Sublimation: Another Day In ... (NSFW)

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Aug 26, 2013))

(( Tied to Sublimation))

Well, it's ok. It's so nice
It's just another day in paradise
Well, there's no place that
I'd rather be
Well, it's two hearts
And one dream
I wouldn't trade it for anything
And I ask the Lord every night
For just another day in paradise
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR4Y6Ll0DwA


Just another day, roll out of bed, shower, dress, and do all the everyday things that one normally would do. Was any day ever truly normal?

"Coll? Whe'ah are th'wipes?" Three knocks to the door preceded the muffled Australian voice through the bathroom door. "We, ah, got a little excited wit' our puddin' snack."

Mostly normal, perhaps.

To a mother of so many, ten minutes alone in the bathroom was often like a spa trip. When the door was opened by his towel draped wife, Darien was offered a clean soapy washcloth. "The wipes 're up in the nurs'ry. We use these fer food messes." Collie grinned. "Ah, takin' after yer Da, are ya, Abby? We're goin' ta start an in house chapter o' Chocoholics Anonymous."

Collie's territory invaded, Darien took the washcloth and sidled past into the bathroom, setting the much, much louder of the twins on the counter. Chocolate, once smeared over face, hands, and arms, was tidily cleaned up, much to Abby's dismay. The toddler let out a high-pitched shriek and squirmed relentlessly. "Abs, it's this 'r' let one of th'cats lick it off," Darien stated flatly, completing his handiwork. "Should've just used a drop cloth."

"Too bad it's chocolate 'r Max could do the job." She laughed as she brushed out her hair. "So, what's on the agenda fer today? Dog walkin', zoo trip?" Collie reached over to tap Abby's nose with a fingertip. "I'd say a walk in the garden, but that was the reason fer my second shower today!" She eyed Darien a moment. "Let me guess... work, work, 'n' more work?"

As fate would have it, the phone nestled in Darien Fenner's pocket buzzed in his pocket at that exact moment. Restraint was visible on his expression as he hit the silence button on the device without so much as pulling it out to view the caller ID. "No? I said I'd spend time with my girls, so I'm spendin' time with my girls." Abby cooed and reached for her mother as Darien balanced her in his arms. The Aussie's brow crinkled, offended. "Oi... recognize my sacrifice, why don't'cha?"

She tried not to giggle, really she did, but a tiny chuckle escaped. "I do recognize your sacrifice, a chroi." Collie tipped her head and shamelessly stole a kiss. Abby was carefully supported by both her parents. "Abby, on the other hand, has realized that while Da is just wonderful at chasin' away boggins from under the bed, Mum 'as those lovely cushy pillow things fer goin' off ta dreamland." The redhead gave her husband a wry grin. "Short version? It's near nap time."

Air gusted from the Aussie's nostrils. "Speak f'r yourself. Tried fifteen minutes ago. Maddy is fast asleep, but this one seems t'think she'll be late f'r an interview at five." Again, the infant let out a high-pitched shriek, and Darien opened his eyes as if to say, see?

"ABBY! Don't do that, it hurts m'ears, ya wee imp!" She huffed and blew some stray hair out of her eyes. "Ya tried a story? Ya got ta do the voices 'n' all, ya know." Finally, Collie gathered Abby against her. "What about that plushie?" She shook her head. Darien would have thought of that. "Teeth," was the last word she said before heading past Darien out of the bathroom. "Years ago, we dolloped a smidge o' whiskey on the wee ones gums 'n'they were happy as could be. Now, ya do that 'n' yer horrible parent," she muttered. "Hopefully, that iced teether will work 'r we're goin' ta be needin' that damn whiskey!" The kitchen was the next stop!

Darien snorted. "Horrible parent accordin' to whom?"

She retorted, "Mostly, so-called medical professionals and people what never sat up wit' babies fer days on end."

"Nn?" Hands free, Darien balled up the soiled washcloth and pitched it in the hamper. "More f'r me, then." Bedding duties were left temporarily to Collie as he journeyed back to the kitchen for said teething ring, taking a moment to at least dust a kiss on his wife's cheek to convey his gratitude.

Colleen headed up to the nursery. As she expected, Madison was out cold with a thumb in her mouth. "Likely dreamin' o' flyin' ponies," she said as she took Abby's shoes off. "Abby, yer sister's goin' ta be the dreamin' inventor 'n yer goin' ta be the one we find hangin' upside down from trees wit' a book in one hand 'n' apple in t'other." She sat in the rocking chair with the toddler on her lap. "Yer gettin' the wooden sword. Maddie gets the bow."

At twenty months, Abby's vocabulary was not large enough to convey what all might have been running through that head of hers. She uttered one of the most popular response for those of her age, "No!"

Her mother was unphased by that retort. "No? Hmm? so ya want the bow then?" Collie sometimes got odd looks when she spoke to the children like they were people and not lumps of something. It had been her experience that children who were spoken to in normal language developed verbal skills better. She had plenty of evidence to back her theory. Each of her offspring spoke at least four languages as adults.

"No," the answer came with a shake of the baby's head.

"No wooden sword, no bow, that leaves only one thing. Ya want a stick like Maggie's got?"

"Meg!!" She squealed. Abby had no idea what kind of stick her mother was going on about. However, Maggie was one of her favorite people. Not every kid had a pint-sized storyteller that used different voices for characters or did puppet plays. Well, they were puppets after a fashion. "Meg, Meg, Meg!!" she sang and clapped.

Collie laughed and called out. "Dare, I think I just found out who's conductin' that interview!"

"Mag," Darien corrected the toddler from the doorway, passing off the teething ring and noshing on his snack for the afternoon - leftover fried chicken, a la Collie. Soon Madison began stirring in the other crib, and the journo shoved the thigh into his mouth and dusted his hands on his trousers to check on her. Thankfully, she remained asleep. "Gotta quiet down the'ah, Abs," he hushed her, just as the hypocritical cell phone in his pocket betrayed him with a ring. Again, the silence button was pressed, and the seconds afterward were filled with tense hope that Madison had not fully awakened.

"NO!" Abby looked at her father like he was a few blocks short of a tower. She did an imitation of Maggie having corrected her, "Maaaaaggggggggggiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee."

Colleen, meanwhile was stifling a fit of laughter. "Tell ya what, why don't I get the hellion 'ere down fer naptime while ya take that call. Afterward, we can both 'ave a snack."

"I said I wouldn't work," Darien grunted, chucking the gnawed chicken bone into the nearest wastebin. "This is me, actively not workin'."

"Right, then shut the damned thing off," she countered as she settled Abby into her crib with the teether. She just gave him one of those looks. Maybe the message was, I dare you.

Darien knew that look. He also knew that there was no such thing as being unavailable in the news business. Muttering something about redheads and tempers, he exited the nursery to take her up on her first suggestion and leave the woman to her mission.

Abby was happily gnawing on the teething ring as her mother checked on her sister. The older of the twins babbled away talking to her toys or at least that's what her mother hoped.

Collie poked her head out of the room. "Mission accomplished."

As she spoke, the journo was slowly lowering the cell phone from his ear and to the walnut crescent desk in the hall, his brows furrowed darkly. No work, he promised. And yet? "Coll?"

She knew that look all too well, it spoke volumes. It said I have to ... break our date ... have to skip dinner at home no matter how nicely he said it, the bottom line was he had to work. She laid her hand on his shoulder. "Just remember three things." Her index finger went up. "Yer mine fer the ninth o' September 'n' November." Second finger went up. "Yer mine 'n' the girls fer New Years Eve." She watched his face a moment.

The smile he gave her did not reach his eyes, but there was sincerity behind the kiss he left her with. All this in a matter of seconds, before he moved past her, grabbed the keys to his bike, and went straight for the front door. Taking the Hayabusa only meant one thing. He meant to reach his destination as quickly as possible.

From the top of the staircase, she called, "Ya still owe me that trip ta Chicago, ya crazy man!" She shook her head and laughed as she moved down the stairs. A red brow raised as she spotted that blasted electronic leash on the table in the front hall. Thinking she could catch him, she grabbed the phone and opened the door. Her ears were greeted with the roar of that bike heading down the drive. Damn thing vibrated in her hand. She looked down at it.

11 missed calls.

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Aug 26, 2013))

Hours later, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon, it was Collie's phone that rang.

"Hold yer horses!" she hollered as she ran to her office. The girls were happily playing after their nap and dinner. She was almost out of breath when she answered with, "Hello, this is Colleen." She hadn't checked that Caller ID.

Static muddled the phone signal on the delivering end, making nearly every other word unrecognizable. "Coll... me ... happened... Stay... coming now?"

She pulled the phone away from her ear. The crackling sound gave her the feeling of being poked in the eardrum. "Right, I'll be 'ere when you get 'ere." Where else would I be?

More static. "Don't pick... phone... Do you... me?"

"I can hardly understand ya! Just get home. We'll talk when ya get 'ere!"

"Collie, listen! Don't... the phone! I'm--" Mid-reply, the phone line disconnected.

"Dare? What the?" Cell phone service in the area where the estate was had just died. "Silly gizmos," Collie muttered as she turned off the phone. No sense in wasting the battery.

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Aug 28, 2013 by Darien Fenner))

"Damn it," Darien cursed as he eyed the CALL FAILED message across the borrowed cell screen. Wind cutting at his eyes, he lowered his helmet visor and shifted gears on his sportbike, pushing the engine past eighty miles per hour. Hitting a bottleneck, he jerked the steering sideways and rocketed down a back alley, vaulting the bike over spilled garbage with a timely jounce of the rear wheel.

Another turn, and a flurry of color sped past him as he navigated his way through RhyDin streets, favoring speed over stoplights and safety. Two lefts and a right and the Macleod estate would be in eyeshot again.

Again the journo throttled the engine. Eighty-five. Ninety. Left, followed by another left. The last right was always the sharpest of turns, but the Hayabusa never failed to make it.

At that moment, he saw it. At that speed it was nothing but a blur of lights and hues, but he felt certain he knew what - or rather, who - it was. There his eyes lingered, but only for a half second long. Too long, it turned out.

The sound of the crash reached him before the pain did.

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Sep 5, 2013))

Hours had passed. Despite telling herself that a watched pot never boils, Collie kept checking the driveway for Darien's bike. It was midnight ... he should have been back by now. Something wasn't right. A cry came from the nursery, Madison, the child that could have slept through the house falling around her ears, was awake. As she went to soothe the youngest of her children, she murmured, "What do ya know that I don't, Maddy?"

Keys rattled in the lock downstairs. Were dropped. Rattled again. The front door creaked open none too soundly, and closed no more quietly. Cracked helmet was left on the kitchen table, nearly split in twain. "Collie," Darien called, his hail curbed by the arm pressed tightly to his ribs.

She came out of the master bedroom into the front hall with a still fussing Madison in arms. It took a moment for her to realize that Darien's voice had been coming from the kitchen. While heading that way, she said softly, "Will ya sleep now, Maddy? Da's home." She didn't ask about the helmet, it was clear enough that without that piece of equipment they wouldn't be standing in the kitchen without one of them having been a ghost. "How badly were ya hurt?" The worry was clear on her face, but she kept it out of her voice. Madison gave her father a grin that showed all eight of her teeth.

He reached out for Madison, knuckles stroking her cheek, but his eyes were on Collie. "Did anyone call?" he asked, his voice wrung tight and dry like an old dishcloth. "Collie, did anyone call ya?"

"Just you, tellin' me not ta answer the phone." Madison let out a delighted squeal at Darien. Collie shifted the little girl on her hip and used her free hand to pour a double whiskey. "Service went out after that." A heartbeat passed before she offered him the glass. "What's goin' on?"

He upended the glass gratefully, teeth showing and jaw tight as he swallowed it all at once. Seconds, minutes passed in contemplative silence before he finally replied, "I can't explain it without soundin' mad."

"Crazy mad 'r angry mad?" She kissed Maddy's forehead. The little one had finally dropped her head against her mother's shoulder.

"Don't be such a yank," he responded, deadpan.

A red brow shot up. "Don't go there, Sassenach." She cleared her throat. "I'm goin' ta put Maddie back ta bed now that she'll sleep. I'll see ta that arm when I come back down." What she felt then was a twinge of a bittersweet memory. "Is it yer ribs again?"

He didn't answer. While she tended to the girls, Darien moved into the kitchen again, in search of ice or liquor or both.

The kitchen liquor cabinet was stocked, Collie kept it that way since Darien had moved in. When Abby and Madison had started walking, a safety latch had been put in place to keep them out. Collie had been more concerned about the breaking of glass than anything. When she returned to the kitchen, she had what passed for a sling in hand and a wrappable bandage support. "So, ribs 'r arm?" As she waited for an answer, a thousand things ran through her mind. I've lived in Rhydin a long time. It's hit the point where little surprises me. I have learned thing about myself that ten years ago would have shocked me. Today, though, learning who I used to be, just makes me wonder what it all means. Madness, life is madness. It's probably just another one of those times when we, who have been here a while, say, "Welcome to Rhydin, this is just how things are."

Tape and sling were waved away. Pouring another double of whiskey, Darien slipped a hand beneath his leather jacket and tugged free the newspaper secured in his belt. It hit the counter with a slap. "What's that look like to ya?"

"Looks like a distraction." She eyed Darien as she unfolded the paper. "Which is it, arm 'r ..." Her brows furrowed as a name stuck out like a sore thumb. "When the hell was Diedra Vall resurrected?" It took another moment or two before the date on that article as well as the one with her husband's byline sunk in. "Wait a minute ..." Her already fair skin went several shades paler. She looked like she was having a bout of morning sickness. "Two thousand 'n' ... nine?" Her eyes widened and her entire forehead lifted. Absently, she reached for the whiskey bottle and poured herself a double.

Darien's eyes never left her, and he studied her reaction sharply. Judging by her color, she had already figured out that ... "That article was published today. By me. Only... I wrote it four yea'hs ago." Gaze dropping back to the issue, he nudged it with his glass, used it to page through the other articles as if unwilling to let the ink touch his skin. "Them, too," he added, squinting hard at the columns of his co-workers, perhaps with the expectation that the letters would change back. "We thought it was a joke."

"It wasn't. Was it?"

"No. Yeah. I don't know." Pause. "They're all still the'ah right now."

She was listening or seemed to be ... her mind had drifted back over a decade.

Collie was staring at the near mirror image, yet, the woman was more refined somehow. More fey, that was it.

"I don't understand, why are ya here?" Colleen frowned.

"To keep you from making my mistake." Kirin said quietly.

"What mistake might that be?" Collie's forehead furrowed.

Kirin's eyes closed as she murmured. "Whatever name one puts on the breaking of their marriage vows; adultery, being unfaithful."

"Me?" She shook her head. "That's not possible." Colleen looked like she'd been gutted. "I'm just not that kind o' person!"

"He'll start with seduction then ..."

"Who?" Her eyes narrowed.

"It's better that you don't know." Kirin's expression hardened.

Collie's expression became a pained one. "There is only one that ..."

"I'm you, Catriona. Rather, who you might become, and I'm telling you stay home tomorrow. Don't answer the calls. Don't go to him. Go out to the lake house."

She pursed her lips. "Yer goin' ta meet 'im. Aren't ya?"

"Yes." The answer came with a single nod.

"Why?" She swallowed hard.

"If he's with me, he will leave you alone." Kirin studied her younger counterpart.

"I can stay up at the lake, but ..." She drew in a ragged breath. "What about yerself?"

"You worry about yourself and your family. My husband is dead and my children are grown. You have both and they need you. The Three will be appeased."

"...llie? Collie?"

She came out of her reverie as Darien was explaining something she had suspected. Duality ... the Nexus was working its ways again.

"Did y'hear me?" he asked her, the line of his brow deepening. The way her eyes glazed rooted more concern there, and he took her wrist, squeezing gently to bring her back to the present.

She blinked a few times. "Yes, a chroi. I heard ya. I was just thinkin.." She patted his hand. "Memory Lane 'n' all."

"Ya won't, then," he reaffirmed, eying her for any objections.

"Won't .. what?" She cleared her throat. "I must 'ave missed the question."

"Pick up th'phone," he repeated. "Stay 'ome tomorr'a? Don't answer phone calls y'aren't sure are from me."

She asked a question of a single word that had been known to cause ripples that went on for ages. "Why?"

An angry breath escaped him. "Will ya just trust me on this?"

"Fine," she didn't sound happy about it, but she agreed nonetheless, "I'll have my assistant answer the business line and I'll stay home tomorrow."

"Thank you." Nor did he sound especially pleased, but present circumstances afforded him no other choice.

"It's been a long night. How about I run ya a bath 'n' we get some rest?" She extended her hand toward his arm and then his ribs. "I'll be havin' a look at those afore ya sleep." Her tone was firm.

"Sure, babe." Darien dipped forward to brush his lips against her brow, then jerked his chin toward the master bedroom. "Run th'faucet, and I'll be right ov'a, uh?"

"I'll scrub yer back, if ya like." One day wasn't so much to ask, she could agree to that. Plenty to be done at home. She lightly kissed his cheek then headed across the hall to draw that bath.

Once Collie entered the bedroom, Darien reacted. He turned rapidly on his heel and snatched the bottle of whiskey by the neck, the glass ringing against granite as he swept it off the counter. Long, swift strides took him in the same direction Collie had gone, but as he neared the suite, he turned in the opposite direction and let himself into his personal study. He paused for several seconds after closing the door behind him, listening for the run of water in the room across the hall and the soft, distant thud of his wife's steps. Satisfied, he crossed the room and slid behind the heavy mahogany desk inside, reaching the opposite wall in moments. A shadowbox hung there, displaying an antique colt revolver gifted to him by Dingane Mbeki during the year he spent in Johannesburg. Muscle memory found the latch attaching it to the wall from beneath, and a gentle twist sprung it open. The box swung right on a hinge, revealing the electronic safe built in behind it. On the keypad, the journo input an eleven-digit combination, turning the key to retract the three titanium bolts keeping it closed. Once open, he hastily shuffled through dozens of files stacked high within, shoving aside several folders and collapsible binders until he located the one he was looking for. Whiskey still in hand, he balanced the open folder between his wrist and the crook of his elbow, turning several pages while studying the content enclosed.

His leg thrust out behind him, hooking the waste bin with his ankle and dragging in forward. After scanning the first page, he balled it up in his fist and dropped it into the basket. The same process was repeated with the second. His speed increased furiously until finally he yielded the entire folder to the bin. The heel of his shoe drove the pile deeper within, and without pause he upended the whiskey bottle over the canister, holding it suspended while it drained and saturated the pages.

Lighter retrieved from his desk, he flicked it open, lit, and dropped it.

A burst of flame surged to the height of his waist, and just as quickly dwindled. The seconds it took to die completely Darien spent locking and disguising the safe once more.

Collie's voice carried in the hallway, "Dare? Bath's ready. Move along 'r it'll get cold!" The large bathtub had been prepared with a touch of soothing oils and, on a whim, a bit of bubbles.

"Comin'," he called back, jaw tight as the effort renewed the ache in his side. One final swig from the bottle emptied it, and after a long, pensive look at the bin, he let it slip from his fingers and descend onto what was left. Or, more accurately, what wasn't.

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Sep 11, 2013 by Darien Fenner))

All of RhyDin was going to shit, and in spite of the only thorn in his side that ever might have caused him pain reappearing, Darien couldn't stop the suicidal urge to track it down. That thorn. The one he wanted to pluck, crush underheel, kick aside, and bury forever. It was the devil in him that told him otherwise. It told him he would find her - that he had to, if he wanted to know for certain.

He would find her. After that night, weeks ago, once he knew she was living and breathing, he knew he would find her.

He did.

After a mission, Riley and David liked to return to their apartment and spend a few days behind locked doors. They always needed the downtime; racing through universes tends to take a lot out of one. And while the apartment in the West End wasn't the greatest and certainly wasn't in the best neighborhood, it was home and it was safe and it was comfortable. Only, when they got to the neighborhood, it had changed. It wasn't burned-out wrecks and half-demolished buildings anymore. It was busy, throbbing with life, filled with people scurrying around like ants going about the business of living. And the architecture was straight out of the Hydra Universe's Asia---pagodas and shrines and Zen gardens and statues of Buddha. It was disconcerting and weird. Neither she nor David could figure out what the hell had happened and they quickly left the place, headed for one of the Agency's safe houses in the New Haven district. That, at least, was as they'd expected.

Now, after spending three days behind closed doors, discussing amongst themselves the meaning behind the changes and the talk of Riley's death and funeral, they were venturing out into the city again, making the first tentative steps to figuring out just what the hell had happened. Riley was running, which was the one luxury she allowed herself and really, it wasn't much of a luxury. After speeding through the city, drawing double takes and whispered conversations everywhere she went, she was headed to Teas N' Tomes for a coffee and maybe a blueberry muffin. She needed it.

"That bad, uh?" piped up the familiar accented voice. Death and subsequent obituary be damned, Riley Lo had inevitably picked up the same habits upon her return. After watching her in the Inn the other night, and after recognizing that all too familiar caged expression she'd donned, it wasn't difficult to locate her. There Riley was, using her run as another likely futile means to soothe the crazed and rabid animal inside. It must not have been going well, else she'd not have been so distracted as to miss his scent on the eastern wind, headed straight in her direction. There outside the Teas Darien Fenner lingered, far too comfortable with a coffee and in typical work attire. And why wouldn't he be? He was just there for breakfast.

A growl escaped her lips and contrary to what the reporter might expect, she didn't bother to cover it over with the thin veneer or Humanity to which she clung so desperately. This was not that Riley. Her upper lip curled into a snarl worthy of her Cat. Nope, no Humanity here. "Are you following me?"

Of course not. He was just... "Just havin' coffee." Amusement met his eyes at her response, and evaporated just as instantly. His arm rose, fell, in an offerative gesture at the coffee shop's door. If her appetite wasn't spoiled, she was welcome to it.

She stared at him a beat longer, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. Then, coming to some kind of decision, she yanked the door open like she had a personal grudge against it and stepped inside. She joined the end of the queue and radiated "I'm ignoring you" vibes serious enough that it was almost comical.

There was a baritone chuckle that escaped him, but there was a tightness to it. Before the door slammed shut behind her and he was run nose-first into glass, the journo followed. Coffee finished, he disposed of the cardboard cup in the wicker waste bin nearby and predictably slid a cinnamon toothpick into his mouth. He spared her only a few brief glances, but she'd inevitably feel them.

Oh, she felt them all right, but she didn't let on. When her turn came up, she gruffy ordered coffee, black, two sugars and a blueberry muffin. Then, still pointedly ignoring the reporter, she edged sideways to let the person behind her move up to place her own order. As Riley waited for her own coffee, she angled her body so that Fenner was in her peripherals, just so she could keep an eye on him.

Fenner advanced only a few steps, fairly certain he'd bleed if he approached any more closely, and only to fetch an abandoned paper on a nearby table. He shook it, paged to the first column, and eyed the date. "So which is it?" he uttered casually aloud, earning a bewildered look by a departing customer.

Riley heard it, too--of course, she did--and his seemingly-casual comment earned a tiny, brief frown, before her order was done. As she left the counter area, she made a point to brush by the reporter and comment, "Don't you ever get enough of seeing your byline?" before settling down at a table that put her back to a wall and the windows and doors to the shop directly in front of her.

More humor touched his smirk as he folded the paper and tucked it underarm. Comment dismissed, he carried on. "Eith'a you and Lo are what's rooted, or this place is. So which is it?"

The coffee cup paused on its ascent to her lips and she flicked a confused look at him. Then she frowned again, dismissing the discomfort associated with his question, and finally took a sip of her coffee. "I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about." Seems this Riley was even more of a potty mouth than the other, hmm?

Breath sharply left him, more entertained than sigh. "I think y'do." He took her entire person in, from the color of her shoelaces to the turn of her collar. It was all so familiar, and yet, not. "How different is it?"

She stared at him for a span of heartbeats and then very deliberately set her cup down, unwrapped the paper from around her muffin, and broke a chunk off it. Popping it into her mouth, she chewed and swallowed silently, forcing him to either get sick of waiting for her answer or watch her enjoy her breakfast.

Darien was anything if not patient, but her glare jarred something in him, and suddenly the unfamiliarity made sense. "Cut the shit," he grunted huskily, "I want t'know whe'ah you come from, because you are not who or whe'ah you think you are."

"You're kidding, right?" She smiled, but it was more like the smile of a jungle cat before it tore open the carcass of its latest prey. "You don't actually expect me to talk to you, do you? Even after that hack-job you wrote about the Cygnus retrieval? Do you have any idea what that piece of shit excuse for an article did to me and David?" She shook her head and angrily chewed another chunk of muffin, grinding it between her teeth like she had a personal beef with it.

Fenner's jaw tightened briefly, eyes narrowed. "I didn't write shit about the MVA or your precious Lo, per your request." He paused, then added, "Your dying request."

"I. Am not. Dead." She spoke calmly, in a quiet tone of voice, but it was like being in the eye of a hurricane--one instinctively knew that something even worse was just over the horizon. "And your article, the one you claim to not have written, busted David and me back two ranks and got us a three-month suspension. Because you didn't ask before running that story, because you didn't honor my request. So screw you, Fenner. And get out of my face before I remove yours from your head."

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Sep 11, 2013 by Darien Fenner))

"Must've been a great angle. Too bad I didn't think of it." He didn't withdraw, even bent at the waist and planted his hands on her table. "Jesus Christ, Riley. Even you aren't this thick."

Her expression said very clearly that he was going to lose not only his face but his hands below the wrist if he didn't remove them from her table. "So what if I've noticed some weird shit. Weird shit pays my bills. Weird shit is what... No, you know what? We've done this dance before and you stomped all over my toes. My dance card's all full up. Go away." She made a shooing motion with her hand, as if dismissing a child or an especially slow adult.

"You know what...? You fucking deserved it," he replied, his words dangerous and quivering with something that might have been anger. "I should never have kept your secrets. I should've let him burn." At that point it may have become apparent they weren't talking about the same thing.

Without warning, she exploded out of her seat and grabbed him by throat. Shoving him forward--well, backward for him--through the shop and towards the door, which was luckily still open from the last customer who'd entered. Once outside, she pivoted and slammed his back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes had bled to the alien amber luminescence of her Cat and they were boring into him. She didn't say anything, she just held him by the neck against the wall and stared at him from three inches away.

"Feel familiar yet?!" The hard dig of her hand into his throat rendered Fenner's yell gravelly and unhinged. Maybe the latter was inevitable. His own fingers gripped her wrist tightly, both hands squeezing hard. Daring her to. The fire in his eyes conveyed the same sentiment. "You FUCKING idiot! You'd still be here!"

His shout was enough to cause her to blink, the confusion obvious on her face for a split second. She recovered quickly, snarled, and then let go of him but didn't move away. She was still so close that the preternatural heat of her body could be easily felt. "What the hell are you talking about? Still be where? What the fuck is going on?" The last question saw the tiniest bit of desperation coloring it; she knew that if anyone could explain why people kept acting like they were seeing a ghost when they looked at her, it would be Fenner... and that chafed like the devil's own.

Fenner coughed hoarsely once released, rubbing his throat and feeling the anatomy there. Nothing broken. "Dozens of people sayin' 'you're dead' isn't enough? You are... were..." He coughed again, saying the rest through his teeth. "You died. You went out on a ventilator, in'th most humiliating way possible. You had a funeral."

"How is that...?" And it dawned on her. "No fucking way," she said breathlessly. "This is the Hub. Alpha Universe. There's only one..." She stepped back and frowned severely.

Her bewilderment didn't register with him. Not yet. "And ya knew it would 'appen. You LET it happen. God damn it, Riley!" He let out a slow, shaky breath and rubbed at his eyes. Belatedly, her comment sunk in. He looked at her. After all the research she'd had him do on the MVA, he'd be remiss if he wouldn't understand her reference. "No, it ain't. The Hub isn't in'the Alpha universe anymore."

She waved her hand, seemingly dismissing his words, though truth be told, she'd take it back to David whenever she was finished here. "What did I let happen?" Whatever he was talking about was far more important to her--personally--right now that discussions of where the Hub was now.

"The bloodbath in Dockside. Or don't ya remember being run through?" He studied her for long moments, and this time his brow furrowed not with anger, but with genuine puzzlement. "You don't," he realized slowly, as if he'd expected the opposite.

"Run through." She shook her head. "No, you'd think that would be the kind of thing that I'd remember." She paused for a moment and then sighed heavily. "I assume since you've mentioned knowledge of the MVA you know what it is, correct?"

Of the MVA, there was a towering pile of intel Fenner had locked up securely in his safe. "I've caught wind of it."

"So then you know there's, like, 120 Universes? And one of you in each of them? One of all of us."

A spark of realization flashed in the journo?s eyes, overcast quickly by the pall of understanding. Given all the strange happenings around RhyDin, not to mention identical versions of writers working within the Post building, he had a fairly good idea of where she was going with this. "Yeh."

She saw that spark and nodded, a tiny smile curling one corner of her mouth. "This other Riley, the dead one. You were friends?" Whenever they went to a different universe, she always wondered about that Riley, that David, whether they were happy, whether they were together, whether she was cursed or still human. She'd been trained, though, after the Dave Luo incident not to even consider looking in on her alternates, but that didn't stop her from wondering.

"No. Not exactly." He'd suspected as much when he saw the way she behaved in the Inn that first night, but the Riley he knew had always had a unique way of occasionally chasing away reason. His mouth twitched. "Your Fenner. Royally pissed ya off, huh?"

She nodded, briefly considered expanding on the thought, but dismissed it almost immediately. Despite the fact that this wasn't her Fenner, he was still a reporter and they were to be trusted about as far as a smack addict in a oxycodone factory. "Was she... the other Riley, I mean... was she..." She hesitated, hating that she wanted to know--needed to know--but asked anyway. "Happy?" The word was soft, hushed, almost reverently spoken.

"Good t'know I could get und'a her skin," he replied with a smirk. It dissolved at her question, and he averted his eyes. Let out a sigh. "Not all th'time. She tried t'be." His gaze returned to her, something enigmatic behind it. "Had th'house and the husband and th'dog." As his last toothpick had fallen out of his mouth in their struggle, he took that opportunity to shake another one out of a box from his pocket and slide it between his teeth. "But you're you. I'm sure ya know how it worked out. They had a lot of friends. And a lot of enemies."

House? Husband? Dog?! "She was human." The comment was made more to herself than to him and a small part of her felt a flash of envy and a touch of melancholic wistfulness for the Might Have Been and the If Only. "Was it... David?"

Any nostalgia he may or may not have been experiencing faded from his expression, his teeth setting. "Yes." Fenner trapped her in his gaze, intent and penetrating with slowly burning ire. He plucked the toothpick free and rolled it between his fingers. "Listen. I don't know if you are ahead or behind, or if th'otha Lo is anything like this one. But I do know one thing - shit sticks to him like glue and trouble always seems to follow. If you're any more clever than she was, you'll end it."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Then she laughed; it was a humorless sound, and bitter-flavored. "You're jealous of him. Of him and me. Were you of them, too?"

The journo finally broke a smile, but it was hard-edged and razor-sharp. Then, without warning, he aimed to hook her by the back of the neck and press his lips firmly against hers. As close as they were, it took only a second.

She shoved him away just as soon as he released her from the kiss. Then she stepped in and slapped his face, hard enough that the imprint of her hand was visible, red and angry on his cheek. "Don't you ever... How dare... You stupid fucking..." She moved away from him, her hands tightly fisted at her sides as if to keep them from rising of their own accord and either tearing his throat out or beating him to a bloody pulp.

Palm massaging his cheek, he pulled it away and examined it for blood. "Just had t'be sure."

"Of what?" The words were out before she could hold them back. If she were smart, she'd walk away now. She'd let go of the curiosity of her other self, of what had happened to the Hub, of this weirdness she'd stepped into. She'd go back to the safe house, go back to her man and her life, and leave all this behind. But then, she'd never been accused of making good choices when it came to satisfying her curiosity.

More seconds passed as he caught his breath - or waited for the numbness in his cheek to subside. Eventually he looked at her again, the pad of his thumb catching a bead of blood at the corner of his lip. He smirked. "That I could still piss you off."

"You asshole," she hissed. The she shook her head, a sad and bitter chuckle escaping her lips. "At least that seems to be constant. All the Darien Fenners I've met are all assholes. Screw you, Fenner. If I see you again, I swear to you, it will go badly for you."

"I'd be disappointed if it didn't." That smirk spread into a wide, savage grin. For the second time, he lifted his arm, let it fall and slap against his side. "Enjoy your coffee. Might need t'hork up some hairballs first."

She didn't give him the honor responding to that last dig. Instead she turned on her heel and stalked away, radiating malice and danger as she cut swaths through the crowded Marketplace. A stream of black, muttered Japanese maledictions followed in her wake, leaving the air tinted an almost visible blue.

As for Fenner, he remained where he was, watching the Riley-that-was-not-Riley walk away. Once she was gone, that grin fell, and his eyes shifted straight ahead.

"Fuck."

[[Written with Riley O'Rourke's player, with thanks!]]

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Sep 15, 2013))

Since the Hayabusa was effectively out of service (complete with a sign on it and everything - a reminder to keep any drunk Dariens out there from hopping on and attempting to start it anyway), the journo had opted to take the Mustang to the Teas that day. He'd left in the morning, and was just making it home at nearly midnight. The engine rumbled in the drive for a few minutes before the usual telltale jingle of keys in the lock. They weren't dropped, and he opened it with only one attempt. He must not have been drinking. When he entered, he also didn't have a bag on him. He hadn't been traveling. Turning around, he locked the door behind him, checking it twice.

The children, the entire lot, were off to their rooms for the night. Collie was in the front room enjoying a glass of merlot when she heard Darien in the front hall. She resisted her knee jerk reaction to chew him out for taking her Mustang when his Maserati AND his Ferrari, both in working order that she knew of, had been available. She considered whether or not that was his unconscious way of attempting to force her to stay put. She had, however, made it just fine with her favorite mode of transport, the four legged variety. "I'm in 'ere," was followed by, "If yer hungry, I've got a bit o' pie in 'ere."

Scotch ought to be served neat. That meant no ice. Anything else was blasphemy. And yet, in the kitchen could be heard clinks of a few cubes into a crystal tumbler. The hard snap of the Jameson seal breaking. The glug-glug of a filling glass. Oddities came in threes, so what was next? Fenner entered the room, pressing the coolness of the glass against a sore cheek. But then, that wasn't odd.

Silently, Collie set the glass down as she looked him over. The practiced court mask was etched on her features. There was a sudden downpour outside that beat against the parlor's large window pane. And, within a few minutes, it became a raging thunderstorm. She crossed the room and settled on the window seat until she got her anger under control. That reaction was far worse than any fit of temper might have been. It was the outward sign of the cold fury the burned inside her.

Her reaction earned an audible, 'what'd I do now?' sigh and an eyelid flutter. One might mistake that for an eyeroll, but it wasn't one. "Collie, I do not need this right now."

Her reply was quiet, "Well excuse the goddamned hell out o' me fer not bein' able ta control that part o' me yet. It's only been a year." She took in a long breath. "I'll leave ya alone then." The storm outside had subsided to a soft shower of rain. Collie stepped into the hall. She turned toward the room when she reached for the doors to close them.

A hand snapped out and aggressively slammed into the door to keep it ajar. The eyes on her were slightly narrowed, but it wasn't in anger. Well. Not at her. "What is it?"

She gestured toward the mirror over the fireplace. "Ya come home lookin' like that 'n' I'm not supposed ta get upset?"

Following her gesture, he angled his chin to catch his reflection in that mirror, sucking the back of his teeth when he perceived a subtle shadow of bruise. "Riley," he grunted, gaze dropping to get a good look at the content within his glass before he set about draining it. "Or rath'a, Not-Riley," he added begrudgingly. The scotch stung; he anesthetized himself with a much more generous swig.

Collie's brows raised, she muttered something about wigs, greens, and donnybrooks from hell. Not wanting to give voice to the rest of what was in her head, she ended up saying, "Right 'n' ya were sayin' t'other night about not settin' 'er off?"

"I had t'be sure," he replied flatly. Then he promptly emptied the glass.

Her words came back in kind, "Then I 'ave just one thing ta say on the matter." She locked her gaze on him. "Kindly don't lecture me about pushin' people again."

His lips twitched into a rather arrogant grin. "Th'girls asleep?"

"Mmmmhmm... Our girls 're asleep. The others are asleep 'r just up in their rooms." Seeing the smile, she pointed at him then wagged her finger. "That bike, when it's fixed 'r replaced, I'm stealing it." She had a mildly annoyed look on her face, but it wasn't her truly pissed off expression. He hadn't earned that, yet.

In spite of her obvious vexation, Darien knew she wouldn't resist him. With or without her permission, he aimed to take her by the waist and draw her to him. "Then now would be a good time for a dip in'th rain," he muttered huskily against her skin.

She didn't stop him, she didn't even slow him down. In fact, she bared her neck to him to make reaching it easier. "Mm... after."

"I like whe'ah your head's at," he rumbled. Making an obvious assumption of what was meant by 'after,' he dropped his hand from her waist to hook her thigh and aggressively pin her knee against his hip.

This time, she kept her magic in check as well as the fist that had been cocked back with the intention of ramming into whatever part of him she could get to. "Darien, love," she sounded so very serious as she whispered against his ear with warm breath that smelled of peppermint. Her speech was careful and devoid of accent, it was a sign that it would be wise to pay attention. "I'll take you out in the garden and do things to you that you have only dreamed of or seen in the Kama Sutra. After you tell me what's going on and why you not only insisted that I not answer calls or leave the house, but stole my car in an attempt to ensure it."

Hot breath gusted on her skin, but in another sigh. This time of exasperation. "The'ah's pie?" he asked evenly, releasing her. It wasn't his attempt at deflection, and she knew it. It he talked at all, it wouldn't be without food or drink.

"Yes, pie, coffee, 'n' if ya give me ..." she whispered against his neck, "shall we say unfettered answers, there's a lovely bottle o' fifty year old Macallan that I've been savin' fer a ... special occasion." Collie knew quite a few things that made Darien go weak in the knees. The nibble on his earlobe might or might not have been one of them!

Despite her playfulness, and despite the promise of pie and coffee in the kitchen, Collie's comment had sobered him up almost completely. He didn't respond to that tease, in fact, stiffened from it and took her by the elbows to put her at arm's length, his expression stoic. "He's not me," he explained flatly, "and I don't want you t'see him. I can't explain it in any oth'a way." He paused, eying his far too empty glass. "I know me. If ya meet 'im, nothin' good will come of it." His voice deepened, "Just understand, will you?"

"That wasn't exactly wise," her arms wrapped around his waist, "Darien." Collie's voice was just above a whisper and her concern came through in her tone, "Which worries you more, not knowing what he might do or knowing what you eventually did do?"

"What worries me most?" he repeated, for a moment looking as if he was about to say something. His teeth clicked shut. "I just want you safe." He took her elbow, this time squeezing gently. "I don't want it to happen again."

The fingers of one hand were splayed against his back. Old habits died hard, she was rubbing his back in a similar fashion to how she soothed the girls. Was she trying to help her husband or herself more? "I ... I understand that." She did, indeed, understand. Colleen had seen the same thing, herself in another form. Kirin, however, had come backward in time instead of going forward. It was years before Collie learned the full truth of what Kirin had shielded her from. She had to lose her memory and find it again before that happened. It was how there had been two of some of her children. One of the people she had encountered recently, the one she called Seamair, had come from a future time. Each one of them had a reason for coming back. That was easier to comprehend.

"Good." His throat bobbed as he pulled back, leaving a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Couple days. "Jes give me a couple days t'figure out everything."

"Darien, I can't stop livin' because Rhydin has turned upside down. If I did that every time that happened nothin' would ever get done around 'ere." She frowned. "I have places in the city that I need to go. Business interests ta tend ta." She was quiet for a moment or two before going on. "Maybe we can come ta terms?"

"What terms?" his body language hadn't yet conveyed disappointment. It hadn't conveyed anything at all.

"Ya have yer reasons fer not wantin' me ta get in touch with this ... other you. I can can respect the fact that ya see 'im as a potential danger especially after all that 'appened. So, I'll agree not ta initiate contact wit' 'im." She waited for that to sink into her husband's sometimes thick skull.

He studied her for several moments, then canted his head warily. "What's th'catch?"

"Yer not goin' ta like it." She moved her hand up as if to say, take a look at yourself. Silence, she gathered her words and tried not to make them sound like weapons being drawn. "I won't make contact, but if he comes looking fer me, I won't avoid talkin' wit' 'im. You do the same regardin' Ms. Cat. She's clearly a danger ta yer well bein' 'n' I'd rather not have ta bury ya." She pursed her lips. "And if either breaks the bargain, all bets 're off."

Like a switch, Darien's attitude shifted abruptly, tense silence chilling the air even as he commanded the anger that surged inside him to subside. Ever trained in the art of politics, his mien was deliberately even. However, he did not disguise how his fist white-knuckled around the empty glass. "Y'know I'm tryin' t'protect y'here."

"I do, 'n' we 'ave ta think about protectin' them." She gestured toward the stairway, the meaning clearly being their daughters. "Yer answer was clear enough." She couldn't keep the disappointment off her face, so, she walked across the hall.

"Collie!" he snarled as she turned her back to him. The spite in his voice startled and sobered him, a flash of regret that she wouldn't see betrayed in his expression. He started after her and reached for her elbow, giving it a hard jerk he realized a second too late was too rough.

Her eyes had changed from that muddled color of blue and green to a green that rivaled the fire in a perfectly cut emerald. "Let. Go. Please." Her words were clipped, quiet, and all too calm. "The way yer actin', I'm beginnin' ta wonder if ya are m'husband," there was regret in her tone, but she had to give voice to the thought. "The Riley we knew might have just pounded the livin' hell outta ya?"

"This isn't about Riley," he interrupted thickly through his teeth. He met her gaze steadily, matching her ire with more of his own, but carefully peeled his fingers from her arm. "I don't like ultimatums."

"Says the man what issued the silent one today?" She tipped her head. "Tell me, just what set 'er off enough ta create that mess what's now yer face?"

"Stop changing th'subject," he replied sharply, his palm cutting the air for emphasis. "Jes don't talk t'me, or who ya think is me, on th'streets. At all. Is that too much t'ask?"

"I do most o' m' business in New Haven 'n' Old Temple. If ya got ta be in the latter 'n' need somethin', go ta the school. Maggie will know ya," she muttered something in between that sounded like twice over 'n' baked. "Ya could stay out o' Nicole's Bistro across the street, I run the place fer Nicole every so often. I'll ask one o' servers ta take care o' anyone what looks like ya unless ya call first. That work, so far?"

His jaw working, he reluctantly dipped his chin in silent agreement.

She had calmed down considerably before speaking again. "Look, Dare, I didn't mean ta be offendin' ya 'r take shots at yer masculinity 'ere. I never been good wit' that whole diplomacy thing. We made promises ta look after each other, 'tis not a one way street. Yer askin' me ta respect yer wishes. All I was askin' is fer ya ta respect mine."Her lips pursed as she considered something. "I don't want Abby 'n' Madison growin' up wit'out ya because ya pushed the wrong button 'n' got yerself killed." She took a ragged breath and lowered her gaze to the floor. "I don't want ta bury ya afore ya should go."

Air gusted from his nose. "Don't worry about that. All y'have t'worry about is them," he responded, the slightest tilt of his head indicating the twins' room upstairs. Just then, he caught himself. "And th'rest of the family, of course."

"You askin" fer that doesn't make it so." Her head was tilted downward. To her, it was such a simple concession to make and, by not agreeing, Darien had placed himself in a most unenviable position. He had caused his wife to believe she was playing second fiddle in some respects to Riley ... whatever she called herself in this incarnation. "I'll get m'things 'n' sleep upstairs tonight. Ya will be more comfortable in the big bed alone right now."

"What're you?" his brows knit together. "Askin' for what? Coll?? as she turned away from him again, he snapped a hand out to take her by this wrist, this time more gently. "Say something."

At that point she could no longer conceal how upset she'd become and why she'd turned away. Her answer came slowly and with a couple of hard swallows in the mix. "Ta ask me not ta be worryin' about ya doesn't make it so."

A few more moments of silence passed before his hand drifted upward and rest on her shoulder. When she didn't respond, even so much as look at him, he let his arm drop. Unconsciously he scratched at the harsh stubble on his chin, rubbed his forehead. "I'll agree t'try t'avoid trouble if you do. Good enough?"

Finally, she was able to laugh as she lifted head to look at him. "Darien Fenner! If I agree ta avoid all trouble, I'll still be sleepin' upstairs 'n' yer goin' ta have be on toddler detail." Her expression became serious once again. "I'm goin' up ta check on the girls." She reached up to caress his cheek. "Why don't ya go take a shower 'n' clear yer head a bit?"

The abrupt swing in her mood might have given him whiplash if his palm hadn't been steadying his chin to begin with. He eyed her warily, even suspiciously, before replying in a dubious, affirmative grunt. Unsure whether to expect a kiss or a slap or both, he lingered a few more seconds, and when he received none of the above, Darien turned and headed for the washroom.

Almost three years they'd been married, and they still couldn't read each other. They still couldn't trust each other - at least, not all the time.

Door closed behind him, the reflection in the bathroom mirror stared back at him with an unfamiliarity he had long since grown used to.

What are you doing?

[PrlUnicorn]

Collie settled into the rocking chair in the nursery. Abby and Madison were fine, it was their mother who was out of sorts. She leaned her head back and rested it against the cloud shaped pillow. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

I told him I'd stay put for a while. Does he understand the message he sent by taking that car wasn't "I'd like you to stay home." It was more like do as I say! Even worse than that, it says "I don't trust you." If I had really wanted to go off the grounds, there were several other vehicles. That particular one, I like sharing about as much he likes sharing that bike of his. Which is to say that I don't. He has to know that after all this time! If he took the Rover, that would have been fine.

She stood and fussed with the girls' bed clothes before perching on the window seat. Looking out into the night, she watched the fireflies that were flitting among the plants in the garden. The redhead supposed that some of the little people were roaming about, too. What in name of all he holds holy did he do to provoke that woman into belting him like that? He avoided the question. Did he really think it wasn't going to come up? A bruised face. And what about his throat? Did she do that, too, or was that another wrong button pushed?

Colleen drifted into the bathroom that connected the nursery to what had once been the nanny's room. The door closed with a soft clicking sound. Unwinding the braid in her hair, she stared into the mirror. And that's another thing ... who the hell is the empath here? Does he not understand that after all this time that unless I can't get a read on someone, I know exactly how they are reacting? I needed to know just how much of the Riley we knew was in that woman. You only learn that by triggering an emotional response. The minotaur not knowing what I was doing is understandable. But HIM, telling me not to push her then doing exactly that himself? That's .. that. A feral noise escaped her lips as she ran a brush through her hair. it's hypocritical, that's what it is! Does he even know how it sounds to me to have my concerns about him running into her again brushed aside like that? I tried to compromise, but he really wasn't seeing it. Did he agree just to placate me like a giving a child a lolli? Maybe he was listening past his own offended sensibilities, I don't know. She took a quick shower then put on a dark blue silk nightgown and peignoir.

She muttered something under her breath as she moved down the stairs. Just what did he mean when he said he had to be sure. Sure of what? There was still pie to be had, and she was going to hunt it down! A hinge on the swinging kitchen door creaked as she went inside. I know he loves me. I know he wants me safe, but he's not always here to do that. In this case, Max isn't going to help, he's not going to attack what smells like his master. I wonder if he thought of that? She made pie ala mode with chocolate layer topping the pie. One thing at a time would be so much easier, but life isn't that way. This other Darien, well, after seeing the differences in the other Riley, it's clear that he might not understand that he's the one what shifted in time and not my Darien. If trouble starts, dealing with her is simple in comparison. This younger man is another matter. She shoveled the pie into her mouth. I need to remember that no matter what he looks like, that that is his real face and he's not an echo of summer, last year.

She cleaned up the bowl and such before going into the master suite. People wonder why I started teaching my children to defend themselves at a young age. This is why, troubles like this. They will never be defenseless or unarmed. She rifled through drawers in the walk-in closet that shared a wall with the bathroom. Collie had planned to give Darien his gifts on his birthday, but this one wasn't going to keep, making up her mind to give it a few days early. The man was just as stubborn as his wife when the occasion warranted. Maybe, a different compromise was in order. The ring sized box was set on his pillow. The tag read ... Happy birthday, Da.

The French doors were left open to the private garden outside the bedroom. Collie settled on the arbor swing and gently rocked it as she inhaled the night blooming jasmine. As she waited for Darien to discover the small treasure, she made a silent promise. I shall deal with things as they come with the man. I swear on the lives of our daughters, if that she beast kills you, I'll melt every piece of silver I can find and make her a dress of it.

[PrlUnicorn]

Over breakfast the next day, as Collie reached for her morning cup of Earl Grey, she was surprised at the interference her husband's body made, leaning up against the table. His spending a night in the guest bedroom and hers in the nanny's quarters had done some good, for both of them seemed to be in slightly better sorts. Then again, maybe it was the item in Darien's hand that had caught him off guard that morning. Tilting his head, he held up the box she'd left him the previous night, silver Celtic cufflinks catching the haze of new sunlight filtering in through the kitchen window.

"Care to explain this?" he asked, his tone an amused one.

"Peace offering, perhaps?" Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him over her cup. "Might make a nice addition to a costume ... or a new suit." Her mouth curved upward a bit, but if she had chosen something else for his birthday, she wasn't telling him yet.

An eyebrow shot up as he slowly lowered the item. "Costume?"

"That charity benefit bein' tossed fer Issy 'n' 'er crew." She smiled wryly. "It's a masquerade. We talked about it, remember?"

"Ah. That." Darien straightened, lips twisting, and eyed the cufflinks thoughtfully. "That'd mean we'd know who was who, then." An aquamarine gaze set on her, ensnared her mischievously. "Y'sure ya want that?"

She matched that gaze with a smile that could have been placed in the dictionary next to the word temptation. "Tell ya what, just in case someone else 'as has a set o' those 'r a bracelet like the one ya gave me fer our first Valentine's Day..." That was when the impish sparkle lit her eyes. "I won't drag anyone down any alleyways until I'm certain sure 'tis you."

The grin Darien returned was nearly, if not completely, predatory. "A secret, then," he acknowledged, stroking his chin while pondering the possibilities. "I wond'a how Colleen Fenner plans to disguise herself."

Collie set her cup on the table and tapped her lower lip with the tip of her index finger. "Well, ya know me well well enough. I think I'll be easy fer ya ta find." She started humming part of one of her favorite songs for slow dancing. I have never seen that dress you're wearing ... Or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes, I have been blind. While the words weren't sung, it might have been hint enough.

Easing off the table, he slipped the box into his pocket. "Should I be worried?"

She gave her husband a shy little smile. "Don't worry, a chroi, I'll be subtle about it."

Darien clucked his tongue. "That's what makes me worried."

[PrlUnicorn]

On Saturday night, the crush of people in attendance at the Scathach ball became a not so distant memory behind Collie, still able to feel the quake of music through the stiletto heels of her bright red shoes all the way at the Docks. The anonymous overflow from the house on the waterfront mingled there, chatting over drinks and hors d'oeuvres, and she made her way among them. Masks smiled back at her as she neared the party's center to hear Jewell speak, but they were not the masks Rhydinians normally wore. These were made of plaster, plastic, and sequins, not unlike the ruby one she held up at eye level.

Jewell's announcement concluded, Collie catcalled into the audience, then took a glass from a passing waiter and upended it with a Celtic toast.

"Subtle. Very subtle," rumbled a voice from behind her. Turning about, she took in the speaker's apparel, all brown for her red. Earth for fire. She didn't recognize the face, half-disguised as it was in a leather mask, but she knew the smile.

"I could've been wearin' a canvas bag 'n' some people would still 'ave known when I let that toast slip." She grinned at the man in brown.

"It 'appens," he replied, Melbourne's influence making familiar patterns of his words. "Apparently I was letting my accent sneak out." Nevermind the stubble-covered, wolfish smile he didn't bother hiding.

"Mmm... accent 'r no... full mask 'r no, you're pretty transparent." Collie made a subtle gesture toward his wrist, where he wore a familiar gold Rolex she had gifted the man in brown, her husband, years ago.

Darien spun the watch on his wrist unconsciously, like a habit he couldn't shake. "I'm pretty outmatched," he admitted of his costume choice, nosing at Collie's over-zealous and rather raunchy take on Lucifer incarnate.

She waggled her fingers over the man in brown's shoulder at Katt and Clayton in the crowd, then gave Mr. Understated a grin worthy of tempting an angel. "I could take it off."

"Y'could. But then I've figured ya out already, haven't I?" an arm wound securely around her waist as he leaned in to whisper a dark, dark secret. "Colleen Fenner."

"Well, I should hope you know me. Not ta mention this." She jingled the slave bracelet dangling at her own wrist - a gift from him, and doubtlessly as familiar as the accessory he'd chosen for the evening.

Darien's sharp blue gaze was landed on that bracelet briefly. "Of course. That, too." He took her hand and dipped his head to leave a kiss on her wrist below the jewelry. "Have fun t'night, dah'lin?"

"Mmm, I suppose." She leaned to whisper, "Wit' all these odd things goin' on it's hard ta relax 'n' enjoy." She cleared her throat. "I'm warning ya now, I've got plans fer Monday."

"Try not t'think about it." By then, most of those originally in attendance had gone home, or at least saw fit to relocate to the inside of the RhyDin House on the Waterfront. With no secret to conceal any longer, Darien gripped her mask and pushed it up past her forehead, revealing those smoky eyes with impossibly long lashes. "You're beautiful, y'know."

"Pfft... No'm not. Someone said that when I was big as an elephant 'n' cartin' twins in m'belly."

"Ya are." He took pause, studying her as he occasionally did, as if it was for the very first time. "Colleen Fenner. Th'woman I married." His grin cut through that moment, just for a second, before he bent, closing the short distance to her mouth. "I've got'ta get. I'll see ya real soon, uh?"

"Darien?" Collie held up her hand. "Been meanin' ta ask, now's a good a time as any... Ya mind if we go 'n' ... see m' sister fer m'birthday?"

He pulled back slightly, but didn't balk. "Of course. Whatev'a y'want, dah'lin." He cupped her jaw briefly as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. "They need me. See ya soon." With a turn he took his leave, trapping that phone tightly between his ear and shoulder as he walked away.

"They always need ya." She frowned. The high heels of those red shoes tapped softly as she took her leave from the party as well.

[PrlUnicorn]

The door of the Mustang closed with a heavy thud before Collie headed into the house. The heels of the red shoes clicked on the oak floorboards. She felt ridiculous in the short little costume and tights, but it had been all in fun and for the benefit of charity. She headed for the kitchen and her brand of solace ... chocolate.

Hearing the front door close, Darien stepped out of his study, phone still pressed tight to his ear. His black Armani suit was unkempt, bow tie undone, but altogether still remotely presentable. "Babe... I'm so sorry. I was leavin' thirty minutes ago, I swear."

"Actually... " she took an uneasy breath, "I'm glad yer home."

Balancing the phone between ear and shoulder, he attempted to tie his bowtie. "It's not ov'a, is it?"

"I left early." She took off her high heels. Since he caught her before she got to the kitchen, she went into the bedroom to peel off the tights. Comforted by the security of her own home, she let a sigh out into the darkness.

There was a pause before Darien followed his wife into the bedroom. "Collie...?"

"What kept ya from leavin'? Who... at work, I mean." When he entered, she had her mask off fully and was putting the tights in the hamper.

"They said it was Simon, but I've been on hold a half hour..." He reached for the light switch, slowly flicked it back on. "Coll...?"

"Humor me a minute, would ya?" Blinking, she took off the pewter slave bracelet he'd given her during the first large scale event they had attended together. She held it up. "Ya recognize this, aye?" She'd worn a sari that night and it had complimented the costume beautifully.

In defeat, Darien ended the call and pocketed the phone. He stepped forward, crossing over to her. "As much as y'recognize this," he said, pushing back a white oxford sleeve - and Celtic cufflinks - to reveal a gold Rolex he'd been gifted years ago.

"Tell me, Dare," she hadn't used that nickname earlier, "Why would I be makin' plans fer Monday?" She tried to keep her tone even, but her voice and hands shook as she undid the laces from the corset. That was telltale enough.

Sensing her anxiety, he stayed her trembling hands with his, coaxed them away from the laces and effortlessly pulled the strings of her corset himself. "Because ya stupidly remembered my birthday..." Bindings loosened, he set his hands on her hips, just shy of pulling the corset loose. The shake in her voice softened his words, but hardened his expression. "Babe... What is it?"

In the back of her mind, she started wondering why the man that sounded so much like her husband seemed oblivious to what September 9th was. "Just one more thing ..." She leaned back against him. "I want ta go see m'sister fer our birthday," not my, but our, "ya comin' along fer the trip?"

Darien stopped, considering the implications of what that meant. "Ar'roight," he replied, confused at the direction or purpose of Collie's line of questioning. "What'd y'want t'bring?"

"Just bring you. Moral support, ya know?" She was finally feeling ready enough to talk about it. "He didn't know those things." Her sister had died many years before. Darien, her Darien, was the only other person who knew the location of that grave. She felt light headed, from drink or gravity or both.

"Who didn't?" he steadied her more with his touch.

"The reason ya were put on hold, I'd wager. I should've known that ya wouldn't 'ave worn such a plain suit even in disguise."

"What're ya talkin' about?"

"Him.? When it dropped, the pronoun practically made a crater in the ground. "He was there... the you that's not you!"

At once, Darien?s face smoothed, became vacant. "Y'talked t'im."

"I was expectin' you. We never said what we were wearin'." She pulled away from him, a sudden sensation of guilt had filled her even though she had done nothing wrong. "Should've stayed home."

"What'd he say to you?" His voice had become rough, and as she pulled away, Darien snatched her wrist and pulled her closer. "Collie, what'd he say?"

"He didn't say a whole lot. Acted like 'e knew me, but ... really didn't." She shuddered. "I'd have asked ta see the inscription on 'is watch, but I didn't want him ta know I suspected anythin'."

Releasing her, Darien ran his hand ran down his face, coarsely, before covering his mouth in thought. "He sought you out. Directly."

"Yes, 'n' I'm worried now." When she looked at him, her face was careworn. "Why pretend he was you? I don't mean just sayin' e's Darien Fenner, which 'e is, but claimin' that 'e's m'husband which 'e's not." That was the crux of what the man had said to her.

His eyes flicked back to her. "Did he say that?"

She sounded both tired and exasperated. "Yes, 'e said ... " She paused a moment to think of exactly what was said. "Colleen Fenner. The woman I married." For an instant, stark fear flickered in her eyes. Collie wasn't afraid of much. However, things that meant possible harm to those she loved were often worthy of such a thing. Her red brows furrowed as something hit her like falling wall of bricks. "He ... he never mentioned the girls."

Darien's hand hovered before his mouth, then over the back of his neck, before he let out a harsh breath and wrapped Collie up in his arms, resting his chin on her head. "I'll take care of it," he said evenly.

She sunk into the warmth of his body. Her mind was racing to find the right words, but what could she say? This fell under that age old adage of a man doing what he had to do. The grandfather clock in the front hall struck at the half hour before she finally spoke again. "Mmm... mind yer backside, hmm? I like right where it is."

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Oct 02, 2013 by Darien Fenner))

Darien's phone rang twice during September's GAC meeting. The first time, only static crackled on the other end and was summarily dismissed. Though it was from the MacLeod's home telephone number, the answering machine had an irritating habit of wreaking havoc on outgoing calls ever since their German Shepherd, Max, had chewed through the cables connecting it in the kitchen. One of Collie's kin must have been attempting to reach him, likely regarding one or both of the girls, and so when he reentered the Great Hall he lingered adjacent to the doorway in wait, watching his wife making professional arrangements for her birthday. The Mustang would have to miraculously disappear and the house clear that particular day in November, if there was any hope of making her day a memorable one. Perhaps he'd hand the girls over to Nicole, like he had that evening, and bring her back to that hotel she loved in Greece.

The cell phone felt far too warm in hand as he stood there, weighing it. Collie was at the GAC meeting. Nicole and Rachael had taken Abby and Madison to the Glen to set off fireworks. Draven, Diana, and Mir had gathered camping supplies and gone with them, assuming the near arrival of October didn't bring an unexpected coolness with it. All of them were accounted for. No one should have been ringing him from that number.

When it rang again, the journo stalked from the Hall and pressed the phone hard to his ear.

"Who is this?" he snapped, his voice low.

"Oh, please. Don't say you weren't expectin' this."

Darien's mouth made a thin line as he checked over his shoulder for anyone listening, then continued walking. "You're late. I expected t'hear from you sooner."

"Obligations and all tha'. You know how it is. Well. You did."

"What d'you want?"

"What's wrong with a chat? Not every day y'get t'see how your life turns out."

Tense fingers found the keys in his jacket pocket, and he jammed them into the Ferrari's lock and twisted. "So show your face, and we'll chat."

"And risk having you put a dent in it? Please. I actually like this one."

The car seat's leather, made rigid by September's chill, sunk under his weight as he yanked the door shut. The engine roared to a start, and the speaker on the other end must have heard it. His voice was light and mocking.

"Cotton bed sheets? I'm disappointed. These can't even be 300 count."

So he was in the house. Darien almost shoved the phone through the windshield. His foot flattened the gas pedal so hard the Ferrari fishtailed. "What d'ya want?"

"Don't bother wreckin' that beautiful ride of yours. I'll be long gone by the time ya get 'eah."

Reluctance wired his teeth shut and made him ease up on the gas. Given who the speaker was, it was probably the truth. "Been havin' fun playin' house, have ya?"

Something like a snort fizzed through the line. "Your life isn't nearly so interesting these days. Though I did enjoy seeing that pretty Asian nip tie your prick in a knot. You told wifey yet how much ya want t'fuck 'er?"

His jaw could easily have crushed diamonds into gravel. "Why'd you talk to Collie?"

"You know why. I wanted to see how easy it was."

"T'do what?"

"To be you."

The car lurched to a stop as he pulled over into a gas station, leaning over the steering wheel and rubbing his forehead stiffly. More than anything, Darien had wished he'd been wrong about what would happen. But then, he'd have done the same thing. "You do this, and you're a dead man."

On the other end of the line, an engine was starting. "It's a novel thing, this whole penance you've got goin' for ya. But you've lost sight of why you're 'eah in th'first place."

"Th'fuck I have."

"The diapers in your briefcase say otherwise." There was a pause. "You didn't even tell 'er, did ya? Why ya married 'er in'th first place?"

Darien gripped the steering wheel, if only to keep from bloodying his knuckles on the dash. "I haven't forgotten. I'll still do it."

"Too late." The call ended abruptly.

His fist white knuckled the phone, disappointed when the screen didn't crack. Blood pounded deep in his chest and through his head, so hot when he yanked the sun shade down he was sure he'd see fire in his reflection. It only stared back, taunting him in its familiarity. Daring him. Each breath grew more shallow as he steeled himself, willing himself to do what needed to be done to end this, once and for all.

The face that looked back knew he wouldn't at the same time he did. Cursing loudly, Darien smashed his phone into the mirror, pulverizing the glass until every bit of shine was gone. Hand dropping to the gear shift, the sting in his palm made him look down, where the glare from the neon gas station sign illuminated the shards on his lap and the red mess he'd suddenly made of the beige leather.

Sliding a toothpick into his mouth, he calmly put the car in gear and pulled into the car wash.

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted on Nov 09, 2013 by Mairead Harker))

November 2013

Maggie put on her jacket and a pair of oversized sunglasses that she'd worn for Trick or Treat. "What?" she yelled toward the school's common room.

"Maggie, you don't need to sound so uncivilized!" It was Pearl's voice that answered her. "Don't forget to zip your jacket. That weather is funny this time of year."

"I can't hear you over the other kids talkin' and I'm not bein' civil?" Maggie huffed. "My jacket's zippered and snapped. I got my hat if I need it and my gloves are in the pockets!" She eyed the slender teenager in the archway. "Who you think I am? A dumb kid?" She flashed a cheesy grin and opened the front door to step outside. A peek over her shoulder revealed the young teaching assistant watching out the window. Mairead flashed a megawatt smile and offered a princess wave before turning her attention to the parking spaces on the street.

A 2011 black satin Ferrari coasted up into the circle drive, shiny and glamorous as the precocious seven year-old's sunglasses and attitude. The tinted passenger side window rolled down slowly, revealing an Australian chauffeur in the driver's seat with equally classy Ray-Ban shades. "Chariot for Mairead Harker?"

Maggie giggled. "Silly, Darien! Chariots have horses!" Before Maggie could open the door by herself, the woman that had been watching her through the window came out to offer a hand. "Thanks, Pearl!" Maggie nearly squealed as she climbed into the sports car and buckled up.

Pearl's golden green eyes swept over Maggie, double checking that all was in order. "Be good, Maggie."

"Hey, I know the company manners rules!" The seven year old's nose crinkled up to mimic a bunny's.

The teaching assistant looked Darien over with a bit of a critical eye then smiled as she closed the car door. "Enjoy your lunch."

"This chariot's got horsepower," Darien rebutted as Maggie climbed in and buckled up. Window still open, he rolled onto one hip and tugged his wallet from his back pocket. As staticky and near incoherent as her message had been, Rhiannon had mentioned something about him needing to show the staff his identification when he picked Maggie up. He slid the ID card free from its leather sleeve and held it up for the aide's examination. "Anything else I need t'know?" he asked.

Pearl waved off the ID and grinned. "I know exactly who you are, Mr Fenner. You learn quickly when you step between a man and a raging tiger."

Maggie blinked as she heard Pearl. She turned her head to look at Darien with wide eyes and and a gaping fish expression. "You were messin' with a tiger? Wow!"

"Fightin' tigers builds character," he commented, nodding once at the aide. As the window rolled up, the vehicle eased into gear. "Your mum is stuck at the observatory t'day and was afraid you'd instantly starve t'death if she didn't make it by noon. Mind grabbin' a bite with an old bloke, baby girl?"

Maggie jerked a thumb at herself. "Hey, I can cook in the micromachine!" A bit of a smug look appeared on her face. "I made a cup of soup and I didn't blow it up!"

Pearl went inside as Maggie looked to Darien. "Who told you you're old? Who I gotta beat up?" She shook her fist and grinned.

"I'm at least?" Darien made a show of counting on his fingers as he turned the steering wheel. "At least twice as old as ya, Magpie. That's pretty old." On the open road, the Ferrari could finally accelerate the way it was designed to. It hummed thrillingly around and beneath them, the engine only comfortable when they reached eighty kilometers per hour or above. "I 'eard you kids've got a half day. Why is that?"

"Because a water pipe broke and we got magic people, but no plumber people at school!" Maggie tossed her hands up in the air! "They can stop the water and clean it up, but not fix the pipes right!"

"Ah," he replied, checking the traffic over his shoulder before changing lanes and flattening the gas pedal even more. "Sounds t'me like y'don't need a magician. "Jes an umbrella." A casual sip was taken from a coffee previously nestled in the cup holder. "What d'ya want t'eat?"

"I like pizza!" Maggie's face lit up like she'd been given the key to a toy store and free rein inside it. "It's chilly, so, do you like grilled cheese and t'mater soup?"

Darien checked his watch. "Well, I've got'ta get back t'th office in an hour, so unless y'want t'do my job for me, how 'bout we make it a quick pizza, uh? Maybe an ice cream too, if'ya don't tell your mum."

"I'm allowed ice cream, but one and only after the meal." Maggie nodded sagely. "Gotta be careful b'cause Da's," she paused a moment, "di-a-bet-ic. Yeah, that's it." She looked at Darien. "Doesn't the editor answer his mail?"

"Hmm?" The sports car lurched to a stop in the parking lot outside a pizzeria on the outskirts of Old Temple. It wasn't the most authentic of places, but in RhyDin, and in Darien's (and Maggie's) experience, it had been the closest to authentic Terran New York pizza they had ever gotten. "Which editor?" he asked, unbuckling and opening the driver's side door.

Once the car was parked and the engine shut down, Maggie unbuckled her seatbelt. "What, you write for the paper, but you don't read it?" Her small hands were pressed against her cheeks as she looked at Darien with fascination and disbelief. "I wrote a letter to the editor to ask why The Post doesn't have a column for kids! We read, too, you know!"

Circling around the front of the car, the journo opened the car door for her and held it. "Y'probably shouldn't be readin' a few of those columns, Mags."

"I like the sports pages!" Maggie gave Darien a look that was reminiscent of her grandmother when she was practically daring someone to argue with her. "I gotta keep up with the ... compe... other people, you know!"

Ray-Bans pushed up and onto his head, Darien only blew out something of a sigh as he fished into his pocket for a cinnamon toothpick. "Far be it f'r me t'give parenting advice," he muttered under his breath. Sliding the pick into his mouth, he began to lead the way into the quaint, hole in the wall restaurant. The argument was dropped, but he was making mental notes. Over his shoulder, he gave the girl a look. "Y'comin', or are we waitin' for your next birthday?"

Maggie was giving the old building a once over and seemed to be waving at someone before following Darien. "Why you givin' me that kind of advice? I'm a kid not a parent!" She adjusted the giant sunglasses. "My next birthday is in March, you know."

Her little legs didn't carry her quite quickly enough, so he exaggeratedly checked his watch again, tapping its gouged crystal face to check for function. "Guess I bet'ta get some campin' gear, then. We'll be 'eah a while."

"Oh, now you did it!" In the twinkling of an eye, Maggie was nose to wrist with the much taller Aussie. "Rushing, rushing! What are you gonna do when you gotta take Abby 'n' Mad'son both to lunch!"

Finally to the entrance of the establishment, the door was politely held open for the pint-sized movie star. "F'they take as long as you do, they'll be eatin' protein pills and nutrient shakes on their space ships, not pizza." Phone buzzing, Darien yanked it out to check it once, then pocketed it again. "Don't forget napkins," he reminded her as bells hit glass and jingled shut behind them. The place was set up in a bistro-like format, but with a pair of giant 'ORDER' and 'PICK-UP' signs on either end of a long, exceptionally worn cedar counter. It was still before noon and relatively empty within, so while she selected a table Darien put in their order.

Maggie's face scrunched as if she tasted something bitter. "Protein pills? Blecky! You wanna feed your little girls those and you're givin' me advice on how to be a mama?" She trotted to a clean, empty table with not just napkins in hand, but straws as well. "They should be havin' apples! They're good for all kinds of things!" Maggie fussed with the silverware and the vase on the table. "Much better, that's how a table should be set!" As she waited for Darien to join her, she climbed onto a chair and set her mini-recorder on the table. For the moment, it was shut off.

A minute or so later, a savory, oregano and cheese-covered wedge and ice water was set before her, the former thin and crispy and nearly larger than the plate it was on. Darien occupied a seat on the opposite side of the table, dewy brown bottle with peeling label in hand. A critical eye was given to the recorder she'd produced. "Off the table, Mags."

"Only got pockets in the back of my pants. Not sittin' on that thing!" She held out the recorder to Darien. "Was interviewin' Pearl askin' why she wants to be a teacher 'n' stuff."

He took the device and slid it into the inside pocket of his blazer. "Who's Pearl?"

"Gran calls her Seamair. That's Irish for clover." Maggie took a drink of juice before lifting her slice of pizza off of the plate. She blew on the steaming cheese to cool it down a bit. "That'swhat Doc Anya nicknamed me, 'cause my birthday is St. Patty's Day."

"Nn," he grunted in understanding, drawing from the bottle in his hand. "Your Gran nev'a mentioned 'er. How long 'as she been around?"

"Mm?" Maggie's forehead furrowed as she thought about that. "At least since Aunt Rhi's wedding."

Darien nodded once, checking his watch again before rubbing his palm over the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. That information was filed away for later. "How's th'snack?"

" 's good!" Maggie grinned and licked some sauce off her lips. "Pearl's my sister like Aunt Rhi is Mama's sister." She tipped her head. "I guess that's ok."

Noting the extra sauce on Maggie's cheek, Darien offered her a clean napkin. "You've got a complicated family."

"Thanks!" She took the napkin and wiped her cheek. "Someday, I wanna interview you!" An impish twinkle lit her eyes. "Did you know that Gran's gotta birthday comin' soon?" She chewed her pizza as she studied Darien's face. She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "I made her a picture book. She'll like that. What about you?"

"You gon'na be a journo when y'get older, Magpie?" he asked, the corner of his lip curling in genuine amusement as he left the table to acquire another beverage. Seconds passed before he sunk back into his seat, shaking the foam from the freshly opened brew from his hand. "And I could tell ya what I got for 'er, but then I'd have t'kill ya."

"Nuh uh," she shook her head, "a teacher, but you gotta be able to talk to people without soundin' all waffly 'n' stuff. I kinda want to be Overlord, too." She tipped her head as that have to kill you remark sunk in. The child's face took on an expression of complete seriousness. "If you were anybody else, I'd have to take that all serious 'n' stuff. I really don't wanna whomp you or blow you up."

The tail end of his latest swallow was lost in a brief cough that degenerated into a baritone chuckle. "I'm takin' your Gran t'Galway f'r th'weekend. Y'want somethin' while we're ov'a the'ah?"

Yeah, I want a picture of you two on one of those big boats!" Maggie chowed down on her pizza again.

"S'a little foggy on those big boats this time o'yea'h, but I'll see what I can do," he replied grinningly, checking his watch one last time before cleaning up the balled napkins and finishing his drink. The opaque bottle hit the red checkered tablecloth sharply. "Y'don't mind headin' t'the observatory aft'a this, do ya?"

Maggie looked at Darien like he was a few ants short of a picnic. "Do you know how much cool stuff is there?" She made a wide gesture with her hands. "I can learn to cook 'n' everythin'! They're gonna have a kids' class next summer. Maybe they will get Aunt Ariana to teach it!" Maggie was off her chair faster than hummingbird's wings could beat. "Come on, Pokey! I don't want to miss the next planet show!"

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Nov 10, 2013))

Darien shook the bottle of Glenfiddich, clucking his tongue in disappointment when the dregs at the bottom hardly made a sound. "Scotch's out."

"I'm sure there's a bar in this place," Colleen replied helpfully, taking her shoes - still damp from an afternoon sail in Woodquay - off and sitting on the bed. They could layer the hotel-room mattress with as many comforters as they wanted, but try as they might even the most expensive of places would never feel as comfortable as home. "Though it may be more interestin' if we ordered in." The slitted dark blue gown she had worn when they went dancing that night showed no small amount of leg, and consciously or unconsciously, she displayed the barest, most flawless skin all the way to her hip as she reclined on the mattress.

Her line of thought made the corner of Darien's mouth curl indecently. He loomed over the mattress, bracing himself on the duvet as his other hand skidded across her bare thigh. "Interestin'? How's that?" he rumbled.

"We could get a bottle 'n'... Well... Ya remember when we first started goin' about together?" she asked, "we'd drink 'n' ask each other things ... Why'd we stop doin' that?"

His hand didn't halt in its ascent as he eased his weight down evenly beside her. "Because I drink more'n you do," he admitted distractedly, contemplating how much punishment he would be willing to bear for tearing that gown to pieces in the hunt for what was beneath it. Whatever the price was, it was worth it.

"Says you," Collie replied with a grin. "Remember, I was up fer matchin' ya drink fer drink until someone said the magic words."

Her laugh invited him to do the same, but much of it was lost in his throat. "Says you," he retaliated. It sounded harsh, so he tried again. "Why'd ya bring it up?"

"One, because, sometimes, I like gettin' ya drunk 'n' pretendin' ta take advantage o' ya. Two," she sighed a bit as she toyed with the fabric of her dress, "ya seem ta be drinkin' a lot more lately than ya used ta. Not ta mention... I thought ya like pokin' in m'head." Her light mahogany brows waggled playfully, but it did not take away from the concern in her eyes.

"Just your head?" Darien smirked. Her underhanded interrogation methods were no match for his skill in evasion. Had she completely forgotten who she was married to?

"Och... ya naughty thing!" She feigned innocence as if she didn't know he was that way and swatted at him. "Go on, ask me something."

"We ain't got a bottle."

"Same ol' Darien Fenner. Always avoiding things." She placated him by reaching up to the bedstand and picking up the handset there. As she dialed room service Darien dipped forward and put his lips on her throat, pleased when she had to pause mid drink order to catch her breath. "Ten minutes? Thanks," she gasped into the receiver. Then the phone clattered against the base thoughtlessly. "What're ya tryin' to make me do?"

"I thought that much was obvious," Darien rumbled, planting his mouth in the divot above her collarbone, his fingers kneading her thigh.

"Dare..."

He knew that tone. With effort he pulled himself away and rolled onto his back, draping his arm across his forehead. Collie sighed like she regretted stopping him, but soon shifted onto her stomach and scooted closer. "Come on. Ask me somethin'."

"What's your favorite color?" Darien muttered, patronizing, as he watched the ceiling.

"Blue, 'n' yers is indigo. Ask a harder one."

"Favorite soap."

"Lavender." She presented her arm under his nose so he could get a whiff of just that. "Too easy."

He could already feel the coals burning his heels. Fine. If that was what she wanted, ?You knew I was goin? to leave that night, didn't ya?"

Whether she was startled into silence or contemplative, Collie remained quiet for several seconds. When she spoke again, it was cautiously, "I was hopin' ya wouldn't leave, but I didn't want ta force ya ta stay." She shrunk onto her knees to encourage him to look at her. He didn't. "Those were things I needed ta say. Things I wanted ya ta know."

He was rapidly losing his staring contest with the ceiling. "What things?"

"I left a letter in yer bag," she said quietly, "I guess ya never found it, 'r don't remember."

"I found it." Of course he remembered. How could he not? What is it that I have done to drive you away? it had said. That damnable letter had made him want to shout at her until she understood. After everything that was done, after two years, she still didn't know him. He couldn't make her know him. And no amount of shouting would help.

Collie tipped her head down, aiming for his lips as she whispered, "Barin' yer soul is difficult at best. Maybe that's why we used ta get drunk ta ask 'n' answer."

"Or pick up a pen and write it down," Darien retorted so caustically she froze inches from his mouth.

"Says the wordsmith," she said icily, pulling away. "You're doin' it again."

"Doin' what? Old habits," he offered by way of explanation. They didn't die hard in his case. They didn't die at all.

"What ya always do. Survival mechanisms. Like pretendin' ta be angry when it's not that at all... Still, I feel I ought ta be apologizin'."

That much finally compelled him to look at her. "F'r what?"

Collie studied his face a moment, then dropped her gaze downward. "Fer whatever it was I did wrong, didn't do right 'r at all that ya felt the need ta stay so far away and fer long stretches." She touched at a loose thread in her skirt, but didn't pull. "Bein' a poor excuse fer a wife 'n' mother. Maybe I just don't love ya enough."

"God damn it," Darien rasped through his teeth, rocking on his spine until he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "F'r the final fucking time, y'didn't do anything wrong." Barely controlled fury grated at his voice, made it raw, butchered the words in an unintentionally cruel hiss. It was a one-sided argument he was sick of having. "I told you nev'a t'blame yourself, didn't I? Isn't that exactly what I said, or weren't ya listenin'?"

She must have picked up on his anxiety or been repelled by his sudden malice, for she quickly stood. Circling around to his side of the bed, she leaned down. "Darien, I took that tumble, the girls came early 'n' suddenly work fer ya became a thousandfold more important than it had been already. Ya had time fer Fionna 'n' Riley and some waitress with a fangirl complex... 'n' who knows who else..." Her words were a vibrato with anger of her own, but something between regret and numbness seethed behind them. "But little 'r no time fer us. If it wasn't me... then a punishment was laid on the wrong people."

Darien's teeth ground together, his fists curling to keep him from taking her by the shoulders and shaking her until that idiotic idea rattled out of her head. "What do you want me to tell you, Coll? That I fucked 'em? Would that make you happy? If I told you before she died, I met Riley - the real Riley - at 'er place and fucked 'er over and over..."

"Stop it, Darien."

"Or what about Fio? Should I tell ya about the sounds she made when I was with 'er? She's so calm and collected on'th outside, but th'shit she does in bed will..."

"Stop it!" she yelped like he'd struck her, clapping her hands over her ears and closing her eyes tightly. Colleen was pushing away a memory. The voice of a dead man echoed in her head. He was a lying cheat. He'll never do that to you again.

"Does that make ya happy?" Darien was yelling suddenly. "Does it? C'mon, Coll. I thought we were playin' the question game. Didn't ya say y'wanted t'know?"

Slowly she lowered her hands. Though her chin was tipped up defiantly, he could read the why? in her eyes clear as day. "It's not true. I know it isn't." Or was it? After everything she'd been through the previous year, there was that niggling little bit of doubt in the back of her mind. The nightmares hadn't helped.

Whatever it was he heard in her voice was a gallon of kerosene. "You don't know a fucking thing," Darien snarled, getting up and crossing to the door in three long strides. He flung it open, startling the hatted serviceman on the other side enough to juggle the bottle of scotch he'd brought until he caught it again. The journo didn't ask how long he'd been standing there, only shoved the man aside and stormed into the hallway.

He reached the elevators, but the closing doors were not quick enough to guard him against Collie's voice as it echoed behind him. "Póg mo thóin, tú tiubh-i gceannas Astrálach é!"

[PrlUnicorn]

((Originally posted Nov 10, 2013))

After taking the bottle of scotch and laying a hefty tip on the startled delivery man, she slammed the door to their room and stared blindly at the back of it. Rage, frustration, she wasn't sure just what wild mix of emotion was coursing through her at that moment. The one thing Darien had apparently forgotten about that game was that answers were supposed to be truthful. How could he forget that? How can I listen if he never talks? It was then that the base emotion finally revealed itself; she was hurt. Hadn't they just been talking about covering up hurt feelings with anger? They needed to stop blaming themselves for what they couldn't have changed. If only she could get that through his thick Australian skull!

Colleen shook her head and found something less revealing to wear down to the bar, her favorite blue silk halter dress. It was shorter than what she'd been wearing, and something she could actually move comfortably in. She muttered to herself as she fixed her hair, "Is he tryin' ta get me ta leave him? One o' these days, 'e'll push too hard 'n' get 'is wish." Her eyes closed. If he gets what he wished for, will he want what he gets? It was the pain talking. She grunted and in the back of mind was thinking, Now, I need a damned drink! Darien hadn't been the only one holding back. Colleen had been swimming down a river named Denial. How could she talk to him about what she, herself, had been afraid to face?