aurora

He turned to face you entirely, body rolling over until his stomach rested against the grass and his face was level with yours. 

You looked up at him in turn, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

How he would love to see that smile forever and always. It warmed him up from the inside out, reminding him of everything good in the world. Reminding him that despite his ultimate betrayal of societal standards, no matter what that betrayal may be, there was something out there meant for him; there was something out there that proved good still happened, and he was meant for it just as well as the next man.

"What are you doing?" you softly asked, raising a curious brow.

"Just looking at you," he hummed. He rested his cheek against his hand, elbow crooked and allowing him to lean over you just slightly. 

"Do I have something on my face?" 

"Oh, do you?" He smiled down at you. "Only my entire sun, moon, and stars."

You looked at him as if he'd said something downright ridiculous—that he did, but there was no need to say it aloud. He knew it well enough when the soft fluster found his cheeks.

"Ah, ignore that," he said. He dropped his hand, head following suit as it rested on the jacket underneath you. "You have nothing on your face."

You rolled your eyes and looked back up at the sky before you. There was so much left unsaid, far too little happiness shared amongst the two of you though you both knew you could share much more. What was right and what you wanted always tended to blend in with what society believed to be best. This alone was scandalous, regardless of your status as a married couple.

Benedict's teeth took a bit of his cheek in between, biting down just hard enough that he could have broke skin if he wasn't careful. 

He would make you happy if it was the last thing he ever managed to do. You deserved that. Deserved a life away from prying eyes, away from the reality the two of you faced, ever judged and ever watched for the moment when you do something wrong. 

He reached out and gently took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. 

"Would you like to turn in for the night, darling?"

"Not yet," you softly replied. "I quite like the solitude of just you and the moon and stars."

He hummed once more, turning his head to look up at the sky again.

"Perhaps you are the sun," you said.

His silence led you to continuing. 

"When you said the sun, moon, and stars. Perhaps you are the sun, and I am the moon, and whatever we have between us are the stars."

Benedict let out a soft laugh. "I am the sun, you are the moon? Would that not mean we are chasing each other round and round, never once finding one another?"

"Fine, fine," you said, rolling your eyes. "Then you are the moon, and I am the stars."

"I believe it is the opposite."

"How so?"

"I am the stars, and you are the moon. I will surround you and admire you near, far, anywhere, for as long as you continue to shine your light on everything around you."

Your lips pursed, inching into a familiar smile that ran straight to his core. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

"Alright, my moon," he said. "What is it that you are thinking, now?"

The smile only strengthened as you turned to face him, now laying on your side. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. 

"I am thinking that it is cold out here, and my underclothes are now wet. I am sure to get a cold if we do not return inside soon."

He laughed again and pushed himself to sit up, shivering at the effort. 

"Yes, you are right," he said. "It seems as if the temperature dropped an exuberant amount in just a half hour."

He began to stand, holding his hands out to you to help you up as well. As you stood, he swooped up the jacket and draped it over his free arm. He held out his other to you with a smile.

"Shall we?" he asked, waiting for you to take it. He made no effort to move away. Not yet.

"We shall," you said, hooking your arm with his and allowing him to take you back into your quiet home. Only when you gave him the go-ahead did he move a muscle.

"Fíli," you attempted to coax him with his name alone, hand reaching out and gently taking his. 

He ignored. He ignored, ignored, unable to stop the burning, unable to stop the trickling fear that he was dying right in front of you, back still pierced by Azog's weapon, body still precariously hanging before his brother, before his uncle. His body, falling to the ledge below, alive but barely hanging on. 

It was some miracle that he survived.

You squeezed his hand, your other coming forth and gently pressing against his temple. 

"Gods, you're burning up," you said, brows furrowing in concern. 

He survived, and yet he was sitting there acting as if he was dying. He wasn't. He was alive. 

"Fíli," you attempted once more, a hand reaching out to gently brush against his cheek. You guided his eyes to your own, eyebrows furrowed in that infuriatingly inquisitive way. "Come, now," you continued. "Let's get you back in bed. I will fetch some water. Do you think the kitchens would have ice left over?"

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. No complaints came from him as you pulled him to his feet, guiding him back to your shared bed. 

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Give me a moment. I'll be back before you know it."

He hummed out his acknowledgement, fingers digging into the blankets on the bed. He leaned his back against the headboard, wood clattering against the stone walls. He squeezed his eyes shut, counting the things he knew were around him. The bed. Walls. Dresser. Sword by his bed. Dagger under the mattress. Long knife under the dresser. Plenty more weapons, everywhere. He would be able to defend himself in an instant, if the gods needed him to do so. 

The moment you returned, he could have sworn the gods blessed him that night, shining their holy light on the only person who ever seemed to make sense anymore save for his equally damaged brother. One instance had ruined so many things for the two of them—three, if you count Thorin. The meat and potatoes of their once brave persons deflated so easily anymore. But seeing you? It made a fragment of it all worth it.

You came to him with a cup of water and a bowl of ice. 

"I did not know if you'd want to have it in your water, or if you'd rather me just... oh, I don't know. Grab a cloth?"

"Water is fine," he said, voice gruff and exhausted, but he was talking now. 

You smiled softly at his words. "I should be thinking of ways to make it easier for you to come down from such warmth. Without the wizard here, I wonder how easy it would be for me to create a pack of some sort."

"A pack?"

"Yes! Like an ice pack."

He snorted softly at your words. "Hm. Keep your inventions to a minimum, for now. Come to me."

You sat down beside of him, dropping a few pieces of ice into the cup before handing it to him. He nursed the water, eyeing you warily. He did not flinch as you felt his forehead for what must have been the thousandth time just that month. 

"How's your scar?"

"Fine."

"And your dream?"

He frowned. He shifted where he sat, taking a big gulp to avoid talking to you. 

You placed a hand to his thigh, thumb brushing against the fabric of his sleep pants. "You came down from it far quicker than the last."

"Perhaps it is finally leaving me."

You gave him a once-over, the corners of your mouth turning down ever-so-slightly. He hated that face on you, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He knew you meant it, too. 

No words came from you, and for that he was grateful. The silence settled over the two of you as he finished off his water, teeth crunching on the final piece of ice. You took the cup from him, placing it and the bowl of slowly melting ice on the bedside table. 

He grabbed ahold of your wrist once you finished, pulling you into his side. 

"Sleep in my arms?"

He voiced it as a question. Even so, you knew it wasn't. It was a command, and one that you would never deny him. You settled onto the bed beside him, allowing him to pull you close. The heavy hammering of his heart had returned to its once calm rhythm, his breathing settling into a smooth cadence in which you listened to every note. He rested his head on the pillows above while you rested your head against his chest. 

The once tense room settled into a warm, commiserative place, soothing Fíli and his ever-racing mind. 

Thank the gods he was alive. Thank the gods for you. Were it not for the fact that he had you, he may have succumbed to the constant drone of the distressing grievances that appeared to be a part of him for the rest of his very long life. 

For all that he was, he was alive. You quieted his warring mind. You settled his aching heart. 

Oh, Steve loved you so, but the road ahead of him was no longer straight and narrow. It had distorted, twisting and turning and looping all around, going on and on forever as if he never even had a chance to breathe. 

How was it for you? How could you stand there, looking up at him with those sweet eyes of yours, wondering if he would actually take a moment to do anything more than regret staying? How would he learn to move past the fact that he came back for you instead of staying in the timeline where Peggy was young and alive? 

He couldn't. And it wasn't your fault. You did not ask for him to come back. He decided to do it, for the sake of everyone. He was not selfish, even to his last moments. 

Steve's jaw clenched, muscle jumping as he looked down at you. He released a soft sigh, unable to stop himself from doing so.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said.

"Like what?" you counter, disbelief still evident in the way your voice quivered.

"Like I'm going to disappear. I'm right in front of you, aren't I?"

You blinked owlishly. He was. But was he truly yours once more? His regret was palpable. You could taste it—feel it lingering in the air around you. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, the same sentiment echoing throughout your mind. 

He was lying. 

His body would stay, and so would he, but you lost him a long time ago. You lost him the moment that time travel became a thing. You lost him even before he came back.

You did not say a word, accepting what he was saying at face value. Steve leaned forward and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your forehead. And then, he left you alone in the kitchen, not looking back.

The road you traveled was crumbling underneath your feet, and no one was there to save you.

Ukai Keishin: Probably because these boys are menaces. Ukai Keishin: Why? Need me? y/n: need someone to bring me food Ukai Keishin: Is that all I am? Ukai Keishin: Your personal uber driver? y/n: i didn't order an uber driver Ukai Keishin: I'm putting my phone up. y/n: WAIT y/n: it's fine  y/n: just thought we could get dinner or somethin Ukai Keishin: You'll have to wait. y/n: what if i just come to you Ukai Keishin: You want to come to the gym? y/n: wouldn't have said it if i didn't want to Ukai Keishin: They'll bother you. y/n: nah y/n: i can handle it y/n: you think i can't? Ukai Keishin: That's not what I said. y/n: bleh Ukai Keishin: Should I tell Takeda you're coming? y/n: yah Ukai Keishin: 👍🏼 y/n: loser Ukai Keishin: ?? y/n: you could at least send me something cute y/n: come on y/n: i know you've got it on your keyboard Ukai Keishin: [typing ...] Ukai Keishin: [typing ...] Ukai Keishin: [typing ...] Ukai Keishin: ദ്ദി ˉ꒳ˉ )✧ y/n: took u long enough Ukai Keishin: I am trying to do my job. y/n: should i bring drinks?

There's no answer after that. Most likely due to the fact he was doing his job, but you decided to get some anyway. Fifteen sports drinks later, you strolled into the Karasuno gym like you hadn't just badgered your boyfriend for ten minutes straight. You'd get him to go out to eat later—for now, though, you walk to the closest kid and hand him a bag. 

Hinata's eyes grow wide at the sight of the sports drinks. He quickly bowed in thanks as he took it, smiling up at you. 

"You're awesome!" he said, grabbing one of the fruit punch ones before he ran off with the bag to Kageyama and Tanaka. 

The other bag, you had off to Yamaguchi. He wasn't as receptive until he saw what they were, and then he quickly thanked you. 

You walked over to your boyfriend, hands on your hips as he instructed one of the boys on how to properly receive the ball without it slipping through their fingertips and hits them square in the face. The sight of you was a welcome change. 

Ukai's shoulders relaxed and he smiled in your direction. He was truly in his element.

There's a resounding murmur amongst the boys, some of them going to tell you thanks for the drinks, before your boyfriend eventually came to your side. He kissed your cheek, a fleeting moment that the boys pretended not to see. 

"You still hungry?" he asked.

"Starved."

"Wait half an hour and we can go. You think you can do that?"

You grinned up at him. "I think I can manage."

He returned your grin, turning to the team. "Alright! Let's have a quick six by six, yeah? Finish out practice strong!"

You find your place against the wall, arms crossed over your chest as you watched them practice, unable to tear your eyes from the ball for the most part. If you did, you looked at Ukai, the happy man catching your eye and smiling each time. 

Maybe you'd get something simple, go to a gas station and make ramen. But then again... Maybe a Korean BBQ place would be nice. Were there any even around? 

You whipped out your phone, dead set on finding something that you would both like. As you searched, a simple text message came through.

Ukai Keishin: I love you.

A smile formed on your lips. You could just tell him in person, but you didn't, opting to text him back instead.

Battle had never graced your innocent eyes. Not in the grand scale that he has seen it, the blood, the terror. Death had yet to kiss your lips, begging for you to follow.

You were one of the few who had yet to have any sort of romantic experience, and Sihtric had been one of the first to pull that out of you—ale had not been kind to you the evening of. A confession never came, though, and the admission of his crush continued to keep under wraps. Even with ale singing your name.

Sihtric didn't want you to know. Or at least, that was what he told himself.

You didn't want him to know, either.

You would much rather go off into another's battle, weaponless, than ever let him know exactly how you feel.

For why, you had no answer. The fear of Sihtric's untimely death, the fear that you would tell him and lose him in the same breath. Was it truly this fear you kept onto the reason you did not want him to know? 

It had only been a few weeks after your drunken state. Sihtric had taken you home that night and you did everything in your power to avoid the Dane. Embarrassment became you, rooting itself deep into the woven patterns in your clothing.

And yet today, you found yourself in the mix of Lord Uhtred's vagabonds, traveling to Coccham on a path unfamiliar to you. You kept away from Sihtric, only answering him with a smile if he looked your way. 

He made your heart beat, fast enough you were sure it would gain wings and fly away. 

If only you knew he felt the same.

It was as if the two of you played some grand game of hopscotch, carefully hopping over the thrown stones, coming close to crashing but staying upright just in time to win. Only, neither of you were winning this game.

He needed you to know, despite the fear that he held deep within. He wanted to shout it from the mountain tops, from the cliffs overhanging the vast oceans. The gods already knew. Now it was up to you. You would know, and soon. He was tired of waiting.

Sihtric led his horse over to yours, your name escaping him to catch your attention.

You glanced over at him, tense smile prepared as you gripped onto the reins, ready to go and lead your horse elsewhere.

"Don't go," he quickly said, stopping you from pulling away. His jaw clenched, brows furrowed as he watched you. His frustration was palpable. "You have avoided me for weeks now," he said, keeping a steady rhythm with your horse. "It is as if you have crossed me out of your life completely. For what reason?"

For what reason? You had no true reason. No reason that would sound... viable, if you said them aloud. 

Your silence spurred him on.

"Truly you must take me for some sort of miscreant to avoid me so," he said. 

Finan piped up from somewhere behind you: "Leave them be, Dane!"

His head shot in his direction. "I did not ask for your input, Finan."

He raised a defensive hand and guided his horse to move before yours, leaving the two of you behind the others and pretty much alone. 

His interjected did not stop Sihtric. "Did I do something? Have I offended you in some manner for you to go and pretend we do not know each other?"

"No," you began, but Sihtric was not finished.

He had an entire argument set up. "I do not know what it was that I did to you, but I promise you, I—"

He paused. You had said no. He blinked slowly, lips parting. He had been prepared for you to say yes, or something to that regard, and yet, you didn't. You...

"You didn't do anything," you reasoned, frowning at him. "It is my fault."

"You... your fault? No, no—"

"—I am scared," you blurted.

"Scared? Of who? Me?"

"No," you shook your head. "I do not want to get close to you."

His jaw clenched once more, hands tightening on the reins. "What?" His voice was tense, yet beneath it, if you truly went looking, you'd find the hurt he held onto more than anything. 

"No," you repeated. "If I get close to you, then I risk so much, Sihtric."

"You risk—" he sputtered indignantly. "What do you risk? Being friendly? Having someone look at you like you painted the flowers, hung the stars by yourself? Having someone look at you like the gods gifted you to this world?"

You eyed him warily. That was your concern. 

"And what happens when I let something like that into my life and somehow, it all goes wrong?"

"How would it go wrong?"

"You live and breathe for Lord Uhtred. Who is to say that you would not follow him to his death?"

Sihtric tensed at your words. He looked away, finding the back of Lord Uhtred's head many paces ahead of you. No one could hear your argument. 

"I would not," he said defensively.

"Yes you would," you countered, unable to help from rolling your eyes. "You would, and that is what scares me most."

Sihtric scoffed. "Scared of death? You have lived your life thus far without the comforts of a lover, and you are more scared of death than being alone forever?"

"I do not need a lover if it means I will mourn them in the end."

He blinked owlishly, heterochromatic eyes finding yours. "You would only mourn the love you shared. You would love until you couldn't, and then you would remember then the rest of your life. Why is that such a bad thing?"

"I do not want it for myself."

"You do not want it, or you do not know how to deal with it?"

Your silence was loud as you stared at him, stopping your horse entirely. He stopped a few paces ahead, horse turning to the side just so he could look at you properly. 

"Love does not have to be a battlefield," Sihtric said. "Neither does it need to be something you fear. It is... it is beautiful, and righteous, and everything that you deserve."

You mulled over his words. Love was something you already had—you just hadn't shared it with anyone else. Hadn't shared it with the man you knew you loved more than anything. 

"Sihtric..." you began.

"I love you," he said. "I am sorry that I am only telling you now. I—I wasn't going to. I was going to take it with me until the day I died. I know you are not as I am. You are pure, and perfect, and so innocent that I would ruin you. But I cannot sit here any longer without telling you, knowing that you are so scared of something so... so..."

"So human?"

His eyes blinked rapidly this time. "Yes. So human. The gods may have blessed me with my heart, but they do not know what it is that I feel when I look at you. I fear I will ruin you, but that fear is not as strong as the fear of you not knowing is."

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you averted your gaze.

He said your name, guiding his horse in your direction until the two of you were side by side, both horses facing opposite ways. He reached out a strong, calloused hand, taking yours in his own. 

"It is foolish, I know, but you must know that it is true. I have never lied to you, and I am not starting now."

Your brows furrowed, but you did not pull away. You went to speak again, but the sound of Uhtred's voice ringing out across the field stopped you.

"Come now, lovebirds! Coccham will not come to greet us if we stay here any longer!"

Sihtric cursed under his breath and let go of your hand, nudging his horse to move once more. 

You settled into a tense silence, shoulders scrunched together and eyes trained on Uhtred in front of you. The truth of Sihtric, the truth of you, sat on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to take it in and devour it whole. You deserved it. Sihtric did, too. Even if it meant you would have to mourn him longer than you ever had to love him.

You bit your lip, glancing at Sihtric as he rode alongside you. He went the same speed as your horse, watching and waiting for something more to happen. 

When you said nothing, he remained silent. 

He looked so handsome there, dark hair and beautiful eyes finding the sunlight so perfectly. The gods above, his gods, must have took special care in creating such a beautiful man.

Battle may have never graced your eyes, and death had yet to truly kiss your lips, but if it meant that you could love a man such as Sihtric Kjartansson, then so be it. You would face death in stride, taking out those around you if it meant that you felt the love he was willing to give. 

He caught your eye, a small smile forming on his lips despite the tense nature of your conversation.

"I do mean it," he softly said. "Every word."

"I know," you answered, nodding your head without much give. You let out a soft sigh, averting your gaze. "It is the truth that scares me most."

"The truth," he echoed. "The truth is that I will be the best you have ever known."

A soft laugh finds its way through the clearing. "You would be the only man I have ever known in such a way."

He grinned. "So be it. I will be the only man you have ever known that way, and I will be the only one to ever know you that way. Once you let me in, you will never want for anyone more."

You rolled your eyes. "Sihtric, I am going to have a conniption."

His smile only widened. If he could speak to you this way, then surely that meant good news for him. 

"When we return to Coccham, would you do me the honor of allowing me to show you exactly what I mean? Whether it be just talking or something more."

Your eyes widened. Gods, he was ridiculous. You looked at him, feeling that familiar warmth of embarrassment settle between your heart and your ribcage. Your mind screamed at you to say no, but your heart begged you to say something far simpler, something far more dangerous. You let yourself breathe, and the answer came forth without hesitation:

No worries about friends, uninvolved family, the stupid holidays that stretch on far longer than they should that never seemed to leave you alone, the overwhelming intrusive thoughts that continued to urge you on. Said thoughts sent you closer to the edge than you ever thought possible.

You'd never have to worry about anything, ever again. You'd never have to wake up, wondering if you'd die that day. Gotham would cease its relentless havoc, allowing you to just... rest, if that's what truly happened once you passed.

But an inkling of something in the back of your mind seemed to make you pause. It wasn't quite your mind; at small intervals, you could have sworn it was him, scolding you for your insecurities, telling you to cut it out, knock it off.

Is all this truly what you wanted?

You wanted to die. To have your life stripped away in a matter of minutes.

Just behind you, thousands of people were preparing their gifts and making final additions to the holiday season. Many were lighting candles, fixing ornaments, or prepping their meals for a joyous feast. 

It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

Not your job, your boss, your dear friends. Zsasz.

You left him a letter in the middle of your dining room. He'd find it soon enough, and when he did, you would be long gone. You wouldn't have to face him, and that made things a little easier. If you had to look at him, if you had to face his disheartened features (because god knows you'd have to), you weren't sure if you could do it.

Who could say no to that cheesy, disco-loving assassin?

Could you really leave him with a note that confessed your love, instead of telling him in person? 

Yes. 

Yes, you could. You had to. You had it already prepared. This was it.

The murky depths of the water lay just beneath you. What a terrible way to go, huh? Drowning. But you knew it would work in a matter of seconds if you just... breathed it in. The cold around you would help to numb the side effects. 

But then... your feet wouldn't move. Your mind screamed at you, begging you to do something before some freak came out to the pier, looking for something to do—for someone to kill, or worse. 

You couldn't do it.

Tears rapidly formed in your eyes, your hands coming up to dig your fingers into the flesh of your cheeks as you tried to ground yourself. 

"Shit," you breathed out. "Shit, shit, shit."

It hadn't even been that loud, but your voice echoed across the dock. A sob escaped you and you buried your face in your trembling hands—your skin was ice cold. 

In your constant dolefulness, the sound of footsteps came from behind you. Your breath hitched in your throat. Fuck. Too late. Head jerking in the direction in which it came from, you sucked in a deep breath. Your eyes landed on the shoes of the culprit, and it only took a second for you to figure out who it was based on the shiny leather of his dress shoes. 

Zsasz.

Your eyes slowly trailed up, from the crumpled letter clutched in his trembling—yes, trembling—hand, to his disheveled clothing, and finally, to his face which showed far more emotion than you were used to. 

He scrunched his nose, taking yet another step forward.

"Are you insane?" he spat, disdain lacing his words.

"What?"

He scoffed, waving the ridiculous letter around. "You really leave something like this? You're even more stupid than I thought!" He was pissed—furious. You said you loved him in your letter. If you were leaving like this, was it even true? 

Death followed Victor Zsasz no matter where he went. A comforting friend that found pieces of memory etched into the scars on his skin. But your death? No. No, it couldn't happen. It wouldn't. You were going to live forever. He made sure of it.

"Victor," you began, but to no avail.

"No," he interrupted. "No, I'm not done," he said, jaw clenched. He stuffed the crumpled letter in his pocket, pulling out his trusted gun from its holster. 

He lifted it, pointing the thing directly at you.

The chill that had already found you was replaced by something knew—a freezing dread, seeing his gun pointed at you instead. What was he doing?

"Isn't this what you wanted? To die? Why so scared, now, hm?"

You said nothing, hands trembling by your sides.

"You'd just leave? Without a word? Leaving without telling me. That's a new low, even for you."

"I told you why—"

"—shut up! It's not your turn to talk," he snapped. "You don't get a chance to talk right now. Not when you go and do this bullshit!"

He stalked closer to you, barrel of his gun now at eye-level. He stared you down, never once wavering in his anger.

You ignored his order—his demand that washed over you like a cold shower, inching its way up your spine. 

"Are you going to kill me?" Your words were barely above a whisper. You had been prepared to die, but now... you didn't know if you could. Not when he stood in front of you.

"Do you want me to?" he asked, finger on the trigger. The safety was still on. He'd never moved to fix it. He wasn't about to tell you, either.

You slowly shook your head, hot tears forming in your eyes once more.

"Then why the fuck are you out here?" 

You averted your gaze, body trembling under his glare.

"I thought you loved me," Zsasz said, voice hard yet gaining that small, tell-tale quiver of fear. His anger wasn't alone. He was terrified of losing you to the one thing that comforted him most. He would find no comfort knowing you were six feet under. 

"I do," you blurted. "I do love you." You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep yourself from crying.

"Then what the hell are you doing?" he repeated the same sentiment, though it seemed to do little to spur you on. 

You loved him. Love. You love him more than life itself. But was that enough? To keep going. To continue on, knowing that you tried to do this, even if you loved him. 

"I just—I can't do it anymore, Vic."

"Do what? Be with me?" he blurted, question heavily settling between the two of you. You weren't together, and yet, he couldn't help himself. "Live in Gotham?"

"No! No, I just—I just can't live anymore," you sobbed. "Every day is a waking nightmare in my mind! I can't escape it anymore. Can't, can't just like you can't escape the fucking Penguin. It's so—it's so—"

Victor dropped his gun, slipping it into his holster with practiced ease, finally closing up the distance. He wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you away from the edge of the pier as you broke down in his arms. 

You don't know how long you cried for, but your assassin crush held you the entire time. 

He knew.

He knew exactly how you felt. Hell, he felt it daily before you came into the picture. Hell, had he known—if he could have taken that pain away from you, he would have.

The big, bad Victor Zsasz held you close, his chin resting against the top of your head. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the way you eventually relaxed in his arms. 

"Let's get you home," he said, not waiting for you to reply. "Get you comfortable. Maybe get some takeout. How's that sound?"

You gave a small nod, but then shook your head. "Not—no, not my apartment. I can't—"

"—okay," he interrupted. "Mine, then."

You did not refuse this time, letting him lead you off of the pier and to his car, waiting for your return. You turned your head toward the pier, eyes flickering to the water.

"Look away," he snapped, and you immediately did as told. "Don't be looking at the water. You're never coming back here. Ever again."

Zsasz helped you into his car before he jumped into the driver's seat, staring at the dashboard for a minute too long. He turned to face you as you put your seatbelt on.

"I mean it when I say you're never coming back here. Even if it means I have my eyes on you at all times."

You frowned softly at him, not quite meeting his gaze.

He reached forward, fingers gently grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him. "I will keep you alive, even if it means you hate me."

Your eyes softened. "I... I could never hate you, Victor."

He hated it.

Every moment he stepped onto the battlefield, he wondered if it would be the day he met his demise. He fought valiantly, yes, every time—but why? Just so he could live and someone else could die? Was it cruel of him to live a life of such hypocrisies?

And then there were days that the thought of death got to him, and not even ale would bring him comfort. On these days, he searched for familiar faces. Finan was fun, yes, but not like the friend whom he's come to know and love. They tended to his emotional wounds like no other. But it was rare that the days and thoughts of death would land on the days they were actually in Coccham.

When he was in Coccham, though, his feet found the familiar path to their humble abode. His lips would say their name so sweetly, and the scents wafting from their home from the freshly baked breads and pies they would always make would hound his nose, reminding him that he was oh so alive.

Death would not have him yet. Not any time soon, if he had a say in it.

You were to thank for that. His perseverance. His need to stay alive, no matter the cost. 

Sihtric slips through your front door with little bit a quick knock just to let you know he was there. You would have heard the horses, heard the people running by announcing their return. 

And of course, you were ready to greet him. 

All smiles, you open your arms to him, and he immediately melts into them, pulling you close and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He smells of rain and mud and blood. A little of it is uniquely Sihtric's, his natural musk evident. He needed a bath, but it would come in time. For now, you held him.

"It is good to see you," you say, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He hums against you, unmoving and as still as a tree, feet anchored to the ground beneath him. He breaths you in, feels your body in his hands. The consistent force of man and steel, the agile Dane who did all he could for his Lord Uhtred, reduced to nothing more than a simpering child in your arms. He loves you. He knows he does. 

Now to tell you before his feet grew cold. 

He looks up at you, a soft smile gracing his lips. 

"I must tell you of our battles," he says, hands squeezing your sides. "I must tell you what I learned, as well."

"Come, then. Let me get you a slice of pie and a bit to drink, hm? Then you can tell me while you eat."

He perks up at the mention. "Pie?"

"No meat, but we had an abundance of berries just this morning. I thought a sweet would settle nicely. Had I known you'd return today, I would have done differently."

"What?" he starts, smiling all the while. "No, no, berry is good. I love berry pie."

You fight back a soft giggle, pulling back from his hold. "Go, sit. How much would you like?"

"As much as you're willing to give."

Soon enough, you return to him with wine and pie, grateful you bartered one of your other pies with your neighbor for a bit of wine that morning. It turned out to be a wonderful decision, after all. As Sihtric dug in to his food, he talks through bites. 

"There were so many of them! It was like walking through an army of men completely out of their skulls. May the gods follow them where they lie." He bites back his other words. I was scared I would not return to you. I was scared to die. 

"Sounds as if you've had your fill of blood for the next few weeks," you say, more hopeful than anything. 

He smiles. "Lord Uhtred says we're to stay in Coccham for at least two weeks. He's waiting to hear word from Alfred, and you know how that goes."

"Hmm," you sound out, leaning back against your chair. "And you? Are you planning to stay?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Where, pray tell, would I go?"

"You must have a woman to go and find," you say, smiling at him. Not out of jealousy or delirium, but genuine care. For all you cared for the man, you could admit that you only wanted him to be happy.

At your words, he nearly chokes on his sip of wine. He sputters, quickly sitting it down to stare at you with wide, heterochromatic eyes. 

"What?"

"Sihtric."

"No, truly," he says, staring at you in disbelief. "Are you—you cannot be serious."

"I am," you say, shaking your head. "I'd like to believe you're not here to waste all your precious time with me."

"I want to waste my precious time with you," he blurts, clearing his throat. "I—" 

He averts his gaze for less than a second. And then, he reaches forward, grabbing ahold of your hand. The gods spur him on. He must tell you for fear of missing out, for the fear of missing you. 

"I'm here to waste all my time with you. But—it would not be a waste. Not if it was with you. My time spent with you, that is." 

He's flustered and blushing, hand gripping onto yours for dear life. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, lips parted in surprise. Or, well, more or less a feeling of disbelief. Was he in earnest? You move to speak, to ask him, but he stops you by speaking himself.

"What I learned," he says, "when I was out there, fighting. I learned that there is something bringing me back to Coccham, and it is not just Lord Uhtred. It is not my friends, not Finan nor Osferth. You—I learned that you are the reason I continue to come back. And I fear that if I do not say something, I will miss out on the chance."

You stare, wide eyed and silent.

"Death is always around the corner. I shall die and find Valhalla one day. Even so, I do not wish to die. Not until I have had the chance to know you as I want to know you."

"You... you want to know me?" you echo, unable to stop yourself.

"I want to love you," he says. "Ah—no, I do love you. Very much."

Heat burns in the core of your heart, weightless amongst the nervous feeling washing over you. You had never felt so seen before this moment, never felt so loved. You could feel it just through his words, through his tender gaze. 

He felt the same. 

He felt the same, and you were sitting here, staring like some daft child—

"I love you," he says, this time much quieter, hesitant even. "I am not lying to you."

You squeeze his hand. 

"I love you, too," you whisper, the confession leaving you breathless and out of your depth. 

This was it. 

Death may be waiting on the other side for Sihtric, but he would face it willingly now, knowing that he spoke the truth in every possible way. He would fight it for as long as he could, but when the time comes, he knows the anxiety he feels now would be nothing compared to the love you have given him, even if you only just confessed. 

He smiles at you, a small, steady thing that is far more contagious than you would like it to be. He leans forward, nose gently brushing against yours. 

"Truly?" he asks.

"Truly," you answer.

He closes the small gap between you, chapped lips pressing against your own. He tastes of berry and pie crust and the sweet wine long since forgotten on the table beside you, lips molding perfectly with yours. 

When had it come down to him comforting you? He never would admit it, but for the longest time, your roles were reversed. You comforted him. You asked him if he was okay. 

But now...

You pull your gaze from the point in the room you'd been staring at—the framed picture you have of the two of you, all smiles and happy faces. It had been a beautiful day, one that you've never been able to let go. The day he asked you to marry him. You should have known something was suspicious, because Robby was around for it, and that never happened. He had insisted on taking a photo right after (and of course you let him—he seemed just as psyched as Jack had, if not more for his friend of many years). Any time the two were together outside of work? Total chaos. Or, in your case, the total change of the world as you knew it.

"Yeah," you say, smiling softly as you look up at him. You lace your fingers with his. "I'm golden."

He leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Don't say that. It's like a trigger. If someone hears it, they'll start singing that damn song."

You blink owlishly, brows furrowing in confusion. 

"Jack, we're inside."

"Doesn't matter," he says, pulling you into his side, making you cuddle up with him. "Someone will hear it."

"Jesus Christ."

"No, no, just Jack," he chides, resting his cheek against the crown of your head. "But if you're desperate to speak with him, I think I could make a call or two."

You glare up at him. "I was fine, but if you don't cut it out, I may have to kill you." 

"Hi, baby," he says, a tired smile sent your way. 

You return it. "Hi, handsome. Long day?"

It was one of the few weeks that Jack adapted to day shift, allowing him to be home at a decent time and actually present when you were settling down for the evening. You enjoyed having him around, but you knew it pained him. He lived for night shift. They were his people, his confidants when you weren't in the picture. 

Only a few more days, then he had a week off—after, he'd return to his regularly scheduled life, and you'd return to the steady groove the two of you created. 

"You don't know the half of it," he says, snorting softly. It had been a hell of a time. Little did he want you to feel the brunt of his frustration, so he found some gumption deep within him and held onto it like a buoy in a large expanse of ocean. He ran a hand through his short hair, salt and pepper strands slipping through the cracks between his fingers. "You?"

You shrug. Eventful was a fair assumption.

"One of my kids decided it would be a good idea to try and to walk on a banana peel and actually fell. Nurse Harris had a field day with it."

He snorts softly. "Not bad enough to go to the emergency room, huh?"

"Busted his chin," you say. "I saw him with a bandage, but... It was in the cafeteria, so I only saw it in passing. I don't know much more than that." 

You flip over the food, the aromatic scent of your favorite dish wafting in the air. 

"Testing has been terrible, too," you continue, shoulders tense. "The program completely froze up halfway through the morning so a few of my classes went without their state testing. They'll have to come in another day for it."

"You're kidding," Jack says, leaning his chin against his hand as he watches you, elbow in the table. He likes the wood—it's calming, somewhat, smooth yet rough enough that he stays alert, watching and waiting.

You snort. "God, I wish."

"Just a few more days, though, right?"

"Three more."

"Three more, then we've got a few days to ourselves," Jack says, voice carrying over the sizzle. "You've no idea how ready I am to have you all to myself."

You smile at him over your shoulder. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, baby," he says, pushing himself to stand up. He walks over, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna go shower. Should be done when you are," he reasons, nodding to the food. 

You scrunch your nose at him. He kisses the tip of it, grinning. 

"I won't be long. Then you can tell me more about your day."

You roll your eyes. "It's not that interesting. Bunch kids acting like hooligans. I'm telling you what. Sometimes I don't know how I ended up here. I swear to you, if I was smart enough, I'd be in medicine."

It's Jack's turn to snort and roll his eyes. His strong, calloused hands settle on your waist, thumbs gently brushing against your body. 

"You are smart enough. It's why you decided to be a teacher instead of dealing with life or death every day."

"Yeah, yeah," you deflated, waving him off. "Go shower, stinky. You want your usual?"

He hums and kisses your cheek one last time before he nods, smiling all the while. 

"My usual. Sounds good."

Jack walks to the entryway, pausing just before he looks back at you. "And baby?"

You do not look at him, but the way you tilt your head just so your ear is turned to him a bit more tells him all he needs to know. 

"Don't beat yourself up too much. Someone's got to teach these kids how to avoid slipping on banana peels."

"Go shower," you snap, but there's no real bite to your words. 

Jack laughs as he leaves, letting you stay in the kitchen to finish everything up. 

He loves your cooking. He loves teasing you. He especially loves knowing that the two of you were so much alike—both finding ways to give back to your communities, both in public service for the hell of it, because it was what you were made to do. 

His little teacher.

Did that make him your little doctor?

Nah. Maybe big doctor. (Was that too much?)