“Flash, bam, alakazam,” muttered Jack under his breath.
“What?” asked Castiel, looking at the reading on his pad.
“It’s an orange colored sky,” said Jack, gesturing upward. “Nat King Cole?”
Castiel shook his head, hiding his amusement. The pad pinged at them. “This way, Jack.”
Falling into step beside Castiel, they crossed the rocky gray ground. “Gallifrey has a similar sky,” said Castiel.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?”
Castiel gave a non-committed shrug. “Angels and Time Lords don’t get on the best.”
“I’d imagine not. You both have a tendency to believe you’re right.”
Castiel looked at him. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Jack shook his head. “We’re here to investigate a strange signal, not argue over who’s more stubborn.”
“Should be just over this ridge,” said Castiel.
Jack took a few steps ahead. “Well.”
Castiel joined him and stared down at the sight. It appeared to be a fir tree. All alone among the rocks. And it was glowing, not on it’s own, but covered in Christmas lights, as if someone had decorated it and then abandoned it. There was a slight hum of power from whatever was keeping the lights on.
“Well, that would certainly be the reason for the odd signature. I wonder if someone is trying to get attention.” Jack walked down towards it. Castiel hung back, a bit wary.
Jack got closer to the tree and spotted something underneath the branches. “Castiel,” he breathed.
Cas came up behind him and stared at the infant tucked under the tree, sleeping in some kind of stasis field. “She’s Gallifreyan, Jack.”
“Refugee from the Time War, maybe?” asked Jack, ducking under the tree and reaching for baby. As soon as he crossed under the tree, the power vanished. The baby gave a little noise and woke, staring up at Jack. “Hey, it’s okay sweetheart,” Jack picked her up and cradled her, sheltering her in his coat.
Castiel crouched and picked up something that had slipped from her blanket. It project a message in circular Gallifreyan. “She is a refugee from the Time War. She’s been here a long time.”
“That explains why it took a bit to decipher the signal, they wanted to be sure it was someone that would take her.” Jack looked down at her and gave a little smile. “Can we take her back to Gallifrey?”
Castiel shook his head. “I know of a small colony of Gallifreyans, mostly hidden. She’d be safe there.”
“All right. Somebody must have been pretty desperate.” Jack cooed at the infant and carried her towards the ship.
“It was the time war. The fabric of the universe was being torn apart. That does tend to cause some anxiety,” said Castiel.
Jack inclined his head. A dust storm was starting to kick up and he orange sky above them swirled threateningly. He tucked the baby a little deeper into his coat, giving her a finger to suck. “How far away is this colony?”
“Not too far. I’ll put the coordinates in the ship’s computer.” Castiel kept pace by his side, and Jack knew he was sheltering them with his wings.
“I suppose against ultimate destruction, even Time Lords and Angels can get along,” said Jack as they finally neared the ship.
“Not every Gallifreyan is a Time Lord or Lady,” Castiel reminded him. He went in first and straight to the ship’s computer, putting in some sort of complicated code Jack could barely follow. Well, he trusted that Castiel knew where he was going. Meantime, best to see about the infant.
“Did she have a name?” Jack asked.
Castiel shook his head. “Not on the note, no. I can hold her during take off.”
Jack passed her to Castiel, feeling oddly reluctant to let her go. But no point in getting attached, she’d be much better off with her own people. He guided the ship up, getting it free of the atmosphere just before the storm.
Castiel rocked the baby gently as she fell back asleep.
“Cas?” asked Jack, as the ship took over.
“You want to keep her,” said Castiel, going over to the ship’s computer to try and coax into making something approximating the correct formula for a Gallifreyan baby.
“Well, not everyone could have figured out the signal. Besides, I haven’t raised a kid in a while.”
Castiel sighed and went back to him, kissing him gently. “Perhaps we can stay on this colony for some time.”
Jack wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed him gently. “Thanks.”
“Come on!” Jack took Castiel’s hand and led him out onto the ice.
Wobbling, Castiel grabbed his arms. “Is this truly necessary?”
“We’re in New York City on Christmas Eve, I think it’s mandatory,” grinned Jack, skating easily backwards and keeping a hold on Castiel’s hands. “Old as you are and you can’t skate?”
“Not all of us have time to cultivate your collection of hobbies,” grumbled Castiel.
“Hey it saved my life once. I was in Holland, and there was this girl…” he trailed off as he saw Castiel staring down at his skates. Jack leaned in to steal a kiss, almost making Castiel land on his ass.
Jack caught him and set him back on his feet. He moved next to Castiel. “Here, it’s like this,” he said, showing him how to move his feet. “A lot like dancing.”
“But a bit chillier, I imagine,” Castiel said.
Jack chuckled and took Castiel’s mittened hand, patiently leading him around the rink. By the second circuit, he was getting to be much more sure on his feet.
“There you go. Before you know it you’ll be doing triple axels.” Jack let go of his hand and skated away from him, getting up just enough speed to do a quick twirl and landing on his feet with surprising grace.
Castiel shook his head and skated over to him. Jack had a twinkle in his eye. “Trust me?”
“Always,” said Castiel.
“Relax, and follow my lead.”
Jack put one hand on Castiel’s hip, picking up speed as they went. His other hand moved onto the other side and he gripped him before picking him off his feet and twirling him, catching Castiel and making sure he landed back on his skates.
Castiel’s eyes were wide and his breath short. “Jack.”
Jack chuckled.”Fun?”
“Felt a bit like flying,” he admitted.
Jack kissed him and brought them to a stop in front of the statue. The city shone bright around them and the other skaters passed them by, but in this moment, it was only them.
Bing Crosby drifted out of the radio and Jack hummed along as he worked. The warm desert air beat against his shelter, but he ignored it, stitching up his shirt and thinking about a world light years away. This particular planet hadn’t seen snow in millennia, but there was work here to be done, holidays or no. A little boy ran giggling in and climbed under his table, folding himself in the folds of Jack’s coat.
“Hiding from your sissy again?” asked Jack, not pausing in his work.
“She wants me to clean my room,” he said.
“Heaven forbid,” smiled Jack.
And children listen, to hear, sleighbells in the snow, crooned Bing
“What’s sleighbells?” asked the boy. “And snow?”
“Well, you know how the colony is surrounded by sand?
“Yeah?”
“Snow is kinda like that, only it’s white and cold and falls from the sky. Like the rain we get in the spring.” Jack hummed along with the next lines.
“Oh,” said the boy, peeking out and making sure his sister wasn’t around before climbing out and sitting next to Jack, watching him work. “You’ve been here a long time,” he said.
“I have,” said Jack. “And it’s the holidays. So you should be nice to your sister and listen to her.”
“I miss our Mom and Dad,” he said softly.
Jack reached over and tousled his hair. “I’m sure she does too.”
“Do you miss anyone?”
“Lots of people,” admitted Jack, ignoring his feelings. He tied off his thread and looked at his handiwork. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
“Okay.” The boy took his hand as Jack stepped out of his shelter and into the colony proper. The place had grown a lot in the years since he’d been here, and he knew from experience they had a good foothold. He’d probably move on before too long, leaving himself as only a memory and snatches of old songs.
“Sing me that song you were listening to?”
Jack smiled and sang it for him, a song about a world he’d never know.
“It’s a pretty song,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“Yes it is. There’s your sister, she’s looking for you.” He let go of the boy’s hand and he went to his sister, letting her hug him.
Jack went back to his own place and put away his work, still humming.
“You always did have a way with children,” said a familiar voice behind him.
Jack turned and smiled at Castiel. “Well, he seems to have taken a liking to me. It’s been hard for him, just him and his sister now.” Perils of colony life, he knew that.
“Still, you always do make time for him.” Castiel stepped to shelter entrance and looked out at the sleeping colony.
Jack put an arm around Castiel’s waist and leaned against him. “I’m leaving here soon.”
“I know.” Castiel kissed his forehead.
“Do you think you could make it snow? Just long enough for him to see it?”
“Perhaps,” Castiel, thinking about it. “He’d go with you if you asked, and his sister would let him.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t need a kid hanging around. You know how dangerous it is. And besides, they need each other, even if they don’t realize it.” His thoughts drifted to his own long lost brother, until Castiel kissed him and brought him back to the present.
Jack ran a hand through Castiel’s hair, loving the way the starlight shone in his eyes.
“You should rest, Jack. I’ll be here in the morning.”
Nodding, Jack took himself to his cot and closed his eyes, not really sleeping, just resting, knowing Castiel would keep watch over the colony for him.
The morning came sooner than he expected and Jack was awakened by a shout of happy surprise. The boy came barrelling into his shelter at top speed. “Captain Jack, I think it snowed!”
“Yeah?” Jack tucked him under one arm and carried him outside. The whole colony seemed to be outside, touching and tossing the thin layer of snow that was already melting as the sun rose.
Jack met Castiel’s gaze as he set the boy down and mouthed a ‘thank you.’
Castiel gave him a nod and disappeared, leaving him to the colonies celebrations.
You know that meme going around: STOP TELLING PEOPLE I AM DEAD! Its like I can still hear their voice?
Well it inspired me. Probably in the worst of ways.
Imagine if Tony & Steve meet and Steve asks Tony on a date, but Steve’s still wearing his wedding ring. So he tries to explain that Bucky is on tour, in the marines right now, but they have an arrangement that if the other ever found someone worth adding to their relationship they’d take the chance. But all Steve gets out is that hes gone (or something like that) and Tony (jumping to conclusions) says “say no more” thinking Bucky has passed away and Steve can’t bare to move on.
Steve’s so relieved that he doesn’t have to explain further, thinking that Tony understands what hes getting into. (an eventual joint relationship with them)
So Steve writes Bucky telling him all about Tony and how he cant wait till Bucky meets him. Bucky is sort of laughing at him when he writes back, saying hes looking forward to the man his Husband thinks would be a good fit for them both.
So Steve of course talks to Tony about Bucky all the time. Which Tony respects, cause how could Steve not talk about his past love? And of course fate intervenes every moment that would clarify Bucky is still alive and still very in love with Steve. (and quickly falling for Tony, after Steve starts telling all these funny stories and waxing poetic)
Tony of course is falling in love with them both (even though Bucky is gone and he feels really guilty about it cause god that makes him such a creep.)
Then Bucky gets in the an accident, he looses his arm and suddenly hes getting Honorably Discharged. Suddenly his on the road home to Stevie and this new man who sounds so wonderful, but hes not ready to face them yet, because this wasn’t supposed to happen. So he stays for some heavy post-op PT and therapy.
So Steve just cries to Tony all horrified saying “Bucky…” And then breaks down in tears before explains what happened. And Tony just thinks its a bad night and comforts him and mourns a little too for the great man he thinks hes never going to meet.
Fate intervenes some more keeping Tony from realizing, that this talk about Bucky loosing his arm isn’t in past tense and every time Steve tries to talk about Bucky’s recovery (wishing he could come home so he could help) they get interrupted by Sam and Natasha.
Tony is starting to get confused cause people are starting to talk about Bucky in present tense, but he shrugs it off as nostalgia. Which just makes him wish more that he could meet this legend.
Bucky begins to improve and Steve gets better and things are getting better. Finally after a long stint with PT and therapy, Bucky is ready to come home.
Steve’s excited and nervous and worried, thinking Tony knows whats going on and is excited and nervous about Bucky too.
Meanwhile Tony is panicking cause how can he be falling in love with a dead man and said mans widowed husband. He feels like his betraying someone hes never met and hes nervous to tell Steve cause he doesn’t want Steve to hate him.
So one day in the afternoon Tony is sitting in the living room where hes talking to Bucky’s picture, saying shit like I love him so much and I can’t help, but fall in love with you too and I know that seems wrong, because we never met. But I hope that I am enough for Steve, that I could have been enough for you too.
That’s when Bucky decides to interrupt (who only heard the last part) with a blush and a smile leaning on the door jam: “Any man who can enthrall Stevie is man enough for me.” All cocky (even if its a little shaky) and flirty n’ shit.
And Tony just shrieks in fright, faints. Bucky of course is self concussion thinking it because of the arm. Steve’s furious and confused. Until Tony wakes up and starts yelling at Steve about how “you said he was dead” “i thought he’d passed away, that you hadn’t moved/having trouble moving on” “i thought i was falling love with dead man and I was feeling so fucking guilty for being such a creep” all high pitched and panicked. ” and then he just shows up..” and hes stuttering and pale.
And Bucky who is relieved that this isn’t some horrible reaction to his arm, just starts busting up laughing, and says between breaths “Stevie, stop going around telling people I am dead. I am right here.” and then he starts laughing again because only fucking Steve would get this shit all twisted around. Such a fucking punk.” he says sounding fond and exasperated.
Steve’s just standing there horrified. “Buck its not funny.”
Which makes him laugh harder and then he grins all sexy at Tony, “Hi I am Steve’s, not-dead husband, and we’d like to date you.”
Then chaos and a happy ending ensue from there.
Natasha enjoys the hell out of telling this story on their Wedding day.
Sherlock hears Watson’s nightmares for the first time maybe only a week or two after he moves in. He hears that harsh, unnatural sound from upstairs and looks up at the ceiling, so startled at such a strange noise that at first he does not understand that it comes from Watson himself.
Watson may be a strong man with steady hand by day but the blood-stained landscapes of India and Afghanistan are not scenes easily left behind, least of all by a man who still carries the weight of the wars in the aches of a gun shot wound in his shoulder and the pains of another man’s injury in his thigh. Sherlock has seen enough of the cruelties of mankind to know that the atrocities men visit upon one another are not lightly put aside, particularly in the vulnerable abyss of one’s sleep-soft mind.
He goes to the bottom of the stairs and waits. Though he is not wed to the rules and regulations of propriety, there is something about entering another man’s private room while he is exposed, in sleep and in terror, that makes him hesitate.
Watson, in particular, is no ordinary character in the great cast on life’s stage and Sherlock would not end his act too early through embarrassing presumptions if he could at all avoid it.
The cry sounds again, choked and wounded.
He climbs the stairs.
Watson’s room is dark and thick with the sound of his ragged breathing. Sherlock can just make out his figure on the bed, flat on his back, fists clenching at the blankets. He makes a noise near to whining.
“Watson,” Sherlock calls out quietly, “Watson, wake up.” There’s no response other than a gasping, wrenching sound. “Watson. John. John.”
Across the room John flies up into a sitting position, chest heaving under his sweat-soaked night shirt, “Who–Who is there? Sherlock?”
Sherlock takes a half-step forward at his name, his heart beating against his ribs at the sound of it spoken in the small rasp of his friend’s voice. “Yes. I heard–you sounded–” He struggles for an appropriate word and finds none.
John falls back onto his pillow, waving his hand. “It’s fine, I know how I sounded,” he says. The ends of his mustache, unwaxed and soft, sit curiously around his mouth when he speaks. “Thank you.”
Sherlock clears his throat. “I’ll just–I’ll be in the sitting room for at least an hour yet,” he offers, “if there is any way I can be of assistance.”
There is a weighty pause as John stares at him across the room and for a moment Sherlock thinks he is going to ask him to stay. He would, if John asked it of him. He would sit upon the floor as he did when he was a small boy and watch John settle back into bed with that strange exhaustion that comes from being woken unexpectedly in the night. Perhaps he could tell him about the experiment abandoned on the table downstairs to soothe his thoughts into something less troublesome, or perhaps they could discuss the latest issue of The Strand, or even the upcoming performances at Royal Albert Hall. He would stay, and sit, and speak in low tones until John relaxed again and fell back into a hopefully more peaceful sleep.
But John only says, “Good night, Holmes,” in a softer voice, the likes of which reminds Sherlock of a far more intimate relationship than two bachelors sharing a set of rooms. Sherlock flushes and believes them both to be grateful for the dark.
“Good night, Watson,” he says, and minutes later as he takes up his experiment again, Sherlock thinks if there were ever going to be a man worth the risk of unmasking himself on the chance he might be reciprocated, a man worth his life and livelihood, that Sherlock has just left him in the bed upstairs.
The walls were still ringing with the sound of every single goddamn thing on Mycroft’s desk hitting the floor at once. Greg was particularly worried whether the red telephone had fallen off the hook; he didn’t think whoever was at the other end was bound to appreciate their manner of celebration. He was also concerned that Mycroft hadn’t secured the door.
“You really don’t care if we get caught.”
“We are seven stories underground and my staff are meticulously trained. No one is going to come in here, Gregory.”
“Ngh. Well.” Hands. Everywhere. And a mouth that was doing marvellous things to his throat. “I wouldn’t say that.”
It was obvious when Mycroft finally got the joke, because he stopped. He stared. He sighed. “Must you?”
Greg tried to look innocent in spite of the thud of his heart and the state of his trousers. “Of course I must.” He tsked. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“I could know you a lot better if you’d focus instead of making jokes.”
“And I could focus a lot better if I knew you’d locked the door.”
“I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”
“I trust that you get off on being seen. But I do not. Indulge me. Lock the door.”
After a moment, a smile tinted Mycroft’s face: subtle, inexorable, the edge of a watercolour bloom. It looked delicious against the flush creeping up past his collar. “Fine. If you must know, the door is already locked.”
Greg would have to check that the red phone wasn’t going to catch anything more salacious than state secrets. And then they could get back to the business of celebration. “I suppose you do know me after all.”
“Maybe I just know how to get what I want.”
Biting down the rise of affection, Greg began to work on Mycroft’s tie. “I would never accuse you otherwise.”
“That,” Mycroft said, ducking in to work more of those marvels against Greg’s throat, “is because you know me.”
Which was all the conversation they had breath for, because with that undid Greg’s zip and lit the fuse to a fireworks show the likes of which that bunker-of an-office had never seen. As Greg lay shoulder-to-shoulder with him fifteen minutes later, tired and sore and blinking away the stars dancing in his eyes, he had to laugh at them both.
⅔ When Bucky begins to suffer a panic attack, though, the pup lays down in the hallway entrance, making a soft little whining noise until Bucky reaches out his arm. Steve follows, and finds his boyfriend with both arms in a tight hug around the dog’s neck, whispering into his fluffy ear and getting puppy licks to his neck.
3/3 The next day, when Bucky is still sleeping and Grant is keeping watch on his side of the bed, Steve slips out of the tower to get him a nice harness, a real soft dog bed, and three bags full of treats and toys. He also arranges a donation to Stacey’s organization, enough to sponsor 2 more dogs. Anyone who helps him take care of his Bucky deserves the very best.
