for @merthurmicrofic | Prompt: Whisper | Word Count: 750 | read on ao3
The Knights of Camelot had faced many threats: invading armies, enchanted beasts, questionable tavern stew. But nothingânothingâhad tested their patience quite like Merlin and Arthur being catastrophically, painfully, unbelievably oblivious.
âTheyâre in love,â Leon said flatly, watching Arthur storm across the courtyard while Merlin trailed behind him, waving his arms and complaining.
âThey are not,â Lancelot replied, lounging against a pillar. âTheyâre justâintensely committed to arguing.â
âThey nearly died for each other three times this week,â Percival added.
âFour,â Elyan corrected. âYou forgot the thing with the cursed goose.â
Lancelot frowned. âRight. The goose.â
Across the courtyard, Arthur spun around. âIf you ever turn me into a donkey againââ
âYou said you wanted to understand them better!â
âI meant metaphorically, Merlin!â
The knights watched as Merlin huffed, Arthur huffed back, and somehow they ended up standing too close, neither moving away.
Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. âWe have to do something.â
-----
Operation: Make Them Realize Their Feelings (Before We Lose Our Minds) began that afternoon.
Step one was subtlety.
It failed immediately.
Gwaine âaccidentallyâ locked Merlin and Arthur in the armory together.
âWeâll be stuck here for hours!â Arthur snapped, rattling the door.
Merlin blinked. âOr⌠until someone lets us out?â
âYes, Merlin, thatâs how being locked in works.â
When the knights finally opened the door, hopeful, they found Merlin sitting on a crate and Arthur polishing a sword.
âWell?â Leon asked eagerly.
Merlin smiled. âWe reorganized the weapons rack.â
Arthur nodded. âMuch more efficient now.â
Gwaine walked away before he could scream.
-----
Step two involved emotional vulnerability.
It went worse.
Percival arranged for Arthur to be injured during trainingânothing serious, just enough to make Merlin panic.
It worked. Merlin dropped everything, rushing to Arthurâs side, eyes wide with fear.
âArthur! Are you alright? That looked awfulâdoes it hurtâwhy are you always like thisââ
âIâm fine, Merlin,â Arthur said gently.
âWell⌠good,â Merlin muttered, suddenly very interested in the ground.
âYou worry too much,â Arthur added, quieter now.
âYou donât worry enough.â
They looked at each other.
A moment passed.
A long moment.
Leon leaned forward from behind a pillar.
âThis is it,â he whispered. âThis is the momentââ
Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder. âCome on. You can nag me later.â
And walked off.
Merlin followed, already complaining again.
Leon slid down the wall.
âI canât do this anymore.â
-----
Step three was direct intervention.
Gwaine marched into the hall, grabbed both of them, and dragged them in front of the knights.
âRight,â he said. âWeâre settling this. You twoâfeelings. Discuss.â
Arthur blinked. âWhat?â
Merlin blinked harder. âWhat?â
âYouâre in love with each other,â Elyan said bluntly.
Silence.
Arthur laughed.
Merlin laughed.
The knights did not laugh.
âThatâs ridiculous,â Arthur said.
âCompletely,â Merlin agreed.
âYouâre the most infuriating person I know,â Arthur added.
âYouâre a spoiled, arrogant prat,â Merlin shot back.
Arthur crossed his arms. âExactly.â
Merlin nodded. âExactly.â
Gwaine stared at them.
Then at the others.
Then back at them.
âI hate it here,â he announced.
-----
Step four was⌠not planned
âFine,â Arthur said, exasperated. âIf it will shut you all upâIâll prove it.â
âProve what?â Merlin asked.
âThat thereâs nothing between us.â
Arthur grabbed Merlin by the collar.
Merlin made a startled noise.
And then, Arthur kissed him. It was supposed to be quick. It wasnât. Because Merlin made this soft, surprised sound, and Arthur pausedâjust for a secondâbut it was enough to realizeâ
Oh.
Oh.
Merlin kissed him back.
The hall went silent.
The knights froze.
Somewhere, a goblet dropped.
Arthur pulled back slowly.
Merlin stared at him.
Arthur stared back.
ââŚOh,â Merlin said.
ââŚOh,â Arthur echoed.
Gwaine raised a hand. âFinally.â
Leon was already sitting down. âThank every god that listens.â
Arthur blinked again, then frowned slightly. âWait. Does this meanââ
âYes,â everyone said at once.
Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. âRight. That⌠makes sense, actually.â
Arthur nodded. âIt does.â
A beat.
Then Arthur, awkwardly, âSo⌠are weââ
âYes,â Merlin said.
âGood,â Arthur replied.
They stood there, still too close, now very aware of it.
Then Arthur reached for Merlinâs hand.
Merlin didnât even hesitate.
Later, as the knights celebrated their hard-won victory, Gwaine leaned back with a satisfied grin.
âWe did it.â
Leon exhaled deeply. âWe can finally know peace.â
Across the hall, Arthur and Merlin were already arguing again.
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I love the concept of Julian chatting with Miles, Jadzia, Kira and Sisko*, and just coming out with a random horrible thing about his childhood that he thinks is completely normal and is surprised when everyone around him reacts with "What the actual fuck was your childhood, Julian?", or their character-appropriate equivalent.
But I'm obsessed with the concept of Julian internalising some of Richard and Amsha's awful parenting strategies as normal, or even as good, and coming out with them like it's his own point of view with no context that this was how he was treated as a child.
And all his friends staring at him like he's grown two heads before rushing to clarify what Julian meant - because surely he's not advocating for a form of child abuse. It... It kinda sounds like he's advocating for child abuse? And Julian, of course, digs in that it's perfectly alright for some parents to act like that, regurgitating whatever arguments he'd heard his parents say if they'd spoken about it - and no-one can quite believe their ears because, sure, Julian might have a few rather out-there opinions on occasion, but historically they've been simply ~strange~, whereas this time he seems to think there's nothing wrong with something that everyone knows is harmful to children???
And the longer the argument stews, the more messy it is, because Julian quickly starts to suspect that pulling out his "well that's how my parents raised me, and I turned out fine" card is not actually gonna be the trump that he'd thought it would be (not that he had even wanted to use that card in the first place, and regrets ever mentioning this damn opinion). And his friends' arguments are pretty convincing, and their increasing disdain for him is starting to make his skin crawl - but he can't simply accept that they're right, even though he can't put his finger on why. (Because it would turn his entire world on its head and force him to come to terms with his childhood in a way he's been avoiding for the past decade of his life.)
But at some point, however much time later, the bubble has to pop. A defeated "I know it won't change anything, but I only feel strongly about it because I was how I was raised", perhaps, as his friends tell him they're done arguing and are going home. Or maybe several days later, someone asks "Did you really mean all those things you said?" and Julian finds himself saying "I'm not sure. I mean, growing up I thought it was normal, but with everything you guys said the other day..."
And just. The way everything comes to a complete stop because everyone was already struggling to process the fact that "Julian apparently thinks this form of child abuse is okay sometimes?", and now that is completely 180-ing as they realise "Wait, does he mean--? Was Julian arguing this to defend that it was okay that he suffered this abuse?"
And the fact that it's not just the horror of Julian suffering as a kid they're forced to deal with, but of having very viscerally just come up against a way in which he's still fucked up by it, and having no real idea of how to react to either.
I just. Yeah. I love it.
(So much that I've ended up typing this as procrastination from finishing off a Julian-tells-Jake-dating-20yos-is-normal thing where Sisko Is Pissed. Haha. Well tbf I have very much enjoyed writing this so thank you procrastination for sending me in this direction rather than just endlessly playing snek đ )
__
*i.e. his friends who (as far as we know) had loving parents, since "nigh-disbelieving shock" is the reaction I crave - Ezri, Garak and Odo just don't hit the same, you know? I have still included Kira, since although her childhood was obviously fucked up beyond compare, I am convinced she'd be more than appalled at the idea of any parent mistreating their child.
Well. It finally happened. I have a writing Instagram now.
Follow for fic updates, behind-the-scenes writing, story ideas, the occasional spoiler, and definitely some cute cat pics while I slowly break you all down with the Yearnâ˘ď¸
Neil knows, with utter certainty, that if his steps are too loud, he will be found and killed. And its almost silly, because his father has been dead for six years, and no one's after him anymore.
But he cooks his dinner with his back against the wall even though it makes it awkward to flip things over with the spatula. And he can't flush the toilet at night even though he knows its gross but the noise is too loud and he can't bear to paint such a massive target on his back.
When he's on the phone to Andrew some nights, he starts to get quiet, and he starts to snap when Andrew asks him more questions. And he can feel himself fraying around the edges and a phone call is just a phone call but its more than that when it draws attention to where he is in the apartment and keeps him from hearing anyone moving around in the hall.
It helps sometimes to leave the TV running. But eventually it times out and turns itself off and Neil's left to the silence that he knows is hiding something.
His father has been dead for six years. No one is after him anymore. And this is sunrise, Abram, deathâ this is true.
But then Neil hears one of the floorboards creek, and it all comes tumbling down. He's waiting to be killed, he's a sitting duck and Nathan is walking over with his cleaver dragging against the ground. And there's a ringing in his ears and Neil grabs a pair of scissors from the side and holds them like they're a deadly weapon because in his hands they are.
With light feet, he walks around the apartment. He checks every room, behind the doors, back to the wall as he goes so no one can sneak up on him.
No one jumps out at him. Because there is no one to jump out at him. Not anymore. And Neil sags with the weight of relief. He knows what a psychiatrist would say to him right nowâ hell, what Betsy would sayâ but that's why he doesn't go see one. He doesn't need someone to tell him what he already knows.
All he's left with in the aftermath is a bone-deep tiredness and the knowledge that it's all in his head. At least before, this feeling had a purpose.
When his team plays against Matt, he comes to stay at Neil's apartment. And Neil feels the comfort radiate through him at just the knowledge that there's another body in the next room that could keep him safe.
Matt leaves and the fear creeps back in like it always does. And Neil realises he can't keep doing this anymore. They'd already planned to move to the same team, neither of them happy with the distance they'd been struggling with for the past two years. But Neil knows with a sudden clarity that he needs to be back with Andrew again. He needs someone at his back again.
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5 conversations Mercy has with each of the Warriors about her developing relationship with Swan. She learns more about all of them in the process.
--
read under the cut or on ao3
+++++
Unsurprisingly, it started with Cleon.Â
It took a week, mainly because Swan refused to leave Mercyâs side, but eventually, Cleon managed to corner her alone.Â
Swan was still asleep, and when Mercy wandered into the kitchen she froze for a moment at the sight of Cleon sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. She briefly debated turning and going back to bed, because curling up with Swan under the warm covers seemed a much better alternative than facing the cold stare Cleon was directing at her.
âMercy,â Cleon greeted. âCome sit.âÂ
Mercy swallowed, but she knew it wasnât a request. She sat across from Cleon.
âSwanâs been pushing for me to get you your official colors.â Cleon didnât bother with small talk. âIs that what she wants or what you do?âÂ
Mercy tilted her head, meeting Cleonâs gaze head on. âI want to be a Warrior.âÂ
âWhy?â Cleon raised an eyebrow. âBecause of Swan?âÂ
Mercy paused, considering her answer carefully. Cleon studied her, and Mercy couldnât help but feel she was being tested. âNo. Because I want more out of my life. I saw a group of incredible and badass women, a community, and I wanted to be part of it. It was never just about Swan.âÂ
âHm.â Mercy doesnât know how to interpret that.Â
âI can go through whatever initiation -âÂ
Cleon immediately shook her head, lifting a hand to cut her off. âIâm not interested in fighting with Swan about it. She says you more than proved yourself that night, and the others seemed to agree.âÂ
Mercy idly wonders how extensively Swanâs been arguing on Mercyâs behalf when Mercy isnât around. Itâs sweet, but part of her wishes Swan would quit trying to fight her battles for her.Â
âBut you werenât there for that.â Mercy sits up straighter, tilting her chin up. âSo what do I need to do to prove myself to you?âÂ
âI trust my girls. If they think youâre good enough to be a Warrior, I donât intend to turn you away. Especially not when weâre already down two.â Cleon sighs heavily, taking a slow sip of her coffee. âI trust that youâre being honest about why you want to be a Warrior. Normally, thatâd be all I care about.âÂ
âOkay..?â Mercyâs voice trailed off in question. âSo then whatâs the issue?âÂ
âI believe youâd be good for the Warriors.â Cleon leaned in, her eyes narrowed. âThat doesnât mean youâll be good for Swan.âÂ
Mercy swallowed. âIâm doing my best to be.âÂ
âSwan cares about you, a lot more than she should for someone she met a week ago, and that worries me.â Cleonâs voice lowered dangerously. âIf youâre with her because you were lonely and looking for a warm body to latch on to -â
âSwanâs not just a warm body to me,â Mercy snapped, offended by the mere implication. She didnât bother to consider that interrupting Cleon was probably the last thing she should be doing, especially not in such a blatantly disrespectful way. âSheâs the most incredible person Iâve ever met. This isnât some fucking fling to me. Iâm in her corner for as long as sheâll have me.âÂ
âItâs been a week,â Cleon deadpanned.Â
âAnd how long did it take for you to become attached after finding Swan under the boardwalk?âÂ
Cleon blinked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, but she didnât counter the point.Â
âI know itâs been a week. But Iâll still be here next week, and the week after, and however long it takes to prove to you that my feelings for Swan are genuine. Swan deserves that and more.â Mercy met Cleonâs glare with her own, and there was a beat of silence. Mercy refused to look away.Â
âOkay. It seems weâre in agreement.â Cleon rose slowly to her feet, coming around the table to stand next to Mercy. Mercy tilted her head back to look up at her, doing her best not to flinch. âYou donât have an out anymore. Iâll get you your colors, make it official. If you try and bail on the Warriors - on Swan, I donât care how fucking far you run, I will find you. Are we clear?âÂ
âYes maâam.âÂ
Cleon stared down at her a moment longer before her lips finally quirked into an amused smile. She nodded to herself and wordlessly left the kitchen.Â
Mercy let out a breath, going boneless in her chair.Â
+++++
Cochise was next, pulling two bottles of beer from the fridge and offering one to Mercy with a small smile. As a rule, ever since That Night, the Warriors never left anyone on their own, so Cochise had come to stay with her while Swan and Cleon went out on a job. Mercy didnât mind the company. Cochise tended to be the most laid back of the Warriors, and Mercy appreciated how easy she could be to talk to.Â
âSeems youâve been breaking in your vest,â Cochise observed, sliding into the seat across from her. âIt looks good on you.âÂ
Cleon had given her her official colors a few days ago, and Mercy hardly took the vest off, wearing it even if she wasnât leaving the apartment. It had been a quiet ordeal. With the state of everything, the Warriors werenât exactly in the position to be throwing a celebration. She got congratulations, an acknowledgement from the other members, and that was that.Â
As if knowing where her mind had wandered, Cochise added, âIâm sorry we couldnât make it more special. If you were joining up any other time we wouldâve, but - well.âÂ
âItâs alright. I get it,â Mercy dismissed with a wave. She didnât mind. The way Swan tugged her in by the lapels of her new vest and kissed her that night had been more than enough.Â
Sheâd been excited to be one of them, had hoped thereâd be some sort of change once she had her colors, and yetâŚ
Mercy huffed, cracking the lid of her bottle and taking a gulp. âItâd be nice if I could break it in by actually going out.âÂ
She hadnât been sent on a single job, and Mercy felt like she was going a little stir crazy. Cochise grimaced in sympathy.Â
âDonât worry, itâs not just you. Cowgirl and I havenât been sent anywhere outside of Coney ever since that night either.âÂ
âSwan and Cleon keep going alone,â Mercy grumbled. âI donât like it.âÂ
âYeah, me neither, but,â Cochise shrugged. âThe two of them are paranoid. Everythingâs still too recent, and things are still strained with the other gangs. A lot of them are reluctant to join an alliance if Cyrus isnât the one leading it.â
âShouldnât that be more reason for them to take us as backup?â
âMost of the jobs Cleonâs going on are purely diplomatic. And I donât think she does anything without Masai and the Riffs with her. She would be going alone if Swan didnât nearly lose her mind when Cleon suggested it.âÂ
Mercy groaned, falling back in her chair. âHow am I supposed to prove myself as a Warrior if they donât let me fucking do anything?âÂ
Cochise was quiet for a moment.Â
âThatâs probably why Swan and Cleon havenât sent you anywhere.âÂ
Mercy looked up, her brow furrowing. âWhat? What do you mean?âÂ
Cochiseâs expression sombered. She hesitated.Â
 âItâs not a bad thing that you want to prove yourself. Hell, weâve all been there - if anything itâs good that you care that much. Itâs justâŚdangerous, too. The last Warrior who was desperate to prove herself ended up on the tracks of Union Square.âÂ
Mercy inhaled sharply. It was startling to hear someone bring up Fox so directly. The others tended to do their best not to mention it. Swan spoke of her sparingly, and only in the dark when her nightmares wouldnât let her sleep, and even then it was in bits and pieces.Â
âYou sound like her, sometimes,â Cochise murmured. âItâs hard not to look at you and remember what weâve lost.âÂ
Mercy flinched. That hurt to hear, even if she could understand it. She felt the urge to apologize, despite knowing that Cochise didnât mean it maliciously.Â
âI imagine itâs harder, for Swan,â the older woman continued, her eyes unfocused as she voiced her thoughts. âFor her, itâs not just what sheâs already lost but what she still could lose. And I donât think sheâd survive losing you.âÂ
Mercy picked at the label of the bottle, not knowing what to say to that. She understood - she didnât even want to entertain the thought of losing Swan - but she was a Warrior now. Swan couldnât protect her from everything.Â
Cochise sighed. âLook, it wonât be like this forever. Itâs just - like I said, everythingâs still too fresh. Swan and Cleon are frustratingly similar in the way they try and carry everything on their own shoulders. They blame themselves for that night, and they donât want anyone else to get hurt on their watch. Especially since we donât have Ajax to back us up. Itâs overprotective as fuck, and theyâll get past it eventually once they realize how unreasonable theyâre being, but itâll take time.âÂ
Mercy frowned. âI get that, but I hate it.âÂ
âI know. Cowgirlâs getting restless too. And lord knows once Ajax comes back sheâs not gonna sit on her hands for long.âÂ
âWhy donât we push them about it, then?âÂ
Cochise huffed, a little sad and defeated. âI donât want to fight them on it - not yet at least. Theyâre dealing with enough, we shouldnât make it worse. If us staying on Coney is what they need, if itâll make them feel better and make it easier for them while they handle all the bullshit, then thatâs what weâll do for now.âÂ
Mercy buried her head in her hands. She knew Cochise was right, knew she was in even less of a position to be causing any sort of trouble, but that didnât make it any easier.Â
âThis fucking sucks. I feel useless.âÂ
She stewed in silence for a moment. Cochise tilted her head at her.Â
âYou arenât though. I donât even want to imagine the state Swan would be in if she didnât have you.â She reached forward, gripping onto Mercyâs arm to make sure she was listening. âShe needs you. Thatâs your job for now, and itâs an important one. So donât you dare think for a fucking second that youâre useless.âÂ
Mercyâs eyes widened, the gravity of what Cochise was saying settling on her. She nodded quickly.Â
âYeah. Yeah, okay. Iâve got her.âÂ
Cochise grinned. âI know.âÂ
+++++
Out of all of them, Mercy wasnât expecting Rembrandt to be the most intimidating.Â
She had been getting used to Rembrandtâs staring. It unsettled her at first - the way the smaller girlâs piercing gaze would follow her every time they were in the same room - but eventually sheâd learned to live with it.Â
Mercy had tried to bring it up to Swan initially, but Swan wasnât much help.Â
âRembrandtâs just like that with new people. Sheâs observant, pays attention to details - donât stress yourself out about it.â Swan squeezed Mercyâs hands. âSheâs just trying to figure you out.â
âShe could try talking to me,â Mercy complained.Â
Swan gave a tight smile. âJust give it time.â
So, Mercy did. She knew Rembrandt was grappling with Ajaxâs absence, knew all the Warriors were still struggling in the wake of Foxâs death, so Mercy was doing her best not to start shit. Which meant not calling Rembrandt out on her obvious staring. They were hardly ever alone together anyways, so it became easier to ignore, even if she still didnât really understand it.Â
Mercy finally got an explanation after around a month. The Warriors were gathered in the living room after dinner, idly discussing upcoming plans. Rembrandt was nestled into a corner of the couch, occupied with a sketchbook in her lap, although her movements seemed almost idle. Her eyes were unfocused, practically staring through the paper in front of her.Â
Mercy was startled from her thoughts when Swan rose to her feet, disentangling herself from Mercy in the process.Â
âRem, you gonna be okay staying here for the night?âÂ
Swan was off on a job, one that Cochise and Cowgirl were getting to come along for, and likely wouldnât be back until early morning. Mercy hadnât put together that this meant sheâd be staying home alone with Rembrandt.Â
Rembrandt looked up, staring blankly at Swan. âI told you itâs fine.âÂ
Swan nodded, looking back at Mercy and raising an eyebrow. Mercy just offered a smile and reached up to tug Swan into a quick kiss, ignoring the way Cowgirl whistled at them from where she was shrugging her colors on at the door.Â
âGet home safe.âÂ
Rembrandt was staring at them again.
Swan hummed, lingering for a moment. Her eyes darted between Mercy and Rembrandt, but then Cleon called out for her and she turned to leave with the others.Â
The door closed behind them and silence blanketed the apartment. Mercy fidgeted nervously.Â
âYou mind if I turn the TV on?âÂ
Rembrandt just shrugged, looking back down at her sketch. Mercy took it as a yes, and busied herself with watching a shitty sitcom to resist the urge to watch Rembrandt and blurt out something to break the weird quiet.
They passed the next half hour like this, until Mercy jumped about a foot out of her seat when she felt someone tap her shoulder (how the fuck did Rembrandt move so quietly?)
She looked up and found the tagger holding out her sketchbook and staring impassively at Mercy.Â
Mercyâs breath caught when she saw the page being shown to her. She had never seen Rembrandtâs art before, and she gaped a little at the detailed drawing of Swan.Â
She lookedâŚsoft. Her mouth was curved in the faintest ghost of smile, the graphite somehow conveying how her eyes brimmed with affection. Her curls fell messily around her and over her shoulders as she looked at something to her right, the harsh lines of her face completely smoothed out.Â
âRembrandt,â Mercy breathed, unable to pull her eyes away. âWhatâŚ?âÂ
âItâs the expression Swan always wears when she looks at you,â Rembrandt explained quietly.Â
Mercyâs eyes snapped up to meet Rembrandtâs, and found Rembrandtâs gaze sharper than sheâd ever seen it. Rembrandt shuffled through the pages of her sketchbook, finding a different sketch further back and then holding it out again.Â
It was another one of Swan, only this time it was her as a Warrior. Cleonâs number two. Her brows were drawn low over her eyes, her lips pursed. Even so, she was dangerously beautiful. Mercy stifled the urge to trace the outline of her face with a fingertip.
âWhy are you showing me these?âÂ
âBecause I donât think you realize what you have.âÂ
Mercy bristled. âOf course I do -âÂ
âYou donât,â Rembrandt snapped, and Mercy startled at the heat in her voice. âOf course you donât. How could you? You didnât know Swan before. You donât get how rare it is for her to be like this.â Rembrandt flipped back to the first sketch she had shown.Â
âPeople like SwanâŚâ Rembrandt trailed off, clenching her jaw for a moment and shaking her head. âShe doesnât do things halfway. Sheâs all in with you, and sheâs been like that since the first night. Otherwise she wouldâve chased you off before we even left Orphan Town.â
âYou think I donât feel the same way?â Mercy stood, feeling suddenly defensive.Â
âI think that you donât realize what it means to be loved by someone like Swan.â Rembrandt glared up at her.Â
âSomeone like -?â Mercy stopped, the pieces clicking into place. âOh. Swan and Ajax are similar, arenât they?â
Rembrandt breathed out a laugh, but it was sad and a little broken, and it was enough for Mercy to know she was right.Â
âThe two of them, they hate being vulnerable - hate having a weakness. Except for some fucking reason theyâll let themselves bleed out for us, and theyâre incapable of hiding it. Everyone thinks theyâre all strong and protective, and they are, but itâs our responsibility to make sure they can stay that way.â
Rembrandt jabbed a finger into Mercyâs chest, and Mercy took a step back at her sheer intensity. âYou think I run from danger because Iâm scared of getting hurt? Fuck no. I run because there are very few things that can hurt Ajax, and I know that Iâm one of them.âÂ
Mercy blinked. âBut -â
âIâm not telling you to start running from fights. I know that isnât possible for you,â Rembrandt cut off her protest before she could even start it. âIâm telling you that if youâre not careful, youâll ruin her.âÂ
It was the most Mercy had heard Rembrandt speak since That Night, and she felt her own words leave her as she processed this. Rembrandt didnât seem interested in letting her respond, considering she was already making her way back to the couch.Â
âThereâs nothing quite comparable to being loved by someone like Ajax or Swan.â Rembrandtâs voice was softer now, almost reverent. âThey love fully, dangerously, and itâs exhilarating. Youâll never have to doubt what she feels about you, because all those carefully guarded walls seem to crumble whenever sheâs around you.âÂ
Rembrandt looked at her, and Mercy felt frozen under her stare. âDonât fuck that up.âÂ
Rembrandt settled back into the couch with her sketchbook like nothing had happened.Â
+++++
It was brief with Ajax, but she managed to get the point across just fine.Â
Mercy and Swan had been watching a movie, but Swan drifted off ten minutes in, and Mercy was grateful to see her getting the rest she so clearly needed.Â
Mercy quickly gave up on watching the movie, scratching idly at Swanâs scalp and staring down at her, tracking her steady breathing.Â
Ajax was swinging by to drop something off for Cleon and found them like this, Swan asleep with her head in Mercyâs lap. She wandered into the living room and stopped short at the sight, studying the pair with an expression Mercy couldnât quite read.Â
âCleonâs not home,â Mercy murmured, keeping her voice quiet to not disturb Swan. âI can tell her you came by.âÂ
Ajax nodded slowly, leaving a package on Cleonâs armchair, but she lingered in the doorway and watched them, her eyes flitting over Swanâs relaxed form. Mercy tilted her head in question, a little unnerved. Ajax hadnât been out of prison for long, and Mercy didnât think theyâd had a single one on one conversation. Mercy had been mostly keeping her distance, giving Ajax the space to process everything sheâd missed without a stranger around acting right at home. She tried not to squirm under Ajaxâs impassive stare.Â
Finally, Ajax broke the silence, her voice low.Â
âIf you hurt her, Iâll kill you.â It was almost casual. A given fact - a promise - not a threat. âGot it?âÂ
Mercy blinked, forcing herself not to look away from Ajaxâs intense eye contact, and lifted her chin up instead. âGot it.â She was proud of the way her voice didnât waver.Â
Ajaxâs expression changed unsettlingly fast, the dark look quickly replaced by a sharp grin that somehow felt just as dangerous. âGood.âÂ
She turned and left without another word.Â
+++++
Cowgirl was little drunk, but that didnât diminish the sentiment at all. Their conversation became one of Mercyâs favorite memories, a story to tell that usually led to amused laughter and affectionate smiles.Â
For the first time since That Night, the Warriors were taking a night off. Cowgirl had managed to cajole them into dressing up and going to the club, promising alcohol and music and fun. Swan nearly refused, but Mercy pouted and Cleon all but ordered her to come, and that was all the convincing it took.Â
They had needed this. Mercy wasnât sure she had ever seen them all smiling as easily as they did that night, and the fact that they were all together made it all the more special.Â
Mercy was giving her feet a break from all the dancing when Cowgirl threw herself into the booth next to her with a wide grin, ignoring the concept of personal space to press herself right up against Mercyâs side. Mercy didnât mind.Â
âBecause, I donât know what kind of witchcraft you used to pull Swan, but I think I need some of it.â Cowgirl pouted. âIâve been trying to set Swan up with women for years, and somehow you pulled it off in three hours. You have to teach me your ways.âÂ
Mercy laughed, bright and delighted. âWhat, you got your eye on someone?âÂ
âNo, no.â Cowgirl furiously shook her head, and Mercy reached out to straighten her hat, wondering idly how Cowgirl managed not to lose it in the press of bodies. âTonightâs for the Warriors. But next time, youâre helping me out.â
âIâm afraid step one is to stop going after men,â Mercy teased.Â
Cowgirl groaned dramatically, burying her face in her hands. âBeing attracted to men is a curse. That bite mark still hasnât faded.âÂ
It faded three weeks ago, but Mercy didnât bother saying so. She patted Cowgirlâs back sympathetically.Â
âMercy. Mercy.â Cowgirlâs expression turned serious as she tugged at Mercyâs sleeve, head snapping up suddenly. âThis is the best day of my life.âÂ
Mercy snorted, raising an eyebrow. âJesus, how many drinks have you had?â
âI mean it.â Cowgirl shook her head vehemently. âSwanâs dancing.âÂ
They turned to look back out to the dancefloor, where Swan was currently with the rest of their crew. It was somehow unbelievably endearing and attractive, the way Swan was so clearly out of her element and yet easily followed along with the otherâs movements.Â
âShe is,â Mercy agreed with an affectionate smile.Â
âThis is the best day of my life,â Cowgirl repeated in disbelief. âI need you to stick around forever.âÂ
Before Mercy could respond, Cowgirl dragged her out of the booth and back to the dancefloor, shoving her directly at Swan in the most unsubtle way possible. Mercy stumbled, but, as always, Swan was right there to catch her, wrapping steady arms around her waist. Mercy grinned at her, their faces flushed from a combination of proximity, alcohol, and excitement. Her heart pounded in her ears in time with the bass thrumming through the speakers.Â
And as Mercy easily fell into step with Swan, and as the other Warriors pressed in around them, creating an exhilarating bubble that felt a lot like home, Mercy couldnât help but hope for forever too.Â
Summary: December 1946: The Valkyrie is found - with Steve Rogers alive inside of it. But when he wakes up, he learns that there was a cost to his rescue â one that Steveâs not willing to let lie.
Not without a fight.
A/N: Merry Steggymas @rachlovesligers I'm your secret santa! You said you enjoy either wartime or Agent Carter setting, a bit of angst before a happy ending, and Peggy going on missions with the Howlies, so I hope you enjoy this! (It's compliant with season 1 of Agent Carter, and then that's where we diverge, though you'll see many familiar faces throughout).
Unfortunately for us both, it got a little out of hand, and it's going to take me more time before I can post the fully finished fic. But for now, please enjoy this little snippet! Thanks to @steggyfanevents for hosting!
Fic Preview:
He wakes up and instantly regrets it.
The lights were blinding, the machines heâs hooked up to were whirring loudly, and underneath the smell of a fully sterilized hospital room, there was the distinct stench of Howardâs cologne burning into his nostrils.
The realization that Howardâs here (wherever the hell here was) forced Steve to open his eyes anew, because if Howard was here then that must mean-
âPeggy?â he croaked.
âJust me, pal,â Howard told him, his smile strained, though Steve didnât have much of a chance to take it in before Howard was flitting about him, checking his vitals, making notes and muttering to himself. âAnd boy am I glad to see you. I mean Iâve been staring at your beautiful unconscious mug for the last five days but seeing you awake-â
âHoward-â Steve began, grunting with the strain of the effort to sit up.
âHey hey hey none of that, weâre still not sure the extent of the damage,â Howard told him, placing a hand on his shoulder to settle him back against the pillows (of which there had to be at least three).
âDamage?â
âItâs not every day we thaw a man whoâs fully frozen. You might be remarkable but itâs clear we still donât know where your limits actually end, especially now that youâve reverted back from being a giant capsicle.â
âI was frozen?â Steve gaped.
âItâs how you survived the crash,â Howard explained, and though Steve was still shaking his head in disbelief, the other man moved ceaselessly around him as he worked. âThe serum caused you to go into a hibernation state so weâve had to wake you up gently and carefully, so to speak. Even then, it's been nothing but miracle after miracle with you. We were hoping to find a body to bring home but to find you perfectly intact â with a beating heart no less â and after all this time-â
âHow long has it been?â Steve interjected, causing Howard to pause, if only for a moment. âSince we stormed Schmidtâs fortress?â
âIt... Almost nine months, pal.â
Steveâs stomach twisted into painful knots.
âPeggy-â
âSheâs not here,â Howard interrupted before he could even begin to finish his thought, needle and syringe in hand. âNow enough talking, I need you to stop moving so I can-â
âWhere is-â
âSit still-â
âHoward. Whereâs Peggy?â
For the first time since heâd woken up, Howard properly stopped and looked at Steve, his gaze equal parts uncertain and sad, and it dawned on Steve that everything could have changed â it all did change â in the last nine months, and it was very much within the realm of possibility that Peggy had moved on. Not only did he miss their date, heâs been dead, after all.Â
Steve could feel his heart sink as he voiced his fear aloud.
âDid⌠Does she not want to see me?â
âShe does,â Howard told him quietly, but firmly. âI-we-she was with me, searching for you this last time that I went. Hell, sheâs the sole reason we got you back here in one piece.â
âThen where is she?â
Howard opened and closed his mouth several times before finally setting the needle and syringe on the bedside table and sitting down on the chair beside Steveâs hospital bed. Steve watched his friend wring his hands for several long moments before finally looking him dead in the eyes, expression grim.
"I don't see this working out for us, y'know. This whole⌠hero thing that these people believe." Grif spoke up, sprawled out on Simmons' rather uncomfortable bed like he owned it. He probably did. Simmons would give it to him, if he asked. He'd give him anything if it meant he'd stay by his side.
Whoa.
When did he start thinking sappy shit like that?
"I guess I kinda see what you mean. But, I mean, these people need hope, Grif. We don't exactly have much of a choice, we're in this together," Simmons responded, glancing up from the rifle he was cleaning. He sat on the floor, all the supplies spread out in front of him as he worked.
"I dunno, Simmons," Grif shrugged, stuffing his mouth full with snack cakes. "I kinda don't wanna."
"This isn't a game, Grif." Simmons sighed, returning to the task at hand. His gun hadn't been cleaned in a while, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.
"Well obviously, Simmons. If it were a game, I wouldn't have to share my snack rations with a bunch of people."
"Don't be so greedy. You'll live."
"No, I won'tttttt," Grif whined in exaggeration, throwing his arms up. Simmons couldn't help but sigh in response, shaking his head. This was just like himâ he wasn't sure why he expected anything different. It was almost endearing, if he didn't berate himself for thinking something like that.
"You sound like a child."
"Hey! I have more dignity than a child."
"Do you?" Simmons scoffed, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was nice, the moment of small peace. They hadn't had a moment like this in a long time.
"I do, thank you!" Grif rolled his eyes, sitting up on Simmons' bed. "Are you done yet? I'm ready to sleep."
"Then go back to your room."
"Who do you take me for?" Grif gasped dramatically, "Someone who sleeps in his own bed? Blasphemous, I tell you."
"Then deal with it." Simmons sighed, setting the barrel of the gun down. He didn't mean it, of course. He'd drop mid clean if Grif was that tired. He always did.
Grif looked pleased with himself as Simmons stood, dusting off his legs. The moment passed without a word as Simmons turned the lamp off. Climbing into the bed with Grif, a soft, almost relaxed sigh escaped his lips. He liked this. Liked being close to him. Laying beside him. He tried to tell himself it was for the warmth Grif supplied, and nothing else, but they both knew it was more than that. It was always more than that with the two of them. Nothing was ever as cut and dry and they wanted it to be.
"Comfy?" Grif mumbled when Simmons' head settled on his chest. He didn't push for a response when Simmons stayed silent, understanding that some things just didn't need words. Sometimes words were hard. Sometimes words complicated thingsâ words can come out, or mean something different. Sometimes words aren't needed.