#acercontego

( She hadn’t planned it. She’d arrived at the appointment with Chris Callahan knowing exactly how it would go; he’s a predictable man, and she likes that about him. It makes him a reliable client. And she’d been sitting across from him at his desk, handing him a report, and his door had opened, and he’d looked up and offered a brief nod to the interloper. And Astoria had turned around to say that this was a closed meeting, would he mind waiting —

     My son, Chris said, and if she didn’t know better she’d think he sounded bored by it, Ben. Ben, this is —

     And Astoria stood, extended a manicured hand, smiled. Bright. Warm. “Elizabeth.” The Dublin accent she loved so much was absent, replaced by a crisp Londoner’s royal pronunciation. Between the voice and the blonde wig and the herringbone blazer, it would have been hard to find any of Astoria in her. “Elizabeth Vane. It’s a pleasure. )

     It’s Elizabeth who arrives at the cocktail party — thrown by Chris and his wife, the sort of party that made the lovely Mrs. Callahan wave her hand and say oh, it’s nothing, when it had been clear that every single second of the night had been meticulously planned. It’s Elizabeth who introduces herself to the newest member of the board, one of the people Chris will surely have her look into soon enough.

     It’s Astoria who catches sight of Ben smiling pleasantly and saying help me !! with his eyes as he gets cornered by a retired partner who seems not to notice. It’s Astoria who slips through the little crowd of people to his side and smiles, bright, warm, and steals him away. It’s a simple enough process — a little joke here that gets everyone laughing, a hand on his arm, glancing his way a few too many times, and when she gets the chance to tug him to the side for some alone time, everyone simply offers up an indulgent little grin and a nod while Astoria Elizabeth links an arm through his and guides him towards the door.

     “You looked like you could use some saving.” There’s been flirting. There’s been teasing. There have been moments when all she’s wanted to do is grab him by the lapels of his jacket and drag him into a supply closet with her and even more moments than that when she’s wanted to make him a cup of tea and card her fingers through his hair while he tells her about his day. The latter is always the most dangerous. 

     It’s Elizabeth who doesn’t do anything about it, and it’s Astoria who wants to. It’s Elizabeth who’s bitten her tongue for the sake of the business, her reputation. It’s Astoria who speaks next.

he  should  have  paid  for  two  rooms.   

alec’s  voice  wakes  him  from  an  afternoon  nap,    the  door  to  their  suit  slamming  shut.  hannibal  sighs,   pulls  up  his  eye  mask  and  peeks  at  alec.      

❝      you  did  this  on  purpose  .      ❞  

“ sure, as if —— ”, casual mockery comes out free, spontaneous, as if her mind hasn’t truly registered neither the meaning of his words, nor the tone. she stops dead in her tracks when it does, taking her eyes off the tiny denim backpack that’s become her luggage for nights spent at his place —— she looks up and needs to pause. the thing is this: there is a BEFORE and an AFTER BEN CALLAHAN. there is sex as an afterthought, as the quick, mishandled pastime in between shifts and another night alone, and there is pleasure for the sake of it, for the way he manages to reignite parts of her that have been dead for far too long —— and she has never really known pleasure before him, not LIKE THIS, and now she’s much too eager, demanding in a way. she’s discovered hunger and can’t quite satiate it. what, she’s suddenly supposed to starve herself ? “ oh, come on. you can’t be serious ”. quick showreel of emotions passing on her face: disbelief leaves room to protest, a childish anger follows quickly after. underneath it all, a shade of amusement: in spite of the way she can be impulsive and needy, far more instinct that there has ever been discipline in her body —— ah: freddie just loves the way he plays. 

can’t help the shiver running down her spine, can’t help that for a second her skin covers in goosebumps and she runs a quick equation through her mind to figure out how late for work she can be, if she can slip right back in bed with him just to make abstinence somewhat more tolerable. the answer is known already — she can’t, she’s late as it is. switch to plan b —— a gentle pleading, stepping closer to bridge the distance enough that she can place her fingertips over the sides of his neck, pull him close. “ c’mon. you know i won’t be able to get anything done… ”. her voice trails off in a mellow drawl, a low murmur, a beggar’s prayer —— and she melts too, in a way, the space she usually draws between her and anyone suddenly feeling superfluous and bothersome, by consequence of him and the way she so desperately longs to feel him closer ( even when she says she doesn’t. even when he alone holds the power to make her come undone with a single touch ). her kiss is bribery, a fleeting touch against the corner of his lips. “ c’mon… please ? ”

switching shifts with someone wasn’t that big of a deal,  considering the precinct didn’t believe her to be in a relationship and she was happy to celebrate her relationship with frank any day.   he was already gone and gaea was just now starting her day,  wearing one of his shirts and stepping into the kitchen to make coffee.   with her leaving around the time he would be going home and the various crimes that could happen on the date (  modern times call it valentine’s day but that was the christian holiday.   lupercalia,   despite its roman origins,  was still celebrated by a great many of the last city.   and with the holiday being dedicated to purification and fertility,  it would be a wild night  ),  she had a feeling she wouldn’t see the commissioner until she came home. which is why she’s so surprised when there’s a knock on the door. peering through the door viewer,  all she sees is red.   with her magic at her fingertips,  she pulls open the door and is immediately greeted by a bouquet of roses . . .   the biggest she’s ever seen.   ❝ oh! ❞  she cries,  absolutely delighted.   the delivery man seems thankful to hand it over to her and more than a little disturbed when vines begin growing from the vase and coiling around her wrists.   with green magic being her speciality,  she’s more than happy to allow the cut roses to heal from their ordeal.   ❝ thank you so much, ❞  she says,  loosing a hand as the vines creep over her shoulders.   her purse is beside the door,  tip pressed into his hand before she closes the door. the roses are kind enough to dig out the card driven into their depths,  releasing her to instead extend along the kitchen island.   gaea is not at all surprised to see the handwriting on it though she is the instructions.   leaning in to smell the roses,  she shakes her head as she pets velvet petals.   leave it to him to reschedule her shirt so they can be together.   he certainly has more favors racked up.

[𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊]: Fear the walking dead starters [𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒]: accepting [𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌]: @acercontego​ // kevin [𝐅𝐎𝐑]: holt [𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄]:  ❛ Soup is the blanket of food. ❜

If one knows him well, they will be able to tell that he is frowning in concern. ❝The blanket of food? How? Does it provide warmth? Is it protecting it from fire?❞ 

She rolls her eyes and huffs,  “ Hop, for the last time -- ”  God, she knows it won’t be the last time he brings it up, but Joyce can only hope that her word will be enough to convince him of it. Though, obviously, he still sees it as her harmless actions speaking much higher volumes. Joyce would’ve thought that finally saying yes to a date with him would at least put a stop to these feelings of jealousy, but she still can’t seem to deal with a customer at the store without him wanting to barge in and confront the man for asking Joyce where the light bulbs were.

“ I don’t have hundreds of boyfriends. ”  Something she never thought she’d have to say, to this grown man no less. They weren’t kids, this wasn’t high school.  “ I don’t know why you think I just have guys lining up at my door. ”  Joyce almost winces at the thought. Hawkins isn’t a big town, there aren’t hot singles in the area. Honestly she had considered herself very lucky to have been with Bob. But there’s really only one other person in her life who has chased her affection, and been so painfully obvious about it.

@acercontego​ sent “I’m here to drink alone.” - @ Steve Rogers from Scott Lang

it has not been an easy week. that is said as an understatement, murmured to himself in the privacy of his office. he gathers the items needed, sliding them neatly into his briefcase as he focuses his thoughts on his client that he was supposed to meet with his partner in the next fifteen. he’s never late, but it’s hard to focus, and ben will stop for a moment, placing both palms of his hands on his desk, closing his eyes as he breathes.

his brother showing up after twenty years of little to no contact. the phone calls from both his mother and father respectively. the lack of sleep: he’s tried a few pills, but nothing helps keep him down until daylight. so he has resorted to working more - quite literally around the clock, with a few naps peppered in. hasn’t so much as been home to his loft as he has made almost a second home in his office. he always had a clean button down in his office for emergencies anyways. the cases that keep piling up - he is a stubborn man, and though he certainly has the manpower, he does want to keep abreast as many cases as he can, preferring to lead when his schedule allows.

it was always about control - every aspect of his life was, and he was now doing everything he can to stay afloat. one thing at a time. another inhale of a slow breath and he rises, only to feel a sudden dizziness overwhelm him, causing him to falter, shutting his eyes briefly as he tries to wait for his world to center back. but it doesn’t, and instead, he feels a hard pressure, pain striking into chest. feels it spread to his arms, his back and though logically he thinks he knows what’s happening, still feels that that is exactly what is not happening.

and the last thing he thinks before he loses consciousness is: finally.

Hi, is this Astoria? Astoria Grimani? I’m calling about Ben Callahan, he’s — he’s — 

     She wonders sometimes how people get chosen for these jobs. Calling the emergency contact to let them know that somebody’s quite possibly dropped dead seems like something that gets assigned to you. Traffic had been a nightmare when she’d slipped out of the press conference, and so a cab would have taken way too long to get her to the hospital, and so she’d taken the subway, and if this isn’t real love she doesn’t know what is. 

     Her phone is almost dead, but she’d bought a charger in the hospital gift shop, and a very tall cup of coffee to follow from the cafeteria. The cup is empty, now, sitting on the chipped tray table beside his bed, next to the phone, charging. For her part, Astoria is sitting at his bedside, head propped up in her hand, elbow resting on one of the bed’s side railings, eyes falling closed every few minutes before her head slips and she jerks awake again. 

     — one of the junior associates found him and called 911, and he’s on his way to the hospital. I don’t know if he’s going to be okay, I mean, I know he’s been working so much more than usual, but I didn’t realize — oh, god. 

     If anything can be said about Astoria, it’s that she can keep her head in a crisis. It’s why she’s never going to be out of a job: politicians are stupid, and need someone to hand-hold them and clean up their messes, and she’s damn good at it. So she comforts the secretary on the phone between barking orders to her assistant, and she comforts the senator when he calls later for an update, and she somehow refrains from calling Ben’s family to inform them that she is, personally, going to push them into oncoming traffic if they ever so much as look at him funny again, and so help her God, she means it. 

     The problem is that crisis management is only useful when there’s a crisis. When it’s the waiting in between, she starts thinking things like I should have seen this coming, I should have tried to help more, Jesus Christ, I have never failed as badly as I’ve failed at being a decent girlfriend, why the fuck do people date me? and how the fuck am I supposed to make sure he’s going to be okay in the future? I can’t cook and we work in politics, why didn’t he date a nice girl who does something a little less stressful, like hostage negotiation —

     Her elbow slips off the railing and she startles herself awake for the thousandth time, just as the phone next to her vibrates, and she catches sight of the time. It’s just before four AM, and she’s already outright bribed two nurses who reminded her that only family was permitted to stay outside of visiting hours.

     ( “I am his family,” Astoria had said finally, and at that point, she was tired enough to start crying. “Jesus Christ. I am his family.” The crying hadn’t even been planned, but it worked all the same. ) 

     She hears the change in his breathing as she’s popping a piece of gum into her mouth, hears it before she sees him start to stir. Immediately, all thought of sleep flees, and Astoria runs a hand through her hair. Her assistant had arrived with a change of clothes and something to get her makeup off and a hairbrush, so at least he’s not going to wake up to the sight of the world’s most questionable girlfriend with hours-old mascara tears and a sad, rumpled blazer. She waits, breath held, until he looks her way, and when he does she lets out a full-body sigh of relief.