#one big bash

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, running over and picking you up in a bear hug to spin you around. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Just barely,” you said as you pushed at his shoulders. “Let me go, you oaf.”

“Nope. I’m taking you back to ours. We’re having a party tonight and you’re coming.”

Before you could respond another voice interrupted.

“Put her down.”

Craig immediately complied and stepped back putting his hands up. He gave a crooked grin that said he knew something everyone else didn’t. “No problem. Make sure she comes to the party though.”

You watched him run off then turned to greet your favorite Cody. You used a hand to shelter your eyes from the sun. “Hello, Andrew.”

He nodded once in response. “You’re back.” His fingers twitched at his sides.

“Yeah. A few days ago.” You bit the inside of your lip to keep from saying something stupid. You’d had a crush on Andrew Cody since you were sixteen years old. And, while he tolerated you better than most, you were under no delusions that he felt the same.

“How long?”

“I’m back for good. School’s done.”

The corner of his mouth curled up slightly. “Good. See you later.”

Your gaze trailed him as he passed you to rejoin his brothers and sighed. You’d hoped that distance would have tamped your attraction for the man.

It had not.

The Cody house was loud and messy and exactly what you’d been expecting. Bottles and empty cups littered every surface. Music flooded the air from the speakers causing all the conversation around you to be louder to compensate. You wrinkled your nose as a tendril of smoke from a joint drifted your direction.

You leaned against the house, beer sweating in your hand as you watched Pope. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He never did at these things. He stood with his back to the fence at the far side of the yard, beer hanging from two fingers as his eyes took in everything around him in slow methodical sweeps. You’d seen him do this a hundred times. Always the still point in the Cody chaos.

You didn’t realize you’d been staring until Craig materialized at your side. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t bother glancing at him. “People watching.”

“Uh huh.” Craig leaned in, shoulder bumping yours. “You’re Pope watching. There’s a difference.”

“Fuck off.”

“He likes you.” He said it like he was handing you a winning lottery ticket and you should be eternally grateful. It was how he said most things to be honest. Always thinking he knew something the rest of the world was too stupid to see. He didn’t.

“Don’t be stupid, Craig. He does not. Why would he?”

“Just trust me.”

You turned then to blink at him in disbelief. “Why would I do that? You told Deran I had a dolphin tattoo on my ass and he spent a week trying to get a glimpse of it.”

He snorted. “That was funny.”

“Not for me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have people to watch. Not Pope. People.”

Craig threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. Don’t listen to me. See if I care.” He hooked his arm around the shoulders of a passing brunette and led her into the crowd.

You made an effort to look anywhere but Pope after that.

Pope hated parties. Hated that Smurf let his brothers do whatever they wanted. He should have moved out when Baz did. A least then he’d have somewhere to escape to when they were doing this shit. He kept his eyes moving over the crowd, making sure no one fucked up his shit or overdosed in the pool. Fucking hell.

His eyes snagged on you every time they passed over you. You were wearing a tank top and shorts and looked like you belonged here. And you did, more that most of these people anyway. He should talk to you. He wanted to but you didn’t need him bugging you. You’d just gotten home, back in Oceanside where he could keep tabs on you. He didn’t want to scare you off.

Craig sidled up to him and nudged him with his elbow.

“Don’t,” Pope said, not looking at him.

“She likes you, too, you know.”

Pope’s gaze shot over to his brother before finding you in the crowd again. For a brief moment, hope swelled, then he remembered who he was talking to. “Leave it.”

Craig huffed out a breath. “Look, I’m not giving you shit. I’m being serious right now. You should ask her out. Right now. Get the both of you out of here.”

The image of the two of you sitting side by side at the beach flashed through his mind. He blinked it away. “She doesn’t like me, okay. Not like that. She couldn’t.”

Craig tilted his head back with a groan. “Can you just trust me for once? Please?”

Pope stared at him for a beat. “Why would I do that?”

His brother stared back then looked to you and back to Pope. “I hate you both.” Then he was gone, moving toward the cooler to get another beer.

The party kept moving. Music thumping, people shouting. Pope shifted his weight as his eyes drifted across the patio and found you already looking at him. He went utterly still as you held his gaze. Then, you looked away and it was as if it had never happened at all.

Pope drove past your apartment building twice before he pulled over. His hands gripped the wheel as he watched your door on the second floor. Your curtains were closed but that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes you did that to keep the heat out. He glanced at the flowers on the floorboard beside him. They were nothing fancy, but they were your favorite colors.

He’d noticed when you were at the house the day before that you were more quiet than usual. Contemplative. He missed your smile and wanted to bring it back. So flowers. You loved flowers. But would you want them from him?He swallowed, gaze moving back to your door. He’d just leave them on your doorstep. The whole point was to not make a thing of it.

Back in the truck, he drove the ten minutes to the Cody house, his brain stuck on you. Maybe he should have knocked, handed them to you directly. As he walked past the living room, he stopped cold.

You were on the couch.

Not in his head, but actually there, legs tucked under you with a glass of what looked like lemonade in your hand. You glanced up and your eyes widened a fraction when you spotted him.

He crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside you. He sat close enough to smell the clean scent that clung to your skin. You never doused yourself in perfumes or heavily scented lotions. It was another thing he loved about you.

“What are you doing here?” he said, voice rough as always.

Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass. “Smurf wanted me to come for dinner. Is that okay?”

He studied you. Your face was doing that thing it did when you were trying to read him, the furrow between your brows, mouth turned down slightly at the corners. He’d forgotten that about you. How you watched.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he finally said. “You can be here whenever you want.”

You gave him a small smile and a nod and something in him loosened, just a little.

At dinner, you sat across from Pope and watched the chaos around you.

Craig was talking about a wave he’d caught that morning, hands moving through the air. His voice buried Pope’s attempt to say something and the latter’s mouth snapped shut. He cut into his steak and said nothing.

Deran cut in to say something about a fight at the pier and a kid who had gotten his board stolen. “He just fucking took off like—”

Smurf turned to Craig. “Did you get the papers I asked you to pick up?”

Craig frowned. “Yeah, they’re in the other room. I told you that al—”

“Good. Deran, eat your vegetables before they get cold.”

The conversation moved around Pope, never including him. He ate methodically. Every few bites he’d look up, eyes scanning the table, taking inventory. Once, his gaze landed on you and held for a beat too long before dropping back to his plate.

You kept your face still even as you cataloged every slight.

You saw the way his jaw tightened when Craig talked over him. The way his fingers gripped the fork a little too hard when Smurf redirected the conversation for the third time. The way he chewed each bite thoroughly before swallowing. As if he was counting seconds in his head.

You saw all of it and said nothing. Because saying something would mean admitting you were paying attention and paying attention to Andrew Cody was a habit you’d promised yourself you’d break.

But you couldn’t just leave it. Couldn’t let him believe he was the least important person in the room.

The next day, you left an envelope on the windshield of Pope’s truck where it sat in the Cody driveway. Inside was a DVD of a National Geographic special about deep-sea predators and a note.

I see you. I always see you.

Deran found the envelope, bringing it in the house with him and tossing it at Pope where he sat on the couch. “Someone left that on your truck.” Just as quick as he’d appeared the boy was gone.

Pope’s brow furrowed as he opened the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap. The DVD case was warm in his hands as he turned it over to read the back. Then he saw the note.

His thumb traced the edge of the paper. He read it once. Then again. The corner of his mouth pulled up. Just barely. He folded the note and slipped it into his wallet.

Pope hadn’t seen you in three days, which was more than a little unusual. Since you’d returned to Oceanside, you’d been spending a lot of time with the Codys.

He found Craig in the kitchen, shirtless, eating cereal straight from the box, chasing it with a drink of the milk sitting on the counter beside him.

Pope’s lip curled. His brothers were disgusting. “Where is she?” he asked.

Craig looked up. “Who?”

Pope stared at him.

“Oh. Car trouble. Took it to that place on Brighton with the sign that looks like it’s falling over.”

Pope braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “And?”

Craig shrugged. “And they quoted her some bullshit number. Like, way high. She thinks they’re trying to scam her because she’s a girl and doesn’t know cars. So, she’s going to have it towed to get a second opinion. She’s waiting for her dad to pay her. Stingy bastard.”

“Which shop on Brighton?”

“You know, uh, Vic’s? Vinnies? Something with a V.”

Pope nodded once and poured himself a cup of coffee. He had a job for Smurf he needed to take care of. Some asshole that owed her money and took off to Ventura. The kind of thing that would take a couple of days if everything went right, longer if it didn’t. Regardless, he’d be taking a vehicle that couldn’t be traced to him.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said. “My truck will be here if you want to use it.”

Craig’s brows went up. “For real?” Craig had been driving an old beater for the last couple of months after he dumped his bike drinking and driving.

“If she needs a ride anywhere, to get groceries, to go to work, fucking anywhere, you take her. That’s the deal. Promise me or I keep the keys.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Promise me, Craig.”

“I promise, Jesus, I’ll drive her wherever she needs.”

Pope placed the keys in his hand but held onto them. “Do not wreck my truck.”

After another round of assurances from Craig, Pope finally relinquished the keys. He only hoped his brother didn’t give him a reason to regret it.

Two days later, you got a call.

“Ma’am, this is Vic’s Auto Repair. Your vehicle is ready for pickup.”

You frowned. “I didn’t authorize any work.”

“We understand that, but the repairs have been completed and the bill has been taken care of. If you could pick it up as soon as possible, we’d appreciate it.”

“Who paid for it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that information. Vic did request you take your vehicle elsewhere from now on. Sorry.”

You hung up and stared at the wall for a full minute, running through the short list of people in your life who both knew about the car and had the money to spare. You sent off a message.

Twenty minutes later, Craig pulled up in Pope’s truck.

You opened the door and took in the sight before you. The floor mats were covered in fast food wrappers. There was mud smeared across the dashboard. The cab smelled like cheap perfume and cheaper weed.

“What did you do, Craig?”

He leaned across the passenger seat, one arm draped over the wheel. “What? Pope said I could use it while he’s out of town.”

“You know how he is about his stuff. This is disgusting.”

He shrugged. “It’s a truck. It’s meant to get dirty.”

“This isn’t dirt. This is you being a slob. Bring it back to my apartment after we get the car. I’ll clean it.” You shook your head as you used the hand hold to haul yourself into the passenger seat, curling your lip at the filth.

“What am I supposed to drive then?”

“Oh, you’re helping. This is a two person job and you’re person number two.”

He groaned but didn’t argue, which told you he felt at least a little guilty.

“So, what happened with the second opinion? I thought you were holding off,” he asked as he drove to the shop.

“I got a call this morning that the car was fixed and the bill had been paid.”

The silence stretched. Then Craig said, “Gee. I wonder who that could have possibly taken care of that for you.”

You huffed in annoyance. “Shut up.”

“I told Pope about your car. And then he left town and gave me his truck with the specific instruction that I drive you anywhere you need.” He glanced at you. The corner of his mouth doing that thing it did when he felt particularly proud of himself. “I told you he likes you.”

“Stop. It was probably my dad or something.”

“So ask him.”

“What?” you asked.

“Ask your dad if he fixed your car,” Craig prompted.

You shook your head but didn’t say anything else. The truth was, a very large part of you wanted it to be Pope that took car of your car. A part that held out hope that one day he’d see you the way you saw him. If it wasn’t him, you really didn’t want to know. Not yet anyway. Let you enjoy your delusions for a while.

After you picked up your car, Craig followed you to your apartment. You spent two hours cleaning Pope’s truck, taking care of what you could at your place before driving to a nearby carwash. Craig complained the entire time, but did the work. By the time you were done, the truck looked better than it had before Pope left it.

“Don’t tell him we cleaned it,” Craig said as he dropped you back at your apartment.

“Why not?”

“Because then he’ll know I trashed it and I’ll have to listen to him be weird about it for a week.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed before climbing out of the truck.

Pope got back the next afternoon. The guy had paid after Pope thoroughly explained the situation by sharing his knowledge of just how many bones were in the human hand. He took the car to the junkyard and got a ride back to the house. His truck was in almost the same spot he’d left it. When he got closer and saw it was clean.

Not just clean. Spotless. The windows gleamed. The tires had been scrubbed. There wasn’t a single wrapper or smudge in sight. He walked around it once, eyes narrowed then opened the door. The inside smelt like lemon. He stood there for a minute then shrugged. Craig must have finally grown a brain. Or felt guilty. Either way, it was a miracle Pope wasn’t going to question.

Inside, he showered and changed before checking his phone. There was a text from Craig about a bonfire at the beach that night. He had no interest in going unless you were going to be there. He started to text Craig to ask about you before deleting and switching to your contact instead.

You coming to the bonfire?

You responded almost immediately. No. Sick.

He stared at the screen, a million worst case scenarios running through his head. What’s wrong?

Just a cold. Stuffy. Miserable.

He exhaled in relief, thumb hesitating for a beat before he put his phone away.

Thirty minutes later he pulled up to your apartment with two bags. One held hot chicken soup. The other held orange juice, Kleenex and cold medicine. He climbed the stairs to your apartment and prepared to knock on the door when a yell from the apartment next door caught his attention.

He turned his head listening to the man shout, mean and ugly followed by a loud thud like something hitting a hard surface. Craig had mentioned that your neighbor was an asshole but Pope hadn’t imagined anything like this. Did you have to listen to this shit all the time? You were sick. You needed your rest.

Pope set the bags on your doormat and knocked quickly on the door before walking next door. The yelling got louder. He knocked hard, three times.

The door opened a crack. A man’s face appeared, eyes red and narrowed. “Who the fuck are—”

Pope put one hand on the man’s chest and walked him backward into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them.

You answered your door a couple of minutes later, wrapped in a blanket, nose red. You found two bags on your mat and looked both directions, finding no one. You bent down and picked them up, taking them into the kitchen and placing them on the counter.

You unloaded the bags and stared at everything for a moment, debating the safety of eating soup someone left on your doorstep. But it looked good and it was hot. And there were easier ways to kill you if someone wished, rather than death by cold remedy.

You could also count on one hand the number of people who knew you were sick and you trusted all of them. You tore open the cold medicine and swallowed two capsules with a glass of water. You refilled the glass with some of the juice and took it and the soup over to the table.

Three days later, your sinuses had cleared and your energy returned. You were itching to get out of the house and headed to a small bookstore you frequented. The place smelled the way all good bookstores do, fresh paper mixed with the slight must of old books. Sunlight poured through the windows and angled across the floor.

You roamed the shelves for awhile before finding yourself in the nature section. A dark blue book with gold lettering caught your eye and you pulled it from the shelf. A hardcover book on aquatic animals, filled with vivid photographs. The text was full of facts and anecdotes from the photographers. The kind of thing that would keep someone’s attention for hours.

You bought it without hesitating.

Pope walked out of his house that afternoon, keys in hand and stopped when he saw a book sitting on the hood of his truck. The embossed title shone gold in the sunlight.

He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. It was full of sharks, jellyfish and things that lived so deep they made their own light. And then he found the note.

On the front page in the same handwriting as the first note that came with the DVD.

For Andrew followed by a heart.

He closed the book and ran his hand over the cover before climbing in the truck and setting the book on the passenger seat. He drove to an isolated section of the beach and backed into a space. He sat on the tailgate of his truck with the book open in his lap and read until the sun went down and the words faded into the dark.

Another Saturday, another Cody party. You were graced with Baz’s presence this time but your favorite Cody was nowhere to be seen. Baz’s lips twitched as you looked around the party for the third time since he’d started talking to you. “He’s not here,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Who?”

He laughed outright at that. “Pope. He’s doing a job for Smurf. Won’t be back until tomorrow.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. “Am I that obvious?”

Baz’s hand found your shoulder. “You never had eyes for anyone else when he was around. Been that way since we were kids.” With that, he walked off leaving you to wallow in your embarrassment.

Eventually, Craig found you. “You good?”

You nodded and sipped at your beer. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. The asshole next door broke his lease and moved out in the middle of the night.”

He smiled slow and wide. “I wonder why. Who could have possibly scared him off?”

You sighed. “Stop. How would your brother even know that guy existed?”

He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. It’s a mystery. A real whodunit. Maybe the guy won the lottery. Maybe—”

“I said stop.”

He stopped but the smile stayed. Asshole.

You started cleaning as the party wound down. No one helped but you didn’t expect them too. You didn’t want Pope coming home to this mess. Baz had left hours ago. Craig had crashed on the couch, Deran laying nearby. You shook your head as you moved around them, Deran gave you a sleepy smile and then he was out as well.

You collected every bottle, every empty cup. You wiped down every surface with cleaner and a rag and swept the floors. Then you loaded the dishwasher and started it. Trash was tied up and sat beside the can in the garage. By the time you finished, the house looked like no one had ever been there at all.

Pope drove home early the following morning. The job had been simple. Pick up a package, deliver it, come home. He spent the last hour of the drive running through the cleanup in his head. The party would have been a disaster without him there to temper it. Trash would be everywhere. Filth tracked through the house. He’d clean up the trash first, then surfaces, then floors.

He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The house was dark and quiet when he let himself in. He braced himself for the worst and stopped.

The house was clean.

Not tidy. Clean. He walked through the rooms trying to make sense of it. He found his brothers on the couch sound asleep. Pope smacked Craig’s shoe to wake him up.

He grunted in surprise, eyes flying open, groaning when he found Pope standing above him. “What the fuck?”

“Did you clean up?”

Craig frowned and ran a hand down his face. “What?”

“The house. Did you clean it?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

Deran’s eyes were still closed when he said your name.

“What?” Pope asked.

“She cleaned all of it,” Deran added.

Pope focused on Craig again. “Why would she do that?”

Craig groaned again. “I don’t fucking know, Pope. Maybe she hates you and wanted to deny you the pleasure.” He paused then added, “It certainly wouldn’t be because she likes you because what the fuck do I know?”

Pope drove to your apartment without calling first. He didn’t text. Didn’t take the time to weigh the pros and cons. He’d spent too much time hesitating, second guessing.

He knocked on your door, shifting his weight as he waited for you to answer.

When you opened the door, his gaze raked over you, taking in the shorts and t-shirt you had on. He stepped forward, crossing the threshold before you could invite him in.

Your lips quirked. “Sure. Come on in.”

He stood in the middle of your living room, watching as you closed the door and turned to face him. His fingers twitched as his sides. “You cleaned up the party.”

“Yes,” you said with a tilt of your head.

“Why?”

“So you wouldn’t have to.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked down as you shuffled your feet.

He went quiet, eyes moving around the room. Searching for something, anything to tell him what to say next. He wanted to ask you why you cared so much, why you bothered, but he was afraid you’d take it wrong. That he’d say the wrong thing and push you away. His gaze snagged on the TV. The sound was low, but the images were unmistakable. Dark water. The slow, ghostly movement of something with too many teeth.

The National Geographic special. The one from the DVD.

“I know this,” he said, before he could think about it.

You smiled, your face lighting with the action. “You watched it? I knew you’d like it.”

He looked at you then, really looked, the way he’d been avoiding for weeks. “That was you?”

You looked surprised as if you hadn’t realized what you’d said. What you’d admitted to. “Yeah.”

“But that means this is from you, too.” He pulled out his wallet and removed the note, unfolding it to show you the words within.

“You kept that?” Your voice was quiet.

He swallowed hard and nodded in answer. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Come on, Andy. I’ve been gone for years. You probably have a bunch of girls that want you. What do you need me for?”

His answer was immediate, tone firm and certain. “I don’t want them. I want you. Why else would I do all that stuff for you?”

Your brow furrowed. “What stuff?”

“The flowers. The car. The soup…the neighbor.” He hesitated before admitting to the last.

Your eyes widened and your mouth gaped just a little. “That was you? Why didn’t you say anything?”

He lifted one shoulder. “I thought it was obvious.”

You stepped forward. One step, then another, closing the distance between you until you were close enough for him to smell the faint trace of your detergent. You laid your hand against his face, palm cradling his cheek. Your thumb traced across his skin.

He went very still, afraid if he moved the wrong way he’d chase you off. His breathing was shallow and his eyes didn’t leave you.

You leaned in, forehead almost touching his and asked, “Is this okay?”

It was everything.

He answered by kissing you. Your mouth was warm and careful, his hand came up to curl around the back of your neck. You kissed him back and tension flowed from him as he sunk into you. For a long moment there was nothing but the two of you and the anglerfish glowing on the screen behind you.

You pulled back with a groan and Pope’s gaze flicked over your face. His hand was still on your neck. “What? What’s wrong?”

“This means I’m going to have to admit Craig was right. He’s going to be insufferable.”

Pope smiled. A rare, unguarded full smile that showed a hint of the man he might have been if the world had been gentler. And then he kissed you again.

You sat alone at the bar, a nearly empty glass in front of you. Your posture was straight, chin lifted. You wore the carefully unbothered air of someone trained to look perfectly at ease in a room full of dangerous men. Your eyes moved constantly, tracking everyone in the room. First, you’d scan the mirror, then the door before taking a glance at the man sitting three stools down nursing his beer.

Interesting.

Elijah sat two stools down from you and signaled the bartender. He ordered a bourbon neat, and then gestured toward you. “Pour the lady another glass of whatever she’s having.”

The bartender nodded and poured. Elijah watched as the fresh glass was set before you. Your eyes dropped to it, then lifted to him, considering.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” he introduced himself without offering a hand.

You held his gaze as the corner of your lips twitched up. “I know.”

He had not been expecting that. “Do you?”

You merely hummed in agreement before giving your first name and lifting the glass. “Thank you.”

The two of you fell into conversation. Or rather, Elijah asked questions and you gave carefully considered answers. He asked about your drink. And you smiled as you stated it was something kept on hand just for you. A gesture to the bartender had a glass sliding in Elijah’s direction. When he sipped the amber liquid, he was surprised to find a well-aged scotch. His brow lifted as he shot you look over the top of his glass.

Your laughter was low and rich. “A taste I acquired from my father.”

Then he mentioned the bar and it’s…charm.

Another laugh. “Also acquired from my father.”

You were fascinating. Nothing like he anticipated, constantly throwing him off with your careful answers and casual comments. He leaned toward you as you spoke, his full attention on the curve of your mouth as you smiled. On the way your fingers curled around your glass, your chin propped in your free hand.

You didn’t offer personal details, and he didn’t ask for them. He had time to discover everything about you. He always had time.

Then came the interruption. Two men in ill fitting suits with a swagger that said they were used to being the biggest threat in any room. Used to being obeyed. The taller one placed a hand on your shoulder and leaned in too close, his voice dropping to something meant to be threatening.

“I think we need to have a conversation, sweetheart.”

Your jaw tightened as you went still. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise your voice. You just looked extraordinarily irritated as you said, “If I were you, I’d remove that hand.”

The man didn’t and the room went quiet around you save for the sliding of chairs.

Elijah set down his glass, stood and stepped between you and the man in a single fluid motion. His hand closed around the man’s wrist and twisted. The crack of bone was audible. Then Elijah shoved, hard, sending the man stumbling back into his companion. Both of them hit a table that splintered under their combined weight. Men moved forward to usher the two out of the bar.

Elijah straightened his jacket and adjusted his cuffs before turning back to you. Your gaze trailed the two men as they were thrown out, then you looked back at him. Your expression shifted into something he couldn’t quite read. Not gratitude. Not exactly.

“Thank you,” you said as you stood. You gave him a soft smile and a nod. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Mikaelson.”

You collected your coat from the back of your chair and he was quick to take it from you to help you into it. One last enigmatic smile and you walked to the door without looking back.

He remained at the bar and finished off his scotch. When he went to pay, the bartender waved him off. “Taken care of.”

Elijah frowned but didn’t argue. As he stepped into the night air, he found himself thinking of you. Something about you made him want to discover everything he possibly could.

The envelope arrived three days later, delivered by a man in a dark suit with a gun at his side. Heavy cream paper with a wax seal carrying an emblem he very much recognized as belonging to one of the city’s oldest crime syndicates. How…interesting.

Inside, a handwritten invitation on matching stationery. Dinner. Eight o’clock. An address. No explanation given. No RSVP requested.

Elijah held the card between his fingers as he pursed his lips. His mind immediately went to the incident at the bar, the only thing beyond the norm that had happened recently. The question was why did they wish to discuss it with him. Could the men have been working for the family? If so, what had you done to get their attention?

He dressed appropriately. Dark suit, white shirt, matching tie. The house was exactly as he’d anticipated. Dark stone exterior weathered by the years. An iron gate flanked by two men in suits that fit far better than the ones on the men at the bar had. They watched him approach, saying nothing but stepping aside when he gave his name.

The foyer was all polished marble and a curving staircase. The woman that had answered the door directed him to the dining room. Elijah followed the corridor, noting the artwork as he went. He was certain more than one piece had been acquired through non-legal means.

He stopped just inside the doorway of the dining room. It wasn’t the man at the head of the table that caught his attention. He was familiar enough with the head of the family. He was eating methodically, not acknowledging Elijah as he entered the room.

No, it was the figure seated to his right that held all of Elijah’s attention. You.

You were dressed for dinner in a way the bar hadn’t prepared him for. More elegant, refined. Classic. You looked up as he entered. The only change in your expression the slight curling of your lips.

His gaze moved between the two of you and the table set for three. This was not what he’d been anticipating. “Apologies, but what exactly have I been summoned for?”

The man sat down his fork and gestured to the open seat. He didn’t speak until Elijah had taken it. “My daughter tells me you came to her rescue.”

Elijah’s eyes darted to you. Daughter. Well, you continued to be full of surprises. “I did,” he answered, putting his attention back on your father.

He folded his hands on the table. “I would like to hire you to protect her. At least until this…disagreement is settled.”

Elijah tapped one finger against the table. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Surely you have your own men for that task. I am not in need of employment. Besides, this isn’t the sort of thing you normally look outside of the family for, is it?”

Your father held his gaze without blinking. His eyes assessing, calculating. “I know who you are, Mr. Mikaelson.” A pause. “I know what you are.”

Elijah went still, allowing the silence to stretch. “That’s dangerous information to possess.”

“I find most valuable things are.” He lifted his wine glass, took a sip and set it down. “So, you can understand why I think there is no one better to protect my daughter. We have enemies. Some of them are…unconventional. As are you.”

Elijah shifted his attention to you.

You met his gaze with that same small smile curving your lips. The one that said you knew exactly how this was all going to play out before he was even aware there was a game.

“I would be delighted to spend more time with you, Elijah,” you said and your smile grew wider. “Say yes.”

Elijah looked at your father and then back to you and that smile.

His own lips curved as he answered. “Yes.”

You lifted your glass in a small toast. Your father gestured to someone to serve their guest and returned to his own food.

The meal was excellent. The conversation, what little there was of it, was simple, surface level. Discussions of the weather and what you’d done that day. Through it all, Elijah watched you.

The meal ended and plans were made. Details discussed. To a point. When they finished, Elijah stood and thanked your father for the meal before turning to you. “Until tomorrow, then,” he said.

You smiled. “Until tomorrow.”

He left the same way he had entered. He stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the building. At the windows glowing warm with light, you somewhere behind them. He had spent hundreds of years in anonymity only to have it all unraveled by a woman in a bar who was so much more than she seemed.

As he walked away, he found he didn’t mind very much at all.

When he found the other man, he was standing in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand and an agitated expression on his face. “What—”

Clint shook his head sharply and shot Tony a glare to shut him up.

Okay.

Tony moved to his side and stood beside him. Clint lifted his chin in a gesture that said over there without him uttering a word. Tony followed his gaze.

You were on the couch with Natasha, laughing at something she’d said, your head tipped back and one hand pressed to your chest. The sight of it had him smiling as your laughter normally did. But then his gaze traced the line of you as he realized what you were wearing.

A dress in your favorite color, fitted in all the right places. It was subtle but caught his attention all the same. You clearly had plans. His mind raced as he tried to remember if there was anything on the schedule.

Clint lifted his mug to hide his mouth “She has a date,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. What? Surely, he hadn’t heard that correctly. There was no way you had a date. It wasn’t possible.

Not because you couldn’t get one. No, they knew better than anyone how stunning you were. How sweet. But you were theirs.

Okay, so maybe they hadn’t asked you to be theirs, or even mentioned they liked you that way, but still. It was understood. At least he had thought it was. Apparently, you’d missed the memo.

Clint set his mug on the counter in front of him and crossed his arms over his chest. His jaw tightened, a muscle working beneath the stubble. They watched you talk to Natasha, your hands moving as you spoke. Something about the way you looked in that moment had Tony feeling rather hollow.

You turned and caught sight of them standing behind the kitchen island and your face lit with a smile. “Hey, I didn’t realize you two were here.”

They straightened at the same time, Tony crossing his arms to unconsciously mirror Clint’s posture. They stepped around the island, moving into the living room to close the distance between you. Tony got there first.

“You look incredible,” he stated then wanted to smack himself for his lack of originality. Really, incredible? He couldn’t do better than that?

“You really do,” Clint said as he held your gaze. The words were weighted, as if to say far more than they actually did.

Natasha’s gaze moved between the three of you slowly. One eyebrow lifted then settled back into place.

“Thanks,” you said, a shy smile curving your lips. “I should…I have to finish getting ready.”

“Have fun,” Natasha said, her voice teasing.

You nodded, gave her the flash of a smile and then you were gone, the sound of your footsteps fading down the hall toward the elevator.

The moment the doors slid shut, Natasha turned to face them, the corner of her lips kicking up into a smirk as she stood. “Sterling. Eight o’clock reservation.”

Tony looked at Clint. Clint looked at Tony.

A full second of silence stretched between them then they both moved at once.

You’d been to Sterling once before. Everything was dark wood, cream linens and dim lighting. The food was good, but it really wasn’t your sort of place. Too formal, too quiet. Just too much, truth be told. Tony and Clint had brought you here for your birthday and you’d left halfway through the meal to get a greasy burger at a diner a few blocks away.

You sighed at the thought of the two men. You’d rather be anywhere with them than here right now. And that was precisely the problem. You were hopelessly in love with two men who were in love with each other. They loved you too, you knew they did. Just not the way you needed them to.

After you’d caught yourself daydreaming about what ifs one too many times, you decided you needed to do something about it. So, you’d joined a dating app for the ‘rich and famous’. You couldn’t exactly join Tinder when you were an Avenger. Well, you could, but that would be kind of stupid. Much better to join a service that carefully vetted its members.

You were the first to arrive at the restaurant, five minutes early. The host showed you to the table and a server appeared moments later. You ordered a glass of wine to sip while you waited. After deciding what you wanted, you set the menu aside and surveyed the room around you.

Quiet conversation hummed through the air, the clink of cutlery against fine china. Couples filled the tables, with an occasional group sprinkled throughout. God, you really hated this place. But Josh had informed you where you would be dining and you hadn’t argued.

You blinked at that thought. What the fuck was wrong with you? Stupid question. You knew the answer. Tony Stark and Clint Barton, certified menaces.

The minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.

You glanced at your phone. Nothing.

Ten more minutes passed and your server informed you that you’d need to leave if you didn’t order soon. Embarrassment flooded through you as you nodded. “Give me just a moment, please.”

His smile was tight. “Of course, ma’am.”

You pulled out your phone again and pulled up the app to message Josh. Instead, you found yourself blocked.

What. The. Fuck? He couldn’t even send you a message to cancel? Asshole.

You glanced at the still half full glass of wine you’d been nursing for the past half hour, wishing you’d ordered something stronger. You signaled for the server and placed your order. Your date may have bailed but you were starving and weren’t really in the mood to go anywhere else.

“She’ll be at our table and on our ticket,” a voice interrupted as you finished.

You turned in surprise to find Clint smiling at you. Your gaze flicked over the length of him. It was rare to see him in a suit, but he wore them so well.

“Is that alright with you?” the server asked and you nodded absently in answer.

Clint reached past you to grab your wine glass and held out a hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Tony’s waiting.”

Your hand slipped into his without thought and you allowed him to lead you to a table tucked in the corner. Tony stood to greet you, kissing your cheek and pulling out your chair. Once you were settled, you looked between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner,” Tony answered automatically.

You shot him a narrowed eyed gaze, shifting it to Clint and back again. “No. I want to know the real reason you’re here.”

Clint pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Nat told us where your date was. Well, where it was supposed to be.”

“That doesn’t answer the question, Barton.”

He sighed and looked at Tony who straightened in his seat and cleared his throat. “We should have said something months ago.”

Clint’s fingers traced an absent pattern on the tablecloth. When he spoke his words were slow, measured. Careful. “We were worried about making things strange, or losing you entirely if we got it wrong.”

Your eyes moved between the two men trying to decipher what they were saying. Tony turned the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl. You reached over and snatched it from his hand, downing half of it in one swallow. He blinked in surprise, then his lips curled up in a smile as he laughed.

“I love you.” The words were light, full of mirth. Nothing he hadn’t said to you before in relaxed moments. His laughter faded and his gaze studied your face. “I am in love with you. So is Clint.”

Everything seemed to pause for just one moment. “I…what?” you finally managed to stutter out.

Clint nodded once in confirmation as Tony continued. “We’d rather risk this conversation, risk you walking away and wanting nothing to do with us than watch you sit alone at a table waiting for someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

The silence that followed had weight as they waited for your response. Your hand tightened around Tony’s glass as you searched for any sign that this was some cruel joke.

“I’ve been trying to get over you,” you finally admitted, your words so quiet, both men leaned forward to catch them. “Both of you. For months. You had each other. I assumed there was no room for me.”

They went completely still, their gazes running over you as you’d just done to them. It had the corner of your lips curling up in a smile.

Tony reached out and plucked his glass from your hand and set it on the table. Then he laced his fingers with yours and pulled your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it.

“There’s always been room for you,” Clint said. “Just took us a while to let you know.”

The server appeared with your food, setting your plate in front of you. The interruption gave you a moment to collect yourself, to process what was happening. When he left, you looked at the food, suddenly not hungry. You finally looked up to meet Tony’s gaze. “What happens now?”

He glanced at Clint before turning back to you. “That’s up to you. We’ve laid our cards on the table.”

“There’s no pressure here. If you need time to think, we understand. And if the answer is no, we still want to be your friends. You’re too important for us to lose you,” Clint added.

Time. The thing you’d already wasted months of apparently.

“I don’t need time. I’ve wanted this for so long I thought I was going insane.” Your voice was steadier than you’d anticipated.

Tony’s smile was immediate, lighting up his entire face. Clint’s expression softened and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

Tony lifted a brow as he looked at your plate. “So, should we blow this place and go somewhere less stuffy? More greasy diner perhaps?”

You laughed. “God, yes. I hate this place.”

Clint grinned. “Noted. No more fancy restaurants for dates.”

“Dates.” The word felt right on your tongue. Perfect even.

Maybe being stood up wasn’t such a disaster after all.

Room for One More - Ironhawk - Idiots in Love/Mutual Pining 🩷

I See You - Andrew Pope Cody - Secret Admirer AU/Idiots in Love 🩷