dove

This blog leans toward comfort/found family themes, so I aim to keep it a calm and supportive space. Anyone* can send an ask as long as you are respectful. Please respect my boundaries for what I write - no smut or male reader. GN reader is as far as I will go due to personal reasons and my confidence writing from a male POV.

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This is a respectful and welcoming place for everyone.

“Two days, max. There's $100 on your card for emergencies and—”

“Mom, that's too much,” you protest. “You can't just...give me everything like that.”

“Sweethesrt, just...” Zora sighs, shoving another flask into her backpack. “You'll lock all the doors?”

“Yes.”

“And remember to eat?”

“Mom—”

“And I think the landlord is coming for the rent tomorrow. Just...tell him I'll have it in a few days,” Zora instructs.

“Mom, I know.”

She sighs. “Sorry. I know. I just need to make sure sometimes.”

You sit up on the couch. “Why can't you just stay?”

“You know why, baby. This money's important, we need it.”

“Just...” you sigh, standing up. “Be safe,” you whisper, wrapping your arms tight around her.

Zora smiles against your head, the smell of cheap shampoo filling her nostrils. She presses a kiss to your forehead. “I will, baby. Now come on, bed. You've got school in the morning.”

“Night. Love you.”

________________________________________

It's dark when you hear noises outside your window. Loud, like scratching, nails against concrete. You frown. Probably just animals going through the bins. You sigh, laying back down. The noises don't stop, though, so you fling your legs over the bed, slipping on a pair of old trainers and a thin jacket.

You creep the front door open, sliding outside. It's cold, even darker. The alley with the bins is empty, dark as usual. Just a single, unsuspecting trash bag laying besides the bin. Someone probably just missed the bin, and some rodent was scratching through it. You pick the black bag up, throwing it into the bins. Job done. Hopefully those noises will stop.

You turn around, starting to walk back into your house. Until a sudden prick at your neck. Your hand presses to it instinctively. Was that a needle? The world suddenly feels heavy. Your legs wobble. The bins blur. The wall blurs. Your thoughts turn fuzzy. You try to walk. You make it one step. Everything tilts. You hit something. Wall? Floor? You don't know. Hands grab you. Lift you. Voices.

"I've got the girl."

"Bring her to the ship."

Someone laughs quietly. "We'll keep Bennett on that island. She's the only chance we've got of this succeeding."

Mom. Your brain catches on the word. Mom. You try to say it. Nothing comes out. The darkness swallows everything.

You groan, eyes squinting open slowly. Around you was darkness, you can barely see your bare knees, even though they were tucked up to your chin. God, your whole body aches and cramps. Your face feels wet down your cheeks and crusty under your nose. You stretch, throwing your arms above your head. Something stops them. “What...?”

Something holds tight around your neck, putting pressure against your breathing. You feel around with your hands. Walls on every side, a small enclosed area. Where the hell were you? You inhale sharply, coughing when the pressure catches. “Hello?!” You slam both hands against the lid. “Hello!” Silence. You hit it again. “HEY!”

A hiss answers you. “If you don't shut it, girl, you'll be in a world of problems.”

You freeze. “Who are you?” you shout. “Where am I?!” Silence. Several sets of footsteps approach. You hit the lid again. “Let me out!”

“Martin?” A woman's voice. You freeze. It sounds familiar. “Whats all the shouting about?”

“Daddy, whys the box yelling?” a little girls voice asks.

Mom? You bang harder. “Let me out!”

Another voice appears. ”Is that... a kid?”

“Martin,” the woman says slowly.

Your heart pounds. You know that voice. “Hey!” you shout desperately. “Please let me out!”

Silence. Then, “...Say something else.”

“Mom?!” You blink into the darkness.

Silence. You could hear a pin drop, if the ocean wasn't roaring around you. “Jesus christ.” she mutters. “Krebs,” she says. Her voice sounds dangerous. “I swear to God, if that's my daughter in that box.”

“Your...daughter?” A new, wuieter man says.

“Oh, my God,” another girls voice says.

“Mom! Let me out! I can't see anything!”

A loud bang echoes, like someone was shoved. “Open it.”

“Zora!” the man grunts.

“Open it.”

“People who want money are dangerous, unpredictable,” Martin explains, opening the box. “I needed something you valued above everything for...complete obedience.”

“You kidnapped my daughter,” the man attempts to protest. “Open the goddamn box or so help me god—”

The lid of the crate opens, light flooding your eyes. Your arms move to block your eyes, squinting into the cabin. “Mom?”

Silence. Another voice. The quieter one from before. “You actually abducted her daughter?”

“Oh, shit,” a teen boy adds.

Zora surges forward, attempting to meet her daughter in a hug, but a hand around her arm stops her. “I wouldn't, Zora,” Martin warns. “You touch her, it'll think you're trying to remove it. Then, well...it won't end so well for your daughter.”

“Wh— mom?” You stutter. “What does that mean? I- I just went to check the trash and—”

“What the hell did you do to my daughter?” Zora snaps.

“Can I look at that?” Henry asks, stepping closer to you.

Martin sighs. “I wouldn't. It'll think you're trying to remove it.”

Henry ignores him long enough to look.

His expression falls. "...That's pressure activated."

Zora freezes. "Meaning?"

Henry swallows. "If anyone tries to remove it..." He looks at you. "...it detonates."

Her hands hover inches from your face. She wants to hug you, check you for injuries, make sure you're okay. She wants to pull you against her chest and never let go. But she can't. Her hands shake. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking.

Duncan immediately shrugs his thicker jacket off, sliding it over your shoulders. “You drugged a teenager to put her in a box as leverage? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“We need Zora here to complete this mission. The girl is leverage for her to stay and get the samples to me. You try to leave, you fail, the girl gets it.” Martin tells her lowly. “Its pressure sensored. Cut it, pry it, tamper with it, it detonates. Collect the Mosasaur, Titanosaur and Quetzalcoatlus samples, place all three inside the case, and it'll release automatically. Until then? It stays exactly where it is.”

“No, no mom I don't wanna,” you tell her, your chin quivering slightly.

Zora strides forwards again. “I know, baby. I know, I'm so sorry,” her hands hover down your arms, wanting desperately to touch and comfort you.

“Nobody is hurting her as long as Bennett finishes this mission.”

“No.” Duncan's voice is deadly quiet.

Martin blinks. “No?” he repeats.

“No," another man says, stepping closer to you like it's instinct. “That's a child.”

“She's leverage.”

“She's fifteen!” Zora snaps.

“You put a terrified kid in a crate, drugged her, kidnapped her and now you're calling her leverage?” Henry asks.

Duncan clears his throat. “I don't think she should be left alone.” Nobody looks away from Martin. “I mean it,” Duncan says. “She's scared. She's confused. She doesn't know most of us. Someone should stay with her.”

Your hand tightens around your mom's arm. Zora notices . Something in her face breaks. “I'm not leaving her.”

“Mom...” you whisper.

“No. Absolutely not. I'm not leaving you on this ship with him.”

Martin sighs. ”Bring her. Keep her close. I don't care. I just need you finishing that mission.”

“You should've thought about that before kidnapping my daughter!”

“Mom...my nose kinda hurts...” you mutter, her hands immediately hovering your arms again.

“Yeah...must've got hit at some point,” she replies, wiping the dried blood under your nose on her sleeve. She sighs, running her hands through your hair. They come back wet, red. Henry and Duncan's eyes catch the colour the same moment, three pairs of eyes meeting over your head. Zora goes white, her hands clenching into fists at her side.

Henry rushes, filing through his backpack for first aid. “Okay, okay sit her down. How many fingers?”

You squint. “...three.”

“Thats not good. That was two,” Henry mutters. “Shes still sedated. Her pupils are huge.”

“She'll sleep it off, she's fine.”

“That isn't how sedation works, Krebs,” Zora snaps, sitting down next to you.

“Its hard to breathe,” you tell him.

Henry tilts your head to one side, looking down your neck. Barely any room between your neck and the device. “You couldn't have made it any looser?”

Something big, massive, swims past the boat, scraping up against it. “Shit,” Duncan mutters. “What the hell was that?” He rushes out of the room, staring over the bar. “Shit. Mosasaurus!”

“Mom what the hells that!?”

Henry blinks. “Well, it's technically a marine reptile, and one of the largest predators to have ever existed, which—”

“Henry!” Duncan shouts, warning from the deck.

“...what.” you reply. “And that..is being affectionate with our boat right now?” Henry nods. “I feel sick.”

You add suddenly, your hand gripping your mother's arm, leaving Cresent shaped indents in her skin. “Kid.”

“Zora! Bloods!”

“Damnit,” she curses. “Stay there. Do not move.”

“Don't leave me.”

“I have to, I'm so sorry baby.”

The Mosasaurus rubs against the boat again, jolting everyone.

“Okay, so we just got away from it, and you guys have been chasing it?” the teen girl asks.

“Who are they? They're not Zora's friends,” you whisper to Henry.

“Family we rescued from the Mosasaurus,” Henry explains as Zora rushes onto the deck, gun in hand.

“Guys, listen, we're gonna be a couple of minutes. Then we're all going to this island like she said, okay? There's a village there with energy that still works. You can wait thee, you'll be totally safe.”

“What?” the man asks.

“Oh my god,” the teen girl says.

“There, starboard,” Duncan confirms.

“Wait, what's happening?” you mutter, head in your hands. “Oh my God...my head...”

“These idiots have been chasing a massive dinosaur!” the teen girl tells you angrily.

Your breath catches slightly, your body tensing suddenly as the device beeps. “Sorry...I— who are you?”

“I'm Reuben, and these are my girls, Teresa and Isabella. And Teresa's boyfriend, Xavier.”

You can hear Duncan and Henry cheer on the deck. Then, “We're losing her!” in Martin's insufferable voice.

“Loomis! I need you to secure me to the bow rail!” your mom shouts. Mom. You push yourself up, holding pieces of furniture and equipment as you push yourself to the ships wheel, Nina steering as you stare out the window. Mom.

“Come on, we gotta be closer! Move it!” Martin roars over the sea. You can hear Isabella whimpering behind you as Nina climbs up to spot.

The boat jolts again, the Mosasaurus' snout appearing at the bow. Zora falls, her body hanging off the edge of the bow, one leg stuck in the safety. “Mom! Oh my god, mom!” you shout from the inside, almost leaping up from your chair to bang on the window. The device tightens as your heart rate increases. Your breath catches again, chest tight as air struggles to fill it properly.

Your eyes wueeze shut as you sink back into the seat, your head feeling light and uncertain. As you open your eyes, Zora's back on board and Duncan and Martin are cheering. You sigh. Thank God that's over, you relax into the seat.

The team returns back inside the boat, Zora placing the blood sample carefully inside the briefcase. “Mom!” you snap. “You said you'd be careful!”

“I know, baby. I know,” she murmurs, pulling you against her. You can feel her heart racing against your ear.

“What if we don't?” Henry asks quietly.

“Its okay,” Reuben comforts one if his daughters behind you.

“What if we don't what?” Zora asks, her voice lowered above your head.

“What if we get the samples and we don't give them over to a company that makes a lifesaving drug and then prices it so 99% of the planet can't afford it?” Henry explains. “Science is for everyone, not some.”

Zora smiles against your head. “I hadn't thought about that ”

“Maybe you should start.”

“Maybe you should stop,” she replies, letting you go to put her gun away.

Behind you, Xavier hyperventilates. “Hey, Xavier, deep breaths,” Rueben smacks his cheek. “Deep breaths.”

“Dad, I think I'm gonna be sick,” Isabella tells him.

“Its alright, honey. Just breathe.”

“Those things from the boat,” Teresa breathes from the window. “Theyre back.”

“Mom?”

“What the hell are those?” Zora asks, pushing the door open.

“Spinosaurus,” Henry whispers. “Ha! It's mutualism! Those Spinosaurus? They help the Mosasaur hunt.”

“Well that's discouraging,” your mother replies drily.

“Bobby, bobby! Look out!” you hear Duncan yell from the top wheel. Through the doorway, you and Isabella can see a Spinosaurus lunge, it's hands gripping to the railing as it's mouth closes around Bobby. Bobby's hands grip inside the open doorway, his breathing heavy and pained. “Holy shit...” you breathe, Isabella's getting just as heavy and scared in front of you. You quietly slip a hand over her eyes.

The Spinosaurus tears him away, carrying him into the sea. Before you even have chance to breathe, the Mosasaur leaps, knocking the boat sideways again. From the top, you can hear Nina scream, her hands gripping into the top railings for dear life as she hangs over the edge. The jolt only makes your head feel lighter, the device beeping again as your hands grasp fir anything to hold you upright.

Isabella slides out the doorway, her legs hanging over the edge. “Dad!” she screams, and Rueben is sliding past your legs, arms rapped around his daughter just before she falls into the Spinosaurus infested water. Duncan speeds the boat, turning towards the rocks.

Zora runs down the stairs to the lower deck, “if we hit those rocks, we're gonna wreck. Tie these to everything you need. Be ready to jump!”

“LeClerc, the engines overheating,” Duncan yells.

“Teresa, get back inside, get on the radio. Mayday three times and send coordinates,” Rueben instructs. She rushes past you, still clinging onto the furniture as your head spins.

“Hey hey hey!” Martin snaps, following her in. “Just stop, just stop for a second.”

“What do you mean stop?”

“We gotta handle this. This is the protocol.”

“Are you crazy?” she snaps. “Mayday! Back off!” she shoves him.

You turn around your head spinning wildly as the device keeps beeping. God, why does it feel like it's getting tighter? Your eyes barely focus as Teresa slips, her fingers gripping onto the edge of the boat. “Hey, she— Martin...oh my head,” you try moving, your feet barely finding balance.

“Please help me!” she quivers. “Please! Dad!”

You body falls against the doorframe, everything looking closer than it should. Your hand grasps at nothing as Martin lies in the floor. Then a splash.

“Teresa!” her dad yells. “Listen to me, Bella. We're going in the water now. The boats gonna crash, we have to your sister's there.”

“Hey!” Zora yells from the front. “Hey! We need to stick together!”

Your breath heaves as your eyes lose focus completely, your heart pounding against your chest. The boat rocks heavily again, a piercing scraping sound coming from one side. “Mom?” you whisper. “Mom I'm scared.”

The engine splutters, thick black smoke billowing past the windows. You hear footsteps move towards you. “Come on, the boats gonna crash, we gotta go,” Zora tells you, her hands on your shoulders.

“Mom, I can't— I can't...”

“I know, I know, baby, I'm right here. Don't let go,” she murmurs, pulling you onto the deck. “One, two...three.”

Cold rushes around you, pressure surging around your body. Your eyes press tight closed as the pressure only increases, the light behind your closed eyelids decreasing. Your chest feels tight, constricted. Your legs kick weakly beneath you. Two hands hook under your arms, hauling you up to the surface. You break the water, gasping for air desperately but nothing filling your lungs properly. The device beeps again and again, faster now. “Mom?” you gasp.

“Don't let go,” she pants, wrapping your arms around her neck as she begins to swim towards the shore. Duncan's boat continues to surge forwards, skipping over the rocks on the sand.

Henry and Nina continue to lug the cargo to the sands, while Zora collapses breifly the second the water is shallow enough. “Mom?” you whisper, kneeling beside her, sweat and tears and salt water mixing on your cheeks. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry I ruined your mission, I just took out the trash and—”

“No,” she pants. “No, baby...” Zora props herself up on her elbows, sitting up. Her hands cup your cheeks. “None of that was your fault. None of it. I promise.”

“Nove! Move, keep moving! They're amphibian!” Henry yells.

Zora nods her head at the shore, pulling you up after her. You're barely focussed when someone screams, the rest of the team sprinting down the sands. “Nina!” Duncan yells.

Red runs up to your feet before falling back down in the ocean. Your hands wrap tightly around your mom's waist, tears mixing with the seawater on her turquoise t-shirt. “Duncan!” she pants.

The team retreats from the coastline. “Hurry up,” Henry says as the team checks equipment. “We can't stay here. They'll come back.”

“They're more like mutations,” Martin tells Zora, checking the boxes while you lay against a rock.

She pauses, looking up at him. “What do you mean, mutations?”

“Deviations, abnormalities.”

“I know what the word means!” she snaps. “What does it mean here, where we are?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This island that we're on, the guy didn't tell us everything that we need to know.”

“Look, dinosaurs are dinosaurs. What difference does it make?”

“It matters because my daughter's life is on the line!” Zora snaps, slamming a box lid shut. The device beeps again, like a constant reminder that her daughter's life rested entirely on her. Martin doesn't reply. “Fine, don't tell us. We could just leave you here, it's fine.”

“Like it or not, Bennett, losing me doesn't make that thing come off faster,” he hisses cruelly. “Fine. So this island was a laboratory of sorts. They conducted experiments here.”

“What kind of experiments?” Henry asks.

“Crossbreeding of species. The theme park owners were just responding to what the audience wanted. They were tired of looking at the same.”

“Genetically altered freaks?” Zora asks.

“Mom...” you whisper, your head pounding heavily again. Like someone was constantly banging a drumstick on your skull. Zora moves to you, holding her cold flask to your forehead.

“Yeah” Martin replies. “And you don't wanna do that in the middle of a theme park, do you?”

“Ideally you don't try weird genetic shit at all.” Duncan replies.

“Well, they learned that the hard way,” Martin adds. “Any that we're malformed, they left them here.”

You sigh, relaxing into the cold pressed against your head providing a temporary release from the constant pounding on your skull, your ears, behind your eyes. Everything.

“But that's inhuman,” Henry adds. “Why not just put them down?”

Your device beeps. Martin sighs like it was a stupid question. “The average cost of a created species is $70 million. What would you do, kill it and have to tell your bank or just carry it forward under development?”

“What would I do with mutant dinosaurs from an economy perspective? Is that really the question? Can we please just hurry this along.”

“Mom, make them stop...” you whine, your breath coming in short little pants.

“Y/Ns right. The noise isn't helping her head, and it's attracting more dinosaurs. Our situation hasn't changed.”

“Two of our friends just died,” Duncan replies grimly. “Clearly the situations changed.”

“Yes, and that's horrible. But this is where we are now, desperate, and that not any different than before. We were all desperate or we wouldn't have come. Right?” Zora continues. “You, you specialise in a subject nobody cares about anymore. I want the money, I want my daughter safe, Duncan, you want the money, LeClerc wants the money. Your company wants all the money,” She points at each person, then nods her head at you. “with a 100% guarantee, clearly.”

“Mom, it's too tight,” you tell her.

“I know baby. You shouldn't even be here. We just need two more samples, okay?”

Zora hauls you up off the ground, moving you towards the wire fence with a pair of snippers. “We get in, get the samples and get out.”

“I say we find the kids before we get out,” Duncan adds.

“Uh, get out how?” Henry asks.

“Anyone wanna hear the backup plan?” Zora asks, she pats your back. “Drink the water. Drink lots of water.”

“She has a backup plan?”

“Mom doesn't get out of bed without a backup plan.”

“I hired an team to monitor out boats radio frequency. So if we go silent for a day they'll do a flyby at exactly sundown on the second night,” Zora helps you up a large rock. “The plans showed a helipad southwest. They'll hover there for exactly two minutes. No one shows, they leave.”

Slowly, Zora and Duncan help you up the hill, ground thick with a blanket of leaves and twigs, before it starts to decline again. The soil gets damper and muddier as you get closer to the flat ground, trees and twisted roots sticking up out of every bit of soil to trip you up. Damp soil turns to mud as you approach a river. You fingers dig cresents into Zora's arm, holding tightly onto her like letting go meant losing her.

Duncan descends into the dirty water first, the cold swarming around his legs. Henry and LeClerc follow next, followed by Martin, Zora and you. “Mayve that family will know to head for the village,” she suggests.

“God I hope so,” Duncan replies from the front.

“How far to the next sample?” she asks.

“Well, according to the satellite imagery, the Titanosaur herd stays in the central valley. We should reach them by dawn.”

Something long, slippery, wraps past your leg. You jump, clinging to Zora a little tighter. “Watch where you're going, something just moved past her legs.” Zora turns to Martin. “Hey, you wanna tell me how the girl fell over the rail?”

“The thing hit the boat. You were there.”

“But so eere you on the boat, next to her. So there was nothing you could do?”

“You let h—” you start, but Martin glares down at you, his eyes moving from the blinking device to your face, his eyes holding something like a warning of death in them.

“What are you implying?” He asks, before moving ahead.

At the front, Henry and Duncan talk about first expeditions and past jobs as they wade through the water.

“You gotta drop this. She screamed, I turned round and she was gone,” Martin continues as the water begins to shallow.

“Okay, alright. But if I find out otherwise, we'll leave you here and you can rejoin the food chain.”

Martin chuckles behind you. “I'm too smart to die.”

“You know, intelligence is massive overrated as an adaptive trait,” Henry replies, climbing onto the dry land.

“What did he say?” you whisper to your mother.

“Something about being smart isn't all that,” she replies.

“So is now a good time to tell you I failed a maths test yesterday?” you ask carefully as you sit down on a root at the dry land, the device tightening again at the very thought of that test.

“Don't think about it, kid. You can't let your heart rate go up,” Zora murmurs, pulling another flask from her bag. “Drink.”

“Overrated?” Martin mutters. “Enlighten us.”

“Dinosaurs. Pretty dumb, right? Survived for 168 million ye—”

Your device beeps, multiple in a row now, the thing flashing red beneath your chin. Zora tilts your chin up, watching the red pulse. “Can you both just stop? My daughter can barely breathe.”

“She's fine,” Martin replies, climbing out of the water.

Zora almost growls at him, pushing stray hairs out of your face.

It feels like hours of walking, stumbling along over roots and rocks and rivers before the dense trees begin to thin into grass and bushes.

“How much further?” you ask. “I'm tired.” Zora tucks you further under her arm.

“The Titanosaurs are right across this valley.”

The grass gets taller as you continue forward, almost swallowing you completely. The area is almost eerily quiet, the only sound being the gentle wind through the grass.

Zora sighs. “Stay here. Do not leave Duncan's side. You hear me?”

“Mom, it hurts,” you swallow.

“I'm being as quick as I can, sweetheart,” she replies quietly, clicking her gun as she strides forwards, Henry beside her.

“Your mom's gonna fix it, alright?” Duncan reassures you. “You doin' okay?”

“Is there meant to be two Henry's?”

“Sounds like a hospital is the top of your bucket list places.”

You almost smile, leaning against him. In front of you, you can hear your mom gasp. “Look!” you point at a long, ribbon like tail rising from the grass. “Its so pretty.”

Zora and Henry run forward towards it, aiming to get a better shot through the grass. You watch from the bottom of the hill as two Titanosaurus wrap their necks together, tails circling around them. You can see a speck whizz towards them.

“Don't see that everyday,” Martin says.

“Or ever,” Duncan replies.

The speck sticks into one's neck, before shooting back out. Duncan catches it as it's parachute falls to the ground. “Got it!”

You catch up with Zora and Henry, Duncan handing the sample to Martin and the briefcase. You wrap your arms around your mother. “All of this ahs been awful, but that was nice,” you comment quietly. You hear the briefcase lock closed, and gasp in pain as the device tightens. The air seems to leave your body as Martin picks the case up again, the device practically suffocating your throat. “Mom,” you gasp, clawing at her arm.

She drops her tranq gun instantly, “breathe, hey. Look at me, breathe.”

Henry drops to his knees beside you instantly, tilting your chin to check the device without touching.

“You said collecting the samples releases it. Why the hell is it getting tighter?” Zora snaps at Martin.

“Do you have three samples in that case?” he snaps back. “Thats two. Nothing releases before you get my third sample.”

“If my daughter dies before this mission is over,” Zora warns, her voice low as Henry continues fussing over you carefully. “You don't make it off this island either. Clear?”

Martin huffs, Henry still breathing deep with you. “Its not getting looser until we get the third sample, but it's reacting to your heart rate. You panic, it gets tighter. Just remember the big breaths.”

You nod, rising on shaky legs.

“Seriously? Reacting to panic? What sort of insane bullshit collar did you put on her?!” Zora shouts. “I'm not playing your game anymore, Martin. Either you get that shit off of my daughter now, or your company is going to be in a ton of trouble for what you've done to my daughter, and potentially that Delgado girl too.”

He clicks his tongue, shrugging. “Only one way, Zora.”

Zora's eye twitches. She looks over at you, your fingers shaking, your chest stuttering with every breath, like even that simple task is taxing. That little face that used to beam up at her all the time, now plastered with poorly hidden fear. She knows she can't make you go on like that, but if she doesn't it'll only get worse. Guilt stabs through her like a knife.

She sighs. “Its not far now. See, that's the final sample,” she points at three Quetzalcoatlus circling in the distance. “We go however fast you want to go. Okay?”

Your breath stutters again before you nod.

________________________________________

Duncan places you back on the ground after carrying you up most of the hill, because even moving increases your heart rate and the tightness of the device.

“Okay,” Zora says, taking a gulp from her flask before handing it to you. “Drink. It's a vertical slab. Some overhang. Least we're going down.”

“It was circling a carved structure part way down. They were crevice nesters, so it's an ideal spot.”

You watch as LeClerc heads down first. Zora crouches in front of you, sitting you down on a rock out of the way of anything that could raise your heart rate. “Okay, stay calm. Deep breaths. Uh, Duncan's gonna keep you safe. Breathe, don't stress, I will be okay. I love you, so much. Back soon, okay?” she tells you quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You nod, closing your eyes to avoid watching Henry and your mother go down. Avoid stress. No panic. You remind yourself, breathing as deep and calmly as the device will let you.

In the temple nest, Zora moves around easily, watching Henry inject the egg with the needle. She crouches beside the nest.

“What would the alternative be?” she asks. “To giving them to Martin's company?”

“We give it to the whole world. Anyone who needs it can get it.”

“Look, if I...if we do that, I don't get any money. I wanted this to be my last mission, for this money to pay for our rent and our food, maybe find a better, safer place for me and my daughter to live,” Zora admits. “So far all this mission has done is put her in danger. She deserves everything that money would help us with.”

“Its up to you, Zora. But there's other options out there to make money, you know?” Henry suggests.

You sigh, leaning back on the rock. Just relax. You're just...sunbathing in the green, not on an abandoned, dinosaur infested island with a ticking time bomb around your neck. In for five, out for four. In, out. In, out. In— your breath stutters as Duncan starts shouting.

“Kincaid! Help!”

“LeClerc?” Duncan looks over the edge. “Krebs, pull, pull!”

Something massive flaps below, skwaking. Just relax. Deep breaths. The device only gets tighter, and somehow even tighter as a massive blue and yellow head appears over the edge of the cliff, a pair of legs dangling from its mouth. “Duncsn!” you gasp out, the space already starting to blur at the edges.

“Oh, shit!” Duncan scrrambles to his feet, Martin following with the briefcase. “Come on, kid. This way, down here.” He directs, heading down a flight of stone stairs, the entrance hidden by leaves and twigs. “Take your time. I'm gonna make sure Z and Henry are okay, we won't leave without you, okay?”

“I know, I know.” You watch Duncan skip down the stairs. “I know you let...that girl dall” you hiss. “I watched it.”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” he sneers.

“When I tell my...mom, she's gonna—”

“Gonna what? She's too scared to do anything to me while you're hung up.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Martin speeds off down the stairs, leaving you alone in the dark. You sigh a little, taking another step down. and another.

“Doc! You okay!” you can hear Duncan shout.

“Good! Get the sample!” he shouts back

Suddenly, the device hisses, the pressure releasing. You gasp, taking in a big, full gulp of breath for the first time in hours. You lean against the wall, sucking in breath after breath. Your lungs feel full for the first time since waking up. You stand up properly, running, you skip stairs, speeding down them.

Zora spins. “Duncan, where's m—”

She's cut off by your body flying into hers like a spider monkey, arms and legs wrapped tight around her, face buried in her neck. “I love you so much, mom.”

“Love you more, idiot,” Zora murmurs back, arms wrapped around you.

You drop back to the ground, Zora carefully taking the device off before Duncan drowns it in the nearby river. “Can we go home now?”

Zora hums. Titling your chin up to look at the purple marks left by the device. “You ca breath okay? No injuries?”

________________________________________

The walk towards the helipad is long, but you almost feel like you could've run it with how much oxygen your lungs are holding. “Through there,” Zora tells you, guiding you through a gap in the fence.

“I see the helipad. It's in the middle of a reservoir,” Duncan tells them, looking through the binoculars. “No sign of the kids, thought. ”

“Will they even be able to find this place?” Henry asks.

You crouch at something in the ground. Footprints. “Mom!”

“Nice find, kid,” Zora says. “Hey! Rueben! Teresa! Hello?”

“Zora, they could be anything,” Martin tells her. You groan. “They could be animal, it could be—”

“In Nikes?” she scoffs. “Hello! Reuben! Teresa!”

“The helicopters coming, Zora.”

“They can just do a low pass over the island while it's still light,” Zora walks past him, taking the briefcase from his hands.

“Hello!” A man's voice echoes back multiple times.

“Hey! Oh my God, you made it!” Zora jogs to them, you and the others following behind.

“You okay?” you ask Teresa. “After...”

“Yeah, where is he?” she replies.

“Who?” Duncan asks.

“Where is that son of a bitch?”

“What? Who?” Zora asks.

She stutters. “That guy! He let me fall.”

“Yeah, he tried to kill her,” Xavier adds.

Martin runs out of the bushes. Zora shouts. “Hey Krebs!”

“I'm gonna kill him!”

“Teresa he's got a gun!” Duncan says, holding her back.

“Now let's everybody just settle down and relax.”

“You stopped me calling for help!” she snaps. “You wanted me to die.”

“I tried to catch you.”

“Mom...” you say quietly, inching closer to her. “He's lying, he didn't, I— I tried to help but—”

“What did I say to you?” Martin snaps, the gun discreetly moving it's aim. “They're both lying, obviously.”

Your breath catches again, Zora stepping in front of you. “If they're lying, why do you have a gun?”

“Teresa is hysterical,” he replies easily. Teresa lunges, stopped again by Duncan.

“Don't rush the guy with the gun,” Duncan warns her.

“Whoa. Let's everybody just relax. Why don't I take that? And these will be safe with me,” Zora hands over the briefcase, watching as he handcuffs it to his wrist. “Then we all get on the helicopter, and forget any ridiculous stories these two have said.”

“Stop talking!” Isabella hisses. Something churns, grinding loudly in the distance.

Henry steps forwards. “Its the generator. It must be on a timer.”

“Generator sounds angry.”

“Maybe this place isn't empty at night.”

The lights buzz on loudly, flickering around you, petrol station music quickly following. You scream as something lands and hisses behind you. Winged, rows of sharp teeth glinting at you in the flickering lights.

“Not those things again!” Xavier complains.

“Split up!” Zora shouts.

Zora, Martin and the Delgado's all run towards the shop. Henry and Duncan fly up a set of metal stairs. You wait, staring between your mother, before following after Duncan and Henry. That hesitation causes you to fall behind, though, and as your feet pound up the metal stairs, sharp teeth dig into your arm over the railing. The thing tugs, and you cry out, trying to push away from the railing. It's teeth sink deeper into your flesh, ripping screams from your throat. “Mom!” you scream shakily, tears and blood flowing together.

Footsteps and screaming and roaring mix together in a blur, your focus solely on the dinosaur at your arm. The thing shakes its head, the sound of something snapping, and suddenly you can feel cold where there wasn't cold before. The world starts to spin, immense pain spreading through your right arm. Hands usher you backwards, warm, familiar. Another hand, maybe the same hand, rests over the painful bit, dragging you towards some bushes.

“Y/N. Hey, heh, focus on me. Look at me, sweetheart. Come on, baby,” she urges, trying to catch your eye, her hands wrapping a hair bobble twice around your upper arm.

“Mom...what's...”

“Don't panic,” she whispers quickly, like her heart was also racing. “Its gonna hurt. It's gonna really hurt, I just...need to cut off the blood circulation.”

“But...blood..good?”

“Not when it's coming out, baby,” she replies, pulling another bobble from her hair to double tie around your upper arm. The bandana around her neck comes off to wrap around the end of your arm, pulled unevenly. The end of your arm is just wrong. Red and ragged and not an arm anymore. “Come on, stay with me. Stay with me. You need to keep your eyes open.”

“Mom, I'm... scared...” The world goes black. You can remember screaming, shouting, movement beneath you multiplentimes, each one slightly different.

________________________________________

The first thing you notice is harsh lights glaring through your closed eyelids. Harsh antiseptic fills your nostrils. You groan, eyes cracking open. The lights been down on you, almost blinding compared to the darkness your eyelids provided. You try to sit up using your arms, but fall down on the right. “Ow, goddamnit.”

Why can't you move? Why does it hurt?

“Y/N? You're awake. Oh my god, you're awake. Are you okay, are you—”

“Mom...?” you whisper hoarsely. “Why...hurt?” you try to push yourself up again.

“Careful. Be careful. It's...a long story okay?”

“Tell..me.”

“You remember how you were...kidnapped and drugged onto a dinosaur island?” You nod against your pillow. “Yeah, on that same island, uh...a dinosaur bit your arm.”

“Thats why...hurts?”

“Uh, no. No, not...exactly. It hurts because it's gone...” she explains quietly.

“What?” you hiss, eyes snapping open. You pull the covers off with your left hand, looking down at your distinct lack of forearm. “Wh— where's it gone?” you ask, feeling the clearly empty area where skin should've been. “Where's my arm? I want it back!”

“Y/N, you can't, I—”

“Mom, give me my arm back!”

“Its on the island, Y/N.”

“What? Why...well why didn't you bring it home?” you shout.

“Because it was in the mouth of a goddamn—” she grunts, cutting herself off. “Sorry. Sweetheart, it was in the mouth of a dinosaur. We physically could not get it back.”

Tears prick in your eyes. “But...I need my arm.”

“The doctors are getting a hybrid prosthetic. It...has a elbow that's controlled by your other shoulder, I think, and the hand is...something else,” Zora explains weakly. “Its gonna take a few weeks to get used to everything but...I'm sueing Martin's company to no end, so that should hopefully pay for the medical bills. And if we're lucky...maybe a better house. That'd be nice, huh?”

“I guess..” you mutter.

________________________________________

It's been a week since you were sent home with some stupid prosthetic. It sits heavy across your back, the harness tight around you. You try to move, to grab your glass of water from the table. The arm swings around, but your body doesn't move right to make it bend, knocking the glass onto the floor, water shining against the wood. “Damnit,” you mutter.

Your feet land on the floor, leaning down to pick up the glass with the prosthetic. The doctor said you have to do everything you would've normally done with your right hand with the prosthetic right arm. The electrical signals force the fingers to curl around the glass, lifting it from the floor. You carry it carefully to the kitchen, but those stupid electrical singal fingers uncurl from the glass before you reach the counter, glass shards spreading across the kitchen floor.

“For fucks sake!” you snap. “I can't do anything with this stupid hand!”

Zora's feet run down the stairs. “What smashed? Are you okay?”

“No,” you sob. “No, I'm not okay! I lost my arm and this stupid arm doesn't know how to do anything!”

“I know. I know, baby. I'm so sorry. If I could make it my arm instead, I would in a heartbeat,” Zora replies, heart shattering.

“But it's not your arm!” you snap, tears down your face. “You didn't lose your arm, I did! And now I'm useless!”

“No, no, come on now. You're not useless, you're learning. It'll get easier. Look, I bet there's something on YouTube that might help, right?”

“Maybe...” you cry.

Zora's heart breaks again. It was essentially her fault that you lost your arm. She should've never taken this mission. If she didn't, you probably wouldn't have been kidnapped by Martin as leverage in the first place. “Come on,“ she murmurs, leading you back to the living room. She picks up the remote, sitting next to you on the couch, searching your prosthetic on YouTube.

Both of you watch intently, trying to understand how to move your arm.

“Right, okay...so that does that, and then it moves the finger...so try, um, moving it like this,” she says.

“Okay,” you sniff, copying the movements. Surprisingly, the hand closes itself for a few seconds, before opening when again when you move your shoulder. “It worked! It worked!” you squeal.

Cops had completely disregarded Natasha's case. “Women assassins made? We got another nutter, Louie!” one had jeered. The only other word she got was that the baby was presumed dead. She had done nothing but cry at the loss of her fiancee and baby. For the first time, she had felt happy and safe. Natasha should've known that good things never last. It was too good to be true, and she wasn't that lucky.

Her tears covered her pillow, the couch, the shower walls, the floor where she practised ballet. She should've fought harder. Dreykov had reclaimed one of his Widows because she hadnt fought hard enough for her pregnant wife. Her baby was dead, her wife presumably dead or suffering because she didn't do enough. A knock at the door disrupts her vodka-ridden self-hate spiral.

“Who is it?” she yells. No one knows where she lives. “I have a gun.” No reply.Not another knock, no noises, no one even came in. “Damnit,” she huffs, picking herself up off the sofa. Nothing is visible through the doors peephole, but curiosity gets the best of Natasha anyway, and the pulls the door open. Green eyes search left, right, straight ahead with caution. Nothing. Probably just some kids playing knock-a-door-run or some equally annoying game. She sighs, stepping back into the apartment.

She freezes then, her eyes falling down. On the doorstep sits a bassinet. Although it looked more like a wicker picnic basket, Natasha can't deny what lies inside. Small and scared, with slightly purpling fingers. A blanket wrapped around the figure, tucked in at the edges. It looks familiar, she thinks. A small, scrunched up face with two rosy cheeks. A baby. “Holy shit,” Natasha whispers. “What the hell...”

The redhead crouches down, searching for a tag or a name or anything that could tell her where you were supposed to be. Nothing. She can't leave you out here. You'll die before the sun comes up. The thought remains in her head. She could save this baby, look after it, at least until it's parents or guardians found it. Her arms wrap around the basinet, carrying it back inside.

The baby babbles slightly, incoherent noises as she places it on the coffee table, between the vodka and papers. “I can't do anything for you, baby...I don't have anything,” she murmurs, taking the baby out of the basket. God, you couldn't have weighed more than a bag of floir. Natasha removes the blanket, her eyes quickly noticing the thin, whispy strands of red on its head. She wraps the familiar blanket tighter around it, every small limb covered. Hopefully the hands won't be purple soon. The Russians eyes catch something red in the bottom of the basket, striking against the beige wicker. One arm supports the baby, while the reaches into the bottom, pulling the red envelope out. Natasha slips it open, and into her lap falls a birth record, hospital documents and a thrice folded letter. The baby whines in her arms, bordering on cries. “I don't...have anything to give you,” she mutters again, but your cries only get louder.

The Russian stands up again, her arms around the baby. Her fiancée was 6 months pregnant...surely they'd bought something at 6 months in preparation. A dummy, a teddy, a bottle...something, right? No. Nothing. Her finger would work, right? Her jaw clenches slightly, the soft cries echoing off the walls. It would have to. Natasha rests you back in the basinet, wrapped tightly in that blanket she swears she recognises.

One hand reaches in to the basket, pinkie finger held out, allowing the baby to latch onto it. The cries start to slow, retreating to.a slow whimper occasionally. Natasha's other hand picks up the forms. The birth certificate. Her breath catches the second her eyes find it, glazing over with tears.

Y/N Alianovna Romanoff. Born December 3rd. 5lb 4oz. Female.

She feels her heart skip a beat. Her last name, her middle name, her birthday. Around the same time her fiancée would've given birth to their daughter. Her eyes move back to you for a second. Wispy red hair, eyes that look green at a glance, a blanket that looks...almost exactly like the one her fiancée had started knitting the second the test turned positive, humming a lullaby to someone that couldn't hear her. Her eyes scan the hospital documents next.

Mother's name: Ilya Petrova

Other parent: Natasha Romanoff

Natasha's eyes drift away after that. The confirmation she needed, on paper. The baby hadn't been killed, and her fiancée had delivered you. The Russian is stunned almost beyond belief, the only thing keeping her grounded being your sucking on her finger. She missed your birth. She missed the birth of her first and only child. Her eyes fall to you again, quiet and peaceful now. She doesn't know how to be a mother. Never really had one to learn from. She had felt comfortable once, knowing that Ilya would be by her side. At least they'd be learning together. But you were warm and alive and hers, and after months of you being dead, she was going to do everything she could.

The letter. The folded paper lingers on the table edge, drawing her eyes over. She unfolds it with her free hand, her eyes skimming over the recognisable, neat handwriting before reading it carefully, word by word.

'Natasha,

If you are reading this, then I am gone. The scientists who helped me promised they would keep our baby safe. I held on to that promise because it was the only thing that gave me peace as I wrote this. I wish I could have met her. I wish I could have held her, heard her laugh, watched her grow, and told her every single day how loved she is.

I named our daughter after you because I wanted her to carry a part of the woman I love most in this world. I hope she looks like you. I hope she has your eyes, your smile, your strength, and your courage. I hope she grows up to be brave, beautiful, kind, fearless, and strong—just like her mother.

Natasha, I need you to know that I tried. I tried so hard to stay. For you, for our daughter. I fought through every pain, every treatment, every procedure—every moment when my body wanted to give up. I endured everything they did to me because I wanted to come home to you. Because I wanted to hold our daughter. Because I wanted to watch you become a mother and spend the rest of my life by your side.

You and our baby were the only reasons why I kept fighting. When things became difficult, I thought about your smile. When the pain became unbearable, I imagined holding our daughter. When I was scared, I thought about the life we were supposed to have together. You kept me alive for far longer than I ever thought I could endure.

Until the very end, all I could think about was you, and our little girl. I am so sorry, Natasha. We always said we would do this together. And I am sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to stay. I am sorry that my body couldn’t keep fighting. I am sorry that I can’t be there beside you to raise our daughter, to hear her first words, to watch her grow, or to hold your hand through all the years we were supposed to share.

Please believe me when I say that I wanted to stay. I wanted it so desperately. Please tell our daughter about me. Tell her that I loved her before I ever saw her face. Tell her that every dream I had for the future included her. Tell her that her mother fought as hard as she possibly could just to meet her.

Tell her that I loved her enough to keep fighting.

And please, Natasha, take care of our little girl, even though I won’t be there to help raise her. Hold her when she cries. Tell her stories. Teach her how to be brave. Teach her how to love. Let her know that her mother was the strongest woman I have ever known.

Please don't carry this pain alone. Live for us, and laugh. And love her enough for both of us.

You gave me something I never thought I would have—a family. You gave me a future. You gave me a reason to keep going when everything inside me wanted to surrender.And even now, if my last thoughts belong to anyone, they belong to you.

And our daughter. Take care of her, and yourself. And when you look at her, I hope you see not only me, but the love that created her.

I love you, Natasha. I always will. Until my last breath, it was you. It was us, all three of us. Always.

Ilya

xx'

Tears stream freely down Natasha's face. Her knees would probably buckle beneath her if she wasn't sat down. The woman she loved had endured everything just to ensure their daughter survived. And she had succeeded. And that was the biggest sacrifice, the bravest thing, the reason why that was the love of her life. The reason why her daughter was still here.

Natasha doesn't sleep that night. Every time she removes her finger, you cry again. By the time 3AM hits, she realises you're probably hungry, maybe you need your nappy changing, a dummy. Most importantly, she realises she can't do it alone. She calls Tony. He's normally still in the lab at this point. And she was right.

“Nat? Haven't heard from you since...what's up?”

“Long story. Short version, I'm on my way over and need baby supplies. All of them,” Natasha replies,gathering the documents back into the side of the wicker basket, you inside.

Tony splutters. “Sorry, baby supplies?”

“I'll explain later. Just get me some baby supplies from that corner shop and I'll be at the tower soon. Nappies, formula, bottles, dummy, everything, Tony.” She hangs up before Tony can reply.

With you in the basket, she carries it out of her front door and through the dark streets of New York City. The cool air bites at your cheeks, turning them back to their previous rosy colour. Your hands are safely tucked into the blanket, Natasha made sure of that before you left the house. It was a decent walk to the Tower,, and she wasn't risking your purple fingers again.

Thankfully, when she arrives in the common room, Tony is waiting with bags full of baby things, pacing. “Nat,” his eyes fall to the basket, small whines and coos leaving it. “Romanoff, is that a child?”

“She's my child, Tony.”

“Where— you weren't even— you didn't even tell us!”

“It was complicated. And none of your business. The point is, she's here now and I don't have...her other mother to help me. I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't desperate,” Natasha replies.

“Right,” Tony clears his throat. “I'll, um, turn the heating up and...ask JARVIS about baby care.”

________________________________________

Years seem to pass in seconds. From that smiley baby to the opinionated toddler. Natasha's love for you never wavered, and the support from the team didn't either. Tony bought you endless toys, it felt like you had a different set of toys for every week of the year. Clint had started teaching you arrow tricks by the time you could walk. Bruce read you bedtime stories while Thor recounted tales from Asgard, and Steve helped you colour. Yelena was of course your favourite. She provided you a partner in chaos. Someone who would help you steal cookies from the kitchen or hide with you to prank Tony, while Wanda helped you bake.

Natasha couldn't be more grateful for the support her family had given her raising you. She recognised herself in you. The strong red hair, green eyes. Down to the intimidation, the "Romanoff stare." But your kindness, your ability to make people feel safe...Natasha knew they were from your other mother. She knew Ilya had given you those. And she was so grateful she could see her fiancée in you.

Natasha has cut down her missions significantly since you started school. She never missed a school event, or a recital or a play. She built her pride around being present in your life. Because she had made one promise to Ilya: you would not grow up surrounded by pain. Only love.

You're five now, she almost can't believe it. The gummy smile had been replaced by a mouth that quipped Tony to no end. The wispy red strands had grown into something longer, stronger. Like you. Those soft green eyes could now harden instantly when you wanted to glare at Tony. Though that never changed. You random, unnecessary dislike for Tony. That was probably another trait you inherited from her.

The colouring book sits on the coffee table, your knees tucked under you. A blue crayon runs across the sky behind a black cat. Natasha walks past you, ruffling your hair as she sits behind you.

“Nice cat, huh?”

“Its Liho! I found the picture of her again,” you explain.

Natasha hums. “Liho would've liked you.”

“Mommy?” you ask then,.dropping the crayon on the table.

Natasha smiles softly. “Yes, малыш?”

“Where's Mama?” Natasha freezes. You tilt your head. “Why do I only have Auntie Lena and Auntie Wanda and Uncle Clint and everybody? Why not Mama?”

Natasha's throat tightens. How do you explain loss to a child? A woman that gave everything just for you to live? “Sweetheart...Mama—” her voice shatters immediately.

You climb into her lap. “Its okay, mommy.”

She blinks. “What?”

Her daughter looks very serious. “I saw Mama.” Natasha's breath stops. “In my dream.”

“Ahat did she say?” Natasha asks.

You smile. “She was pretty.”

A shaky laugh leaves Natasha's lips through tears. “She was.”

“She told me to tell you something.”

“What?”

Two small hands land on her cheeks, squeezing tight. “She said she loves you very, very, super much,” Natasha's eyes fill again. “And you're the greatest person she ever met.” Tears stream freely down Natasha's face. You wipe them. “Dont cry, Mommy.”

“I'm okay,” Natasha murmurs.

“No, you're sad,“ you reply. Natasha pull you closer, head against her chest. “Mommy? I think I'm the luckiest kid in the whole world.”

She smiles through tears against your scalp. “Why?”

“Because my Mommy is Natasha Romanoff.”

The redhead lets out a soft laugh. “Oh?”

“You're strong,” you tell her.

“Sometimes.”

“And brave,” you continue.

“Sometimes.”

“And pretty,” you finish.

Natasha smiles faintly. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and you're nice,” you add. Yelena would disagree. “And Mama loves you.” Natasha's heart shattrs all over again. “And I love you.” You hug her tightly. Natasha kisses your forehead. “And Mama picked you.”

“She did,” Natasha replies gently.

”So that means Mama is really smart.”

Natasha laughs quietly. “She was.”

“And mommy? I think Mama is happy because you're my Mommy.” Natasha can't speak. “I think Mama knows I'm safe.”

Tears roll silently down Natasha's face, kissing your forehead over and over again. “I will always keep you safe.” And she holds you tighter than ever. Because she had. And she always would.

And somewhere, in everything they had lost and gained, Natasha hoped the woman she loved could see their biggest gain.

Their daughter.

Their family.

The Apollo 10 had launched and landed almost a week ago now, and your model was almost ready. But it's not good enough. Your eyes fall back to the half-done model on your desk, painted and modelled. But the antenna is a straightened paperclip, and the call sign decals aren't just right like the real Apollo ten. The LM landing legs aren't straight, the folded pieces of a cereal box making the legs uneven and wobbly when set down.

You pick up the model, lying down on your bed. One arm reaches up, the Apollo ten being held over the old Nine. It's one short leg doesn't look perfect, it wouldn't even stand up to take off. But the Apollo ten was just a test. It wasn't perfect either, maybe yours didn't need to be. Besides, images of the Apollo 11 were already being released in the newspaper. You need to start working on the newest model. The one that would fly to the moon.

After three months, you decide it's Apollo 9's time to retire. You stand up on your bed, reaching to untie the string around the rocket, climbing to your desk to carefully place it next to the Apollo one, seven and eight. Apollo ten finally takes its place on the string, hanging over the edge of your bed.

“Perfect,” you whisper, adjusting the antenna one last time. Your eyes fall to the leftover materials laying on your desk. Not enough for the full Apollo eleven. “There's another cereal box in the bin,” you tell your teddy bear with it's sewn astronaut suit. “And if I do my chores I can buy more paint with my allowance.”

“Thats right, Y/N,” you reply as the bear, making your voice deeper. “And then Apollo 11 will be more perfecter then all the others!”

“Thats right, Teddy!” you reply in your normal voice, carrying Teddy above your head like he's flying as you run down the stairs.

Your hands reach for the empty cereal box at the top of the bin. Cutting and paint and a little bit of glue, and the Apollo 11 would soon join your collection.

“Y/N, can you set the table please?” Your mother calls from the bathroom, the tap running over her hands.

“But it's only 6. We never set the table at 6,” you reply.

“Well we are today, sweetheart. Don't be weird about it. You know that we've got a busy day tomorrow, you need all the sleep you can get.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” she replies firmly. You grumble something under your breath, placing Teddy and the box on the counter. Your mother moves back to continue preparing the food. Your hands straighten the table cloth, smooth and precise at every edge. The placemats set carefully in front of both seats. Under the placemats, your mother had left the mornings newspaper. On the front page, a picture of a blonde woman stood next to a half-built Apollo 11. Your finger traces the rocket instinctively. NASA was never on the front page anymore.

You carry the newspaper, Teddy and the box back upstairs, spreading them across your desk. The craft scissors work carefully around the image, pinning it to the corkboard above your desk, next to other blueprints and images of the Apollo 11.

“Hm...maybe some toilet roll too,” you tell Teddy, quickly rushing to the bathroom bin and back, carrying a few tubes. “This is for the first stage,” you murmur, setting it on your desk. Your craft scissors move easily through the cereal box to cut out four thin rectangles, bent in the same way as Apollo 10 for the legs. For the first engines, you could probably used bits of a straw. You need to add that to your list of things to buy. “This will be the bestest one, Teddy.”

“Yeah it will, Y/N, cuz the Apollo 11 is gonna be the bestest real rocket in all the world!” you reply as Teddy.

“And then this one...” you trail off, tongue sticking out in concentration as a second, shorter, tube is placed on top of the first one. Part of the second stage. From your desk drawer, a thin piece of tape it tugged off to wrap around the gap, holding the two together. “And that can be the inter ring.”

________________________________________

Weeks pass, each one revealing more and more of the Apollo 11. From the slightly half-cone shape of the second inter ring, to the command module. Your model has been kept up to date with NASA's newfound popularity, thanks to the blonde woman, Kelly Jones.

“Only the antenna left, Teddy,” you tell him, finishing painting the service and command modules, made from aluminium foil. “Teddy!” you scold the bear, watching him fall over. “You were meant to be straightening the paper clip, not falling asleep!” You sigh, pushing Teddy back up. ”Its okay. I'm a little tired too.”

“Y/N?” you mother pushes the door open. You don't answer, your brows furrowed and tongue stuck out in intense concentration to paint the details on the modules. “Y/N, I need to talk to you. It's important.”

“Mom—”

“Okay, fine. I'll come back in a bit. But it's already 8, you need to start getting ready for bed soon.”

It only takes ten minutes for you to finish painting the modules, and your clothes are quickly replaced by warm cozy pajamas, and teeth brushed. Your mother follows you into your room, tucking you into bed.

“Can we talk now, sweetheart?” she asks. You nod. “Now...this is important, so you need to listen carefully. The other day...I saw you counting up your remaining allowance, and calculating how much you'd need to visit NASA.”

“I only need a little more! Like...a dollar!”

“Right. But NASA's entry fees are at a low right now because they've got funding back. So...I decided that, just this once, we could spend the money and visit NASA.”

“Wait...really?” you ask, your eyes practically lighting up. “Dont play jokes, Mom cuz...cuz Teddy and me will be really sad!”

Your mom sighs slightly. Every cent she'd spend was worth that smile. “No joking. We're leaving tomorrow, and sleeping in a hotel tomorrow night. Tickets are booked for Sunday.”

“Really? Super really?” She nods. “You're the best mom ever!” you squeal, launching yourself at her.

Her arms wrap around your torso, head tucked under her chin. “You've been waiting a long time for this. Now come on, you need lots of sleep,” she murmurs, tucking you back into bed.”

________________________________________

Teddy is clutched tightly under your arm, his astronaut suit pulling tight around him. In your other hand, sits a carefully completed Apollo 11. The legs are the same length, the antenna almost perfectly straight. This rocket can get to the moon. Not the Apollo ten, not even close, but this one could.

“Come on, come on, come on!” you tell your mother, the second she grabs the rucksack from the car boot. “Its right there, come on!”

“Slow down, Y/N,” your mom gasps, laughing at your excitement as you run towards the large white building, with it's big NASA logo and American flag painted onto the front. The facility stands massively in front of you, almost overwhelming if you weren't so excited. You push your body weight against the door to push it open, your mom barely having time to show the tickets at the desk before being pulled away by your little hands.

The large room is almost overwhelming. A life size command module hangs from the roof. Your eyes fix on it, it can't possibly be that big. How would a rocket big enough to support it leave the ground? Your eyes are drawn downwards, to the walls hung with old mission suits, complete with badges for a job well, leaving no time to think about how much engine power would be needed to lift said rocket.

Your face is pressed against the glass around an old astronaut suit, babbling to your half-listening mom about what each badge means, which mission each suit was from.

“You're an expert, huh?” a woman's voice asks. You pull away from the case slightly, finding the blonde haired woman from the newspaper, stood against the doorway to the gift shop.

Your mother sighs lovingly. “Oh, yeah. They know all about the rockets and the...such and such.”

“Really? Impressive. How old are you, sweetheart?” the woman asks.

“Ten,” you reply quietly, suddenly a little shy in front of someone who worked for NASA.

Kelly gasps half-theatrically. “Wow, you must be clever. What's your favourite thing about space?”

“That the LM's descent engine will have to have a ten to sixty percent thrust so they can land safely on the moon, which is really hard cuz there's no air and the gravity is different,” you reply casually.

The woman's eyes widen slightly, her brows furrowing like she was trying to think if that would be true. “Right,” she smiles. “And here I was, just going to say Saturn like an idiot.”

“Saturn's pretty cool too. It's rings around 280,000 kilometers across but only ten metres thick, and made of...ice and rock. A lot of it.”

She laughs again. “You know your stuff. I just thought it looked pretty,” she sighs. “Kelly. Marketing for NASA.”

“Um...I'm Y/N. And this is Teddy,” you tell her, holding Teddy up in one hand, your Apollo 11 close to your side.

“That's a pretty cool astronaut suit Teddy's got there. I bet Niel and the crew would be jealous.”

“But Teddy's suit is pretty old. It isn't the same as his,” you mutter. “Its not as cool as the new ones. But mom made it, so this one's okay for Teddy.”

“Y/N? I'm just gonna go move the car into the shade, okay? Keep talking to the nice lady,” you mother tells you.

You barely acknowledge her, your focus entirely on Kelly. “Hey, you know...if you tell me how you made that super cool rocket ship, I bet there's a teddy bear costume in the gift shop for Teddy.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now spill, I'd recognise our building kits anywhere, and yours? Way better,” Kelly compliments, crouching down to your level.

“Well...the F1 engines are made from some straws, and...the first and second stages are toilet paper rolls. And then the inter stage ring is tape,” you explain, holding the rocket out in front of you. Kelly nods, humming. “And the legs are a cereal box, and these are cereal boxes, and then modules are aluminium foil. And the antenna is a paperclip.”

“And that's some pretty detailed paint work, there. Very impressive.”

“Does it look like the real one? I can only hang it up if it looks perfect,” you tell her seriously.

“Well...why don't you check it for yourself?” she asks, rising with a hand held out to you. You take it without question, letting her lead you into another, much taller building. “I think Cole would be impressed by your knowledge”

“Really?” you gasp. “The launch director?”

“You really do love it, don't you? I've never met anyone as interested in space as you,” she laughs. “Most kids just want to know how astronauts go to the bathroom, not...confirm how much thrust the engine needs to land on the moon.”

“Well some kids are weird,” you reply easily, flying the Apollo 11 along. Kelly snorts, pushing a door open, leading into a viewing area of sorts. Against windows you can barely see out of is a large set of controls spanning most of the wall. “Wow” you breathe.

“Its cool, huh?” Kelly replies.

“Wheres Apollo 11?“ you ask. Kelly pulls over a chair for you, helping you stand on it to see the rocket through the windows. The rocket is huge, bigger than anything you ever thought could fly, even one leg was probably twice your size. Your eyes trace over every straight edge, every cone, every detail, then fall to your model. “Its not perfect. The second stage isn't right, I have to start over, it has to be perfect.”

“What?” Kelly asks.

“Its not perfect. The second stage is straight until the inter ring, on mine the second stage starts to cone already,” you explain slowly. “Its not good enough, I need to fix it.” Your hands are already trying to pull the antenna off the service module.

“Kid, Y/N...sweetheart, not everything has to be perfect. We're using...so many cool, strong materials, I'm sure,” Kelly ensurs you. “Look at how close you got with cardboard. Besides,” she whispers conspiratorially. “I think yours looks way better. It's got personality, like you.”

“But it's not right...” you repeat quietly.

“I bet you put lots of time and effort into that, didn't you?” Kelly asks. “Thats what matters, not whether it matches the real one perfectly. I think it's perfect like that.”

“Its not perfect because that one's perfect. And they're not the same,” you mutter, head falling forwards.

Kelly sighs. “How about...if you don't change it, and leave it perfect as it is, I'll pull some strings and have you back here on launch day. Hm? Good deal?”

“Really?” you ask quietly.

Kelly nods. “Only if you don't change that rocket at all.”

“Please. Really please, I won't change it, I promise,” you beg, the imperfection almost completely forgotten.

“I'll pull all the strings I can, sweetheart.”

You sit for five more minutes, staring at the Apollo 11, before Kelly guides you back to the main room and in to the gift shop. “Okay. Which one looks best for Teddy?”

“Hmm...” you hesitate, looking across the various teddy bear-sized astronaut suits from different missions. “Niel's suit!” you declar after a moment. Kelly picks the suit up, helping you swap your mother's knitted suit for a real Teddy suit. A little helmet sits on his head, attacked to the back of the costume by a thread. A real NASA patch rests against the chest. “Do you like it Teddy?”

“Its perfect, Y/N, the bestest best suit ever!” Teddy replies in his deeper voice.

Kelly laughs. “It is the bestest best suit ever, isn't it? I bet Armstrong would be happy to hear it.

“Y/N!” your mother's voice calls. “Y/N!”

“Mom! Mom, look what Kelly got me! And she said we can come watch the launch!” you babble excitedly.

“Seriously? I mean...they'd love to, God, that would be brilliant for them,” your mom gushes.

“I'll do everything I can, kid. I'll be in touch soon,” she murmurs, ruffling your hair.

“Thank you, so much. And thanks for looking after them. Come on, kiddo.“

“Bye, Kelly!”

Kelly waves. “Sweet kid,“ she murmurs.