, I'm currently having great success with any cookies that involve molasses." Charles let Hank explain to him some more of the experiments, offering up suggestions that all but proved Hank's point that together they could pull off his plan.

Eventually Charles asked about Raven, wanting to know the things about her that he would've been told if he'd been let in on the plan in the first place. Apparently Raven was doing splendidly under Armando's tutelage. It seemed she had a gift for transforming things into new shapes, or just changing their appearances, and Armando had said that within the year he believed that Raven would be able to create and sell concealment spells all on her own. "Although," Hank blushed, "I'm not sure how much of that is Raven's own skill, and how much is Erik's advice."

Charles sighed, and scolded himself for thinking that things would have settled so nicely as he thought. "Let me guess, the Wizard Erik has been dropping by Armando's house to 'check up' on Raven."

"Got it in one. Raven says he drops by at least once a week, and based off the way he was staring at her when he went to his castle, I wouldn't be surprised if Mother's plan comes true anyway."

"I have a feeling that marrying Raven is probably not foremost in his mind, Hank."

"You didn't see the way he looked at her Charles. Though, I supposed it might be the way he looks at anything he thinks is interesting. It's intense, and unabashed. It might just be his strange eyes though."

Charles paused, a pain of certainty ripping through his chest at Hank's offhand comment. Charles asked, "Oh, and what's wrong with his eyes?" trying to stay nonchalant all while silently repeating to himself, 'Not blue, not blue, not blue,' only to be interrupted by Hank's description, "They're this funny sort of light blue. The color isn't all the strange, but it's almost like there's a wall up on the other side of them. Like the light won't reflect properly and they're just made of glass. It's slightly unnerving." And with that, Charles's lovely day came crashing down.

The handsome man.

The man who'd just danced across the town square with Charles nestled in his arms was none other than the Wizard Erik, trying to cozy up to Charles to get in good with his little sister.

Charles stumbled off his stool, hastily grabbing his jacket from the coat rack while he fumbled out, "I just realized how late it is. I promised a few customers I'd be back to the shop to give them their purchases before they headed out for the fireworks tonight."

"Oh," Hank's face fell, like he thought that perhaps Charles was done for the day and they could spend the rest of the night nestled in Hank's corner of the bakery discussing his notes.

Charles put a gentle hand on Hank's shoulder, but still shrugged on his coat. "I really am sorry about this Hank. Perhaps you can drop by in a few days and we can have lunch, catch up some more." Hank put on a brave face, and under normal circumstances Charles would have been thrilled to spend the night discussing science with his brother, but tonight he was mortified, sick to his stomach at the humiliation that he'd been making cow eyes at a man who fancied Raven. Charles pressed a warm kiss to Hank's temple, promising to see him soon, and then made for the door like his life depended on it.

"Charles!" Hank called before he could slip away, "I thought you hated flowers?"

The question was innocuous enough, just curious Hank wanting to understand something before he forgot about the question, but Charles remembered the daisy in his hair with a stab of pain. He went to pluck it out, replying, "Someone stuck it in my hair while I was…" and trailed off at the crown of immaculate, multi-layered, ruby-red daisies that came off in his hand. Erik had tucked the flower behind his ear and then with a brush of his fingers transformed it into a halo. Before Hank could ask what had him so pale Charles lurched out the back door of the bakery and into the alleyway that he'd meant to come in through before Erik had found him and made him a fool.

Charles didn't remember stumbling back through all those dark and isolated alleys to make his way home to the empty shop. There were no customers waiting there for him to make him feel useful, and none came for the rest of the day. The whole of the town was out there celebrating May Day while Charles sat in the dark corners of his storeroom. He'd meant to work on a new potion, but his hands were shaking too terribly to get anything done, so he'd sat down on his step stool, head in his hands, and couldn't bring himself to move for hours.

To Part 2

Intellectual Property 6/?

sunryder — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 04:41:28 GMT

Title: Intellectual Property
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Disclaimer: Seriously?
Notes: In all honesty, I have no idea how the delay in this chapter happened. You all have my most sincere apologies and my promise that I'll steam through my writer's block and get this done in the next few weeks.

Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? A particular scene/cameo/painting? Or should I just stop talking and get back to the updating? ;)

Summary:
Under no circumstances is Charles allowed to paint Mr. Lehnsherr. None. Emma doesn't care how darkly seductive the man is or how he's the first thing Charles has wanted to paint in months. It's simply not allowed.

Of course, keeping Charles away from Erik would probably be easier if it didn't seem like the man was just as determined to have Charles as Charles was to have him.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Charles didn't remember a time when he wasn't an artist at heart. Didn't remember a time when he didn't look up at the sprawling mess of his father's work and see the numbers as a foundation for a painting rather than what chemical those numbers might make.

Brian Xavier would work longhand on his chalkboards, sketching out lengthy strings of half-finished equations on his half of the room while Charles 'worked' on whatever board his father was done with. Brian would design chemicals with enough explosive power to make Howard Stark jealous while Charles would trace the space between the numbers, bringing them all together in one smooth line. Something like those never-ending patterns on the Norse shields Mr. Odin had lining his office walls when Charles was a boy. And all these years later, when Charles was feeling particularly lonely, he would pull out a book and bring the letters together in just the same way.

In the five days since he'd seen Erik, Charles had been through seventeen pages of aimless lines.

Charles took that as a sign that it was perhaps time to take matters into his own hands.

A few hours after Charles' impromptu deposition by Azazel Erik had gotten a panicked phone call from Hank begging him back to the office. Apparently one of Erik's stickier cases had devolved into absolute chaos and Erik had spent the last five days trying to smooth things out. With that in mind, Charles had been understanding about the whole of Erik's attention being elsewhere, content with going from all day access to nothing but monosyllabic text messages from his boyfriend. However, there was only so much silence a man could take before it came time to intervene.

Charles arrived at Erik's office with a bag of dumplings at what would be -- for any normal person -- lunchtime. He strode up to the lovely girl staffing the front desk and smiled at her, expecting a polite sort of smile back, but instead was rather taken aback when the girl froze at the sight of him instead. Since Charles was generally regarded as pleasant (his ex-fiance notwithstanding), he assumed the girl was worried about Erik.

She scrambled for her phone and stumbled out, "I'm sorry Mr. Xavier, I didn't know you were coming! Mr. Lehnsherr is in a meeting right now but I can call Hank and he can-"

Charles waived his hand to stop her fretting, "Oh no my dear, don't interrupt his meeting. I'm willing to wait until it's properly finished."

Horror didn't begin adequately describe the girl's expression, apparently outright terrified by the thought of letting Erik Lehnsherr's boyfriend wait for anything. "Really Mr. Xavier, I should-"

"Charles love, my name is Charles. I haven't the temperament to be a mister." He poked, trying to make the girl smile.

Instead the girl just stared at him like his very existence was beyond her comprehension. Like she was trying to reconcile what she knew about Erik with the genial man in the hoodie standing in front of her. The secretary plucked up her phone and muttered, "I'm just gonna call Hank."

Charles shrugged off her concern, but before he could properly object a massive bang echoed through the floor, interrupting everything in the office. Charles cast an inquisitive look around the room, wondering if someone might know what that had been, but everyone kept their eyes firmly on their phones, or their papers, either because this was a common occurrence or the curiosity had just been bled out of them by this point.

Charles poked his head around the corner just in time to see a man come flying out of one of the offices and crash into the opposite wall. There was no blood that Charles could see, but the man slumped to the floor and moaned like he'd been beaten. A suit jacket came flopping out the door after him and smacked into his face. Apparently that was enough to force the man up, and he flung the jacket off his head to shout, "I'll have your license for this Lehnsherr!"

Charles heaved a sigh and dropped his head to the wall beside him, taking in the show as Erik burst out the door that Charles really should've recognized was Erik's office and grabbed the man by his shirt front, hauling him to his feet. Charles spared a moment to appreciate both the strength of the fabric to hold up to the beating and the definition of Erik's forearms.

Erik dragged the man down the hall, toes skimming on the carpet while Erik lugged him along, ignoring the increasingly angry things the man was shouting. A rather frazzled looking man came trailing along behind them, mouth hanging open like he was absolutely sure he was supposed to be saying something, but he couldn't possibly imagine what that was supposed to be.

Erik hit the waiting room and called out, "Hold the elevator!" still conveniently ignoring all the shouting and flailing the other man was doing in his grip. Most people just scampered out of Erik's way and paid the smallest amount of attention possible, but Azazel stepped off the elevator and gave Erik a long look before he smirked and held open the doors for him to toss the man into the box.

The man scrambled to his feet just in time for Azazel to hold out his hand with a feral sort of politeness. "It's so lovely to see you again Mr. Westlake. Such a pity you have to be going. Perhaps next time you come you should avoid stirring Erik's temper. You do know how he gets."

Flecks of spittle came out of the man's mouth while he sneered, "The next time I see Lehnsherr I'll be suing him for assault!"

Azazel stepped in the path of the door, leaning close into Westlake's space and murmured, "Oh, I can think of few things that would bring me more pleasure than testifying to a jury of your peers and a whole room of camera crews exactly what you said to your wife to make Erik feel the need to throw you out. Keep that in mind."

Azazel stepped back and gave a smug little finger waive while Westlake's open-mouthed counsel slipped in with his client and the doors closed behind them. Azazel turned to Erik with a smirk, "And how was your day Lehnsherr?"

Erik humped, "Leave me alone, Azazel," who just snorted and replied, "Lehnsherr, you just threw a city councilman out of the office like he was a naughty schoolboy. Now, I adore any chance I get to irritate our lovely local government, but usually you're the poster boy for ignoring the people who annoy you."

"He threatened my client." Erik shrugged, not at all embarrassed.

Azazel quirked an eyebrow at Erik like he was torn between scolding Erik for not having the common courtesy to at least give him something better to defend and the pleasure of having to come up with something clever to keep Erik from getting convicted of assault.

"He won't press charges." A strong voice interrupted. "If he presses charges then he has to explain to a judge why he called me a kike whore." Azazel and Erik both twisted around, unaware that Erik had been followed down the hall by his client, the object of this fight.

The woman was… exquisite.

She was wrapped in a short trench coat, bound tight at the waist, with a wide triangle of a high-necked dark green dress peeking out. Her face was ringed with brown curls, offsetting smoky green eyes and lips the kind of plump that people noticed. She was, in a word, posh. The sort of put together that Emma would've adored. Of course, thoughts of Emma weren't particularly helpful at this moment since Charles' own internal Emma was busy pointing out that this striking woman in the perfectly accessorized ensemble was exactly who Charles would imagine a Mr. Lehnsherr would date. While Charles himself was in a pair of worn at the knee jeans and a hoodie over a white t-shirt streaked with paint.

No, Charles couldn't remember a time when he hadn't longed to be an artist, but at this moment he thought perhaps there might be something to be said for embracing more traditional respectability.

Azazel paused for a moment after the client's announcement, collecting his words before he replied, "Then Erik's response was no doubt justified." Azazel stepped forward and stretched out his hand, taking hers in hello and pressed a surprisingly fitting kiss to the back of her hand while saying, "It is a pleasure to see you again Magda, no matter how unfortunate I find being forced to look at your husband."

Magda laughed, low but bright nonetheless, and replied, "I've found myself suddenly enjoying my husband's presence simply because it means he's offering me a whole new reason to call Erik." Charles had seen enough of Raven and Emma politely declining men to know that in her own round-about way Magda was telling Azazel that flirting would get him nowhere because her sights were set on Erik.

Azazel flicked his gaze off Magda's face and straight to Charles, who was awkwardly positioned in a corner half-way hidden by a plant. Erik said that he'd never found a man better than Azazel at tracking down those hidden facts that people to keep quiet. So in that momentary glance, Azazel saw the predatory jealousy in Charles' eyes and decided it was probably a good time to intervene before Charles forwent subtlety climbed Erik like a tree to stake his claim.

Azazel kept a firm grip on Magda's hand and guided it to his elbow, tugging her along with him towards the elevator, blissfully ignoring the brush off he'd just received. "Why don't I take you out to lunch and and we leave Erik here to do the plotting. That is what he's best at."

Magda was obviously not a woman used to being disagreed with, and slipped out of Azazel's grip to turn back to Erik. "Actually, I was intending to take Erik out as a thank you for the chaos of the last few days."

Azazel glanced over to Charles and gave a minute shrug, as if to say, 'I tried to handle it civilly. Go with my blessing.'

Charles stuck out his chin and assumed the 'don't screw with me' expression that Raven was so fond of before he stepped out from behind the plant. Erik caught the rustling of movement and was off guard enough to burst out, "Charles!" The smile accompanying that exclamation was bright enough that Charles was willing to forgive Erik for being ridiculous enough not to realize Magda had been flirting with him.

"I didn't realize you were planning on heading out to lunch, otherwise I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of bringing you some." Charles kept his tone perfectly innocent while he lifted the brown bag of dumplings, not accusing Erik of keeping things from him but not actually embarrassed that he had turned up at the office unannounced. He stepped forward and stretched out his hand, "Hello, I'm Charles Xavier, Erik's boyfriend."

Magda gave Charles a fierce sort of grin when she shook back and replied, "Magda Eisenhart, Erik's client. And lunch was going to be a surprise. After all, we've spent so much time together these last few days I thought it was the least I could do for him."

Charles maintained his innocence with a laugh, like he was completely unaware of the psychological warfare going on between them. "He's so terrible when he's wrapped up in a case, isn't he?" Charles stepped over and leaned into Erik's space, quite pleased when Erik slung an arm around his waist in response. "For such a clever man I find it remarkable how easily he forgets to do things like eat and sleep."

Charles knew he'd struck a blow when Magda pursed her lips at him. Charles was prepared for a few more bouts of verbal sparring before she conceded this round and went away, but Erik quite easily, and unexpectedly, ended it all. He pinched Charles in the side, catching on a ticklish spot and making him jump and squeak. "So says the man who thinks scotch covers all the food groups."

"I'm an artist." Charles replied with a smirk. "That means alcoholism is a perfectly acceptable use of my time."

Erik chuckled and turned to Magda, who had thin grin plastered over her face in acceptance of Erik's preference. "You don't need to thank me Magda. Taking down your husband will be pleasure enough."

Magda slipped forward and gently touched Erik's cheek while she replied, "Darling, you've done me a service I can never repay. Dinner is the least I can do." The woman paused for half a moment and Charles thought she was actually going to press the matter and insist on taking Erik out, but instead she lightly stroked Erik's cheek and stepped back. "I supposed we'll just have to re-schedule."

With that Magda turned and left in a dramatic swirl of trench coat. The moment the elevator doors closed behind her, both Azazel and Charles turned to Erik and smacked him.

"What?" Erik demanded.

Azazel stormed away muttering something in Russian and Charles just fixed his best, 'you are an idiot' glower on Erik before turning down the hall towards Erik's office. "Charles?" Erik questioned, stumbling along after him. "What did I do?"

Charles snorted, "You were an idiot."

Erik paused, "I'm gonna need more than that."

"You were an unbelievably naive idiot."

"I don't think anyone has ever called me naive before." Erik smirked, and when Charles didn't reply he continued, "So, since I'm an idiot, where exactly are we going?"

Charles stopped and twisted around, Erik coming to a stop a hair before crashing into him, ending up with their chests pressed tight together. "We're going to your office so I can close the blinds, crawl into your lap, and remind you exactly who it is you're supposed to be dating."

Judging by the was Erik's pupils dilated, he had no objections to that.

XXXXX

Emma paused in the restaurant's doorway, striking a pose while she casually scanned the room for her company. She hadn't been on time to an appointment since she'd left her father's house and certainly hadn't started today. People usually assumed she belonged to the flakey artist stereotype and couldn't quite get herself together on time, and they were always unseated when she strolled in with the air that they were beneath the effort it would take her to arrive on time. She doubted that today's appointment would be thrown off his game by so simple a move, but the last thing she wanted to do was appear at all out of sorts for this brunch.

She hadn't spoken to Charles since she'd stormed out of his apartment several days ago, but the moment she stepped on to the street outside Charles' building her phone had buzzed with a message from Sebastian Shaw.

Emma Frost was no fool, no matter what people assumed about her for walking away from the Frost fortune. So when someone left her a message claiming to be Sebastian Shaw's personal secretary and asking that she call back as soon as possible, Emma very calmly forwarded the number on to one of her more reputable contacts and asked them to check on that.

Her contact took over two days calling in various favors of his own to find someone who had access to what turned out to be Sebastian Shaw's private cell phone. By the time Emma called back the secretary explained that Mr. Shaw had anticipated that her call would be far more prompt, and now he was out of town on business. However, she would pass the message on to Mr. Shaw and if the opportunity presented itself he just might call her back.

Shaw, of course, had kept her waiting another two days in retribution for not calling him back immediately (in fact, Emma was fairly certain that if she did the math she would find that Shaw's reply had taken just as long as hers, down to the minute). The secretary had scheduled a meeting for brunch the next day at one of those restaurants that normally required reservations several months in advance. The restaurant was sleek and modern, everything done in shades of gunmetal grey with the occasional splash of red for accent. Honestly, just the sort of place she could imagine Sebastian Shaw picking, which is why she was so surprised when she saw one of Shaw's lieutenants waiting for her rather than the man himself.

Emma fought the urge to straighten her dress before she slipped into the empty seat across the table from Selene Gallio. (Emma had worn a simple white dress that rode too high on her thighs when she sat and made her ass look divine, a ploy for dealing with Shaw that she doubted would work on a woman who'd been through at least five husbands.)

Selene -- in a far more appropriate black pant suit ensemble -- smirked at her and began, "Ms. Frost, it's so lovely to see you."

Emma leaned back in her chair, "Let's not start with lying to each other Ms. Gaillo. You're here because Shaw owns you body and soul, and I'm here because I'd prefer not be smothered in my sleep. I think we can skip the pleasantries."

"Oh Emma, you and I both know Shaw is far more subtle than that." Selene smirked. "But, you're right, we have far more important things to discuss here than how you're doing. Mr. Shaw is aware of your attachment to Charles Xavier and your concern over his most recent entanglement. Mr. Shaw would like to assist you in this."

Emma quirked an eyebrow at Selene, but maintained her silence while the waiter delivered their menus. Apparently Emma's expression was scathing, because the man stumbled away without bothering to tell them about the specials. "What sort of assistance does Mr. Shaw plan to offer?"

Selene smirked, obviously pleased that Emma hadn't thrown her water in Selene's face and stormed out of the room. "Mr. Shaw is a man fond of keeping his own counsel. However, he told me to reassure you that whatever means he employs to handle your problem, no damage will be done to Mr. Xavier or his reputation."

"And I suppose Mr. Shaw just wants me to trust that he'll hold up his end of the bargain?"

Selene looked at her like she was a small child who didn't quite grasp the rules of the game and replied, "Of course not. If Mr. Shaw fails to hold to his end of the bargain in a manner you find fitting, then you are free from payment."

Emma snorted, "Of course. And what will Shaw's price be?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Mr. Shaw finds you interesting. His price for saving your best friend from himself if that you agree to accompany him to a meal."

"All Shaw wants from me is a date?" Emma repeated, finally taken by surprise.

"A meal, and whatever might come after of your own fee will and choice." Selene smirked.

Emma gave Selene a long look before asking, "He's not going to kill Lehnsherr, is he?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not particularly, but Charles would."

Selene leaned back in her chair, speculatively watching Emma. "You seem terribly attached to this boy when there are people far more worth your effort."

Emma strove not to be offended, because it was really rather true. "He's my own version of a puppy." She replied. "If I left him to himself he'd die within a day, but he's too young to know that he's too young."

Selene smiled, something as close to natural as Emma supposed her face was capable of making and replied, "I'll inform Mr. Shaw of your terms: Mr. Xavier remains untouched and no killing Lehsherr. Anything else?"

Emma let her grin turn just as fierce as Selene's and replied, "No."

Intellectual Property 5/?

sunryder — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 04:36:56 GMT

Title: Intellectual Property
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Disclaimer: Seriously?
Summary:

Under no circumstances is Charles allowed to paint Mr. Lehnsherr. None. Emma doesn't care how darkly seductive the man is or how he's the first thing Charles has wanted to paint in months. It's simply not allowed.

Of course, keeping Charles away from Erik would probably be easier if it didn't seem like the man was just as determined to have Charles as Charles was to have him.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Erik roamed into the office at noon on a day where he'd meant to be in no later than nine. He should be storming in to counteract the pattern of tardiness, but it was difficult to feign irritation at the world when he'd spend the morning with Charles.

Charles had adored Erik's restaurant and had started sending him sporadic texts, asking whether or not Erik could manage to get away for breakfast/lunch/dinner so Charles could have another plate of dumplings and piles of black forest cake. Erik just smirked, not even attempting to feign that he had things he'd rather be doing. Some part of Erik poked at him, suggesting that perhaps he shouldn't be offering himself up quite so freely to Charles, maybe teasing him a little instead, but Erik shoved away the voice, too sure that he wanted Charles to concern himself with the way he usually did things.

So Erik started leaving work at five, and coming no earlier than nine, and sometimes even took a lunch break, which was more time off than he could remember ever taking. No one dared mention Erik's sudden shift in schedule to his face, the managing partners were content that, for the moment, Erik wasn't going to die of a heart attack before 35 (which was an eventuality they'd actually taken out insurance for), and everyone else too nervous that Erik would make them regret ever being born if they brought it up.

On this particular day, two weeks to the day after his first meeting with Charles, Erik came late to work and glowered at the paralegals and secretaries who were foolish enough to stare at him and whisper as he went by. (A lesser man would've been nervous that he somehow looked like he'd spent the morning on a couch wrapped around Charles Xavier, exchanging slow, steady kisses at the boring parts of Charles' latest favorite movie. But Erik had destroyed enough opponents with something so simple as lipstick on a shirt collar or a trail of bite mark on the collar bone to know how to prevent himself from looking untoward.)

Hank was already waiting for Erik at the end of the hall when he came past, and Erik spared a moment to be impressed that shy, stumbling Hank had the from desk secretary so firmly in his pocket that she was willing to warn him when Erik was on his way in. Hank matched Erik's stride easily and started rambling, "I shifted your 9:30 to 2:45 and your 10:30 to 4:00, but the 10:30 wasn't happy about it. I offered to shift him to another lawyer in the firm if he'd prefer, and he got agreeable after that, but I expect he intends to be as difficult as he can possibly be when he gets here."

"I shall have to find a way to endure." Erik snarked.

"I'm sure you will."

"If that's all?" Erik stepped around Hank and tossed open his office door while Hank stumbled out, "Actually-" and Erik stopped mid-step. Sitting in the chair behind Erik's desk was Selene Gallio, one of Erik's most unfortunate acquaintances. Hank finished in a tense hush, "Miss Gallio is here to see you. Ms. Schmidt told me to let her wait for you in your office."

"Don't damage the poor boy, Erik." Selene interrupted. "She is the Schmidt in 'Crane, Poole and Schmidt' after all, the boy couldn't help himself. And in his defense, I do believe he attempted to both text and phone you with a warning while you were with your little painter."

Hank shot Erik an apologetic look before he all but dove out of the room, and Erik seized control over his muscles a spare moment before he slammed the door in frustration. He spread a bland, pleasing look over his face, one he hadn't felt the need to assume since he'd first made Charles smile. "My apologies for making you wait, Ms. Gaillo. Had I know you were planning on seeing me this morning I would've come in earlier."

"I was under the impression you were supposed to be in to work at nine, Erik darling."

Erik gave her a subtle smirk, "You know full well that so long as I make them money it's more like guidelines than actual rules."

"I highly doubt Ms. Schmidt will see it that way."

Erik sat down in the client chair on the far side of his desk, pretending it didn't irritate him to be forced out of his position. "Ms Schmidt has informed me that part of my value to this firm is my ability to think and act outside the restraining little box that contaminates most of her hires."

Selene snorted, "Is that what passes for out of the box now? Bedding an artist?"

Two weeks ago Erik would've replied, 'I'm told that supporting the arts qualifies for my required pro bono hours,' but he couldn't bring himself to say such a thing about Charles, not even to Selene, and not even in jest. So Erik simply didn't reply, moving over to the small decanter of stout German coffee Hank always had ready for him whenever he came in, and deliberately didn't offer any to Selene.

"What darling, you have nothing to say? How terribly unlike you. Perhaps this little artist is a succubus in his spare time."

"I have many things to say Ms. Gaillo, however none of them are appropriate for a conversation between a lawyer and his client."

"Considering who's bed you spent your morning in I wouldn't think you cared much about about the formality of the attorney/client relationship."

Erik dropped down into the client chair, far more comfortable now that he knew what she was here for and snorted before he took a long drink of his coffee. Selene smirked, thinking Erik was faking his calm. "This is New York, darling. We allow many things, but your own rules of professional conduct demand that you cannot enter into a sexual relationship with a client while you're representing them. And as of this morning, you're both the boyfriend and the attorney of record for one Mr. Charles Xavier."

"Boyfriend? Really, Selene."

"I would assume you'd be trying to characterize this as true love rather than mocking the institution, your love unwilling to be denied so that you might throw yourself on the Bar's mercy. Without it you're just another man sleeping with his young, impressionable client." Selene smirked.

"My derision was for your choice of phrase, not the concept. Honestly, who over the age of 25 uses the term 'boyfriend'?"

"Feigning innocence is your best option Erik, I suggest you use it."

Erik smirked, "I assumed you're here with a different, more profitable option. The same one you always bring me."

Selene leaned forward and gave Erik a look that almost could've passed for sympathetic if her smile hadn't been so smug. "There are too many people in this industry who want to see you crash down in flames for you to have honestly thought you'd get away with your little tryst." Erik took another long draw on his coffee and leaned back in his chair, letting Selene get frustrated. "You know it's already been called in." A pause. "At this point it can't be stopped."

Erik set down his mug and stood, buttoning his jacket and moved for the door. Selene slithered to her feet and glowered at him. "They'll ruin you without his help Erik, there's no point in fighting."

Erik gave her a bland smile and headed out of the office, Selene trailing in his wake and making biting remarks about Erik's idiocy. Erik saw Selene to the elevator, a picture perfect gentleman the entire time, and the moment the doors shut behind her he stormed beck down the hall, people diving out of his way. He went past his own door and straight for Janos' empty office, slamming the door behind him so hard it shook the wall. Azazael was already sprawled on the long couch that took up one of Janos' walls, aware that Selene had been in the building and waiting for Erik to lose his temper and retrench. Azazael smirked, "Do you have a body in your office you need me to dispose of?"

Erik snorted, "When I need help with body dumping I'll have completely lost my touch."

Janos quietly closed out his documents while Azazael asked, "What was her threat?"

"Getting me disbarred."

Janos paused, and Azazael replied, "The Bar hates you."

"I believe that was the point."

Janos rocked back in his chair and quirked an eyebrow while Azazael asked, "But why? What does she get out of warning you? More to the point, what does she get out of trying to ruin you at all?"

Janos snorted, answering for the lot of them no one ever really needed a reason to destroy Erik. Azazael gave Erik a pointed look, expecting a bit more backstory, but Erik firmly refused to speak. A brisk knock on the door interrupted their staring contest and Hank poked his head in. "Ah, Mr Lehnsherr. Mr. Azazael had me clear your afternoon." Implied in the question was whether or not that was a bad thing, and Erik gave a sharp od.

"Did he have you clear Mr. Quested's as well?"

"He did, sir. And he told me to collect this," Hank handed over one of the small cameras the firm used for depositions.

Azazael plucked it out of Hank's hand before he gave it to Erik and interrupted, "I'll take that, thank you. On your way now, Hank." And he shut the door in Hank's face.

Erik furrowed at him and Azazael replied, "If I get called to testify about this whole mess I'd like to be able to honestly say that you had no opportunity to tamper with the evidence."

Erik nodded his understanding and went for the door, but Janos cleared his throat and stopped everyone. "You are sure, yes? This is what you want to do?"

"Of course it's what I want to do! Charles has to know what kind of information they're going to be looking for. I can't just send him out there blind. And when I don't cave to the demands goodness knows what they'll do to him because of me."

Janos smirked and Azazael teased, "I believe the question was about whether or not you actually wanted to go to all this trouble to keep Charles, not whether you thought the plan was sound."

Erik rolled his eyes and stepped for the door, muttering about ridiculous questions, wholeheartedly ignoring how he was blushing.

XXXXX
Charles was in a haze of happiness when Erik left that morning. They were taking it slow, random chunks of days spent together in between long hours of Erik working and Charles trying to keep up with all the commitments he'd made when no inspiration had seemed forthcoming. Erik had joined him for breakfast and a slow, quiet morning that Charles hadn't wanted to end. After Erik left Charles took the time to tidy up and tried to keep himself focused on the blank canvas in front of him rather than what he wanted to text Erik. His attention kept spiraling away until someone knocked on the door and gave him a respite.

Charles opened the door with a smile on his face, secretly hoping it would be Erik on the other side when he opened it. Charles' smile turned slightly less lecherous but no less pleased when he saw it was, "Emma!"

Emma however, didn't seem at all pleased with Charles' smile and went straight past him to the waiting canvas. "Emma dear? Is something wrong?"

She stopped sharply and stared at his non-existent work to snap, "This canvas is blank."

"Well yes, they usually are."

"You're supposed to have been spending these last two weeks painting, Charles."

"You know full well that painting doesn't necessarily mean producing."

Emma turned to him, a pillar of fury and said, "I know that when you were surrounded by your friends you produced a whole show's worth of art. But when we trusted your begging and left you alone with your lawyer you created nothing."

Charles bristled, "I did. not. beg. I made a well reasoned argument-"

"'Oh Emma'," she mocked, "'you just have to give us more time together. He's perfect.'"

"I like him, Emma. What's the matter with that?"

She wrenched the blank canvas from its easel and all but tossed it at Charles, "This doesn't strike you as a problem? Tell me Charles, what have you sketched lately?"

Charles rolled his eyes at her and pulled out his stack of papers and shook them emphatically. "Any of these ring a bell?"

"All of those were from our party, Charles. What have you sketched since you've fallen into the black abyss that is Mr. Lehnsherr?"

"I've-"

"And don't you dare lie to me Charles Xavier."

"I've got other concerns right now, and yes, one among them is Erik."

"Other concerns? Charles don't you remember anything? This is how it starts. It begins by ignoring your art for other things. You tell yourself you'll get back to it, but then you never do. And then you put it off and put off until the thought of going back, of catching up to where you should be, is too painful to contemplate, and so you stop thinking about it, devoting yourself to these other things with the thought that somehow you'll become productive again."

"It's not the same!"

"How in the hell is not the same?"

"I love him!" both of them froze, stunned by the unexpected declaration. "I love him, Emma," Charles said in a hush. "He's like a piece of a me I didn't know was missing."

"And what piece of you will your art be when you're forced to stop creating." Emma snapped, treating Charles' announcement with the disdain she thought it deserved.

"Erik won't do that."

"Because you believe in him, Charles? You honestly think that will be enough to stop him?"

"He won't need to be stopped."

"You're being a fool, Charles."

"I have faith, Emma. There's a difference."

Emma gathered up her bag and stormed for the door, "You know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

"This isn't the same, Emma!"

She paused just long enough to turn back to him and mutter, "You're wrong. And I hope that when you realize that there will at least be enough pieces of you for me to put you back together again."

Charles stormed around the apartment in a fury after she left, finally settling back at his easel and painting out Emma's white frame in a melee of thick red and black brushstrokes. Another knock came and Charles tossed open the door ready to yell at whoever had the temerity to interrupt him when he was in a mood. "What!"

Under normal circumstances Erik would just quirk an eyebrow at Charles and tease him for whatever had him in such a state, but this time Erik was actually nervous. Erik elbowed his way through the door and looked almost frantically around, before turning back to Charles, and running his hands up and down Charles' arms checking for injuries. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Charles stepped into Erik's space, calming Erik back down just as quickly as he'd riled Erik up. "Emma dropped by. There's nothing wrong, she was just being Emma."

"Excellent." Azazael interrupted before Charles could sink any further into Erik's embrace and grabbed Erik by the shirt, hauling him back out the door. "Now, Erik is going to wait outside while we have a conversation."

"Wait outside? Why?" Azazael shut and locked the door before Erik had a moment to explain and turned to usher Charles into his own living room. "What's going on?"

Azazael ignored the question and gestured to the side, "I'm sure you remember Mr. Quested."

Proper etiquette kicked in just long enough for Charles gave him a polite nod and say, "Janos, lovely to see you again, now what in the hell is going on?"

Azazael pulled a small handheld camera out of his pocket and turned it on Charles while Janos flipped on his blackberry and started reading. "Mr. Xavier, at any point in your relationship with Mr. Lehnsherr did he demand sexual relations as a condition of entering into or continuing your professional relationship?"

Charles stared at the camera in confusion before he said, "Are you out of your mind? What would make you think such a thing?"

Janos gave Charles the smallest of comforting smiles, "Please answer the question Mr. Xavier."

"No! Erik did no such thing!"

"At any point has Mr. Lehnsherr employed coercion, intimidation, or undue influence in entering a sexual relationship incident to your professional relationship?"

"Are you honestly asking me whether or not Erik has intimidated me into sleeping with him?"

"Mr. Xaver-"

"No, Mr. Quested. Anything I've done with Mr. Lehnsherr I've done of my own free will and choice."

"Finally Mr. Xavier, did you enter into a sexual relationship with Mr. Lehnsherr while he was representing you in a domestic relations matter?"

Charles cocked his head to the side, "You mean is Erik my divorce attorney?"

"Divorce, adoption, custody, paternity-"

"Yes, yes, I understand. And no, Erik isn't representing me in any of those matters. He advises me in business decisions."

Azazael snapped the camera shut and said, "Excellent, that should satisfy the Bar if they have any questions."

"I'm sorry, the Bar?"

"The New York State Bar tends to frown on lawyers sleeping with clients."

"But, we're not sleeping together."

Azazael just stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he twisted around to stare at Janos, who was trying not to giggle and ruin his image. Azazael tossed open the door to reveal a waiting Erik and shouted, "You aren't bedding this man?"

Erik's gaze flicked past Azazael to blushing Charles, and Erik smiled in response. Azazael groaned and stormed out of the room, grumbling obscenities in Russian. Janos grabbed Charles by the shoulders and pressed two quick kisses to his cheeks before following after Azazael.

"Umm, what just happened?"

"They're covering my ass."

Charles rolled his eyes and pulled Erik in from the hallway, shutting the door behind him and stepping right back in to Erik's space. "That doesn't explain what they feel the need to cover you from."

Erik heaved out a breath and leaned back against the door, thunking his head back against the wood. "I've tried a lot of cases, Charles."

Normally Charles would tease Erik about being wretchedly vague, but Charles had that lovely sense of knowing when Erik wasn't trying to be vague, he was trying to work his way into whatever he meant to say. Charles leaned into him, resting his head on Erik's shoulder and just waited, listening as Erik's heartbeat steadily slowed from the panic he'd been in. "I got distracted when I first started practicing law, agreeing to take on cases just because they were fascinating, not because I believed in them."

"I'm sure young lawyers don't have much choice in the kinds of cases they take. You do what your boss tells you." Charles consoled.

Erik huffed, "Charles, someday it's going to sink in that I'm very, very good at what I do."

"Yes, but-"

"I had a choice. Every last time, it was my choice. And when I was young, I chose wrong."

"What changed?"

Erik ran his fingers through Charles' hair, slowly, like he was savoring the motion and didn't expect to be given another chance. "I got a rapist set free." Charles waited, letting Erik take his time. "It was an impossible case. My client raped that girl, I knew it, and everyone else knew it too. But I got him set free on a technicality." Charles nuzzled closer, wrapping his arms tighter around Erik's waist, clinging to him. "I did it just to see if I could. Just because no one said it could be done."

"And after?"

"I saw his victim. She'd been at the trial the entire time, I'd even cross-examined her and I never even really noticed her. Not until he was cleared of the charges and she looked at me like I'd betrayed her."

"What did you do?"

"Walked away. I quit my job, went to my parent's house for a while, and then Shirley Scmidt turned up at my door."

"Shirley Schmidt… your boss?"

"One of the managing partners, yes. She turned up at the house and offered me a job, freedom to choose all my own cases, and promised to tell me when she thought I was about to cross the line."

"And, I'm crossing that line?"

Erik squeezed him tighter and laughed, "Shirley actually dropped by my office and gave me dating advice. I even think she's even got money in the office pool about how ugly the breakup will be."

"That's a truly warped office you've got there, Erik."

"The best people are."

Charles squeezed him a little tighter, "So, if she doesn't have a problem with me, then who does?"

"That client has plenty of friends, plenty of associates. And they've been trying to hire me on as his personal attorney ever since."

"And they've stopped trying to ask nicely."

Erik buried his face in the hair at Charles' temple and sighed out, "Yeah." Charles pressed even closer and Erik soothed, "Don't worry, I won't let them get to you. No matter what ridiculous thing they have planned now, I won't let them touch you."

Charles pulled back and gave Erik a look of disbelief, "Darling, I'm Charles Xavier."

"I know that, but-"

"No, I don't think you quite do. My father left almost all of his assets to me, and frankly the amount of money I have is obscene."

"Then why was Logan so concerned that you'd drive yourself broke?"

"Because Logan is a mother hen, despite all his protestations otherwise. And honestly, not even I would be able to spend all my money."

"But, Azazael didn't find that kind of money in his research."

Charles snorted, "My father was not a stupid man, darling. He anticipated that mother would remarry, and not to someone he approved of. He willed to her the amount required by law and then turned everything else over to me in a trust that couldn't be accessed by outside parties and lined with enough red tape to make it look like it doesn't belong to me. Howard Stark, Tony's father, was my father's executor and was given instructions to simplify all father's assets in the best sort of way for me to do what I wanted and not be stuck as a businessman. He made father's company a subsidiary in StarkTech and me a majority stockholder. As for my portfolio, I leave that to my broker, who takes tech advice from Tony, and I just spend the money."

"So you're…

"Filthy rich." Charles smirked. "So the bastard can come after me all he likes, but I've got enough influence to drive him out of the city if I've got a mind to. I'll be fine, Erik. We'll be fine."

Erik ran his hand through Charles' hair, with Charles pressing up in the movement to keep contact. "We."

"Yes you great lump, we."

Chapter 6

XRBB Art :

sunryder — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 19:14:09 GMT

I love Big Bangs! They're such an unbelievable chance to work with someone else to create a story you've been desperately looking for byt can't write yourself. And this is totally an example of that. I've been dying for a sentinel/guide fic in the XMFC fandom for ages, and agewa wrote me one for the big bang!

*flails of joy*

The fic is HERE on LJ and HERE on AO3! Go, read, fuss, and tell her how perfect it is! The art that inspired it is

HERE.

Anyone willing to be a Star Trek sounding board/beta?

sunryder — Wed, 25 Jul 2012 05:00:15 GMT

Seeking a beta/willing ear/sounding board to help me out with an epically long crossover story. I always feel wretchedly awkward asking random people on communities how they feel about beta-ing, so I thought I would put the question to my friends list and desperately hope someone out there wanted to help.

Details under the...

CUT.

So, I'm working on a Harry Potter/Star Trek fusion (with the occasional crossover by my favorite professors). The story is set in year one of the gang's time at Hogwarts, and at this point the story is about 40,000 words long and it's only halfway done. I've stalled out because I need someone to talk things out with and get them straight in my head.

I've been working on this story forever, and it's something I would desperately like to get finished, but I keep getting bogged down in making the same decisions over and over, and I'm just looking for someone to talk to.

xrbb fic | with abandon 2/2

sunryder — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 03:04:12 GMT

Title: With Abandon

X-Men Verse: XMFC AU
Characters/Pairings: Erik/Charles, Raven, Logan, Emma, Kitty,
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,000
Warnings: AU, some mild Raven bashing

Summary:
The best part about Charles' favorite bakery isn't the location, and it isn't the lovely smell, or even the Earl Grey cupcakes. It's the Baker.

Erik Lehnsherr is a beautiful specimen of a man, particularly when his fussing over Charles takes the form of pastry.

Such a pity Charles doesn't know Erik is an assassin.

Notes: I am so excited about this! xsilverdreamsx put out a fan mix prompt for the xmenreversebang and I fell in love. I re-wrote this story half a dozen times in an attempt to get it to make it as fun as the mix, and I hope I pulled it off.

Go HERE and make the fuss of all fusses over her art and HERE to listen to the mix! They really inspired me!

Part 1 | Part 2

Part 2

A week of furtive lunches stolen from Charles' hectic schedule (for which Erik entirely blamed Emma) later, Erik and Charles still hadn't found a bed. Erik however, had finally gotten word about the assassin he'd actually come to Genosha for.

On an otherwise pleasant afternoon word came to Erik through Gambit dropping by the bakery. As usual, the boy toured the glass cases full of baked goods before he stopped in front of Kitty with a lecherous smile and asked whether or not Erik had finally caved and made him some 'genuine, Louisiana King Cake.' Kitty would blush, say no, and in between bouts of leering at her Gambit would sigh and say he'd just take a double slice of Lady Baltimore Cake then. Kitty would bend over to fetch him two slices and while he was staring at her behind Gambit would toss a card to the back room.

As usual, it all went according to plan and Erik plucked the card out of the cork board tacked to his back wall (the one Erik insisted Gambit hit if he didn't want to be dragged in back to repair the damage his cards did otherwise). Scratched in Gambit's messy scrawl along the card's border was, Sab wants you at the beach at dusk.

Erik snorted in amusement as right on schedule the card disintegrated in Erik's hand, the residual energy from Gambit's power acting like a timer and destroying the card before anyone but Erik had the chance to read it.

Erik milled about the back of the shop, putting things in the fridge, or rotating them earlier to the ovens while he wound down the clock. He didn't anticipate spending long with Sabretooth, who was usually even more taciturn than his brother, but it never hurt to be prepared.

At sunset Erik roamed down to the beach, letting his metal sense guide him to the slab of ruthless muscle waiting for him on the rocks. Erik stood out of claw range and waited for Sabretooth to do the speaking. The other mutant waited several minutes before he muttered, "I'm supposed to take out James so their other guy can kill Xavier."

Far too much time with the Howlett brothers was the only reason Erik knew 'James' was Wolverine, and not for the first time he ignored the urge to ask for their history. "Of course," Erik grunted instead, "there are two assassins. Because that's not overkill."

"Considering I'm here not killing James, two was probably a good plan."

"Considering it meant killing James I'd think you'd jump at the opportunity."

Sabretooth grunted something indistinguishable, and Erik waited again. After several long minutes of watching the waves roll in and melt out Sabretooth muttered, "I owe you a debt. Letting you save the man who makes you smell like that pays it."

Erik actually turned to face Sabretooth to ask, "Smell like what?"

"Happy." Sabretooth grunted, like he found the whole thing distasteful.

Since he probably did, Erik let it go at that and asked, "Who's the other assassin?"

"Hell if I know."

"How am I supposed to stop them if I don't know who they are?"

Sabretooth shrugged, "That's not my problem."

Raven Darkholme had not risen from her place as Xavier's blue sister' to one of the leaders of Genosha without being a smart woman. So when Charles came back from his lunch looking thrilled with the world and everyone in it, despite the fact he had flour in his hair, raised her suspicions.

A change of skin and staying upwind of Logan while she followed Charles the next time he went to lunch was all she really needed to discover what was going on. (After all, Charles going into the bakery while the store was closed then coming out with sweaty sex hair told all the story she needed.)

Raven had dropped by the new bakery at the insistence of one of her informants who insisted that Erik Lehnsherr was a mutant she needed to see. She'd adopted the guise of a brunette girl, slightly younger and slightly plainer than the girl working the counter. Raven had declared her cupcake delicious (which it was), and assumed in a questioning tone that the baker was a thermokinetic who used his power over heat to control the baking process. Kitty had smiled conspiratorially and said, "Actually he's telekinetic."

Raven had gone back over the next few days, each time wearing a different skin and observing the baker more than the goods and decided that Erik Lehnsherr was one of the most talented telekinetics she'd ever seen. His fine control was stunning, and he only ever bothered to use his hands, or even look at what he was moving, when there were other people watching, a habit most powerful mutants developed to downplay their skill around others.

Most interesting of all was when Emma dropped by and glowered at Raven's disguise as though her presence in the shop was interrupting something. Yes, there was something special about Erik Lehnsherr, Emma didn't talk to mutants who weren't.

Raven had sent Charles to the Baker in the hope that Charles would pick up something interesting, and she had faked an interest in the man to induce Charles into telling the truth. And now, Charles was skiving off work to make out with him.

Yes, there was something special about Erik Lehnsherr.

However, according to her operatives, all Lehnsherr did was bake all day and then sleep in the little apartment above the shop at night. The only breaks to that schedule were visits from Charles and a weekly trip to the grocery store for ingredients.

So when Lehnsherr roamed down to the beach while he was supposed to be working, Raven took it upon herself to do the tailing. Imagine her surprise when Erik went straight to a waiting Sabretooth, one of Genosha's most wanted. Raven watched them chat, irritated that both men were facing the ocean so she couldn't read their lips, and watched them part company with polite nods.

Raven sauntered up the hill back to the government offices and went straight to Charles' office. Charles' secretary popped up from her desk the moment Raven stepped into the waiting area, "Miss Darkholme-"

Raven strode right past the girl, "No Cory, this is important."

"But Miss Darkholme-" Raven shoved open the door and Charles called out, "Don't worry about it, Cory dear."

Raven slammed the door behind her and Charles quirked an eyebrow, "Is there something bothering you?"

Raven went straight to Logan and slapped him across the face, something she was not afraid to admit she'd wanted to do for quite some time. "What kind of security officer are you!" she demanded.

Raven pulled back to strike again, but for the first time in years, Charles reached out with his mind and stopped her from moving. She turned to shout at him for touching her thoughts in such a way, but the fury in Charles' eye stopped her. "Raven, an explanation would be best."

Had Raven been less furious herself then she might've delivered the news more gently, but as it was she spat out, "Erik Lehnsherr is a spy."

Rather than freak out, Charles paused, then leaned back in his chair, completely zen, and asked, "What makes you think that?"

"Intelligence gathering is what I do, Charles." Raven derided.

"Really, I was under the impression your job had ceased to be intelligence gathering and was now meant to be the smooth running of a country."

"Charles," Raven scolded, leaving her place in front of Logan and dropping down on his desk. "I'm not trying to be cruel, Charles."

"And I'd simply like an explanation for your assertion."

"He's been consorting with Sabretooth."

"Show me." Charles demanded, and for the first time in a long while Raven remembered why people were so taken with her brother. Raven thought very specifically of following Erik to the beach and seeing him in his pleasant chat with Sabretooth, all while devoutly not thinking of all the plotting she'd been doing before.

Charles was on his feet in a heartbeat and out the door, and not even the glare that Logan gave her promising disembowelment for this could stop her from following.

Emma had felt the strong and steady beat of Logan's mind twice before, each time when the shit was about to hit the fan in a way Logan didn't think he could stop alone. To feel it from across the government building when there was no alarm blaring was frankly one of the more terrifying things she'd experienced since the revolution. Emma caught up to a furious Charles at the building's exit and plucking the whole mess of the matter from Raven's mind was the work of a moment. (Charles may respect the wish of staying out Raven's mind, but Emma had no such compunctions about doing it on his behalf.)

Emma forwent regular speech, knowing that she would be shouted down by Raven and her 'proof' the moment she opened her mouth (and forcibly stopping the girl from speech would only prove to make Charles even more furious). Straight to Charles' mind she said, Charles, it's not- and the man shut her out completely. Apparently Charles wasn't in the mood to hear from anyone but Erik.

Charles stormed all the way to the bakery and Emma cast out with her powers to keep them from being noticed. (She shuddered to think what would happen if the whole of Genosha got a firsthand glimpse at Charles Xavier losing control.) Charles tossed open the door to the bakery and Emma quickly pressed on Kitty's mind that now was the time to be anyplace that wasn't here.

Erik heard the ruckus and came around the corner, knife in hand and flour up to his elbows. Emma pursed her lips at the apparently vain hope that Erik might look befitting his status for a change. Erik dropped the knife to the counter and asked, "Something wrong?"

Logan spoke before any of them, "Raven thinks you're working for Victor."

Erik snorted, "Sabretooth would sooner gut me than work with me."

"And yet," Raven interrupted, "you spoke with him today without being gutted."

"Because he owed me." Erik shrugged. "Sabretooth hates having debts."

"And what could a baker possibly have done to earn Sabretooth's debt?"

Erik looked at a still not speaking Charles and gave him the answer, "The government had him in a cage. I broke him out."

Raven snorted, "And how would you find yourself in a position to do that?"

Erik calmly stuck his hands in his pockets and replied, "It's what I do."

"Rescue known terrorists?"

"Protect mutants. Ferry them here. Stop the men who would harm our people."

Raven laughed and jumped straight to the heart of the matter, latching on to the stories of salvation from oppression the mutants spread. "You honestly expect Charles to believe that Magneto came to Genosha to open a bakery?"

"No," Erik spat through gritted teeth, "I expect him to believe that I came here to hunt down whoever was trying to kill him."

"And why would you need to be here for that? Isn't that was Genosha's security force is for?" Raven sneered.

"He's the best." Emma interrupted.

"What about-" Raven tried to continue and Emma interrupted, "Anyone you name, he's beaten. There is no one better at this than Erik Lehnsherr. No one."

"That's not possible. We've got half a dozen telekinetics on this island with added secondary mutations!"

"It's very difficult for any secondary mutation to beat you when you're ripping the iron out of someone's blood." Erik snapped.

Charles cleared his throat, and everyone stopped moving. "Magneto is metallokinetic, not telekinetic. I've seen you move things that aren't metal."

Erik slowly moved his hand and a ceramic plate came floating off the shelf and into the blank space between Erik and Charles. Erik twisted the plate so Charles could have a clear view of the bottom of the dish while a fine dusting of metal floated off the bottom. Without warning the plate crashed to the floor, suddenly without anything for Erik to hold on to, and the metal powder coalesced into a miniature metal ball that he floated over to Charles.for.examination. "Everything in this shop is coated with the metal dust."

"And outside?"

Erik reached into his pocket and pulled out three marble sized metal balls and explained, "These are always with me." Erik floated them up out of his hand, slowly rotating them in a perfect orbit between him and Charles. Charles watched intently as the three balls melted into nine, then each divided into three of their own and became twenty-eight, became eighty-four, became two hundred fifty two, until Erik and Charles were surrounded by a constellation of glinting metal fragments orbiting them as stars. Charles reached out and ran his hand through the gentle touch of the metal and it suddenly coalesced, wrapping around Charles' hand like a ribbon before it settled on him like a glove, bending with him. Charles felt the metal rippling around his hand, slowly gathering itself in, back to the three metal balls that settled in his palm.

The display had been beautiful, the technical precision of it perfect, and that more than anything told Charles that Erik truly was metallokinetic.

Raven broke the silence of the moment, "Metallokinetic or not, that doesn't make you Magneto."

"Have you heard of another metallokinetic?" Emma snapped.

"That doesn't meant they don't exist!"

Without looking away from Charles, Erik said, "Emma, show Charles the truth."

She paused, "What memory do you want me to show him?"

"Whatever memory you think will tell him who I am."

Charles felt Emma push forward a bright ball of memory and without waiting for anyone to think better of it Charles poked the memory with his mental fingers and was instantly overwhelmed. Only another telepath could parse through the rush of information, the blinding flow of panic of Emma being tortured by another mutant, then experimentation by humans, and the joy of being broken out by the man who moved metal. She shared with Charles an overview: Erik's belief that there was more power to be had in a name than in an actual person, the fear and hope he could bring if people thought more of him as a spirit than as a man, and weeks ago, a message from Erik, warning Emma he would step on to Genosha for the very first time because he'd heard tell that someone was coming to kill Xavier, and Erik couldn't let that happen.

Charles slipped out of Emma's mind and took a moment to get his feet back under him, then stepped straight into Erik's space, wrapping his arms around the baker and pressing his face into Erik's chest, just feeling Erik's heart beat under his cheek.

Erik froze at the reaction, then decided not to question his good luck and pulled Charles closer, burying his face in the other man's hair. He didn't want to interrupt the moment on the off chance that this was just Charles' particularly cruel way of saying goodbye, but Erik had to hesitantly ask, "Charles?"

Charles all but keened into Erik's breastbone, and Erik ran his fingers through Charles' floppy hair and whispered, "What's wrong?"

Emma, sly vixen that she was smirked, "Communicating telepathically with another telepath is an all-encompassing experience."

Erik furrowed his brow in confusion and Logan relied with a smirk, "She outed you."

"Outed… oh, she told him I love him. Then why is he sad?" Erik asked like he wasn't terrified.

Charles tilted his head back and looked up at Erik, "Not sad, overwhelmed."

Erik pursed his lips, "Why?"

Charles gave him a gentle smile and unfurled his mind, wrapping it around Erik's. There was absolute stillness for a moment before Erik was pulled with Charles back to the first moments of their meeting. Charles had been overwhelmed by the mental presence of him, very nearly weak in the knees from the rush of mental compatibility. Charles had been taken with Erik from almost the same moment he'd first seen Erik smile.

"So, you're not mad I didn't tell you?"

Charles laughed, "Erik, you've been hiding that you're Magneto, I can't imagine a time when that would be bad news."

"Charles," Raven interrupted, her tone far more in control than when she'd started, and reminded, "we do have to be getting back to the office."

Charles pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Erik's mouth, "She is right. The last thing we need is extra attention."

Erik pressed a far more thorough kiss to Charles' lips and replied, "You'll be back after work?"

"I promise." And with a peck, Charles was gone.

Cory looked up when Charles stepped into the waiting area, ready to ask the Professor how his strange departure from the office had gone, then caught sight of a furious Raven coming along behind him and decided this wasn't the best time to ask. Apparently Xavier anticipated the fight would be so terrible that he'd sent Logan off to fetch him tea.

She gave the Professor a sympathetic look and reached into her desk drawer, flicking the switch on the psionic shield that she kept reserved for just such occasions as these. The shield would block out all the noise and psychic energy the siblings were about to unleash in one of their epic battles of will. Charles gave Cory a grateful smile before he slipped into his office while Raven completely ignored the secretary and stormed in behind her brother with a slammed door.

The moment the door closed behind Raven and completed the psionic shield, Cory's expression smoothed into blankness. Her guise as the slightly bumbling, but still terribly loyal secretary to Charles Xavier was one she'd ably worn for months since Xavier's original secretary had been conveniently promoted.

'Cory' could sense the emotions of others and had patiently waited for the moment when she could lock Xavier behind the psionic shield with someone who's emotions were spiraling out of control. Had Xavier been a less powerful telepath 'Cory' simply would've reversed the shield's polarity so the emotions they were emitting would be turned back on them until they snapped under the pressure and did something unforgivable. However, Xavier was strong enough to know that his mind was being tampered with, making that not an option. Instead, 'Cory' turned the shield up to its highest setting and stood to lock the waiting area door that led to the main hall before she turned back to Xavier's office to kill them both.

XXXXX

Emma watched with no little amusement while Erik all but danced around the back of his shop, humming to himself while he baked something with an obscene amount of layers. Erik had slipped beyond happy and gone straight to euphoric, and despite all she would protest to the contrary, a happy Erik was a thing of beauty. Already she was drafting the press release to announce Erik and Charles' inevitable elopement. She didn't particularly believe in stable, committed relationships (having been experimented upon by her last boyfriend), but Erik and Charles were so spectacularly odd together that she thought they just might work.

Erik went from slicing perfectly even layers of cake with his powers while he whisked the frosting by hand one moment, to collapsing with a pained gasp the next.

Emma didn't bother to respect the boundaries of Erik's mind and dove straight in, finding the aching, dark corner where there used to be soothing light. Erik got ahold of himself after the initial shock and looked to Emma in horror, "Charles."

XXXXX

Cory stepped inside Charles' office and he took advantage of the respite from yelling to ask, "Yes Cory, what is it?"

"Now isn't the best time, Charles." Raven snapped.

"Standing here so you can shout at me for telling you the truth doesn't take precedence over actual business, Raven."

"I am terribly sorry, Professor." Cory interrupted. "But it's not technically a matter of business." Cory flicked out a psionic dagger before either sibling had a chance to react and sent it straight for Xavier's chest.

Raven grabbed Charles and hauled him down, dropping him behind the massive oak desk where he could be out of the way before she leapt over the desk with a flip and went straight for the assassin. Cory hadn't been sent on this mission because she was an amateur, and she spun out of the way, calling up another psionic blade, this one longer, and swung it at Raven while she was still in her jump.

The laws of physics demanded that Raven continue to fall in the direction she was moving, which would carry her straight into the psionic sword, but as with so many mutants, the laws of the natural world didn't seem to apply. Raven twisted back mid-flight and out of the way of the blade, kicking out her leg and catching Cory in the face. Cory spun around and struck out again only to freeze when her hand was run through by a shaft of metal.

Cory screamed and whirled around, face to face with Charles' Baker. Cory sneered and summoned up another blade, only to find her hand forced into a fist by unflinching metal. She flipped backwards and went straight for the desk, intent on at least achieving the death of Xavier, even without the alibi. Cory went crashing to the ground mid-jump, dragged down by her belt buckle. Cory reached out with her mind to attack in a new way, and found herself tucked in an unflinching little mental ball by Xavier. From one moment to the next she lost control over her limbs and felt the gentle glide of Xavier's gift sift through her mind in search of details.

Xavier softly turned her over, still refusing her the use of her limbs, and announced, "Her name is Kwannon, though she goes by Revanche." Xavier paused, "She has been waiting for someone to lose their temper with me so she could implicate them with my murder."

"That bitch was going to pin your murder on me?" Raven asked, trying for furious but more horrified than anything.

"I believe this instance would have been murder/suicide." Xavier replied in a detached tone, still sifting.

"Why?" Frost asked, and Kwannon assumed the woman had come in with the Baker.

"The standard claptrap about my views posing a threat to the cause of mutant superiority."

"Charles-" Raven went to interject, but Emma interrupted, "Considering one of them just tried to kill your brother Mystique, now is not the time to be defending their opinions."

From the corner of her eye Kwannon could see Charles look over to the door and finally piece together who had saved the day. "Not that I'm not thrilled by your excellent timing Erik, I am a little curious how you happened to find you way here at the perfect moment."

"It was the psionic shield." Emma interrupted. "You haven't been behind one since you took up space in Erik's mind, and when the shield cut it off he felt you go dark."

Charles' eyes widened, "Oh dear."

The Baker, Erik she assumed, said in an amused voice, "Are you lamenting that I felt you go dark or that I was in a position to do so?"

"Probably should be the latter, but I'm afraid I can't quite bring myself to regret that."

Kwannon had a clear enough view of Charles that she could see the ridiculous smile that spread across his face at whatever the Baker was doing. Xavier moved out of her field of vision and toward the Baker was the last thing she saw before Frost sent her to sleep.

Charles had had quite enough for the day, and between Emma's tap dancing and Logan's glower he was safely swept away to Erik's apartment. Logan entrusted Charles to Erik's care with a strange blend of smirk and glower while he went out to make sure Kwannon had been acting alone. (Charles thought that under the circumstances Erik might've been insulted on behalf of his intelligence gathering, but being ordered to get Charles behind a locked door and not open it seemed to quell the offense.)

Erik ushered Charles straight into his shower (with superb water pressure that Charles suspected came from Erik's power) and refused all Charles' advances. Though 'refuse' might not be the best term for it. The moment the apartment door closed behind them Erik had picked Charles up (no powers involved) and pressed him down to the couch, draping his sturdy weight over Charles and gently kissing him, as though he wanted proof the other man was still with him.

Charles had stroked Erik's mind with gentle, reassuring fingers, drawing Erik closer to him in every way. After a few minutes of slow and steady kisses, that stayed the same pace no matter how much Charles pressed up against Erik, the Baker pulled back. Erik buried his face in Charles' neck and muttered, "You're going to kill me."

"Really? Because I'd assumed from the fact that we're both still clothed that you seem to be unaffected."

Erik snorted out a breathless laugh and slipped off Charles and held out a hand to help him to his feet. "You've just had a traumatic experience."

Charles made no move to sit up, instead arching his back and stretching his arms back behind his head. Erik's eye twitched and he leaned in half a breath towards Charles before he pulled back and snapped, "No, right now you're taking a shower, then I'm going to feed you, then you're going to bed."

Charles smirked at Erik for his attempt at willpower and all but slithered up, coming to his feet deep inside Erik's space. "I concede to both the shower and the eating, so long as you plan on joining me for both."

Erik actually had the gall to smirk at Charles before he hefted Charles up and tossed him over his shoulder. "You have half an hour before the pizza turns up. If you're not out by then I'm eating without you." Charles had just stared at Erik like this was not how Erik was supposed to be reacting. In retaliation Charles shimmied out of his cardigan and stripped off his shirt before Erik had the chance to leave the bathroom. Charles put his hands to his belt and stared Erik straight in the eyes while he started to unbuckle. Charles had been expecting Erik to flush at least and at most cave and join him in the shower.

Instead, Erik quirked an eyebrow and joined Charles' hands on that belt buckle, slowly stripping Charles of his last few layers of clothes and never breaking eye contact. When Erik finally had Charles standing naked before him, instead of touching, or kissing, or even taking an appreciative glance, Erik flicked his wrist and turned the shower on full blast and left Charles without a word.

By the time Charles was done with the shower he smelled like Erik's soap and was about ten seconds away from diving into the man's head and finding out just how long he intended to make Charles wait.

Charles tossed a towel low around his waist, not quite willing to roam through apartment room naked when there was a good chance Logan might be there waiting, and stormed out into the living room, only to stop in surprise. While Charles had been in the shower devising new and terrible ways to either get Erik into bed or make him wish he'd never been born, Erik had apparently been planning to comfort Charles about someone trying to kill him.

Erik, the beautiful bastard, had dug a meditation mat out of somewhere and had it spread out in the middle of a sea of candles, just waiting for Charles. Erik looked up a Charles' sputter of shock and a flare of panic flashed across his face, like he'd done something wrong. "Emma," Erik explained, "when things got rough Emma would pull out her candles and meditate. Since she never struck me as the type of person who would meditate of her own free will and choice I always assumed it was a telepath thing and not an Emma thing."

When Charles didn't reply Erik started putting candles out, "You don't have to, we can just move straight on to-"

"Erik Lehnsherr." Charles interrupted. "If you don't have sex with me right now, I will not be held responsible for my actions." Erik paused and looked around the room, like he'd only just realized that he'd basically laid out a bed for them and surrounded it with candles. In case Erik didn't quite get the memo, Charles dropped his towel and put his hands on his hips as if to say, 'I dare you to walk away. I dare you.'

Needless to day, Erik Lehnsherr was not one to back away from a dare.

XXXXX

Erik woke the next morning to the smell of tea and cake. Specifically a sponge cake. (And yes, he could smell the difference.)

He'd been hoping to wake up with Charles wrapped around him, just like he'd fallen asleep, and spend the morning doing what they'd been doing the night before, but apparently Charles had a different plan. Erik rolled out of bed and tossed on a pair of boxers before followed the smell of cake down the stairs to the back of the shop.

Charles was standing at the counter with a wide bowl in one hand and a whisk in the other, locked in a battle of wills with whipping cream. Erik sidled up behind him and wrapped his arms around Charles' trim waist to murmur, "I thought you were supposed to be a genius?"

"I studied genetics." Charles huffed.

"This is just chemistry." Erik smirked and plucked the bowl out of Charles' hands with his powers. Another bowl, deeper and narrower this time, came floating over and Erik transferred the cream to its new vessel while letting his hands trace the line of Charles' ribs. "You whip the cream to add air and make it thicken. Without the air, the cream stays flat."

"Ah," Charles leaned back against Erik's chest, "that's why you got the deeper bowl, so your whisk would have more surface area."

Erik slowly slid his hands up Charles' front, dragging the shirt along with his palms, "Well, you know how I feel about surface area."

Charles paused for a moment then started to giggle. "Really? Did you honestly just try and use 'surface area' as innuendo?"

Erik reached one hand under Charles' shirt and stroked the smooth skin of his belly, "I seem to recall you screaming about how much you liked the size of my hands last night."

"No, I'm fairly certain I was screaming about the size other parts of you." Charles smirked.

Erik hmm-ed and nibbled along Charles' neck, finding that spot at the base of his throat that made Charles arch his back and offer up his throat in pleasure. Erik smiled and slowly started to work Charles' shirt up so he could tug it off.

But contrary to Erik's plan, the oven timer went off before he could begin disrobing Charles. Despite the fact that Erik could've handled the oven with his powers and done so without leaving his spot plastered to Charles' back, Charles popped up and darted over to the oven, leaving Erik behind.

Charles grabbed a hot pad and pulled the cake out of the oven, turning around to see Erik with his hands on his hips and an expression on his face that demanded, 'are you kidding me'? Charles just grinned, "I thought it might be nice if someone made you cake for a change. And you did save my life after all, you deserve some gratitude."

"Actually, I'd prefer you display your gratitude in the way you were just doing."

Charles smirked, "You mean standing passively while you feel me up?"

Erik put the cake on the counter with his power and wrapped his arms back around Charles, "As a preliminary. I prefer your gratitude to come from all that writhing you do when when you're trying to come."

Charles went up to his tip-toes and pressed a gentle kiss to Erik's lips before pulling back with a smile, "After cake."

Erik snorted and set the cake pan spinning with his gift. "What are you doing?" Charles asked.

"Rapid cooling."

Charles just laughed at Erik's impatience and went back to the steady kisses while the cake cooled, more than a little impressed with Erik's ability to make out with Charles while still operating his powers. After several minutes Erik pulled back from the kiss and murmured, "Your cake is done."

"Lovely!" Charles pulled away again, but Erik didn't let him get far, his front to Charles' back while he leaned his chin against Charles' temple and watched him finish the cake, all with no kinetic interference. Charles removed the tall cake from its pan and sliced it into three even layers. Charles bent over at a delightful angle to try and get the layers even, and if Erik gave the occasional nudge with his powers to ensure perfection, Charles didn't mind.

Erik pulled out the jam and slid over the bowl of whipping cream and watched Charles slather both in between the layers of cake. Erik pressed a gentle kiss to Charles' neck while he pulled down forks and plate. However, instead of the posh plates Erik had been expecting Charles to serve, the man turned his fork on the whole cake.

Charles held out a thick forkful of the cake and Erik stretched his lips took the bite in the most obscene way he could. Erik hmm-ed at the pleasant taste and Charles pressed a soft kiss to his lips before he murmured, "I think that's enough cake don't you?"

Erik pushed the cake gently out of the way and leaned Charles back against the table while he groaned, "Absolutely, yes."

XRBB Fic | With Abandon | Part 1/2

sunryder — Sun, 08 Jul 2012 18:49:02 GMT

Title: With Abandon
X-Men Verse: XMFC AU
Characters/Pairings: Erik/Charles, Raven, Logan, Emma, Kitty,
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~11,000
Warnings: AU, some mild Raven bashing

Summary:

The best part about Charles' favorite bakery isn't the location, and it isn't the lovely smell, or even the Earl Grey cupcakes. It's the Baker.

Erik Lehnsherr is a beautiful specimen of a man, particularly when his fussing over Charles takes the form of pastry.

Such a pity Charles doesn't know Erik is an assassin.

Notes: I am so excited about this! xsilverdreamsx put out a fan mix prompt for the xmenreversebang and I fell in love. I re-wrote this story half a dozen times in an attempt to get it to make it as fun as the mix, and I hope I pulled it off.

Go HERE and make the fuss of all fusses over her art and HERE to listen to the mix! They really inspired me!

Part 1 | Part 2

“Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”
- Julia Child

Charles grabbed Logan by the burly arm and hauled him over to a glass case of waiting pastries, not caring at all that Xavier, with his perfectly coiffed hair and slightly oversized cardigan, and Wolverine, with his cigar and broad chest of plaid, looked positively ridiculous together. An absurdity only compounded by the fact they were touring a bakery. "Look at this, Logan! It's an earl grey cupcake with an ermine milk frosting, doesn't that sound lovely? Like breakfast in a pastry."

Logan squinted down at the cupcake and sniffed in displeasure, "What in the hell is an 'ermine milk'?"

Charles cocked his head to the side, "You know, I actually don't know. But it looks lovely."

Logan snorted which, when he wasn't deriding Charles' common sense, was really as communicative as Logan ever got. Sometimes Charles suspected that Emma had assigned Logan to be Charles' bodyguard out of the vain and desperate hope that he might accidentally teach Charles the benefits of stoicism. A ridiculous thought on Emma's part, but still, Charles rather enjoyed Logan's company so he wasn't complaining. Logan's impressive ability to heal meant that his body was almost constantly regenerating itself, preventing Charles from getting a clear read on the man's thoughts. Charles enjoyed the freedom that came from not having to police his gifts, and when he wasn't thinking rather pointedly that Charles was a gullible idiot, Logan was surprisingly fond of Charles in return.

"I must say," Charles wondered, "given Raven's predilection for things based in vegetables, I was surprised that she recommended a bakery at all, let alone one that seems to rely so heavily on white flour and processed sugar."

"She didn't send you here for the food, Charlie." Logan grunted.

Charles looked up from his favorite chocolate cake (a solid block of cake filled with caramel and sweetened condensed milk then topped with a thick whipping cream) and asked, "Why else would she be so determined that I should come here?"

Logan rolled his eyes (his go to expression when he didn't understand how a telepath could be quite so naive) and nodded at the narrow archway leading to the back room of the shop where the actual baking occurred.

Charles shuffled over to have a clearer view of the room in question, not blessed with Logan's height. If asked, Charles could've said that everything in that room was metal, from the ovens, to the unlabeled storage containers, to the long counters impeccably kept, free of stray spills or traces of flour. However, it was only a lifetime of pretending he was listening to what a person was saying rather than what they were thinking that would've let Charles disguise the fact he wasn't really paying attention to any of that, he was staring at the baker.

The man was, well, the first word that popped into Charles' head was 'delicious'. (A pun for which he blamed his natural preference for conceptual symmetry.)

The Baker was tall and broad shouldered, with a rather ragged pair of jeans clinging to the narrow lines of his hips and his strong thighs. The man was hand-whipping eggs on a strange rhythm, and Charles noticed the iPod tucked in the Baker's back pocket, a white cord running up under his tank top where it was safely out of the way. Charles determinedly didn't stare at the way the Baker's muscles flexed while he worked, or how a streak of flour had somehow found its way across the Baker's cheekbone, highlighting the sharp features and making him look almost feral despite the domestic setting. The Baker looked utterly at peace, measuring and stirring with a zen sort of focus while he bobbed along to the music only he could hear.

Logan smacked Charles on the back of the head, a sign that he had been staring too long. Charles blushed and twisted back to the utilitarian display case and found Logan already waiting at the counter with Charles' cupcake and a smirk. Charles cleared his throat and stuck out his chin like he wasn't mortified at all, and strode up to the counter. "Aren't you going to get something, Logan? I saw a beer and bacon cupcake over there."

The brown-haired girl behind the counter just grinned, "It's cool, Professor. Everyone has that reaction to Erik while he's baking."

"That is a small sort of comfort I suppose." Charles smiled, always pleased when someone called him Professor rather than whatever codename the PR department was spinning this week.

"I mean," the girl continued, "he's got that whole dark and broody thing going on, but he bakes. It's impossible to refuse." Charles could feel the girl's bald sincerity, so solely concerned with making Charles smile that he could ignore that she was talking about him like he was a teenager nursing a crush on the captain of the rugby team rather than the unofficial head of a country.

The girl all but shoved the cupcake and it's rather battered plate to Charles, "Here you go!"

Logan quirked his eyebrow in amusement and Charles assumed that Logan had asked for the cupcake to go since they were already running late and the girl had the counter was willfully ignoring that request.

Charles just smiled genially, "Thank you, my dear."

"Kitty," she grinned, "I'm Kitty. Well, Shadowcat, but… yeah, Kitty."

Charles kept his smile in place, "And I'm Charles. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too." Kitty's smile was blinding, and despite the scolding he would no doubt get from the other members of the Triumvirate for being late yet again, Charles took a seat at one of the small tables beside the window... then shifted to a different seat when Logan gave him the same bemused look he always did when Charles forgot that he was the leader of a country, not a professor, and somewhere out there were people who'd like him dead.

Charles sunk his fork straight through the plump frosting and to the moist cake, taking an obscenely large bite, only to moan when it hit his tongue. Kitty giggled at such a sound coming from the typically posh Professor, and Logan very pointedly thought that they needed to get Charles laid if that was the sort of reaction he had to cake.

Charles thought peevishly back to him about the blissed out expression that Logan had had just moments before when he'd spiked his black coffee with the flask he kept in his pocket, but Logan remained uncowed since he'd long ago lost his ability to be embarrassed while Charles still had his propriety fully intact.

They were both too consumed with their own guilty pleasures and mental snarking to notice the way Kitty ducked through the back door and lobbed something at the Baker's head, frantically waiving him out front when he glowered at her for interrupting his work.

Charles took another bite, humming in pleasure and slowly dragging his lips along the fork to seize every last morsel, when he was interrupted by a pulse of pure shock tinged with no small amount of lust. Charles looked to the door, and there was the Baker, staring at Charles with cheeks flushed and lips parted, and Charles couldn't quite help some lust of his own.

Charles swallowed his bite and licked his lips clean, buying himself time before saying, "Hello." The Baker just kept staring, so Charles stumbled to his feet and took the few steps to the counter, "Your food is delicious."

Not quite sure he wanted to know what would be in the psychic echoes that came from the skin to skin contact of shaking hands,Charles instead pressed his hand to his chest and said, "I'm Charles."

"I-I know who you are." The man replied, with no definitive emotion to the statement.

"Ah, yes… well," Charles stumbled out uncomfortably, only to be interrupted with, "I'm Erik."

Charles smiled brightly, "Hello, Erik. And the cupcake is truly delicious. Actually, everything here looks delicious."

Erik's slightly dumbfounded expression turned pleased, "I'm glad you think so." They both paused, that awkward moment when you're trying to come up with something new to say and Erik continued, "Especially since you've got the earl grey cupcake, usually people have objections to that."

"Good heavens, why?"

"It's tea." Erik shrugged.

"And what's wrong with tea?" Charles asked, affronted on behalf of the cupcake.

"It's generally not considered suitable cupcake material." Erik teased, relaxing the more he got Charles to talk.

"Then they're fools. What reason would you have for baking something if it's not suitable?"

Erik cocked his head to the side, mentally measuring something before he replied, "My mother."

Charles felt the shock from Kitty, like she'd seen Erik have this same conversation before and yet this was a wholly new response. Charles leaned up against the counter with a questioning look in his eyes and Erik continued, "My mother loves tea, but I can't brew her a cup to save my life. So, rather than continuing to destroy kettles, I started putting tea in other things for her."

"Would your mother happen to be British?" Charles grinned.

Erik smiled, "Nein. Meine Mutter ist Deutsch."

Charles pursed his lips, general cognates and enough time with foreign dignitaries letting him parse out that Erik's mother was German before he replied, (in truly horrible German), "Und, vows etes Deutsch?"

Erik furrowed his brow, obviously trying to translate before realization passed over his face and he started to laugh. (Charles felt the obvious shock from Kitty, but far more subtle, and curious, was the surprise from Logan. Charles filed that away to think on later.) Between laughs Erik stumbled out, "Most of that sentence was French, Charles."

Charles blushed crimson and groaned, "Well, that was… mortifying." Charles meant it. One never liked to humiliate themselves in front of a handsome man who sounded positively devilish in his own language; but the sound of Erik's laughter coupled with the genuine amusement rather than scorn that Charles could feel dripping off his mind was enough to dull the embarrassment.

"And on that horrible note, I really should be going. It was a pleasure to meet you Erik, despite the butchering of your native tongue." Charles stretched out his hand, ignoring the slight tremble to it, and ignoring the way Erik's shirt tugged tight across his chest while he wiped his hands along his torso to remove any flour before he took Charles' hand in reply.

"The pleasure was all mine, Charles. I assure you."

Emma stormed into the bakery and forcibly implanted in Kitty's mind the suggestion that Erik had sent her away for the night. The girl tossed on her jacket and called out, "Night Erik!" before she left, not seeing an enraged Emma Frost, Chief of Genosha's Security Force at all. Erik poked his head around the door and rolled his eyes, "You know Emma, I do actually need Kitty to get her work done."

"You employ Kitty because you hate talking to people." Emma paused, "Though I suppose after today that should be in the past tense."

Erik quirked an eyebrow being deliberately obtuse, "Are you firing Kitty?"

Emma hissed, "Charles was smiling, Erik"

"Oh, how terrible." Erik snarked, reading back into his kitchen.

"Don't you sass me, Erik Lehnsherr! He's the leader of the whole damn mutant world and you've been flirting!" Emma shouted, following him.

"Of course I've been flirting, have you seen him!"

"Of course I've seen him! Have you taken complete leave of your senses!"

"What's wrong with a little harmless flirting?"

"Harmless flirting! Charles Francis Xavier, head of the Genoshan government, face of the mutant movement, and quite probably the most powerful mutant in the world was smiling!"

Erik slammed some bread dough in a pan, "You shouting it over and over again isn't going to make me understand why Charles being in a good mood is a bad thing."

"Xavier is never in a bad mood, but when a stressed, overworked Charles Xavier is in an effortlessly good mood, not at all pained by the fact that we're making him lead a country rather than teach, then people notice!"

"So what if they notice he's happy?"

Emma transformed her hand into diamond and slammed it down on the table, forcing Erik's attention to her with a jarring clang. "You came to Genosha as a last line of defense against the assassins who are gunning for Xavier. You set up your little shop because you thought no one would suspect the stoic baker of being our own special breed of security. And now you're throwing the plan out the window and calling all the attention to you that you were supposed to avoid."

Erik turned back to his baking and asked, "Tell me, Emma. What about 'stoic baker hitting on the hero of the mutant' species screams 'secret security' to you?" Emma glowered in reply and Erik smirked, "Exactly."

Emma moved before Erik could react, wrapping her diamond hands around his throat and slamming Erik against the wall, "Erik, are you flirting with Charles as part of your assignment?" She hissed.

"You've done worse." Erik grated out.

"Not to Charles."

"Didn't you think he was just a pretty face?"

"That was until I had a conversation with him." Emma pressed harder against Erik, "Lehnsherr, are you seducing him as part of your assignment?"

"And if I am?"

Emma had taught Erik to shield his mind herself -- he was too dynamic, too important to the mutant cause to let him run around with his mind open to any passing telepath -- and being the one to teach Erik to construct those shields meant that Emma knew the back door. Other telepaths would try to force down Erik's walls (sheer stupidity when dealing with a man as stubborn as Erik), but Emma knew to wriggle through the cracks, the flaws in construction that always came with sheer, brute strength. Erik knew she was sneaking and tossed up mental shields and traps to throw her out of his mind, but moving like an arrow Emma found her way to the clear, glowing thoughts of Charles that were wrapped around Erik's core like a quilt, warming his soul with comfort where just this morning there was nothing but the steadily burning fire of rage.

Back in her physical body Emma felt the pressure of Erik's metal cracking into her diamond, more than able to permanently damage to her, and Emma retreated. She dropped Erik and pulled back in shock, "You're… how is that even… you. hate. everything."

Erik forced her back and shouted, "I don't know!"

Emma was still too shocked to process properly and just kept rambling, "You like him. Not even 'like' in the way you like Logan because he's ruthless and strong. You like Charles warm, and soft-"

"Yes, Emma! I've got it!" Erik snapped.

The reality of the moment crashed down on Emma and she started to giggle, "You're in love the Professor."

Erik just stared at her, not sure whether being outed so quickly after developing the feeling was more mortifying than the sound of Emma actually giggling like a woman. "It's really not that funny."

"You're Magneto!" Emma shouted with a laugh. "You're the secret leader of the mutant rebellion! Half of the world's governments think Genosha made you up to be our own version of Robin Hood! And you've fallen in love at first sight with the leader of Genosha." Emma's hands flew to her mouth as she gasped at whole.other thought, "I beg of you Erik, let be there when you tell the PR department, they'll expire from joy."

Erik backed away, mildly terrified, "Why in the hell would they be happy about it? I'm wanted for dead in half a dozen countries and the rest want me in prison to experiment on me."

Emma cooed and patted Erik on the cheek, "Oh, you idiot. You're Genosha's two founding fathers and you're smitten. This is a goldmine. They'll make movies about it."

Erik collapsed against the table and groaned, "I hate you. And I'm not in love."

Emma ran her fingers through Erik's hair, "Sure you're not, babe."

A long day at the office, followed by dinner with the Wakandan Ambassador/Prince, followed by sleeping through his alarm and an early morning meeting meant that Charles didn't make it to his new favorite bakery for breakfast like he'd planned. However, he was determined to seize control of his day and take an extra long lunch filled with sugar and Erik's smiles that didn't seem to know whether they wanted to be baffled or charming.

Idle thoughts about that smile were precisely what distracted Charles from the arrival of Raven.

Charles still dearly loved his sister, but in the short year since they'd both risen to the top of the Genoshan government it had become more and more difficult to put aside their philosophical differences.

Raven, or Mystique as she insisted on being called, was an ardent believer in mutant superiority, which collided rather publicly with Charles' policy of tolerance and integration. Raven had moved beyond agreeing to disagree with him and had become rather vocal in her derision for Charles' platform, despite the fact she still showed up at his office without announcing herself and behaved as though the speeches she gave calling Charles 'naive' and 'foolish' wouldn't change their relationship. Raven was new to her spot in the Genoshan executive branch (a leadership of three mutants known colloquially as the Triumvirate), and Charles knew she was just trying to cement her spot and secure a future election by playing to the fears of those who found Charles too tolerant.

(In the few years since Genosha had won its independence Charles was the only politician to retain their seat through all the elections. One of the seats seemed to pass back and forth between Scott Summers and Ororo Monroe like a game of catch, while the third seat was up for grabs every election season.) Charles knew his sister, knew she was cunning and would do almost anything to achieve her goals, and he had to admit it that trying to divide the electorate was a rather clever plan. It didn't make the matter less painful though.

"Hello, Raven." Charles smiled when Raven burst through his door without knocking, Charles' poor, frazzled secretary stumbling along behind her, trying to give Erik some notice of arrival. Charles gave the girl a gentle mental pat for the effort and smiled at Raven, "How are you doing this morning?"

Raven dropped down in the chair across Charles' desk, kicking her feet up on Charles' the smooth surface and completely ignoring Logan slouched in the corner. (At the beginning Raven had flirted profusely with Logan, trying to get a rise out of the man. Charles did not want to know what sort of violence had happened between them to make that stop.)

"Splendid, Charles. Just splendid."

Charles put down his paperwork and quirked an eyebrow, "I don't think I've ever heard you use 'splendid' before, dear. I assume something of particular brilliance happened this morning?"

"Absolute, delicious, brilliance."

Charles Francis Xavier was not considered a genius for nothing. 'Delicious' sent his mind straight to earl grey cupcakes, to Erik's forearms, to Charles' instinctual and inappropriate reaction to the mere sight of Erik, to knocking politely on Logan's mind and asking whether or not Raven smelled like Erik's bakery. Logan gave a mental grunt in the affirmative, and before Charles could turn on his filter he shouted, "You sent me to that bakery to scope out whether or not the baker was secretly a creeper?"

Raven narrowed her eyes and dropped her feet to the floor, "Did you read my mind?"

"I got a nose, kid." Logan interrupted.

Raven huffed, embarrassed she had jumped to the wrong conclusion but unwilling to apologize, "You are the best creeper detector, Charles."

"You didn't think perhaps that might be the sort of information I should be aware of before you send me into an establishment?"

"He wasn't going to do anything to you." Raven scoffed. "Today is the first day I've even seen him come out of the back."

Charles quirked an eyebrow in interest, then leaned back in his chair when Logan sent him a very pointed thought about playing it cool. "So you've never talked to the man?"

"Of course not. I'm a highly respected member of the community, I can't hit on the guy until I know he's not a creeper."

"Raven, you're naked."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I thought that high standing members of the community were supposed to wear pants."

Raven rolled her eyes at him as though there was some important detail that he'd missed and went for the door. "Thanks for scoping him out Charles, I appreciate it!"

Charles sat there in dumbfounded silence for a moment before he dropped his head to the table.

"Huh." Logan grunted.

"Shut up." Charles moaned. "Shouldn't you have been able to tell that she wanted me to determine whether or not he was datable material?"

"And how would I be able to tell that?"

"I don't know, smell or something?"

"You remember that you're a telepath, right? You can pick that stuff out of her head."

"She's my sister!"

"Hey Charlie, all's fair in love and war, or some shit like that."

Charles popped up from the table, "Are you honestly telling me to hit on the man my sister fancies?"

Logan shrugged, "Why not."

Charles stared at him like he was insane, "Because my sister fancies him."

Logan raked his fingers through his hair like he couldn't even believe he was participating in this conversation. "Charlie, I want my cupcake."

Charles furrowed, "You want… your cupcake?"

"Yup. So, are you gonna sit in your office for lunch, or are you coming with me while I get my cupcake?"

Charles hesitated and Logan continued, "Though if you stay here and your baker boy asks me about why you didn't come with me, I will have to tell him that you've passed him off to your sister, who he's never talked to."

"Well," Charles hesitated, "If you're going anyway."

Logan tossed his hands in the air and stormed for the door with Charles scampering along behind him. Considering the sensation of flabbergasted irritation streaming off Logan at why Charles wasn't just fighting for what he wanted rather than rolling over, Charles decided now was not the time to idly ramble like he usually did with Logan.

The walk to the bakery was quick at Logan's pace, and the moment they stepped through the Kitty sighed in gratitude, "Oh I'm so glad you're here. When you didn't turn up for breakfast he started getting-"

"Kitty, I need more eggs!"

"Irritable." She gave Charles a sympathetic smile before shouting, "Erik! You've got company!"

Something smacked down on the counter in the back and Erik grumbled loudly enough that Charles could hear him clear from the door. "You know I don't-" Erik stepped around the door and stopped as he just stared at Charles, "Oh. You're here."

Charles gave a small smile, "Yes, I'm afraid I slept through my alarm this morning and work demanded my presence."

"Late night?" Erik asked, trying to sound relaxed.

Charles relaxed at the Erik's attempts to thwart his pings of jealousy, "A meeting with Wakandan Ambassador. He's an interesting man, though I feel like not unlike a third wheel when I'm at a meeting with him and with Ororo."

"They're, uh…" Erik trailed off and pulled a face in place of whatever euphemism he was looking for.

"Yes, I feel quite the cross between older brother and Regency era chaperone when they're together."

Erik laughed, the last of the tension finally leaving him. "Regency era chaperone? Charles, what have you been reading?"

"Nothing scandalous my friend, I assure you. It does no good to not to think about such things if Emma and her spies can find them in hard copy anyway."

Erik grimaced, "She does have a gift for rooting though people's privacy."

Charles stepped close, "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"

Erik shrugged it off, "I doubt there's a mutant on the island who hasn't had a run in of some kind with Miss Frost."

Charles laughed, "'Run in' yes, that's probably the most polite way to put it. I do adore Emma, but she's got a gift for finding the cracks in a man's mind."

"The stories say you're more powerful than she is."

Charles shrugged and gave his standard response, "Who determines what 'power' is." Erik gave Charles an indulgent smile like he didn't believe a word of it and Charles replied, "No, it's true. Is it just sheer brute strength, or does defense play into it? I may have greater reach, but Emma won't ever get shot. And I may go deeper than Emma, but you have to admit, people would be more likely to give up their information to a woman who looks like her than a man who looks like me."

"I highly doubt that." Erik grinned.

Charles didn't realize it, but while he'd been talking to Erik he'd slowly been working his way forward to the counter, where Erik was quietly reeling him in with his wicked smile. Charles thunked up against the counter and looked down to notice that he'd crossed the room unawares, and the multiplicity of possible meanings to his little explanation suddenly hit him. He looked up at Erik with a blush and Erik's smile turned from charming to triumphant. Without looking away from Charles Erik announced, "Take lunch, Kitty."

"But Erik-"

"Take. Lunch."

"Right. You wanna go get a burger, Wolverine?"

Logan grunted something unintelligible and stepped straight around the counter and into Erik's space, a hair's breadth between them while the two men glowered at one another. Charles felt vaguely like he was watching a nature documentary about wolves and whatever alpha male communication they do instead of telepathy. Finally Logan took an obnoxiously long sniff at Erik's neck and pulled back with a smirk. Logan smacked Charles on the shoulder, "Have fun Charlie." before he followed Kitty out the door.

Erik flicked his wrist and the door locked behind them. Charles quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Telekinesis?"

"Of a sort."

"Well that's delightfully vague."

Erik leaned forward, "Trust me Charles, vague is not my intent." Erik stretched out his hand, "Come sit with me. I'll feed you cake."

Charles reached out, but he paused, his hand floating in the air above Erik's while he brushed past Erik's mind, looking for any hint of Raven.

Erik quirked an eyebrow and said, "It would probably be more efficient if you asked."

Charles had the grace to flush in apology, "I'm sorry, it's just, is there anyone else? Anyone else you have, or intend to have, taken in back for cake?"

Erik leaned a little closer to make sure Charles understood, "Kitty hasn't even been back here, Charles. I tend to avoid people."

Charles felt the truth of the statement and dropped his hand into Erik's, letting himself be dragged around the counter.

Erik thought that perhaps he might have a streak of sadism he hadn't known about.

Really, what else could be the reason for specially making Charles a red velvet cake to stain his already plump lips while Charles worked at that fork like he intended to swallow it whole. Erik silently thanked Emma for relentless training in mental shields, although he didn't think she'd meant for him to use it this way. Erik worked on frosting cupcakes for the afternoon rush while he pointedly didn't look at Charles' mouth.

Charles hmm-ed again at what Erik hoped was the last of his particularly delicious bites, then full on groaned as a test of Erik's will. Erik twitched at the noise, accidentally driving the tip of his pastry bag straight into a waiting cupcake. Erik paused, willing himself not to curse and draw attention to himself, but Charles' snickers gave the game away.

Slowly and deliberately Erik set down the pastry bag and turned to Charles with a bland expression. "You've been doing that on purpose."

"No," Charles snorted, "I always make pornographic sounds when I'm eating." Erik glowered at him and Charles smiled, "Oh come now, you were ignoring me for frosting, what would you have me do?"

Erik tipped his head in concession and flicked his fingers, ripping Charles' plate and fork out of his hands. "Hey, I wasn't finished with that." Charles had followed the plate with his eyes, and so was unprepared when Erik sunk a hand into his hair and pulled Charles' lips to his.

Erik's kiss was fierce, taking advantage of Charles' shock to seize control of the kiss and bend Charles back, spine to the table, and tease open Charles' lips. Contrary to popular belief, Charles was not a wilting flower and came quickly back, pressing himself along Erik's front and kicking a leg around Erik's thigh to tug him off balance and bring Erik's bulk down on him.

Erik smiled into Charles' mouth and ran a possessive hand down Charles' ribs and under his bum, lifting Charles to the table for better access. Erik settled between Charles' spread thighs and in a fit of restraint eased up on the kiss, gentling his lips so the kiss had some finesse. Charles seemed to catch the meaning and unclenched his hands from their stranglehold on Erik's shirt and started to run them up and down Erik's chest in a move he supposed was meant to be soothing rather than the painfully arousing it actually was.

Charles ever so slowly started to lean back, his gentle kisses pulling Erik with him so Erik was braced over Charles on a kitchen table before Erik even registered that he'd moved. "No, no, no, we can't."

Charles wove his fingers through Erik's hair and pressed a gentle, teasing kiss to Erik's mouth before he leaned back, all mussed hair and smiling with kiss-bruised lips still stained with Erik's red velvet. Charles didn't say a word, fully aware that he didn't have to when Erik lunged forward and started devouring him again.

They went on for a few more kisses before Erik scrambled back off the table and Charles huffed, "Why are we stopping?"

"Because Logan will gut me if I take you on a table."

Charles shifted, more lounging back than actual sitting and 'hmm-ed' in supposed thought for a moment while he ran two fingertips along his own collarbone, dragging open his shirt. He looked up at Erik through wide, half-lidded eyes, the picture of debauchment, and asked, "Does that mean we're finding a bed?"

Erik grabbed Charles by the thighs and pulled him to the edge of the table while he muttered, "How in the hell do you make everyone think you're the perfect little untouched academic?"

Charles chuckled and planted a solid kiss on Erik before he pulled back to mutter, hot breath in Erik's ear, "Because the good people of Genosha don't like to touch me."

Erik groaned the lunged for Charles again, embracing a few more seconds of frantic kissing before a forceful pound hit the front door. Erik pulled back, burying his face in Charles' neck and groaning, "It's Logan."

Charles nuzzled Erik's temple and muttered, "I'll take care of that."

"How?"

"I'm perfectly capable of making Logan think he's a fiver year old girl until I've finished with you."

Erik smiled into the hollow of Charles' throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there and making Charles squirm before he replied, "And when people figure out that your chief of security has lost his mind everyone else will join him."

Charles groaned, knowing that Erik was right. "We could be quick about it."

Erik raised his head and gave Charles a slow, chaste kiss. "No, when I have you it's going to on a bed, and without half the country waiting at the door."

Part 2

Art: Sleep of Angels - Batman Beyond/Veronica Mars/Eastern Promises

sunryder — Sun, 24 Jun 2012 04:43:32 GMT

Here is the art for Sleep of Angels windfallswe's latest addition to the Woods and Waters Wild Series.

The story is HERE on A03, and really, you guys should go read it, it's AMAZING. The merging of these fandoms seems completely impossible, and yet, it's my new addiction.

I did a cover a few page breaks, and the art is all HERE!

Art - NAME - Trek Reverse Bang

sunryder — Wed, 20 Jun 2012 16:09:35 GMT

I participated in the Trek Reverse Bang this year, and here's my art for it! The lovely kenshincha wrote a story for me HERE, and the art that inspired the story is under the cut.

Fic - Fate Protects Fools 4/4

sunryder — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 17:24:09 GMT

Title: Fate Protects Fools (Small Children, and Ships Named Valor)
Author: sunryder
Artist: pyalgroundblz
Crossover: NCIS/Hawaii 5-0 fused with Star Trek
Type: Slash
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 21042
Characters/Pairings: Tony/Gibbs, Steve/Danny, Ducky, Abby, Tim, Jenny, Cait, Ziva, Morrow, Chin, Kono, Gracie, Jameson, Joe, Kamekona, Max
Warnings: I don't particularly like Jenny
Spoilers: None
Summary: The Federation Starship Valor was one of the crowning jewels of the Fleet. Her Tactical Chief was a Bajoran with a penchant for blowing things up and asking questions later, her Security Chief was a human who'd followed his daughter halfway across the galaxy and now was relegated to serving drinks in Ten Forward, her newest officer was a Trill with a bright smile who teased the Captain far too much, and her Captain... well let's just say Gibbs wasn't a happy man.
Author’s Notes: A thousand thanks to ellie_pierson for being my beta, and loving the story even when I decided I didn't like it anymore, which brought me back to the writing. And to beautiful, beautiful, pyalgroundblz who's art powered me through the last week of editing and is better than the fic itself.

Remember the art is HERE
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Gibbs strode down the hall to the Operations center where Jenny would be working this time of day, and he was so wrapped up in getting there it took him several minutes to notice that the computer panels were beeping at him as he went past. When one finally hooted at him, not in the regular tone but in one of the loud songs Abby always played in her lab, Gibbs stopped and started at the flashing panel that demanded his attention. Gibbs tapped the screen and quickly took in the information scrolling past that Abby must have tracked down in the few minutes Gibbs had been away from the lab. According to the information Abby had easily found a money trail that proved Jenny was getting payments from a third party.

Gibbs stepped into the Operations offices, and all the Operations crewmen took one look at him and found reasons to be someplace else. Jenny however, remained in her seat and raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow at Gibbs and said, "I thought you said you were looking to avoid drama, Jethro?"

Gibbs shrugged, "I'd say it's less dramatic that your people know to get out of the way instead of sitting around to watch."

Jenny snorted, "Then at least you think me capable of something."

"According to my intelligence you're capable of lots of things."

Jen snorted, "And what is that?"

Gibbs sat down in the chair across from her desk and casually leaned back before saying, "That you're planning on ruining our meet with the Klingons."

Jenny sputtered, "What? Why in the hell would I do that?"

"Because you hate the Klingons and because you're getting paid."

Jen just stared at Gibbs like she didn't understand the words he was using, before she shouted, "Jethro Gibbs, you think I'm on the take?"

"Nope."

"…but you said..."

"It was easy to find your payoffs."

"I'm not getting any payoffs!"

"I know. You would do a better job of hiding the money if you were on the take."

"Then why in the hell did you come here accusing me of working for the Romulans?"

Gibbs shrugged, "Because there's a mountain of evidence against you, and if I'm going to say it wasn't you I need to say I actually talked to you about it."

Gibbs left Jenny gaping and went back to Abby's lab. Gibbs walked in the door and demanded, "Pull up the list again, Jen didn't do it."

Steve tossed his hands in the air, frustrated with Gibbs and demanded, "All the evidence leads to her, Gibbs! She's got payoffs in her damn bank account!"

Gibbs stepped into Steve's space, the two of them squaring off in the relentless, alpha male way that they preferred. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that Jenny would be stupid enough to get payments from Romulans to her own bank account? Don't you think she'd be more clever about it than that?"

"I'd also assume that Shepard wouldn't be selling us out to the Romulans. But the evidence says she does."

"No, the evidence says someone wants us to think she does, but they didn't do a very good job of it."

"Abs," Tony interrupted, "Where's the ambassador?"

"That what?"

"I'm looking at these lists and somewhere on here there should be an ambassador, or a negotiator, or someone who can make nice with the Klingons." Tony pointed to the top of the three complete crew manifests, where the highest ranking officers were located, "But I don't recognize any of these names as official negotiators."

Steve asked, "Aren't the negotiations just going to be done by the Captains?"

Danny snorted, "No, the Fleet may like their captains but they don't trust them with this sort of thing. It's too big. If it goes wrong, you don't want the rest of the Federation wondering why in the hell they trusted a Captain and if it goes right, then it's made the Captain's whole career."

Gibbs stepped up to the screen, wheels turning and waived at Danny to scroll through the lists down to the civilians at the bottom of each column. "You think they contracted it out?" Danny asked.

"Nope, but I thought we should check before we start demanding the information."

When none of the civilians listed were negotiators either Tony said, "So, somewhere on the Amsterdam or the Honolulu we've got a negotiator who's flying under the radar, who's actually going to throw the whole summit."

Gibbs hmm-ed, then snapped, "Danny."

Considering Danny wasn't officially part of Security or even one of Gibbs' officers Tony didn't quite know how the man knew what Gibbs was looking for, but Danny replied, "Pull up a list of the Federation's approved negotiators and track each one of them down."

"McGarrett."

"Get in contact with people I trust on the Amsterdam and the Honolulu and see if they can tell me who they're hiding."

"Tony."

"Figure a way to get a Federation Ambassador kicked out of their own negotiations."

"I want proof that they planned on selling us out." Gibbs added.

Tony snorted, "Proof that they intended to blow the peace talks without actually causing a war? I'll get right on that."

Gibbs strode out of the room and waived the other two off, giving Steve a glare that meant he should follow his captain. Gibbs waited until they stepped into the turbolift before he slammed the emergency stop button and asked, "You wanna tell me why you panicked in there?"

"I didn't panic." Steve denied.

"You stopped breathing when we turned to the ambassador. You only do that when you're trying to keep yourself from going in to fight mode."

"I've got a hunch Sir, but I'd like to run it down before I talk about it."

Gibbs gave Steve a long, hard look like he was deciding whether or not to just space Steve and be done with it before he said, "I'm not a stupid man, McGarrett."

Steve snorted, "No shit, Sir."

"My lack of stupidity means that I know that if we survive this whole damn thing, then I'm going to be in a position to ask for whatever I want from Command. Now, either you can keep skirting the fine line between protecting Intelligence and protecting the Valor, or you can finally figure out who it is you're working for."

"Sir-"

"I've seen the way you look at Danny." Steve swallowed his own tongue and didn't quite have a response to that. "I see the way you play with his kid, and the way you grin when Danny starts to yell at you, and when you're about to go off the edge Danny's the only guy who can bring you back."

"I assume there's a point to this, Sir?"

"The Admiralty has made it painfully clear that they want my formalized command staff the moment this mission ends, and I want you for my permanent Tactical Chief, with direct control over Security and Intelligence." Steve just started at him in disbelief. "I know the moment this is handled Intelligence intends to take you back and set you on something else, but if I ask for you after paving the path to peace with Klingons, then Command will tell Intelligence to go away. The choice is yours, Steve. Are you going to hide our suspect because those are your orders, or are you going to save the day and get what you finally want?"

XXXXX

Steve turned to face the fully-assembled room of Command staff, and people he assumed Gibbs intended to become his Command staff when this was all over. "Our suspect's name is Joe White." Joe's image flashed up on the screen, bald, confident, and in the straight black of a high-ranking Intelligence uniform. "He's an Intelligence Admiral, one of the best at running black ops. He served as an attaché to the Klingons in the Dominion War, and he's on the Honolulu coming in for the meet."

Danny crossed his arms and huffed, "And how do we know him, Steve?"

"I can't tell you that, Danny."

"Screw that, Steven!" Danny launched forward in his seat and started to hammer away at the air with his hand gestures, "We've got a damn spy coming and all you can say is, 'I can't tell you'?"

Gibbs smacked Danny on the back of the head, pulling him back from the full scale rant he was about to fall into. "If Steve tells you he gets shot and dumped in a melting pit, Williams. Move on."

Danny snorted his disgust with that, but kept his mouth shut so Steve could explain. "He's the one who tipped me off to the potential spy in the first place. So when I contacted him back and updated him on our progress looking for a little more information, he said he was coming to the meet and he'd help me cage our spy without the Klingons knowing we'd gotten that close to messed up."

Danny tossed his hands in the air, ready to rant about proper procedure, but a glare from Gibbs shut him up. "He fits the profile that Tony and Danny came up with. He'll be on planet for the negotiations, he's in a perfect position to hamper our relations with the Klingons without actually causing a war, and, well… he thinks Klingons pose a threat to the future of the Federation."

Danny couldn't hold himself back, "And you didn't think a spy with a grudge against the Klingon Empire was something you should mention to us Steven? What is wrong with you?"

"I've worked with him before." Steve barreled over the top of Danny. "He's given his whole adult life in service to the Federation. He's completely loyal, and right up until Tony said none of the ships were carrying an official negotiator I just assumed he'd be coming in as part of the negotiator's security detail, not the actual negotiator."

Danny pinched his lips in frustration, "Are you sure that this guy is the negotiator?"

"Yeah, I contacted him after we finished our last meeting and told him I had the identity of the spy and proof of conduct."

"Did he ask why in the hell you didn't arrest your spy?" Danny snarked.

"That's not how it goes Danny. He told me to sit on it until we could handle it together. You don't move until you have orders move."

"You? Who is this you, Steven?"

"This," Gibbs shouted, carrying his voice over any more arguments, "is what we're going to do. We'll be arriving at DS7 in one hour, and the Amsterdam and Honolulu will be arriving shortly after that. I'm putting out a call to the other captains to insist on a security briefing before we even get to DS7. Denning from the Honolulu is farthest out, so Vance on the Amsterdam and I are each going to hop on a runabout and meet up at the Honolulu. We'll have about two hours for the meet before we come together at DS7 and return to our own ships where we'll put the security plan in place and proceed with this negotiation like the last two days never happened.

"However, I'll take Jen, Steve, and Tony with me to the security briefing and we'll have those two hours to either find incriminating evidence, talk White out of his plan, or shoot him and be done with it. Any questions?" Everyone frantically shook their heads no, no one wanting to challenge Gibbs when he was in the mood to shoot.

XXXXX

Steve had a mental countdown going from ten the moment the left the room, and at four (dangerously fast as an indicator of Danny's mood), Danny grabbed Steve's arm and hauled him into one of the empty labs and immediately called out to the computer to lock the door. Steve crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the counters, "You know that I'm letting you haul me around, right?"

"Shut the hell up, Steven." Danny stuck his finger in Steve's face, "You're Intelligence. No, that doesn't even, you're not just Intelligence, you're one of those damn black ops Intelligence officers who thinks they don't need to follow the law like the rest of us! Why in the hell didn't you tell me!"

Steve quirked an eyebrow, "Really Danny? You're about to poke my eye out with that finger and you wanna know why I didn't tell you?"

"I'm poking your eye out because you didn't tell me, you ass!"

"You know that I'm not allowed to tell you things like that, Danno."

"It's not things, Steven; it's that you're a freaking deep cover Intelligence Officer! That means something!"

Steve cocked his head in the way that mean he was still parsing whatever it was Danny was yelling about, trying to force something about Danny's words make actual sense. Danny kept pacing, shouting about consequences and due process, and suddenly everything snapped in to place.

Steve grinned at Danny, bright and very nearly feral compared to the usual restraint he showed with his emotions. Danny stopped mid word and asked "What the hell is that. What are you smiling about?"

Rather than explain Steve took a long, predatory stride forward, straight into Danny's space. Usually Danny stayed put and glowered right back, but this time Danny must have seen something disconcerting, because he stepped back out of the way, which just made Steve grin brighter and press forward again. Steve backed Danny into a table and before Danny could start talking again he pressed a kiss to Danny's lips, slow but fierce.

Danny didn't know quite how to respond and leaned in to Steve before his mind came back to him and he pulled back and sputtered, "What are you doing, Steve?"

"You like me, Danno." Steve grinned.

"Not at this moment, no."

"Sure you do. That's why you're freaking out that I'm Intelligence."

"I'm freaking out because you lied to me Steven!"

"Nah Danno, you're freaking out because you think that means I'm gonna leave."

Danny waited for a long moment, and then with courage that impressed Steve he asked, "Aren't you?"

Steve ran his fingers through Danny's slicked back hair, something he'd wanted to since the first moment Danny had shouted at him (which was about two minutes after they met). "Gibbs is requesting that my transfer be permanent."

Danny started in surprise, "And he thinks Command will let you stay?"

"We're about to save the day, Danno. Now's the time."

"So, you thought you were going to leave…"

"Yup."

"And now, now you're staying."

Steve ran his fingers through again, "Yup."

"Then why the hell are we still talking?"

"No idea, Danno." Steve grinned, and pressed forward for another kiss.

XXXXX

Tony mentally prepared himself for a painfully awkward flight to the Honolulu. Being trapped in a confined space with Steve sounded like an excuse to make trouble, and being trapped with Steve and Gibbs sounded like fun and fodder for a few dirty dreams, while trapped with Steve, Gibbs and Shepard just sounded like hell. Tony was ready to keep his eyes forward at the helm and ignore the sniping that was bound to go on behind him, then Steve stumbled on to the shuttle with a dopey grin and suddenly the trip looked so much better.

"You made a pass at him." Tony grinned.

Steve dropped down in the other helm chair and smiled back, absolutely genuine, "I did."

Tony smacked him on the shoulder, "Look at you, my little spy is all grown up."

Steve shrugged off the hand with a grin, "Yeah, yeah."

Tony nudged him again, "How'd it go?"

"I'm smiling, aren't I?"

"Details McGarrett, details!"

"When have you ever known me to hand out details?"

"Unless these details are about the mission," Gibbs interrupted, "stop talking."

"Yes Cap, sorry Cap, no idle banter here, Cap." Tony muttered.

Gibbs smacked him on the back of the head and replied, "We have forty-five minutes together on this shuttle Gard, don't think I won't spend every last one of them tormenting you."

Tony gave Gibbs a ridiculously bright smile, "Gibbs, you and I both know you won't be the one doing the tormenting on this little trip. I'm sure we'd have quite a bit more fun if you were."

"I know I would." Steve interjected.

Gibbs smacked both of them of the back of the head, but lighter this time, almost affectionate, before he went to his seat. Moments later Jen stepped on board and didn't waste any time in stepping right up to peer over Tony's shoulder and declare, "Did you remember to adjust for the excessive gravity of Antioch's sun? If you don't we'll get pulled off course and lose valuable time."

What Tony wanted to say was, 'Of course I adjusted for Antioch's sun. I wouldn't be sitting at the helm if I wasn't certified, and you don't get certified without knowing how to check your route for that sort of thing. And even if I missed it, the extra gravity would only cost us an extra five minutes of traveling time.' But he didn't. Instead Tony said, "Yes ma'am."

"Yes you adjusted, or yes you'll do it now?" Jen demanded.

"Yes I adjusted, but I can run the calculations again to make sure." Tony replied in his most level tone.

Shepard huffed, "There's no need to take that tone with me, Mr. Gard."

Tony gave her his most bland and pleasant of smiles and replied, “Apologies, ma'am. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

"Whatever you might be in the future, remember that now you are one of my staff, Mr. Gard."

There were so very many things wrong with that sentence that it took every fiber of Tony's being not to snap at Shepard, starting with the fact it was considered the height of bad taste to refer to a joined Trill as Mr. or Ms.. Instead Tony just replied, "Yes ma'am." and waited until Shepard had her back turned before fixing Gibbs with a look that said, 'you see what I mean?'.

Gibbs, the bastard, smirked like the whole thing was hilarious and Tony was hard pressed not to smile back. Gibbs took mercy on him and updated Shepard on the plan, and how they'd gotten there, going into far more detail and using far more words than Tony suspected Gibbs would've used otherwise. "So, as far as the target is concerned, McGarrett is the only one who 'knows' I'm a spy, and he wants to help McGarrett bring me in, while you and Tony are none the wiser."

Under normal circumstances Gibbs would've grunted something that translated to 'do you really need me to explain this to you?', but since he was being effusive today he actually said, "Exactly."

"And why exactly do you think it's logical for you to bring your head of Operations along with one of the lesser Operations Officers and your head of Tactical to this meeting rather than bring your Security or Intelligence Chiefs?" Jen asked snidely.

"Because anyone with the right access, which our target has, would know that I don't trust my Chiefs of Security or Intelligence. If I didn't know about you being a spy Steve would've maneuvered his way onto this mission to deliver you to the target, and you would've demanded it was your right to come as my supposed First, and Steve would've talked me into letting you come along since you're what he needed."

Jen snorted, "You've never let anyone talk you into anything in your life Jethro."

The shuttle jumped, and Gibbs turned in time to see Tony frantically adjusting their heading. "What's going on over there?" Jenny demanded.

Steve replied, "Nothing ma'am, just a minor disturbance," since Tony was too busy biting his bottom lip to answer.

"Anything you'd like to add, Gard?" Gibbs prodded.

"No Sir. I am over here devoutly not reacting to anything."

Steve snorted out a laugh, but kept his eyes forward on the viewscreen. Tony giggled at Steve's laugh, but quickly bit it back and cleared his throat, like it never happened. "What are you laughing at, Lieutenant?" Jenny demanded.

Tony giggled again, like he couldn't help it, and Steve twisted away to keep from looking at Tony before he lost it as well. "I'm sorry, it's just-" Tony giggled again, "Jethro," he finished with emphasis.

"Are you saying there's something humorous about your captain's name, Lieutenant?"

"Yes ma'am." Tony grinned.

Before Jenny could object with something about superior officers and respect, Gibbs clarified, "Actually it's Leroy Jethro."

Tony laughed brightly and twisted around in his seat, "Seriously? Did you parents just decide to ignore every last trace of Vulcan in your DNA?"

"My father was purely human and my mother was half, but she never embraced her Vulcan side."

"Really?" Tony asked curiously, but still gently, not wanting to scare Gibbs off answering questions.

"She was born and raised on Earth." Gibbs shrugged, like that explained everything.

"Yeah, but…" Gibbs quirked an eyebrow to prove Tony along, "You got a whole Vulcan vibe going on. I mean, you do half your communication through eyebrow twitches."

"Lieutenant!" Shepard burst, but Steve added, "You do, Cap."

“Gentlemen, return to your duties.” Jen snapped, and Steve and Tony turned back to their stations with a smile, neither one of them catching the twitch of a grin on Gibbs' face.

XXXXX

Captain Denning of the Honolulu was not the sort of man to pass up the chance to hobnob with another captain, especially one of Vance's standing, so they were met at the transporter room by one of Vance's Security Lieutenants, a young Benzite officer named Kaye who's tendrils were practically quivering at the chance to talk to Gibbs. She ushered them all down the hall towards the main conference room where the other two captains and their officers were already waiting.

Steve faded to the back of the group and wasn't at all surprised when Joe stepped up alongside him and murmured, “I wasn't expecting you this soon.”

“Gibbs insisted on a security meeting,” Steve explained, and I figured handling this now would be better than handling it later.”

“Smart move kid, but the trouble is I don't have all the evidence complied that you need for an arrest.”

Steve stopped, letting the group get further ahead of them, too entranced by Kaye's rambling to notice Steve's absence. “What do you mean we don't, Joe? We've got motive, we've got opportunity, and we've got the payments from the Romulans in the suspect's account.”

Joe put a calming hand on Steve's shoulder, “Payments aren't enough, Steve. We need something more solid if we're going to go after a Commander. I was planning on waiting until the conference so we could catch them in the act.”

Steve tossed his hands in the air, his frustration growing more obvious, “Why!”

“Because if we don't have the evidence then we don't get the conviction, kid.”

“Do we even need the conviction, Joe? Isn't it more important that we save the summit? If I just tell Gibbs what I suspect-”

“Get that thought right out of your head, kid. Sure, Gibbs will bench her, but any accusations Gibbs makes without support from hard evidence will get ignored by the Admiralty. Gibbs' dislike of Shepard is too well known for anyone to take his bad opinion seriously.”

Steve sighted heavily and all the tension in him drained away. “Dammit, Joe.”

“Steve, what's wrong?”

“I never told you who my suspect was.”

Joe leaned back and laughed, subtly putting himself out of range of Steve's more obvious blows, “I suppose there's no point in pretending I came to the same conclusion?”

“If it was easy to fool me then you wouldn't have trained me.”

"No, I suppose not. Pity you didn't wait until we got to the meet, you would've been able to set me up as a spy and destroy my career."

"You weren't trying to start a war. In your own messed up way you thought you were helping. That’s enough for Gibbs' mercy, and it's enough for mine."

"You don't have enough to arrest me." Joe grinned.

"No, but we have enough to confine you to quarters on the Valor for the rest of the trip while another negotiator handles the job."

"And if I choose to be difficult?"

From where he had silently been standing behind Joe, Gibbs reached out and Vulcan Pinched Joe on the nerve that dropped him unconscious to the floor. "Then you'll be asleep for the rest of the trip." Steve slouched against the wall and Gibbs said, "I know you wanted time to get his reasons."

The statement was just that, a statement. No apology for interceding and no explanation. "I know why he did it; I was just hoping he'd have something to say that would make me accept it."

"He did it because he thinks we shouldn't be getting in bed with the Klingons."

"If the Admiralty asked him that's what he'd say, and half of them would agree with him. But really, I've never known Joe to have less than five reasons for doing something, and that was just one."

"What about the others?"

"We'll never know for sure, but I think one of them was my permanent appointment to your ship. And even though he didn't ruin the talks, he'll still consider this a win because of that."

XXXXX

Together Gibbs and Steve escorted an unconscious Joe to the brig, and it was a mark of how well thought of Gibbs was that none of his crew asked what Joe was doing there. Steve turned to part company with Gibbs and head for his own office when Gibbs smacked Steve upside the head flicked two fingers at him to signal that Steve should stay right on following.

They went to the bridge, and Kono twisted around in her chair to greet them with a bright smile and announced, “I've got Admirals Jameson and Morrow waiting for you, Cap.”

“No David?”

“Sorry Cap, can't seem to get ahold of him.”

Gibbs snorted, but nodded to Kono to open the channel. “Admirals.” Gibbs greeted pleasantly.

Morrow smirked, “Jethro, you look like the cat that got the cream.”

“Not far off, Admiral.”

“I assume that means you've caught the spy.”

Gibbs grunted in the affirmative and when he said nothing else about it Morrow slumped in his chair, “You're not turning them over.”

'They turned themselves in.” Gibbs shrugged as if to say, 'what are you gonna do'?

“Gibbs!” Jameson snapped, “They tried to sell us out to the Klingons!”

“No. They were stupid, not traitorous. And their life shouldn't be ruined for it.”

“Agreed.” Morrow replied before Jameson had the chance to object. “I assume you're also calling about your command staff.”

“Of course, sir.” Gibbs replied, his ton implying that he expected less stupid questions from Morrow.

Morrow snorted, “And what have you decided?”

“First off I want Steve to be a permanent posting at Tactical.” Gibbs had been expecting an objection, but both Jameson and Morrow looked pleased by the request, so Gibbs moved on. “I plan on promoting Lieutenant Chin and promoting him to head of Security. Weston is more than welcome to stay on as a junior officer.”

“That seems a bit hasty, Gibbs.” Jameson interrupted.

“No, ma'am. Chin ran this investigation, he earned his place. The only only other person I'd want is Danny Williams, and that man refuses to come out of retirement.”

The two admirals shared a look, then Morrow asked, “If you'd like us to entice him out of retirement?”

Gibbs tipped his head to look at Chin with a raised in eyebrow in question and Chin replied, “I believe it would be better for everyone involved if we convinced Danny it was his own decision.”

“Probably true.” Gibbs added. “We'll let you know when we've brought him around. The only other thing that requires your approval is the appointment of my First.”

The whole room stopped at Gibbs' announcement and Morrow took a long look around the fully assembled command crew Gibbs had on his bridge. After a moment he gave a polite nod to Steve, “Commander McGarrett, I assume congratulations are in order?”

Steve looked frantically at Gibbs, who just quirked an eyebrow in amusement before Steve replied, “I don't think so, Sir.”

“Really?” Morrow flicked his eyes over to Jenny, thought judging by her mortified expression it wasn't her either. Then Morrow saw Tony, standing safely at the Ops station at the back of the bridge with an expression of absolute horror on his face. Morrow sighed, “You didn't tell the boy you were promoting him, did you?”

“Where's the fun in that?”

Jameson looked between them, completely confused while Morrow continued, “I assume you intend to make him your Chief of Operations too?”

“Might as well.” Gibbs shrugged.

Morrow just rolled his eyes and replied, “I expect promotion paperwork inside the next week.” Morrow looked past Gibbs to an ashen faced Tony and smirked, “Good luck.” before he cut the comm feed.

Gibbs looked around the bridge at his stunned crew and called out, “Shouldn't all of you be preparing to enter Klingon space right about now?”

They all scrambled back to work, even the people who weren't really supposed to be on the bridge but didn't want to miss anything. Tony stumbled down to Gibbs' chair and croaked, “Uh, Cap...”

“Out with it Gard, I've got things to do.” Gibbs snapped, holding back a smirk.

“Alright them, are you out of your mind!”

“You have a problem with being my first officer?” Gibbs demanded, surging to his feet and into Tony's space.

The crew assumed Tony had the self preservation instincts of a Lemming, because he stepped right back, unmoved by Gibbs' tactic. “It's not that I'm upset Gibbs, it's just that a girl likes to be asked.”

Then, in a moment Gibbs' terrified crew would remember for the rest of their days (even the people who pulled up the security feed later to watch the moment), Gibbs started to laugh.

Final Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it. And all my love to pyalgroundblzand ellie_pierson for getting me through this!

Fic - Fate Protects Fools 3/4

sunryder — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 17:14:50 GMT

Title: Fate Protects Fools (Small Children, and Ships Named Valor)
Author: sunryder
Artist: pyalgroundblz
Crossover: NCIS/Hawaii 5-0 fused with Star Trek
Type: Slash
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 21042
Characters/Pairings: Tony/Gibbs, Steve/Danny, Ducky, Abby, Tim, Jenny, Cait, Ziva, Morrow, Chin, Kono, Gracie, Jameson, Joe, Kamekona, Max
Warnings: I don't particularly like Jenny
Spoilers: None
Summary: The Federation Starship Valor was one of the crowning jewels of the Fleet. Her Tactical Chief was a Bajoran with a penchant for blowing things up and asking questions later, her Security Chief was a human who'd followed his daughter halfway across the galaxy and now was relegated to serving drinks in Ten Forward, her newest officer was a Trill with a bright smile who teased the Captain far too much, and her Captain... well let's just say Gibbs wasn't a happy man.
Author’s Notes: A thousand thanks to ellie_pierson for being my beta, and loving the story even when I decided I didn't like it anymore, which brought me back to the writing. And to beautiful, beautiful, pyalgroundblz who's art powered me through the last week of editing and is better than the fic itself.

Remember the art is HERE
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Gibbs strode into the main Science lab and called out, "Whatcha got for me, Abs?"

Abby rolled out on her chair and replied, "A ridiculously long list of names Cap-man, and not much else."

He followed her back behind a bank of computer screens to find Chin standing painfully still, as though meditating, and watched as she re-arranged the piles of information back into their original personnel manifests. "Chin and I started with the complete rosters of all three ships, thankfully the Valor is the only one large enough to have a civilian contingent to try and keep track of, so that helped a little. First, we narrowed down the list by people with advanced weapons or technical training; because we can assume that anyone else wouldn't be able to pull of blowing things up or killing a Klingon on the first try. Which narrows us down from our 6,452 original suspects to 3,746." Abby tapped the screen and a bundle of names from each list went zipping off screen as the lists were pruned down.

"From there we assumed that whoever plans on causing the trouble, they intend to actually join the Klingon conference rather than just hang out on the ship." Abby continued.

"Because if they just wanted to cause problem on the ship they could plant a bomb or virus." Gibbs questioned.

"Yup. Also, we figure whoever is doing this doesn't intend to die with the ship. So from here we can pull out people who are unlikely to join the conference party." Abby tapped again and there was a massive expedition of names off the screen. "That narrows us down to higher ranking crewmen, as well as security and tactical officers that might be brought along for the ride. Now we're down to 527 suspects. And this is where Chin and I hit the wall. We could reduce the numbers based on who we think has the training and capability to send a message to the Romulans undetected, but I would assume that if they've gone under the radar this long they're probably likely to be hiding that skill set as well. We also could narrow down the list with people who have any obvious ties to Romulus, but the same problem applies."

Gibbs flicked a look over to Chin and Abby explained, "He's calculating variables about the various search patterns and their benefit to drawback ratios."

"And where's Weston in all this?" Gibbs asked.

"Lori? She's with Steve trying to hunt down more information to help us narrow down the list."

The Science lab door pinged with someone ringing the bell and Abby called out, "Come in!" Danny strode in with a smile and a tray with a large Caff-Pow, coffee, and something that smelled like spiced Vulcan tea. Abby smirked, "Danny, you know you don't need to ring."

"You've got Gibbs in here trying to find a Romulan spy. Today is a day I knock."

Abby laughed and Danny moved to hand out his drinks, setting the tea down beside Chin where he stood in silent contemplation, while Gibbs asked, "When does Chin think he's going to be done figuring out whether or not this list is going to do us any good?"

Abby snorted, "If I ask him that then he's got a whole other set of math to do before he can figure out this one for me."

Danny paused, tucking the tray under his arm before he cocked his head and stepped closer to the screens. "Is this your list of suspects?"

"Possibly." Abby said. “Chin’s trying to figure out the probability of them actually being worthwhile."

Danny 'hmm-ed' for a moment and Gibbs grunted, "Spit it out, Williams."

"It's just, if I'm reading Abby's strange shorthand right, then you're splitting these people up based on whether or not they've got the skill to pull off the potential crime."

"Yup." Abby replied.

"But, you have no idea what the crime is going to be, do you?"

Abby paused, "We know it'll be something disruptive at the meeting."

"Yeah, but what does 'disruptive' mean? Is there a bomb, or a shooting, or someone just making the Klingons thinking we're too dishonorable to talk to? You don't know what the crime is going to be."

Abby stepped closer, looking at Danny while he looked up at the screens. "So you think we're dividing them wrong?"

"I think you're starting from the wrong place. You know the 'when' of the crime, but you don't know the 'who,' or the 'why,' and you don't have the info you need to figure out the 'what'; there are too many options. You can't narrow people down based on a crime that could be committed half a dozen different ways in half a dozen different degrees."

Gibbs leaned back against the counter where Chin was standing and sent a brief and quiet comm to Tony requesting his presence in the Science lab. "But Danny," Abby continued, "It would never be something simple like that; it's got to be something big."

"Nah Abs, the Romulans aren't like the Klingons. Klingons will walk straight up to you and smack you in your face; Romulans will sidle up from the side and somehow talk you into smacking yourself. The Romulans have nothing to gain from plunging the galaxy into war again; they're more scarred from the last war than anyone."

Tony had walked into the room for the last bit of conversation, and added, "Steve's contact said they've been making money off of the Klingons and the Federation not getting along."

"Exactly!" Danny said, "The Romulans don't gain from any of the treaties that come from us at peace, but things only get worse if we're all at war. The Romulans don't make money if the Klingons close their borders and the Federation starts distrusting everyone again."

Tony nodded his agreement, and to prod them both back into thinking Gibbs asked, "So we know the 'why', but if we can't know the 'what', then how do we figure out the 'who'?"

Tony took his spot next to Danny as Abby tapped the screen to restore the crew lists to their original entireties. They both stared at the screen for a moment before Danny declared, "We need a list of people who have clearance to get into the conference. The best way to subtly ruin this thing is to actually be in the room."

Abby tapped out the new parameters on her screen and thinned the herd to 557 people. Tony cocked his head, "It's got to be someone who could actually do irreparable damage to the talks. A trashing talking Security Ensign can be fixed, so it needs to be someone with some weight."

Abby shifted the lists again and a three fourths the names vanished. Tony nodded and said, "That's our list of suspects."

"I'll take the list to Steve and see what he's come up with." Danny offered.

Tony gave Danny a grin while Abby uploaded the list to padds for easy travel, and from his quiet spot behind them Gibbs asked, "Why in the hell did you resign from Starfleet Security, Williams?"

Danny shrugged. "My ex-wife took the kid and Starfleet refused to let me transfer to the Valor as a security officer. So I stopped being a security officer."

XXXXX

Danny took the padd to Steve's office with a grin, and strode in without bothering to knock, only to be surprised by Lori bent halfway over Steve's shoulder pointing at something on the computer on his desk. Danny stumbled to an embarrassed stop, "Whoa, sorry guys I-"

Steve looked up at the sound of Danny's voice and his smile brightened as he exclaimed, "Danno!" like the big kid he really was.

"Hey babe, am I interrupting?"

Steve gave him the same look he always did when he thought Danny's question had been ridiculous and replied, "Of course not, what's up?"

"I was just going over the suspect list with Tony and we decided to compare it against your list."

"Excellent." Steve stuck out his hand for the padd to compare the lists while Lori gently, but pointedly asked, "You and the Operations officer went over the list of suspects?"

"Oh no, 'cause you see, somehow retirement means I've forgotten all my practical skills in security so when I saw Chin and Abby trying to apply science to the security list, I said, 'why I don't just play delivery boy with this extra-long list of suspects and hope everything works out."

Lori had enough common sense to know that the only people who could defeat or diffuse Danny in a rant were Steve and Gracie, so she asked, "You were Security?"

Danny rolled his eyes and stepped around the table to help compare lists. "I was Chief of Security on the Jersey before Rachel up and took my kid."

"Rachel? You mean Mrs. Edwards?"

"What do I mean?" Danny scoffed. "Rachel Edwards nee Williams nee Evans, my ex-wife and mother of my child." Danny looked at Steve incredulously, "Don't you people do background checks anymore?"

"Don't look at me Danno; it's my job to stop the guys outside the ship, not inside."

Lori interrupted, "It was my opinion that if Gibbs cleared them to work they belonged here."

Danny snorted, "And look how well that's turning out. We might have a spy running around."

Steve just smirked and handed back his padd with the pertinent names highlighted. Danny put up his hands and stepped back, "Oh no, please, you wouldn't want to contaminate the case file with someone who's not in the Security department anymore."

"You can't be mad at people for what they don't know, Danny." Steve snorted.

"Yes, yes I can. Because Security officers are supposed to know everything that goes on on their ship. That's the point of Security."

"I thought that was the point of Intelligence." Steve asked.

Danny scoffed, and with the sort of viciousness that came from suspecting but not knowing about Steve's background he replied, "Intelligence can't see past their damn noses."

"Intelligence is our most valuable resource, Danny. They're a Security officer's best source of information." Lori interrupted, scolding him for his opinion.

Danny snorted and said, "Good luck with that." and headed for the door.

"Danno," Steve cajoled, and Danny snapped, "What Steven?"

Steve turned back to Lori with a conciliatory smile, "Why don't you run down those names and I'll catch up to you later?"

Lori smiled back at Steve like she was sorry he had to put up with Danny like this, and strutted out of the room.

The second the door sealed shut behind her Danny whirled on Steve and shouted, "Don't even think about it, Steven." Steve leaned back in his chair with his most placid expression and settled in to let Danny rant himself out. "Because, honestly, if you've got me planted in this damn office so you can scold me for telling your girl she's wrong, I will damage you."

Steve's eyebrows shot up but Danny was too busy tossing his hands around to notice. "I mean, I was a Security Officer for a long time Steve. I planned on being one for the rest of my life. I'm a very, very good Security Officer, Steven. Very good. So when I tell your girl she's doing it wrong. She's doing it wrong."

"Wait," Steve held up his hands, "Go back to the beginning, Danny."

"What do you mean go back to the beginning!" Danny shouted. "You mean back to you dragging me in here like you're my superior officer or something? Or the part where I told your girl she was screwing up an investigation!"

"Your girl?" Steve asked.

"No, your girl."

"What girl?"

"Lori."

Steve laughed, "She's not my girl."

Danny just stared at Steve for a moment before he put his hands on his hips and said, “What in the hell are you talking about, Steven?"

Very clearly, which was the only way to talk to Danny when he looked this tense, "I am not dating Lori."

Danny furrowed in confusion, "You called me in here to shout at me on her behalf, Steve."

"Danny, when have I ever shouted at you?"

"Then why in the hell did you make me stay?"

"Because I've been off ship for two weeks, Danno!"

Danny instantly deflated. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

The both of them slunk back in their chairs and stared at anything that wasn't the other. But because Danny was never ever meant to be quiet he muttered, "How did it go?"

"Good."

Danny waited a moment before he burst out, "Oh yes Steve, thank you for that stunning recap, lots of useful information there."

Steve slouched deeper into his chair, "Danno."

"Seriously Steve, lots to go on there so I can watch your back."

"Danny you know I can't talk about it."

"I swear to you Steven, I will tear you limb from limb. What in the hell happened?"

"Why are you so riled up about this?"

"Why am I so riled up? You disappeared for two weeks, Steven. Two friggin' weeks of shore leave and I never heard hide nor hair from you. For all I knew you'd gone and gotten yourself shot, or joined one of those monasteries, or- or anything!"

Steve cocked his head to the side and stared at Danny for a long moment, something slotting into place for him. "Danno, did you think I spent my leave running around Bajor with Lori?"

"I don't care what you do with your leave Steve," Danny muttered, very obviously not looking at him.

Steve leaned over on to his desk, "I was on assignment, Danny."

"It's your life Steven, go, run around your home world blowing things into small pieces, it's your call."

Steve just smirked, pleased with the way Danny couldn't quite look him in the eyes. "Hey Danno." Steve sat in silence until Danny finally looked over at him, "If it was your investigation, who would you talk to?"

XXXXX

"Hey Danny boy! It ain't time for your weekly delivery!"

Danny's 'source' was a giant Bolian, a surprisingly bright blue for his enormous size. Steve turned to Danny with a grin, "Delivery?"

Danny shrugged, "What, you think I get my own liquor?

Kamekona laughed and waived both the men into the garden he'd made in one of the ship's storage compartments. "What can I do for you fine Federation gentlemen on a day like today?"

"You do realize," Danny couldn't help but interrupt, "that Bolia is a part of the Federation, whether or not you think its existence hampers business."

"Hey I got nothing against the Federation so long as it’s got nothing to say about my freedom of enterprise."

Danny sighed, "So many jokes I could make of that sentence. So many. But instead, I am here to prove to Steve that he is inept and ask you who you've been helping contact the Romulans."

Kamekona shrugged, "Shoot brah, who'd do a thing like that?"

Danny leaned forward, "You and I both know there's someone on this ship who's been talking to the Romulans."

Kamekona roamed off down one of the aisles "Brah, why would someone who wants to talk to the Romulans bother going through me? Wouldn't they have channels for that sort of thing?"

Danny strode around and cut Kamekona off, "Because they're not a spy, they're an idiot. Hey, hey, hey," Danny put up his hands to stop Kamekona, "We just want to talk to them. That's it."

Kamekona heaved a sigh, "You swear you just talk Danno? ’Cause this guy, he's not doing nothing wrong."

"You have my word, nothing but talking."

"There's a guy, he asked me about talking to some Romulan scientists, but it's nothing but talking brah.
“What guy, Kamekona?”

“Max. The pipsqueak doctor who looks like a turtle.”

Steve was out the door before Kamekona even finished his sentence, and Danny offered a hurried thanks to Kamekona before running after him, shouting, "Steven! What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna go talk to this Max."

"No Steve, you don't understand, Max is a good kid, painfully awkward. You go after him guns blazing the kid is gonna cry and you're never gonna get anything out of him."

"Crying people can talk, Danny."

"I'm telling you Steve, Max isn't your spy."

"You heard Kamekona say he's been acting suspicious."

"Yes, because heaven forbid that you actually listen to me when I talk to you Steven. Only horrible things could happen then."

"All I'm saying is we talk to him, Danny."

“And all I'm saying is you're an idiot."

XXXXX

Steve strode into the infirmary with a furious Danny on his heels, only to find Tony there already, chatting with Max. Steve rolled his eyes at Danny for thinking Tony would be a mediating force on him. Danny stepped in front of Steve and strode up to Max with a grin, "Hey Max, how's work?"

Max gave Danny a pleased but restrained smile, "Work continues to exist, and in that it is going well."

Danny just grinned at the Zen-like response and said, "You know that's not what I was asking."

"But Commander, the question you always ask is one based upon the unquantifiable 'good' and 'bad', as such I cannot give you an answer."

Danny rolled his eyes, "I'm not a commander anymore, Max."

Max cocked his head to the side, "I do not understand that either. You still walk as a Commander, you still hold all the knowledge and skill of a Commander, and the other Security personnel on board this vessel concede to your experience. In every way that truly matters, you are still a Commander."

Danny steeled his shoulders in a way Steve knew meant that Danny was about to refuse to give in, and there would be an argument that might go on forever since Max was Rigellian, and thus pre-programmed to debate until truth had been found to aide in his search for enlightenment. Steve stepped around Danny, putting himself in between the discussion of enlightenment and their goal and interrupted, "Max, right? We have a couple of questions for you."

"Questions Commander? Given your reputation I assume they are for something tangible rather than esoteric?"

"Right." Steve slid past all the possible tangents Max's sentence could take them on and stated, "We've received intelligence that you've been talking to the Romulan Star Empire."

"Your intelligence is incorrect."

Steve huffed, "No, I don't think it is. I think-"

Danny put a hand on Steve's shoulder and hauled him back from where he'd been advancing on Max and hissed, "Wrong technique Steven."

Tony laughed at them both from his spot lounging on one of the medical tables, "Sorry Max, Steve doesn't know how to have a conversation with a Rigellian."

Steve twisted on Tony, "Are you apologizing to my suspect?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "You're asking the wrong question, Steve."

Steve tossed his hands in the air, "Seriously, what is with you all questioning my ability to talk to people today? What's the right question!"

Danny held up a hand and turned to Max, "Max, have you been exchanging communications with someone in the Romulan Star Empire?"

"Yes, Danny."

"What the hell, that's what I asked!"

"No, Commander. You inquired as to whether I have been speaking with the Empire, a feat which is theoretically possible because the Empire has an official spokesman, but which is not applicable here because neither have I been in contact with the Empire's spokesperson, nor have I talked to anyone. However, I have communicated with a person inside the Empire."

Steve went to toss his hands in the air and demand more of an explanation, but Danny clamped his hand down on Steve's shoulder and asked, "What did you discuss?"

"I have been doing research comparing and contrasting Romulan meditation techniques against Vulcan techniques."

All three of the men just stared at Max in bafflement before Danny asked, "Why?"

"I have a theory that the evolution of their disparate meditation techniques stems from more than simply the embracement or non-embracement of logic, but to substantiate my theory I need direct information from a first person source."

Danny looked at Steve, "Sadly enough that sounds a lot more plausible than him being a spy."

Steve rolled his eyes and said, "We'll need to see all the messages you sent and received to make sure."

"Of course, Commander." Max stepped over to his desk and grabbed a padd on the top of pile and handed it to Steve. "That's the entirety of my research, including all communications and the contact information for the scientist with whom I was discussing."

"You just had this all on a padd, right there. Convenient."

Max furrowed his already wrinkled brow, "That is the point of research, is it not? To be accessible?"

Steve huffed and headed out of the room, leaving Danny and Tony to give Max bright grins before following after Steve. Danny jogged a little to catch up to Steve's long legs and teased, "You probably want to take that information to Chin, since he's better than you at that whole computer thing."

“I am perfectly capable of operating my own computer, Danny. Besides, I should send this off to my contacts and get their input anyway.”

“Oh, input of your contacts, that doesn't sound dubious.”

Tony laughed, and before the two men could argue too much he said, "I'm gonna go update Gibbs." and got out of the way.

XXXXX

Gibbs' door rang out with the annoying chime that meant he had company and called out, "If you're coming in then get the hell in and stop pressing the damn button."

The door swished open and Tony stuck his head around the door, "I'm pretty sure shouting at people doesn't make them want to talk to you Cap."

"I can't be yelling loud enough, because you're still here."

"Oh, you're yelling plenty; I'm just good at bobbing and weaving."

Gibbs fought back a smirk and said, "Did you plan on standing in the doorway and watching me do paperwork, or are you here for a reason?"

Tony ducked into the room with a grin and quickly got to his explanation. “We narrowed down the list of suspects and spoke to the most likely of them, but that turned up nothing. We're going over the rest of the list to see if anything pops."

Gibbs nodded, and then sat in quiet for a moment, ignoring the questions he should be asking about the investigation and instead asked, "Can I talk to Gard?"

Tony quirked an eyebrow, "Just my symbiote and not me?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think we can separate like that?"

"I've been thinking about someone the things you said at the meeting this morning, some of it sounded wrong, and that's because it wasn't you."

Tony paused, "Sure it was."

Gibbs didn't bother looking up from his paperwork while he replied, "No, you like to draw fire away from other people, protecting them from their own stupidity."

"And why should I do that for Shepard when she hates me?"

Gibbs set down his stylus and looked at Tony like he was an idiot for asking. "That's not the sort of man you are."

"Didn't you just say you wanted to talk to my symbiote because you think it controls me?"

"I don't know if it controlled you, or if it was just the symbiote's experience taking over, or if you ceded control."

"Are they all really that different?"

"To me they are, and I'd like to ask the symbiote about it."

Tony looked to the side for a long moment then turned back to Gibbs, his smile smoothing out into a level stare and straightening out his posture. "Tony has a vibrant personality and we have a strong bond. To completely take control would be painful for both of us, but we're still separate enough that we have our own root identities, if that's what you would prefer."

If Gibbs was surprised by how smooth the transition was between man and symbiote, it didn't show. "Why did you take control from Tony this morning?"

"Do you have a best friend, Captain?"

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow, "Of course."

"Doctor Mallard I presume?" Gibbs grunted something indistinct, and Gard gave the slightest of grins, a flash of Tony on his face before going straight back to Gard's placid expression. "Sometimes you protect Doctor Mallard from himself. And sometimes I do the same for Anthony. I never completely take control, or take a decision away from him, just nudge in his defense. We're a partnership, completely. And sometimes the junior partner needs counseling."

"And what makes you so sure your counsel is best?"

Gard looked at him like Gibbs was terribly young, "I have spent thirteen of my fifteen lifetimes as a spy in some capacity. Half of them I spent my whole life as part of the Trill Intelligence Committee, and in the other half it was simply part of my career before I ascended the bureaucratic ranks of my various governments and helped lead my people. I know how to take care of him."

"The other two lifetimes?"

"My first and Anthony."

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, "And what were you then?"

A gentle smile flashed against Gard's face, wholly and entirely Tony's expression, "My first bond was with a man named Logan. He was a sculptor. We were happy together for several years before he was murdered."

"Murdered?"

"It was the early days of Trill bonding, and there were segments of society who though bonding with a symbiote was a curse on their people. They killed him for bonding with me."

"That's what drove you to public service."

Gard couldn't quite meet Gibbs' gaze, the memory too much, "I adored Logan. I swore to myself I would do all in my power to keep such a thing from happening again."

"Why not be a spy with Tony?"

"Because Anthony didn't want to be."

"And your grand plan to protect hosts?"

Gard glowered at him, "Anthony is more important than them."

"More important than the ones you had before?"

"Tony will be my last host. When he dies, I will go with him."

Gibbs was shocked by the statement. A Trill symbiote could live forever, bonded to one Trill host after another, and to willingly lay down their life by refusing to bond again was almost sacrilege to the Trill. Gibbs didn't know quite how to respond, so he grumbled out, "The Trill Symbiosis Commission can't be happy about that."

"Unhappy barely even begins to describe it. They send me lists every few months of all the new students they think I might like to bond with and updates on the old ones, and at least once a year they ask me to come back to the planet so that I'll cave under all the hopeful expressions."

"Is that how you met Tony?"

Gard smirked, "Heavens no. Anthony is far too lively to ever have been considered a suitable host. I met Anthony when we were both on Risa. I was there for a conference, and when I checked in to my hotel I came across Anthony in the hall picking up his room service. His father was off somewhere doing 'business', and let me tell you Antony was not happy to have the memories about what his father was actually up to. I spent the next few days with Antony, taking him to see all the good things on Risa, and by the time we were done, I'd decided that he was who I wanted for my next host."

"But why your last?"

Gard tapped his fingers on the desk a random pattern that Gibbs had caught Tony thrumming when he was thinking, and that more than anything convinced Gibbs that Tony had had some sort of impact on Gard. "It would be cruel to all my future hosts to take another on another after Tony. He is, a light in the darkness, and I feel like for the first time in fifteen hundred years I've been living." Gard smirked at Gibbs like he knew something Gibbs did not, "He has that effect on people."

Tony's comm badge went off, interrupting whatever reply Gibbs might have had, and Gibbs watched, fascinated, as Tony's expression morphed from Gard to entirely Tony. He tapped the badge with a grin and said, "Gard here."

"Tony!" Danny's frazzled voice exclaimed, "Get your ass to Abby's lab, I need you to counteract Steve's crazy."

Tony just laughed back, "I'm on my way," and smirked when Gibbs came along with him.

XXXXX

"Just shut up Steven. Seriously, you're trailing stupid all over the place and it's giving me allergies."

"Danny-"

"No Steven, stop talking! Right now!"

Gibbs and Tony walked into the room to the sound of Danny yelling at Steve, which Tony realized was the usual state of things.

"All I'm saying is-"

Danny whirled to face the door, "Tony! Get in here and save me from Steve's stupidity."

Tony laughed and joined Danny and Steve in front of the list of suspects while Gibbs took his spot at the back of the room. Tony patted Steve on the back and asked Danny, "What's the problem?"

Danny tossed his hands at the screen, "There's nothing here! I've got this list of names and none of them pop. Nothing about any of them stands out to me as someone we should be looking at."

Tony cocked his head and stared at the list for a long moment before something bright and brilliant flashed across his face and suddenly he turned to Danny with a grin. "You ever watch those old school holovids?"

Danny stared at him, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"In those stories all the Security officers say that people only commit crimes for two reasons: love and money."

Danny flicked his hand at Tony, trying to usher him along, "Your point?"

"We've been looking at this like it's about money, like they've been bribed or blackmailed into acting, and what if it's not?"

Danny furrowed his brow, "You think we've got a Federation officer who's doing this for love of the Romulan Star Empire?"

"No, the Romulans don't need to set us to war against the Klingons; the seedy underbelly of the people just wants it. Really, war between the Federation and the Klingons just hurts the whole alpha quadrant. It kills trade, makes us both jumpy enough to attack them for no reason, and sets us right back to the Dominion War when we're still recovering from it. So why do this? What's the point?"

Steve huffed, "Well, what is the point?"

Tony looked excited, "What if they're doing it for love of the Federation?"

Danny caught on instantly, "Or maybe even for hatred of the Klingons."

"What are you both talking about?" Steve interrupted.

Oddly enough, Gibbs was the one to answer, "They think that our spy isn't trying to cause problems in the negotiations to aid the Romulans, but because they think it's best for the Federation not to get in bed with the Klingons."

"But my source said the spy was working for the Romulans." Steve corrected.

"They might be getting support from the Romulans, or they might just be spreading the rumor so we'll be looking in a different place."

Danny went back to the board, "So what we need is someone who'd be likely to make it to the planet, and who's got a reason to hate the Klingons."

Gibbs started for the door before Danny even got the words out, and Danny turned to shout, "Where are you going Gibbs?"

Over his shoulder Gibbs called, "To see someone who's got a reason to hate Klingons."

"Who?"

"An Orion."

Chapter Four

Fic - Fate Protects Fools - 2/4

sunryder — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 17:06:49 GMT

Title: Fate Protects Fools (Small Children, and Ships Named Valor)
Author: sunryder
Artist: pyalgroundblz
Crossover: NCIS/Hawaii 5-0 fused with Star Trek
Type: Slash
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 21042
Characters/Pairings: Tony/Gibbs, Steve/Danny, Ducky, Abby, Tim, Jenny, Cait, Ziva, Morrow, Chin, Kono, Gracie, Jameson, Joe, Kamekona, Max
Warnings: I don't particularly like Jenny
Spoilers: None
Summary: The Federation Starship Valor was one of the crowning jewels of the Fleet. Her Tactical Chief was a Bajoran with a penchant for blowing things up and asking questions later, her Security Chief was a human who'd followed his daughter halfway across the galaxy and now was relegated to serving drinks in Ten Forward, her newest officer was a Trill with a bright smile who teased the Captain far too much, and her Captain... well let's just say Gibbs wasn't a happy man.
Author’s Notes: A thousand thanks to ellie_pierson for being my beta, and loving the story even when I decided I didn't like it anymore, which brought me back to the writing. And to beautiful, beautiful, pyalgroundblz who's art powered me through the last week of editing and is better than the fic itself.

Remember the art is HERE
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Steve paced back and forth in front of the force field that locked them in their cell while Tony muttered, "You're doing things to my blood pressure Steven."

"I hate waiting." Tony said nothing to Steve's comment, just kept staring up at the ceiling from his spot on the bench. "Why are you calm about this?" Steve asked.

"I've been locked up a few times before." Tony grinned.

"I can't imagine how you think that will make this situation better," a voice interrupted, and Captain Gibbs stepped around the corner and in to view.

Tony jumped to his feet and both men snapped off a salute. "Apologies for getting you involved in this, Captain." Steve said.

Ducky came around the corner behind Gibbs and tutted, "Nonsense Steven, this sort of thing is what a Captain is for."

Tony couldn't hold back his grin, "Captains are for bailing you out of prison?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the Trill, communicating that he thought this wasn't the time for the man to think he could charm his way out of trouble, but Tony just grinned harder. Ducky had no compunction about replying and smiled, "You're going to be trouble young man, I can tell. Jethro, if you wouldn't mind?"

Gibbs huffed in irritation then tapped in the code the security officers had given him to release the force field and Ducky strode right in. "Now, you both take a seat here and let me have a look at you."

"Really Ducky," Steve interrupted, "we're both-"

"Now I'll have none of that young man, off to the bench with you so I can see for myself." Steve dropped to the bench beside a smirking Tony and let Ducky run soothing palms up and down his arms while keeping his mind out for Steve's reaction to the touch.

Gibbs stood behind Ducky, not interrupting the examination but not willing to wait for his questions. "You got in a bar fight."

"Yes sir."

"Why?"

"I heard some things while I was on leave Sir, things I knew he could verify. Tony and I went to the bar to ask him about it, then he insulted Bajor, and I decided asking wasn't going to be the best approach."

"But punching him was?"

Steve shrugged, "We got the information."

Gibbs turned to Tony, who seemed genuinely amused by the whole thing, and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

Tony launched off a jaunty salute while staying in his seat and said, "Lieutenant Tony Gard, one of DS9's Operations officers."

"And you got mixed up in this how?"

Steve intercepted Tony's answer and handled it himself. "We're old friends sir. We ran into one another on DS9 while everyone was on leave and I asked him if he wanted to come down to Bajor with me while I visited all my old haunts."

Ducky's head popped up at whatever he was sensing from Gibbs, and with a gentle pat to Steve's arm he slid out of the way and turned his attentions to Tony instead. Gibbs stepped into Steve's space, bracing both hands against the wall and leaned down to glower at his Tactical officer. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just out and out lie to me, Steve. I'm going to assume you don't think I'm stupid enough that I would actually believe you'd pick up an old flame to spend you shore leave with them while Danny spent all his time on the ship missing his daughter."

"Danny?" Tony interrupted with a grin, "You haven't told me anything about Danny."

Ducky put a hand on Gibbs' arm to stop him from shouting at Tony, and Gibbs kept his attention on Steve while, in Tony's mind Ducky said, I know you mean to protect your friend, but I promise you, Gibbs won't do Steve any serious harm. Which he's terribly likely to do to you if you try to interfere.

With Tony distracted Gibbs said to Steve, "Now, why don't we try that again?"

Steve thumped his head against the wall behind him and said, “You know don't you?” Gibbs just snorted like that was a pathetically stupid question. "How long have you known I'm in Intelligence?"

Gibbs snorted, "You think there's anybody on the ship who doesn't know you did time in Intelligence?"

"Gaining my tactical experience there and still being Intelligence are two different things."

"Nope. Once you're Intelligence, you're always Intelligence." Steve tilted back up and gave Gibbs a long look, something about Gibbs' own history finally slotting in to place for Steve.

Steve gave Gibbs a smile then replied, "My handler told me he'd heard chatter about a terrorist threat, but nothing specific. While the rest of the crew went on shore leave I was supposed to try and track it down."

"Hence the civilian clothes and why someone has always been at Danny's side trying to distract him. But why Tony?"

"I had permission to take whatever supplies or personnel I needed from DS9, but you know how I feel about people I don't know." Gibbs grunted, not commenting since it was an opinion he shared. "Tony and I have worked a few ops together before and I brought him along to watch my back."

Gibbs turned his attention to Tony, who was watching with fascination while Steve confessed everything to Gibbs. Apparently Steve's trust changed whatever opinion Tony had of Gibbs, and his expression finally settled on something other than a smirk. Gibbs gave Tony a long look of his own, opening his mind to Ducky's commentary. He's a good boy Jethro. Reckless, and unflinchingly loyal, but good.

Gibbs gave a sharp nod and turned back to Steve to ask, ''Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I assume, considering they didn't tell me what I was looking for in the first place. The Federation has a meeting scheduled with the Klingon High Command." Implicit in the statement was Steve asking whether or not Gibbs knew about it, but Gibbs kept his face placid and didn't respond. "Somehow word got out and the Romulans know about it. They plan on doing something to ruin the meeting and probably send us to war."

"What?" Gibbs asked sharply.

"My contact had no clue. All he knew was that the perpetrator is supposed to be on one of the ships that the Federation is sending to the meet."

Gibbs turned his attention immediately away from Steve and asked, "How are they, Duck?"

"A few bruises but nothing a good dermal regenerator can't fix."

"Good. Time we got the hell out of here." The station's security officer, who was supposed to stop this sort of thing from happening ducked out of Gibbs' way as they left, and Steve and Tony exchanged a glance at what Gibbs must have said to the poor man. They were about four feet outside Security when over his shoulder Gibbs said to Tony, "Get your gear."

Tony stumbled to a stop, "What?"

"Get your gear. We'll be heading out inside the hour. Whatever you don't have on the ship by then is getting left behind."

"Sir, I'm an officer on Deep Space Nine."

"And now you're an officer on the Valor."

"But-"

Gibbs stopped abruptly and turned on Tony, "You telling me you don't want to serve on the Valor?"

"N-No, Sir."

"Then what the hell is the problem?"

"… can't think of one."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and smacked Tony upside the head, "Then get your gear!" Before turning and heading back towards the transporter bay. Tony just stood there for a moment, baffled by the whole of the morning before a smile broke across his face and he started took off for his quarters at a dash.

XXXXX

Lori met Gibbs and Ducky in the Valor's transporter bay, and despite her tendencies to think everything Gibbs did was wrong, Lori was intelligent enough to know that despite her orders to the contrary, some days it was best to just give Gibbs what he needed and then get out of his way. "Captain, Admirals Morrow, Jameson, and David are waiting for you on the comm." Gibbs waived Ducky off, back to the infirmary, and Ducky took Steve with him to take care of those bruises. Gibbs headed straight for the turbolift to the bridge, with Lori following close behind.

The moment the turbolift doors closed behind them Lori added, "You should know that the Admiralty commed around ten minutes ago and Commander Shepard explained why you were unable to take the call."

Gibbs grunted, "You now, you can actually say that Jen tried to force my hand by telling the Admiralty things she should've kept to herself until she'd talked to me."

"She is your default second in command, Sir."

"Actually, if we're going by rank, Ducky is second in command."

"Captain-"

Gibbs tapped the emergency stop button, bringing the turbolift to an immediate halt and turned to Lori, "You don't like the way I run my ship Weston, then you can request a transfer. But until you do, I'm your Captain, and you get your orders from me." Gibbs tapped the stop button and got the turbolift moving again.

"Gibbs-" Lori tried to interject, but Gibbs added, "I've got nothing else to say, Weston. Either get on board or be done with it."

Gibbs strode out on to the bridge, only to be faced with Jenny sitting in his Captain's chair chatting with the three Admirals who'd called for Gibbs. Jenny smiled at Gibbs, still in his seat and said, "There you are Jethro, we were wondering where you'd gotten off to."

"Considering you can't be bothered to do your job, I was doing it for you."

Jenny blushed, a strange shade of brown on her green skin, and with a combination of rage and mortification she smoothly rose from Gibbs' chair, shooting the Admirals a look that clearly said, 'You see what I have ego put up with?' before she gave Gibbs a polite smile and said, "My apologies Captain. I thought the matter was beneath your concern."

From the main viewing screen Admiral David interrupted, "I have to agree with Commander Shepard about that Gibbs. You ignored our call so you could bail one of your officers out of jail for a bar fight."

At the helm in front of him, Gibbs saw Kono flinch, though Gibbs was sure it was more at how angry Gibbs would be at Shepard sharing that information rather than Gibbs being cowed for his decision. Gibbs ignored the comment and fixed a glower on Jenny until she slunk away from Gibbs' chair. Gibbs didn't sit, just stood in front of his captain's chair with his arms crossed and gave the Admiralty a deadpan look like he wasn't really listening. Morrow, as always, was the Admiral who decided to play nice, trying to keep the peace between Gibbs and all his superiors and said, "We were told that you wanted to speak with us, Gibbs?"

"And I assume you're not calling us to make the black spot on your man's record go away." David snapped.

"There won't be a mark."

Jameson put a quelling hand on David's arm and asked, "And how did you manage that, Gibbs?"

"McGarrett was running an operation at the time. He was arrested in the line of duty following orders. You get medals for that."

"And what exactly was McGarrett's assignment?"

"Ask Admiral David."

David was one of the Admirals over Starfleet Intelligence and Jameson turned to him with a raised eyebrow, "Something you'd like to share with the class, Admiral David?"

"Intelligence operations are not to be shared-"

"There's an assassin going to the meeting you called to tell me to get my ship to. David wanted McGarrett to find out if the threat was real."

David looked fit to be tied, but when he opened his mouth to scold Gibbs for revealing that information, Morrow snapped, "Anything else we should know, Captain?"

"This conversation should not be held in front of Gibbs' crew!" David snapped. "Captain, remove yourself from the bridge!"

Gibbs dropped back into his chair with a smirk and completely ignored Admiral David while he asked, "Who are the other ships you're sending to this meeting?"

"Our intention was to have the Valor rendezvous with the Amsterdam and the Honolulu at Deep Space 7 in two days." Morrow replied, still keeping complete control over the conversation.

"According to the source the problem is on one of those ships."

David interrupted, "Then we'll change out the ships."

"No." Gibbs interrupted. "The target doesn't know that we're on to them. If you keep the ships the same and give me the personnel manifests for the other ships, I'll find who you're looking for."

David snorted, "The best Intelligence officers in the Federation have gotten nothing more than a whiff of this plot and you think you unravel it all in under two days?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at David like he was an idiot for asking the question. David huffed and said, "Your ship will still be permitted to attend, but you'll turn the matter over to your Chief of Security to handle. That's what Security is there for."

Jameson gave a slight nod, "Admiral David has a legitimate point, Captain. Perhaps Lieutenant Commander Weston should be heading the investigation."

"While we're on the subject of proper division of labor," David added, "Why don't you officially appoint Jenny as your First and let her spearhead this as her first assignment. She's got background in Intelligence; she should be excellent for this."

"No." Gibbs calmly interrupted.

"No?" Admiral David asked almost amused.

"No. To both."

Jameson stifled a sigh and said, "Perhaps you could clarify."

"No, I am not now nor am I ever appointing Shepard to be my XO. No, I am not turning this case over to Weston. After this morning both women have proven themselves unreliable on the issue. It's my ship and my investigation, and I'll situate my officers where I want to."

"That sounds ominous."

"I found Shepard's replacement today and had him transferred to the Valor." Half the bridge crew turned immediately to look at Jen, and the shock on her face made it clear she wasn't aware of this development. The shock quickly faded into fury as Gibbs went on, "I can't trust Commander Shepard to do what's best for the Valor when she's busy doing what's best for her. Either she can take the demotion, or she can request a transfer, but I don't want her as my Chief of Operations."

Gibbs was a hard commander, everyone knew it, but there was a difference between knowing Gibbs only wanted your best and watching him reprimand an officer in the middle of the bridge with everyone watching. Morrow ignored the tension of everyone around him, from Gibbs' crew to the way David looked ready to snap, and instead pulled up the Officer listings for the Federation base on Bajor and Deep Space 9, and one had been flagged for transfer inside the last hour. "Lieutenant Tony Gard, I presume?" Gibbs gave a nod, and Morrow briefed the other Admirals. "Trill. Graduated middle of his class with polarized recommendations. The same sort of reviews that seem to have haunted him his entire career. Apparently people either adore him or think he should be cashiered out of the Fleet."

Gibbs said nothing in reply, just leaned back and impatiently waited for their confirmation that Gibbs could have the officer rather than just abducting him. "You can't replace a Commander with a Lieutenant, Gibbs!" David snapped.

"I appointed Abby to my head of Science as an Ensign."

"You promoted her!" David shouted.

Gibbs just quirked an eyebrow like that was exactly what he intended to do. "Gibbs-" David started, but Morrow slammed his hand down on the table to cut him off and in a final tone declared, "Jethro, you will be in charge of this investigation, with the authority to handle it however you want, and with whomever you want. However, this is not the time to deal with your personnel issues. Keep Commander Shepard in her post and we'll deal with it all when the current situation is handled." Gibbs gave a sharp nod in reply then cut the transmission.

"Kalukaua." Gibbs said, and the girl quickly replied, "Coordinates for DS9 inputted, Captain. At warp factor 4 we should bet there in 46 hours, arriving one hour before the Amsterdam and three hours before the Honolulu."

"Head out, Kono. And tell the command crew I want them all in the conference room in five minutes."

XXXXX

Gibbs took three of those five minutes to officially file the paperwork for Tony's transfer and to log that he intended to file the paperwork for his promotion at the end of the mission. Then, despite the fact he was two minutes early to his own meeting, the entire command crew was already there waiting. Gibbs went straight to his chair at the head of the table without bothering with preliminaries, "We're being sent to rendezvous with the Amsterdam and the Honolulu at DS7 where we'll be vetted by Klingon Intelligence before we head to an as yet undisclosed location in Klingon space for treaty negotiations."

Gibbs dropped into his seat, giving the command crew a moment to wrap their heads around the mission before he moved on. Jenny was at his right hand, managing to look calm and composed despite the way Gibbs had lost his temper with her on the bridge. Jenny would let him have it later for his words, and Gibbs would be reaffirmed in his decision that he and Jenny weren't meant to work together in so close a capacity.

Next to Jenny was Lieutenant Ziva David, the Valor's Chief of Intelligence and Admiral David's daughter. Gibbs hated Starfleet intelligence, hated being lied to by his own officers, and had only allowed Ziva on board as part of a bargain to call David off his campaign to see Jenny promoted. Next to Ziva was Lieutenant Commander Lori Weston, who wisely seemed to be avoiding Gibbs' gaze this afternoon after failing to inform him of Steve's imprisonment and the reprimand in the turbolift. And next to them was Steve, who looked dangerously excited about this whole thing. On Gibbs' left was Ducky, who Gibbs could feel wanted to scold him for his blunt approach to things today. Next to Ducky was Abby, far more perky after mainlining caffeine not an hour ago, and beside her was Timothy McGee, the painfully young but brilliant Head Engineer. Cait took the spot next to Tim where she could could calmly observe how everyone was handling the day without adding to Gibbs' irritation.

Gibbs paused a little longer than necessary while he realized what was wrong with this situation and tapped his comm badge to demand, "Gard, where the hell are you?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line before Gard responded unsurely, "I'm in operations, Captain."

"Why in the hell are you there when you're supposed to be here?"

"I, uh. I'm not a command officer, Sir."

Gibbs just huffed, sure that despite only announcing it minutes ago most of the operations staff already knew Gibbs' plan for Tony and Tony knew it as well. "Get your ass in here, Gard."

Steve, good, dependable, Steve who never questioned Gibbs' orders no matter how strange they may seem (probably more because Gibbs usually let him make war on the galaxy since Gibbs wasn't supposed to that sort of thing anymore than out of any sense of loyalty) pulled out an extra chair from the conference room closet so when Tony stepped into the room thirty seconds later he already had a spot waiting. Tony dropped down at the end of the table between Cait and Steve and Gibbs snapped, "Don't assume things."

Tony should've flinched at Gibbs' tone, it's what any sane person would've done, but instead he stifled a smirk and replied, "Yes, Captain. No assuming."

Tim looked horrified, but judging from the stifled smiles of Abby and Ducky they'd just met their new favorite crewman. Gibbs ignored them all and continued, assuming Gard would be able to put the pieces together for himself. "We're to meet with the Amsterdam and the Honolulu at DS7 before we go together into Klingon space, probably Archanis IV just over the border. There we'll have a meet and greet with the Klingon emissaries, and if they decide the Federation is honorable enough to talk to then we'll go from there. As if that's not going to be dangerous enough, the Romulans have a spy in the game who plans on ruining the whole thing and sending us to war. This spy is somewhere on one of the three ships heading to this meeting. All this is to say nothing of the fact that the Klingons are trying to re-establish themselves as a conquering, warrior race, there's a good chance they might use this meeting as a chance to blow us out of the sky and declare war on the Federation. I've got next to no information about what the Klingons demands might be, what border security looks like, or how our fellow ships are faring. Cait."

Cait answered, anticipating what Gibbs would ask of her, "Review Klingon negotiating protocol and get everyone up to speed so we're not the ones who ruin this, then compile profiles on our fellow command crews and the Federation's ambassador to anticipate their blind spots in the negotiations."

"Abs."

"Run constant high depth sensor sweeps looking for tech so no one catches us with our pants down."

"I also want a lock on every member of this crew when they're not on board the ship. I want to be able to pick up and get the hell out of there at a moment's notice. Tim-"

"Help Abby with the scanning and try to expand our sensor net to cover everyone Federation, not just our crew."

"McGarrett."

"Get more complete information about this mess and ready the crew for everything about this situation to go wrong."

"Weston."

Lori looked genuinely surprised her name had been called, but she stumbled together quickly, "Go through every last person on all three crews and compile a list of people who look suspicious."

"Rely on Chin to help you go through the personnel files, and anyone who trips your warning sensor get Ducky to have a chat with them. Shepard-"

"I'll liaise with our fellow ships to go over security arrangements and protections if the worst does happen."

"No."

Everyone in the room froze, not wanting to draw Gibbs' ire. "Gard will liaise with the other ships and figure out what they know." He paused for a long moment, taking in the way Tony quickly hid his surprise and finished, "Shepard, you'll do what it is you usually do."

"Jethro-" Jen tried to object, but Gibbs went straight on, "You're nothing but basic operations for the next few days since Tony will be too busy with the others trying to handle this problem. If there's any slack in other departments while the others are dealing with the problem, you pick it up but stay out of their way."

Gibbs waited half a moment for anyone to pose a question, not that that had ever happened before, and Gibbs sent them all off with a nod.

Jenny serenely waited for the rest of the command staff to filter out of the room, leaving her to deal with Gibbs without an audience. Gibbs had to give that to her, Jenny always knew how to keep her game face on when she had to, but the second the door closed behind Ducky, who sent Gibbs an emotion torn between solidarity and irritation, Jenny grated out, "That display was unnecessary, Jethro."

"You're the one who's been making our fights more and more public Jen, how long did you think I was going to sit there and take it?"

"Taking it is entirely different than humiliating me on the in front of the Admiralty!"

"I humiliate you in from of the Admiralty; you humiliate me in front of the crew. Now we're both humiliated in front of the people we want to respect us."

"It was uncalled for, Jethro!" Jenny snapped.

"Jen, you can't call me out in front of my crew and expect me not to respond.” Jenny muttered something under her breath and Gibbs prodded, "What was that Commander? Speak up."

Jenny whirled on him like a fury and shouted, "I said you always have before! Whatever prodding I've done you've-"

"Prodding? You mean letting you re-arrange my crew, and question my orders, and mock the people I actually chose for their positions?"

"Yes! You've borne it all with no upset! I thought…"

"You thought I was just playing hard to get?"

Jenny gave him a coy smile, "That's the way you've always been with me. Playing difficult to disguise your wants."

Gibbs grunted, but didn't quite deny it. He'd met Jenny when he was assigned to mentor a younger student at the Academy. Gibbs had always prided himself on his self-restraint, and he'd somehow managed to keep himself from touching the pretty Orion co-ed until she was no longer in his care. They'd had a good weekend at the end of it, and then said nothing to one another until Jenny was appointed to the same ship as Gibbs a few years later; though thank heavens not in the same department. He'd held out for a few more months until he'd finally caved and they'd begun the affair anew until Gibbs transferred and ended it again. They'd started and stopped their relationship half a dozen times over the years, coming back together whenever fate or conniving brought them to the same ship. But this time Gibbs had been adamant in his refusal, and had stood against Jenny and her tempting Orion pheromones for almost two years. Jenny sauntered closer to Gibbs, "We always were good together Jethro."

"No Jen, we never were together, we just had good sex." Jenny went to put a hand on the back of Gibbs' neck, but he darted out a hand and caught her before she could touch him.

Jenny sniffed, "Admit it, I make you feel alive."

"Shouting at each other isn't the definition of alive, Jen."

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against Gibbs', "It is if you're an Orion."

Gibbs leaned in, accepting the pressure of one kiss before he pulled back and breathed, "We're done."

Jenny ran her fingers through his hair, "Oh Jethro, we'll never be done."

Gibbs caught her by the shoulders and pushed Jenny back, "No, This time we're done. I'm not doing this again."

"But Jethro, this time we don't have to stop."

"The hell we don't Jen. I don't want a war for a relationship."

Jenny all but slithered in to Gibbs' lap and muttered up against his lips, "Oh Jethro, I really think you do."

Gibbs caught Jen by her hips and hoisted her back to her feet, "Commander Shepard, I don't sleep with my crew."

Jen snorted, "You don't sleep with your crew, yet. I'm an Orion Jethro; you honestly think I didn't see the way you looked at that pretty little Trill you brought on board?"

"Is that what this is about? You're pissed because you think I've got a crush on someone else?'

"Not think, Jethro. All of sudden you just meet this stranger and trust him implicitly? That's not like you."

"No Jen, I didn't trust you implicitly, and Tony's got nothing to do with this."

"Tony. Jethro you don't like calling your crew by their first names, or have you forgotten that in the wake of Tony."

Gibbs rose from his seat and forcefully said, "He's a good officer with plenty of experience-"

"Experience," Jen scoffed, "He's been alive for a few hundred years, I'm sure he's got plenty of that."

Gibbs stared at Jen in disbelief, "Are you really impugning someone else's sexual history, Jen? Because I thought when you belonged to a species that's known to kill sexual partners with pheromone overloads you weren't allowed to scold other people for the amount of sex they might have had over a dozen lifetimes."

"I just assumed that since you used to get so angry at my romantic exploits-"

"I got angry because you were sleeping with other people when we were supposed to be in a relationship!"

Jen went to shout something back, but Gibbs threw up his hands and shouted, "This is why we have to stop! Because we always end up doing this! I can't have an officer who screams at me every decision I make."

"Not every decision Jethro, just the stupid ones."

Gibbs puffed out another breath, stopping himself before they descended into another argument and said, "I'll do what I can to get you a good transfer, maybe as someone else's First, but we can't keep going like this, Jen. We'll kill one another and break the ship between us. I'll get you transferred some place that's not a step back, and maybe even find you a spot as someone's first officer, but you can't stay here."

Jenny leaned over the table in a way that forced her cleavage forward in a way that used to make Gibbs smile and said, "I've spent two years on the Valor Jethro, I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

Chapter Three

Fic: Fate Protects Fools - 1/4

sunryder — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 17:00:39 GMT

Tony Gard meandered down the length of the bar with a filthy grin. The occasional sauced patron would stumble into his path and run bobbing fingers over the spots that trailed down the sides of Tony's face and ask obscene questions about how far down they went, but with over a dozen lifetime's experience Tony shifted them off with a grin and went on his way. As a species, Trill weren't known for being particularly sexual compared to some of the other species in the Federation, (Deltans drove their partners insane, and Orions released addictive pheromones), but people found something appealing about a species that could live for a few hundred years like the Trill.

Tony roamed down to one of the, still populous, but less obvious sections of the bar and leaned into Steve McGarrett's space, pressing tight to the other man's side with a grin. Steve wrapped an arm around Tony's waist and pulled him even closer, giving Tony the perfect chance to press his lips to Steve's ear and murmur, "Your contact just walked in downstairs. He's got one guard with him and another watching the door, waiting for whoever it is they're expecting."

Steve smiled like Tony had been whispering something far different and gave a whisper of his own, "Then let’s cause trouble."

If Tony had been working this op with anyone other than Steve McGarrett he probably would've tried to distract them and handle the questioning himself, but McGarrett had a pinched look to his face, only aggravated by the creases along the bridge of his nose. That look meant Steve was one sarcastic comment away from pulling out the phaser he had strapped to his ankle that he thought Tony didn't know about and shooting people until they started answering his questions. (A surprisingly effective method for Steve, but one that didn't so much work for Tony.)

As it was, Tony wasted his breath on a quick murmur of, “Are you sure this is the right guy?”

“My handler said he was the guy to contact.” Steve shrugged, and since Steve was never one for sharing information, Tony left it at that.

Two weeks ago Steve had turned up at the Deep Space Nine space station with a magical piece of paper granting him immunity and means, and Tony's captain had been all too willing to bend over backwards to accommodate him. (Partly because DS9 was in orbit around Bajor, and Steve was one of Bajor's favorite sons, but mainly because the man was a spineless worm.) Steve's magical paper gave him the right to ask for anyone or anything on the station, but all he'd wanted was Tony. The two men had run a few operations together before, and Tony was the only person Steve trusted for whatever suicide mission he was up to now. The two of them had thrown on civilian clothes instead of their Starfleet uniforms and hitched a ride on a slow shuttle to Bajor, the favorite stomping ground of their target, a Cardassian trafficker named Sang Min.

The two of them had been slumming around Bajor ever since, trying to track down the man who had just stepped in down the bar. Steve and Tony were both tired, bored, tired, and more than ready to get back to their real lives, which might have been why , instead of tailing their target or planting a listening device, Steve strode right up to the Sang Min and slouched against the bar beside him in a way that translated as lecherous, no matter the species.

With a sigh, Tony leaned against a wall out of the Cardassian's sightline but still in easy view of Steve, ready for the whole situation to fall apart. Steve ran his eyes slowly up and down the Cardassian in question and smirked out, "Hey."

Tony rolled his eyes at Steve's inept attempt at seduction. Steve was Bajoran, the species Cardassia had tried and failed to conquer half a dozen times over the last two hundred years, and the approach Steve was taking with their Cardassian trafficker was flirting. Idiot. Sang Min loomed over Steve (no small feat given the man's height) and sneered, "Run away now maket, before I break you."

Steve licked his lips and leaned in, "I think letting you break me could be fun."

Sang Min quickly shifted his weight and put Steve up against the bar, twisting fingers through Steve's hair and bending him back at an awkward angle that exposed his throat. "Your people are for hunting, not for mating little maket."

Steve gave Tony the barest flash of a glance, and Tony got out a put upon sigh before Steve smashed the heel of his hand into the ridges that swept down the Cardassian's neck and shoulders. The alien keened in pain for half a moment, just long enough for Steve to whip around his elbow and smash it into Sang Min's nose, sending him reeling back in pain.

Tony leaned over to the next table and grabbed their thick bottle of Andorian whiskey with a bright, "Sorry about this," then turned and bashed the bottle into the temple of a Cardassian on his way to help Sang. Tony's Cardassian stumbled with the blow and twisted around with a roar to confront Tony, who just gave him a bright grin before he scampered back over the table that he'd just stolen the liquor from. The Cardassian charged and Tony kicked out at the table between them, sending it crashing forward into the Cardassian's armored stomach, which did no good at all. Except, the Cardassian looked up at Tony to mock him for the move and got a steady swing of the still intact bottle to his neck ridges, and then another to his face.

The Cardassian stayed down, probably not for long, but enough time for Tony to dart over to Steve, who was in an inconvenient headlock from another Cardassian while Sang Min pulled back his fist to pummel Steve into a blob of useless Bajoran operative. Steve tossed all his weight back into his captor, buying him enough space to curl up his legs and thrust straight into Sang Min's chest. Straight into the same armor that Tony had had trouble with just moments ago.

Sang Min laughed at Steve for the effort, distracted enough by Steve's glower that he didn't see Tony charge and smash Sang Min up and over the counter. With that the other Cardassians who'd been mildly amused at watching a Bajoran and his Trill friend pick a fight with three Cardassians decided it was time to interfere. Steve wrenched out of one Cardassian's grasp only to be punched by another, and then Tony got distracted dodging punches of his own.

Tony forced one Cardassian back long enough to shout at Steve, "I told you we should've let me do the talking."

Steve dodged out of the path of a diving Cardassian, "I can talk!"

Tony grabbed a bottle from behind the counter and crashed it into someone's head before twisting around and planting a solid kick to the face of the Cardassian who'd missed Steve with his dive. "Yeah, I can see that's going real well for you."

Steve turned to Tony with a grin before half-hopping onto the counter and kicking against one of the oncoming attackers, smashing both feet into the Cardassian's face, sending him permanently to the ground. Tony grabbed another Cardassian in mid-lunge and smashed his face into the counter, then twisted and grabbed the last attacker, still trying to struggle to his feet, and found the nerve in his neck that rendered him unconscious with a Vulcan pinch while Steve ran for the door and an escaping Sang Min. Tony listened for a moment to the scuffle and the furious hiss that meant Steve had captured his prey, then turned to the bartender and ran the ident card that came with Steve's false identity over the man's scanner. Tony grinned, "Charge all the damage to him. And I think I owe that nice table over there a bottle."

Tony stepped out of the bar and looked around for a moment before heading to the alley he assumed Steve would be interrogating in. Tony roamed into the chosen alley just in time to see Steve toss Sang Min into a wall and shout, "What do you know!"

Sang struggled against Steve's hold, "I don't know nothing!"

Tony grinned, "Whatever he does know is going to fall out of his head if you keep bashing him around like that."

Per usual, Steve wasn't really in a bantering mood when he was trying to get information and just rolled his eyes at Tony before turning back to Sang and hissed, "Tell me what you know."

"What the hell do you care? You look like a Bajoran, but you ain't one, what does it matter to you?"

"Why do I care?" Steve opined, shoving Sang into the wall, putting force on the sensitive neck ridges in a way far more vicious then he probably would've if Sang hadn't just questioned his Bajoran-ness. "You see, I care, because Tony cares. I care so he doesn't have to. Because you see, Tony does terrible things when he cares."

Sang scoffed as much as he was able and retorted, "What, he make you sleep on the couch?"

Tony smirked, something in his happy-go-lucky demeanor made Sang pause. "Sang, do you know who I am?"

Sang rolled his eyes at the obvious question, "You're the new Operations officer on Deep Space Nine. You're the bastard who's been getting in the way of business."

Tony tsked, "No, no, no, that's who Tony is. Do you know who Gard is?"

"That's your name; don't you know your own name, maket?"

Tony kept on grinning, "Yeah, but who's Gard?"

Sang rolled his eyes, "I dunno, your father?"

Tony laughed, "Did no one ever teach you about Trill?"

"Do I really need to be restrained for this?"

Tony lounged against the wall, "You see, I'm what's known as a Trill."

Sang huffed, "You got the spots, and probably got a damn snake too."

Steve slammed Sang up against the wall to stop the back talk while Tony continued with a slightly crazed smile. "First off, it's not a snake, it's a symbiote. My symbiote and I are joined, with it sharing all the experiences it has from his other hosts and me giving it new ones from my life."

"Your point?"

Tony leaned in a little closer, "Gard, my symbiote, he's had Steve's job before, for a very, very long time."

"So?" Sang spat.

Tony tutted and looked to Steve. "Why is it that none of these people can ever put the story together themselves? Really, it's embarrassing." Before Sang could interrupt Tony continued, "It means, that anything Steve can do, I can do better. Because while he was trained by the Bajoran government, who I admit have their own special version of ruthlessness after being suppressed by the Cardassians, I have been a spy, and a security officer, and an assassin, for over eight hundred years."

"If you gotta talk about it Trill, you don't have the guts to do it."

Tony grinned, something sharp and feral, and before either man could react he slipped Sang out of Steve's hold and whipped the man around, delivering two sharp jabs to his ribs to drive the air out of chest despite the armor and then pinched a point on his neck, dropping Sang to the ground while the Cardassian screamed in pain. Tony let it go on for a few seconds before he struck the same spot to stop the pain. Tony let Sang catch his breath before he crouched down beside him, "Now. How about you give us the information we're looking for and I won't do that again."

Sang hissed something foul under his breath and Tony placed his fingers back on the spot, "Don't be difficult, Sang."

"There's a meeting," Sang hissed. "Between the Klingons and the Federation."

Steve dropped down beside them, out of range should Sang decide to strike, but still close enough to listen. "Treaty negotiations?"

Sang snorted, "Knowing your maket species you're as likely to destroy the galaxy as you are to talk."

"But it's an alliance summit?"

"If anything a summit to talk about talking about a summit."

"And how do you know about this?" Tony asked.

Sang sneered, "I make money off the fighting. It's my business to know what might make it go away."

"Which means there are people out there trying to stop the meeting from happening." Tony summarized.

"Who?" Steve lunged forward and grabbed Sang to shake him. "Who's trying to stop it?"

"I don't got a name!" Sang shouted.

Tony put a calming hand on Steve's shoulder and said, "But you do know who's sending them."

Steve pulled back a little and Sang rolled his shoulders at the sudden freedom and muttered, "The Romulans want you makets shooting at each other while they try and make nice with everyone else."

"The same thing could be said about Cardassians." Tony interjected.

"Well it wouldn't be true!" Sang countered. "We like being the winners, but we ain't stupid. Cardassia wants to use you to put us back together before we put you in your place again."

"So how’s this Romulan spy plan on ruining the summit?" Steve asked.

"The way I heard it, he's on one of the boats you boys have going."

Steve smashed Sang into the wall again, "Which ship!"

"How the hell am I supposed to know that? You think the Romulans are going to tell me who their spy is?"

Steve smirked and pulled back a little, letting Sang Min have a little breathing space at just the right moment for Security to come rushing into the alley, shouting, "You there, stop!"

Steve released Sang Min immediately and put up his hands, giving the other man the chance to at least try to get away. Sang Min took the opportunity and headed for a door at the back of the alley, two Security officers chasing after him while Steve and Tony stayed put for the other two. Tony put his hands on his head and dropped to his knees when he was instructed and muttered to Steve, "Are we seriously about to be arrested by Federation security?" while Steve just laughed.

XXXXX

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Captain L. Jethro Gibbs was two minutes away from spacing half his crew and turning pirate with the rest.

The Federation Starship Valor had known no other captain but Jethro, and though he adored every inch of his obscenely well-armored ship, he could've done without the stacks of useless crewmen lying around, taking up valuable space and doing things to his blood pressure. Gibbs had intended to captain a Defiant class vessel, something with a small crew, designed to flit around the Federation preserving the peace without concerns for diplomacy, but then he'd been shown the massive, sovereign class Valor and all those plans went out the window. Though on days like today, where he was getting angry calls from the Admiralty demanding he appoint a First Officer while the rest of his crew was rotating through shore leave, he longed for that little ship and lack of restrictions that came with it.

But he was captain of a vessel with 5000 souls, a third of those civilians, and more than a hundred of them children. This was not the time to doubt his place at command. Gibbs tossed on his jacket and went straight for Ten Forward trusting, as he did most mornings, that Danny and his coffee would manage to make the morning a bit better.

Ten Forward was the bar/restaurant/cafe on the Valor's tenth deck where most everyone spent their free time. Gibbs tended to hate being anywhere where there were people, but bartender Danny believed in grinding and brewing his own coffee and refused to replicate alcohol, and that was worth being subjected to people.

Gibbs entered Ten Forward through one of the darker side doors, making it easy to pass unnoticed through the people already there, some for breakfast before alpha shift began and others just heading to bed after gamma shift. Gibbs slowed as he approached the bar, hearing the tense tone of Danny arguing with someone, staying back so he could listen properly.

"But Danny-" Cait scolded before Danny cut her off, "Absolutely not, Cait! Gibbs would keel haul me!"

Lieutenant Commander Cait Todd was ship's counselor and chief negotiator, one of the first in a long line of officers Gibbs had had forced on him, but over the last two years she'd proven herself more useful than not, despite her attachment to all things ordered and proper. Cait was a Caitian, a felinoid species and the pack mentality that came with that overrode the occasional impulsivity Gibbs preferred from a Starfleet officer.

Like right now.

Cait rolled her eyes at Danny, completely unaware that Gibbs was watching, "We're a starship, Daniel. You can't get keelhauled on a starship."

"Gibbs would be so pissed he would make Tim build him a special suit so I wouldn't explode in space, and he'd make Kono find him a particularly violent ion cloud, or asteroid belt, and then he'd keelhaul me."

Cait snorted, "He likes Gracie too much to actually do anything to you, Danny."

"The Cap does adore my kid. You know, I think the Cap adores my kid so much that after he's killed me, he'll adopt her, just so he can continue his quest to make my ex-wife wish that she'd killed me rather than divorced me."

Danny slid a drink down the bar to one of the crewmen who'd ordered his drink then smartly scampered out of the way when Cait had strode up to demand Danny's attention. "So, what you're telling me is that you're not going to switch Gibbs to decaf."

Danny tossed his hands into the air, "Ladies and gentlemen she's got it! No. I will not risk life and limb to mess with Gibbs' coffee."

"But Danny, he drinks like ten cups of the Terran stimulant a day! It's not good for him!"

Danny just stared at her in disbelief and looked down at the strange goop mix of juiced vegetables and blended leaves in Cait's own glass, "You know that right now, at this very moment, you're drinking a stimulant."

Cait snorted, "It's natural."

"It's grass from Orion. If you let it ferment it would be a hallucinogen."

Cait leaned forward and gave Danny a smirk, "Orion plants are human hallucinogens, Danny."

Danny rolled his eyes and went back to distributing drinks, "Of course, me and my human genetics, that's the problem with the Orions, that I'm not compatible with their drugs."

"You're just against Orions because you don't like Jenny."

"There's not a person on this boat who actually likes Jenny, Cait."

"I like her!" Cait denied, offended on the other woman's behalf.

"You like her because you're never on the bridge, so you never see Gibbs trying to deal with her. And, she sucks up to the women on the crew."

Cait sputtered in indignation, "Just because she's a female in a position of power-"

Ensign Kono slipped past Gibbs with a smirk and leaned around Cait to grab a bottle of her favorite juice from behind the bar and interjected, "People don't like her because she's a bitch to the Cap, her genitals have nothing to do with it."

Cait hissed at Kono, her long tail flicking in agitation. "Remember Ensign, you're speaking to a superior officer about a superior officer. Both are due some respect."

Kono just smiled in the terrifyingly Zen way that came from knowing that whatever fight Cait picked, Kono would win. Danny smirked and said, "I've got very few rules in my bar, Cait, but one of them is that there's no rank in this room. The Cap has given me leave to torture anyone I find offending this rule according to my own twisted whims. So maybe you ought to head off to sit with your friends before I have to throw you out."

Cait rolled her eyes in irritation at Danny, but walked away, her tail flicking back and forth in irritation that Danny was completely right; Gibbs had turned more than a few members of his crew over to Danny's tender mercies for breaking the rules of Ten Forward.

Kono lounged on top of the bar and waited while Gibbs slid up to the counter. The young officer turned to him with a bright grin and said, "Heya, Cap."

"Morning Ensign." Gibbs grunted back, unwillingly amused by the girl. "Where's Chin?"

"Cuz was on call for Security this morning, so he's running late."

Gibbs found Kono and Chin to be two of the more fascinating members of his crew and showed it by actually speaking to them. Chin was a pureblooded Vulcan in every sense of the phrase. He'd been slated for admission to the Vulcan Science Academy and betrothed to a girl in one of Vulcan's posher families. Everything was perfect in Chin's life until the day his cousin Kono came home from school crying.

Kono was half-Vulcan, half-Risan, making her a blend of the most uptight, logical people in the Federation and of the Federation's best pleasure planet. (The circumstances of Kono's parentage were blank on her Starfleet record, but Gibbs could only imagine what would have led a Vulcan into going on vacation to Risa and getting a girl pregnant.) Unlike his more logical brethren's apathy to the cruelty aimed at Kono, Chin had bundled up his littlest cousin and moved with her back to Risa. That moment of solidarity was the only thing Gibbs had cared about when he'd requested Chin's posting, and it had made Gibbs request little cousin Kono the moment she'd graduated.

Gibbs 'hmm-ed' in response to Chin's tardiness before Danny interjected, "Ask her why she's here instead of sleeping in until Chin's ready." Gibbs didn't even bother opening his mouth because Danny just barreled right along. "She and her insane cousin both think I'm pining and need to be distracted."

Gibbs appreciated that despite no one ever telling him things like this, Danny always just assumed Gibbs knew. "Your kid is off ship for the next month."

"Just because my Ex-Wife took my kid and her new husband to see her mother, who always hated me by the way, that does not mean I need coddling."

"Oh Danny," Kono laughed, "Any coddling I do is to protect everybody else from you."

Danny went to snark something back when Abby flopped down at the counter on the opposite side of Gibbs and groaned, "Caff-Pow Danny, I beg you."

Danny snorted, but thumbed the request for Caff-Pow into the replicator without looking, used to Abby's desperate pleas for caffeine after spending the night running experiments when she should be sleeping. Gibbs cleared his throat, but Abby didn't even bother raising her head from the counter and just patted Gibbs' hand saying, "Shh, Gibbs. No scolding before Caff-Pow."

Kono giggled and reached past Gibbs to tug on one of Abby's pigtails, "You're so tired even your pigtails are limp." Abby groaned and smacked at Kono's hand, but the girl wasn't at the helm for nothing, and her hand darted out of the way before contact and tapped Abby on the back of the head. "Come on Abs, tell cousin Kono all about it."

Abby grumbled, but blindly reached out for the Caff-Pow with one hand and for Kono's hand with the other. Abby was a Haliian, virtually indistinguishable from human except for the slight bulges above her eyebrows and the crevice on the bridge of her nose, but despite those small differences, her species had somehow developed touch empathy. Abby took Kono's hand and conveyed her exhaustion, not at the lack of sleep, but at the night of fruitless experiments in the science department. If Abby had something to show for all those hours she wouldn't be nearly as tired as the frustration at nothingness made her. Kono gave Abby a gentle smile in reply and Gibbs asked, "So, should I be scolding her for something?"

"Not unless you think she should have the ability to bend time and space to make her experiments work all the time."

Gibbs took a very long draw on his coffee and gave Abby a look that for a moment she thought he might actually demand to know why things hadn't worked out, and then he grunted, "Nope." and Abby started to laugh.

A throat cleared behind them, and Gibbs turned to see Chin waiting. "Apologies for interrupting, but I must speak with you Captain."

If you didn't know Vulcans it was difficult to tell when they were actually concerned about something and when they were just being Vulcans. Considering Chin hadn't said hello to Kono, Gibbs assumed this was the later.

Danny took one look at Chin and cursed, "He got himself in trouble again."

If Danny didn't look quite so pissed Gibbs expected Kono would've done some teasing, but as it was Chin quickly reported, "Apparently Commander McGarrett has experienced some complications while on Bajor."

"Of course he was! Because heaven forbid Steve McGarrett go anywhere without people trying to kill him!" Danny shouted.

Chin was quick to console Danny, "According to the report death seemed an unlikely outcome from the Commander's endeavors."

"And just what were the Commander's endeavors." Gibbs asked, pulling the attention right back to Chin's report.

Chin paused for a painfully long moment before he cleared his throat and replied, "According to reports from Federation Security Forces, Commander McGarrett was arrested in the company of an Anthony Gard for inciting an altercation."

"An. Altercation." Gibbs repeated, enunciating the words as his way of telling Chin that he was entirely aware there were details being left out and he didn't appreciate it.

"A bar fight."

Gibbs just stared at Chin while Abby failed to stop a giggle. "My Tactical Chief went back to his home planet and got arrested in a bar fight."

"With a Cardassian, Sir."

"That doesn't make it better." Gibbs stood, ready to storm out of the room when Danny grabbed him by the back of his uniform shirt and handed Gibbs a refilled coffee, this time in a thermos he could take with him rather than the mug. Gibbs grunted his thanks then strode out of the room and towards the transporter bay with Chin following behind. "And why in the hell am I hearing this from you Lieutenant, and not from my Security Chief?"

Chin paused for half a second, like there was no good way to answer that before he steeled himself and replied, "Commander Shepard received the call 27.36 minutes ago and informed me she would be handling Lieutenant Commander McGarrett's difficulty."

"That didn't answer my question, Chin. Shepard is Chief of Operations. She should've accepted the call and had it transferred to Security. So where in the hell is my Security Chief in all this?"

"I believe Lieutenant Commander Weston's main concern was for the welfare of Lieutenant Commander McGarrett and she believed Commander Shepard would achieve that end."

Gibbs snorted, not bothering to comment on all the things wrong with that sentence, and Chin took the continuing silence as a signal to report. "According to the Security report we received, Commander McGarrett initiated a conversation with a Cardassian soldier at a bar sometime very early this morning. Witness reports say the Cardassian proceeded to insult Bajor and Commander McGarrett swung first. Two of the Cardassian's associates went to his aid, and a Lieutenant Gard intercepted them. Witnesses also report that when it looked like the Starfleet officers were about to succeed in their altercation, two by-standing Cardassians took it upon themselves to aid their species in its defense, and they were likewise defeated. Apparently the fight ended with Commander McGarrett removing the original Cardassian from the premises and taking him outside. Lieutenant Gard used false identification that he attributed to Commander McGarrett to pay for the damage then went outside as well. All three men were discovered by Federation Security in a nearby alleyway approximately five minutes later. Commander McGarrett and Lieutenant Gard surrendered themselves immediately, while the unknown Cardassian fled and has not been apprehended."

"Are they being held at the main Federation compound in the capital?"

"Yes Sir."

"Get to the bridge and comm them that I'm beaming down immediately and I want to be shown to my men."

Chin gave a sharp nod then twisted down a different hallway that would take him to the turbolift rather than the transporter bay that Gibbs was heading for. Chin didn't waste any time asking why Gibbs hadn't bothered to call Shepard or Weston to get their reports. Gibbs' logic was ruthless in a way most of his crew didn't quite understand, a leftover in his blood from a Vulcan grandparent. Whereas most species would be comm-ing their officers to be sure they had all the details before stepping forward, Gibbs was clever enough to know without asking that Commander Jenny Shepard's distaste of Steve had colored her reaction to his predicament. She had kept Steve's call from Gibbs either in the hope that she could clean it all up and prove herself more worthy of Gibbs' esteem than Steve, or make the situation so terrible that Steve wouldn't be permitted back on the Valor. (Shepard was well aware that Steve was her main competition for the XO position, despite the Admiralty's orders to promote her and no other.) Lieutenant Commander Lori Weston would go along with Jenny's plan because, although Gibbs was her captain, Lori had orders from the Admiralty to do whatever she could to 'help' Gibbs along in appointing Shepard his first officer. It was only logical of Gibbs to circumvent all that chaos and go straight to Steve for his information.

Gibbs stepped into the transporter bay to see Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard already waiting for him, a wretchedly old school medical bag in his hands, chatting away at the transporter operator about one of his stories. Gibbs went straight to the transporter pad without bothering to exchange pleasantries, just, "You're not coming with me, Duck."

Ducky just snorted and stepped up onto the pad with Gibbs. Ducky was a Betazoid, a telepath with the ability to both read and speak in other's minds, uniquely helpful gift when dealing with patients unwilling or unable to articulate their pains. Straight to Gibbs' mind Ducky said, Our young Steven got into a fisticuff with a Cardassian and has gone untended for the last several hours. I am most certainly coming with you. That boy is nearly as awful as you about admitting his injuries. Besides, we need to talk and you keep avoiding me.

Gibbs rolled his eyes but nodded to the transporter tech, giving his permission to beam them down whenever the Federation base confirmed their approval. Don't pretend you haven't Jethro, that's unbecoming an officer.

Gibbs groaned and clearly thought, I haven't been avoiding you Duck, just got nothing to say.

Nothing to say! Jethro they're incompetent!

Gibbs looked to the ceiling and silently pleaded that they would beam down now, assuming that Ducky would stop this conversation when they were on planet and he had Steve to fuss over. Problems with the nursing staff again?

Problems? Ducky sputtered. One of these damn useless nurses actually fainted at the thought of having to splint something without a bone-knitter!

Gibbs smirked, sure that despite Ducky's irritation at the nurse's sensitive nature, he was more irritated about the ineptitude. Ducky didn't mind random appointments to his infirmary, though he did get touchy when people interfered with what worked, and the new nursing staff obviously didn't work. You know it can't just be you and Max with Jimmy as your nurse. There are too many injuries on this ship to go without help.

I am perfectly content to acquire more help, but I am not pleased with the help that you've had foisted upon me Jethro.

I thought your issue was that I wasn't the one doing the foisting.

It's a symptom of a larger problem, Jethro. Is this your ship or isn't it? Jethro let Ducky feel his irritation rather than try to come up with words to explain himself. Ducky just snorted, Wrath won't do you any good unless you do something with it, Jethro. Either appoint Jenny as your First Officer or find someone else to do the job. With all her efforts to prove herself a worthy successor that young woman is doing damage to the rest of us. Case in point being young Steven trapped without word to his Captain.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and ignored the drama of Steve being 'trapped'. I'm better off without an XO Duck, you know that.

No, I know you think that.

The last XO they sent me retired from the Fleet after I made him cry in front of the Admiralty, Duck.

I'm not saying your people management skills couldn't use some improvement. Goodness knows we could have less crewmen coming to me with ulcers because they happened to pass you in the hallway. But you and I both know they transferred Jenny to you because they thought you'd suddenly realize she's your perfect First.

Gibbs didn't bother to dignify that with a response, and Ducky kept nudging. So long as you refuse to choose a First, both Jenny and the Admiralty will think she's got a chance, and she'll continue make your life hell by appointing people you've never heard of to your ship and making me scold you."

The transporter tech finally looked up from his station and said, "Energizing, Captain." and with one final thought at Ducky, Gibbs said, I'm on it, Duck.

Chapter Two

Fic Master Post - Fate Protects Fools - NCIS/Hawaii 5-0

sunryder — Mon, 18 Jun 2012 20:45:53 GMT

Title: Fate Protects Fools (Small Children, and Ships Named Valor)
Author: sunryder
Artist: pyalgroundblz
Crossover: NCIS/Hawaii 5-0 fused with Star Trek
Type: Slash
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 21042
Characters/Pairings: Tony/Gibbs, Steve/Danny, Ducky, Abby, Tim, Jenny, Cait, Ziva, Morrow, Chin, Kono, Gracie, Jameson, Joe, Kamekona, Max
Warnings: I don't particularly like Jenny
Spoilers: None
Summary: The Federation Starship Valor was one of the crowning jewels of the Fleet. Her Tactical Chief was a Bajoran with a penchant for blowing things up and asking questions later, her Security Chief was a human who'd followed his daughter halfway across the galaxy and now was relegated to serving drinks in Ten Forward, her newest officer was a Trill with a bright smile who teased the Captain far too much, and her Captain... well let's just say Gibbs wasn't a happy man.
Author’s Notes: A thousand thanks to ellie_pierson for being my beta, and loving the story even when I decided I didn't like it anymore, which brought me back to the writing. And to beautiful, beautiful, pyalgroundblz who's art powered me through the last week of editing and is better than the fic itself.

Link to Art Master Post: HERE
Link to Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Cap/Ironman Reverse Bang Fic: Flight 3/3

sunryder — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 01:08:45 GMT

Title: Flight
Artist: made_of_tin
Author: sunryder
Rating (both art/fic): PG
Universe: Comic-esque
Word Count: ~16,000
Warnings: Abuse of Canon
Link to Art: Stunning, stunning artwork HERE Really, you need to go see it, it made my brain explode!
Fic Summary:

Back to Part 1 | Back to Part 2

Thor and Steve stumbled into the Aerie late that night, both still on a happy buzz from their time outside. But the building obviously hadn't had such a wonderful day. The nesting area was in shambles, grass strewn everywhere, deep holes gouged in the wood from where claws had dug in, and the surface outside pockmarked with blows from an unseen force. Steve twisted out of Loki's claws before the griffin even landed and went straight to Clint, who was fending off Natasha nursing a cut that ran the length of his forearm. "What happened?"

"We were hit." Clint grunted.

"By what?"

Before either could respond Hill took her place at the center of the room, and all the riders stilled. "I do not yet know who attacked this Aerie. I do know that much of the damage done to the exterior of our building was an enchanted cyclone, carrying with it projections in the form of Kree."

"You mean those Kree we fought were just projections?" One of the riders questioned.

"Considering their bodies dissolved upon destruction, yes."

"But—" the rider tried to ask again, but Hill glared him into submission. Hill went on in her explanation while Clint leaned closer to Steve and whispered, "We got our asses kicked."

"To prevent the same thing from happening again," Hill's voice carried over the crowd, "we will establish constant patrols in a perimeter around the Aerie, giving us all forewarning."

Hill moved to walk away, and Steve couldn't help himself. "That's it?"

Hill froze before turning on her heel to face Steve, glowering at him while every one else in the room stiffened. "Nomad Rogers, you have no opinion here."

"My apologies for interrupting Madame," Steve said as Hill went to turn, "but someone should. We were attacked today by a magic we couldn't properly fight, and though advanced warning is good, it's not enough. We need to do something different drastically different."

"Until I better understand the magic used against us, that is the only step we can take, Nomad."

"If it's magic you don't know, then why not ask for help?"

"Help?"

"Yes, Tony could-"

Hill laughed, "Stark? You want me to turn against the strength of this Aerie and seek assistance from Stark? Who, for all we know, was the one who sent them after us!"

"Tony would never do that!"

"You forget your place Nomad. And you would do well to remember it." Hill stormed out of the room leaving Phil behind her to clean up the mess. Steve went to press on, but Phil raised his hand to stop him, and waited a moment for her to pass outside hearing distance when a sharp spike of surprise came from Loki, interrupting the conversation. Thor twisted around to look at whatever had stolen Loki's attention from what was sure to be a fight of epic proportions and paused before he said, "Steve, I think you should look at this."

Crouched down just inside one of the landing windows was a small, gasping griffin. From beak to tail he was a plain, bottle brown, with wings that spread no further than a meter across, but the very tips of his wings were beginning to turn white, meaning he was more than a few summers old, and old enough for Steve to tell that he was small for his age. Ignoring the group behind him Steve dropped to his knees and began running soothing hands over the little one's furred and feathered head, checking for damage. "Are you all right? What are you doing all the way up here?"

The little thing butted his head against Steve's hand, silently demanding that he keep petting while the small griffin all but crawled into his lap. Young griffins couldn't project their emotions the way older griffins could, a way of keeping the younglings protected from the outside world. So it was Loki, and by extension every other griffin in the room, who paused at the gentle purring of the little griffin, and Loki who was relied upon to give a translation to Thor. "He says he knew he would find you."

"Was I lost?"

"He says he's been looking for you for a whole month at the human village, but you never came. But when you did come down, he wasn't able to get there before you left. And then you came to him, and you played with him and the other hatchlings, but then you left without him." The little head popped out from its spot burrowed into Steve's chest, and he pressed his small beak to Steve's nose and stared him straight in the eye. "So he followed you. And he says you are not allowed to leave him behind ever again."

Steve ran a long, soothing hand down his back again and replied, "But you're a hatchling."

Loki snorted, "He says, 'what does that matter? when you know, you know.'"

Steve wrapped the little griffin in his arms, willing to trust him despite the fact that a creature so small had his mind closed off to everything not griffin, meaning it would be years before Steve would be able to feel whatever bond was tugging at the little one and know for himself.

What Steve didn't notice was the loaded looks being exchanged between all the riders in the room while each of them had a silent conversation with their own bonded griffins. Over the last few weeks, Steve had proved himself as invaluable to their Aerie, skilled and driven in ways that had apparently been forgotten over the last several decades, and they all trusted him implicitly in a place of authority over the Aerie. Already they were having trouble following Hill when Steve was in the room, but she was right in her objections that a griffin-less rider could never be the one to lead them into battle. But this recent hatchling, no matter how unready, changed everything.

XXXXX

Steve dropped to his stomach beside James and said, "Here, like this," and crawled along in his best version of a prowl. James crouched further down on his legs and pulled his wings tight against his back while he tried to stalk just the same. The two of them were cooped up in one of the far corners of the nests, safely hidden from view of the main entrance, and diligently guarded by Loki at the mouth of the alcove.

James made it a few steps before he popped up with a sense of pride and mental shouted to Steve in emotion that Steve could almost hear as the words, "I did it!" Steve laughed and gathered the little griffin in his arms, spinning him around with proud laughter. It would take James months to put human words to his bursts of emotion, but for now Steve was content to translate everything that he heard. Rather than simply delay James' education until Hill had been dealt with, Steve had taken it upon himself to teach the little griffin all he could about griffin skills, including this rather amusing lesson on prowling.

Loki laid near them, his head on his paws and his tail twitching in unwilling amusement. The little griffin had spent the last few days hiding out here, not yet strong enough to defend himself but unwilling to leave Steve for safety. James stared out his window and badgered Loki with questions (who, for all his protests to the contrary, had refused to turn James over to someone else's care), and slept in the cradle of Steve's shield. A few times a day Phil would drop by with updates on the Aerie's security, advice Tony was giving the magicians through the modified hummingbird, and questions about the best defenses. Steve answered them all with a warm smile and honest determination, smart enough not to question why Phil was coming to him instead of Hill.

Natasha strode onto the scene trying desperately to look like she wasn't in a rush. Widow took a quick glance around the room and sent a controlled burst of warning to the other griffins scattered around the nests. The griffins all shifted from where they'd been relaxing and fanned across the room in a pattern that covered all the exits and put a wall of their fiercest griffins in between Steve and what Natasha was coming from. James froze in the midst of stalking with Steve and twisted around to watch the other griffins move, vibrating with their shared worry before Loki reached out and tapped a paw to his head.

Steve could feel the mental hum of Loki explaining to James before Natasha slid next to Steve, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the open window. "Hill figured out our defenses and where Phil came up with the plan. She's upstairs screaming new orders at everyone and the second she's done she'll be here to scream at you."

Steve used his considerable bulk to stop Natasha, "She can't hurt me."

"It's not hurting you that I'm worried about. It's what happens to the rest of us if you get tossed in a cell. We're being attacked from the outside, we don't need a revolution right now."

Steve put a soothing hand on her shoulder, "No one here is looking for a fight, Natasha."

She stared at him like Steve had to be far more stupid than she'd given him credit for. "You're The Captain. There's not a rider alive today who wouldn't follow wherever you went. You could take power in every Aerie of this country if you tried, and Hill has never been one to give up her power. We're all on edge from the attack and Hill has half of the riders bribed into listening to her instead of their griffins. If you move now we'll be at war with ourselves, vulnerable to whoever it is that sent those Kree projections and it won't go as well next time. We can't have that. Not now."

"So you want me to run?"

"Phil will keep up the defenses and the magicians will keep up their correspondence with Stark. You're of more use if you stay someplace where we don't have to worry about you."

Steve nudged the pile of blankets in just the right way and his shield flipped up into his hand. "I'm The Captain, I don't need protecting."

Natasha gave him a surprisingly gentle smile, "You don't, but what about your griffin?" Steve looked over to James, who thankfully was wrapped up in an argument with Widow. (Though James was doing more of the arguing, flapping his little wings to violently dart up and around Widow's head in objection to being told he was leaving, while Widow just raised one smooth crimson eye ridge in amusement at all the fluttering.)

Steve gave Natasha a sharp nod and called to James, who immediately left of his argument to come to Steve. He pressed a warm kiss to the the still fuzzy feathers on James' crown and poured out calm while he whispered, "We're going." James' feathers drooped, but he nudged his beak along Steve's chin in solidarity. Steve tossed his shield over his back and grabbed a blanket to wrap around the little griffin as extra insulation against the cool night air, but they weren't fast enough.

Hill stormed through the main door, shouting, "Nomad! Where are you!"

On the far side of the room one of the larger griffins stretched up his white wings, distracting Hill's attention for long enough that Steve was able to cradle James to his chest and slip to the window ledge. "Go!" Natasha hissed. "We'll tell her you're on a long patrol." Steve hesitated half a second longer and she pushed him off the ledge, "Go!"

Steve sent James a mental image of keeping his wings pressed tight to his body so the wind from the sudden drop wouldn't damage any of his feathers. Steve twisted in the wind looking for Loki, who had made himself scarce the moment Widow assumed control over James. Loki swooped into range just as Steve's blood pressure started to rise, coming out of the dark like a shadow and sliding into perfect position to catch him with no pain of landing at all. James popped his head out of the blanket once they started to slow, looking around with wide eyes like he couldn't quite believe Loki had caught them.

James gave Steve a rush of astonishment and Steve leaned down to whisper in James' pointed ear, "Look at his wings. See how they're spread straight out, the front titled up just a little?" James pulsed an affirmative, "He's catching the wind, using it to coast, keeping him airborne. Loki has long wings with long feathers, and that keeps him up."

James cocked his head to the side and sent Steve a mental image of Widow and her short, but broad wings, wondering if that made a difference. Steve grinned, proud that his little griffin had even noticed and explained, "Widow is built for agility flying, darting and swerving through places that other griffins can't go."

James shimmied out of the blanket and stretched out one of his wings, twisting so Steve could examine them. Loki twitched his wings slightly, slowing their descent so no updraft would catch the small, sensitive feathers. Steve 'hmm-ed', stroking warm fingers along the wings, "They're beautiful, James." He fluttered his wings, as if to say 'that's very nice, but get to the point.' Steve grinned, "Your wings are still growing, little one, there's no way for me to be sure until they get a little bigger."

James seemed content with that, gently stepping forward to the spot between Loki's shoulder blades and spreading his small wings to match whatever the other griffin was doing. Steve took in the sight for a moment and then twisted around to look back at the Aerie, which had already faded into night. He hoped none of the riders were getting into trouble on his behalf.

XXXXX

Tony hammered out long strips of metal, using steady nudges of magic to strike his magic at precisely the right place. He could've shaped them completely done with his magic, but there were spells that unwound whatever magic had been done, and Tony didn't want his special project suddenly transformed into the heaps of metal that it had started as.

Tony leaned back from his forge and looked up to see Steve and Loki standing in his doorway. Wait… no, Steve, Loki, and a bundle of brown fur that was staring at Tony over Steve's broad shoulder.

Steve had a hatchling.

Tony's brain stalled on that detail for a moment, busily trying to figure out where in the world Steve would've gotten a hatchling when he hadn't found one at the Den. Steve ruffled his fingers through the fur on top of the hatchling's head and said, "James, this is Tony Stark. He's, well…" Steve trailed off, but whatever emotion he was sending the griffin as explanation was enough to make the griffin's ears perk up. Steve blushed a little and continued, "Tony, this is James. He's my griffin."

"But, not that I'm complaining, but weren't you dejected two days ago from not bonding with anyone?"

James wrapped his tail around Steve's shoulder, giving him an almost hug while he slowly shifted up from his spot to get a better look at Tony. "James says he's been feeling me every since I woke up, and he's been looking for me. He sensed me at the Den when I didn't sense him, and he decided he was done waiting, so he followed me home to the Aerie."

Tony grinned, "My kind of griffin."

The little one perked right up at that and came out from behind Steve with a flap of wings, heading straight for Tony. He dropped the hammer and tongs he'd been using on the metal plates just before James crashed into his chest, nuzzling Tony's jaw and almost purring. Tony could feel the little griffin reach into his mind a start projecting warm contentment, like he never meant to leave Tony's embrace if he couldn't help it. "Um, hey buddy." Tony tried to pretend he wasn't a little panicked, but it wasn't really working.

Steve just grinned and gave a Loki a pat on the neck before the griffin took off back into the night. Steve stepped into the lab, the slightest trace of worry in his eyes, but that faded at James trying to burrow into Tony's chest. "Not that I'm complaining about any of these sudden developments, but what's up?"

"Phil and I have been making preparations to protect the Aerie in case of another attack."

Tony started to scratch behind James' ears, "Yeah, I got that from the frantic messages from your magicians."

"Hill found out."

Tony paused, "Did you get thrown out?"

"No," Steve grumbled, "I would've preferred it if we had. Natasha snuck us out."

"Why?"

"Now is not the time for me to be picking a fight over control of the Aerie."

"Is there ever really a good time for an uprising?"

'When we're facing an external threat that none of us are sure we can stop it's really not a good time."

"So, you get forced out of your home and you come running to me?" Tony had been expecting a blush from Steve, but instead the man just shrugged his shoulders, "I knew you'd keep us safe."

XXXXX

Tony fed Steve and his griffin and put them to bed for the few remaining hours of the night, grabbing a mountain of coffee for himself and heading out to the town square to meet with the magicians and wizards who'd come out of their labs to meet with him in the early morning light. (Tony didn't remember calling a meeting, but never let it be said Pepper wasn't absolutely brilliant at her job.) Tony divided up responsibilities based on their strengths, getting the children gathered behind the wards at Xavier's mansion, checking that everyone had their homes safe from violent magic use, and appointing someone to constantly monitor the Aerie.

Tony had assigned on of their youngest magicians to the task of Aerie-watching, a girl named Wanda who seemed to think studying under Tony was better than going to school in the capital. She climbed to the top of a tree at the corner of the village square and had been watching the Aerie for a about seven seconds before she called down, "Uh, Tony!"

"Yeah, Wanda?"

"We've got incoming riders!"

Everyone in the town paused while Tony called up, "Any thoughts on who's coming?"

She muttered a change to the farsight spell, zeroing in on the lead griffin and sighed, "It's Loki."

"But, is Loki getting chased?"

"No, he's just on a straight shot here, not being hunted."

Tony dashed out to the field at the edge of the town where the griffins usually landed. Steve came crashing out of Tony's house, trying to toss back on his shirt while he and James scrambled out the door at the mental feeling of other griffins. They ran together to the field and got there just as Thor was landing. Rather than exchange pleasantries Thor declared, "Hill has lost her mind."

"What?"

"Phil attempted to reason with her after your departure, but she would not hear of it. She attempted to mount an expedition to find you, and when no rider would agree, she snapped. She has spent the better part of the last few hours hunting every man, woman, and child through the Aerie with her magic and trying to punish them. We have just finished the evacuations."

Phil, Clint, and Natasha landed behind Thor, having kept a more diligent eye on their trail than Thor had done. Phil went straight to Steve to report, "The riders have been divided up into parties, the more experienced looking after the younger and civilians. We gave them orders to scatter for the next three days then return to this town on the assumption that by then this will be handled. Though, since Stark is their hero I'm sure some of the magicians are ignoring orders and are already on their way here."

Phil pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Tony, "Before everything went to hell the magicians intended to get these to you. They're the results of their readings."

Tony immediately started rifling through the papers and turned his back on the the little collection of riders, assuming Steve would handle their placements now that the town was the most likely target of whatever was coming. He tried to skim over the data, getting a sense for all the tests they'd run and put everything in order.

Steve did as expected and issued orders before he caught up with Tony back in the lab, where Tony had the papers spread out in front of him, organized in some manner that only made sense to Tony. While he jotted down notes on his piece of glass. James curled up on the end of the table watching Tony buzz up and down the table's length, the little griffin occasionally hopping down to grab whatever scroll or device Tony called for, pick it up with his nimble, spindly tail and handing over before resuming his position. Steve smiled at the two of them for just a moment before he slid up next to Tony and asked, "Any progress?"

"I've been at it for less than five minutes."

"Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"

"There's only so much a genius can do with notes like these."

"Are they that bad?"

"They're not bad, they're just extensive. Filled with all kinds of information I don't need."

"Then why give it to you?"

"It might be because this is what Hill would ask for, or they're just guessing about what I might think is useful. Hill's the only sorcerer at the Aerie and everyone else is a magician, so there's a gap in experience and training. I should be able to cobble together what I would've done from this, but it'll take me time." Steve paused just long enough that Tony got concerned and asked, "Do I have time?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. We still don't know why the Aerie was attacked in the first place, so we don't know when they might attack again. And I'd like to think Hill wouldn't try to lead an attack against a town they're supposed to be protecting, but she hasn't been doing anything the way I expected."

James carefully stepped over the papers and nudged against Steve's chest, silently consoling him. Steve buried his hands in the little griffin's fur, trying to offer him what comfort he could without actually being able to speak to one another. James flicked out his tail and wrapped it around Tony's wrist, dragging his hand to the fur. "Heaven forbid a woman be predictable," Tony teased, trying to lighten the situation.

Steve pressed a grateful kiss to Tony's temple and scratched behind James' ears before he stepped away. "I better go help Thor get the town prepared for the worst." Tony pulled Steve back to his side and pressed a long kiss to his lips before letting him go.

XXXXX

The earth was just entering the warmth of true day when Tony came bursting out of his lab with a shout, and James came soaring straight for Steve. The human and griffin collided with Steve simultaneously and Tony shouted, "It's you!"

The people still running about the town on their watches stepped and stared at Tony indulgently while Steve asked, "What's me?"

"The traces of magic on you, the ones that took you out of the ice, they're the same ones that attacked the Aerie."

A few of the wizards took on panicked expressions, but Steve had no idea what was going on. "Tony, what does that mean?"

"It means the same person who woke you up is the one who attacked the Aerie."

"Does that, does that mean they want me?"

"I'd say yes, if you hadn't spent the last month hanging out at the Aerie unattended. If they wanted you they could've taken you then."

"Unless they just figured out how to get through the Aerie's wards."

Tony snorted and started waiving people back, clearing out a space for him to work his magic. "Steve, my hummingbird broke through those wards and I wasn't even trying. And the person who cast this spell has powers like mine."

Wanda darted out of one of the shops with a bag of supplies that she anticipated Tony would need. He riffled through the contents, giving her a brief grin before he uncapped a bottle of sand and started pouring it in a circle. "Um, Tony, what are you doing?"

"A seeking circle."

Steve sighed, and Clint roamed up to mutter to him, "It's the focal point of a big magical net that he'll spread around the town. Now that he knows what the magic of our attacker feels like he'll tune the net to look for that and warn us when they're on their way."

"Think he should make it watch for Hill too?"

"Frankly, I don't think Hill has it in her right now to make that necessary. At the Aerie it was like she'd completely lost control of her magic."

Steve stared at Clint for a long moment, looking straight through him while his tactician's mind put the pieces together in a way no one else could keep up with. After a long moment the light broke across Steve's face and he grabbed Clint by the shoulders and almost shook him. "Where are the magicians?"

"What?"

"The magicians! I need a magician who's been around Hill lately, scanning her, or reading her, or whatever it is they do!"

After a lifetime of reading between the lines Clint was able to figure out what Steve was asking for and called over Vision, one of their younger but more talented magicians. Steve grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him up to the edge of where Tony was working before he decided crossing the circle would probably be bad. "Tony! Can your scanny thing look at Hill through Vision's eyes?"

That actually got Tony to stop what he was doing and look up at Steve. "My. scanny. thing."

"Exactly!"

Tony quirked an eyebrow and looked at the rather shellshocked boy for a moment before saying, "I've got tools that can read what he's read from other people, yes."

"Perfect. You need to read Hill from him and tell me what you see."

Tony set down the rocks that he'd been placing at the cardinal points of the circle and stepped outside, making sure not to smudge the lines. "You know that this is going to be a little invasive, right?" He asked Vision.

"I'm aware of what the process entails."

Tony didn't think the boy really did, but Tony took his hand and tugged him close anyway. "Just think about Hill, about the last time you saw her, and I'll do the rest."

Tony whispered the necessary spell and skimmed into Vision's mind and found the boy surprisingly focused. Tony had anticipated needing to sift through countless unnecessary thoughts about how talented the boy was and how Tony should train him before eventually finding what he needed, but instead the last time Vision had seen Hill was neatly packaged at the front of his mind with the mental equivalent of a bright red bow on top. Tony ignored the context of the dream, (Hill trying to curse one of the old healers for keeping Steve alive), and instead focused on Hill's aura. Reading was blurrier through another person, like trying to read a book through foggy glass that didn't quite understand the language, but the picture was clear enough that Tony saw exactly what Steve wanted him to see.

Tony pulled out abruptly and muttered, "Well, shit. Hill's a puppet for whoever attacked you."

"So, going postal and attacking people…" Clint pondered.

"Probably the result of failing in whatever her orders were. Her magic reacted to the magic controlling her and she snapped."

Wanda called out from her place up the tree, "Tony! We've got incoming!"

"Who?"

"It's Amora!"

Tony paused, "Or it could all be a subtle plan to get us all the same place so she can attack."

The scientists scattered, all of them going to the most heavily warded parts of town. Tony very calmly picked up James and handed the griffin to Vision, who had called up his own magic and obviously looked like he meant to make a stand next to Tony. Tony gave the boy orders to get Wanda down from that tree and take her and the little griffin to the safety of Tony's lab and stay there until he came for them. Steve turned to Phil, who was directing the last of the civilians into hiding, and the rider explained. "Amora is a powerful sorceress. Stronger than Stark because she has no moral compass. All the wizards who meant to help will only get in the way of fighting her. Loki has some powerful magic of his own, so he and Thor will help all they can, while Clint, Natasha and I will wait for a chance to help without getting killed."

Steve nodded and took his place next to Tony, who for the first time since Steve had met him, was absolutely still, marshaling all his energy for the fight about to come. Steve readied his shield and silently wished he was wearing something a little better for fighting than borrowed pajamas. With closed eyes Tony asked, "I suppose there's no point in asking you to go wait in my lab with your griffin while I handle this?"

Steve just snorted and took off at a run for the green blur quickly streaking towards them. Steve tossed his shield at her in a wide arc, not trying to hit, but trying to throw her off course. Steve hadn't been expecting it to work, but he'd been hoping it would take her attention and give Tony a free moment to fire something of his own, but Amora swerved violently out of the path of Steve's shield and Tony actually had the gaul to giggle before bothering to launch a burst of blue light.

Amora tossed up a hand and reflected Tony's power at a house (thankfully warded so the magic sizzled out), and erupted a blast of green light of her own.

Steve's shield wasn't quite back to him when the wave of power hit, sending him skidding back towards Tony. Steve pushed to his feet, putting himself between Tony and the intruder, his head still ringing with the force of her magical blast. The woman was tall, with beautiful features and blonde hair that vaguely reminded him of Thor, but all that beauty turned loathsome with her smirk. "Life seems like it's been good for you, darling. You're far more lovely than when you first awoke."

Steve stared in confusion for a moment before he realized it was him she was talking to and he replied, "Why did you wake me?"

She smirked, "Ah, isn't Anthony the clever boy? Why did I wake you, not what am I talking about." Steve had ever been one for bantering with villains, so he clenched his shield tighter and refused to speak. "Come now Steven," Amora sauntered forward, "there's no need to be difficult."

"My level of difficulty depends on what you're here for."

"For the harvest." Steve stared at her completely baffled, and did his best not to react when Tony started tracing lines along his spine.

"Did you know, dear Captain, that you're perfect?"

"I believe perfect is a matter of opinion."

Amora tilted her head ever so slightly to look around Steve's shield and catch Tony's eyes, "Is he always this self-depricating?"

"Yup. I haven't decided if it's great or terrible yet."

Amora smirked, "Personal opinions aside, that is what the spells were designed to create: perfection."

"And you're concerned with my hypothetical perfection, why?" Tony's nimble fingers were to the small of his back now, and Steve assumed that meant tony was nearly done with whatever he was scratching.

"Because you're beautiful, soaked in magic, and exactly the ingredient I need for my spell."

Tony stiffened behind him, his hand leaving off the writing and fingers clenching in the scruff of Steve's shirt. Steve pretended like that didn't make him nervous and without taking his eyes off Amora asked over his shoulder, "Want to translate, Tony?"

"She wants your heart."

Steve furrowed, "Attacking my friends isn't the way to win me over, Miss."

Amora chuckled, "I don't want your romance, Steven. I want to pluck your still beating heart out of your chest and eat it."

Then Tony, powerful, reckless, beautiful Tony laughed and said, "I actually have a problem with that." Tony grabbed Steve's shoulder and wrenched him out of the way while both sorcerers erupted with magic. Steve pulled his shield over his head and tried to get out of the way of the torrent of raw power they were flinging at one another in place of trying to cast actual spells. Amora chuckled, "Oh, Anthony, you've done so well. When I plucked Steven out of that ice his heart was so tired, so lost and dejected that I despaired of ever fixing him. My darling Hill fought so valiantly against my control over her that instead of fixing the man like I told her to, she tried to break him, making him useless. But then there was you. My lovely Anthony. The Captain and his heart are practically glowing all thanks to you."

If you wanted to get technical about it, Steve and Tony had only known one another for three weeks, but despite that scant amount of linear time, Steve felt like he knew Tony. Which meant he didn't need to see the flicker of Tony's power or see how Amora's stream of light lurched forward against him to know that Tony was upset by the concept that he'd somehow exposed Steve to this.

Rather than get out of the way like any other good little non-magic user, Steve cranked back his arm and tossed his shield at the woman. Amora shrieked at the sudden presence of shield in her stomach and before either man could respond she sent another burst of raw power at Steve. He braced himself to go flying again, but when the spell him full on... nothing happened.

Steve looked around, baffled, and Amora launched another blast at him, this one Steve caught on his shield and reflected it back at her, forcing her to dart out of the way instead. Steve looked to Tony, who had an unbearably smug grin on his face, which was al the explanation Steve needed. "What did you do?"

"There's a spell that enhances a person's normal abilities, the kiddie version of what Erskine did to you. Since you're already mostly invulnerable, I just made you… more."

"That's what you were writing on my spine, runes that made me invulnerable?"

Tony grinned, which was all the answer he got to give before Amora shrieked and launched a fireball at Steve, assuming pure magic wasn't going to do the trick anymore. Steve caught the spell with his shield while Tony launched a stream of attacks of his own, driving Amora back.

Steve just grinned while she was busy with Tony and charged at Amora, launching his shield ahead of him to throw her off balance before he crashed his whole weight into the slight woman. Amora shrieked and pushed back at him with a rush of power, but the magic just sizzled off his skin, leaving Steve untouched. Amora had spent so long relying on her magic that she had no defense for someone outside her touch. Steve gently but thoroughly brought the shield down on the back of Amora's head, forcing her unconscious.

The second Amora hit the earth James came blasting out of somewhere he certainly wasn't supposed to be hiding and smashed into Steve's chest, his emotions a tangle of concern and pride. The other riders came from their positions with congratulations, and Steve ignored them all to press a kiss to Tony's lips (who was surrounded by his own fan club of scientists).

"You were going to do that all along, weren't you?"

Tony smirked, "I don't know which answer would get me in less trouble."

Steve rolled his eyes and kissed Steve again, too happy to care.

Cap/Ironman Reverse Bang Fic: Flight 2/3

sunryder — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 01:04:58 GMT

Thor spent the next week on a ride with Fury, and Clint took it upon himself to be Steve's defense. With Clint's approval came Natasha and Phil, and since they were the most talented riders in the Aerie, everyone else either warmed up to Steve, or at the very least, got far more tolerant. Apparently, the good will of those three was enough to counteract Hill's obvious disdain, which grew more and more pointed with each passing day.

With Clint's help, Steve spent most of his days shifting from one griffin to another, trying to teach them all some of the skills he'd picked up from his Pride during the war. He helped the griffin's through trick moves, which Widow, Natasha's griffin, excelled at, and moves to make a griffin float, which Clint and Hawk took to immediately. Phil though, Phil and his griffin, Cole, were the biggest surprises of all. Phil was was Hill's right hand, and Steve had been prepared for the same sort of disdain from him as she had shown, but Phil was the complete opposite. He quietly made a teaching rotation for Steve, and pulled in riders from each all over for lessons. By the end of Thor's week away, Phil had Steve so well integrated into the rest of the Aerie that the riders had started approaching Steve all on their own for battle plans and formation techniques.

But still, Steve wasn't allowed out of the Aerie again.

Steve tried to tell himself that he wasn't secretly looking for a chance to sneak out to see Tony, but he should have guessed that Tony wouldn't let silly things like orders, or Steve living in the atmosphere, keep him from what he wanted. Three nights in to his reimposed isolation, Steve looked out his sliver of a window only to see a small mechanical bird hovering outside. Steve pushed open the window and the machine, a large hummingbird, zipped in and hovered impatiently in front of Steve, who just stared at it in confusion. "Um, hello? May I help you?" He tried, but the bird still hovered, and if anything, buzzed its wings a little harder in irritation. Steve tried to think of a password, or a magic phrase that might satisfy the little creature, but when nothing came to mind he simply stuck out his hands as a perch for it to wait on.

Apparently, that was the right move, because the creature hovered gently down to Steve's upturned palm, and tucked away its wings. The odd hummingbird opened its beak, and with a slight whirring, pushed out a rolled up letter before it clicked off. Steve set the machine down on his bedside table, assuming it would stay off until Steve had a letter of his own ready to send back. Steve unrolled the thin, but sturdy piece of parchment and read.

Steve,

I'm guessing that since Loki has never once in his life followed orders, and that Thor would tell the whole Aerie to screw themselves if he thought it would make a friend happy, there's a reason none of you have been back down. I expect Loki at least will lose his temper before long, and I'll be seeing you, but never let it be said that I'm a patient man. The kids have all been demanding you come back down to see them as I've been told that that was apparently the best game of tag they've ever played.

I figure Hill is upset that Thor brought you down to see me, so I thought it would better for you if I sent my letters incognito rather than through the usual service. This hummingbird is designed to go straight from you to me, and if someone else should catch it, it has instructions to destroy the letter. Write back to me, roll the letter up, and hold it in front of the hummingbird's beak and he'll bring it straight back like a good bird.

I'd like to write something racy that will leave you aching and plotting to steal someone else's griffin so you could come to me (or for me, either way), but Pepper is standing over my shoulder, tapping her foot in a rhythm completely contrary to my own writing, and insists that I finish the letter so that I can get some sleep. Apparently she finds something wrong with me staying up three days straight to make this contraption.

Let's see, the kids miss you. Write me back. I plan on kissing you until you're too addicted to me to ever return to Aerie. I'm pretty sure that covers everything.

-T.S.

XXXXX

Loki should have been exhausted. He'd been riding with Thor for a week straight, doing ridiculously inefficient patrols and trapped with griffins who couldn't carry on an intelligent conversation if their wings had depended on it. Terrible was the day when Loki anticipated having conversations with humans over his own kind. There were interesting Griffins back in Asgard, with their own griffin culture and magic. Service to a rider was expected among every young griffin, a way to give service back to your homeland and continue the symbiotic circle between griffins and humans. Each term of service to the Asgardian rider was two years, and Loki hadn't anticipated staying with a rider for a moment longer than he had to, until Thor, infuriating Thor, had bonded with him. Thor would be his rider until his dying breath, and once Thor had passed, Loki would bond with no other. Such a tragedy then, that Thor seemed determined to venture far beyond the bounds of their homeland and deal with such wretchedly annoying riders.

The groundlings in this land were the best, which is why Loki pulled back from landing while the rest of their temporary Pride went straight for the nests. Loki let out a sharp burst of impatience—the best, though slightly vague, way a griffin could communicate with any rider that wasn't their own—as a call to Steve. Steve was interesting, not for any of his magical skills or mental capacity, but because he talked to Loki like he was an equal, a trait severely lacking in this part of the world. Steve stuck his head out the window and waved hello. Steve looked ready to dart back inside and come down to the nests to meet them, but Loki put on a burst of speed to gather him from the window instead. Another thing Loki liked about Steve was his apparent inability to realize when anything was impossible or ridiculous, which is why Steve smiled while he launched himself up and out the window, aiming straight for Loki's waiting talons.

Thor shouted down a hello to Steve, "My friend! Tonight is the night for the midsummer celebration! It is a perfect night to come home to!"

Steve just smiled at Thor and spread his arms wide, flying along with Loki, not bothering to try and tell Thor that he already knew all about the party from Tony's letters.

Loki dropped down with a screech on a field outside town where the villagers were gathering, and the people called up with a cheer that made Loki preen. Steve went up on his toes, twisting around and trying to catch a glimpse of Tony when a bundle of children from the other day came darting up to Steve to drag him off into their games. Halfway through the first game of tag, Steve caught sight of Tony moving seamlessly through the crowd and grinning at Steve like a fiend.

The main attraction for the afternoon was a maypole, where all the children held a ribbon and with a lot of bounding (and more than a little adult interference) danced around weaving the ribbon. Because Steve was apparently the best adult ever, the swarm of children dragged him into the circle with them. So Steve spun in around, dropping low to weave under their outstretched arms, and then popping up far higher than he had to go to make them laugh. All while diligently ignoring how Tony's eyes tracked him around the field, glowing with a thought entirely inappropriate for a man surrounded by children.

Eventually, the children roamed back to the village proper, some back to their own beds, and others to a pile of blankets and pillows for a sleepover in the town hall. The moment the final child was clear of the party, Tony came out of nowhere and pressed himself against Steve's side. Tony leaned in even closer, his hot breath against the tender skin of Steve's neck and murmured, "A week. You left for a week only to come back and spend the whole night on the opposite side of the party."

"You could have come over to me." Steve teased.

"You were surrounded by children not even I'm that terrible."

Steve smiled, "You would have stolen me from the children."

"I admit, if I wasn't afraid of some of their parents, I would've."

Steve twisted his head slightly, forehead to forehead with Tony and breathed back, "So what happens now?"

Jane came out of nowhere and grabbed Steve by the wrist, pulling him away from Tony and into the circle of dancers already forming around the unlit bonfire. "Now, we dance!"

Steve looked back at Tony in confusion, and the man gave him a smirk with no sympathy once so ever. Steve sputtered at Jane, trying to protest, but before he could form a coherent argument, the woman jumped with him into a circle of people spinning around the fire to the steady rhythm of drums.

Steve had vague memories of a party like this back when he was boy, long before he'd joined the Aerie or met Sorcerer Erskine. The people on his tightly packed little street would have a celebration of their own, musicians crowded under one of the overhangs of the shopfronts, and small barrel fires lit up and down the street. He would dart through the people with the other children, playing games, and bobbing along to the music while the old women told tales about midsummer and the street's only magician would give them warpaint for the games they played.

Spending the holiday with adults felt pretty much the same. There was just the one fire, billowing high and hot like the noonday sun with a circle of adults dancing around to steps that Steve couldn't quite master, and so he gave up and just tried to make Jane laugh. Outside of the circle there were more people, some chatting in little clusters, others pulling food out of nowhere, and a few sprawled back on the grass just watching the show. (Of course, Tony was in that last category, surrounded by a circle of young magic-doers who seemed frantically interested in him.)

Jane grabbed Steve's hand and whipped him around in a circle, pressing close as she said, "Keep your attention on me, Cap. Nothing makes Tony interested quite so much as being ignored."

"But I don't want to ignore him." Steve replied innocently.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." Steve furrowed in confusion and with a laugh Jane explained, "With Tony, people either bend over and hope the sex is good enough that he'll keep them around, or they play games with him and hope the thrill of the chance will be enough."

"But, if they don't know Tony then why are they trying to…"Steve let his blush fill in the end of that sentence.

Jane laughed. "Steve, you know who Tony is, don't you? I mean, you're the Captain, so I think out of anyone alive you might win that competition, but to everyone else, he's kind of a big deal."

"Because he's a Stark, or…"

Jane paused for a moment, staring at Steve like she wasn't sure whether or not he was teasing her before she replied, "He's supposed to be Sorcerer Supreme."

Steve stumbled to a halt, one person behind him in the circle lobbing into him before grinning and changing the flow of the circle so he and Jane could stand there uninterrupted. "What?"

"He was trained to become the next Sorcerer Supreme. The second he entered school to become a wizard the magical hierarchy told everyone that the second he was properly trained, Tony would be the one to take control. They knew from the time he was young that he was the most powerful magic wielder we have. Didn't he tell you?"

"He told me that he dropped out of school because he didn't like the way they did things."

"Well, that is the truth. He walked out on them and declared that this town, Tony's hometown, was going to be a sanctuary for people like him. The leaders of the magical society don't like what we're doing here, combining science and magic, but Tony's too powerful for them to make a fuss. He really didn't tell you?"

"We've talked about your town, and that he hated school, but none of this." Something flickered across Jane's face and Steve asked, "What? What's wrong?"

Jane bit her lip and just stared at him hesitantly before she said, "Tony usually likes to show off."

Steve paused for a moment, "No, he doesn't. It's not about showing off, it's about doing what people expect of him. And I don't expect that." Jane just smiled at him, finding some sort of subtext that had never crossed Steve's mind. Steve grinned and tugged Jan off her feet, spinning around to join the rest of the dancers. Steve went on like that for longer than he could count, spinning from one partner to another as the evening wore on into night. Sometimes he would lean back, gulping in a fresh breath of air, and there he would see Tony, sometimes dancing, sometimes rambling, but always just out of reach.

The fire was roaring high, and by the time Steve finally stopped moving, he was covered in sweat from the heat of it and the warm press of moving bodies beside him. Steve's latest partner spun out of his arms, swinging off to another companion and he turned around to finally, finally find himself chest to chest with Tony. "You look like you've been enjoying yourself." Tony grinned.

"We never did this on the Aerie." Steve breathed.

"I think bonfires aren't meant for a mostly wooden structure."

"I mean, we never danced, never really sang, I'd forgotten how much I used to enjoy it."

"I know the riders are no fun, but they really don't celebrate Midsummer?"

"Some prides do, but never the whole Aerie. My pride, they were like my brothers, and we'd celebrate quietly, but we'd all be together and that's what made it good." Steve looked off into the distance for a moment, "They would've loved this."

Tony wrapped an arm around Steve's waist and pulled him closer, "Who wouldn't?" Steve smiled, caught up in Tony's energy, practically humming with life. Tony pressed closer and tilted his head back the few degrees that would align his mouth with Steve's and breathed out, "Dance with me."

Whoever was in charge of the music must have been on Tony's team, because the music slowed then, a meandering steady pace that let Tony pull Steve close to him and just sway, somehow managing to come closer with every movement.

After several minutes of the quiet motion, Tony pressed a kiss to Steve's jaw and whispered,"Stay with me tonight." Steve paused, unsure of himself. "Just here. Half the town is sleeping out here tonight, stay with me."

Steve ran a hand through Tony's dark hair, the light of the fire making it glow with hints of crimson and he desperately wanted to say, “Always,” but it was too soon. Steve gave Tony a bright smile and restrained himself to, “Of course.”

XXXXX

Steve woke the next morning with his head cradled on Tony's chest and refused to open his eyes. He could feel the gentle warmth of the barely risen sun spreading over the field, and the beating of Tony's heart under his cheek. Steve tilted his head and burrowed into Tony's chest, smiling softly to himself, remembering why a lifetime ago mornings had been his favorite time of day, all soaked in potential for beauty. Steve stretched and finally opened his eye to see Hill staring down at the two of them. "Hill!" Steve shouted, shifting to put his bulk in between Hill and Tony, and startling the other from his slumber.

"You didn't come home last night," She sneered.

Something in Steve snapped and decided he was done quietly taking this. "No, I didn't go back to the Aerie last night. There's a difference."

Hill actually reeled back at that, shocked at Steve's blunt response. "You mean to tell me you've decided being with land dwellers is your home now?"

"It's closer to home than what you've got up there."

"Nomad! You will not speak to me like that! Magic made you what you are, and I am magic's representative in the Aerie."

Tony snorted, not at all concerned by the fact that he was warm and rumpled, latching on to Steve's hand to pull himself to his feet. "If you're the best the Aerie's got then I'm surprised it hasn't fallen out of the sky yet."

Hill blistered, "I am a sorceress!"

Tony actually laughed at that one. "No you're not."

Hill all but had a stroke at that, and pressed forward into Tony's space, her hands starting to glow. Steve tried to dart in between them and protect Tony, but before Steve could even move, Hill was sent flying backward head over feet. Tony spared a moment to straighten his shirt a little, but otherwise looked completely unfazed. There was a slight shimmer to his skin where Hill had tried to touch him, and when Steve reached out to touch Tony's shoulder the air just above his skin rippled and repelled Steve's hand.

"What...?"

Tony looked at Steve with a smirk. "Just because I didn't train as a sorcerer doesn't mean I'm not brilliant. That, and Hill has no sense of subtlety." Tony didn't even bother looking at the woman charging him as he flicked his wrist and stopped her in her tracks.

"You're backing the wrong horse, Stark. He's a nomad with no authority in the Aerie. He won't be able to get you want you want.”

Tony harked a laugh at that, and gestured towards Steve, "He's The Captain!”

Hill tried to argue back, but Tony was already bored. He clenched his hand into a fist and Hill's words died on her lips. Steve tried not to laugh at the way her eyes enlarged in a panic all the while she scrambled to free her voice, but she wasn't successful. Loki was far less subtle than Steve, and cawed out a laugh while he nudged the frantic Hill up onto her embarrassed griffin's back.

Tony huffed, "Well that was a terrible way to start-" but Steve's hug cut him off.

"That was amazing."

Tony preened slightly, "If that impresses you, I can't imagine what you're going to do when I start pulling out the big magic."

Steve pulled back to look him in the eye, and fixed his most brilliant smile on Tony, "I think right now you could make me a sandwich and I'd be happy." Steve pressed his forehead to Tony's. "Thank you."

Tony ran grateful but slightly confused hands up and down Steve's back, "Hill's full of shit."

"Still, people listen to her."

"So long as you don't, I don't care."

"It's still difficult to hear them talk."

"They've got nothing to do with us."

"Tony," Steve paused, "what are you talking about?"

"I was talking about, wait, what are you talking about?"

"That she calls me a nomad."

Tony snorted. "That's just nonsense. Thor told me how you've been teaching everyone at the Aerie. By this point, you're more in charge up there than she is."

Steve blushed. "Then what were you talking about?"

"How I might be using you to get a foothold in the Aerie."

"But that doesn't make sense. Why would you care about them?"

"There are specific spells that are passed down from one Aerie sorcerer to another."

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "Would that really stop you if you wanted them?"

"Of course not." Tony paused for a moment before he looked at Steve like something brilliant had just struck him. "You don't like being called a nomad."

Steve grinned, humoring Tony. "No."

"Well then, lets go find you a Griffin." Tony strode off for his lab, like he hadn't just said something earth shattering.

Steve just good there, rooted to the spot as he stammered out. "Wait, what?"

"We're going to go see the griffins." Tony called out.

"But… we can't." Steve stumbled after him.

Tony snorted. "I thought we covered how I feel about 'can't', Steven."

"It doesn't matter how you feel about it, Tony. It's disrespectful to just turn up at the Den." The double-doors to Tony's ground-level lab swung open at his approach, and Tony went straight for one of his machines, ignoring all of Steve's objections. "Tony!"

"Steve." Tony consoled, "Rider-griffin relations may be tense, but they actually like the rest of us."

Steve stubbornly stayed away from the transportation machine that Tony had mounted. "Why wouldn't they like the riders?"

Tony huffed and climbed back off of the machine and crowded into Steve's personal space, bracketing his face between his palms. "You don't get it do you? You're unique." Steve tried to shrug Tony off. "No, Steve. You're special. You treat griffins like they're your equals, like your friends."

"That's what all riders do!"

"No, it's what they're supposed to do. Haven't you noticed that Loki shuns everyone else in your Aerie?"

"But Clint is best friends with Hawk, and Phil-"

"They're the exceptions, not the rule. You, in the infinite luck that seems to follow you around, managed to find the only riders in your Aerie with any real sense. The young riders get taught that their griffins are nothing but a tool made out of inferior magic, something little better than a horse. Then the kids go on peaceful patrols and never come to understand what their griffin is actually capable of. Clint and Natasha, they've been in battle with their griffins, and they've learned better."

"But—"

"No buts. Get in the CAR and let the griffins tell you themselves."

Steve grumbled about it, but settled in to the spot behind Tony. He'd seen this machine on his tour of the lab, thinking it looked like a long sort of saddle held up by two oddly shaped wheels, but seeing the shiny silver machine didn't quite prepare Steve for what it did. Steve sat straight and uncomfortable until Tony reached back and grabbed him by the hips, pulling Steve forward until the whole front of him was pressed to the back of Tony. Steve blushed and Tony just grinned. "Hold on tight."

"What—" was all Steve got out before Tony twisted a nob and the machine took off. They soared through the air, halfway outside the town limits before they even had a chance to breath. Steve plastered himself against Tony's back and wrapped his arms around Tony's waist, burying his face in between Tony's shoulder blades. Steve could feel Tony's laughter rumble through him, and Tony shifted his arm, trying to nudge Steve so that he would look up. Steve refused, it was one thing to go this fast on a griffin he knew, and entirely different to trust this scrap of metal.

Suddenly, the wind tunnel around them cut out and Steve looked up, foolishly thinking Tony had stopped for him to adjust, but instead, the world was still whirling by, but with no wind. Over his shoulder Tony said, "When I'm not in the mood for the wind I put up a bubble." Steve couldn't really see the bubble, but he could hear the faintest humming sound from the wind rushing across its surface. He stretched out his hand, and just a few inches off the surface of his skin there was something resilient. It moved with his fingers when he pressed in, and vibrated with the pressure of the wind. Steve laid his head down on Tony's shoulder and watched as the world went by.

Their trip was over in less than half an hour thanks to the obscene speeds of Tony's machine, bringing them to a stop on the far side of a long and winding lake with crags framing the sides that grew in height as the lake went on. Tony dismounted, and grabbed Steve by his elbow to pull him onto the soft sand that lined the head of the lake. "Are you just gonna leave your machine here?" Steve asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.

"The griffin watching the entrance will keep track of it for us."

Steve twisted around, trying to locate where said griffin was. Tony smirked. "You didn't think the griffins would leave the entrance to their den undefended did you?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised there's not more than one."

Tony snorted and pointed up to the highest point of the first turn down the lake where a griffin was taking off and coming towards them, a griffin so large it looked like it could blot out the sun. "The general belief is that Panther can guard the entrance himself."

Panther landed before them with only a few beats of his massive wings. This griffin was black, not the glossy black of Loki that drew everyone's attention, but a matte black that would make him all but invisible at night. A human dressed in black slipped off the griffin's back, just as lethal as his charge, but instead of bulk the man was warrior lean, and every movement smooth and sleek. Steve was reminded of Natasha's stealth, and Steve stepped in front of Tony out of pure instinct.

The man pulled off his hood and gave Steve a quiet smile. "You need have no fear in this place, Captain. No harm will come to you or yours while you are in the protection of the Den."

"You know who I am?" Steve asked, not quite believing.

“You are The Captain. There is no child among us, human or griffin, who does not know your story.” He dipped into a bow. “It is my honor to welcome you to the Den. I am T'Challa, keeper of the way and chief of the guards, and this is my companion, Panther.”

Steve blushed, but dipped into a bow of his own. "It's an honor to be welcomed. I assume you already know Tony Stark."

Tony grinned tauntingly. "Yes, yes, everyone knows everyone else. Now, T'Challa, take us to the hatchlings."

Steve placed a hand over the back of his neck, rubbing slightly as T'Challa quirked a brow, obviously accustomed to Tony's antics. "Tony," Steve stressed, "You can't just demand to see the hatchlings."

"Why not? T'Challa, Steve needs to see the hatchlings because it's finally time the Aerie step aside so that Steve can find a griffin of his own."

"Tony!"

T'Challa chuckled. "I see nothing wrong with his statement, Captain. Come, one of our couriers is on the way, and he shall take you to the hatchlings." A young griffin landed and allowed Steve and Tony to climb on his back, carrying them off over the lake while T'Challa stayed behind on duty. The young griffin was very nearly shaking at having one of this childhood heroes as a rider, which caused Tony to tease Steve mercilessly.

Though the ride was slightly turbulent, it was still beautiful. They rode low over the clear water, the occasional griffin soaring passed and screeching a “hello” before they dove for something in the water to eat. The deeper in they got, the higher the red and gray crag walls rose around them until finally, they reached a deep valley in the crag, with small green islands scattered around and a waterfall at the far end feeding the entire system. The young griffin took them up, passed the valley walls that housed dozens of griffins' nests in their outcroppings, past the series of connected pools that spilled over into a staggered waterfall, and up to the very top. The fall's highest point had been built up, massive rocks heaped so that there was a large landing pad and a deep but mellow pool on the far end.

Beyond the pool was, for lack of a better word and despite it's odd placement, a meadow. The valley walls stretched ever higher there, safely bottling in the warm place full of grass at the deepest part of the Den. The river that lead to the fall cut across the edge of the meadow, slow and peaceful before it reached the pool and then its drop, and there was where the griffins kept their precious hatchlings, as safe from the outside as they could make them.

The young griffin landed, and Steve offered his thanks while they dismounted, trying to pay adequate attention to the obviously excited griffin instead of the frolicking hatchlings he was aching to see. The youngling looked like it was planning to stay, but he stiffened at a call from someone else and took off immediately.

“You're late.” Steve whirled around to see a lean female griffin, fur and feathers silver from a long life, and gifted with the ability to speak to all humans on behalf of her people. But it was the softening of her brown eyes that caught Steve's attention.

"Peggy," he breathed. "In my defense, I didn't mean to be."

"No, you never did meant for any of the interesting things that happened to you."

Steve darted forward, and wrapped strong arms around her neck while the griffin nuzzled him back. "They told me he didn't kill you, but I still can't believe it."

"You're the one who spent 70 years on ice. I'm positive I'm the one who gets to be shocked."

"Uh, care to explain?" Tony interrupted.

Peggy nuzzled closer. "He's my rider."

“What? Steve, I thought you didn't have a griffin."

"Peggy was the griffin I was paired with most often. She was with me at the final battle."

"Oh."

Steve twisted a little, taking in Tony's expression and knew he was trying to respect their moment but didn't want to be left out. "We never bonded," Steve explained. "Even when Peggy and I tried with all the spells that are supposed to be impossible to fight. But I… couldn't."

Peggy nudged him gently. "We weren't meant to Steve. There's nothing wrong with you, we just weren't meant to be." Steve buried his face in Peggy's fur and she accepted the affection offered for a moment before nudging him back and declaring, "That's enough of that. Come along, we've got hatchlings to meet.”

XXXXX

As seemed to be Steve's gift, he went down to run amok with the hatchlings, leaving Tony to sit in the sunshine with Peggy. Tony maintained silence for a whole 30 seconds before he demanded, "What's up with Steve?"

"He's alive."

“Leader Peggy, he freaked when I said we should come look for a griffin. Why would he do that?"

"Perhaps, sorcerer, you should be asking him."

"You honestly think Steve has changed all that much since you last saw him?"

"If he won't tell you—"

"He won't tell me because deep inside, he's still that skinny little kid who would rather let himself get beat up if he thinks it will help someone else."

"And you think he avoids griffins for the greater good?"

"I think someone told him it was for the greater good."

Peggy turned her attention back to Steve who was busy helping untangle one of the smaller griffins, running a soothing hand over the boy's feathers, straightening them out. Tony waited, impatiently, but he waited for her to speak. "They told him he would never have a griffin of his own."

Tony paused for a moment, and Peggy could almost feel the hum of Tony's mind whirring away, tossing aside unlikely interpretations and landing on, "The spells they did to make him different. They said that would keep him from bonding with a griffin?"

"A point he takes as proven fact after all our failed attempts."

"But that's credibly stupid." Peggy glared at Tony, and rather than be abashed, Tony launched back. "Hey, it is stupid! Whatever magic Erskine ended up using on him wasn't the kind that would corrupt a person's soul to the point where they couldn't make connections. If Steve had been messed up like that, then he would've destroyed himself by now."

"How?" Peggy demanded.

"If he was really unable to bond with a griffin, it would mean he'd be unable to bond with people, too. And if he couldn't bond, couldn't feel love for anyone, then he wouldn't have been able to risk his life for all of us, he wouldn't be able to care."

"So, why didn't we bond?"

"If you didn't bond when both of you wanted it, it's because magic knew better."

"What does that mean, Anthony?"

"It could mean the two of you would've ended up driving one another crazy, or that when he was trapped in the ice your bond would have broken, and then you would have wasted away without him, and would have never been in charge of your people. And who knows what would've happened then."

"Or, his griffin could still be out there. The one he was meant to bond with."

“Or that.”

Cap-Ironman Reverse Bang Fic: Flight 1/3

sunryder — Sun, 29 Apr 2012 00:59:32 GMT

Title: Flight
Artist: made_of_tin
Author: sunryder
Beta: keelover
Rating (both art/fic): PG
Universe: Comic-esque
Word Count: ~16,000
Warnings: Abuse of Canon
Link to Art: Stunning, stunning artwork HERE Really, you need to go see it, it made my brain explode!
Fic Summary:

On to Part 2 | On to Part 3

She glided over the smooth ground, feet touching the floor so lightly she left no trace of her presence. She had cast a spell out before her to smooth the way, drowning the guards in the overwhelming urge to sleep, and to keep their failing to themselves. There were pathetically few guards protecting the Jess, though why she'd assumed these pathetic griffin riders would have the common sense to properly defend the building that housed all their treasures, she didn't know. Hidden deep within the Jess were records of all the riders to come before, secrets and stories known only to their people, artifacts that had made their history, and at the center of it all was the frozen corpse of Captain Steven Rogers.

The Captain had been crafted of magic beyond the skill of anyone still yet living, and the Sorcerer who'd made him had died with his refusal to ever make another like him. The Captain had fought a battle to the death against the abomination of magic he was created to destroy, and as his target lay dying, he cast one last spell against the Captain, trapping him in a pillar of ice, and killing him instantly.

Or so the story went.

The riders kept the Captain in his pillar of ice, tucked away in the depths of the Jess where, in theory, only the most honored were allowed to see him. (In truth, guided tours went through the building at least once a month, with a stop to try and chip away a piece of his ice to sell as a relic.)

Never had she seen the Captain in person, but she had always been curious, and that curiosity had paid off well for her. One night she stole a memory from the mind of a rider, a memory of the Captain trapped in his ice, and she knew, his heart still beat within his prison.

She used her powers as a sorceress to trample the will of many a rider until she found her way into the Jess, and stood uninhibited before the ice that held the Captain caged. He was a beautiful man, bright face still burning with the flush of youth, and for a moment she thought of keeping him for a time after he woke, taking a little pleasure from his frame still humming with magic. But he was far too perfect an ingredient to waste with waiting. His block of ice sat in the center of a room surrounded by layers of defunct protection spells made by lesser wizards. Some spells were shapes etched into the ground, and others were runes painted into the walls. But with the passing of time and the coming of tourists everything in its turn had been scratched out, leaving the good Captain unprotected.

Everything, that is, but the ice.

She sauntered forward, reaching out with her magic to get a feel for the weak points in the ice, stepping in a smooth circle around it until she found the perfect place that could give her a path through the block to where the Captain waited. She traced her finger along the ice, burning the grooves of a rune wherever she touched. When the mark was inscribed she rested her palm against the flat surface of the ice and chanted under her breath.

The reaction was immediate, as though the magic that created the ice had been impatiently waiting all this time for someone to give it the order to break. Within moments outer chunks of ice slicked off the block, like glaciers dropping into the sea. She stepped back, trying to keep out of the way of the sudden rush of water, but the spell was too enthusiastic, melting away the water and soaking the hem of her long, green skirt. She hissed in displeasure and looked down to shoot another spell to tidy her dress, and by the time she looked back up the Captain was already free of his icy enclosure, slumped down to the ground, taking in the long, slow breaths of deep sleep.

A quick flick of her magic banished away the rest of the unwarranted water, though she consciously left the Captain damp so his clothes would cling to the lovely planes of his chest for her own amusement. She knelt down beside him, and appreciated the view for a moment (a woman ought to have some pleasures before she killed a man in order to eat his heart).

She pulled a box from within one of the enchanted pockets of her skirt and cracked it open before setting the box down beside his body. The box was spelled to keep his heart fresh once she cut it out from within his chest, letting no time pass so that the organ might be as fresh as possible when she added it to her spell. She reached into the same pocket and withdrew a long, curved knife with enchantments so strong it glowed in the pale light of the room.

With a push of her magic she rolled the Captain on to his back, and put her hand upon his chest to open the clasps of his armor, only to pause when she felt the warm thrum of his heartbeat underneath her palm. She hissed in displeasure and dropped the knife to rip open the sturdy, enchanted fabric that gave him protection, and pressed her hand straight to his chest, getting a feel for his heart undiluted by the armored spells.

She cursed under her breath at this discovery. His heart was beating, yes, but it was tired. When the spell had hit him, preserving him well enough to be reached by her all these years later, the Captain had resigned himself to death. His heart kept beating, but the good Captain wasn't truly alive.

No, no, this just wouldn't do. Her final spell, for which the Captain's heart was absolutely vital, wouldn't do it's job well if his heart was not full to bursting. A heart like this, no matter what it may have done before being exhausted, would crumple under the pressure and ruin her chances.

She gathered up her skirt and stormed out of the room, leaving the Captain alone and alive on the floor where she'd put him. His heart needed to live again, to thrum with meaning and strength, and given her track record of dead lovers, she was not the person for the task.

But she knew precisely who was.

XXXXX

"You have need of freedom, Steven!"

"This isn't freedom Thor, it's kidnapping!" Steve objected, trying to sound forceful while hanging from the claws of Thor's griffin. It didn't really work since he could hear Thor laugh at his objection and feel Loki, the griffin, doing the same.

Steve had stumbled out on to one of the Aerie's many balconies, desperate for a breath of fresh air. The only time he'd left the rider's floating base in the month since he'd woken was when he had been taken from the Jess to the Aerie, and he'd been going steadily insane ever since. He aimlessly paced around halls that hadn't changed in over seventy years, looking for the long dead riders of his pride around every corner he turned. The loneliness and expectation tore at him, but Madame Hill had given orders that Steve was to stay concealed in the protection of the Aerie, leaving him trapped.

All of the riders kept Steve confined as they were ordered, save for Thor.

The second Steve stepped out onto the balcony for his moment of freedom, Loki dropped from his perch where he had laid in wait, and silently dove straight for Steve. Before he knew what hit him Steve was wrapped in Loki's talons, suspended over the countryside below and on his way to freedom. Communicating like all griffins, Steve could feel Loki projecting smug triumph at catching the rider unaware. Loki broadcast this emotion to Thor as well, and the rider came darting out an upper window, trying to see what his griffin was up to now. Steve felt the mental hum of the griffin and his rider having a conversation unto themselves, but instead of Steve being restored to his position on the balcony, Thor smirked and took a flying leap out the window as Loki darted over to catch him. Loki gave a burst of irritation at having Thor's bulk thump upon him from above, but didn't waste time complaining, and instead fluttered his wings for the nearest town.

Steve gave himself a moment to enjoy the thrill of flying, the wind rushing past and granting him the pure bliss of freedom before he started shouting up to Thor that he really should be getting back to the Aerie. Loki and Thor let this go on for several minutes, with Thor shouting back his own brand of logic, and Loki projecting a little louder each time that he thought Steve was being ridiculous.

Eventually Loki couldn't take it anymore and twisted into a barrel roll, waiting until the peak of his momentum to release Steve, and let him launch up into the air, free of the safety and restraint of the griffin's talons. Steve reached the top of his arc and floated there, weightless with his arms outstretched for one perfect moment, before the earth seized control again and pulled him back down.

Loki was a talented griffin, Steve had spent enough time over the last few weeks watching his fly to know that. (It was a small comfort to know that griffins were mostly the same as they had been all those years ago, though that was rather more soothing than the predictability of other things.) Now, just as then, there were griffins who had been trained to do nothing more than fly fast and dive hard, but whatever they taught in Thor's country had given Loki more agility than Steve had ever seen in a griffin (though Loki might have learned it all on his own to ease his mischief). Loki positioned himself under Steve, talons up to catch him, and tucked his wings into his sides to join Steve in a drop, close enough to Steve's speed that the griffin caught him without jarring, then rolled and again, with a spread of wings, raced back up into the sky.

The earth below them was thick forest slowly thinning into green fields as they moved away from the floating village that was the Aerie and closer to civilization. Steve vaguely recalled a village lying this way when he'd been a rider, but in truth he'd never been to see it. Steve felt Loki send him a burst of questions, and Steve had spent enough time around griffins to know that the emotion was meant to ask how Steve knew his maneuvers when no one else at his home in Aerie knew them. Steve shouted up, "My pride had riders from all over, and they taught me."

Loki paused for a moment, not sending Steve back into the air when he expected it and instead gliding while he sent another gentle pulse of questioning. Rather than use words, Steve let Loki in to his mind to feel the hollow ache of a bond that never was, all Loki needed to understand that Steve had never bonded with a griffin of his own to share the skills with. Despite how the other riders found Loki difficult, the griffin felt for Steve, and rather than pestering Steve with questions, tossed him back into the air, trying to make Steve laugh.

XXXXX

As always, Pepper was the one to roam into Tony's sunlit conservatory of a workshop, and point out that had he looked up from his latest project he would've noticed that Thor and Loki had come to visit. The griffin Aerie usually floated over the wild country that made up the kingdom's border, sometimes venturing closer to the town where Tony stayed when he wasn't on a bender in the capital, and other times, the Aerie would simply weave up and down the countryside, venturing nearer to the other villages.

The griffin rider's made a point of visiting the other towns alongside their route, and with all their disdain for anything that wasn't magic very deliberately kept away from Stark's town. Thor was the only rider Tony had seen in years, though he didn't care about science or magic, just about Jane. (She had gone to examine the workings of an Aerie in Thor's country, and when she came back, he had followed her. Thor did his duty by reporting in to the local Aerie and riding out with them when his gifts were needed, but then he spent every spare moment he could on the ground making Jane smile.)

After all these months, Thor and his griffin had become familiar guests in the town, but the man Loki had just let drop from his claws was new. Pepper gasped at the sudden drop, but Tony just turned and roamed outside. Before Loki even released the man, the griffin had changed the tilt of his wings ready to dive down and catch him. Tony had spent hours out by the lake watching Loki and Thor go through their maneuvers, and Tony's analytical mind had cataloged all of Loki's movements, working to incorporate them into his own designs. Tony roamed out into the bright day and down to the stretch of flat land that separated Tony's manor from the lake, where Loki usually came in for his landing.

Though, for all his familiarity with Loki, Steve hadn't been expecting the griffin to drop the man a second time, this time with no intention of catching him.

Tony could hear Thor shouting in a panic, but judging by Loki's mental vibrations of pleasure, the dropped man wasn't wounded. Whatever other analysis Tony might have done of the situation was swallowed up by the sight of Loki's cargo bursting out of the water, sending up a storm of drops. The man slogged his way out of the lake, blonde curls tumbling into his eyes, and his non-uniform white shirt clinging to the lines of his chest in a way Tony planned on daydreaming about later on.

When the man looked up to see Tony staring at him with interest in his eyes, he turned a shade of red that Tony had thought you needed to be a young maiden to reach. Tony smirked and the man gulped out a, "H-Hello."

"Remind me to gift wrap some sheep for Loki."

"Huh?" The man stumbled, still calf-deep in the lake.

"He deserves a reward for bringing me a present like you."

The man's eyes widened briefly before he looked away in embarrassment, and Tony shared a smirk with Loki while the griffin landed. Thor jumped off Loki's back and ran straight into the water, wrapping the soaked man into a hug. "Steve! Are you well?"

Steve laughed, and patted Thor on the shoulder, "I'm fine."

"Did you finally find a rider you like, Thor?" Tony asked.

Thor wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulder and dragged the man on to dry land. "Tony, my friend! This is Steven Rogers, my fellow Rider thought lost to a spell of ice."

Tony smirked like he expected Thor to let him in on the joke, but when Loki didn't chime in with his own teasing, Tony paused and stared at Steve for a long moment before he breathed out, “How did that happen?” Tony pulled out a small piece of mostly clear glass that he tapped with a pulse of magic and spread his fingers to expand to several inches. He began to wave it methodically all around Steve, who could see lines of runes appearing like writing the more Tony held it near him.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"You're the Captain. You're the Captain, and you died, but apparently you didn't because you're here and you're gorgeous, and I want to know why."

Loki had a spark of amusement that obviously meant, 'Know why he's gorgeous?' and Tony muttered, "Shut up, Loki."

Steve was quiet for a moment, watching Tony's work worn hands move smoothly over the glass, shifting it so he could could see the whole of Steve within the glass edges, and with a quick tug from Tony's magic, an outline of Steve appeared at the center of the runes. Tony ignored how Steve was watching him, and how Thor was pestering Loki that Jane was waiting for them. The intensity of Tony's stare, looking at him but not quite seeing him, made Steve interrupt, "I was at the Jess."

"I know. Everyone who could, went to see you. Though most people thought it was a little morbid that we kept your ice-covered body as a statue."

"You didn't?"

Tony shrugged, "You were dead. I figured you would've rather been useful instead of a statute."

"They said someone melted the ice."

Tony tilted the glass, tapped, and skimmed quickly over what it was he had found before. "Yup. Looks like a variation on the preservation spell." Steve tried to ask, but Tony went on, talking to himself now. "Tailored to melt the ice, but to preserve the freshness of whatever's inside of it."

Loki sent a question and popped up beside Tony, nudging him until Tony tilted the glass so the griffin could read along. "I recognize some of these markers from the spell used to preserve food."

Steve couldn't take it anymore, "Markers?"

Neither Tony nor Loki looked up, so Steve prodded again, and Loki nipped at Tony until he answered, "Spells effect things, changing them from their natural state.But if you know how to look, you can see where those changes were made, and if you're very, very good, like me, you can recognize what those changes were meant to do from where they are.”

"So, they tried to preserve my freshness because…?"

"So you'd be just as delicious when you came out of the ice as when you went it. Why they wanted you edible however, I have no idea." Tony's gaze flicked up from the glass and gave Steve a look that made him flush again, "Other than the obvious."

Thor clapped one of his massive hands against Tony's back, and declared, "Come, Tony! Put away your device and walk with us. The day is bright, Steven is free, and my lovely Jane waits for us!"

Loki gave an amused snort, but he didn't take off like Steve had expected him to. Tony leaned up against Steve, his hot breath against his ear as he whispered, “Loki likes Jane.” Loki nudged Tony, sending him stumbling forward, but didn't deny Tony's statement.

Thor tossed his arms wide, and declared, "All adore my Jane! She is light, and joy, and genius personified!"

They all laughed good-naturedly at Thor's enthusiasm before heading up from the shore and into the town proper. It was clean and well organized, and despite the town being relatively small, judging by the workmen who occasionally roamed by them, it was still growing. The houses looked different than from what Steve remembered, some of them brick, while others were made of metal, unlike the wooden homes Steve had been accustomed to. And many of the houses in town weren't just homes, but also had a barn-like structure built along side of them. Tony stepped away from whoever he'd been exchanging pleasantries with when he caught Steve staring and explained, "They're labs. It's dangerous to conduct experiments where you live, so most of us have another space."

The more Steve watched the houses, the more he realized nothing was quite the same. There was a dog chasing a mechanical cat down the street, ("Henry likes having the dog but hates to walk it," Tony explained) another yard had short metal windmills turning beautifully in the slightest breeze, ("Bruce makes stuff as part of his meditation."), and a hovering carriage with no need for horses ("I don't really ask why Clint makes what he makes."). All the changes were subtle, just enough that if you weren't looking for the difference, you would never have come across them. Tony could see the questions flickering over Steve's face, and always tried to intervene before confusion set in.

"That house over there," Tony said, pointing passed Steve to a large manor at the outskirts of town up on a hill, "That's Charlie's. You know how magic is divided up into four main categories?"

"Fire, water, wind, and air," Steve replied.

"Exactly. Well, over the last few generations, witches and wizards have been getting more diverse in the way those categories are expressed. It used to be that a fire wizard would just be better at spells that involved heat, but then a few generations ago, people started popping up with different kinds of abilities."

"Like, their fire was stronger?"

"Some. But there were others who were actual fire starters, or fire controllers. And others who didn't have a lick of magical ability, couldn't cast a proper spell to save their life, but they could control fire."

"But, that's impossible," Steve retorted.

"Nope. Charlie's even got a student who can create ice, another who can cause windstorms, and one who can cause small earthquakes. Charlie studies what makes it possible to have all of these different expressions of magic, and why they've been cropping up more often." Thor caught sight of one of the labs, and started up the hill. Tony laughed, "And then, of course, there's Jane."

"My lovely Jane," Thor crooned. "She studies the intricacies of the heavens."

"So, you're all… scientists."

Tony tried to pretend the question didn't give him pause, but Steve caught the slightest hesitation before he replied, "Most of us study the world through wholly un-magical science, but there are still plenty of scientists here who also practice magic. Charlie, the one who's trying to figure out why powers have been mutating, he's a Reader."

"So," Steve puzzled out, "you don't mind magic?"

"Of course not. Sometimes magic is the best way to get things done, and sometimes its holding us back."

Rather than let Tony take Steve on a tour of everything magical in the town, Thor grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and ushered them along. "Didn't they have non-magical stuff when you were around the first time?" Tony asked.

Steve rolled his eyes at the question, "Of course they did, it's just, it's all so different."

"Of course it's different. It's been seventy years."

"But it's not 'of course'. The Aerie hasn't changed at all."

"When you say 'at all,' you mean—"

"Everything in the whole building is exactly the same as it was when I…" Tony let him trail off rather than try to come up with a vague euphemism for 'mostly died'. "I thought it was just the way of the world, but everything down here is different."

Tony snorted, "Of course the Aerie hasn't changed. They refuse to. The riders here are all wrapped up in their traditions and their magic, and they refuse to do a thing any different than they ever have."

"How do you, I mean…"

"No, I wasn't a Rider. When I was young, I went to the capital to study as a wizard. They wanted me to stay on as a sorcerer, but I couldn't take it anymore."

Steve set aside his ingrained impression at people with magical skills like that, especially considering how powerful Tony must have been to be asked to become a sorcerer. Standard practitioners of magic were called magicians, while those who went to school were called wizards, and only the absolute best were known as sorcerers. "What happened?"

"All the school cared about was keeping the traditions alive. There were new ways, better ways, to do the magic they were doing, but no one wanted to listen. No one cared about innovation, or involving the whole new realm of science. Just doing things with the same blind faith they always had."

"So you left."

"Came back home and started my own practice of magic. And I made the village a place where other scientists, and other innovators could come and work without getting told they were heretics."

"Isn't heretics is a little harsh?" Steve asked, and a woman's voice interrupted him.

"If anything, heretics isn't strong enough."

"Jane!" Thor shouted, and spun the woman around in his arms.

"It's only been three days!" Jane protested halfheartedly, still pressing herself into Thor's chest and smiling at the sight of him.

"Any time apart from you is too long."

Tony smirked at the display and headed into the open barn Jane had been in, skirting past Thor who was making heartfelt declarations of eternal love. "Come on, they'll be doing that for a while." Steve smiled, believing him completely. Tony leaned in a little closer, speaking to Steve in a soft voice, "Jane is a scientist, not a drop of magic in her. Well, unless you count what Thor leaves behind.”

Steve blushed furiously and proceeded to whack Tony on the shoulder. "You can't say that about a lady!"

Tony rolled his eyes, and moved on, "She's not a lady, she's a scientist. And being a scientist got her in trouble with the Aerie."

"What kind of trouble?"

"She's got a theory, something about stars and griffins and their relationship-"

"Something?" Steve smirked.

"Hey, I don't do stars, I do mechanics," Tony retorted. "Anyway, Jane wanted to go to the Aerie and study their magic, but your friends floating ten minutes away refused to let her in."

"So she went to Thor?"

"Thor's homeland, but yes. They invited her into the Aerie to study, and Thor was smitten."

Steve just laughed because that was the moment Thor shouted that they needed to come see what Jane was working on.

XXXXX

Steve spent the rest of the afternoon being dragged by Tony to meet any scientist Steve might find interesting, only to get distracted by playing with the children, and laughing while Loki kept interrupting Thor in his pursuit of Jane. At one point Loki paused mid-lunge (some brave child had tagged him 'it'), and turned to stare in the direction of the Aerie. Steve felt Loki grumble, and Thor called out to them both that they were being summoned back to the Aerie. Thor dropped a fiery kiss on Jane's lips, and Tony gave Steve a brief peck of his own, Steve stood there in stunned silence before he was snatched up by the ascending griffin.

By the time they made it back to the Aerie Steve was still red, and Loki was loudly projecting smug triumph about how perfect the day had gone. The trio landed at the Nests in the Aerie only to find Maria Hill waiting there to glower at them. Loki paused for half a breath so that Thor could slip from his back and Steve didn't drop face first to the ground, and then stormed off, closing down his emotional projection and leaving the humans to deal with Hill all by themselves.

"You took him to see Stark." Hill spat at Thor.

Thor paused for just a moment while Loki gave him directions, and Thor adopted an innocent expression. "No Madame. Loki wanted to take him flying, and I wanted him to meet my lovely Jane. Meeting Tony was entirely coincidental."

Hill glowered at him, "You're going on a ride with Fury's pride in half an hour. Go report to him. Now." Thor gave Steve a pat on the back and stepped away, leaving Loki to send Steve a thrum of solidarity. Hill waited until Thor had moved out of range before she turned and fixed her most disdainful glare on Steve. "You will be given leniency because of the position you used to hold Rogers, but that won't get you very far in this day and age. You would do well to remember that in this Aerie, you're nothing more than a nomad." Steve flinched, a whole world of pained memories rushing back at the derogatory term for a rider without a griffin.

Hill stomped off, the other riders doing their best to avoid looking her in the eye. Steve stood there in shock, ignored by the other riders who had overheard their conversation, but were unwilling to make it right.

Clint, an occasional friend of Thor's, waited until everyone's attention was elsewhere before sliding up to Steve, silently guiding him away from the middle of the room, and over to where his own griffin, Hawk, was curled up in her nest, keeping track of everyone through heavy eyes. Clint leaned close, and in a hushed breath said, "Let's pretend I'm giving you the run down on why Stark is supposedly so dangerous."

Steve gave him a brief smile of gratitude, "And what will we really be talking about?"

Clint smirked, "How you learned to fly like that, and maybe why we're supposed to stay away from Stark."

Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang Art!

sunryder — Thu, 26 Apr 2012 04:59:11 GMT

This is my art for the Cap/Ironman Reverse Bang at c_im_bigbang. I tried to get out my usual wheelhouse and do more traditional varieties of art rather than my usual straight up photoshop. I did a few slightly different stylistic things, so we'll see how it goes. I'm actually, pretty proud of myself, so lets hope this new art genre works well.

Piece 1: Stef (genderbent Steve), the Asgardian princess, having just thrown her shield.

Piece 2: Stef and Tony. 'nuff said.

Now go read the story HERE, it's lovely!