#allevils

it's been a while. maybe longer than a while– pushing two years since he's so much as kissed someone else. it had just... felt bad, the constant trying and failing– to build something solid, to let things be nothing more than something casual. robby can't figure out how to do either, and he thinks maybe he never will. so the writing is on the wall for him to fuck this up. but he just can't find it in himself to resist anymore.

a little twinge of embarrassment goes through him, but it's easy enough to ignore with lucy's hands on him. that's what this is about, he reminds himself– this is about needing to be touched, needing to feel needed. needing to feel good. " right, " he murmurs, " sorry. " hands slide up underneath her shirt, pulling her in by the waist. " that said, that doesn't sound like such a bad deal to me. " he'd get on his knees for him in a second, and he knows that they both know it.

it   happened   all   of   a   sudden   -   her   knees   on   cool   tile,   her   head   submerged   into   porcelain   bowl.   sick,   upon   sick,   upon   sick.   it   was   every   morning.   she'd   always   been   careful.   she   could   feel   the   stirrings   inside   her.   something   didn't   feel   right.

but   the   positive   test   still   showed.

there   was   no   boyfriend   to   pin   the   blame   on.   nothing   but   a   dream   with   a   caveat.   nothing   but   a   tenant   downstairs   that   left   a   note   under   her   door   one   morning   after   her   nightmare.   little   clues   here   and   there,   signalling   something   wasn't   right.   the   shadow   on   the   ultrasound.   the   technician   had   said   it   was   nothing.

to   reggie,   it   looked   like   a   tail. 

 or   i   want   to   take   something   from   you. 

there's   a   scratching   at   the   door   and   she   is   heavy   breathing.   the   water   has   broken,   and   she   is   spilling   a   trail   to   the   bathroom. 

it's   the   voice   from   her   dream.   she   can   feel   everything   then,   hanging   upended,   feel   @allevils   inside   her,   she   remembered   the   twine.   it's   a   knowing   the   father   is   at   the   door   without   even   trying.   she   can   still   feel   his   hand   like   velvet   around   her   throat.   she'd   woken   up   with   scratch   marks   down   her   spine   the   very   next   day.

she's   latched   the   door.   she's   latched   the   windows.   she   is   terrified.   terrified   of   what   is   inside   her   being   taken   away.

but   i   want   to   feel   the   exchange.   ❜

she's   got   her   palm   gripping   the   handle   of   a   kitchen   knife. 

robby figures that the thing with collins is an excellent lesson that getting involved with someone at work is far too complicated. but, of course, the work aspect of that had come after the fact– and all things being equal, he and heather have always done pretty well at keeping things professional. now, with lucy tucked into his side, robby wonders if maybe he's finally about to learn his lesson. privately, he hopes he doesn't. this is nice. it's warm and it soothes something he never likes to acknowledge is aching.

she’s whining. which is, of course, the language she’s most fluent in besides russian. and english, that too. her stupid smile could not get any bigger if it tried, and her entire face lights up about it. but she huffs, releasing lucy anyhow with a roll of the eyes and a brief snort.

“fi-ine. there. enjoy the ground that loves you less than me.”

and a smirk emerges a pointed canine tooth. that incredibly unfeminine snort follows once more.

there is something to be said about the end of a war. celebrations from civilian and the military alike were a given, but much like death and grief, people reacted to the end of the war in dramatically different ways.

for danny, he is met with both the relief that comes from the end, but it is precisely the end he doesn’t know what to do with. the raf had given him such a sense of duty and of purpose. there were rules, there was structure, and he had thrived in the air where even in the thickest fog of war and survival, there had been an order to things.

he was young, but war had made all of them grow up in ways they hadn’t planned. back home to scotland, and though it was joy he felt seeing his mother and father and sister, after a few weeks, their farmhouse in oban brought along a stillness that he simply couldn’t stand.

so it was back to the city, a hero and an outcast; guilt radiating off his very being with every step he took. finds a busy bar, but a quiet corner, watching people come in and out, nursing his drink. he wasn’t the biggest drinker, but it gave him something to do. once he finishes his drink, he stands, doesn’t wait to be asked if he wants another as he walks to the bar, but bumps into someone along the way.

Because nobody likes a know-it-all.

she doesn't say anything. this is a court-appointed support group. people aren't going to take it seriously. god knows she isn't.

you see, the thing that happened was: she took over a bunch of cases to cover for people at work. fine. whatever. not the first time. what's important is for clients to be taken care of. except, the thing that also happened was, glenn lantz entered something wrong in the computer, and then blamed it on her for giving him the wrong documents, and she knew she had not given him the wrong documents, and she hasn't really slept for a week, and her therapist has told her time and time again that anger isn't her enemy, anger can be good and helpful, and that she needs to work on identifying when anger is justified or not. she's still struggling with that concept. she thought it was justifiable to have some civil, stern, and private words with mr. lantz. apparently it was not. hr has worked out anger management support groups as part of the bargain to keep lantz from quitting and her from getting fired.

she really does not like glenn lantz.