Echoes of Time [Whoniverse One-Shots][Closed]

[Krystal Itzume]

Nightingale

Bach

Angelus, then thirteen and rebellious to a fault, stood in the doorway of his sister’s room as she continued to play the instrument he decided, he hated. He’d called her name at least five times now, and she had either ignored him, or hadn’t heard him. He wanted to do something. He was bored, and honestly, he was agitated by the sound of her violin.

She was not making any errors, but he hated its sound anyway. He hated everything about it.

She had been playing since she returned from school. That was three hours ago. It was a Friday.

“Hey!”

Her eyes were shut.

She did not react to his voice.

He let his head thump against the doorway. In her presence, he always felt invisible. She didn’t even seem to know he existed, and he had no idea who she was. All he knew, was that she was the favorite child, locked in her ivory tower.

Well, he was getting real damn tired of not having a way into the tower. “Maya, Maya, Maya, Maya, Maya, Maya,” he continued at this, until he saw a twitch, until the bowing stopped and she opened her eyes to look at him. “I’m bored.”

The look she gave him would have withered others and sent them into a retreat. “You have video games.”

“Yeah, but I want you to play. You’ve been practicing enough.”

“She has a tournament next week.” The stern and cold voice of their mother. Angelus looked back at her, and thought how little they looked like her. Perhaps in the large details—Maya’s eyes were as pale as hers, her hair as wavy, and her skin as fair. She could hold herself in that same, elegant and domineering posture, though she didn’t adopt it often. Only at these tournaments did it seem like Maya had an ounce of confidence. “Do you want to go out with your friends, Angelus?”

It was always his full name, too. “No,” he told her, “I want to play with Maya.”

“That’s not possible right now. Please leave her alone to practice.” When the woman reached out to touch him and pull him away, he stepped back and across the sacred line that was ‘Maya’s room’. He never entered and he felt almost as if he was in a new world, in here. He had always looked in.

Inside, it was cold. Bland. He felt squashed with all this white and black—there was no color. “Angelus!”

“No!” He refused. He wanted in the tower, and he was getting in to the tower! “Maya, come play!”

Maya shook her head. “Ok then, I’ll make it so you don’t have a choice!” Before his sister could react, he grabbed her violin and pulled it from her hands. It took no effort—she was surprised, and much weaker.

“Angelus, let that go!” Their mother was now in the room, and she looked panicked, but also, there was a threat in her voice.

He would have heeded the request, if he hadn’t seen something flash in Maya’s eyes. ‘Please.’ It was not a plea for the instrument, though, or at least, that was not how he took it. There was someone inside that tower, who didn’t quite have hair long enough to escape.

In a moment of mad inspiration, he slammed the instrument against the wall and shattered the wooden thing into pieces. “I hate it!” He told Maya, and then looked to their mother who seemed to have gone into shock. He was delighted to see the red-head so silent, that he threw the violin to her feet. “I hate it!” He said again.

Maya fell back onto her bed, sat in silence but with her mouth open.

Their mother’s hands clenched. She walked forward, and one hand unclenched, only to slap Angelus. His head moved with the gesture, “DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE?” That hand pointed towards Maya, long nail, trembling, “YOU’VE COST HER THE CHAMPIONSHIP! DO YOU KNOW HOW KEY IT IS TO HAVE THE SAME VIOLIN, ONE SHE IS FAMILIAR WITH? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW EXPENSIVE THEY ARE?”

He tilted his head to the side and lifted a hand to his cheek, but when it pressed itself to the warmth, it was removed. He let his eyes lift to his mother. She'd never hit him before, and in that moment, he was quite certain he knew what hate was. His eyes were brimming with tears, but it seemed to do nothing to her rage. She was waiting for an answer.

“It’s all right,” Maya's voice was always so quiet when she spoke. “I don’t need it….” Angelus let his eyes drift to her, and he watched her fingers flex in her lap. “I don’t need it.” He heard it, as clearly as he’d seen it.

In that ivory tower was a very lonely, and very sad, girl. Their mother was the witch who kept Maya there, that first-born daughter condemned because of their mother's selfish desires.

And as she was more important to the witch, the witch released Angelus and went over to her, tried to comfort by sitting down besides Maya and putting a hand on her back, “No, you don’t need that violin,” she agreed, “We’ll get you a better one, and you’ll do just fine. You’ll win.”

A mute nod, but Maya looked up to him. He blinked his tears away. He smiled.

“Get. Out.” Ice.

“Whatever,” he punched the wall, not hard enough to break it, “I’ll go hang with my fucking friends then.” But he’d remember this.

“Language!”

“Fuck you.”

And he slammed the door to Maya’s room shut behind him, already plotting how he could come by late in the night to steal Maya from the window. 

[Krystal Itzume]

First Impressions

The music flowed out from the piano, lit up but put off to the side so as not to disturb the patrons of the restaurant. It was meant to be background, ambiance, and that was how the woman at the piano played it. Slow, classical beats. In her mind, she had the image of sipping tea at a window with a notebook in lap, rain falling outside. Peaceful and simple.

She played requests that went along with it, or requests that came with money. The best thing about this place was the sort of customer it served—the very rich. The tips were always good, and some just tipped her without request. She was paid for the night, of course, but the tips always made this job worthwhile.

Her mother approved of it, too.

Maya sat at the piano, purple nails to match the purple dress, unobtrusive and unnoticeable. She blended well with the décor. The night was almost at its end when a waiter brought a napkin over and laid it near. She looked away from the keys to skim it, and arched a brow. It was a request, of course, but not what she expected to play here. It was a piece she did not have in any of her books, but she knew it. Memorized it. Of course, Brahms was perhaps her favorite of the classical artists, too, and the fact this was written as a joke had amused her.

The tip was more substantial, with a promise. 50 pounds now, 50 pounds if she played it. Interested more in why someone would pay such a ridiculous amount, she opted to go ahead and break the mood by playing the fast song.

The change was noticed by those in attendance, but Maya only glanced out to see if she could recognize who made the request.

She did. He sat at the bar, wavy brown hair and a glass of wine in hand, alone it seemed, though she doubted he had entered alone. He wore a blue suit, and when their eyes met, he lifted his glass and smiled. She returned the smile, and did not allow herself another distraction as she continued through the melody. She would take a break after this, though. That much was decided.

She drew the piece to its end easily, quietly proud of herself for her ability. The piece was known as the Witch’s Variations for its difficulty, a term her brother seemed to find hilarious. She didn’t understand why. He refused to explain, as if it might somehow offend her.

When she rose, someone quickly moved to step in for her. They were not as skilled, but they filled in to make sure there was no lull in the music. Her heels led her to where the man was sitting at the bar, clearly waiting for her. He was rather handsome up close, and his smile was warm. He greeted her, “Hello virtuosa.” High praise, and a show of some knowledge. “I confess, I did not think you would be able to play that. My apologies for doubting you.” She shook her head, taking no offense. Here, quite a few would be surprised at the skill she actually had. “Do you partake?” He moved his glass to show what he meant.

“Not while working,” she answered him, “I do believe you promised an additional tip?” She knew it was rude, but she was still interested if he intended to keep to that. He seemed rather young to be well-off, but he evidently was.

“I did,” and the bill was taken from his pocket and offered out. She accepted it, but he took hold of her hand once it was in his. “Do you work here often?” Maya nodded. “Why? You could do so much more.”

“I—I need to get that piece of paper that says I’m capable.”

He laughed, and released her hand, “I understand. I’m in my last year myself. I already have a job in a law firm lined guaranteed,” he smiled, “I know these classical songs from listening to them while studying. It is the only music worth listening to, but the songs never sound half as good on a CD as they do live. I don’t suppose you do private shows, do you?”

There was a predatory look in his gaze that made Maya blush, and lean away. He was asking something else, “Ah, no, I haven’t done any in the past.” The bill was tucked away in her small purse. “My school life and professional life keeps me too busy to find those who want more, ah, private shows.” Her mother handled it. Her mother had her schedule memorized and had time to find things for Maya.

“So, you are not opposed to the idea,” he deduced, “Ah, forgive me, I have been rude, virtuosa. What is your name?”

“Maya.”

He nodded, as if it fit, “Like the goddess, Maia.” A hesitant nod from her, as if such a comparison were improper.

‘No, illusion. But sure.’ That was what her parents had intended, the goddess. She preferred illusion. It felt right, given the state of her life. “Yours?”

“Aeron. Aeron Harper,” he added, “Though I cannot harp to save my own life.”

Maya smiled, “Neither can I. It isn’t one of the instruments I play.”

“You play others?”

A nod, “Violin, mostly. I sing, too.” She didn’t like to brag, that much was clear. “Do you play any instruments at all?”

He shook his head, “I’ve had no time to indulge in the arts. A life of duty, but I’m sure you understand.” She did, of course. “I do need more beauty in my life. Forgive my forwardness, but Maya, I would like to see more of you.”

‘Ah.’ Maya had sensed as much. Her mother wasn’t exactly a fan of her dating anyone.

Aeron saw the hesitance, so he added, “I do not have much time myself, so I understand if it is difficult,” and he added, “I would make time for you.” Something Maya understood in her own life to be a great sacrifice. Too often, her friends, her brother, had to make time for her, rather than she for them.

Maya decided an escape best, “Let me think it over,” she answered, “I need to get back to the piano.” She could take much longer breaks if she liked, but decided this was as good an excuse as any.

He looked disappointed, but accepted it.

Maya took her leave of him and let the other pianist play their way off before taking her seat on the bench. Alone, in the silence, she considered that it was not her mother’s pressure not to date that was detouring her. There was something else, one of those things she couldn’t place, couldn’t explain.

Despite that, the voices of her friends and brother intruded in her head. They were always encouraging her to try new things. ‘You don’t know what you like until you try it.’ A sigh heated her fingers as they went to the keys and played another melody. She should at least give this a try. She’d found truth in their words, and found many unexpected things enjoyable, like paintball.


Aeron waited calmly. He already knew what the answer would be. He had guessed many things, accurately, about Maya. Someone as young as her playing so well was abnormal, let alone to have such things memorized. Her life was one of duty, order. That suited him just fine, for he wanted someone who knew how to fall in line.

He had reached his year of graduation and realized the next step to his perfect life plan was to find a suitable woman. He had a few others in mind before, but when he came in here for a meeting and saw her, he’d changed his mind. The fact she could play Brahm’s variations solidified it in his mind.

His father had settled for less, for someone who would never outshine him. Aeron’s mother was a mere teacher, a quiet and humble woman who never made a fuss, but she did not compliment his father. So far as accessories went, she was like a Rolex watch—good quality, enviable, but mainstream. Normal. Aeron would not settle for something so simple.

Maya was not something like that. A woman of that sort of talent, who was still young enough to be groomed into perfection, was a rare find. A Philippe Dufour watch, a luxury worth time for what it would mean. She would compliment his own grandness, and he had time yet to make sure she would be obedient. He’d not deal with a malfunctioning accessory.

He motioned to the manager when he came behind the bar, and was greeted promptly, “How much is needed to have her dismissed for the night?” He inquired.

The man arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“500 pounds,” it was a lie, of course. He just had a feeling the man would pay that substantial sum, and he was right. The bills were placed before him.

“See it done.” Yes, Aeron would ‘make’ time for her. He’d never said how he would do it, “See her paid for the entirety of the night’s work, as well.”

“Oh, that’ll be 800 then.”

More bills. The man couldn’t hide his greed, and moved away to see the order obeyed.

Aeron waited, watched. It did not take long for his desires to be fulfilled, and Maya returned to him, looking a touch annoyed. “I told you I would make time. I thought I would show you I can.”

Maya bit the inside of her cheek, “You know, I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“You were going to.” He didn’t dare hide his confidence here.

“How do you know that?”

“Were you going to decline?”

Maya knew the answer to that. “No.”

“Well then,” he stood from his stool and offered her an arm, “Let us go. We are both people of limited time, and as I understand it, I just bought you two hours.”

Maya was, admittedly, flabbergasted by the actions. No one had done such things for her attention before. ‘Who has the means?’ He did, clearly. It also unnerved her a bit more. ‘Swear to god if he turns out to be a serial killer….’ But she took his arm. “You did,” she agreed, “Let’s not waste them.”

[Krystal Itzume]

A Necessary Betrayal

Gaius Cilnius Maecenas took his seat in the senate that fateful day, March 15th. He saw the other senators gathered, those in the know, and those who knew not, what this day would mean. He watched Cassius as the man showed his paranoia. It was affecting others, who didn’t know why the man was so anxious for the senate meeting.

Most, of course, deduced it to Caesar’s plans for war.

Maecenas knew otherwise. He felt a touch of panic himself, but he would never show it. ‘He is not late yet.’ Maecenas entwined his hands in his lap, and waited.

Marcus Junius Brutus did show up, distraught, sweating. With him were two very interesting individuals. Maecenas looked to them, and knew immediately they were aware of the situation. One was a woman, curiously in the garb of a centurion. ‘But not one of Antonius’s.’ Antonius and his domination fetishes. If word ever got out, the man would be ruined. No, the woman was not Antonius’s, she was not of this time. Maecenas knew everyone.

He noticed what others did not. The purse at her side was unnatural. There was a weapon, and he knew it as that, in her hand that was not of this time. She was of the future, and so was the man besides her who stood tall and had an aura about of him of authority that surpassed that of Caesar. He could hold a room’s attention, if he wanted it. That man also held such a weapon.

These were things that went overlooked by others. These were things others could not understand, and so unconsciously, they denied it. Maecenas had seen that time and time again whenever anyone looked at Caesar’s dog.

Maecenas rose as Cassius moved to intercept Brutus, seeing that Brutus wanted his attention. He already knew what Brutus was going to say, but he listened anyway. “The Caesarmen saw us. They’re going to break out.”

Maecenas wanted to sigh, but he instead feigned confusion. A cant of the head. He reached out to touch Brutus, needing him paralyzed for a moment. “There, there, Brute,” he spoke in a condescending manner. It matched his feelings. Brutus was useful, but not as a thinker. He had nearly ruined everything. “You were almost late, you know,” he told him, “I’ll go speak to Antonius about our proposal.” That look of confusion was just what he wanted. He would have to move quick, before Brutus was moved to rage. “You do what you always do.”

Guilt and rage. Just as hoped, Brutus knew what was meant and it struck a nerve. Maecenas let his jeweled hand leave Brutus’s shoulder, and allowed the cloth of his toga to brush by the other man’s arm.

“Maecenas!” His call fell on deaf ears, for Maecenas did not look back, but left the senate to deal with the last remaining threat to the plan.

Outside was Caesar. Traitors were in the air. Someone Maecenas knew to be in on the plan passed Caesar a ‘proposal’, which he then handed off to Antonius to read. Maecenas moved through the crowd and caught Antonius by the arm. Both paused, albeit briefly. “Antonius, I’ve word from Agrippa. It is urgent.”

Caesar regarded him coolly a moment, then nodded to dismiss his guard. Antonius looked disgusted, but let himself be moved from Caesar’s side to a quieter area near the senate. “What is it?” Sharp and cold. Antonius did not like him.

Maecenas did not like Antonius. He could have sent him to his death, but chose not to. He was useful yet. “No. I have no word from Agrippa,” he spoke honestly, and watched as anger heated Antonius’s face. “I come to tell you that today, Brutus kills Caesar, while you are not at his side.”

His eyes widened in horror, and he turned to run. Just as he did so, Maecenas grabbed his arm. Antonius responded by whipping right back around and catching Maecenas by the throat. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to cut off the flow of oxygen. He saw words in those eyes, words that troubled him, for he knew Maecenas as a coward. For him to stand for anything was worrisome. “Speak with haste.”

The crowd did it for him. Someone screamed, and Antonius’s eyes were diverted to the strange metal creature. He let Maecenas go completely, though Maecenas did not release his arm. He stared at it. “What in the name of Jupiter is that?”

“A Caesarman, Marcus,” he spoke familiarly, which earned him a harsh look. “Do you not recognize the face? That is Quintus Pulcher, the supposed deserter. In truth, he stumbled upon the Caesarmen, and Caesar had him dealt with.”

“What are you saying?” He watched it move through the crowd, towards the senate, without moving. He did recognize it, for it was not fully converted. The face was still obvious.

“I am saying, Antonius, that the army Caesar has built, the reason he does not go to Egypt for a navy, the reason he is so certain of victory in Parthia, is because he has found a way to turn his enemies into mindless and powerful slaves. He intends to turn you into one, as well, for you are growing to be annoying in your questioning.”

The Caesarmen collapsed in the doorway.

“He would do this to all of Rome, in time.”

“I don’t believe you!” With a snap, Antonius ran to the doorway, and Maecenas did not stop him this time. He observed the figure in his legionnaire’s red, and saw him pause there, too, in the doorway.

Maecenas’s smile was bitter, empathetic. “I am sorry,” for he saw the rage in Antonius diminish in the man’s posture. Maecenas had let him go at the right time. He saw enough, heard enough. When he moved, it was not at a run, but at a walk, to observe the events from a shadow.

Maecenas left then, having another duty. He returned to his home, and there began to write. If it came from his own hand, there would be no doubt in Octavius's mind.

~*The August One*~

The day that Gaius Julius Caesar, formerly Octavius, arrived in Rome was not a day of celebration. His armies were stationed outside. He was not allowed into his home, for Marcus Antonius refused to see him and refused him entrance. So, he went to see his parents, and then, at the evening, he went to see Maecenas.

He was received, alone. Agrippa went to see Cicero in his stead, for Agrippa was both blunt and intelligent—this would make Cicero unable to weave his tangle of lies and force him to the point of his invitation.

Delicacies were served, but Julius hardly spoke until the servants were dismissed. “Gaius Julius Caesar?” There was a smirk playing on Maecenas’s lips, “Clever. No Octavianus?”

“People are to forget my origins,” he told Maecenas. “But you are not to call me by his name.” Maecenas looked relieved. “I merely need it to succeed. I will change it again, when I am able.” Maecenas did not waste his energy hiding the smile. “Tell me the truth of the matter now, Maecenas. Tell me of his death, and how you moved Brutus to act.”

Maecenas had not written it as such, but Octavius knew from his wording. He understood that Maecenas had a hand in executing his uncle, and he did not fault him for it.

Maecenas related it then, the Caesarmen and Brutus’s abhorrence of them, and then of the strange people not of this place. “I would think it the Doctor of Cleopatra’s ramblings, but the man did not seem like a clumsy genius,” he noted. “You haven’t touched your plate, Gaius.”

Gaius sighed, “I have no stomach for this luxury,” he said as he pushed the plate away and looked up, his blue eyes locking on to Maecenas’s. Maecenas had to bite his tongue to tell him to eat anyway. Agrippa and he both fretted over Octavius’s health, for the man was fragile. “Do you know them? Their names, or anything?”

“Yes. I heard it from Brutus and from Antonius,” he had asked neither. His spies picked it up. “One goes by the Master, and the other by Maya. They assisted in seeing Caesar executed,” he answered, “The Master knows the Doctor.”

“I see,” his eyes flitted away, to the side. He stared at the wall for some time in silence, before, “Should they ever return, I wish to meet them.”

“Of course,” Maecenas agreed.

“Presently, I need the public turned on Antonius so the man will see me.”

“It will be done.” Maecenas had already moved to see it done, in truth. Tomorrow the herald would announce Octavius’s arrival, and speak of Antonius’s greed—the man was in Caesar’s house, that which was rightly Octavius, and had denied him entrance, refused to even see him.

Another quiet nod. He was solemn. “What troubles you, Gaius?”

“I know what comes next,” he spoke as one condemned. “And I want no part, but have no choice.” He was a strange creature, Maecenas had discovered. He had plenty of masks, like any good politician, but unlike most he was truly a sensitive creature. He was not a soldier—that much was clear by his build. He was frail, effeminate almost, with curly blond hair and bright eyes. Gamine.

He spoke of the gods, but he had no belief in them as Rome understood. He had adopted a more philosophical view, and thought of one great power, though he knew it not, thought it was not what the Jews believed. He was no theologian, despite his training to be a priest.

He was not a politician, either, at least not the sort that Rome knew. He sat there as a prince untried, but who knew the burden of ruling benevolently from observation. 

That was what set Gaius apart, perhaps. He was not motivated to cease power for power’s sake. “You wanted me to gather the funds, so I could raise an army, for you knew Antonius would act as he has. You understand I will need to go to war with him, and that is why you have told me to heed Cicero, for Cicero is my ally. But of course, as Caesar’s grieving son, I will also betray Cicero later to kill Brutus and Cassius, whom Cicero supports and would see reinstated, whom my army hates as it is made up of Caesar’s veterans.” He said all of this while still looking at the wall, impassive, “I am to build myself through bloodshed and treachery.”

“But it will bring peace.”

“It will bring peace when the Tiber runs red, and I am unopposed.” He stood, and he leveled a look at Maecenas that broke the other man’s heart. There was an accusation that he did not understand. “And yet if I do not do this, then I condemn Rome to worse. I condemn Rome to death.”

Maecenas did not speak to agree, for there was no need. He did not offer comfort, for he knew it would not be accepted. Gaius Octavius Caesar, as Maecenas would come to think of him till he took the name Augustus, cared for the people, for Rome, and it was for love of Rome that he was willing to commit acts he found detestable. “Even so, I am going to try another way first.”

“Silly boy,” he shook his head, “You will try to get Antonius to align with you?” Octavius opened his mouth, and Maecenas interrupted, “You cannot go to Brutus. If you go to Brutus, you will be destroyed. You will lose all influence in Rome, for he is Rome’s greatest traitor.”

“But he is her savior.”

Maecenas’s smile was not meant to be cruel, but it gave off that impression to Octavius as the fateful words left his mouth, “Look how Rome rewards her saviors.” Octavius said nothing. “You know it yourself. The people do not care to be free. Sometimes, I wonder if it is our nature to crave the submission that comes from such domination,” he leaned back in his chair, “Caesar saw the people fed. Brutus killed him. Caesar gave everything to the people, money, food, shelter, beautiful public places, festivals, libraries—all they needed to be pacified. All they cared for. They were not asked to make hard decisions, and they rejoiced. They want to deify him, for as a god, he gave them all.” This much was true, and this much Octavius knew.

“What did Brutus do to save them, when they were starving? What did he do, but kill their god. Brutus liberated the people from his domination, and they despise him for it.” That, too, was clear, “They have turned on him as a dog turns a thief. If you tell the people that Brutus is their savior, if you, Caesar’s grieving son, tell them this, they will support Antonius’s claims and you understand what will happen without needing me to tell you.”

‘In a fair fight, I cannot defeat Antonius. Without tricks, without patience….’

“If you care for Rome, give Rome what it wants. Be Rome’s God, but be better than Caesar ever was.” Octavius sat back down. “I will be with you every step of the way, Gaius.”

The apathy covered Octavius’s emotions, hid them even from Maecenas. “What a show this will be,” he sounded bitter, unknowingly foreshadowing his last words. He would remember this conversation in his last moments, though. He would remember when he decided to become an actor in an unending play. “When I am unopposed, will I be free?”

“The only freedom you will ever know is in death, if the gods are merciful.” Octavius scoffed.

“What good is a chained master?”

“They are the only sort worthy,” he spoke with empathy, “One who is limited understands the limits of others, and so, they are able to understand their subjects and do well by them.”

“And is that Master, the one who helped Brutus, one like that?”

Maecenas thought. He considered what he had seen, and what he had heard. “I do not know,” he answered. “I think he is benevolent. As I understand it, he arrived to side with Caesar, but Brutus changed his mind.”

“And Maya? His subject?”

“I daresay not. I am not certain he has subjects.”

“Yet you call him good.”

“He is not a king. He is something…other.”

Silence again. “Find him for me. I would speak to him. I would understand him.”

“I will do what I can, Gaius.” He knew not how he might reach them, but he would find a way.

[Krystal Itzume]

Father and Son

Turn the Page

Angelus borrowed Andrew’s car to drive up to London, and bought his silence on top of it. He didn’t have many secrets with Maya, and while he would share this later, he didn’t want to share it right then. ‘Tell her I’m looking for a job.’ It was believable, except he’d already found one just yesterday. It had been far more difficult than he expected, and he was pretty sure that was due to the new black mark on his record. ‘Not even worth it.’ He didn’t get to throw one punch at Aeron. Not one.

He wasn’t in London for Aeron, though. It was tempting, but today was not for pleasure, despite the bar he came to.

He locked the door to the white car behind him and stepped out. It was amazing the insight someone like Juls could offer without even trying.

Angelus walked through the wooden doors and spotted the man with the black hair at the counter, nursing a bottle of beer.

In Angelus’s opinion, they had always looked more like their father. “Hey,” Angelus greeted as he slid onto the stool besides the man. He lifted his dark green eyes from the counter to his son, and he smiled, though it was weak, worn.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” his father answered the greeting.

“’Course I would. I said I would,” he liked to think he was usually a man of his word.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Just some beer,” Angelus wasn’t picky.

The man lifted his hand, and the bartender came around to him, “What do you need, Cyrus?”

“Another of the same,” he answered, and was soon given it. He slid it to Angelus, who easily opened the bottle cap lid and took a sip of the cool liquid.

There was silence between them. It wasn’t wholly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. There were things they had to speak of, and neither knew when the best time to do so was. They also knew they could end up sitting in silence for hours on end. “So,” Cyrus broke the silence. “How’s Maya?”

Angelus took another long drink from his beer. He answered first, “She got a new violin,” another of the many things he found impossible to believe. She claimed it was a Stradivarius, but wouldn’t say how she came upon it. He was currently going with ‘sold her soul’, even if there was evidence to suggest she did that ages ago.

Cyrus looked surprised, and Angelus smiled at that, “Yeah, couldn’t believe it either,” he told him, “Lots of things I can’t believe, because you guys fucked her up.” Angelus never did hold his tongue. He hadn’t since he was thirteen or so and realized there were no repercussions for cursing. The ‘angel’ his parents wanted was long dead. “Do you know she was hiding the fact she even had one, because she didn’t want me to think she was regressing?” Of course Cyrus didn’t, Ange just wanted to drive home how fucked up it all was. His sister hid so much now, afraid that Angelus would lecture her over it. Even dresses and heels, because it was part of the ‘old life’.

It was difficult to get it through to Maya, that it was fine. So long as it was her choice, so long as it was what she liked, it was fine.

“Why would she…?” The look in Angelus’s eyes was intense, even if he sat calmly there. Cyrus could see a thousand desires in his son’s eyes, the strongest being to shake him. Just shake him. Cyrus averted his own gaze to the wall, “I never knew her, Ange.”

“She doesn’t know herself.”

Silence.

Angelus broke it with an intake of breath. “She’s figuring it out. She’s figuring out that it’s ok if she likes what she was forced to do, like play the violin, or dance, or act, but she’s struggling with it. She’s struggling with even going out,” Jasmine and Julio were doing better at luring her outside for anything besides work. “She’ll be better in time.”
 
Cyrus finished his bottle after a nod. He took delight in the silence that brought about. “I’d like to talk to her again.”

“Give it a year.”

Cyrus looked bewildered by that. “A year? She’s—”

“—very angry,” Angelus finished. “If you think she’s cooled, you would be wrong. She’s calling mom, Lina.” It was clear that the hope faltered in the posture Cyrus took. Names were power in the Porter family, and held meaning. It was why Angelus refused ‘Angel’, and why Maya preferred her name as meaning ‘illusion’. By stripping her mother of the title ‘mom’, she had reduced her, stripped her of authority and ties. “She’s still calling you ‘dad’, anyway, but she’s angry with you for always being on the sidelines and being, as she puts it, whipped.”

Cyrus grimaced. “I thought….” A sigh, “I really didn’t know all Aeron was doing to her. Lina never told me,” Maya had run to her mother first, but to say Lina was helpful would be a lie. Rather than teach her to leave, she taught her to cover up. “I thought Maya really enjoyed all of this. I sort of figured if she didn’t, she’d…do something….” He had been wrong, up until that moment. “I didn’t know, Ange. I really didn’t know. Maya never let me in.”

‘She didn’t let anyone in.’ Angelus hadn’t realized how on the outside he’d been until that day at the diner. ‘She’s learning that, too.’ It was difficult to watch her try and interact with others, sometimes. She was truly trying with Juls, but Angelus could see her wanting to resort to lies quite often, or slip into a persona that would be comfortable in whatever situation it was. “I know you didn’t,” he said at last with a sigh. He pushed his empty bottle forward, silent request for a second. “No one knew, dad. Fuck, if I’d known sooner, you know things would be different. She was just….” A sigh, a shake of the head.

Did it need saying?

Cyrus nodded, and a second beer was placed before Angelus.

“A year without talking to my little girl?”

“At least you’ll get to talk to her.” Angelus sighed and asked the inevitable, “How’s mom?”

“Overly chipper,” the man looked annoyed then, “She’s pretending everything is fine and lying about you and Maya.”

“Oh yeah?” Angelus looked amused, “What are we doing then? Have I died in a tragic car accident yet?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes, “No, you’re in America. Faking your death would be too difficult.”

“Fuck yes.”

“And Maya is in France, studying abroad at some music institute there.”

“What drugs does mom take? I think my friend would like some.”

Cyrus scowled at Angelus, “She’s not any drugs.” Though now and then he thought a couple might help balance her. “She’s coping with the loss of her two kids, Ange.”

“She can have us back if she apologies.”

“You know she won’t.” The women of this family, it seemed, could be stubborn, and none more than his wife. When she got an idea in her head, she didn't let it go. Maya's betrayal of the dream had struck her hard, so hard that Cyrus wasn't even sure she understood what was actually lost. It wasn't just her ability to live vicariously through another.

“Well then,” he tipped the beer back, “I’m in America.” Angelus knew he would, eventually, reach out to his mom. He had in the past and he would again, because his anger was hot, and in that way, it was often temporary. Once it was expressed, aired, and dealt with, it faded. Besides, it was his mother. He hadn’t even managed to hate her when she hit him, though he thought he did.

Maya would be different. “Let her know I discovered what ‘meth’ is, and I like it.”

“You’re already an alcoholic, does she need to know that, too?”

“Yep.” Angelus answered, to another roll of the eyes from his father. He sighed. “I’ll get in touch with her later,” he promised. He might be the least favorite child, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make sure it was an undeserved status.

“You’ll, ah, tell me when it is a good time to talk to Maya?” Cyrus asked, and he did look truly concerned. He would refrain from reaching out if Angelus didn’t think now was good, but he knew he couldn’t manage it forever. That was still his daughter, and he understood the depths of his sin by standing on the sidelines and never reaching out, by assuming everything was all right.

He didn’t want to lose her.

“Yeah,” Angelus agreed. “I’ll let you know when. Maybe someday you can even come visit us in Bristol.”

Cyrus smiled, and though it was still weak, it wasn’t as weary now. “I’d like that.”

[Krystal Itzume]

Bad Wolf.

‘I still can’t believe he got elected.’ It was a rainy day Maya walked the streets of London. It had been announced that Harold Saxon won the election. Despite his popularity, it still baffled Maya that he'd won. Yes, he was easy on the eyes, charismatic, but that wasn't nearly enough to get Maya to vote for him. Her brother had celebrated, and Maya again had to ask why he was so happy over it.

Angelus, of course, didn’t know. He couldn’t answer what Saxon stood for or anything. He claimed to like the catchphrase. ‘I don’t even know what he stands for.’ Which bothered her. His website was vague. It did mention that he’d published a book. Maya decided she was getting that for her brother as something of a gag gift. She’d make it up later.

The bookstore was decorated with that ridiculously simple ‘Vote Saxon’ poster, but Maya just rolled her eyes and continued on in to it. She didn’t pause to browse, tempting as it was. No, what she wanted was front and center, as she suspected it would be. “Kiss Me, Kill Me,” she spoke aloud, shaking her head and allowing a wry grin to come to her face. “Just what sort of history have you had, Mr. Saxon?” Nothing could justify such a creative title, unless he had horrible luck in love.

‘It was written before Lucy, wasn’t it?’ Maya didn’t know, picked up the book and flipped it open. She skimmed the inside cover of the book for relevant information, and then flipped through the pages. Her eyes only fell on the amusing things, commentary on childish desserts like jelly babies and twinkies and an obsession with the medical advancements of humanity. The word ‘doctor’ was used a lot, though curiously, always, capitalized. Doctor.

At seeing the word ‘teletubby’, though, Maya had to shut the book and try to cover her laughter. ‘Ok, he might be interesting to get to know.’ She consented. ‘Not sure if I’d let him run a country.’ Pretty sure on that, genius or not—and he was that. Archangel showed his genius. The Valiant showed his genius, a man of technology. ‘Maybe that’s why Ange likes him?’  Maya thought as she went to the cashier and placed the book on the counter.

“Will that be all?”

Maya nodded, thoughts still running, ‘He is into making things. Maybe.’ But then why did Aeron vote for him? Why did Jasmine and Andrew?

The cashier took the book, and then smiled at it, “I am so glad he won,” she said. Maya just nodded, “You know, he was in here signing these not three months ago,” the woman sighed, evident longing, “Nicest man I ever met. Lucy's lucky.”

“Shame I missed him,” Maya commented, “My brother would have loved a signed copy.” It would have been signed to 'Angel' if Maya had gotten it for him.

“This is for your brother?” She seemed surprised. “Oh, the total is 9£ even, dear.”

Maya was quick to offer a card and it was swiped, “You know, Saxon has some public events coming up. I’m sure you could catch him and get him to sign it for your brother.”

Maya smiled, “Maybe,” but it wasn’t high on her list. “Thank you,” she took the book. ‘I’d ask him who his favorite teletubby was, and it’d go to hell from there.’

Maya held the book under her arm as she left the shop, and would have walked on if red ink hadn’t caught her attention. She paused, and turned to look at the posters.

One of the ‘Vote Saxon’ posters had red ink over it that read ‘Bad Wolf’. Maya canted her head. She was quite certain it hadn’t been like that when she came in, but she was willing to believe it was overlooked. The strangeness of it caused her to dig out her phone and dial Angelus.

“Hey, quick question—is there some reason Saxon and the Bad Wolf should be associated?” She asked. There was a pause, confusion, “I’m asking because there’s a poster with that graffiti on it.” Apparently, Angelus knew nothing. “Well, I’ll google it later then. Bye.” She hung up quickly. Phone calls still bothered her. She’d replaced her phone once already, but the strange drumming didn’t cease. She was thinking of getting a completely new type of phone to make it stop.

For the moment, though, it was useful. She snapped a quick picture of the poster, and then sent it on to Angelus so he’d know what she was talking about. Added to that was the question:

Who is your favorite
teletubby?

Maya walked on, and smiled when a text was returned.

Why the fuck would
I watch the
teletubbies?

And her response was very simple:

Saxon does.

Bullshit.

I’m betting his favorite
is Po. Also, loves
twinkies.

Should I be telling
Aeron?

It’s in his book.

Riiight. Now I
get it. All this
pretend hate.
You like him.

Somehow, she always dug herself into these holes. Even so, she smiled in amusement. She could turn this around.

Not worth it.
I’d have to
compete with
you. Your eyeliner
is better than mine.

Not Lucy?

You’re prettier
than her.

Fuck you,
Maya.

That was a compliment!

Fuck you.

I support you.

Maya cackled as she continued walking, put away her phone and ignored the couple of looks she got. Yes, she was going to have to get Ange a good gift to make up for it. She needed to look into what video games he wanted. ‘And look up Bad Wolf.’ She wouldn’t. It would be forgotten, and when the phone was replaced, the photo would be lost.

[Krystal Itzume]

Breaking Eggshells

Click

“Gentle mother, font of mercy
Save our sons from war we pray.”

Devlin heard the melody as he walked down the hallway to where his and Maya’s room were set aside for the competition. He smiled to himself, the words familiar. They’d both begun to read the book series A Song of Ice and Fire, a series her brother apparently got into first and then couldn’t stop talking about.

From what little Devlin knew of Angelus, he still couldn’t believe the boy was a reader. Apparently, he even had favorite poets, though Devlin forgot who.

“Stay the swords and stay the arrows.
Let them know a better day.”

He knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for Maya to answer. He just opened it and found her stretching, disturbed by his entrance. He offered an apologetic smile, “Just checking in.”

Leg dropped back to the ground and she shook herself out, already dressed in that sparkly, short, black attire, with the ridiculously tall green heels. Devlin had given up trying to understand how Maya seemed to live in heels. He’d just accepted it.

She had been wearing heels since the day they met, when he was fourteen and she was thirteen, in the theater. He’d decided to give acting a try, though he had always been more into music—writing, dancing, those sorts of things. He was in the school band.

She was now nineteen and he was twenty. They’d realized the other could dance not long ago, and they'd only had more fun with it as years progressed, as in the musical Faustus, when she played the female Mephistopheles, dancing and singing circles around him.

He, of course, was in a suit. Green tie, black suit. They’d argued over colors for weeks, of all things. Not the song, not the dance style, colors. They both knew they were going to do a tango, for Maya loved them, and she thought it fit well with things she was learning—or so she claimed. “How goes those fusion courses?” He asked as he shut the door behind himself.

“They’re going well. I might start off on a solo career at this rate,” she teased. She wouldn’t. Aeron wouldn’t approve of it. He knew very little about the sorts of classes she was taking with Jasmine, and she intended to keep it that way. She got accused of being a whore often enough as it was, no need to let him know she was learning styles he would find improper for a lady to know. At least ‘tango’ was an established and proper form of dance in Aeron’s eyes. “You really ought to take some of the courses.”

“I’d feel too weird,” he confessed. “It’s mostly girls, isn’t it?” She nodded. “Yeah…they’d think I was a pervert.”

“You are a pervert.”

“Not the point.” He took a seat, “Anyway, how far are you now in the Ice and Fire series?”

“The books have set my expectations for weddings very low, and they’ve encouraged Angelus to start attending them, if that answers that.”

Devlin laughed, “Figures he would. Stannis still his favorite?”

Maya rolled her eyes, the answer in that as she resumed stretching. He kept his gaze to his face, not daring to let them roam. “And yours? Still Daenerys?”

“No, my favorite is Joffrey,” sarcasm dripped from each syllable. Of course Dany was still her favorite. “What about you? Queen of Wine still your favorite?”

“Queen of Wine is the best, and fuck you.” He heard the mockery in her tone. “Queen of Wine is actually a queen, unlike your khaleesi.”

“Khaleesi has dragons,” she said, shifting into another pose to stretch out her legs. It was always the staccatos that troubled her, if anything was going to. “And cities. Lots of cities. She’ll get to Westeros later.”

He smirked, might have spoken, but someone knocked on the door. Devlin stood to get it, and found one of the people running the show there to inform them it was all about to start in five. Devlin dismissed him and relayed the message to Maya. She reached for her phone, and Devlin hissed. “What?”

“Leave it.”

With muttered words, Maya left her phone where it was, and took Devlin’s hand to be led out. His hand soon left hers, though, and wrapped around her waist. They were both shifting their roles in their minds, to roles they would never truly have.

Maya had learned it was easy to lie about intimacy, and she’d told herself that this was a lie. Their closeness was that of friends, and in dance, it stemmed from selfish vanity to be good at this.

A part of her knew that was a lie, and that Aeron was right to be paranoid about Devlin. If Devlin had ever been a little more curious about her personal life, if he’d ever involved himself more in it, she might have considered him more seriously. As it was, they rarely saw each other outside of practices and events. They spoke often and easily then, as if they saw each other regularly, but Maya knew quite a bit of it was superficial acting. They could both feign openness, but in reality, they knew very little about each other’s internal lives.

Still, now and then, Maya let her mind wonder. It wondered to many, but she never strayed.

They stood on the sidelines as other dancers were introduced and brought out. They watched, and whispered commentary to each other. Maya’s eyes searched the crowd.

Angelus and Aeron sat near each other. Her mother sat between them, and Maya wondered if that was purposeful.

They were not the last on, but they were near it. When they were announced, there was the expected, polite applause. Devlin led her out, hand on the small of her back, but they soon separated. The dance was to begin with them mirroring each other, after all. Once they were in position, the song began to play.

Click.

Quick staccatos. Devlin soon came up behind her, hand to hair, to move her, and then they separated again, but only for a couple of seconds. Their reunion came as if they couldn’t really bear to be apart, her turning to face him and move into his arms. Once together, quite a bit of the dance came to rely on Devlin’s strength to lift and move her, but he did so without any issue, making it seem as if it she were feather-light.

They knew the steps well, knew the music, and so their eyes never left each other once they came together. Smiles and expressions played their thoughts to the other, perfectly comfortable nose to nose. They were suggestive looks that would have made the other laugh in any other circumstance, but here they only served to keep the tension low as her leg wrapped around his, or as his hands brushed up her chest.

It kept Maya from looking to see Aeron in the crowd, white knuckled and infuriated.

Still, her favorite part was stepping on and over his leg, if only because of the way he’d complained about her heels during practice. Then came all the fast and quick movements, the jumps and the mirroring, which Maya enjoyed if only because they’d been a challenge. It kept her firmly rooted in the present, at least.

It all ended in that fantastic dip, and as the crowd applauded, the two shared a smile as he helped her back up. They bowed, hand in hand, one and then the other, and then left the stage. His arm again found its place around her waist. Once off stage, though, they laughed as if they’d pulled off some sort of bank heist. “That was great!” Devlin was thrilled with his own performance.

Maya agreed, though, “Yes! Now we just have to hope the others mess up.” And so they observed the others from the sidelines, until the end when all were called back on stage, and given their ranks in reverse order.

Needless to say, Maya and Devlin were thrilled when it was down to three, and then two, and they were still standing.

“And second place goes to James Anderson and Marilyn Renalds.”

“YES!” Devlin whooped, no modesty whatsoever. Maya clapped her hands together, and turned to give an apologetic smile to James and Marilyn. They didn’t seem so accepting, but feigned acceptance anyway, as they walked to take their own prize.

“And so the winners of 2007’s United Kingdom dance competition are Devlin Sommers and Maya Porter!”

They turned to each other, and Maya thought they would just embrace but Devlin took her by surprise when he kissed her first, quick and firm, before hugging her. It was not uncommon—on the stage they’d kissed, but this was on the stage. It rendered her speechless, though she was able to return the hug.

He was always so casual with everything, that Maya wanted to slap him when he easily left the embrace and walked ahead to receive his prize. Maya followed after as a few more words were spoken to all, before they were spoken to privately about the monetary prize and the pretty trophies. When they were left to their own devices, Devlin offered his quick departure.

“I’ll see you back at the Civic, probably. I’ve gotta go,” a motion to his own parents who had come to watch, and Maya just nodded.

‘Always the same with you.’ Too casual with his affections. Meaningless. Despite the action, she had to remember that. The kiss was done in the heat of the moment, like a man on New Year's Eve besides a friendly woman.“Have a good night.” Aeron didn’t understand that sort of openness. In truth, neither did Maya, but she accepted it. Hated it. Envied it. She’d tease Devlin for being the reason actors got a bad name later, she’d accuse him of leaving her again—ever since Faustus she was able to do that, for his Faustus left her Mephistopheles for heaven.

It was always, ever, a joke. Shallow.

Reality was far more serious, and Maya turned to that and smiled at Aeron as he and her family approached, now allowed to do so. She clasped her hands behind her back. “Congratulations, Maya,” her mother was the first to approach. The affection was always cold, a simple hand to her shoulder, “I thought for sure you’d place second when Devlin messed up in mirroring you in the beginning.”

“I doubt the judges even noticed,” Aeron commented. Lina stepped back to allow Aeron the proper closeness, but before Aeron could grab her hand to lead her out, Angelus did so.

He pulled her from Aeron, receiving a cold look from the older man. “Hey, we had plans,” Angelus lied. “She’s been busy practicing all week and I haven’t gotten to see her at all.”

“Nor have I.”

“Bull, she lives with you.” Angelus snapped right back.

Aeron was not impressed, “I am taking time away from a case. I had hoped to have a nice dinner.” He spoke to Maya rather than Angelus. “And time where we are both not too busy with tomorrow’s thoughts to catch up.”

Maya did tense, did consider leaving Angelus to go with Aeron. His words were enticing. It was true that this practice, and his recent case, had not allowed them much time to simply relax in each other’s presence. Such was a rarity nowadays, it seemed. However, Angelus’s grip tightened. She looked back at him. “We had plans, Maya.”

‘We don’t.’ But there was something desperate in his voice. “I’m sorry, Aeron. I’ll be back tonight, though,” she promised, “We’ll have tomorrow to spend together.” He claimed he took time off, after all.

Aeron tilted his chin up, clearly not happy with the decision. The public location kept him from pressing the matter. “Very well,” he consented, “I will wait up for you.”

‘Oh.’

Maya knew immediately why Angelus was dragging her away then. Unaware as Angelus was, he had his suspicions. Maya never confirmed them.

She’d forgotten Aeron would have been witness to Devlin’s stupid action. Funny how easy it was for her to discard it as nothing, when for a moment it had consumed her thoughts. How easy it was to pretend to be ignorant of her future. 'Damn it, Devlin!' She had given Aeron too much credit for being secure. Devlin had made it a goal of his to make Aeron jealous, unaware of how easy that was. She wondered if that had been his intent then, mind immediately rewriting the moment to be one of Devlin's many plots to throw people off.

If she denied Angelus now, she considered it would be easier to turn Aeron's anger in another direction. His passions could be manipulated sometimes. If she left him to stew, it would be trickier. He'd have time to think.

She considered the options, but decided she didn't have the strength to play those games right then. She would try later that night to reassure him that Devlin was nothing to him. No threat. She smiled, apologetic, tried to convey a necessity to uphold commitments. “I promise I won’t be out too long.” And with that, Angelus pulled hard on her arm and dragged her off, not letting her get another word in.

He pulled her outside and once they were in his car he demanded, “What the hell was that with Dev?”

“I don’t know,” Maya answered, shrugged, “He’s affectionate.”

“So you’re not seeing him?” He side-eyed her. “You’re not cheating on Aeron?”

“No!”

“Damn.” He sounded so disappointed. “I like Devlin better.”

“Is there anyone you like less than Aeron?” A sarcastic question.

“Joffrey.”

"But...he's a Baratheon. Your house. You know. The house with the deer. A deer amongst lions and dragons and wolves."

Angelus shot her such a look at that, she could only smile. "Join Khaleesi. We have fire and dragons."

"Stannis is the one true king and the lord of light. One day you'll cease your heresy."

[Krystal Itzume]

Caged Bird

Angelus started the car with that, and Maya realized then what she’d forgotten, “Wait!” Car turned off, “I have to go get my phone.” Her purse, and the rest of her things, too. It was becoming too easy to forget them.

“Fine,” Angelus sighed, “Go, run.” And she did run, too. Back into the building, and back to the room she’d been allowed the use of. She opened the door, but didn’t get much further than that.

Aeron had gone that way, too. He held her phone in his hand and was idly skimming through contacts, having already gone through her messages. He didn’t look up from that task as Maya calmed her anxious nerves to say, “Aeron, I need my phone.”

“It did not seem like that,” he noted.

“You know I’m forgetful,” Maya said.

He looked away from the screen, his survey more or less done. There were no new names. “You and Angelus do not have plans.” He was certain of that anyway, but there was no hint of plans at all in her text messages to him.

“Verbal agreements.”

He wasn’t buying it, and he clearly didn’t appreciate the lie. He threw the phone to her, and Maya caught it, then walked to fetch her purse. She knew it was a risk, and regretted it as Aeron walked towards the door in her place. She heard it close just as she put the strap over her shoulder.

As if nothing were wrong, she simply slipped the phone into her purse and turned back around to him. His finger tips remained on the door. His eyes remained there, too. “What is it, Aeron?”

“You’ve lied,” very simple, really. It was his favorite accusation, even though he'd laud her for the ability to lie in the same breath. Something about being an actress. He and Angelus both thought it all about lying, which to Aeron meant all she did was suspect.

She wished he had seen her first as that. Then she never would have met him.

She shook her head, “I—”

“Devlin.”

Maya took a breath, said, “He has no sense of personal space.”

“I could see that,” Aeron turned from the door, his eyes alight. “Nor do you. I was unaware that it extended so far,” he noted, asked, “Does it extend further?”

“I didn’t want him to kiss me, Aeron.”

“It did not look that way.”

‘For fuck’s sake!’ “It caught me by surprise.” She walked closer, to the side of the door that held the knob, “We can talk about this at home, I need to go,” she didn’t want to argue at all, but she’d prefer the home space to this. She reached for it, thinking she might manage an escape.

She wasn’t really optimistic, though. That was a good thing, for Aeron caught her wrist. His next move was to turn her, and push her back against the door she tried to use for her escape, making it part of her prison instead, “To meet with Devlin.”

Maya blinked, actually surprised by that accusation, “Drinks later? I saw that plan.”

Ah yes, the typical exchange between her and Devlin. They almost never did go together, though. Family, friends, or forgetfulness usually ensured that. Not that it mattered now—she had written ‘sure’ in response, and she knew it. “I’m not going to see Devlin.” She let the door take her weight. “I am just going out with Ange. There is nothing between me and Devlin outside of our professional relationship,” and then, “You go out to drinks with others in your firm. It is akin to that.”

“I don’t fuck them.”

Well, that escalated quickly. Now she was being accused of that? “No?” Maya hated that question the second it fell from her lips. She spoke quickly after, “Sorry, sorry.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I meant nothing by it.” For all intents and purposes, she was ignorant of his activities and why he had so many late nights. ‘It isn’t a colleague. Wrong time.’ Besides, that was entirely her fault. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Call Angelus,” he told Maya. His voice held more calm to it this time.

Maya just nodded and dialed the number. She knew what to say. “Hey, Ange, I’m sorry I can’t go out.” His complaint was almost audible to Aeron, his demands to know why, “Aeron let me know he had reservations at a restaurant. We can hang out tomorrow, or sometime soon. I’m sorry.” Internally, she sighed. “Yes. All right, good bye.” She hung up, and put the phone back into her purse as Aeron released her wrist and stepped back.

She didn’t open the door herself, but stepped away from it. Her eyes remained down. “You will remember that certain boundaries exist between people, Maya. While you are in a relationship with me, you cannot just kiss anyone you feel like,” he had that lecturing tone again. “If I ever see you with someone that close to you again, I will see that you never forget.”

“I will not forget,” she answered him.

She didn’t look up to see that approving smile, but she felt it. He reached out to her again, but it was gentler as he pulled her into an embrace. She returned it, though it was light on her end while he held her tight, close, “I am glad you understand,” he said, “And one day you will have no need for this. Nor for acting, my virtuousa,” the two activities he disliked but tolerated. If he had his way, she’d only do violin and piano for the rest of her life. It would keep her isolated.

She pretended such was what she wanted, “One day,” she echoed the words as if it were a hope of hers, too. Her hope was more along the lines that 'one day', she'd find herself wrapped in his arms like this. Perhaps if that meant dropping dance and acting, it'd be worth it, if it let 'one day' be him, actually happy with her like he used to be.

[Bleu]

METH

“Stay here, darling.”

“But where–”

The door shut with a force that was strange to Donovan, his hand still rested on the knob as if he were tempted to open it once more. He couldn’t though, his parents had told him not to, and there was no going against them. Donovan was to stay in his room and wait until his parents returned to collect him. They were mad, weren’t they? Why where they mad? He hadn’t done anything wrong; he’d done his homework and cleaned up after himself. It was just as it had been the day before, and the one before that.

Still, he wanted to go and see what had caused his parents to act so strangely.

A smile formed on the kid’s face as his young mind deduced that his parents had not said anything about him listening in. He chuckled in the afterthought and pressed his ear against the door, the hand still playfully hanging on the knob. It creaked, but his parents would not hear it. Their minds were much too occupied with other matters.

At first, Donovan only heard muffles. In time, however, he was able to focus more clearly on what was happening.

Clatter.

“Please Clark, darling, be quiet,” said Donny’s mum, Ella Bukater, in hushed but severe whispers.

There was movement, for Clark had been pacing back and forth in his study, running his fingers through his black hair as if that could help him calm down. Ella was sitting in an armchair by his desk, hands clasped together, but nothing about her expression showed the same control her body did. Has a stranger set their eyes upon her, they would suspect nothing.

“I can’t,” responded Clark harshly, eyes wide with disbelief, worry, and shock, “I can’t be quiet, and I can’t be calm. Ella, how could you not do anything? What were you thinking, for Christ’s sake?”

Exasperated breaths left the man.

Donny cocked his head, knowing that every time his father called his mum by her name there was something terribly wrong. He was unaware of just how mad they were, but now his childish grin completely faded.  It was as if a part of him were missing. He felt the urge to back away from the door and lie down on his bed, but he didn’t. He kept his hand on the doorknob and his ear pressed against the door.

“What was I supposed to do?” Ella’s tone turned sour, offended.

Clark turned to her, grabbing her by her arms and pulling her from the seat. He shook her, as if trying to snap away her foolishness. She didn’t fight him back, but hung her head as tears fell. “You call the police, Ella,” his voice was shaky, unsure but angered still. “I-I can’t fucking believe you didn’t do anything!”

Ella was struggling to free herself from Clark’s grasp. “Clark, you’re hurting me,” violence was not something that ever happened between the couple, so she merely reminded him. Ella suspected that her husband didn’t really know what he was doing. She would be right, for Clark’s eyes settled on his shaking hands before they released Ella. He took a couple of steps back before turning away from her. One of Clark’s free hands found the desk as he leaned forward, the other reached for his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sobs that quickly followed.

Ella was at his side in no time – Clark was not a man who cried, ever.

“I thought he was asleep, Clark,” she tried to excuse herself as she placed her hand on Clark’s back. He cringed and she immediately stepped away from him. She had never seen Clark so angry, so she did not allow herself to believe that she could calm him down. Not then. 

“You should have fucking called!” His whole body was shaking in shock.

“Clark–”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE FUCKING CALLED!”

Clark moved. Ella used her hands to physically push away Clark, who had been walking towards her in an angered manner. “Then you call! You fucking call!” He took a step back, but this time it was Ella who pursued him, her own tears now falling. She closed her hands into fists and began to repeatedly strike them against her husband’s chest. Clark’s expression did not soften, but he allowed himself to be struck, hoping that this would trigger some realization in his wife. “You fucking call…,” this was but a whisper, one of defeat.

It took a second, but after she stopped striking her husband, she broke away from him – perfect and controlled again. There was no room to be anything but perfect. She could deal with her emotions later, like a lady. No tears.

Never tears.

Clark toppled the desk over.

“I thought he was asleep,” softer this time, but equally insistent. Clark did not respond this time, instead he merely continued in his sorrow. “It wasn’t Donny’s fault. You call.” This was now a command, after which she stepped out of the study and entered the nearest bathroom.  Once inside, she sat and buried her face in her hands. She wept. 

Donny had not moved from where he was. He didn’t want to up until that point. The boy’s hand fell from the door knob and his feet sluggishly dragged him towards his bed. He curled himself under the blankets as he did every night, except this time he’d spend the night all by himself. There was part of him missing – half of him. He told himself tomorrow would be better.

A second twin-sized bed rested right across from him, empty.

“Yeah, hi,” Clark was on the phone, “...my son is dead.” The man’s voice was hollow as he gave his address; his eyes were swollen. “Donovan,” he shook his head, “no, Dillon Bukater. 5 years old. March 18, 1993.” Clark couldn’t say any more. The phone fell, and the man crumbled.

Within minutes, flashes of red and blue surrounded the previously silent home. Studies were done on the young corpse. Dillon had been killed from a heart attack caused by crystal meth withdrawal. While Donovan ran around chasing a ball for two hours every other day, Dillon practiced the piano in a home that was secretly a meth lab. An official investigation was conducted, but Clark and Ella Bukater were found to be innocent.

Donovan became an only child that evening.

[Krystal Itzume]

Karma

To say Aeron Harper had a few regrets would be a lie. He had one regret, and one regret only, and that was that he hadn’t killed Angelus Porter years ago. He considered that the source of all his current problems, for he still did not truly believe it was all Maya’s doing.

Not at the core.

Maya had been malleable, and it had always been a question of which way she’d bend. If Angelus had been out of the picture, she would be exactly as Aeron wanted, and he wouldn’t be here.

He slammed shut the door of his car, no longer the elegant black thing he used to have but an old man’s white, four-door, thing. He detested it. He detested the fact that the house he was walking up to, though large, was his parent’s house. He detested the job he had, which was a typical 9-5, did not pay him half as well as he used to make. This job was as a secretary of all things, because he had a black mark on his name. No law firm would hire him now, and his father was unwilling to help.

‘It is your own fault, Aeron. You will fix it yourself.’

Three years had passed, and Aeron had not managed to fix it just yet. It should have been a humbling experience, but it was not. Aeron’s hatred and anger festered. He knew he did not belong here, and plotted for the day he would rise above.

He put the key in the lock and pushed the door open, “I’m home,” he called. Thirty years old, and he wasn’t calling out to a wife, nor to children. He swallowed the bitter taste as he shut the door behind him, locked it. He heard music playing, some instrumental he loved. His father’s study. He heard none call back, so he decided to check in there. He took the stairs one at a time, found the door cracked open. He knocked at the same time as he opened it.

He wasn’t expecting to see blood, nor his father and his mother slumped near the desk. Another was sitting in the chair, one leg over the other. He wore a crooked smile was Aeron backed up, but into the wall rather than the opening. “Hello Aeron.”

His father’s head lifted, the man apparently still alive. There was fright in those eyes, something Aeron had never seen before in his life. His father feared nothing. “Who are you?” Aeron demanded.

His father croaked, “Run,” but Aeron didn’t heed him.

“Get out of my house or I’ll call the police!”

“By the time the police get here, your father will be dead, and so will you,” the figure told Aeron, “And I do not wish to kill you.” It motioned forward, but Aeron didn’t come. It chuckled, “Well, I suppose I expected that. I didn’t like you because you were obedient.”

“Who are you?” Aeron asked again, “Why don’t you want to kill me?”

“Better,” it leaned back in the chair, smiled. It caught Aeron's gaze, and then held it. Aeron wouldn't think to look away. It was not the same as hypnotism, but it was similar, a sort of psychic suggestion that would suggest he was worthy of trust, a play on a person's instincts so that they'd be more trusting. He pushed that forward. “My name won’t do you any good, but I am Arthur Whitehall, and I do not want to kill you because you are useful.” Language both understood well enough. The posture of Aeron relaxed a touch, and that pleased Arthur quite a bit. The entrancement was working. He wouldn't need to worry about the man flying off the handle now.

“How so?”

“I need the Harper funds, and you need a clean slate.” Arthur stood, “I can give you that fresh start. Have you heard of UNIT?”

“Yes,” he’d heard of them, but he didn’t know much except to know they were a powerful organization.

“I have men inside UNIT I can put to use in cleaning your name, if you will give me the Harper funds.”

“Don’t!”

“They aren’t mine to give,” Aeron noted. “They’re my father’s, and if you kill him—”

The man shook his head, “I have no intention of that,” he stated, “His life is in your hands,” Aeron didn’t understand the smile. “I will let him live. You just have to tell me if this is what you want…a fresh start.”

“Of course, but—”

Aeron’s back was slammed hard against the wall, the speed and strength of the other unexpected. “Let’s see what you want more,” it whispered in his ear, “Your father’s life, or that chance.” He wanted to protest that it was his father, but his shout became a gasp as fangs dug into his neck. It was only painful for a second. Then, it was pleasurable. His desire to escape the embrace of other faded with that sensation, and instead he tilted his head up, moved it to expose more of his neck to his attacker.

He felt himself getting weaker, but he didn’t care. He let his knees bend, and his attacker slowly moved him down, too, never releasing its hold on his neck. He was certain he was going to die, and in fact, he did for a moment, vision going black.

He was woken from death by the taste of blood on his tongue. His eyes saw again, and he jolted up out of the arms of Arthur.

All he wanted was more blood, and his eyes settled on the bloody figure of his father. He didn’t recognize him as that, then. He just recognized the scent of blood, and his desire for it overcame all other thoughts. He lunged at the prone man, and instinct took over. His new set of fangs allowed him to rip into his own father’s throat and start to feast. It wasn’t half as clean as Arthur’s feeding—quite the opposite.

When he had enough to think of anything besides sustenance, Aeron saw what he’d done. He recoiled from the mangled body and looked up to see Arthur had returned to the desk and kicked his shoes up on it, “I thought this was what you’d pick.”

“I didn’t—you tricked me!” Aeron rose to his feet, “What did you do to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Arthur asked, but explained. “You are a vampire now, a very rare, and very special kind.”

Aeron’s stared blankly, helplessly. He could hardly believe what he’d done, and looked back down at his father, “You made the choice, Aeron. This is what you want. I chose you because you are special. I could see that all you needed was a chance, and the means. With your father gone, you inherit everything.”

Aeron nodded, once.

“I have a place for you in the world, too. You will work closely with UNIT and ensure their doings slide under the radar of others. You will become very familiar with this new world you’ve entered in to,” he stood then, “I’ve felt it. 2009, I saw it.”

“Felt what?”

He smiled, “You don’t remember, but there was an event here that effected every human in 2009. You may think it a dream. What happened does not matter, so much as the consequences of that action. There have been cracks throughout time and space. I need to know more, and you have the skills, the funds, and the ambition.” A crooked grin, “As you just demonstrated.”

He was going to rub that in for as long as he could, until it no longer bothered Aeron. He knew that day would come, too. That day worried him a bit. He thought it would be centuries off, though. Besides, he had centuries on Aeron as it was. The man wouldn't overpower him. He'd serve his use, and he'd be killed. Arthur had done this before. This wouldn't be any different. Aeron would be dependent on him, and then grateful. When rebellious thoughts returned, he'd be discarded.

He didn’t know that the shock and regret of the action was already starting to fade. Aeron looked down again at his father’s corpse, and considered how much this did benefit him—the funds. He could buy his record clean and not have to work for it. He should have killed his father sooner.

Aeron looked back up. “You will explain to me why these cracks are important to you?”

“In time,” Arthur rose. He crossed the floor to where Aeron remained standing. “In time, you will understand the heritage you have been brought in to,” he clapped a hand on Aeron’s shoulder, as if they were friends. The look Aeron gave the hand suggested otherwise—that Arthur were beneath him, still.

He would use him, though, and he did. Arthur taught him the tricks of the trade, brought him up in society again and gained him contacts within UNIT. Torchwood was much harder to infiltrate, given how small it was. Still, he kept tabs on it. In a year, Aeron murdered Arthur. It wasn’t revenge so much as principal. The man lost his use; Aeron needed the power Arthur wielded, and he didn’t want to play along with Arthur’s game.

Given, he liked some of it, but simply going to another universe wasn’t what Aeron had in mind.

Aeron understood that the universe had almost been destroyed in 2009 by a major breach. 

What that breach did was open up cracks throughout time and space. There was power to be gained from utilizing these cracks, but more than that—Arthur spoke of a universe that was a vampire’s ‘home’, where they were truly the dominate species and did not need to hide. Aeron wanted to find it, and break open the crack separating this universe from that. Two universes to rule was better than one, after all.

He studied the rifts. He studied alien technology. He kept an eye on UNIT and Torchwood.

The day Angelus Porter joined Torchwood, though, was one of the happiest days of Aeron’s life.

It was going to be delightful when he met him once more. He couldn’t wait to show Angelus how much had changed. He even let the restraining order expire. He had no reason to fear Angelus anymore now. Angelus was a brute, yes—but Aeron was stronger now.

He’d have his revenge on Angelus, and then on Maya. She would understand how wrong her choice had been. ‘Three years.’ Karma did have a wonderful way of making up for the hell he’d endured for three years.

[Krystal Itzume]

Legacy

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll never play with the same skill as before, Lina.”

The doctor left the woman after trying to explain the situation and getting no reaction from the red-head. Cyrus sat in the room with her, and didn’t speak, either. Lina stared at the wall, her hands resting in her lap. They looked bad, still. Black blisters, red skin.

Cyrus did speak, “We need to schedule a surgery, Lina.”

No response.

“You have to get it treated.”

“What’s the point?” She inquired, looking up from her hands to the black-haired man who had fared so much better than her. “My life is over, Cyrus.”

“No, no it isn’t,” he rose to his feet and walked to her, “Dear,” he reached for her hands, but she drew them back, curled her fingers as much as she could. “It isn’t over.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Lina demanded, glaring up at him, his darker eyes soft and warm, pleading with her to have hope.

“You can teach,” he suggested, “You can—”

“Teach?” She seemed repulsed by the idea, “Teach, so I can watch someone get better than myself, so I can suffer seeing someone else play every single day? I can't! I loved this...I loved playing...I couldn't stand it.” She moved off the hospital bed to stand, “This is your fault!”

He knew it wasn’t, but he accepted it anyway, “I know. I’m sorry, Lina. I knew how much you hated the cold,” he looked down at his shoes, “I shouldn’t have made you try skiing. I’m sorry, Lina,” he swallowed, “If I had known, we never would have left the lodge. We would have just…stayed all day in the hot tub with hot chocolate. No, we would have gone to Cancun. Somewhere warm.”

He shrugged his shoulders and looked back up, “But we’re here, Lina. We can’t go back in time.”

Her eyes watered, a much paler green than Cyrus’s. They were colder, too. They wanted him to find a way to fix it, to make time travel possible, to do anything. He shook his head, though, “There’s still a lot of life left.” He approached then and reached for her hands, and this time, he was able to catch both, “There’s still a lot we can do. Lots of things we can see. You always wanted to write, didn’t you?” His fingers moved over hers, caressed them gently.

She sniffed, “Oh yes,” bitterness, “I can write with these hands,” she tried to pull them away but he applied just enough pressure so they couldn’t slip away from him. His thumb paused over her right ring finger. She looked away then.

Her wedding band and engagement ring were both gone. “I took them off in the snow. It was so…cold. I thought they were in my pocket. I'm sorry, Cy.”

Cyrus stepped closer and brought both of her hands to his chest, holding them close, keeping them as warm as he could. “I’ll get you a new one. Better one,” he promised.

It seemed to amuse her, “From where?” Her eyes lifted, “You don’t make anything.”

“I can save money.” He promised as he brought that hand up to his lips, and he kissed the finger, “I saved for a long time to get those. I can do it again. I’ll take care of everything, Lina.” It would be a struggle, he knew. Lina had been the primary breadwinner with her ability to play multiple instruments. He knew it was going to be hard for her, not being able to continue professionally playing. The frostbite had done a number on her extremities.

An avalanche occurred while she was out skiing. He and Lina were too far apart—he hadn’t been as buried as her. She had been near enough to a cave that it saved her life, but it was ending a chapter of her life. He wished he’d listened to her and gone to Cancun for their honeymoon instead, but he thought the snow and the cold were just so pretty, and her fiery hair always stood out in it, making her prettier in his eyes.

“It’s gonna be all right,” he promised. “You’ll see.” He moved one of his hands to wrap around her shoulders, now that she was close enough. She stepped forward with it, leaned her form against his chest and just let herself be held.

“I guess, maybe,” she considered, “maybe we could start a family now,” she said, “I won’t have to travel so much anymore.”

He smiled, and she looked up at that. “Oh, was this your evil plan the entire time?” He had wanted a family.

He shook his head, “No,” but the smile didn’t vanish, “I never wanted this, dear, but…I do think, if it is what you want, if you’re ready, then we could, yes. You’d be a good mother.”

She sighed at the thought, another brewing in her mind. She didn’t really like the idea of children, but that was when her life had been her career. Now that she thought of it, though, if she couldn’t have a career in music it didn’t mean her skills had to go to waste. She could teach. She could teach her own children, and have her legacy live on through them. Wasn’t that what her father wanted? A continuing legacy of musicians…now she saw the appeal.

“I’ll think of it,” she said. “We should…we should get the surgeries all scheduled.”

Cyrus nodded, but didn’t move or let her go to do so. Instead, they just stood in that room for several more minutes, both contemplating a very new future and adventure together, and neither expecting how it would turn out.

Their first child, Maya Porter, named for a quality they hoped she would have--generosity. In the end, though, she claimed another meaning. She claimed to be an illusion, and told her mother she had never existed before storming out.

No words would ever hurt worse than those to Lina, who saw her error but did not swallow her pride.

The second child, Angelus Porter, was meant to be an angel--he was meant to sing as one, to play as one, but he, too, twisted the meaning. If he was an angel, he was one of the fallen, or else a militant one. He rebelled, he never sang, and he flew from the nest the second he could.

[Krystal Itzume]

Stradivarius

New town, new start. Such was the theory, anyway, but Maya found her thoughts trapped in the past. Her fingers turned a ring around and around. White-gold. Diamond. ‘Told him I didn’t like diamonds.’ Too colorless. Didn’t matter to him. He had to show off, though, and waste money on a gem that wasn’t even all that rare. ‘If he wanted to impress me, he should have gotten a red beryl.’ That wasn’t the gem she preferred, though. Emeralds, those were what she liked, but those weren't appropriate gems.

She was thinking of picking herself up just such a thing, a necklace perhaps, something she could keep around as her own reminder of a fresh start. She’d trade the ring for it.

Such was the plan as she pushed open the glass door into the pawn shop. She was met with an assortment of items, but what immediately stood out to her was the item on the glass counter.

It was a violin, and not just any violin. ‘That isn’t…that isn’t possible.’

Her steps drew her forward immediately, and she reached out to check the neck of the violin. It was worn, but the maker’s seal was still there. A 1700 stradivarius, made by Antonio. She brushed her thumb over that seal, disbelief gripping her. She released it, though, when she heard footsteps. She stepped back and straightened up as an older man entered the room. “I thought I heard the bell.” He smiled at her. “What can I do for you?”

“I…I came here to sell my ring,” she pulled it off her finger and placed it on the counter.

The man picked it up, turned it over and looked it over, whistled, “You must be really hard up.”

“Not really,” Maya shook her head. “Actually, I was wondering…could I just trade the ring for the violin?” He blinked, looked at her, “I had to do a hasty move. I left my instrument back home, and it’s far away.”

The man looked back down at the ring. It was evident in his eyes that he was making up a story for why a young woman with an expensive ring would have to make a quick move. He felt sympathy.

He looked down at the violin, indeed unaware of its worth. It had just been brought in, and he’d bought it rather cheaply off its previous owner. He imagined he was making a deal. “Sure,” he said, “It’s yours.”

Maya reached for it, slower than she wanted to. It wasn’t true; her violin was one of the things she managed to grab before leaving, but she hadn’t been able to grab much. Her stuff had been split between Aeron’s house and her mother’s, and she’d left neither on good terms.

Even so, she couldn’t pass this up. If it was genuine, it would be worth a fortune. Maya would never sell it, though. A Stradivarius would be worth keeping. Worth being buried with.

Maya took it, and its case, and left the pawn shop feeling quite a bit lighter. She walked back to the apartment she was calling home. She lived with Angelus and Andrew, and both appeared to be out right then. So, she took the opportunity to sneak into her room and take the violin out of its case. “Let’s see if the rumors are true.”

She’d heard Stradivarius instruments before, but never been allowed to play one. The music that came from them was remarkable in comparison to others.

She began to play it, and tuned it accordingly. It was a bit out of tune, no doubt out of practice. ‘When was the last time you were played?’ She eventually got it tuned properly, and so she actually began to play a song, one she had memorized. She never heard Angelus return.

“Where did you get that new instrument?”

Maya spun around immediately, stared at Angelus in surprise. He smiled. “You still play well,” he complimented.

Maya swallowed back a comment, set the violin aside, figuring she didn’t need to answer Angelus’s question right then. Another day, perhaps. Right now it was still difficult to believe it was genuine. She needed to get this confirmed. “Andrew and I are going to check out a new bar. Do you want to come?” He invited.

Maya shook her head, offered, “Jasmine is coming over,” it was true. Jasmine had also been the one to direct her to get rid of the ring. She wanted to make sure that was done.

“Ah,” Angelus seemed satisfied with that. “All right. I’ll try to be back by 2 or so,” he informed.

“Have fun,” Maya returned with a nod, accepting his departure and planned return time. With that, Angelus left her room and was gone. She looked back down at the violin and smiled to herself, reached out for it again. As much as she’d tried to convince herself she didn’t want to play anymore, she knew it wasn’t true.

This might have been forced on her, but there was peace and solace in playing the instrument. When she played, it seemed like all the problems of the world melted away. It had always been that way, even when she was practicing for competitions, or in them. She was actually certain that was how she was able to continue on. The act itself relieved stress. The act itself let her forget her life was nothing but a façade. An illusion of life.

‘But now….’

She put the violin back in its case and shut it. ‘That’s right.’ She was supposed to be making her own life now. She was supposed to be figuring out everything. ‘I can’t do that if I’m in the past.’ The violin was the past to her. She moved it off her bed and kicked off her shoes—tennis shoes, even though she’d wanted to wear heels, and she laid down on the twin bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maya hadn’t intended to sleep, but the next thing she knew, there was a knock at the door. She all but jumped out of the bed and rushed to the door to find Jasmine there. She was wet, and a crack of thunder revealed the reason why. “Well, took you long enough!” Jasmine said as she stepped in, handed Maya a bag of dvds, “I picked those up, but I had to rush. The weather looks like it’s going to get bad.”

“Is it?” Maya asked, taking the bag and then walking to the television. She turned it on and shifted through the channels as Jasmine removed her coat and placed it over a chair. She then turned to close and lock the door. “Huh. Tornado watch.”

Jasmine glanced sidelong at Maya, before shaking her head. Maya hadn’t reacted to much, she shouldn’t expect Maya to react to a potential tornado in any other way, but it did bother her. She’d been binging on horror movies, too, as if she was seeking fear.

Jasmine wouldn’t be wrong, either. Maya couldn’t explain it, but she was seeking fear, some jolt to remind her she was alive. After the emotional rollercoaster that was leaving London, she hadn’t felt much but pangs of sorrow and regret. Maya turned away from the television and picked up the bag, beginning to sort through the dvds as Jasmine walked down the hall, “Are the boys here?” She was already moving to peak into the shared room.

“No, they went out to a new bar,” Maya answered. She wasn’t satisfied with the selection. “Anything Japanese?” Those were usually at least more interesting. Their idea of horror was different enough that it was almost frightening. It stood more of a chance than Leprechaun.

“No, we watched all of them already.”

She smirked, as if proud of the accomplishment. “What is this?” Jasmine spoke aloud and Maya saw she’d stepped into her room. She immediately dropped the bag of dvds on the couch and darted into her room. Jasmine stepped further in, the violin case now open. “Maya,” there was awe in her voice. She, too, recognized the age and soon, the mark, “Where did you…how did you get this?”

‘Truth or lie?’

Maya knew how impossible the truth sounded, so instead she lied. There was no reason to lie, but for some reason, she did, “Crossroads. Devil. The usual.”

Jasmine put a hand on her hip. “Maya.”

“I blackmailed Aeron into buying me it.”

Still a frown. Maya remembered why that lie wouldn't work. “I stole it.”

Before Jasmine could inquire further, Maya’s phone rang. She walked back into the living room to answer it, “Hello?” Angelus, of course. “We’re in a tornado watch.” She answered his query, double-checking to make sure it was nothing else. “Jasmine and I are going to watch horror movies.” Well, now he’d be around. At least Ange wasn’t squeamish about horror movies. Andrew was another story.

His question was expected just because of that. “I dunno, Leprechaun in the Hood seems pretty serious.” Jasmine laughed at that. “It is a thing, yes.” She glanced to Jasmine as she continued to chuckle. “There are some serious ones. A couple don’t look too bad.” Then he mentioned a friend. She frowned. “And who is this friend?”

His description was not what she expected. Her baffled expression caused Jasmine to raise an eyebrow. She was silent when his description was done, and then sighed. “Bring hot chocolate and snacks.” It was permission, and he answered as was expected. Love, and a hang up. Maya rolled her eyes and set the phone down. “Ange is bringing a friend.”

“Is he? Who?”

“An underage kid who tried to hook up with Andrew.”

“Oh ho!” Jasmine looked quite intrigued. “This I want to see!” Maya didn’t look thrilled. “I won’t let this friend bother you if that’s what you want.”

She smiled, gave a weak nod. She wasn’t exactly planning to be social that day. She hadn’t built up her usual façade. “I’m going to put on some real clothes.”

“You’re gonna tell me about that Strad, Maya.”

Maya shut the door with, “Already did!” And then began to strip out of the clothes she’d slept in to dress in something a bit nicer. Appropriate for meeting a ‘friend’ of Angelus, anyway.

She never did tell Jasmine just how she got the Stradivarius, nor anyone for that matter. It was too much fun keeping it a secret.

[Krystal Itzume]

Nothing's Fair In Love

“I can’t do this.”

The siblings sat in the car borrowed from Jasmine, in the parking lot of a café in London. “I know,” he said, “We should have picked a bar instead. Easier to do these things drunk.”

Maya scowled and tossed Angelus a dirty look. Angelus kept his attention forward. “Mom isn’t there.” He could see through the window to where their father was sitting. “I’m coming with you. If she is there, we’ll leave. If Aeron’s there,” it was a subtle stiffening, the wince caught before it could truly manifest. “we’ll leave. If dad pressures you to talk to mom, we’ll leave. You have to go in and talk to him, though.”

It wasn’t truly their father she was angry with, though Angelus knew she was angry at him. He understood it, he’d be angry in her shoes. “At least give him a chance.”

Maya turned her head to the side and glared out that window. Angelus knew she wasn’t comfortable, and it wasn’t just because of this. In an effort to show she was not the same woman who stormed out, she opted to wear clothes that she wasn’t comfortable in—casual attire, tennis shoes, jeans, and a t-shirt. No heels. No dresses. No elegance. She wanted to be as far from the woman she used to be in meeting her father again to prove a point.

Angelus knew it wasn’t her. She had only just come to terms with the fact she did like all those things. She was trying to mimic him, though.

It was with a sigh and quick movements that she left the car, unbuckling and throwing the door open. Angelus unbuckled himself just as she slammed the door shut and walked forward. She reached the door to the café just as he exited the car and shut his own door. He didn’t jog to catch up. He walked, keeping his own cool even though he was worried.

If this blew up, he knew there’d be no hope of Maya ever establishing a relationship with their parents again.

Heads turned to Maya when she walked in, if only because she wasn’t hiding her anger at all. It was in each stride forward and in the posture she kept. Head up, hands balled into fists, and a beeline right to where her father sat. She didn’t speak a word as she gracefully slipped into a chair across from him, and crossed her arms over the circular table. Her eyes should have bored a hole into him. She didn’t blink, and saw Angelus out of the corner of her eye go to order drinks.

Maya waited.

It was in that silence, in that glare, that Cyrus Porter realized what he said to Angelus had been true. He did not know Maya, for this was not what he expected. He was not prepared for the fury he saw in her eyes. He couldn’t smile, though he said, “I’m happy to see you.” He was not lying, either. Despite the rage that seemed focused on him, he was happy to see her. “I…I’ve been worried about you.”

No words. Silence. ‘Fine time to start that.’

Angelus continued waiting for the drinks from afar. Cyrus felt awkward under the stare. “I’ve missed you, Maya. I’ve wanted to talk to you, but Ange said to wait. I would have reached out sooner,” he wasn’t sure if it was helping his case. She wasn’t reacting. She was just staring.

‘I wish he hadn’t told me. I wish he hadn’t arranged this.’

 “I didn’t know, swear to God I didn’t know.”

‘But you do now.’

“If I had known, I never—I would have never let him lay a hand on you.”

‘But you do now.’

“He’s not doing well now.” He wanted any sort of reaction, “Found out he lost his job. Home. I went by it one day…I wasn’t…well, I wasn’t feeling too rational that day. He wasn’t there, thank the Lord.”

‘My doing.’ Maya would have smirked, but it would break this mask, and she didn’t want to break it. Silence and seething hatred could make a person talk and babble so well, and she liked how frustrated her father seemed to be getting. His face was getting red the more he talked.

“I heard you’re doing all right in Bristol. I heard you…you’re doing a lot of freelance work.”

‘Maybe.’

“Have you been well?” He finally tried a direct question. Maya made no response, and her father fidgeted, anger starting to rise now. “Maya, please, talk to me. If there’s anything I can do now to help—”

It came without a warning, unblinking and deadly serious, “Why are you still with Lina?”

He was taken aback, “She’s my wife. She’s your mother,” his voice raised a bit at that. He was annoyed with Maya's use of 'Lina'. “She made a mistake, but—”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Maya canted her head. She didn’t notice Angelus staying back with the drinks, sipping his and watching from afar. “A ‘mistake’.”

He sighed, “I know you’re angry with her,” he acknowledged, “But yes, it was a mistake. For her. She thinks…she’s a little…well,” he found it difficult to explain under Maya’s gaze. When he was with Lina, it all made sense to him. He understood his wife, he knew why she’d acted so foolishly and why she continued it. “She only wanted the best for you, she just thought that her best would be your best, too.”

“So Lina thought herself a worthless musician who could only ever achieve fame by marrying an abusive man? That was her ‘best’?”

“No!” He shot back immediately. “She just…it was a shortcut that she saw, that’s—”

“Ah yes, because the scenic route of earning a place in the spotlight by my own merits and not because I’m fucking a lawyer with connections would have taken far too long.”

“Maya—”

“Why are you with the bitch who condoned your daughter’s abuse?!” Her voice raised. Her knuckles were white as crescent moons carved themselves into her palms. Some heads turned, but Maya took no notice of them. “Why?” Tears stood out in her eyes, fell.

“I love her, and we’ve talked about it. She knows that I am upset about what she did, but it can’t be taken back, Maya.”

“Does she know it was wrong?”

Cyrus took a breath, “She still tries to justify it. She saw a future for you, with a career, with money, without all the worries she had. She’s wrong—”

“Does she admit it?”

“…No.”

It was that answer which solidified everything for her. Her mother refused to acknowledge what she did was wrong, and he stayed with her—accepted her behavior. Maya stood. “Maya, wait.”

“I didn’t want to come here,” she reminded, voice as hard as she could make it. “I tried to tell Angelus that I just wanted the good memories of you, when you were ignorant, but now….” Now they were tainted. She shook her head, not explaining any further, as she turned heel and walked. She’d wait by the car for hours if she had to.

Angelus was not long after, though. He took both drinks, walked by Cyrus, and out to the car where Maya waited. “Let’s go.”

“No,” he said. He offered her a cup, but she didn’t immediately accept it. Seconds passed of him holding it out before she snatched it from him, and then held it close, trapping the warmth under her hands. “Are you going to do that to me?” Her face showed confusion. “I’m not abandoning them, Maya. I’m keeping in touch with mom and dad, and I’m gonna continue it. Is that going to cause you to walk out on me, too?”

She shook her head. “So why dad? He didn’t have shit to do with what happened to you. He didn't know, you know, like I didn't.” That still irked him, too.

“He’s staying with her,” she said, “He’s staying with her even though she won’t admit she was wrong.”

“Mom’s stubborn,” he said, “And I bet she does, deep down. He knows that. She just can’t admit she was wrong.”

“No, better to insult her daughter’s talent and promote domestic abuse.”

“Maya.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“No, but you’re being an asshole.”

She took a sip of the drink. Earl Grey. She didn’t respond. “He loves you.”

“So did Aeron.”

“For fuck’s—,” Angelus cut himself off, turned his head and let the mental stream of curses continue before saying, snapping his gaze back to Maya, “He lied.”

“Maybe dad is.”

He really wanted to shake her. The anger was blinding her, but he wasn’t letting her just walk. “You don’t believe that,” he said instead. “You know he loves you. He loves mom, too. Love makes a person do stupid things—you know that better than anyone.” Maya averted her gaze then to the parking lot. “You don’t walk out on someone because they’re making poor decisions with their love life. I didn’t abandon you. Jasmine didn’t. Andrew didn’t.” There it was, there were the words he needed. He saw how uncomfortable she was becoming. “That is your father, and he needs you.”

He could tell she wanted to argue. However, her words were halted when Cyrus exited the café. He had seen them talking, and thought to surrender to keep Angelus out of trouble. He could wait another year, another decade, until Maya learned to forgive him for the fact he wasn’t leaving Lina. “I’m sorry,” he said to both of them, and Maya looked from the parking lot to him. “I am, I don’t want you to fight. I’m going to go home. Maya…I hope one day we can talk again.” He looked to Angelus then, “It was good to see you, Angelus.”

He nodded, “Yeah. I’ll see you soon.” He offered, the one comfort he could offer.

Cyrus accepted that with a small smile. He started to walk off, but the sound of steps following him caused him to pause and look back. “What is—” He stopped talking when Maya wrapped one arm around him. He didn’t immediately return the embrace, not sure if he ought to. He was stunned by it. His eyes darted to Angelus, and he simply shrugged. He had no answers for Maya’s action. What he said must have gotten to her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, “I’m mad at you,” she said, “but I love you.” She shut her eyes, and repeated that again and again. It was true. She didn’t know how long she’d be mad at him for supporting Lina, but she did love him. She would find a way to keep him in her life, even if she didn’t agree with him.

He let out a sigh, relieved, and almost laughed. He hesitantly wrapped one arm around her, “It’s ok, sweetie,” he said. “It’s ok.”

[Krystal Itzume]

No Apologies.

“How is Maya doing?”

Cyrus hated that question, and he hated the answer that always followed. He stood awkwardly in his buttoned up shirt and dress pants. It wasn’t too formal, but he had never grown accustomed to the world his wife wanted to live in. They were here to support one of Lina’s piano students. She had started to branch out and teach others when Maya entered college, and no longer needed Lina.

Now, it was all Lina had. “She is doing well!” Lina lied easily, her eyes lighting up on command. She, too, could have been an actress. “She’s loving Paris, and from what she tells me, she is doing very well in her courses.”

“How soon until she returns here to London?”

Lina laughed, “I’m not sure she ever will, not to live. She’s found a nice man in Paris,” Lina beamed with pride. It couldn’t be hidden that Maya and Aeron had broken up. Of course, Lina spoke of it is a mutual thing. Aeron couldn’t deal with the life of travel ahead of him. Amicable. Understanding.

It had been anything but. “I think she wants to stay there.”

“That’s delightful!” The other woman took one of Lina’s hands in her two hands. “You can take vacations to Pari!”

Lina nodded, enthusiastic, living her lie in her imagination. “I know!”

Cyrus averted his gaze, lifted his drink to his lips and wished it tasted better. He hated wine. It tasted decayed. Rotted. Still, he drank it with the hope he might find this place tolerable. He knew he wouldn't. He could only drink one glass. He was the driver, after all.

It had been four years since Lina and Maya spoke to each other. He hadn’t spoken of how angry he was over their silence to either, not since three years ago when he finally saw Maya again. Fortunately, his anger wasn’t noticed, or else, not commented on as the reception after the recital went on. He was able to stay quiet and just follow Lina around, until at last they were able to leave.

Lina looked to be walking on cloud nine, though Cyrus knew it was a lie. It would all come crashing down the second they got back home, and she remembered Maya wasn’t in France. Sometimes, Cyrus thought Lina believed her lie.

She was looking worse for wear. Age, of course, was one factor, but she stressed more and more each day, trying to carve her legacy into others. Her fingers had become more skeletal, and she had lost weight over the years. Gaunt was the best word to describe her—she was no pretty waif. Her hair always seemed frizzy now, and her eyes had constant bags.

Of course, she hid it with make-up. She was a master at that. Her clothing always fit well, and hid what she needed it to. Tonight, all of that was hidden, except at the ankles, at the wrists, areas she couldn’t seem to mask. She was gorgeous in public, and Cyrus still thought her beautiful—but he hated the decay he was seeing, and couldn’t fix.

He took the driver’s seat as Lina took the passenger’s. “Let’s go home,” she said with a tired smile.

Cyrus gave a nod, “We will,” the smile became confused, “Hun, can we stop lying about Maya and Angelus now?” Her nose wrinkled. She straightened up in the seat, quick as a cat could arch it back in fear.

“No one is ever going to know. I see no harm in it.”

He breathed in slow, spoke it out, “I do,” he answered, “You keep denying what happened, and your…that is, I think it would do you good if you admitted what happened, and tried to talk to Maya again.” She was talking with Angelus.

Her response was sharp. Cold. “I will when she apologizes.”

Cyrus’s look was dull, unimpressed, “For what?”

“For throwing her life away, and all our hard work. I didn’t have to help her. If she wanted to be like Angelus, she shouldn’t have wasted my time by pretending to be interested in all those things.”

“She is interested in all those things! She’s still playing the violin.”

“Really?” Disbelief. “I haven’t heard of her. I haven’t heard of her as an actress, either, nor as a dancer. Seems she isn’t serious about it.” She turned her head away from Cyrus. “I want to go home. I don’t want to talk about Maya.”

“I want you to talk to her, Lina,” he said, “She misses you.”

“I don’t miss her.” Lina did, of course. She missed Maya. She wanted to see her daughter again, but she was still hurt by her daughter. The way Maya stormed out left its mark. “She was never real, remember?” She spat that sentence, foul-tasting as it was. “So it doesn’t matter what I say of her. She is not real.”

“You know damn well she just said that to hurt you. She didn't mean half of what she said.”

“Well, it worked.” Lina shot him a glare, “So when she’s ready to apologize for wasting my time, I’ll consider talking to her.”

Cyrus bit the inside of his cheek. He’d tried convincing Maya to talk to Lina on her own, too, but she said similar things. She was waiting for an apology to even humor it, and at that she guaranteed nothing. Lina, too, had hurt her deeply.

‘Love becomes hate.’ Someone had told him that, once. Deep passions could never be replaced, only changed. They compared it to energy to have it make sense to him. “Is it worth it?” He found himself asking, not meaning to.

The answer was simple, “Yes.”

‘Pride doesn’t leave when one falls.’ A truth he’d always known with his wife. It was inspiring most of the time, the way she clung to her social graces and her dignity, the way she could control a room when she wanted to. It came from being unshakeable, stubborn.

So she would remain unshakeable on the topic of Maya. Maya had to come to her, and act the repentant vassal to her Queen. It would never happen, either. Maya had inherited too much of her mother for it to happen.

It still made him sad. “All right,” he turned the key, “We’ll go home then.” And Maya would be in France to everyone he ever spoke with, now with a boyfriend, and probably one day with kids. They’d have fake grandchildren. A fake legacy. "I would have taken you to see her. You know, in Bristol." Not Paris. He saw her tense out of the corner of his eye, growing more angry with him. He held off on saying anymore. It would only lead to a more serious fight, and he wouldn't win it. No one would.

He sniffed, and was grateful for the night that hid his tears. By the time they arrived home, they wouldn’t be visible any longer. 

[Bleu]

SNEAKING A PEEK

The sky had not pierced through the glooming clouds all week, though the gods of weather had been kind enough to stall the rain from falling during the match. The bastards only tempted to pour inches of water upon them, but they hadn’t quite delivered. Nearly seventy minutes into the game and not a single drop touched the muddy earth. The crowd, though loaded with umbrellas, was generally happy about that.

The field was large, with the buildings of the Science Academy merely looking like adornments to the masterpiece that was the sports area of the campus. The London Academy of Science was a prestigious school, especially in their academic endeavors, but their sports department had been recently refunded and endorsed by a wealthy ex-alumni. In exchange for having a new gym named after the proud and equally silly man, he was happy to write a check for the school.

What resulted was an ambitious sports program, with enough connections (and money) to begin a long and prosperous reign over the other English Academies. The President of the school could not have been more thrilled.

On that very important day, even the most resistant of professors had decided to show up to the game. They were seated on the lower bleachers, spectacled and eager to support their students. Many of them carried ‘Bukater’ banners – a sign of their allegiance to a certain someone. Above and all around them sat a multitude of people wearing either red or green – divided by their color, the pride of each team they supported.

With the cold it even felt like it could be Christmas time. A very gloomy Christmas, anyway.

Donovan, who had thrice been on the varsity team, was now the captain of the Academy’s football team and was leading his mates to another successful year. This was the second game against their competitors, the Academy of Medicine, and they were up by three goals. If they won this match, then they would win the championship for the third year running.

It was this reputation and recognition that lured scouts from all sorts of universities to look for potential students, those that could take their departments to the top, and perhaps even go international. They looked to the field, no longer carrying their notes and cameras. They knew who they wanted. Everyone knew it, so there was no point in pretending at that point of the chase.

It was Donovan Bukater, and even his own team mates looked to him – green with jealousy. The kid was a star, in everything he chose to do. Football, clearly, was no exception. In fact, many believed that despite his talents elsewhere, football was the thing where the kid could really find a future in.

Donovan had been trying really hard not to think about the scouts as he ran across the field, but when all the people dressed in red cheered for him, he couldn’t help but sneak a peek. Sneaking a peek was never a good idea. Ever. Every time he did, Donovan hoped that he would see Laura in the midst of them all, wearing his old jersey as she had many times before, but she never showed. He missed her and she missed him, so why couldn’t she just get over her pride and come and see him? She knew how much this meant to him, and still she kept away from him. Donovan had stopped counting and lost faith.

The only familiar faces on the bleachers were those of his parents. And Kyle. Kyle was there, too. He was the only mate who visited him these days.

A fierce blow of the whistle indicated that the other team had gone offside, and so the red team now had possession of the ball. The midfielders kept possession and passed the ball to Donovan, a forward.  He zigzagged across the field, twisting, turning, and fooling the other team’s defense until it was only him and the keeper across him. Donovan faked a left, and then kicked. The football found the back of the net, and the crowd cheered like they had all game long.

Another goal.

The players in green hung their shoulders in what closely resembled defeat. At this point, no one was cheering for them. It would be in poor taste if they did, and it was getting sad. The game was won, and now all they could do was wait for the match to end.

It could not have come soon enough. All the adrenaline that Donovan felt throughout the game was gone. He was no longer the vibrant team captain that had dominated the field just minutes ago, but a player who was getting bored of kicking around a dumb ball. This wasn’t who he was. He hated this version of himself, and he blamed Laura and her absence for it. Donovan loved her, and he hated her at the same time. It was the thought of her that soured the poor boy. All the memories he shared with her were poison.

He felt suddenly heavy, as if he were being pulled by harsher gravity, as if he had weights dragging him down to the floor. Bright eyes scanned the bleachers one last time.

Another whistle and the game ended. Donovan smiled to his teammates who slapped his back with their hand, though he knew they weren’t all too happy with him. They had the championship, and that was worth celebrating, but they were clearly overshadowed by their captain. They hugged, huddled, cheered, but still they held it against him.  What was Donovan supposed to do, though? Make himself small in order to make them feel better? Tank his performance even if it meant losing the scouts’ offers?

Donovan wouldn’t do that, but could he ignore the subtle backhanded comments his teammates made to him?

“You could have saved me a couple of goals, mate,” said a teammate, half joking.

“You’ll be scoring all the goals next year when I’m gone,” said Donovan and the boy beamed, which made the young captain want to frown. His presence would not be easily missed.

Donovan was almost out of the field when he felt a kick at his ankle, which made him flip and fall face down unto the ground. The young captain’s head slammed hard against the ground. His hands found the muddy grass, and he felt his palms push down and slip through the grass and into the moist mud. A sharp pain came from his nose, his hand absently reaching for it as he tried to rise. Donovan didn’t need to look at his hand to know that it was bleeding. It was likely broken.

“What the hell?!” The teammate sparked with anger, his hands turning quickly into fists.

“Get out of here, Marvin,” said another voice, cold as ice. “Go, now!”

Just as the boy had intended, Marvin did not linger.

Donovan had expected this kind of behavior from a member of the other team, but the voice was all too familiar for him. Luke Bellario. Donovan pushed through the pain from his ankle and rose, wiping away the mud that was scattered all across his face. His eyes were fierce and intense, though confused as to why his teammate had thought such an act was necessary.

“That isn’t funny, mate.” Donovan still hoped that Luke could be reasoned with.

“It was not my intention to be humorous, Don,” the boy spoke with disdain, cruel but still making light of the situation. The coach was on his way, as were some people from the bleachers, but it didn’t seem like Luke was on his own. People were actively trying to stop them – distractions and things of the sort. Things that wouldn’t jeopardize their spot on the team. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Luke smiled at this, though it was a mocking and arrogant gesture. “Oh nothing…not a thing, my man. My foot slipped, see?” The boy’s smile faded just as he gave another kick, more powerful than the last. Donovan moved to the side, but his ankle was threatening to betray him. He was able to dodge the blow, but only barely. Donovan had not the time to regain his balance before Luke tackled him to the ground.

Donovan waited until he fell on the floor before retaliating, using his arms to block the blows coming at him. His hands wrapped around Luke, pulling him into a tight hug before his knee found Luke’s groin in one jabbing movement. Once Luke squirmed in pain, Donovan kicked him off of him with his good foot. Noises from the sides indicated that their little altercation had not gone unnoticed.

“Take a walk, Luke.” Donovan spoke firmly as he rose, but the other would not listen.

“You stole my goals today, you piece of shit,” said Luke, also rising. Donovan looked at him in disbelief. “You think I don’t know what you were doing? You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Donovan shook his head and spoke, “That’s why you’re doing this? Because I scored more goals than you today? You would have missed if I’d passed the ball to you, mate.” It was pathetic. There was no reason for this to become a problem.

“Fucking liar,” sneered Luke. “I wouldn’t have missed. You just never gave me the chance to prove it.”

“Yes you would have. You would have either missed, or you were blocked. Besides, we won,” rationalized Donovan, “what does it matter? You should be happy.”

“You’re not taking my life,” he warned with wide eyes and clenched fists. It had always been Luke’s ambition to go professional in football. He hated Donovan because he wanted to be a scientist, and still he was better at football than him. Life could not be this unfair. “I didn’t want to say anything before,” he said, seriously, “but you don’t deserve what you get, Donovan. You just prance around, thinking you’re so much better than all of us. It makes all of us sick.”

“Take a walk, mate,” Donovan repeated with half a mind of walking away, already cooling off.

Luke fumed.

“I fucked your ex-girlfriend.”

Something collapsed inside of Donovan; a piece that had been previously broken but was meticulously put back together. It shattered. All over again. It wouldn’t have if it had been just a game – if he hadn’t peeked into the audience, hoping. It would have been just a low blow if he didn’t hate Laura in that moment. Now that he had made that mistake, there was no denying it. If he tried to stop it now, more would crumble. Donovan would be forced to relive the worst moments of his life.

Luke’s crooked smile was proof that he had gotten what he wanted. His triumph was shortly celebrated, however, for Donovan was soon on top of him, using his knees to pin down Luke’s arms and his forearm to push down on his neck. Donovan’s ankle wasn’t even hurting him in that moment.

“Say that again,” his breath was labored and his tone deadly serious, “I dare you.”

It was a lie. It had to be a lie. Laura would not have done that to him.

Then suddenly, Kyle was next to him, trying to gently pull him away from Luke. Ella and Clark were not far behind him, as well as the coach and several of the scouts. Donovan had not expected any of them, for some reason his surroundings had become irrelevant. As soon as Kyle reached to him, Donovan snapped his elbow back, accidentally breaking his mate’s nose just as his had been broken. Kyle did not stay away long, only groaning and cursing momentarily. He pushed through the pain and continued to try and pull Donovan away from Luke, who was now gagging.

“Mate,” Kyle said, surprisingly tame but still firm, “you broke my nose, you owe me. Come on.”

“Pull him off!” Said the couch, though he didn’t think that would work either. 

As soon as Kyle’s hand tightened around Donovan’s arm, the football player loosened his grip around Luke and let himself be pulled away. Luke’s arms cradled his stomach as he coughed, but still he had a smile on his lips.

“Bellario!” The coach spat, moving on to his lecture upon realizing that the two of them would be fine.

“You alright, mate?” Kyle asked as he and Donovan walked off of the field.

“Sweetheart,” Ella mirrored her own concern as her hands tried to reach Donovan’s bleeding nose. Donovan was grateful that his father had decided to stay quiet. “It’s not broken, thank heavens,” she confirmed to Donovan’s surprise.

“I’m fine,” Donovan seemed to have recovered his senses, but in truth he was just pretending. He was far from okay. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that. I know better.”

Kyle, of course, knew Donovan was lying but didn’t say anything in that moment. “I do think mine is broken,” said the actor; perhaps the attention needed to be directed elsewhere.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry!” Ella redirected her attention to Kyle, whom she hadn’t even acknowledged in her concern. “Yes,” she sighed, “it’s broken. We can take you to the hospital.”

“Sorry, mate.”

“It’s alright,” Kyle smiled, “I need more adventure in my life.” That also wasn’t true, but if it made people feel better.

“Mr. Bukater?”

Donovan turned to look at who was calling to him, surprised to see that it was a voice he did not recognize. It was a scout, young and confident, and Donovan could not hide his shock. Had he not thrown away all opportunities he might have had when he pursued Luke? When he very nearly strangled him to death?

Apparently not.

“How unfortunate to see such behavior in this most important football match,” he offered his hand for Donovan to shake, completely unbothered by the blood falling down Donovan’s bruising nose, “but they are inevitable, I should know. People will always be jealous of the best, and hey, we are only human. I very much liked what I saw today on that field, Mr. Bukater. We like to endorse men of passion, you see...”

“Excuse me,” said Clark, “but who are you?”

Both Kyle and Ella were wondering the same thing, and Donovan was still recovering from his shock.

“I’m so sorry,” said the scout, shaking hands with the rest with an easy smile. “My name is Beckett Damon, and I want to represent you, Donovan.” The scout placed a hand around Donovan’s shoulders, taking liberties that were not yet his. “Why don’t we take a walk?”
 

[Krystal Itzume]

Roses are Green, Rivers are Violet

“That isn't possible, no one could survive that.”
“Of course no one could survive it. Not without a little help.”
“River....”
“Oh, always blaming me! Think, Doctor. Think.”

And so, the Doctor did think. He figured it out eventually, too, though it baffled him how it all began. Paradoxes were funny that way, loops of events that couldn't happen without each other. Such had been this, a cycle put in motion when Maya met the Master, free of drums.

River knew that girl had made the Doctor so happy when he learned exactly what she'd done. He had been crushed too, with the thought that she'd died. Despite the fact he had companions who could look into the heart of the TARDIS, he didn't believe that somehow the Master's companion would prove to be resourceful.

Of course, it wasn't her alone. No, Maya had help, and River wouldn't deny being part of that. How could she not help the one who made her Doctor happy? 

River just couldn’t accept an unhappy ending.

Now it was time to say goodbye, though. It was one unhappy ending that River Song had to accept.

River knew it was goodbye. Maya hadn’t hidden it well in the meeting prior to this one. She had time to prepare, and though it hurt, she was almost grateful. She rarely knew when she was going to have to say goodbye to someone.

River had to pause as she walked down the hall. She’d exited the theater after Maya’s character died. It was Moulin Rouge—oh, how Maya had talked of Moulin Rouge! She never got to perform it in London, but in Bristol, yes. River drew the bouquet of flowers closer to her chest, smiled, and shook her head.

“Deep breath, River.” She told herself. A sharp nod. A smile and a laugh. She could feel the tears pricking her eyes.

She and the Doctor weren’t good at good byes.

Soon, there was the sound of footsteps as the actors and actresses exited to move towards the Green Room or more personal dressing rooms. She could hear the chatter, and she hurried her steps and turned the corner. “Maya!”

Maya turned her head, and River lifted her hand, put on smile and waved to her.

How she hated that look of utter confusion, but there was something else this time. Intrigue. It reminded her of Donovan’s curiosity. She had gotten so used to looks of suspicion that it was a treat. “I loved your performance,” she told her, “though I always have.” Maya would certainly just take it to mean that she’d seen other shows.

“Thank you,” Maya answered the praise politely.

River then extended the bouquet—green roses, “A little bird told me you liked green, and roses.”

Though the flowers had obviously been for her, Maya didn’t let her eyes truly light up until it was extended and made clear. She must not have wanted to get her hopes up. “They’re beautiful!” Maya said, “Who told you? Jasmine?”

River chuckled and shook her head. River had found it out in the course of getting to know Maya. Roses, always roses, even before she met Rose, and every color had a different meaning—and not the typical ones.

White was death.
Green was luck.

Oh, she’d said as much about that ring, too. Green. Her lucky ring, and how lucky it had been.

“Oh no, not Jasmine,” River said with a shake of her head. “I can’t reveal my sources.”

Maya pouted her lips, but wiped it away quickly when River smiled. It seemed sad. She wanted to remedy that immediately. “Would you like to go out? Tea, drinks?” River heard a desperation there, a longing. Maya was always good at reading people, and River guessed that, somewhere deep within, she knew they could be friends. Would be.

Were.

It just wasn’t time yet. “I have time.” Maya promised her. 

River shook her head, “Not this time,” she answered her, and with a new light in her eyes, she said, “Next time. Champagne?”

Maya smirked back, and seeing that flash of spirit was pleasing. “Sure. When would you like to meet?”

“Next time!” She said. River stepped back, “I’ll see you then, Maya.” She started to turn away.

“Wait!” Maya took a step forward. “What’s your name? How will I contact you?”

Sensible questions, with no sensible answers. “Spoilers. Wouldn’t want to ruin the future surprise, would you?”

River saw that look of irritation come across Maya’s face, but it vanished quickly. “Then, what’s your favorite color?”

Somehow that was a question Maya just asked, as if it were something important. She’d heard her ask the Doctor in that same way, too. “Violet,” River answered.

Maya nodded. “I’ll remember,” she said.

Maya did, too, the way River remembered her favorite color. “I know.” River told her, and left with a wave. She was able to turn away before the tears came.

[Krystal Itzume]

Blue Box of Sadness

The Doctor stood in the doorway of the TARDIS, a hand on his dear friend and his only home, while his other arm remained limp at his side. “I can’t, Doctor.”

He smiled. He always smiled. “Of course you can’t,” he concurred, “Quite right. Responsibilities here.” His hearts were breaking as he looked at the young woman. Chloe Li, a woman who had never been to China before him, though it was where her parents came from. 2011 was the year they met, but for her it was now 2012. They’d seen a kirin together, and done so much, but now she was leaving him. “I understand,” he didn’t. He never truly understood.

She smiled in turn, “I enjoyed it, Doctor. I’m going to miss you,” she told him. He nodded, swallowed words. “But I want to spend time with her, Doctor.” She motioned back towards the ranch-like house behind her. In front of him. “She doesn’t have much time left.”

“I know.” He couldn’t move out of the TARDIS. He couldn’t promise to heal her. It would be meddling in time to bring that sort of technology here. “Well, I best be off then,” he took a step to retreat into the TARDIS, to escape the woman abandoning him. “You know, big universe, things to do. Got to keep running.” His hand left the doorway to reach for the door, “I’ll see you around, Chloe.”

She couldn’t let him off that easy, though. She moved forward and pulled on the white shirt, before her hand managed to get around behind him and pull him into an embrace. “It’s not the last time, Doctor.”

‘You don’t know that.’ He wrapped an arm around her, too.

“We’ll see each other again.”

‘But you’ll be married, and you’ll have a family, and I won’t be able to share my life with you any longer. You’ll never be a part of my world again. You'll be moving too slow, and then you'll be gone.’ She wouldn’t miss him like he would miss her. She had people, the whole entirety of the human race, and he…

He had no one.

No one who was ever on the same wavelength as him, never on the same timeline as him. River was the closest thing, but every time he saw her, he knew they were never on the same time. He’d seen her die. He’d seen her ‘born’ as River, and met her as an infant. It was all scattered. Sometimes he saw her really young.

Sometimes she was complaining that he hadn’t taken her to the singing towers, when of course, he had.

He wanted to change every second of that day.

He waited until he felt her grip loosen, and then he let his. His arm dropped away and she stepped back from him. “Please visit.”

“Of course,” he was lying. He’d visit, but he wouldn’t be seen. He might not even be recognizable by then. “Have a good life, Chloe.” The smile came, and then it faltered. He would make sure her life was good, and that it was long, and that she never wanted for anything.

Perhaps she understood when he said that. Her smile became sad, and she nodded deeply, before turning away with, “Good bye, Doctor.”

He didn’t watch her go to the door and enter it. He turned back to his TARDIS and shut the door behind him. He walked to the central console. “Well, it’s just you and me again,” he told her, placing his hand on the controls. Really, he should be more careful. He let out a sigh as he bowed his head over it, black bangs falling then to obscure his vision.

He never knew where to go when he was alone. The universe lost all its life when he was alone, all its glory.

[Krystal Itzume]

Apart

Within the halls, Aeron Harper could still hear laughter. He stood in the room that had once been the kitchen, and observed a scene from his memory, where Maya stood in an overlong shirt with hands on her hips, and smiled.

It had been a few days after they had purchased the house, and she’d just finished setting everything in order after staying up all night to clean and organize. He had woken to tea, her proud smile, and then her kiss. A good morning, all around, before both found their way to their lives outside—his job, and her school.

His eyes fell to the table where they had many morning chats. Morning, rather than evening, had been their time, but it was never enough time.

“Did you lie?”

Her words, spoken of words he’d told her long ago, words that had meant something to her, it seemed.

Yes, he had lied. He had lied about plenty of things, but then, so had she. His fingers ran over the glass kitchen table, to the offending letters strewn about it. They were all for him now, and none of them good. Bankruptcy, loss of employment, impending court dates—and it all went back to her.

“You told me that you would make time, Aeron. That first night we met….”

His hand scattered the envelopes to the floor with one swipe. “And you promised me loyalty.” Not that first night, but later into their relationship. Of course, it might have been a promise made in fear. The details were fuzzy.

He still did not believe she had been loyal, not when it was so easy for her to cut him out of her life, not when it was so easy for her to move against him. He had never seen it coming, but that very day she’d left his life, she’d cleaned out his bank account. ‘Ours.’ Joint. His mistake, as his father insisted.

Oh, his father was getting a kick out of this, too.

It wouldn’t have mattered. Aeron made plenty of money, but then charges of sexual harassment and assault came up from three different women. He suspected Maya spoke with them, but he could never get a straight answer from anyone. His job forced him to settle out-of-court. His unemployment benefits instead went to those three women, and he had a black mark on his name.

He couldn’t find another job as a lawyer.

He’d done what was necessary. He was leaving the house and letting the bank reclaim ownership.

He didn’t like it, anyway, or so he convinced himself as he walked from the kitchen and into the lounge.

The piano was still there, and he paused to look at it.

He remembered her smile when she first saw it. Maya had never owned a piano in her life, but she always found ways to practice it through using other pianos. Finally, she had her own, and the house had been full of music. Aeron never really tired of that. If he loved anything about Maya, it had always been her musical aptitude.

She could have done so much….

“But you didn’t. You made time for Maria, for Radi, and for that fucking secretary.”

That fucking secretary was one of the women who filed charges. He regretted it, now. He had many regrets, and they all came to the forefront as he ran his fingers over the dusty keys.

His fingers pressed down as he shut his eyes against the tears, both of fury and of sorrow. The loss was starting to hit him. “I’m sorry,” words he’d never spoken to her, and words he would never speak sincerely to her. He tried to swallow the lump, but it was immovable.

His fingers clenched into a fist, and his knuckles fell upon the keys. Anger overtook sorrow. She had no right to leave him like this, no right to take his reputation from him. Sure, he did a few things wrong, but nothing to warrant this action. They could have talked it out. They could have…. “You didn’t make any time for me,” he let his knuckles fall off the keys and he opened his eyes to look at the blank walls.

He made no time for art in his life, except her. Now, all of it was gone. “You could have given me time to make things right.” Three years. He had wasted three years on her, on preparing a life with her, on planning a wedding, on everything. Three years, gone, and all his progress with it. He was starting from the bottom again, and much too late in life.

He stalked away from the piano, intending to leave it here. He wanted to burn the place down and with it, every memory of her face, but he could not. There was no money in that. It would be too obviously arson. ‘Angelus could have done it.’ Juvenile delinquent.

His feet took him to the stairs, and up them, to the room he used to find peace in, but couldn’t anymore. His office was barren, but the rug still bore the imprints of his desk.

“Aeron.”

He leaned in the doorway, the place she had leaned as she stood in silk, playfully annoyed with him.

“Come to bed.”

His breath came out shaky, the urge to burn everything growing. He had told himself he would not miss her, and that she would be so easy to replace. He had yelled it at her back, and he had believed it.

He told himself that it was still true, it was just unusual being…alone. Three years, and he’d never had to worry about it, for she would come walking into his office when he wanted her, when he needed her, with that wicked smile on her lips before she dropped to her knees and took him over.

He folded his arms over his chest, and found himself prey to the memories as he looked towards the three large windows that had always been at his back. “You’ll fade.” He spoke to himself, “Like the illusion you always were.” Not the goddess she should have been. They had always known their place, powerful in their own right, but always subordinate. Hera was the perfect example, a Queen among the deities, with a husband who knew his place in the universe as King.

And like every dearly held dream, illusion, it would hurt. He would think of her less and less as time went on, as he left behind this house and all that was hers. Such was what he told himself, and such would be true, until the day Angelus came back on his radar, and got in the way of his plots via Torchwood.

[Krystal Itzume]

Alone

“It. Is not. Your. Fault.”

Over and over and over and over again, Angelus had repeated that phrase or one similar. Over and over and over and over again, Maya had smiled and nodded, lied about her agreement with it. The truth was, she suspected everything was her fault, but she was trying to pretend. Pretending led to reality. She had learned that lesson well.

She finally had a moment to herself. Angelus had been watching her like a hawk since they moved to Bristol. Neither had really left the apartment. They spent their time unpacking and organizing. At last, they could think of other things, so Angelus went out to get food as Andrew figured out his schooling.

Maya didn’t like the apartment. It was too small, and it was too empty, all at once. When she walked into her room, she found it dead. Of course, she had to leave much behind in London when she fled.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the emptiness. ‘What am I even going to do?’ Maya hadn’t had a life of her own in all of her years. She had lived for her mother, and then she had lived for Aeron.

Her eyes fell upon the violin. “You can teach.” Angelus’s immediate suggestion. Her skin crawled at the thought.

“You’re nothing without me.”

She shook her head. ‘No, I can’t.’ Maya didn’t want to do anything related to her old life then.

“The only reason you are even in that orchestra is because I am friends with the director.”

Her eyes averted quickly from the violin, but her breathing didn’t cease being rapid, her heart didn’t decrease its pace as the panic stole over her. ‘I can’t make a living.’ Her eyes sought anything else in the room, but what else did she have?

What else had she ever had?

“I told the Royal Shakespeare recruiter to be there, since that was one of the few classical plays at that wretched theater. Honestly, who thinks Rocky Horror is worth watching?”

No acting. She couldn’t act. She only got any jobs because of Aeron, and all of her connections were now gone. Aeron’s went far. He would have blackened her name by now. No one would hire her, not that she was good enough anyway. ‘Food service?’

“Well, the tea isn’t terrible, but you need to get better at baking. These scones are dry.”

Nails dug into flesh.

‘Make-up? Theater help?’

“That red makes you look like a whore.”

Deeper and deeper, and her hands lifted higher on her arm.

‘Dancing. I always danced. I could…I could….’

“I’m amazed you won that competition.”

A cry escaped her, and her hands left her arms to cover her face. “I can’t do anything!” She exclaimed to the empty apartment.

“You would be a forgotten café singer without me.”

Maya let her hands fall from her face and she turned on her heel to exit, grabbing her bag and slamming the door behind herself. She had to get out, she had to do something—anything. She couldn’t be surrounded by the nothing that proved all of Aeron’s words right.

What was she doing here, in an apartment shared with her brother and Andrew. ‘I’m better than that.’ Not that she presently looked it, in jeans and tennis shoes. The familiar clack of heels was gone, and it bothered her as she stepped into the rain. She kept walking, no direction.

She missed that angry clack.

Again, she wrapped her arms around herself, cold and angry in the unforgiving weather. She hadn’t grabbed her coat. “Forgetful.”

Maya shook her head. No, just angry. “And you think you can act?”

She swallowed. She kept walking, and kept ignoring the memory of him as she finally found a bar to turn in to and escape the cold. She walked right up to the bar and took a seat, laid her purse on the seat next to her so no one could intrude on her solitude. Angelus always went to drink when he had a problem. He did not let it fix the problem, but he found it helped him deal with it.

The bartender, whom she would later become familiar with as John, came to her, “What can I get you?”

“Rum. Double shot. Then a rum and coke.”

No questions asked. He filled up a shot glass with a double, and she downed it just as he was putting the rum and coke before her. She slid the empty glass towards him. “Thank you,” she said.

“Sure thing,” he took the glass off the counter. “If I can get you anything else, let me know.”

A smile. A nod. In a week she’d be asking him for a job, and she’d have one, until she built her confidence up again to return to her loves. John always knew it would be temporary, he’d confess later.

Right then, she just wanted her drink. The buzz from the shots was already present, and so she sat alone with her thoughts and that buzz, which seemed to lessen the pain of the past. She could look at it, anyway, without wanting to scream.

With the glass half-empty, she found her thoughts rather disturbing. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’ She swallowed the bitter drink, and felt the heat of tears on her cheeks. ‘I don’t want to be here. I don’t—’

“There you are.” A sigh came from the voice behind her. The purse was moved, but the hand that moved it was immediately slapped. Paint-chipped nails drew blood across the back of his palm, and the hand recoiled.

Maya, also, recoiled and looked up, startled by her own action to see Angelus’s own eyes, wide. Immediately, however, they softened. “Ok. Right. Don’t touch your things.” Control issues, he figured, as he took a seat one stool down. “Sorry.”

Maya’s own apology stuck in her throat. She looked away from him. “You ok?” She shook her head. She had to answer honestly. “What’s wrong?” Before she answered, though, he called to the bartender.

“You’ll want rum,” Maya spoke softly.

He didn’t question it. He ordered the same as her—a double shot, and then a rum and coke. “All right,” Angelus said once he’d also downed the double first. He brought the cold glass closer. “What’s up?”

“I want to go back.”

Though the bar was noisy around them, they could have heard a pin drop between the two of them. Angelus clenched the cup tightly in his hand. “Why?” He asked through gritted teeth, but already he had an idea of the answer.

“I miss him.”

Angelus took in a deep breath. Maya was right about the rum. He shouldn’t have bothered with the coke. Even so, he took a long drink from the glass, took in another deep breath, and exhaled it slowly. He would not get angry. He would figure this out. “Why?” He should find a better way to ask, but his anger was high.

Maya continued to stare at her own cup, rather than him. “He…he helped me.” Angelus tried not to laugh. He succeeded. “I mean, he hurt me, too, but everyone hurts each other when we don't mean to. He was trying to help, and he…because of him, I was going to do so much. He cared, he just—”

‘Fucking bullshit, fucking bullshit.’ It was the mantra in Angelus’s mind, but he bit his lip. He knew the abuse went deep, that Maya had come to think she needed Aeron, but he still hated it.

“—he didn’t quite know how to…he had always gotten whatever he wanted, so human interaction wasn’t his best skill. He did care, and when it was good, Ange, he was the best.”

"I love you."

A fond smile. Angelus hated it immediately, hated that there could be any good memories still there.

‘Deluded.’ Angelus reminded himself not to use that word. It wouldn’t go over well.

“I can’t do anything here,” she told him, and then took a drink from her cup. “I have no practical skills, and I…I don’t have any connections here. I’m not good enough on my own.”

‘BULLSHIT!’ His breath was sharp there. Why did he pass up the chance to punch Aeron in the face? It would feel so good right now.

“I think I can fix the situation with Aeron.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it, because he was either going to laugh or cry. He chose laughter, and was pleased it earned such a startled look from Maya. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” he answered, still laughing, “You’re hilarious,” he said, but then he shook his head, composed himself, “I swear to god, if I could go back in time and stop you from ever meeting Aeron, I would. Did you forget all the awards you won before him? Did you forget everything?”

“That was against—”

“I don’t want to hear his words!” Angelus snapped. He knew them. Maya had been a child, competing against children. “You’re not even sure if you want to play the violin anymore, or dance, or act,” he reminded, and it was true. “You wanted to come here, to find out what you like, and what you’re good at. If you go back there, you’re never going to find out.”

He saw her face sour. “What?”

“…nothing.” She turned her head away.

“What?” He repeated.

She crossed her legs. She leaned forward. “I don’t like our apartment.” Angelus bit the inside of his cheek. “I want better.”

“We can’t afford better right now.” He was rational. He was used to this. He didn't care about luxury like Maya, but he knew that had been a concern. This sort of living was not what Maya was used to.

“I know,” and she took a sip of her drink, “but maybe that means, I want all of that. All that Lina wanted. Maybe I could deal with the abuse for all of that….”

“This can't be worse than that.”

“It’s not that much worse than living like this.” In constant doubt, in constant fear of losing the apartment because she couldn’t get a job. Really, she lived in the same sort of fear and anxiety with Aeron. “There was security. I knew where I was going. I knew the future.” Stability.

“Oh yes, a chokehold is security.” Angelus didn’t hide his derision at all. “For Aeron, anyway. I’m sure he had quite the life insurance policy taken out on you.” Maya winced. That was true, though of course, there was a decent one for him as well. “He would have killed you, Maya. Eventually. Your future was death.”

‘Maybe.’

“Give it a month. Things will get better,” Angelus spoke it as a promise. “You’ll see. I’ve done a lot of moving. I know how this works. Change is always scary.”

Maya smiled. She nodded. Her gut tightened and she wanted to scream again that in a month, she’d be worse. Fortunately, Angelus turned out to be right. Julio came into the picture, and time and friendship began to erode the memories of Aeron. She learned more about herself and her own likes, and found the courage to do all that she enjoyed. She slowly moved into better apartments, and started bettering herself, on her own.

Relationships of a serious nature didn’t occur, though. The fear of losing herself to another was always prevalent.

[Krystal Itzume]

When It’s Good…

Before the house was ever a reality, Aeron had a different expenditure and a plan to plot. The black velvet box rested in his suit jacket as he drove towards the restaurant. He had invited both his family and Maya’s family out. He had already asked Lina, rather than Cyrus, if a proposal would be acceptable. She had agreed, and his own father seemed agreeable.

‘Mostly.’

He still remembered the warning. “I’d do something about her brother if I were you. Make peace with him somehow.” Aeron didn’t know how. The two lived in different worlds, despite the fact he was Maya’s brother. He had been raised differently. He didn’t have the same views of women or of life. He had no ambitions. He was an empty, sad little boy, and he liked being that.

It baffled Aeron to no end.

The restaurant was high-end, of course, and as he pulled into the lot he observed the expressions of the others. He was not late, but he was on time. Everyone else wanted to be early, it seemed.

His father was shutting the car door for his mother, and put a hand on her upper back to guide her towards the restaurant.

Cyrus and Lina took care of themselves and their own doors, and Lina swung her purse over her shoulder, a skip in each step that kept a confused look on Cyrus’s face. She knew, he didn’t.

Maya had arrived with Angelus, who looked so annoyed to be in a suit. Even from afar, Aeron could see the touches of defiance in his attire; for one, he was wearing his everyday sneakers and not dress shoes, and then his messy hair. It was shaggy and hardly manageable. He’d inherited the family waves, but didn’t seem to know what to do with his hair, so he kept it at a horrendous medium length.

Maya looked stressed, and Aeron imagined the car ride had not been enjoyable for her. Putting up with Angelus’s complaints never were. ‘If you did something with your life, you wouldn’t have so many complaints.’ Aeron had told him as much. He wasn’t heeded. The two would never be ‘brothers’. Angelus made that clear.

He followed in, last of them, and was greeted with smiles from all save Angelus. “This is a treat, Aeron,” Lina said, always in that pleasant tone of hers she used when she wanted something.

He smiled amicably, “I wanted to celebrate my promotion with the people important in my life.”

“So why am I here?” Angelus never was tactful.

“You are important to Maya, and so important to me.” Even if it might be important in the sense of someone who needed to be gotten rid of. He knew he shouldn’t consider it, but he did. “I would like to get to know you better,” Aeron lied, and Angelus just glared at him.

“Harper party?” The waitress came to them then. Aeron nodded. “Come right this way, please, we have your table set aside.”

“Thank you,” he answered her, and stepped to Maya, wrapping his arm around her waist to take her from Angelus. Angelus was deftly pulled away by Lina, who grabbed her son by the arm and began to fuss about his tie.

She commented, “You didn’t have to do this,” a look to her family, to Angelus.

He shook his head, “I did,” and added, “You’ll see. I have a surprise.” An eyebrow arched, but the smile on her lips hinted that she might already know. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had figured it out. It was not often that Aeron brought their families together. Usually his father was the one arranging such things.

They were all seated in a private area of the restaurant, and ordered their drinks. Angelus made sure to order the most expensive thing he could, and Aeron knew it was out of spite. He would likely order the most expensive meal, too, and then dessert. Aeron expected it.

Soon enough, the drinks were brought, and then orders were taken. The dinner was peaceful, as most talked of what they were up to in life.

It was Aeron’s father and Lina that dominated most of the conversation. Maya stole small conversation with Aeron in whispers, but their attention was clearly expected to be with their parents, for they kept getting called in to answer questions or affirm something or another. Maya played her role of dutiful daughter well, but she wanted to just kick her mother from under the table, and drag Aeron off.

She knew, instinctively, what this was all about. ‘A public setting! You jackass!’ There was a small hope that maybe he wouldn’t pull a ring box out of a pocket before they all left. Maya didn’t want that pressure, not from her mother, not from Aeron’s father. She’d rather it be a private moment, without the pressure to answer one way or another.

As it was, she was trying to figure out how to even answer. Certainly, she loved him, and it was clear he was going to be a financially stable individual. However, he wasn’t exactly what Maya would call stable. There had been outbursts, a couple of which had ended in violent action against her, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to commit to someone who clearly needed help she couldn’t give him.

All through dinner, she ran through these thoughts. Dinner came, and desserts were encouraged, along with a dessert drink. Maya had a sweet wine when Aeron finally drew attention front and center. ‘Please don’t.’

“I’m sure some of you have guessed I didn’t gather you all here just to celebrate my promotion,” he said, and Lina managed a playfully fake look of surprise. Angelus crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, waiting. Cyrus, apparently, hadn’t guessed. Maya kept her face patient, unwilling to show she had guessed as much.

“I have gathered you all together, because I consider you all family,” a pointed look to Angelus before he could speak. Angelus bit his tongue. “And I would like to make that official.” He was already standing. He had drawn attention by tapping on his glass. “Maya,” he offered his hand down to her, setting aside the glass. She took it, and she was brought up.

He didn’t kneel, of course. He never would. He took the velvet box from his pocket and opened it with practiced ease in one hand, offering it out to her, “Will you marry me?”

The pressure was there.

There was only one answer to give in such a situation, for Maya knew she couldn’t talk out her concerns right there with Aeron present. It would have to wait for later. For now, “Yes.” There was light in her eyes, as she looked from the diamond ring to Aeron.

No, her response hadn't been nearly enthusiastic enough. A wide grin broke across her lips, “Yes, of course!” Hands clasped together, and Aeron immediately moved his hand behind her head and drew her up for a kiss.

Angelus gagged, rose, and walked out without so much as a goodbye. He wouldn’t return. Outside, he would call Jasmine and demand she meet him for drinks.

~***~

Maya wasn’t sure where the shirt came from, but she suspected it was Angelus’s. What she knew was that it was the perfect shirt for cleaning everything, because it had no meaning to her. It was an overlong gray thing, and paired with shorts she took to cleaning the house that was to be hers and Aeron’s. It was huge, in her opinion, far more room than they needed now. ‘But not in the future.’

Maya didn’t know quite when that future was. Aeron wanted her to be established before they brought children into the picture. Stability of both parents was important, though at times she wondered. At times it seemed like he would prefer her to stay home and never leave.

Not that morning, though, as darkness gave way to the colors of dawn.

She’d finally finished. Everything was in its place, the floors variously vacuumed or scrubbed, swept, the counters wiped—everything was like it was new. She gave the window a wry smile. ‘Not tired!’ She would be in a couple of hours, but right now she was enjoying the second wind and brewing a pot of tea.

She listened as her man woke up and started to move about upstairs to put himself together. He was used to waking up without her—she woke up first many times to prepare the tea. ‘Really need to get ready for school.’ More music classes. More Latin. Andrew was proud of her for the Latin, even if it was ecclesiastical. That was the kind she needed for singing. It also led to fun arguments on pronunciation, particularly about how to say Caesar.

She poured herself a cup of tea, and made one for Aeron as well, before the man appeared in the room. The look on his face was priceless. He hadn’t expected this much work to get done while he slept. Naturally, Maya’s hands found her hips at his look. “You doubted me,” she accused.

Not abnormal, but…. “It’s all done,” he spoke a bit breathlessly, always in his rush in the morning, but always setting aside minutes to sit at the table all the same. Maya laughed at that.

“Of course its done,” she grabbed his cup and walked over to where he stood, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, “I told you it would be done.” And she lifted on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips, minty toothpaste and his own citrus-sting scent familiarly pleasant this close. He was careful in wrapping an arm around the middle of her back so that he wouldn’t spill the tea she held, but he pulled her tighter to him. He broke the embrace after letting his hand slide lower to grasp what was barely hidden by the shirt, and then letting his arm remove itself from her to have a seat at the table. He sipped his tea, his morning ritual. He was grateful to have this moment of peace before work began. He was always able to walk in prepared because of it.

Maya joined him, retrieving her own glass and setting at the table as well, looking down through the glass to the floor. The smile still played on her lips. “What is it?” Aeron inquired, and her green eyes lifted to his brown ones.

“I’m still not sure this is real,” she told him, and his eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t really expect to have a house yet.” Not while she was still in school, not even twenty five. She didn’t expect to be engaged, either. She hadn’t expected any of this, but life was funny that way. It made the future seem tangible.

It was exciting.

It was terrifying.

“It’s real,” Aeron confirmed, “I knew from the day I met you,” and his eyes moved to the ring on her finger then. He had been certain, even back then, that she could become exactly what he wanted. Now here they were, moving from an apartment to a home, soon moving from fiancé to spouses. She’d be the perfect musician, and then the perfect mother. Their children would be the envy of all, and his legacy would last.

Maya smiled at that. She never confirmed the same, but said, “Thank you,” instead, and it was acceptable to Aeron. She did have much to thank him for. Their lives had both changed for the better.

He nodded his ‘of course’. He leaned back in his chair. “It’s quiet,” he noted.

“Peaceful,” she said. He didn’t seem to agree. Quiet didn’t agree with him. Their apartment had been noisy in the morning thanks to the neighbors.

He pushed the chair back and rose from his chair, setting the nearly empty cup down on the table. “We still need to consecrate this place.” Maya wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and he didn’t explain, but said instead, “We should take tea in the lounge.” Despite saying that, he didn’t get more tea. Maya suspected it her job to do so when he motioned for her to stand, so she released her own cup and rose.

Just as soon as she’d walked away from the table, Aeron moved around it and caught her arm. With two forceful steps, he had her pinned against the fridge, arm besides her head. She never quite got used to being caught off guard like this, but she’d found she didn’t mind this sort of aggression as his lips stole hers and his hand found the end of the shirt. He broke away just to pull it upward, to her words, “You have work!”

A finger pressed itself to her lips. That predatory look she loved was in his eyes. He saw only her, and in this context, she was quite willing to be silent and enjoy that.

The finger slipped from her lips to trace a path down, and Aeron soon rid his morning of silence.

~***~

Most of Aeron’s mornings were not so exciting. Tea was taken in the lounge, which was a much nicer room. He was starting to fill it with his law books, and Maya was filling it with strange works of art she liked and a host of house plants. Yet, it was missing something. Aeron soon figured it out on a walk to lunch, when he passed by a piano place. He went right back when he got off work and walked in.

He was almost immediately overwhelmed by the sheer number of pianos and brands he saw on them. ‘Think. What brands does Maya like?’ The piano was how they met, and still the instrument he favored her playing. Having one in the lounge would make the home feel more comfortable. More secure. He’d always hear her playing it in there.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he was greeted, and he eyed the salesperson. “Can I help you with anything?”

Names and explanations shot through his head, until his eyes settled on one that was familiar, recommended. “I need a Bechstein, like that,” he motioned towards the black piano. “I think I’ll take that one, actually.” Simple enough. Maya would be delighted, and things had been good between them. A treat was in order.

Aeron was looked over once more. A pause at the hands, which were not the hands of a pianist. “Sir, these pianos are very expensive. If you’re a beginner, I’d—”

“I’m not a beginner. It isn’t for me. My fiancé plays. Maya Porter?” He spoke the name and saw the eyes widen. Of course someone like this man would know of her. She played more frequently now, had won a couple more awards. She was making a name for herself in the realm of classical music.

“I didn’t realize!” There was a fanboy light to his eyes that Aeron liked and hated at once. “I didn’t know she was…never mind! Yes, that would be a good piano. When would you like it delivered?”

“Today,” he answered, added, “Immediately,” and started his walk to the counter, “How much do I owe you for the piano, delivery, and set up?” He wanted it done before Maya returned.

The transaction was done quickly, and Aeron was at his house just minutes before it arrived. He instructed the men on where to set it up, and observed them while the task was performed. Once it was finished, he counted down the time until Maya was free for the day. He knew she had an audition at the civic theater that day. Rocky Horror. ‘Utter nonsense.’ Yet she wanted to do it, and Aeron understood it was a show that many seemed to like.

He never understood much of ‘popular’ culture and low humor, except that it was a good way to earn profit. Not enough people liked Shakespeare compared to this drivel. The Civic Theater was being smart.

It was dark and raining when he left to pick her up, though it was still early evening. He found no signs of Devlin when he arrived, but that meant little. This was just the audition, and he could imagine Devlin in this sort of thing.

He did ask, and his suspicions were confirmed. Devlin wanted to be the doctor, the transvestite. “Fits him,” Aeron said.

“He’ll fall a lot. He’ll have to wear heels.”

Aeron smirked at the thought. He liked the image of Devlin in heels and the ridiculous attire Maya described. It seemed exactly the way he should be presented to the world. He didn’t say as much. He didn’t want a conversation about Devlin that day, and so the topic easily shifted to his work, until they got back to their home. “I want you to see something. I changed the lounge.”

Maya looked worried. “Did you get rid of the plants?”

“No,” he denied, not sure why she always worried about the plants being removed. The door was unlocked, and he led Maya to the lounge.

She stopped before she even entered it, eyes finding the obvious addition and hands lifting to cover her mouth. The shock was priceless. “Well?”

“You….” Speechless, really. Maya didn’t try to complete her thought then, but let her hands drop and her feet take her to the instrument. Her fingers ran over the keys, almost entranced by the item, before she turned back to its purchaser. “Aeron, I…I…thank you!”

He walked forward and found himself wrapped in an embrace almost as soon as he was close enough. He returned it, spoke, “Of course,” into her ear, “I love it when you play the piano, so I wanted one here.” Selfish, of course, but she enjoyed it, too.

The mornings became filled with music.

[Krystal Itzume]

But When It's Bad....

Criticism was something Maya was used to. She had been hearing it all her life, from her mother, from her father, from her brother, from her teachers—words of compliments were increasingly rare as more responsibilities were piled up. If it wasn’t her mother informing her that she missed a step in a dance, Angelus complaining about her aim in paintball, Jasmine criticizing her French pronunciation, her father disappointed in her inability to drive, or a teacher speaking of all the potential she wasn’t reaching, then it was a stranger offering heartfelt advice.

She had started to consider that was the whole reason she fell for Aeron. In the beginning, he had showered her with compliments. In the beginning, he had called her Virtuosa, and it was all she wanted. Acceptance.

Months into it, he did start to criticize, and she accepted it. She was used to it, and now she was starting on things she didn’t have real experience in. Cooking, for one, or baking more specifically. Scones were of the devil. Biscotti’s she had figured out.

More and more, though, he started to criticize her hobbies and things that she liked. More and more, she was finding they had little in common. On the superficial level, they were good matches, but at heart Maya wasn’t the elitist that Aeron was. She loved luxury, but not for status. She loved it because it was comfortable, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get a pretty dress dirty, or go out for fast food, or even avoid base humor and low culture.

She was doubting everything as she grabbed her purse and started for the door. ‘Why are we even living together?’ Saving on rent. She’d been staying over at his apartment anyway. It had made sense, but it did seem rather fast now that she thought about it. ‘And what do you have to compare to?’ True.

“Where are you going?” Aeron asked as she walked towards the door.

“Huh?” She had thought he was out. She didn’t hear his return. It looked like he had just returned, too. His tie wasn’t yet loosened. “Jasmine. We’re going out to the club.”

His nose wrinkled. “No. You’re staying in tonight.”

‘Excuse me?’

That voice would die, as Maya arched an eyebrow and shifted her weight to one hip. “And why is that?” Perhaps he had planned a surprise. He certainly didn’t tell her of any reason to mark today off.

“I know what goes on in those sorts of clubs,” he said, calmly walking into the kitchen and finding himself a glass, “I can barely tolerate you specializing in the Argentine Tango, but to think you’re debasing yourself by going out with Jasmine to perform such lewd dances for other men—”

“For myself,” Maya corrected. “It’s fun.”

“It’s humiliating.”

Her cheeks heated with anger, “It is not.” She denied immediately, though that was what she’d been hearing all her life until she actually took a class in the style, and learned what a workout it could be, and the skill involved in performing the moves well. “You could come.”

A laugh escaped him. He took the glass in hand. “I would never.”

‘No, you don’t dance at all.’ Not even the waltz. She’d say he was insane, but too often she’d been told it was the insane ones that danced. The sane ones didn’t. She wasn’t sure that was accurate.

“Well, I’m going. I’ll see you in the morning.” Aeron would be asleep before she returned.

When her hand touched the doorknob, the glass cup shattered besides her head.

It was the first time something akin to this had happened, but it would not be the last. Every alarm went off in Maya’s head, and she knew she should have pulled open that door and run, but her hand clenched tight around it and she froze instead. “If you choose to go, you can stay out. I do not want trash in my home.”

Maya did not look back, but she turned the knob and wrenched the door open. “I’ll be back,” she hissed, “And we’ll talk.” The door slammed behind her.

She expected Aeron would cool off and reconsider his opinion. 

She was dead wrong.

When she returned at midnight, Aeron was dead sober and waiting in the dark. The glass hadn’t been cleaned up. Maya was feeling better from the time out, but that faded when she flicked on the light and saw him on the couch.

He stood, silent. “Aeron,” calming voice, “We can talk in the morning,” now was clearly not a good time.

“Didn’t you ever hear going to bed angry is bad?” He asked, and approached as she shut the door behind herself. “It doesn’t fix the problems.” Before Maya could step away from the door and be in open space, Aeron was in front of her. His hand went to her chin and he roughly tilted her face up. “Alcohol.” He could smell it.

Maya turned her head sharply, “Yes. Not much,” she answered. She didn’t even feel tipsy. She was stepped back against the door and his hand moved itself from her chin to rest besides her head.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

She did not truly understand the question, but she understood how he felt about this. “It is not so bad, Aeron. It—”

The noise that followed was not words, but a strike. Maya was unaware of how Aeron had sat on the couch and agonized over how to get his point across so that it would not happen again, unaware of the trust he had immediately broken and the lies that would begin at this point.

Maya’s hand reached for her cheek, burning hot. Her left eye was already brimming with tears. “You don’t like that?”

“NO!” And his hand fell over her mouth.

“But don’t they hit you there?” Her eyes were burning with fury. She could tell him no, but it wouldn’t be wholly true. It happened on occasion, and Jasmine made it very clear to those bold boys that it was unacceptable, no matter the sort of dancing, no matter how ‘innocent’. Jasmine was a bit more intimidating, after all. “If that is how you wish to be treated, I can oblige. I do not wish to.” Maya shook her head rapidly to signal it wasn’t what she wanted, not at all. His hand slipped from her mouth, but she couldn’t find the words to speak. “Act how you wish to be treated. If you persist in this behavior, I will have to assume the worst, that you wish to be treated as trash.”

“It’s….” There was a cry in her voice that she hated, a breaking she wanted to get rid of to try and defend her point. It was hopeless under his gaze. She pushed forward without touching him. He stepped back to give her the room, and she stormed by to retreat to the bedroom.

She buried her face in the pillows and kept her back to Aeron when he eventually joined her, making no noise, though she did not sleep that night.

In the morning, she pretended it never happened, and hoped it wouldn’t again.

She would be wrong.

~***~

The relationship deteriorated around Maya. She did call her mother, thinking that she would help, but the advice was never what Maya wanted. She ended up believing it was what she was needed.

She played her role to avoid problems and keep the peace. They were engaged. They had a house together. For a while, it was all even looking up. Maya deluded herself with the thought it was just that—getting better. Looking up. Aeron was learning, too.

Needless to say, that was shattered in due time, when Maya thought to pay Aeron a visit while he was at work over the weekend, bring him a snack. Usually, he worked in his office here. He had most of his material. She hadn’t thought to ask why he chose to stay in the office that day. ‘Just thirty minutes. He probably gets distracted here.’ Maya decided that as the reason as she reached the door of the office and opened it.

It was open on the weekend. People needed lawyers all days, but the hours were shortened. The secretary wasn’t at the desk, and so Maya simply assumed that she had the day off. The name didn’t come to her immediately. She knew the path to Aeron’s office anyway.

The door wasn’t open. Locked, even. She found that strange and knocked. There was movement, and Maya tried to convince herself that it didn’t sound like multiple people. The wait to open the door certainly wasn’t long, so she tried to put her worries to ease.

Infidelity should be a thing of the past, too, now that they were engaged. Aeron opened the door, and looked pleasantly surprised. “Maya,” he gave a sigh of relief, “Perfect timing,” he said. She looked confused. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Sure….”

“I’ve nearly finished reading over the witness files,” he said and leaned against the doorway. Maya glanced by him, towards the desk. She was positive she saw painted nails underneath it, in the gap. Nylon stockings. “Would you bring me tea?”

She knew this routine already. “Sure,” she said, but stepped over the legs that were trying to keep her out. “Just let me set this here for you to eat,” she walked around his desk and set it the desk, letting her eyes slide to the gap where his legs had their space. The pretty blonde was under there, and they locked eyes.

Maya, however, said nothing. The fear in the woman's eyes seemed different, not caught, but...worried. Maya would learn later that Aeron had threatened her job, and she would urge the 'fucking secretary' to help her bring Aeron down several pegs.

She continued around the desk, her mind ablaze with curses. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” Plenty of time for him to finish up.

“Thank you.”

‘Fuck off.’ “You’re welcome, dear.” She stepped over his legs once more, but refused his kiss when he tried for one. She just kept walking.

Outside, she grabbed for her phone and pressed for her mother’s number. It did not take Lina long. “Hello?”

“He’s fucking cheating on me again.” She couldn’t hide her anger then, and wouldn’t.

Her mother’s response was ever the same. “What aren’t you doing for him?”

Maya wanted to hurl the phone. Were she not walking down a public sidewalk, she would have yelled the words. Instead, she hissed it into the phone, “I’m doing everything! Anything!”

A sigh from her mother, “Didn’t I tell you men like that will slum around? It makes them feel powerful.” Her mother assumed she knew the entire psychology of it, and went over it again, how men in power were prone to such activities because it made them feel powerful.

Maya’s grip just tightened on the phone. ‘Insecure. Insecure fucking child.’ Inhale. ‘Can’t be secure in his own damn self, has to prove it to himself.’

He could have been so much more. In truth, that was what upset her. He had such potential to be great, and yet he insisted on abusing his power. He could have been beautiful, inside and out.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” her mother said, “He loves you just the same. He always comes home to you, remember that.”

“I know. I’ll talk to you later,” and she hung up without waiting to hear the words of response. She was at the tea shop. ‘What am I even doing?’ But she knew. She was just as insecure as Aeron, if not more so.

Acknowledging it, though, wasn’t fixing it.

~***~

“It’s a love story,” Maya was telling Aeron as they sat in the lounge with their morning teas. He had asked about the play at last. “I’m playing the lead, Beatrice, who falls for a man she pretends to hate. You know, reinforcing that stereotype,” she didn’t complete the thought, though it sounded like it.

‘…that you hurt the ones you love. Stupid thing to tell little girls about the boys on the playground.’

“I guess it’s an old one,” Maya shrugged, “Kyle is in it as the villain. Devlin was jealous of that.”

Aeron perked up, but not in the good way. “Devlin?”

“Yes,” Maya answered. No point lying now. “He’s playing Benedick, the one…the one Beatrice pretends to hate.” Maya hated even beginning this conversation, then. Aeron looked annoyed.

“Yet another romance with Devlin,” his nose was wrinkled. “I don’t suppose I should be aware of anything else?”

‘No.’ “Yes,” Maya answered, thinking it might be better to tell the truth. “The Argentine Tango tournament is coming up again, soon,” she said, and she averted her eyes down. “Devlin and I would like to enter it again.”

“And will you be doing Roxanne?” He spoke with a sneer.

“No,” Maya denied. “I had others in mind.”

“Ah yes, you do always pick the music,” he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankle. “And to what tune will you be making my status as a cuckold obvious to so many others?”

“I am not cheating on you with Devlin.” How many times? How many? “He dances. It is an income.”

“Prostitution is also justified by income.”

“I am not cheating on you with anyone,” she reiterated. “You know, you’re only paranoid because—” his steely gaze should have silenced her there. She knew nothing good could come of continuing, but she did anyway, “—yes, you’re only paranoid because you’re cheating on me. I saw her, the fucking secretary, under your desk. Karma would be a bitch, wouldn't she?”

“I have my reasons.” Always his answer.

Maya stood. Oh, she was doing everything wrong and she knew it, but in the moment it always felt good. It always felt right. He set his tea aside and uncrossed his legs. He dared her, and she answered it. “Then maybe I’ll have my reasons.” He leaned forward. “Perhaps I will just call up Devlin, or hell, Andrew, and see if they’ll be gentle. God knows you can’t be tender anymore,” she couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken things slow with her, when he’d left her on the edge of ecstasy for a torturous amount of time.

It had been a while. “Would those be good enough reasons, Aeron?” Maya demanded.

He rose, “I give you all that you need, Maya, and more than you deserve.”

“Maybe,” she couldn’t quite argue it, no. ‘Not what I want.’ “But I didn’t ask that. I asked if that would be a good enough reason. I’m trying to understand what reason is good enough to cheat,” she told him, and watched as his expression grew colder and colder. “Or is there one?”

“Not for you. I have given you no reason.”

“Well, if you don't tell me what they are, how will I know when I have reason?” Why couldn’t she be disloyal? Why couldn’t she give him a taste, just a taste, of her heartbreak? “So tell me why. Tell me the reason. I'm not a mind reader! Tell me so I can take the reason away, Aeron, tell me or I’ll—”

The piano’s sharp edge cut into the small of her back as Aeron forced her back against it. There was an outcry, but it was quickly ended when his hand wrapped around her throat, tight enough to cut off air, hard enough that the press of his thumb would leave its bruise. “You’ll what?”

She couldn’t answer, of course. She resisted the urge to struggle, hands moving to the piano and gripping the edge, rather than rising up to grasp at his hand. “Aeron.” She mouthed, but the name didn’t pass.

“Do not ever let me catch proof of your indiscretions,” he warned, as if they were already as much a fact as his own, “or I will ensure they never happen again.” He released her, turning her head with the force of his release. He stalked off, saying, “I need to return to the Malcolm case.”

She crumpled to the floor, and listened as the front door slammed shut. She balled herself up besides the piano, and remained there for at least an hour in silence.

Aeron would return that evening. He would be tender.

[Bleu]

SUPPER

“Yes, he’s the best in his class – got all the awards, he did. We couldn’t be any prouder of him, darling.” Ella leaned back on the dining chair, clasping the phone in her hand so tight it looked like it might snap. The other end of the line continued the enthusiastic conversation, and it made the woman sitting at the dining table smile. Smiles came rare those days, and she was not about to let that feeling go. It was a breath of fresh air, an escape to a time that had been so dark for so long.

It had been over a year since Dillon’s passing, and things were beginning to change again. It seemed like the moment Ella had been praying for was finally coming near. There were troubles, of course, but they could be fixed.

Ella let out a hushed laugh at the conversation, absently raising a skinny hand to her lips. She was much thinner than before, dressed in high-waisted black slacks and a ruffled white blouse. “I’ll have you know he’s quite different from his father,” she joked with a wide smile, “No, really…” she amended with a wave of her hand, “they are both so similar. It is no wonder why I am so in love with my boy.”

The feed from the other end grew softer, and simultaneously Ella’s smile seemed to weaken.

“Oh…that…,” the smile did wane, but it did not fade completely. It was nice to be able to talk to someone about the troubles that persisted with her. Clark could never understand. His mind was claimed too strongly by his profession. “He’s better, darling. I daresay he need not be in your prayer circle any longer.” Ella was not happy about the lie that escaped her tightened lips.

The sound of the door made Ella crane backwards across the hallway, balancing her weight in the chair with practiced expertise. The silhouette of a rapidly growing boy made that wide smile return, and a wave from his small hand made her return to her previous conversation. “Sav, he’s home. Same time tomorrow?” With a quick response from the other end, Ella concluded, “You, too.”

Donovan emerged into the dining room as he usually did, in his football uniform, and covered knee deep in dirt. “Hi mum, guess what?” The boy did not give his mother enough time to answer. “I scored two goals today, and Coach said that I was his best mate, but he told me not to tell anyone.” His face soured at the realization. “Never you mind, I was only joking, mum.”

Ella’s hand cradled Donovan’s face in endearment. “I won’t tell, baby boy.” Donovan smiled.

“Can I go outside?”

“Darling,” responded Ella severely, “you were just outside, why don’t you go upstairs to your room?”

“I like being outside,” countered Donovan, tugging at the sides of his jersey.

“Why don’t you eat first,” she concluded, “and afterwards we can talk about your activities for the afternoon, yeah?”

“So I can go outside?” Donovan seemed to leap to his chair by the middle of the dining table.

“I’ll think about it, darling,” Ella quickly made herself busy preparing Donny’s supper, but she was not going to humor the idea (even for a second) of Donny going outside unsupervised. She couldn’t go outside with him, either, then the neighbors might want to talk. They were not as easily fooled as those only connected to her by a telephone line. Besides, Donovan was a beautiful and talented boy. She needed him to be the best, to show him off to the world – to prove that she had not been broken by her past. Letting him outside would only waste more time.

Donovan gobbled down his supper in minutes, eager to be out and running.

The sound of the door opening echoed across the house, and Clark soon emerged into the dining room. He wore a suit, and his expression was that of exhaustion. The first thing he did was kiss his wife, and then he went on to kiss his son. “The door was unlocked,” he said, taking a seat across Donovan.

“Our boy just got dropped off, love. He scored two goals today.”

Clark beamed. “Did you, son?”

Donovan nodded his head with a grin.

“We’ve got the perfect child,” Ella kissed the top of Clark’s head as she placed his supper in front of him. Clark’s expression darkened, but he continued with his meal.

Without fail, Donny reminded his mother about the chance he had of going outside. When his demands were quickly thrown aside, the boy crossed his arms. He had to do what he was told, of course, but he didn’t have to like it. Why couldn’t he go outside? What else was he supposed to do, play the piano? Donovan couldn’t do that, either, since his parents had inexplicably gotten rid of it. He was just about to turn to make his way back to his room when his father spoke.

“Love,” he said in between bites, “let the boy go outside for a little while.” He turned to Donny when he sensed that Ella might immediately disagree, “Go on, Donny. Go outside, I’ll be right out with you.”

Donny’s expression immediately changed from ecstatic to confused. There was no warning and there was no filter. Ella immediately paled, instinctively reaching for the back of her husband’s shoulders. This was the moment she had been afraid of. The last link.

“My name is Dillon,” spoke Donny in a tone that was completely serious.

The name hurt Clark. He had not heard that name in a very long time, and it came like a dagger to his heart. He had thought about it, of course, since he often questioned God in his decision to take him away – but Clark had not actually heard it. Ella didn’t speak it, and neither did he. Clark was about to retaliate when he felt the gentle pressure of his wife’s hands on his shoulders. It was a sign, a plea that he should not antagonize the boy standing across from them.

“Go on outside, son,” Clark amended. Donny smiled, turned around, and walked out. Just like that, the universe was back in order in his eyes. There was a moment of silence before Clark decided to speak again. Ella was surprised at how gentle the man sounded. “Did you know about this, Ella?”

Ella could not speak, but she nodded her head as if her husband could see her.

“How long has this been happening with Donny?”

“A couple of weeks,” she managed to answer with a soft croak. “The doctor says it happens…when…,”

She did not need to continue for Clark to understand.

“How have I not noticed this?” Clark dug his face into his hands, his elbows pushing his half eaten supper further away from him. It was not uncommon for Clark to be busy with his work, but had it really been that long since he actually talked to his son? It was almost as if Clark was beginning to see how his life really was. “My poor son…I can’t imagine what he must be going through.”

“It’ll get better,” she comforted, even if she did not necessarily believe it. “I didn’t want to concern you with this, darling. I know how stressed you’ve been lately, but I have taken Donny to talk to some people,” her voice was tempting to break, and she purposefully avoided any specific medicinal terms, “so he can…deal with this.”

It was true, but it didn’t seem like Donny was going to rid himself of this identity.

“I thought we had all dealt with this already.”

“It has only been a year, Clark.”

The hole in Clark’s heart had not healed. The expression that serenaded him with hope – that time healed all wounds – was proving to be a blatant lie.

“When is the next appointment?” Clark’s words startled Ella. “Next time, we’re all going. I'll take my leave if I need to.” He couldn’t process this information yet. He needed to distract himself, and the night would bring with it the other choices that waited for him in the future. “I’m going outside for the rest of the evening.”

Clark would avoid calling his son by name. Little did he know that he had been subconsciously doing just that for a long time.

[Krystal Itzume]

Raving, pt. 1

Things were better than before, and there was no denying it. The days seemed brighter and the nights were no longer the demons of his mind. The young blond had found an unexpected friendship with one of the men he met at the bar that wonderful night – Ange. The other was just adorable. Juls had never been a very religious person, but he thanked the heavens for putting him in the place where he needed to be. He’d just met Ange, and already, he loved the man. The other…well…

The recent memory still lingered with him that evening, not because of Ange in particular, but because the night would bring the very first evening he would spend with his new friends without his new constant companion. Maya, Jasmine, and he taking the night for themselves. It was thrilling finding mates that shared interests with him – the music, the lights, and the dancing.

Juls greeted the night with a new ensemble of his making, consisting of what was barely an excuse of a meshed shirt (it barely covered his lean upper body), vibrant green pants with look-at-me suspenders, a pair of completely unnecessary and overly large shades, his recent and temporary lime green hair, and (of course) glitter. Since he was the culprit behind the monster that glitter could be, Juls would be driving his car that evening.

With a quick quartet of knocks, he made himself present just outside of Ange’s apartment.

“You girls better be ready!” Juls joked, eager to let himself free with the music.

Angelus answered the door at the sound of the knocks and the voice, aware of what the night was going to be. He had no interest in going, but was glad he had a legit excuse either way—his own attire was plain and black. He had a job as a bouncer at another club that night.

He gave Juls a once over, but did not appear surprised. He was used to costumes. “They should be ready soon. Come in. Don’t sit,” he warned.

No glitter was going to get on his stuff, or his clothes.

He called, “Juls is here, you two!” Maya and Jasmine were up in Maya’s room. The arguing about clothing had ceased a few minutes ago, so he hadn’t heard much from there sans movement.

“We’re almost ready!” It was Jasmine who called out to him.

She wasn’t lying, either. She opened the door seconds after saying that and pushed Maya out, following a step behind as Maya found her footing once on the wooden floor. Maya took a glance back towards the room, seeming to think they were not, in fact, done. Jasmine knew she was just stalling, hoping to waste time so they weren’t out as long. “Don’t forget the keys,” Ange told Maya, glancing towards her. Maya nodded. She had them with her already.

He hadn’t seen Maya attired for a rave, ever, though he knew she’d been to a couple in London. He hadn’t even known she owned fishnet hose or boots with so many buckles, but then, he didn’t know half the things in her closet. She wasn’t as colorful as Juls—black skirt, black tube top with her own mesh top over that. Her color was all in glow sticks which were wrapped around her, everywhere, and the two orbs of poi he saw presently tied around her waist.

Jasmine was more colorful, heels that lit up on her feet, an orange skirt and a white halter top, “Be sure everyone gets back safe,” he told Jasmine. He trusted her with safety, far more than he did the others. he had seen her keep her cool in tense situations.“No drugs.”

Jasmine scoffed, “I make no promises for anyone but myself, but they’ll get back safe,” she promised Ange. “Looking good, Julio,” she complimented. “Glad we’re not taking my car, though.” All that glitter. Nightmare.

Juls let himself in, raising his arms in surrender to Ange’s demands and looking around to see if a certain someone was also there that evening. A genuine smile came across his lips at the realization. Of course he wasn’t there, and it was absolutely delicious.

“I think Andrew is avoiding me,” he spoke with a pleased shrug, sounding almost proud of himself. Andrew was probably legitimately busy, but Juls took every opportunity to make himself seem like a bigger deal than he actually was.

When Jasmine and Maya joined the boys in the living area, Juls purposefully eyed them as if he were checking them out. “We look hot as all hell,” spoke he with a click of his tongue. When Ange demanded no drugs for the evening, Juls rolled his eyes. He would listen, of course. “I’m the one with the nightmare,” he motioned to the glitter with his hands and later confirmed the obvious, “so my car it is.”

The young man truly did not understand why the rest of the world did not take advantage of glitter. It had so many uses, and fashion was just one of them.

“Let’s go,” he headed back towards the door, “we don’t want the rave to start without us. Have fun bouncing, Ange.”

After giving a wave to Ange, Juls led the way back to his car, mindful of the speed of his heeled friends. The backseat had a box full of glow sticks, poi orbs strapped to strings, and the occasional strobing necklace. “I have all the toys,” with the click of a button he opened the car for his friends.

Before long, they were off into the night.

Jasmine gave a pose under Julio’s scrutiny, but Maya did not, letting her thoughts drift back to Andrew to ignore that look, unserious as it was. ‘He has school stuff.’ Maya did not say it aloud, though she could see Andrew’s reasons for avoiding Juls. At times the young man was just overbearing anyway, and his optimism seemed unshakeable. His confidence, too.

With Angelus’s commands in their ears, they soon escaped the apartment. Maya and Jasmine waved to Ange, and Maya mouthed ‘be safe’. He had come back a couple days ago with a black eye from a fight he had to break up. She didn’t want anymore of that nonsense—she wanted him to get a safe job.

To the car, slowly. Jasmine was not used to heels, but Maya walked as if they were tennis shoes. Of course, the heels on her current boots were wedge and not all that high. No issues for her.

Jasmine took shotgun. Normally, Maya would fight for that seat, but there was no argument. Jasmine simply knew her comfort with Juls was not high. She was going to dance. Besides that, the back seat allowed her to start looking through the toys, and she found one of those necklaces, star shaped, and handed it forward, “To match your heels,” she teased.

Jasmine took it, smiled, “I know you're jealous,” and dropped it around her neck and turned it on early. She stretched out then, “I hope this is as good as London’s raves,” Bristol still hadn’t impressed her. That was to be expected, though. London was a huge city. More opportunities for epic things, with more people.

And they were off, soon arriving at the location, far from anywhere Jasmine or Maya had been in Bristol so far.

Juls was lucky to find a parking spot where he did, and his small car was easy to squeeze in even the smallest of gaps. The green haired boy turned the engine off, grabbed some more things from the back seat, and led the short walk towards the club. The streets were clean, clearly this was the more upscale side of Bristol. If there was anything that Juls appreciated, it was luxury.

“Ah, London raves,” Julio spoke of them fondly, but he had very quickly gotten accustomed to the night life in Bristol. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” said he to Jasmine with a smile, “they’re different, but with the right company, just as fun.” It was smaller and less diverse, of course, but it held a more personable and intimate feel to it. He was sure of this; after all, Juls had been frequenting the clubs in Bristol to meet people before he met Ange and the others. In that important, albeit brief, period in his life, he’d made connections.

Juls was likeable, and he often used that to his advantage.

“The queue is around the corner, mate,” said the bouncer. Indeed it was, and it was already stretching way past the point that was reasonable for most to wait.

“It’s me, mate,” said Juls, removing his shades and flashing the bouncer a grin. Connections, Juls loved them.
 
The bouncer took a few seconds, but he smiled after he saw past the green hair and recognized the boy. “Brilliant hair,” was all the bouncer said before he stood aside for Juls and his party to enter the club. With a quick wink, Juls expressed his gratitude and entered the club.

Immediately, the music began to intoxicate the young flamboyant man. The bass threatened to bring down the building, the lights flashed to the beat of the music, and there was paint everywhere. It was washable of course, and soon they would bring out the foam. The night would be amazing. Such was the promise that he hadn't even noticed Maya's large indifference towards him.

Juls turned to his friends with a dilemma.

“Drinks first, or dancing?” 

Jasmine couldn’t see the way Maya looked out at the streets, at this side of Bristol, but she could imagine it well. Maya knew why she and Ange didn’t end up here. Ange would never be comfortable in this area, but Maya was pleased to see it. It was something to strive for, in the future.

They all arrived and squeezed out of the car, so close to the others as it was. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Jasmine said to Julio’s words, but she had a good feel already. She motioned with her head and walked off after Julio. Maya followed, slower now, looking around at the new environment. She barely noted the exchange between Juls and the bouncer, but did acknowledge they got in without waiting.

Within, the music beat loud, and Maya looked around as the lights illuminated areas randomly. It was loud, and even Maya was starting to feel that old intoxication that came with music. ‘Shame.’ A stray thought as she knew she’d never truly get as lost as most the people here. How she’d like to be lost in it. She envied them.

Jasmine answered, “Drinks first!” She wanted to get a bit of liquor flowing through her before she went out to join the masses that were dancing on the floor. It would certainly help with feeling comfortable in a strange environment, but she was definitely liking what she saw.

Maya nodded her consent to the idea of drinks. 


Once they were inside, they were golden. The volume of the music kept serious conversation to a minimum, if at all existent. The dancing was intimate, yet at the same time loose. Juls had managed to get them in without being carded, and so the whole bar was there for their choosing. He’d only get some free drinks, of course, but he knew that he had one of the best deals in the club. They were ready for the night.

“Drinks it is!” Juls u-turned and headed towards the bar, strobing lights now strapped to his neck and wrists. He reached the wooden bar without trouble and was quickly given the attention he demanded. There was no waiting when it came to him, and when the pretty little bartender gave him a set of three different flavored seemingly glowing drinks, he made his way back to the girls. The first round of drinks was on the house.

“Pick a shot, any shot,” he joked, giving the girls first picks. He wasn’t picky with his flavors, so he would take whichever one was left.

In one quick, deliciously bitter, gulp, he threw back the shot and shook it off. Juls had been wanting a night out for so long, and this was just the way to start one. It wouldn’t be long now before he dragged his friends to the dance floor.

Juls agreed, but they didn’t go up to the counter. Juls went on up and got the shots on his own. Jasmine saw the way Maya bit the inside of her cheek, as if she wanted a say about the drinks, “It’ll be fine,” Jasmine said, and Maya huffed.

They were given first picks of the shots, and Jasmine let Maya pick one. The glowing red one was her pick, and Jasmine snatched up the purple one. Jasmine arched an eyebrow, and Maya lifted her glass. They clinked them together before shooting them back when Juls did so. “Thank you,” Jasmine said as Maya seemed to shiver. “What, not good?”

“No, it’s good,” she said. It had a strawberry flavor, but was more alcohol than anything. Not another. She was too much of a lightweight. She didn’t prefer shots, but supposed in this situation it was unavoidable. This wasn’t a place for talking and drinking, but for quick drinks and dancing.

Jasmine took the empty shot glass from her hand and set it aside with her own. “C’mon,” she took Maya’s wrist then and looked to Juls, “Now dancing,” she told him, but didn’t wait for him before moving towards the mass of writhing bodies to find a space amongst them.

The warmth of the alcohol felt good as it went down Julio’s throat. Some might have said that he had a problem; that he was much too young to be where he was. The green-haired teenager simply waved these worries away, knowing in his gut that he knew how to take care of himself well. It was in these high spirits that he followed Jasmine and Maya towards the dance floor. Glances were exchanged between he and others around him, but no invitations were given.

This evening was a closed event for him.

Just when they at last reached the place where they comfortably settled, the song came to end. The lights stopped, and only the cheers of the dancers and the colors of their demanding movements were prominent under the black lights. The boy knew that this wouldn’t last, but he still gave a look of excitement to his friends.

Then, without any warning, the next song came on, the show of lights simultaneously drowning them with the very essence that made a Rave so special. Everything seemed to glow, the floor shaking with the powerful bass of the music. Juls, like the rest of them, cheered and let himself get lost in the music. With every beat came a step, and his movements were those that showed just how experienced he was with dancing. The man knew the beat well, and he moved with expertise.

In that very moment, there were no distractions. Nothing, for the first time in a long time, was wrong.

[Krystal Itzume]

Raving, pt. 2

‘I don’t know how to help her. She said she wants to go back….’

Strange how those words came to Jasmine’s mind as they moved out, but they came because Maya was still not herself. The way she looked so warily at everyone and everything, the doubt in each step, reminded Jasmine that this would take time. One rave would not fix everything, but Jasmine hoped it would be a balm to the wounds within, a treatment that Maya would continue. She had to find what she loved again, and Jasmine knew it was dancing.

They’d save waltzing and tango for another day, when professional things didn’t immediately link back to everything Maya was running from.

The music halted as they came to a comfortable spot, and Jasmine applauded with the rest of the dancers and gave both Maya and Juls a smile as the music began to return. ‘C’mon, Maya.’ There was a gesture, and Maya’s gaze lifted to hers. ‘Here. Stay here.’ Stay in the present, stay with them, stay with her, stay with the music. Jasmine was no hypnotist and doubted it would ever work on Maya anyway, but Maya didn’t look away.

She understood the silent message well enough, and so she took a deep breath and let the beat move through her. At first, she simply mirrored Jasmine. Muscle memory and years of training caught up with her, though. Not to mention, Jasmine’s gaze averted towards Julio at one point, and those eyes lit up. She’d seen Julio dance before, but not quite like this—not quite so lost and caught up in the music. It was exciting to see.

Maya’s eyes followed, too. An old spark she’d thought dead ignited, as for a moment she realized exactly who it was Julio reminded her of—a man she could also imagine dying his hair green on a whim. Devlin. Competitor’s desire rose up as skill was instantly acknowledged, and Maya reached for her poi.

When they were flung out, space started to clear around her as she was given all the room she wanted to play with the lights and the music, and she took it all into account—the music, the lights, the glow sticks on her body, and the poi itself—not once losing herself but becoming hyper-aware of the present. Past and future were lost. 

Juls noticed the change in Maya immediately, even if he didn’t know what had caused it. Ever since he’d met her, she always seemed so reserved – aloof – that he had not been able to figure out what she was about. What made her who she was? He’d heard some things from Ange, of course, but nothing specific. She was lost, must as he was. With just that one moment, however, Juls liked to believe that he understood.  Not everything, naturally, but a start.

When Maya brought out the poi, Juls threw his arms in the arm and exchanged a quick look with Jasmine. They were letting loose at last!

The green-haired boy used the new space around them, but instead of directly challenging Maya, Juls let a whiff of competition encourage him to play off of her. His hands immediately found his own game, small glow sticks that lit up and snapped into what closely resembled batons. Maya moved, and Juls reacted – back and forth.

It almost looked like the two of them had rehearsed. In reality, they had just found something that would bring them together in the future. Ange had only been the beginning.

Jasmine would never attempt to enter a challenge with Maya, stated or not, when it came to dance. She offered space, and she found herself pleased to watch. Her joy only grew when she saw Juls take notice, and not quite challenge—no, this was not a challenge, but something different. Jasmine didn’t have the word for it.

Maya did. Another mark in her head, another comparison, a something-lost and something-found. Challenging was easy. Playing off what someone else was doing, reading their body language to understand what was going to come next, took greater skill. Her eyes lit up, and Maya smiled. It was no weak, polite smile, but one that almost became a laugh, a realization growing that Juls was not just some ordinary club dancer, not just some hopeless boy Ange had dragged along.

He was something quite special. Maya kept the lead for that song as they drew eyes from other dancers. It looked too good to be true, something they might see at a professional show or on a movie—not reality. Maya forgot her dislike of attention, and remembered how she used to shine in the spotlight instead. She reveled in the knowledge that all eyes were on her and Juls. That was made abundantly clear when that song began to wind down, and the crowd cheered not just for the DJ.

The cheers grew louder as the song began to end. For over half the song, Juls had not been able to hide his smile. There was a pleasure that could not be contained, an intoxication that had nothing to do with alcohol. He had not expected this, but was genuinely amazed at how they demanded the attention of the rest of the dancers. Juls was used to doing this on his own, but never had he dreamed of doing this in a unit.  All eyes were on them.

The song came to a close, and the cheers roared throughout the club. A shout out from the DJ was the surest sign that they had done something amazing that night.

As the next song played, Juls continued with his dance but moved closer to Maya.

“Fuckin. Amazing.”

It was hard to speak over the music, but he was confident that Maya would at least read his lips and understand the message he was trying to convey to her. Above them, the bubbles were beginning to fly. The foam would come later that night. With a finger, Juls invited Jasmine back to the center of the dance floor – where they had conveniently ended up. They couldn’t lose momentum, they had to feed off of the music to make the Rave unforgettable.

The rest of the night promised to be just as amazing as the start. 

Another day, Maya would not have blushed at the attention, but that night she couldn’t help it. Her self-esteem had been shot since she left London, and this affirmation was necessary. It was never just Aeron. On her own, she was still worth something, still good at things.

Even another skillful individual agreed, and she winked. She didn’t try to speak over the music as it came on again. The next song came after a shout-out, and Juls stepped closer. There was much she didn’t know about Juls, and now she actually was interested. It seemed there would be more than horror movies to enjoy with him.

Jasmine was able to come back in, too, and Maya continued with the poi for a while longer that night, but eventually they were put away and she simply manipulated her body and what she was wearing. She never lost herself, but she lost the past and future, which were enough.

She was happy, and so when the foamy bubbles fell on them she laughed aloud and tried not to suck in any of the soap. “Good as London!” Jasmine declared over the music, impressed with the fact the bubbles weren’t simply white, but had been tainted with colors. She approved wholeheartedly of this.

The music continued, and Juls moved freely song after song. The lonesome bubbles soon faded, and instead the colored foam began to fall from above them. It was a beautiful sight – the dancers wearing all sorts of colors and glow sticks, the flashes of the light shows shining on them, the foam adorning what was already one hell of a rave, and the music. They’d move on to music that was foreign. Japanese, Juls suspected, but just as good. Better, some would say.

“This is the best place in Bristol!” Juls told Jasmine agreeably with a smile. He continued to dance but his hand fetched his phone from his pocket. “Picture, come on!” He motioned for the both of them to get on either side of him with his hands. They needed to document their success before the night ended. His long arm pushed out and took the picture, winking and with his tongue sticking out. With a single click, a memory that he would forever treasure was created.

Juls looked down on his phone, taking in the picture that they had just taken. He showed it to the others briefly before smiling and putting his phone away. The foam was a sign that the night was coming to a close, and he was set on enjoying himself to the very last second. The foam was refreshing to their heated bodies, a second wind for them to continue until the very end.

The two moved when Juls directed them to, joining in his picture. Jasmine lifted up the peace symbol with her fingers, but Maya just smiled for the camera, not doing anything ridiculous like Juls. The music became foreign then, but they continued on to the end of the night.

[Krystal Itzume]

Perks of Cheating, Pt. 1

‘The test is next week.’

This thought haunted the young Gallifreyan as he pushed a hand back through his brunette hair and sat out for his lunch. He was on the roof, where he always went, because from here he could see the stretch of land that reminded him of his home away from home, the Master’s home. The red fields were endless there, or they seemed that way under the light of the two suns. There wasn’t a single silver-leafed tree in those fields; he had looked.

“Excited?” The familiar voice of Rallon called to him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the young man approach, and take a seat on the edge of the roof with him. “It’s written on your face,” he told the Doctor before he could speak, “You need to relax. The test is going to go fine. Then you’ll be a junior Time Lord like me.”

And most of the others in ‘Deca’. How the Doctor was considered included baffled Rani, since he was certainly not part of the Top Ten in the school, but his friendship with all of them forced the matter. “Thanks,” the Doctor said.

“I have an idea to help you relax,” Rallon said. “I’m starting up a band!” The Doctor looked confused but intrigued immediately, “I want you in it. You play the perigosto stick, don’t you?”

He blushed, embarrassed, “Er…yes.”

“I thought so!” Rallon declared as if to an audience, “I figure that’ll be our gimmick, since almost no one plays that.” Rallon honestly had no idea how the Doctor had made it into an instrument. He was pretty sure it was meant for juggling. “Now we just need some others.”

“I think the Master plays the drums,” the Doctor said idly, noting the way Rallon's face screwed up in surprise, “Or he just talks about them a lot. Rani sings.” He should pay more attention.

‘Speak of the devil.’ He could make out the man’s footsteps on the stairs. He took the apple out of his lunchbag. For some reason his mother insisted on sending him care packages with apples—he hated apples. The Master ate everything, though, no matter where it came from. His mother always sent him things from Earth. She had a fascination with that planet. He would throw it at the Master when the man came into sight, quite certain it would be caught.

‘1...2…3…4’

‘You’re just counting your paces’

The Master told himself with a smile – wicked and wide. There was never any concern, never any worry, and after all, why should there be? Life was good, and his loyal band of friends was proof of that. Was he imagining things, or did he actually scare some of them? He did, didn’t he? It couldn’t be any more perfect.

‘1…2…3…4’

‘You’re just counting the stairs’

Up the steps and towards the rooftop he went, his recent thoughts quickly becoming faint and forgettable memories. The light shining down on him from the two suns was nearly distracting enough for the Master to miss the apple that had been thrown his way. Naturally, he didn’t. The Master’s hand clasped perfectly around the foreign fruit, as if he had known where it would be thrown all along. Before he even spoke, the young man took a bite from the apple.

“Drums?” He asked, fooling even himself. “What drums? Are you playing the drums, now? I thought you only played that dumb thing.”

The question was directed towards the Doctor, who looked like he had seen much better days.

The Doctor’s earlier blush returned with all its fury at the Master’s words, causing Rallon to laugh. “I don’t play the drums and it isn't dumb, you know," there was a slight cant of his head, an attempt to look down at someone who was standing, a playful gesture of superiority more than anything, "Not many people can play the perigosto. You play the drums,” he said, added, “Don’t you?”

Rallon explained, “I’m making a band! I could use a drum player, and if you play I'd like you in it,” he made the offer obvious that he’d be just fine with the Master there, even if he did worry him. The Master and Rani both, actually, but the Doctor got along with them well.

“Since when does the Master even like music?” Rani asked, striding up the steps behind him. She hadn’t been far behind at all. “What’s this about a band?”

“Starting one,” Rallon lifted his hand, “Wanna join? Doctor says you sing.”

She gave a smile, as if she found the idea terribly amusing, “I’m not sure,” she answered, “Maybe if I can find the time.” She was already a Junior Time Lady, and planned to try and hasten her advancement to Time Lady. She needed to get off Gallifrey, and the only way she could take the TARDIS driving test was to be a Time Lady. If she could just get off Gallifrey and hunt through time for what she needed, she might get her shrink ray to work right.

As it was, she may or may not have had to lock an overgrown rat up. 

"Oh, come on, you two!" Rallon pouted.

The Master raised his brows and stifled a laugh, “So what if I do?” He challenged with a smile, taking another bite from the apple. So good. The drums were equally haunting as they were fascinating, and he could carry one hell of a beat. But why was this conversation even relevant in that moment?

Rallon spoke, and all questionable things became clear. Well, regarding the drums, anyway. The master should have known, guessed what silly dreams Rallon could come up with. The Gallifreyan was making a band, and if the Master was up for it, he’d be the drummer. The Master wrinkled his nose, briefly unsure. He was unable to respond, as Rani made her way up the stairs just after he did. Had she followed him? Pfft, of course she had.

“Oh come on,” said the Master to Rani, “you could find the time if you really wanted to.” After all, what was time to them anyway? Rallon insisted, and so the Master’s gaze turned to the Doctor. “You going to play the perigosto?” He asked, half mocking. “You can count me in if he’s in.” The Master turned to Rallon, pointed to the Doctor with his thumb, and then took one last bite from the apple.

Rani could find the time, and she knew this. She just found time for other, far more important, things. She wanted to be as great, a better, inventor than Rassilon and Omega ever could be. She wanted to perfect immortality in the Time Lords and Ladies. Her gene manipulation experiments were not going well, though.

“Of course,” the Doctor answered the Master. He would play the perigosto, and he’d become the most popular band member for it. People would be amazed at his talent. “I’m definitely in.”

Rallon clapped his hands together once in excitement. This was going so well! He smiled at the Master, knowing that meant he was in, before looking at Rani, who had now taken a seat on the roof, “Well?”

“Sometimes it helps to get away from what you’re study. Epiphanies.” The Doctor suggested.

“You would know, wouldn’t you? How many epiphanies have you had for your test?” She said, and the Doctor immediately lost his color again, “Still, you are right,” the Doctor was no longer paying attention, but had averted his gaze to his lap, his hands, to thoughts of the test he was so not prepared for. “I guess I’m in, Rallon.” Assuming it ever got anywhere. Could any of them write music?

“Good! Now we just need a bass player,” he said. He, of course, played the regular, sonic guitar. 


The Master did not sit like Rani did; instead he found something to lean against as the conversation progressed. He turned to the perigosto player with a curious glance.  Was the Doctor really worrying about his test? The Master wanted to scoff – his arrogance knew no bounds.

“Stop moping,” he said, tossing the apple away. “If you’re so worried about it, just cheat.” The Master found that he was still hungry, but found himself focusing on the band he was now a part of. Rani agreed to join, too, so that meant that they only needed a bass player. Still, the Master wondered how a band could be successful with a perigosto. What a weird instrument it was. How would they go about it, anyway?

‘1…2…3…4’

The Master shook his head. “Rallon, so help me...we better not suck.”

He’d not be a happy Gallifreyan if they did.

“That kid plays the base, doesn’t he?” The Master furrowed his brows. “Jelpax? Mortimus?” He couldn’t quite remember, but he knew it had to be one of those two. “I’ll talk to him.” The Master found that he had a way with words, or perhaps it was just his demeanor. He shrugged.

“How am I gonna cheat?” The Doctor asked. He had considered it, but this test was not taken with others around. He couldn’t just try and see what was on the Master’s paper.

Rallon ignored that. He didn’t know the Doctor actually did cheat, and wouldn’t have guessed it. He knew the Doctor didn’t do well in school, but he was a genius outside it. He’d seen the strange things the man could do when inspired. “We’re not gonna suck. I know how we can use his instrument. I have ideas,” he said. He canted his head as the Master suggested someone. “Jelpax, I think. Thanks, man.”

“I’m gonna fail,” the Doctor moaned.

Rani snickered, “Oh, boo. Then I guess you can become a, what is it, a janitor? You seem to like them.” The Doctor had a good repertoire with the janitors here. The Rani did not. They did not like her experiments. “Or maybe this band of Rallon’s will kick off and you can become the ‘new’ bass player.”

The Doctor scowled. His instrument was way cooler than bass.


Jelpax. Yeah, that sounded right. The Master would talk to him later, and he would desist using words if necessary, which brought a separate thought into his mind. If the Doctor really wanted to cheat, he’d just have to get creative. The mind was a powerful thing, and the Master just loved using it to influence those around him.

“Get creative,” he told the Doctor matter-of-factly, but would not elaborate until they had a moment alone. Rallon was not exactly open minded.

The Master then paced and walked over to be closest to the Doctor, as opposed to closest to the stairway that would lead them back down. “So when do we start?” The Gallifreyan spoke to Rallon this time, crossing his arms. “We can just assume that Jelpax is in,” which was, more or less, the truth.

The Doctor let out a frustrated noise, but he understood why the Master wasn’t saying anything else. The Doctor didn’t advertise the fact he cheated, lest the teachers catch on. Rani had figured out on her own. Rallon would be strongly opposed to it. Too noble, really. He could have been a knight in another time. Maybe he would be.

Rallon was a good organizer because of that sense of responsibility, though, even if he was dreamy. “This evening! Well, unless you all want to look at the music on your own, first,” with that, Rallon turned to his bag and began to rustle through it, before producing sheets of music. When he handed them off, Rani was the first to complain.

“This isn’t original.”

“No, I’m working on that!" He was planning to ask Millennia. She was better with poetry and writing. She was even studying music and sonic tech here. "But we can get warmed up and learn how we play together. Doctor, I had yours as, well, flute instructions since I…there aren’t instructions for the perigosto.” He was 100% certain the Doctor was literally the only one to use it as an instrument. Thus that genius of the Doctor that didn't work with school.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said and moved to put the sheet of music in his own bag. “Let’s meet tomorrow evening, yeah? Give me time to edit the sheet music so it works. Sound good?” he looked up at the Master, who seemed opposed to sitting. 


The Master found Rallon’s excitement silly, and was sorely tempted to quit that very second. What good would that do, though? Maybe they could pull this whole thing off and become legends. After all, wasn’t that what the Master wanted in the end? He bit his lip and turned to the Doctor, fantasizing of a future where everybody across the universe knew who he was. It was a wonderful future, being subject to so many people’s admiration. Admiration could quickly become something even better.

“Tomorrow evening,” the Master nodded with his head, “Jelpax and I will be…wherever it is that we’re meeting.”

With the drums. Always with the drums. Location at this point didn’t matter to the Gallifreyan.

“You staying here, or are we going?”

He asked the Doctor, though his eyes wandered to the rooftop. There were so many better places to be. The Master understood the Doctor’s fascination very little.

“My place. Er, the dorms anyway. There’s lots of practice rooms.” The Master could figure out how to get a drum set there. He’d probably enlist junior classmen to do it for him. That always seemed to be the case, and the Doctor usually threw a fit over it. Rallon knew not why. 

“Sounds good,” the Doctor hopped to his feet as the Master seemed to want to leave. He had finished his lunch already. “We can go. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” likely for lunch first, and then this practice. He picked up his bag, and then his lunch bag, and swung both over one shoulder.

He didn’t know where the Master intended to go, but figured it was off the roof so he made his way towards the stairs. Rani waved to them both, and the Doctor heard the conversation shift to the issue of making time for such a frivolity. He chuckled. “What’s up?” He asked the Master once they were out of earshot, just in case something was.


Once the Master had turned to make his way down the stairs, he neither looked back nor continued to listen in on what pointless conversation might have sparked between the others. He would see enough of them with this whole band thing, after all. The Doctor, however, was quick to begin conversation with the Master as they moved.

“I don’t understand why you like the roof so much,” the Master knew the reasons, of course, he just didn’t share them. He waited until they were down the flight before continuing, “I just wanted to tell you that there are ways of passing that test.” Ways that weren’t exactly right, but would get the job done. The Master had no need for them, since he did well at everything. It was just fun to mess with other people.

“You got anything else to do for today?”

[Krystal Itzume]

Perks of Cheating, pt. 2

The Doctor wasn’t sure if he ought to frown in disapproval, or plead to know the ways. 

His desire to be a Time Lord usually won out over his morality. “I was just going to study,” skip classes, attempt to study, fail miserably anyway. He wasn’t good at memorizing things he had no interest in. Really, he wasn’t good at doing anything he had no interest in. “But I’m interested in the study methods you had in mind.” Obviously they weren’t study methods, but he wasn’t about to say cheating while they were walking through the halls of the academy.

He was also not going to look at the door which looked like it had been torn off its hinges by a beast of some sort, and he was going to ignore the blood and fur on the walls, too. Every instinct in his body told him he knew where that came from, and he did not want to be pulled aside by a teacher for questioning. ‘Rani.’ If it wasn’t the Master, it was her. Always. Without fail.

He wasn’t sure how he made such friends.

The Master laughed. If studying hadn’t worked before, it wasn’t going to now. “Use your mind, Doctor. Perfect the gifts we have been given as Gallifreyans. Why were they given to us if we were not meant to use them?” The Master knew just how helpful they could be – telepathy, hypnosis, mind control. The strong would prey on the weak, and that was perfectly fine in the Master’s eyes. He didn’t feel threatened by anyone.

The blood and fur on the walls made the Master smile. “She’s crazy, isn’t she?” He asked, amused. It was even almost a compliment.  “One of these days, though, if she’s not more careful…she’ll get caught.” Wouldn’t that be a sight to see, though?

“Want to practice playing with your mind?” The Master grinned, as if someone at long last could see the world how he did.

The Doctor frowned at the Master’s advice. He could always counter that the teacher’s were generally better at these things then him, but that wasn’t true. He was actually quite skilled at the telepathic arts, and he blamed the Master entirely. He had to keep up if he was going to keep unhypnotizing people that the Master hypnotized. He was pretty sure the Master was the best on all of Gallifrey at it, but he might be biased. “It isn’t nice,” he said, before the Master actually did take note of the Rani’s work.

‘Crazy. Yes. Sounds familiar.’

“And she’ll find a way out of it. She’s bloody brilliant,” the Doctor reminded. Scholarships everywhere. People would look past these things. He had a feeling it was why she wasn’t being sought out now…this was rather obvious.

They walked on by the chaos, and the Master offered to help him, “I don’t want to hypnotize the teachers,” he told him. His mind began to turn, “Couldn’t we figure something out like the psychic paper? Like, a form that receives messages, instead of sends them? If I could figure that out, I could just receive the answers from the teacher without them ever knowing….” It sounded like something up the Master’s alley, a way to read minds that played off of technology they already knew. 

“You’re such a bore,” said the Master at the Doctor’s hesitation about using hypnosis and manipulation. He still didn’t understand, but the Master would not so easily give up. If he kept persisting, maybe he could change the Doctor’s mind. The Master quickly decided that he could look forward to such a day, such a sight.

“Psychic paper?” It was definitely another way around the examination. The Master still frowned, however, finding it to be so…unimaginative. Mind control was the best thing ever. “Psychic paper isn’t fun, though. People won’t even suspect you!” The Gallifreyan could then see why the Doctor seemed to like that idea so much more. “Yeah, we could definitely do something like that, then.” The Master knew his way around anything psychic quite well, and he would take what he could get. For now.

“While you’re working on that music, I’ll make something up.”
 
All that meant was that the Master would have more time in the future to try and influence the Doctor.

“You will?!” The Doctor didn’t expect the Master to do all the work on it, but it sounded like it since he was being told to work on the music.

He could hug the other, if the other didn’t seem to dislike that so much.

Wait, why was he throwing his arms around him despite knowing this? Well, apparently the Doctor was going to hug him anyway. “I owe you one,” he said, definitely for this, he knew, and would break the embrace quickly. “I’ll ask my mom about sending more sweets.” He couldn’t quite remember which of the Earth sweets the Master really enjoyed. He was a fan of their gummi treats.


The Master should have expected it, but the hug took him by surprise anyway. “Gah…” He breathed out, tensing immediately.  Why? Why again with this pointless touching? It was so completely unnecessary and intrusive. The Master did not see the hypocrisy of his beliefs. Thankfully, the embrace was a short one, so the wounds were quite minor. The mention of earth sweets, additionally, was enough to diffuse the tension that had momentarily arisen. 

“You had better start making it up to me with some twinkies,” he mumbled, continuing on their way. Ugh. Now the thought of twinkies was ever present in the Master’s mind. “She’ll have twinkies, right? I wouldn’t want to half-ass something as important as psychic paper, you know. Especially not when it is riding on something so important,” he half-joked. 

“She’ll have twinkies,” the Doctor reassured as they stepped out of the campus and found the orange sky above them. “I’ll make sure of it.” He’d request them, along with his jelly babies. He’d get all of those, and even more apples.

The Master would get both twinkies and apples. “Where do you want to go to? I can work on the sheet music anywhere.” The Master working on the psychic paper in a good environment was vastly more important, anyway. 

Twinkies made everything better. Hearing the Doctor confirm such a suspicion was bliss, and the Master could not avoid the smile that appeared on his lips.

“Best if we head back to my parent’s estate,” he mumbled, even if he had mixed feelings about the place. It was not so bad, he supposed. “I have everything I need there, but I can work with anything you might have, too. Better be safe, though.” The Master was quite resourceful. Psychic paper could be tricky, so he’d feel better if he had his things near him.

The Master was also a fan of gadgets. Was it bad that he purposefully made the gadgets dangerous to scare others? He told himself that it wasn’t. With a laugh at the thought, he continued.

“Come on,” he said, now walking towards a set destination.

The Doctor could probably bribe the Master into being a friendlier person with twinkies. The thought crossed his mind, but it was discarded. That wouldn’t be right, either. Conditioning wasn’t good. “Sounds good!” The Doctor loved the Master’s parents’ place, despite all the mixed feelings he knew his friend had. It was just so spacious!

It was no wonder the Master was the way he was, sometimes, so disconnected from affection, and a bit, well, snobbish. He lived in luxury, and his parents weren’t exactly doting. If they were, the Doctor had never seen it.

He knew the way to the Master’s home by heart. It was close enough to the campus to walk, not that anything was ever too far. The Doctor liked walking and the rhythm of it, the pulse of life around him.

The walk to the Master’s home was one that both Gallifreyans knew well, and it went by quickly.  The fields were nice to look at, but proved undoubtedly boring in the end. Pillars of stone introduced the estates. When they reached the entrance, the Master was relieved to see minimal activity around. It seemed like his parents were busy doing something else, so he wouldn’t have to talk to them. Those were the best days.

He knew that it shouldn’t be so, but really couldn’t care less.

Up a flight of stairs and into the Master’s chambers they went. Every table-like surface had something atop it. It was organized, mind you, but cluttered despite it. The Master’s mind never stopped working on new things, and projects were often left unfinished. Only those with great promise ever saw real use. Even with all the clutter, the place was so large and luxurious. Not many people visited, but those that did seemed to enjoy themselves. 

“Just find a place to work,” he mumbled, immediately making his way to find all that he would need for the evening. 

It was all familiar to the Doctor—the reason he considered it a second home, even if the Master’s parents certainly were not second-parents. He did not look about in awe as he once did, though he did note knew projects. “Huh…?” Came as they passed by one, but he didn’t ask about it.

They were soon within the familiar walls of the Master’s chambers, and the Doctor didn’t bother with clearing off a table. He plopped down on the floor and dug out the sheet music almost immediately. He laid down, took a pen out, and began to jot notes quickly. He could hear the sound of the perigosto stick in his head, and could read the sounds and flow that Rallon wanted easily enough to know how to make the adaptation.

It was a shame school couldn’t be this easily.

He did look up to see what the Master was up to now and then, curious as to how the man was going to make all of this work out. When the Master put his mind to something, it seemed he could do anything—another genius like the Rani, but unlike her, so much of his things ended up never being complete. He was easily distracted, or too easily bored. The Doctor was never sure which.

He would work in peace, though. He felt comfortable here, after all. 

As the Doctor submerged himself in his tasks, the Master did the same thing, finding refuge in an armchair across one of his many, many desks. Resting atop his crossed leg was a glass like surface, and it soon became cluttered like the other tables. The Master went through several strips of paper, each attempt closer to the desired outcome when compared to the last. There was no distracting the Master at that point.

‘1…2…3…4’

The beats in his head became propellers, making a pattern that helped him concentrate instead of distracting him.

‘1…2…3…4’

His last attempt was not on a paper, but on a pen. If the Master could get it just right, then that pen would be able to turn any piece of paper into a psychic paper. It would be perfect; the pen would essentially make the paper feed the right answers to the Doctor. Could it be? Could it really be this simple?

To any other, it was not so.

The Master looked up, unsure of how much time had lapsed between now and when he had just started.
“I think I’ve got something here,” he mused, “how long have we been at this?”

The Doctor had since finished with the sheet music—there wasn’t that many pages. Despite how it changed nothing, he tried to study, but found the task difficult. He couldn’t stay focused. He started making other notes in the margins. Like so many of his friends, he too was an inventor at heart. Millennia had been talking more and more about sonic stuff that day. The Master was already busy with one of his ideas, so he began to jot notes on the uses of sonic energy. Sound. Vibrations.

Vibrations could do so much, he knew. Vibrations were essentially movement. ‘So with the right movements, any lock could be undone.’

He might be about as criminal as some of his friends, too. Either way, studying ceased, and new note-taking began on sonic.

When the Master spoke, he jumped, startled and formerly lost in his calculations. He looked up and around for a clock, but found a window instead. “Well, one sun set,” that meant quite a few hours had passed by. He sat up, stretched, then stood and walked over to where the Master was, leaving his notes on the floor. “What did you figure out?” He was curious about the thing itself, and a bit about the process. 


The Master looked out the window, silently concurring with the Doctor’s estimate. One sunset. Then the question came, and pride ignited.

“A psychic pen,” he said, finding his own brilliance brilliant, “I’ve added a chemical to the ink, quite different than anything I would have tried on paper, but it should work.” He continued his rambling, “I thought the idea of psychic ink was a little ridiculous, since psychic paper will malfunction if it gets wet, but if the paper isn’t psychic, why not?” The Master realized that he had not meant to have his question answered.

There would still be kinks to figure out to be sure, but this looked promising.

“By typing with psychic ink, you will turn whichever paper into psychic paper that can, as you said yourself, receive messages instead of send them. Only, the paper will only remain psychic for a short while.”

With a click of his tongue, he tossed the pen to the Doctor. “Ah,” he said, seriously, “I will be needing that back, though.”

Still, if he could manage to make a permanent form of psychic paper that could receive messages for an indefinite amount of time...well.... It looked like the Master had found another project to take on.


The Master made something quite unexpected, but the Doctor was pleased either way. He was intrigued. “Huh,” he knew no answer was needed, understood the rhetorical query. He canted his head to examine the pen the Master was holding as he continued on.

“I’ll have to test it in my classes beforehand,” he noted, caught the pen though he fumbled a little with it. “I’ll get it back to you after the test, for sure,” he might borrow it again, though. Or have the Master make him one of his own. He could already see that the Master was engaged with the idea.

He liked to see that, and to know he had inspired it. “You could make a fortune with these, you know,” he offered, not that the Master needed money. The Master could be famous among the students, and infamous among the professors, for these pens. He imagined the thought would be exciting to his friend, and encourage him to perfect the pens. 


The Doctor’s idea was met with a wide smile and a fantasy. It would be great to be famous among the others, in a way superior to them. It was certainly something that could happen with the creation of his pen, but the same could be said about many of the things he had the intention of finishing, especially those that he told only a few people about. Is this what he wanted? More importantly, is this how he wanted it?

“I don’t need the money,” he mirrored the same thoughts the Doctor had, “but that would be a sight, wouldn’t it? Everybody would know exactly what I can do…” He shrugged, leaning back on his chair as the Doctor fiddled with the pen. People were already beginning to notice his potential though. It was why some people chose to fear him instead of befriend him. “Maybe I can just keep it to myself, too. That way only I can reap the benefits of the gadgets that I make. Nobody will ever know they are just little toys in the midst of a bigger picture.”

That idea was also intriguing.

The Doctor nodded his consent about it being a sight. As it was, people were only really learning what the Rani could do among their population, and he could see the fear—fear he had a feeling his friend wanted. The Doctor understood why they feared, but the Doctor never quite grasped why the Master wanted that fear. The Rani, at least, didn’t care for it. She complained bitterly about the ignorance of others whenever she had to explain herself and how important her work would one day be.

But the Master liked it.

The Doctor would rather be liked. “Then no one would ever know how you became so great,” the Doctor said. He went to grab his things, stuffing notes of the sonic back into his bag and putting it over one shoulder. He kept the pen in his hand. “You’d be a mystery for future Time Lords to discover, like we tried with Valdermar,” and he moved to the door, “I, unfortunately, have to go, but wouldn’t that be something?”

He took a pause at the door for drama, and spoke aloud to tease, “Odd, though, isn’t it, that no one has come looking for you yet?” A wide grin cracked his lips, and then he darted out of the room in case his friend took offense.

[Bleu]

Losing Control Pt. 1

“What do you mean you can’t come?” Maya sounded a bit desperate on the phone as she spoke with Jasmine. She was already dressed up for the rave that Jasmine had planned out for them.

Jasmine’s answer was as reassuring as it could be, but she was making it quite clear that work had gotten in the way. “You’re freelance! You can say no whenever you want,” Maya huffed, crossing one arm over her chest as she paced the living room, heels clicking with each step. She wore a bit more color this time, neon green with black, but no other hue except what came from the many glow sticks. She loved those things.

Angelus was sprawled out on the couch, playing his new zombie-killing game with Andrew. She shot Andrew a rueful look, jealous of him now. She wanted to stay and kill zombies if Jasmine couldn’t come.

And yet…. “Fine, fine. You owe us for this, Jas.” She sighed, “I’ll see you later,” and hung up. She’d tell Julio when he arrived.

“Gonna call Juls and tell him plans are canceled?” Angelus asked without looking away from the screen.

“No,” she answered, “We’ll go anyway.”

He arched a brow, but didn’t question it. He was pleased with the answer. 

Much like that very first night Juls went to a Rave with his new friends, the young man walked towards Ange’s apartment in the best of spirits. Instead of long pants with a mesh shirt, Juls was wearing neon orange short shorts and black army boots that went up to a couple inches under his knee. He didn’t wear a shirt on this surprisingly chilly night, but his chest was, once more, covered with glitter. Shining beads hung from his neck, and his hair was the same color of his shorts, long and shaved on the sides.

“Rave tonight, woo!” He cheered just outside of Ange’s door, before knocking to officially let his presence be known.

Once inside, he gave the place a once over before shooting Andrew a quick wink.

“So are we all ready?”

Angelus was quite certain Juls was trying to get a reaction out of him with these outfits. That, or Andrew. The wink suggested Andrew, who busied himself by getting up when Angelus paused the game to get the pizza out of the freezer.

“Jasmine won’t be coming,” Maya told Julio when he asked, “But if you still want to go,” leg crossed behind leg, “I would like to go out.”

“You need a tie,” Angelus told Julio, interrupting, deciding at long last that was what was missing over his bare chest. The beads were just obnoxious. A tie would be better.

Maya shot him a frown, and he shrugged, “Or I know nothing about fashion,” which was blatantly obvious, much to Juls and Maya’s constant frustration. What he knew was that black went with everything, and that was all he needed to know. 

As always, Andrew’s avoidance was delicious. It meant something, and Juls knew it. The bad news, however, snapped Juls back into the current situation.

“What?” Juls huffed; much like Maya had done not so long ago. “Well whatever,” he smiled anyway, “we can totally have fun just the two of us. Show the other dancers how the hell it’s done.” It was true, and although Juls had never really considered the possibility, it was an exciting one. Maya and he, out at a Rave by themselves – it would be awesome.

“A tie?” Juls breathed out, and then continued with a joke “I would do that if I wanted to be a stripper, mate. Though, I have considered such a job. I'd be really good at it.” How he enjoyed his conversations with Ange, especially if it meant awkward situations. Juls was beginning to think that there could be no such thing as an awkward situation with Ange.

“Shall we, Maya?” Juls offered his arm for Maya to take, already shifting his weight to head towards the door. ‘Y’all have fun wreaking havoc on zombies!”

“Why do you think I want you in a tie?” Angelus joked right back, “They’re only good for being dramatically removed, or as a noose.” He wasn’t sure which use he preferred, but it was clear he had contemplated both.

“Ange….” Maya just shook her head at him. Juls offered his arm then, and Maya did step forward to accept it, even if the action seemed ridiculous coming from a man in glitter.

“We’ll kill all the zombies, Bauss. You two have fun, stay safe, all that stuff.” Angelus said, offering a mock-salute as the two exited the apartment, arm-in-arm.

Once out, Maya let out a sigh, offered, “Sorry about Jasmine,” even though it wasn’t her fault. “She likes money more than us,” it was clearly the only conclusion one could reach.

Formalities, salutes, arm-locks, and army boots – they all made for the perfect exit charade. Juls could not have planned it better himself.

“You betcha,” he offered to Ange before they stepped on out. Without Jasmine, Juls knew that he would have to be more responsible. Still, Juls never really needed substance to let himself be lost in the music. He would indulge anyway, of course, but he’d be wary.

“That bitch,” Juls joked with a chuckle, “I’m sure she had her reasons, though. It must have been important one way or another. We’ll have a good time just as well,” he promised on a more serious note. That way Jasmine would know that she missed out. A smile came across his pillowy lips.

Once they were by the car, Juls broke the arm lock and unlocked the doors. As per usual, a box sat in the backseat with all sorts of fun rave items. Without Jasmine most would go ignored, but it wouldn’t matter. Juls and Maya were more than ready, and every time they danced at a new rave, they performed better than the last time. They would slay that night.

“Maya and Juls on a night out,” Juls said, grinning in excitement, as he turned the car on, and drove towards the club. “Fuckin brilliant.”

Juls could be liberal with his curses—one reason, certainly, that Angelus liked him. Maya still chuckled at the vulgar language. She was growing more and more to accept it as everyday talk, and not something to wrinkle her nose at. Jas had her reasons, of course, but Maya wasn’t sure they were good enough. “We’ll lie if we don’t, so that she’s jealous anyway.” Maya offered.

Really, that shouldn’t be her first thought. Lying.

Into the car, and Maya stretched her legs out once inside, glad to be able to sit in the front with all the leg room. She was still used to giving this spot up to Jasmine when they went out with Juls. It was strange to sit up front, and she resisted the urge to play with the radio stations. ‘It will be fun.’ He was overly excited.

Soon enough, they were at a familiar spot, which made this a bit easier for Maya. She had only been here once before, but she knew it, and Juls could get them in easily enough. It was another spot that often had lines to get in, but one wink to the bouncer and the two of them would be in. Then, the fun could begin!

‘Without Jasmine to dictate.’ She ignored the passing thought. Jasmine didn’t really dictate, after all, she was just cautious. 

Juls parked the car quickly, and just like the times before, he avoided both being carded and waiting in line. The bouncer stepped aside and Juls and Maya went in freely. Good thing, too, since it looked like it might rain outside. Juls was half-naked, and that would not end well.

Where the first rave they went to was spacey and upscale, this one was more squeezed, but taller with two more levels above the first. Tables were set up on the sides of the dance floor, and waitresses swarmed around to sell drinks to people standing around. The drinks in this club were more elaborate, since conversation was more common here than in other clubs.

“Drinks?” A pig-tailed waitress approached them as they entered. She carried a tray in one hand and a whistle in the other.

Juls redirected the question to Maya first before ordering for himself. “Vodka tonic for me,” he said when the question came back to him, and as the waitress wandered off, Juls added, “and we will be wanting a couple of shots after that, too.”

A wink, and she was off.

Almost the second they entered, they were asked about drinks. It was common now to have at least one drink (that was all Maya ever had out at these things) before dancing. She was able to order for herself this time, “Sour Cherry sling, please!” Maya ordered, and then Juls ordered his vodka tonic, and asked for shots.

Maya bit down on the comment that she shouldn’t have anything else. Perhaps she should. She didn’t get to try much while she was out, and she often regretted that. There were so many tasty-sounding things!

Even so, when the waitress returned with their drinks, and the extra shots, she hesitated to take the one of them. 

The drinks did not take long to return, and Juls took his Vodka tonic with an appreciative glance towards the waitress. If Juls didn’t know any better, he’d say that the waitress was hitting on him. Or was he hitting on her? It didn’t matter; she was just probably doing her job. The orange-haired boy took a sip from his drink. Upon seeing Maya hesitate in taking the shot, however, Juls gave her a smile and an encouraging look.

“It’ll be fine, Maya,” he said to her, taking the shot from the waitress and offering it to her himself instead, “you can just toss the shot into your drink, you won’t even notice. You’ll never know how much you can handle if you don’t try.”

Even so, Juls had promised himself that he wouldn’t drink more that this first round of drinks. He was driving after all.  If Maya wanted to let loose a little more than usual, he would take care of her.

Julio was right, of course, but every instinct in Maya told her not to take the shot, that she was already painfully aware she was a light-weight by just how much one could affect her.

Yet, she reached for the shot when Julio offered it to her. “You’re right,” she verbally agreed, and took the shot down first and chased it with her cherry drink. There was no need to make her cherry drink taste worse. The shot had its usual effect, the tipsiness that came with it accepted.

The cherry drink added to that, but it didn’t cause her to be more cautious. Quite the contrary, she finished it quickly and felt happier, giddier. The music felt more alive. It seemed like everything was moving to its beat and its command. ‘So this is how it feels!’ She had wondered why Angelus liked to drink so much more than he ought. If this was how it felt, she couldn’t blame him at all.

“I think I’m still all right,” she told Juls, to confirm his right-ness. New doors were opened. “I’m going to try another!” There was a glowing green shot she always wanted to try, after all. She’d seen it here, and at another rave. She had no idea if they were the same drink, but she could find that out another day.

Maya did not bother to hail the same waitress, but made a beeline for the bar itself, steps already starting to become off. One who didn't know her would simply assume it was the height of the heels. She leaned across the counter to the get the attention of the server once she arrived at the bar.

Maya took the shot and then moved on to her cherry drink. The change was immediately visible. Was it pride that Juls felt? If not, it seemed very similar to it. 

Juls drank his own shot, sipped from his vodka tonic, and followed Maya’s beeline to the bar. He drank the rest of his vodka tonic as Maya ordered her next drink. Juls turned to the bartender and then spoke, “I’ll have a strawberry margarita, mate,” his hand found his mouth as if he were to whisper a secret to the bartender, mouthing, “Virgin.”

No more alcohol for him, especially if Maya was feeling particularly adventurous that night.

After Maya drank her shot, Juls had every intention of taking her hand and dragging her to the dance floor.

“Let’s dance,” he’d say.

Juls ordered another drink for himself, and Maya felt less ashamed about ordering something else, unaware he made it a virgin. “There’s a glowing green shot I’ve seen,” she told the bartender, “I don’t know what it is, but I want to try it, please,” at least her manners didn’t leave her, right? Right.

Soon enough, both drinks were passed out, and Maya examined the strange beverage before her for a couple of seconds before shrugging off the trepidation she felt and downing it. It was electric; she was unaware it was one of those liquors mixed with an energy drink, though that night she wouldn’t have said no.

It tasted terrible. Her face screwed up in disgust. She was relieved to be immediately distracted from the taste by Juls. “K!” She shouldn’t have any more anyway.

She let herself be dragged out to the floor, gaze shifting about as the lights seemed more vibrant and the music so much louder. She could truly feel it! They made their way out close to the center of this floor, and Maya let Julio set the rhythm, but it didn’t last.

The bass was too distracting. Every strike of a drum, too, seemed to want to force movement from her. There were too many sounds.

She shut them out by closing her eyes, which seemed to help her focus on just the one, the bass flow, and she moved with that one instead, for once finding her control leaving her as the sounds drove every movement without her anticipating them.

Juls quickly acknowledged that Maya was drunk. He found it a little amazing how the levels of intoxication had escalated so soon, but there was no doubt about it. When the pair started dancing to the dance music, Juls took notice that Maya could only keep a constant beat with the bass, eyes closed and wonderful. He smiled, completely endeared by Maya. It could have been because it was reminiscent of how he used to dance when he’d barely started out. There was nothing him holding back, and the alcohol had often made him a spectacle that blended only too well with the other ravers.

It also could have been because he felt like this was another milestone with Maya. Juls believed that if Jasmine had come with them, Maya wouldn’t have been so daring with her drinking. The boy didn’t know if this was a good thing, but he was sure that it meant something.

“Maya, Maya,” he shouted as they danced all around the dance floor, “picture, you daredevil queen!” Already, Julio’s phone was prepped and ready.

The night was young, and more interesting things would soon follow. 

Devil, that was a word that could get her attention, ever since Faustus, ever since Devlin. Did Julio know that? Maya wasn’t sure of his knowledge on much as her eyes fluttered open. It seemed in that moment he was someone who did know her well, and so it did not matter. If he did not know, he would. He was trustworthy. “Yes, Doctor,” well, he did remind her of her Doctor Faustus.

‘What would he think right now?’ Ange never told her of the voice that came alive when alcohol sunk in, the reason he avoided too much, the reason he did not get chipper the more he drank.

Another picture was demanded. He just had to document these things, didn’t he?

Maya did stop dancing to join the man with the phone, throwing an arm around his shoulders and smiling wide for the camera. The flushed cheeks would always reveal from whence this picture came, when dates blurred together in the future.

“You and your pictures,” she said when it was snapped, “Why aren’t you a journalist? You could write about these,” she threw her arms out to suggest the raves. He could become a rave critic, a fashion critic, so many things—he always had opinions and he was certainly not shy. People loved him, too. They would talk to him.

Not that there was time for him to answer the question, for the music was too loud for him to be heard when Maya moved away from him and rejoined the masses.

Unfortunately, eyes closed again, she would lose her sense of location and lose Julio through it. It did not matter to her at first, for she was just here to dance. When someone joined her, too close for what would usually be comfortable, she imagined it Juls without looking and danced the rest of one song with them before checking identity.

Not Juls. Her confusion showed, and he smiled nicely at her, “Sorry,” he spoke over the cheers, “You just looked so damn good.” He touched her arm. No, his hand wrapped around it. “C’mon,” he made a motion and pulled, “Let’s get something to drink. You look thirsty.” Not that alcohol would help this thirst, and he knew it. Her face was still flushed from the alcohol of earlier.

Maya didn’t consider that, but she was thirsty, so she accepted the plan. 

[Bleu]

Losing Control Pt. 2

Juls noticed the nickname given to him, but didn’t say anything in that moment. Doctor? There would be time to talk about that at a later time, perhaps over breakfast one day. For now, pictures needed to be taken. The night needed to be enjoyed.

Click.

The picture was fantastic, a perfect moment caught in a perfect image. Juls just knew that every time he looked at that picture, the warm feeling of this memory would make everything alright. He put his phone away with a smile, quickly noticing that Maya had already returned to the mass of dancers under the light. He followed quickly, but was soon crowded with people who noticed that, for the first time in the night, he was alone. Getting past them proved to be trickier than Juls had thought, but after his gaze found Maya, he did not let anyone distract him.

Except, as the song ended and Juls finally reached his friend, Maya was not alone. A bloke had spotted her mid-song, and was already pulling her off of the dance floor. Immediately, Juls ignited, his gut telling him that Maya should not be going with that man.

With a couple of quick strides, Juls hand found Maya’s other arm and gently stopped her.

“There you are,” he said, relieved, before turning to the man, “Sorry mate, she’s with me.”

Another person touched her, and Maya shifted her attention towards them. It was Juls. A smile lit her face immediately.

The bloke was not so happy to see him, though he arched a brow, not quite believing the man. He didn’t really look the sort to be here with a girl. However, when she said, “Juls!” He realized it must be so.

He didn’t have time to play the long game with this one. There were plenty of women alone. “I didn't know. We were just going to get a drink,” he said, releasing Maya then, plans ruined. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she wouldn’t have done anything to break your trust,” he wasn’t sure at all, and perhaps he wanted to disturb what he imagined was a romantic relationship.

The words were familiar, or rather, the implication. It struck a chord that seemed to dissolve the intoxication for a moment that was far from blissful. ‘What was I…? What was he…?’ “We’re not—!” But Maya didn’t finish her sentence, for the man’s back was turned and he was already moving back into the mass of dancers. “Jackass,” was spoken between gritted teeth.

Juls. She remembered him then and all that color returned to her face, “I-I’m sorry!” She’d gotten lost from him, didn’t she? She’d walked off with a strange man for a drink…for a drink! “I think…water. I need water.” Not a drink. Water. 

Should the bloke decide to challenge Juls, the young orange-haired man had plenty of connections in the club to back him up. The bouncer would be there in a second, if necessary, and the night would continue with one less smudge on the dance floor. Thankfully, however, Maya’s words and Juls firm grip dissuaded the man from trying anything further with his friend. With the bloke’s words, Juls merely nodded his head and encouraged the man to go back to the dance floor and continue in his prowl somewhere else.

Juls didn’t care what implications the man made between him and Maya, but as long as he left the both of them alone, he considered it a success.

“Fuckin prick,” he muttered under his breath just as Maya did. Maya turned to look at him, and Juls only smiled to her. It seemed like she only now realized what could have happened if she’d followed the bloke. Juls didn’t even want to think about it. The more time he spent with Maya, the more he thought of her as a sister, and the more protective he was. “Don’t even worry about it, Maya,” he breathed out, more relieved than anything. Juls grabbed her hand and led her to the bar. “Let’s get you some water.”

As always, Juls commanded the attention of the busy bartenders, and shortly two bottled waters were handed to him. He had to pay for these, of course, but Juls was always prepared.

“Here,” he gave one of the bottles to Maya and then turned to face one of the many tables, “why don't we sit, for a bit?”

Julio consented to the water idea. It was a good one, of course, but the further Maya got from the chaos that was the dance floor, the more she hated herself. She was not distracted from her own state, and so she noticed each stagger with painful clarity. Her body was defying her wishes, but being conscious of it was not fixing the problem.

‘No one is looking.’ Everyone was too caught up in themselves.

‘That doesn’t matter.’ Ah, this voice. She remembered this voice. It was a strength as much as a curse. It forced her chin up and her back straight in times of crisis. She disliked it. It allowed for no weakness. ‘We know what we’ve become.’

Juls had the water, and Maya accepted one gratefully, “Thank you,” and twisted the cap off and downed at least half of it in the first few seconds, before Juls suggested sitting. ‘Because you can’t stand.’ Swallow. Nod. She followed Juls to a table and took a seat, careful that she wouldn’t knock the seat to the floor with herself. “Thank you,” she said again.

‘Can’t even take care of yourself.’ This was not the strong voice. This was another, one Maya hadn’t heard in a month.

If she could murder her demons, she would. “I’m sorry, I’m…I don’t…,” how was she going to say this?

‘Aeron had good reason to worry about you. You have no inhibitions. You would have gone with that man….’

“I try not to drink much. Never…never figured out my tolerances.” Never wanted to. Were those tears? Why were those tears? Why was she crying? Bloody hell.

‘You need Jasmine. You need others. Just admit it, and go back to London. Go home and stop lying to yourself.’

Deep breath. “Sorry. I think I’ll call a cab and go.” She didn’t want to ruin Juls’s fun, though she didn't want to go to Ange's. Did she bring Jasmine's key with her? She'd check later. “After this bottle.” Another long drink from it followed.

There was a shift in Maya, something that very quickly worried Juls. As she took a seat, so did he – not across from her, but next to her. Juls drank from his water as well, but he was increasingly concerned by Maya. Perhaps this had not been a good idea, after all; maybe it would have been best if they had stayed in and killed zombies with the others. What had he done? Was this his doing? His influence?

“Are you okay, Maya?”

It seemed like she had not the words to answer him, and then the tears came. The alcohol had triggered something inside her, something that she might have been trying to avoid. Instinctively, Juls arm reached around her to give her an encouraging squeeze. There was something psychological about having someone there that always made him feel better.

“Absolutely not,” said Juls, his tone giving no option where Maya could leave without him. He was quite familiar with the demons that alcohol could awaken, and he was sure that no one should ever have to face them alone. It was a form of torture that he couldn’t even begin to describe. In that moment, Juls was reminded that alcohol was a double-edged sword. “Come on, we can leave together.” 

Juls stood from his sitting position, finishing his water bottle and placing it on the table. Something told him that Maya wouldn’t want to go home, not like this. And so he asked, “Where do you want to go?” Juls contemplated the idea of getting her something to eat. The alcohol was playing tricks on her. Perhaps she needed someone to vent to, someone who would listen until she became sober again.

Whatever it is that she needed, Juls would try his best to help her. Nobody should ever go on without anybody. He’d been alone before, and he would never wish that on anyone. 

Maya jumped a bit at the touch, but did not push Juls away. It was just Juls, not the stranger, not anyone else who meant her harm with affection. Juls. ‘Is that so?’ Her mind wanted to remind her they hadn’t known each other long.

What did she really know about him, besides the shallow level, that shallow level on which she’d only ever known Devlin? ‘Nothing.’ He told her that she was not going to get a cab, that they’d leave the club together. A noble gesture, but she almost wanted to argue then and there.

She didn’t know him, her mind kept insisting, and all of the demons in her head came from a time he had no understanding of. Maya wanted Jasmine, but Jasmine wasn’t available. He asked where she wanted to go, but all she could say was, “Not home.” She couldn’t go to Jasmine, and she couldn’t have Angelus see her like this. She was trying to get better, and she didn’t want to worry Angelus further.

She finished the water bottle before standing. Tears. She was wasting all her hydration. ‘Idiot.’ Arms crossed over her chest. “Just not home. Anywhere else.”

“You got it,” there was still genuine concern in his voice.

Juls humored the idea of calling Jasmine several times, but decided against it. Maybe Maya needed to talk about this with someone else, someone with whom she didn’t have to pretend to be okay. When he led the way back to the car outside of the club, without once letting Maya out of his sight, Juls decided that they needed to sit down in a place – bright and welcoming – where they could just talk it out. The darkness of the night and the disconnection from those dancing were only going to make the demons seem worse.

They needed a place that was warm.

“I know a place,” he said, making sure that Maya was safely inside and buckled in, before turning on the car and driving off.

“What is it Maya? Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, his own suspicions sparking. “Is it related to the reason why you left London?”

Nobody had told him anything, but he was good at picking these things up. He wouldn’t force Ange to tell him, either. There was a bond there that Juls would never, ever, try to breach. He just wished that whatever demons Maya was fighting, that they could be defeated. Juls felt like he had at last defeated his own demons. Ange, Maya, and the others had been the answer. The vaccine.

Into the car they went, and Juls had a place in mind. Maya managed to buckle herself in, and then she turned her head towards the night, the darkness, the emptiness. ‘Can’t escape what’s shackled to you.’ Oh, but she could try. She didn’t have to look back at the weight that kept pulling her. She’d been doing so well, too. So well.

Julio spoke once they got off, but she did not want to answer his questions. At his final one, however, she tensed. ‘How?’ As far as she knew, Angelus had told Julio they were here on a whim—which was accurate. Bristol was picked on a whim. Maya was quite certain she hadn’t let anything slip. Had she?

Suddenly she wasn’t so certain. She could have denied his suspicions entirely, but panic and alcohol didn’t make her a good liar when mixed. “What have they told you?” They referring to the group at large, Andrew, Jasmine, and Angelus. There was accusation and suspicion in her tone, that whoever said a word might dearly regret it.

Juls frowned at the realization that he had been right. What had previously just been a deep suspicion, was now fact. Somehow, Juls felt like he could relate to her in a whole other level.

“Nobody told me anything,” he spoke sincerely, “but you guys moving to Bristol so quickly, without real reason…well, I just sort of put two and two together. I…,” that wasn’t entirely true. His past experience with his parents, the way that he wanted to escape from them was just something that felt so familiar to what Maya and the others were going through. He knew not the severity, or anything really, of the situation, but he understood. “I moved to Bristol the same way,” he reminded, since he had not been so secretive about his past.

They had not been far off from their destination, and Juls quickly parked outside a diner. It was nearly empty, but it was in the nicer side of town.

Julio claimed it was only his own logic, but Maya doubted that as they came up to a diner. ‘Always a diner.’ It was in such a place she had told everything to Angelus and the others, and in such a place decisions had been made.

Her hands remained in her lap and she looked down at them, rather than Juls or the outside as they came to a spot. “It was your parents,” she said quietly.

It was not her parents. Not really. Not completely.

He had been braver than her. His story was one of true rebellion, for he had never conformed. He was so like Angelus in that way. He had broken away from his parents who lied about their acceptance.

No, his comparison was not accurate. “It is not the same,” she told him as she unbuckled and then opened the door. She shut it behind her and walked towards the diner, not sure if she felt like being defiant or otherwise. Juls had raised all of her guards in one breath.

She stepped in before him and smiled kindly at the late-staff, was directed to a booth by a window when Juls came in as well, since it was clear the two of them had come together. Drinks were asked for, “Water and hot chocolate,” the first drink she’d had with Juls, a comfort drink of sorts.

[Bleu]

Losing Control Pt. 3

It was not the same, and Juls agreed. There had been some parts of his past that his new friends had not asked about, and so he had not felt the need to tell them what had additionally gone down before he left his home. It was not the same, but Maya still only knew half of the story. Cat was a story that he wasn’t sure he was ready to talk about. He understood Maya, in that sense. He just hated looking at her suffer.

It seemed unreasonable to care so much for someone who you just met, but Juls could not help it. The love hit him with Ange the hardest, but he still cared for Maya. It started off as an extension of Ange, naturally, but it was not so, anymore.

“I’ll have the same,” Juls said, sitting across from Maya this time.

Maya’s defenses were up. It was hard not to notice this, since he had asked about something so personal she had to flee, just as he had.

“It is not the same thing,” he agreed gently, “but we both escaped from a life we didn’t want. I think about going back sometimes,” those demons never truly left him alone, but he had learned to cope with them. Still, the doubt of whether or not he had been right to leave was agonizing. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he offered, “I just don’t like seeing you…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, “but it might help to talk about it.”

He was just as scared as she was.

“I’m sorry I made you drink so much back at the club.”

Juls needed to get that out; it was eating at him. Somehow, this was his fault.

Julio ordered the same after he placed himself before her, and he spoke before their drinks arrived. Her heart clenched, ached, at his own confession of wanting to go back sometimes. It hit too close. She didn’t want to relate to him. It made it easier to keep him at a distance if he was just this strange friend of Ange who she liked.

Even so, she knew it had stopped being that. She cared for Juls. Unfortunately, part of that care went into constant paranoia about how she was portraying herself. She didn’t want to seem this way to him, didn’t want it to be so obvious that she had troubles. She hadn’t perfected the act. The hot chocolate and waters arrived, and Maya told the waitress they needed a little more time before ordering.

Once she left them, “You don’t need to apologize. I made the choice to drink,” it started with responsibility, or so Jasmine said. Responsibility and understanding. Angelus didn’t like Jasmine’s idea, but Maya did. It made it difficult, though. Maya had to accept that she had been that girl who lost herself. Outside forces influenced it, but that had been her—her decisions.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she said, and she wrapped her hands around the warm cup, right then just wanting to feel it. “And, here. Before we came to Bristol, they took me to a diner,” she told Juls. She lifted the cup. She drank. She said, “I told them everything,” there was a touch of pride as she reflected on just how long she'd hid it. She wouldn't reveal the length of that relationship to Juls, though. It just made her look even worse. “I came here because I had to escape an abusive relationship with a man I was engaged to. Long story short,” a smirk, that faded. No, details weren't necessary. That was enough. She didn't want to think of the details. That always brought up his voice, “My parents played some part. Lina supported the relationship, my dad was just oblivious,” she always called her mother Lina now. Always would, she imagined.

“Before all of this, I was someone,” there was heartache at the words, as if she were no longer someone, “That is, I was recruited by the Royal Shakespeare Company. I guess it’s better to say, I was going to be someone,” despite her awards which she knew Juls had seen for dance and for the violin. “I think I’ve constantly made the wrong decision in giving all of that up.”

Maya said that Juls need not apologize, but Juls still knew that it should not have gone that far. He influenced her, and he unintentionally awakened her demons. His were threatening to come back, too, but he knew how to avoid them well. Finding his new group of friends had rendered them useless. Even if they tried to come back, he would think of Ange and the others…they didn’t seem like much of a threat anymore.

The drinks were brought to them, and the waitress was sent away to come back later. 

Juls was glad to see that Maya was willing to talk, and he appreciated that she let him in on what had happened. She didn’t give any details, but Juls could understand that completely. He didn’t give details about many things that still bothered him. Cat was but one example. Still, her story was not one that he would have expected. An abusive relationship? The boy’s face hardened at the words, and his hands tightened their grip around the hot chocolate.

He didn’t know the guy, and already he hated him.

There were true horrors in Maya’s past, and it turned out that her parents weren’t blameless either. She thought about the choice she had made, just as he did. It made his heart want to fall out of his chest; it was a horrible feeling to feel what Maya felt. Nobody deserved that.

“You don’t have to give it up,” spoke Juls, “whatever influence that bastard might have had, don’t let it stop you from doing what makes you happy. Don’t let it affect you - you can't let him win.” Juls had seen firsthand what Maya could do. The dancing and her professional expertise were just the beginning, all the trophies and awards also mirrored who she really was. “I’m a mess when I think of my parents’ home,” he confessed, “I sometimes try to convince myself that things might not have been so bad if I had just stayed – that I could change my parents to accept me as me.” He shook his head. “They won’t change. And I’ve found a new home here in Bristol.”

That was the truth. His home was wherever his friends were, and that made all the difference.

“You do not have to lose a part of yourself just because it is connected to your past, Maya.”

Julio listened without interruption, and when he spoke it was without question. He took in her words, and he did not question them. She still remembered the burns from Angelus when he questioned everything, that first day, when he broke out in a rage Maya had never seen before. It wasn’t directed at her, but she had certainly suffered for it under his questions and his disbelief.

The calm acceptance was nice. The encouragement unnecessary, but it made her smile. These were words one had to say, weren’t they? Don’t give up, don’t let him win, be happy. She was trying. “You can’t change people who do not want to change,” another reminder Maya had to give herself. She couldn’t change Aeron. She had to love the person for who they were, and who they wanted to be, not who they could be. Aeron would not change to be what she wanted him to be, and Maya would never bend to be what he wanted, again.

That was always the problem. It kept her from the violin and all her pretty dresses, most days. Juls mirrored words Angelus spoke, and she took a sip of her hot chocolate. “The thing is,” Maya said, “I’m not sure who I am. I’m not sure if I like what I like because I was conditioned to like it, or because I do like it.” Her smile was distant, “I think I wanted to learn to dance, and play the piano. I know I wanted to act, because Lina fought with me on it.”

Such a troubling dilemma. She set the cup down and crossed her arms over the table, seeing something then. “But you’re new.” This was spoken as if it were a sudden realization. No longer was he Devlin or similar, for she would never share these things with Devlin.

He was new, which meant, he could be part of the process of her rediscovery without being influenced by who she had been. “We’re going shopping.”

‘You’ll help me find myself again.’ 

‘You can’t change people who do not want to change…’

He could not have said it better himself. “Exactly,” he agreed.  This had always been the problem with his parents. They told him that they loved him anyway, no matter which choices he made in his life. So why couldn’t they look at him? Why couldn’t they hug him, or talk to him? They said they accepted him because it was the right thing to do, but they never truly wanted to accept him. He could see the way they changed after he’d told them.

The news that Maya didn’t really know who she was or what she genuinely liked was actually good news to Juls. It meant that she could figure it out, that she’d be willing to try. When she mentioned this, he smiled. “There is a community theater that I think you might like,” he said as she spoke. If she knew that she wanted to act, then that could be one of the first things they tried out.

Then shopping was mentioned, and it looked like that ship would sail immediately. Juls never declined an invitation to shop.

“That sounds fuckin fantastic,” he said with a smile. “You won’t find a better shopping companion than me.”

It was then that the waitress returned, notepad in hand.

Juls didn’t need to look at the menu to know what he wanted. “Pancakes,” was all he said.

[Bleu]

Things Broken Pt. 1

Earth. The Master could vomit by just thinking too much of it. He liked the sweets (oh how those twinkies made everything better), and the occasional apple (he blamed the Doctor for that), but the people… they were just so damn hard to tolerate. So foolish and inept. A certain level of toleration was necessary, however, if he wanted to get those twinkies back to Gallifrey. That was the whole point of this trip, anyway – an escape that would prove fruitful in the end.

Even if it was on Earth.

The Time Lord did often wondered why the Doctor seemed to tolerate the humans a bit too much, but his desire to remain in good spirits was enough to push the thought away. It really wouldn’t matter now, would it? What influence could such pests have on a Time Lord, after all?

The TARDIS landed smoothly upon the earth, the engine softly whirring for a few minutes before finally settling in complete silence. The inside of the TARDIS was still on of the oldest models, mostly metallic and cluttered, but the Master knew how to fly one well. He wouldn’t express his opinion on his mate’s skills, however.

“Ready?” He asked his fellow Time Lord companion. “I am already eager to be elsewhere.”

The Doctor leaned against the metal interior of the TARDIS, fiddling with his newest invention. He was mocked for it—sonic screwdriver—but it was proving quite useful. He’d gotten it so it could pick any lock in the universe, and the more he fiddled with it, the more he could do with it.

The original plan, of fixing up several cabinets instead of going on a date with the woman who became his wife, didn’t work. The darn thing just didn’t agree with wood. He wasn’t sure what it was about wood that bothered the sonic screwdriver, but it just refused to function right.

The TARDIS came to a stop, and the Doctor didn’t even notice it until the Master spoke up. He looked up from the metallic instrument. “We’re here already?” He pushed away from the metal wall. “Huh. I didn’t hear the brakes.” Of course he wasn’t supposed to hear the brakes. The TARDIS was a machine of stealth, with all its camouflage, it was meant to be silent. “Well, let’s go then! I need more jelly babies. Then we can go meet Jelpax,” that was the plan, if he recalled right. Snacks and a movie, as it were.

Or snacks and a game.

Jelpax had been vague about what they were going to do in the Dark Times. It was sort of a necessity. The other Time Lords did not like others to meddle in their own history.

Out he went and he looked up at the sky with a smile, “Such a pretty blue!” But blue was his favorite color, so of course he loved Earth’s sky, with its singular sun, and all the stars. You couldn’t really see stars on Gallifrey. Their two suns prevented that, even when both suns had set.

“Brought that thing, did you?” The Master almost smiled, referring to the sonic screwdriver, “you should be fiddling instead with laser technology. You don’t know what you’re missing, Doctor. The future, that’s what that is. And you’re not supposed to hear the breaks,” he added, shaking his head, “I can’t believe I let you drive the TARDIS before.”

Outside they went and left the TARDIS behind, camouflaged as a public telephone box that no one would ever notice. The streets were busy, as they had arrived sometime in the morning. “What fascination you have for this dump,” he said with a laugh, “I say we go and get the twinkies so we can find Jelpax as soon as possible. Only good thing about the earth, that is, their food.” That had been the plan, as the Doctor so rightly said.

Jelpax was a Gallifreyan that the Master did not quite have figured out. He had a fascination for the dark times, but his ambitions were so…limited. He had the information, but none of the guts to seek more answers, to experiment. What news did he have now?

“Ah, there it is,” the Master spoke, a large sweets retailer with its small factory behind it. The smell of it was already intoxicating. It even seemed, even if just briefly, that the Master could learn to like the Earth.

The Doctor was starting to bring the sonic screwdriver with him everywhere, obsessive about it as he was. He stuck his tongue out at the comment about laser technology, “Everyone, everywhere, is working with laser tech. Even Earth!” He couldn’t help but point out. “No, sonic, that’s the way of the future, Master.” Sure, it was louder than laser, but he had no problem with noise. That much was obvious.

He led the way, even though he was not familiar with this street, nor this time, he knew it was at least within a time when twinkies were around thanks to the TARDIS. It took different forms depending on the time they landed on Earth, and the Master wouldn’t mess this up anyway. Twinkies were easy enough to find. Several Earth vendors carried them.

He popped the sonic screwdriver into his jacket’s upper pocket as the Master pointed out the shop. “Oi, where am I going to get my sweets?” This was clearly just a Hostess factory. He looked around, noted a gas station, “I’ll meet you there,” he said, made a motion to the gas station, “I’m going to get my sweets there.” It would just be a few minutes.

“There is a reason why everybody is into lasers,” he said, but ignored the bit where the humans were also studying laser technology. They were doing it all wrong. The Master turned to look at the gas station and the gave a nod to the Doctor, “Yeah, alright. Don’t be too long, though.” The Master did not like remaining in Earth for too long.

And so they parted ways. The Doctor went to buy his sweets at the gas station, and the Master went towards the factory.

The Master had expected some sort of authority to stop him, but none ever came. He ignored the ‘Employee Only’ signs that warned him of restricted areas, finding that he could always just possess others to get out of his way. Humans, especially, were easy to play with.

The sound of driving cars was faintly present as he entered the factory, the doors sliding open for him to pass. The first thing he saw was a map of the production area, and the employees turned to look at him with curious glances.

“I’m sorry, sir,” spoke the first man, “this area is only for employees of the factory. To buy twinkies you can go to the store. Back down, that way…” The foolish man pointed.

The Master wrinkled his nose. Those stores didn’t have enough twinkies – he wanted to take as many as possible so as to only come back when absolutely necessary. The factory had plenty for him to take. He didn’t stop, but instead kept walking. Who did they think they were? Who were they to stop him from getting whatever he wanted?

“Sir, sir, you need to step back.”

“Call security,” another muttered under his breath.

What a pity.

The Doctor jogged to the gas station and there began to collect his jelly babies. He grabbed a few other things that looked interesting which he hadn’t tried before, figuring if he didn’t like them, the Master would. There was an assortment of chocolates and fruity candies that he brought up to the counter. “All of this!” He told the cashier, and watched as it was rung up.

He felt impatient. A bad feeling was rising in his gut. The total was given, but the Doctor ended up handing over far more than was necessary, “Keep the change,” he said as he snatched up the two bags of treats and ran out the door.

He couldn’t explain it, but he trusted his instinct.

He burst into the outlet store and looked around, but it was mostly empty except for a group of kids and one lone adult. He went right to the person at the cash register, “Excuse me, I’m looking for my friend. Taller than me,” he motioned the height, was about to go on.

“No one that tall has been in here today,” at all.

Not good.

“Sir, step back! For your own safety!”

The Master turned to the man, locking eyes with him as a couple of security guards entered from behind him. Just by looking at the Master, all color left the man. “Now, why don’t you step aside and let me get my damn twinkies?” These meddlesome humans were getting on the Master’s very last nerve. Why couldn’t they just move aside and let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do?

‘1…2…3…4’

Despite this all, the Master couldn’t help but smile.

The man, immediately entranced by the Master’s gaze, moved aside from the doorway to the rest of the factory, and then froze in place. Something about the Master’s voice, and how the factory worker did exactly as he was told, scared the rest of the workers. They didn’t dare move. They could have heard a pen drop on the floor, it was so silent.

 As the Master continued on his merry was, however, the security guards shouted at him from behind.

“Don’t move!”

‘1…2…3…4’

The Master’s smile grew wider as he turned to face his assaulters. They carried what was an excuse for a gun. It was pathetic.

“Are you going to stop me?” The Master almost laughed.

‘1…2…3…4’

“Sir, if you could just please exit the factory,” said the other. At least one of them had manners. “Things don’t need to get out of hand.”

But why not?

‘1…2…3…4’ … ‘1…2…3…4’ … ‘1…2…3…4’

“Your friend there,” the Master spoke to the polite security guard, and then pointed with his hand to the other man with the gun, “he looks far more dangerous than me, doesn’t he? Not to mention this poor man over here,” he motioned for the first factory worker that tried to stop him. 

With now a wide grin, the Master turned back around. The gunshots, and the following screams, were like music to his ears. Earth was turning out to be much more fun than he originally thought.

‘Where would I go if I were the Master?’

The answer had become obvious. The man’s obsessive love of twinkies would lead him right to the source, and he’d try to get far more than he needed to avoid the planet of his loathing. There was logic to the Master, unpredictable as he could be at times. He was logical.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said to the cashier, before rushing right to a door marked ‘employees only’ and continuing to run. He ignored the voices that shout at him to stop, until he heard gun shots. He came to an abrupt stop. ‘Please don’t be the Master, please don’t shoot the Master, he underestimates your guns.’ One bullet would be enough to force a regeneration and he didn’t want that to happen. He liked his friend as he was.

Then, he took a breath, and started to run again as the shooting stopped.

The bodies he found were not the Master. There were two humans on the floor, bleeding and dead, and one holding a gun in utter horror and shock at what he’d done. The Doctor jogged up to him and put a hand on one of his shoulders. This startled the other into dropping the weapon and screaming. A shot fired when the gun was dropped, but fortunately no one was hurt. “What did I do?!” He demanded of the Doctor, as if he knew.

The Doctor could see the man was no longer hypnotized, but he knew he had been. Anger, pure and primal, found its way into the Doctor’s hearts. “You have done nothing,” he told the man, moving to stand in front of him. He kicked the gun aside and he brought a hand to the man’s temple. “You are going to call the police, and you are then going to go somewhere else,” the Doctor pushed money into the man’s hands.

He wouldn’t let the Master ruin this man’s life, but he knew he couldn’t fix it all. The man would remember what happened, and he would be tormented by the actions.

When the Doctor let him go, the security guard took off running.

The Doctor did not run. He would not need to run to catch the Master, who ran from nothing. He followed the path he knew the man would have taken, towards the packaging and shipping room, where all the finished twinkies would be.

He resisted the urge to grab a gun. Two wrongs would not make a right today.

The Master continued on his search for the twinkies, unaffected by what had happened just a few instances past. Quite quickly, the Time Lord found where they stored the boxes of packed twinkies. It was also close to the back entrance of the factory, which was so conveniently close to the TARDIS. What a wonderful day this was turning out to be! He had the twinkies in tow, and he would soon be able to load the TARDIS with what seemed like a ton of twinkies.

Steps from behind him announced another presence, the Doctor.

“Ah, there you are,” he greeted, continuing to focus on the box of twinkies he was stacking. “I was wondering where you’d gone. You missed the fun. I found the twinkies, though.”

The Master did not speak with an ounce of sarcasm. To him, his hand in killing those two humans had been the highlight of his day.


The way the Master spoke, his words, stopped the Doctor’s approach. He had planned to grab him and shake him, but now he could only stare at him.

Fun?

Fun?! So he knew it was unnecessary. He didn’t need a lecture on that.

He had done it because it was…fun….

When the Doctor exploded, he never yelled. “Those were lives you ruined,” the Doctor stated. “Those were lives you ended,” he motioned back with one arm. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” He was looking at him then, as if he had no idea who he was speaking to, like a fan meeting an idol and learning the horrible truth.

At first, the Master had found the Doctor’s demeanor as childish – truly blind to what was really important. It was when the Doctor spoke, however, that the Master realized that something, somehow, had gone wrong between them. Had he done something wrong? The Master didn’t like the way the Doctor was speaking to him, and he let that show with an intense gaze. Did he think this would work on him? That it would make the Master feel bad?

“What are you on about?” The Master seemed to snap, stepping away from the boxes to more clearly face the Doctor. “You realize that these are humans we’re talking about. Humans. What the hell does it matter?”

It didn’t. 

[Bleu]

Things Broken Pt. 2

“Humans?!”

The Master spoke of them as if they were nothing. “These are the people who have invented your favorite treat! These are the people who agree with you on lasers!” He was astounded that the Master could think so little of them, if only for that reason. If only for the parallels he could draw. “These people have achieved so much in their short lifespans, Master. They’re so young, and look at them!”

They awed the Doctor. He knew of so many of their landmarks, of their colony on Mars, of how they always, always bounced back from every crisis that struck them. They were wonderful, beautiful, adaptive creatures. “They are important! That's why it matters!” How could the Master not see that? “Every single one of them! You can’t just execute them on a whim, Master! You shouldn’t be abusing your powers on them—they can’t resist you. It isn’t right! We should be helping them!” 

The Doctor defending the humans was more than the Master could handle. He lifted his gaze from the Doctor and shook his head in utter disbelief. So what if they managed to make a good treat? So what if they saw potential in lasers? That did not make them any better, and the Doctor was a fool for making them out to be more than they were.

“Do not give me that ‘they have potential’ bullshit,” he spat, fuming. “They may be hardworking people, but they will never stop being an inferior species. What have we to learn from them? Why should we even care what they do? We should not be helping them, we should be using them to reap benefits for us! We are, and will always be, better than them. Why do you even care?”

The Master’s face was red with anger, but he digressed. “Come now, Doctor. Don’t make this out to be more than it is. Don’t make them more than they are.” If the Doctor consented, the Master would be willing to overlook the foolish way the Doctor held humans in his regard. “Let’s just take the damn twinkies, leave, and let them rot.”

The Master did not understand. It wasn’t that he could not understand, the Doctor did not believe him incapable of it, but he did not understand all the same. ‘For all that genius….’ It hurt, looking at him now and hearing the words escape him. ‘You’re heartless.’

His arguments slipped from his throat as the Master tried to pass it all off as irrelevant. The Master’s anger passed, but the Doctor’s had hardly started. His disappointment trumped it, though.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

He took the sonic screwdriver from his upper pocket. No, it couldn’t hurt, he didn’t do that, but he had an idea anyway. “I’m so, so sorry.” He flicked it on, extended it out, and pressed the button on it as he pointed it at the cardboard box. That wasn’t quite wood.

He wanted it to interact with the plastic within, though, and ruin all the damn twinkies.

Its attempt, however, caused a very loud noise to be produced. The Doctor was certain he heard popping and burning of wrappers, but he couldn’t be certain as the noise of the sonic seemed to shatter his eardrums and knock him out cold. 

The Master’s face hardened again when the Doctor spoke, disappointment dripping from his every word. Why was this happening? Was the Doctor so blind?

“Don’t…,” warned the Master, eyes intense and fixated on his Time Lord companion.

‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me. Don’t you dare leave. Just…stay.’ These were the words that he was unable to speak. His throat became a knot, and his hands turned to fists at his side. The humans were to blame…they were always to blame…

Why did everyone who had potential leave? Why did he, time after time, end up alone? Could they not see that he was right? Could they not see the glory that would await them if they followed?

“There is no turning back from this, Doctor!” His voice broke on that last word. In that moment, the Master could have cared less about the twinkies. This was so much more than that. This was a dissection of two unstoppable forces. Things would not be the same again.

Then the sonic caused a loud noise, a pop with a scrutinizing ring. The sound consumed the Master, and eventually, he fell. 

The Master’s warnings had gone ignored. That look in his eye that nearly broke the Doctor’s hears also went ignored. It all went black, but when the Doctor woke up, he hadn’t forgotten any of it. He looked up and was pleased that the Master was out like a rock.

What to do, though?

He pulled himself up to his knees, and then to his feet. He walked over to where the Master was, amidst a mass of twinkies. “Why?” He asked the unconscious body. “Why can’t you just…,” he trailed off. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, “They’re beautiful, humanity. One day, you’ll see it, because they’re better than us, Master. In their too-short lives, they’ve learned the value of time in ways we can’t.”

He bent his knees. He picked up the Master. “One day, you’ll see, a human is going to teach you something and you’ll realize how brilliant they are.” It might take centuries, but the Doctor was confident. That was the faith he had in humanity. In individuals.

He carried the man back into the TARDIS, sans twinkies. He set him down and went to the controls, “Ok. Come on now, I need to get him back home, so work with me.” Needless to say, it didn’t work with him well, and the ride was terribly bumpy, but he did make it to those red fields. Again, he took the Master into his arms and he carried him outside.

He didn’t walk him to the door. He wouldn’t knock and deliver the Master to his parents. He could face them. He couldn’t explain. So, he set the Master down in those fields and took one last look around at a place that would no longer be his home. He walked back into the TARDIS, and with his sonic screwdriver, he broke it. He grabbed his own bag of sweets, and he dropped an apple besides the Master’s head before walking off, leaving him with only hope that one day, one day, the Master would see that in this matter, the Doctor was right.