Trick Or Treat!

In Cold Blood; The Funeral

Grab a Latte! lounge around in the foyer with this sweet fic "Fall Coffee House" @alwritey-aphrodite before heading into the Bookshop!

Triggers: profanity, murder, smoking, references to alcohol, small abrasion, major spoilers for "In Cold Blood" by Truman Capote, based on historical events, 1950's cultural misogyny, references past problematic relationship, burgeoning workplace romance, funeral...

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Words: 5k

“Hey, doll. You wanna open those pretty eyes for me, let me know you’re still with us?” Rockford’s voice seemed to float in on a cloud of contentment. You snuggled further into the leather seat which had somehow softened against your drowsiness. You felt a whisper of his hand against your chin, cupping your cheek. “Time for sleeping beauty to wake up…” you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming or hallucinating, but your eyelids fluttered precariously trying to discern. “Time for our adventure to start, Red…” his voice gained solidity as a shot of adrenaline coursed through your system, jolting your eyes wide awake.

“I’m up!” you nearly shouted, as Rockford’s hand shot quickly to your forehead to prevent you from hitting the top of the car ceiling abruptly. 

“Owwww….” you moaned, closing your eyes once again and covering your face with your hands sleepily. “Are we there yet?” you grumbled, squinting through one eye at Rockford’s bemused and adorably bedraggled countenance.

“We have arrived” Rockford confirmed, tilting his head sideways against the headrest and relaxing slightly. “Welcome to Holcomb, Kansas…” you noticed a lazy diner called ‘Hartman’s Cafe’ before you, and the car seemed quite cool to the touch as you reasoned you had been parked for some time in arrival. 

“Did you drive all through the night?” you rhetorically asked, smoothing out your a-line skirt of travel wrinkles and looking in the overhead mirror to check your faded makeup.

Rockford nodded tiredly, scratching at the newly appearing scruff on his chin. “Wanted to get here as soon as possible, I don’t know when the FBI muckety mucks are going to show up. Might be here already” he wondered, clearing his throat of the morning huskiness and blinking steadily in the burgeoning dawn.

“Well, I don’t know much about being a travel secretary, but I think coffee is in order” you reckoned, delicately rubbing the sleep from your eyes and gesturing to the diner. “Thanks for letting me sleep, are you going to be okay for the day?” you wondered taking in the darkening circles under his eyes, and resisting the urge to finger his tousled hair.

“Nothing a little whiskey can’t cure” Rockford joked, catching your incredulous reaction. “Let’s grab a quick breakfast and we can locate the town sheriff afterwards. Last thing we need is to be fighting the long arm of the law before we’ve even begun…” he huffed, cranking the door open noisily and then tiredly stretching into the morning air.

“You’ve got the right mid-western mindset” you encouraged, rubbing at your lower back and emerging from the car, trotting behind him. “You’ll get more flies with honey, that’s for sure” you observed, hugging your purse to your side and casting a downward glance to your healing abrasion. Other than a few bumps and bruises, the near 20 hour drive to Kansas had transversed relatively quickly, and you were already starting to enjoy the newfound professional relationship with Rockford. You were keen to prove your secretarial prowess, despite the fact that you both felt a bit out of your league. It was one of the things that immediately bonded you to Rockford’s persona, was his dogged determination to pursue justice and excellence even in seemingly insurmountable odds. You hoped you could provide whatever support he might need, but you didn’t have the first clue about how to start the investigation. Maybe your midwestern upbringing could cushion Rockford’s fall from L.A’s bustling and cosmopolitan landscape. The familiar ring of a doorbell chime greeted your ears, as the wafting fragrances of coffee, pancakes and sausages tickled your nose. Your stomach grumbled in happy response. Rockford pressed a hand to your lower back, leading you towards the counter and smiling graciously at the waitress.

“Room for two?” he attempted to enchant, though the waitress was apparently having none of it.

“Not from around here, are ya?” she adroitly observed, a tight lipped smile painting her face as she smacked her lips sullenly against the trampled gum she was chewing.

“No ma’am, guilty as charged” Rockford poured on the charm, as much as possible, though the two of you were a bit of a sight after your lengthy travels. “Name’s Rockford, Tim Rockford P.I and this is my associate, Red. We’ll be gracing your homey town for the next couple weeks. Sorry to hear about your recent troubles and all…”. You nodded sympathetically, looking around the relatively empty diner in the early morning light. Rockford’s demeanor took on a honeyed quality as you quietly admired his attempts. You guessed one didn’t arrive at much professional investigatory success without a clear understanding of sweet talking and intimidation. You off-handedly wondered about the latter.

“Take your pick” the waitress seemed to complain, thrusting two menus into your hands and heading back towards the coffee behind her. “Looks like you could use the whole pot this morning…” she drolly noticed, avoiding your beleaguered expressions as you plopped down with fatigue and humility. Not the most auspicious beginning, but valiant nonetheless. Your eyes hungrily took in the options of the morning as Tim shook his head trying to clear the morning cobwebs from his mind. He’d have to be on his best behavior if he wanted to pry any secrets from a town like Holcomb, Kansas. He almost felt the iron-like bars of a social prison start to tighten around him as your eyes widened with recognition.

“Don’t look now, chief, but I think we’ve just had our first home town miracle” you whispered, as Rockford squinted at you skeptically. The doorbell rang once again to the sound of boots and leather chaffing against one another as Rockford looked out the diner window.

Holcomb County Sheriff’s Department. Bingo.

“Our first break” Rockford shushed, staring fixedly at the menu. “Go ahead Red, stick your leg out like they do in that movie with Clark Gable…”.

“I hardly think Clark Gable would be such a cad” you joked. “Besides which, my legs are all banged up from my clumsy secretarial pursuits on the highway earlier…” you scoffed. “That’s not what you’re expecting for my professional contributions, I hope?” you chuckled, attempting to focus on the menu in front of you.

“Absolutely not” Rockford chimed in. “It just happens to be a nice perk, from where I’m sittin’” he admitted, clearing his throat amusedly. It wasn’t but a minute the waitress appeared from behind the counter with a fresh pot of coffee and a disdainful look as a side order, as the sheriff skeptically surveyed you both from a stone’s throw away. First chatting with the sheriff conspiratorially, she eventually made her way to your table, somewhat begrudgingly…

“What’ll ya have?” she pointedly asked, pulling the pencil from behind her ear and smacking her lips loudly in accompaniment.

“I would like the Grand Slam, ma’am…” Rockford awkwardly rhymed, trying to remain aloof amidst the opportunity and gesturing to you next.

“I would like the oatmeal with toast on the side. And the possibility of speaking with that gentleman at the bar” you bluntly stated, watching Rockford’s eyebrows shoot sky high at the straightforward request. A flash of recognition and hidden admiration passed across the waitress’ face as she yelled over her shoulder, “EARL, your reputation has preceded you and your presence is requested forthwith…” she smirked, tucking the pencil behind her ear and pocketing the small writing pad.

“Huh?” the sheriff grunted, casting a not so imposing figure before hurrying over to your table quickly.

“Leave the coffee, will ya doll?’ Rockford questioned, as the waitress’ countenance immediately bittered. 

“Just don’t forget my tip, Mack” she retorted, soon replaced by the sheriff who was breathing raggedly with a quick jaunt.

“How can I be of service, ma’am?” the sheriff asked, attempting to size up Rockford who sat inquisitively across from you.

“Thank youuuu for your quick attention” you coo’ed, laying it on a little thickly, but desirous to make a good first impression. “We are obviously from out of town and looking to provide services of our own” you indicated to Tim to proceed.

“I’ve been hired to investigate the Clutter Family Murder. Rockford’s the name. Tim Rockford, P.I” he outstretched his hand in a friendly decisive manner, hopeful the sheriff might prove forthcoming, rather than combative. Sheriff Earl Robinson noticeably relaxed, and took Rockford’s grip firmly in his own.

“Pleased to meet ya, Mr. Rockford” he sighed, glancing back at the waitress who was overtly eavesdropping before making a quick exit to the kitchen. “Thought you might be one of them FBI agents that are en route as we speak. Don’t mind tellin’ ya we are all a bit out of sorts…what with the murders and all…” he trailed off as his features darkened. Rockford nodded grimly, moving aside so the sheriff could sit down at the table with you. “Most criminal acts are reduced to the production of moonshine in these parts. That, or the occasional harvest festival gone higgledy-piggledy” he admitted with humility, shifting the gun holster at his waist. “Haven’t seen a bona fide murder since my time in Kansas City, to say nothing of FOUR!” he lowered his voice with the confession, shaking his head dejectedly. “Don’t mind tellin’ ya I was glad when they took up that offerin’ at the charity event. The least we could do for the Clutter Family. They were the best of us…” he nodded, a small emotive crack in his voice appearing on the edges. You teared up in response. Gosh, you forgot the pleasantries of mid-western life after all. You immediately felt a bit reprimanded, shifting your adventurous enthusiasm to one of solemnity and mourning. Four people had lost their lives, and in a particularly violent and seemingly arbitrary way. You wanted justice as much as anyone in Holcomb did.

“We’re real sorry for your loss” Rockford observed, similarly moved. He’d seen plenty of crime on the seedy streets of L.A, but there was something about this atrocity that seemed especially personal. He wanted to proceed with sensitivity, and was again thankful for your delicate presence, particularly where his own intuition might be lacking. “I assume you were able to catalogue the scene of the crime…” he pressed, watching the sheriff shift with discomfort.

“Damndest thing” Sheriff Robinson finally removed his hat, wiping at his brow with turmoil. “Still trying to work my way around it…Sorry the girls had to see such a nightmarish sight…” he muttered absentmindedly, grabbing Rockford’s coffee cup and downing it in one swig. Rockford pouted with frustration, but silently refrained. “What girls are those?” he inquired, gently taking the cup back and sliding it away from the sheriff’s grasp.

“That’d be Nancy and Susan” he offered. “Sorry, Nancy Ewalt and Susan Kidwell. No one should have to see…somethin’ like that” he sighed, now reaching for your coffee cup and downing it in one swallow. Poor guy. You took his hand lightly in your own, curious to proceed.

“Can you tell us anything about the scene of the crime?” you softly asked, looking to Rockford for guidance. You didn’t want to move too far too fast, but the opportunity seemed to have dropped in your laps. The sheriff stiffened at the memory, his eyes casting downward with a sort of shame. “Don’t rightly want to burden you with those details just now” he protested, holding the now empty coffee cup firmly in his grasp. “Why don’t you come by my office later today, we’ll get you access to all of our reports” he formally offered as the waitress returned with your breakfast orders.

“Got your regular order, Earl” the waitress perfunctorily proffered, juggling your array of menu items and depositing of plate of assorted meats in front of him, as the sheriff swallowed dryly. 

“Thanks doll” Rockford winked, in the elongated silence, as her countenance soured once again. She retreated to the kitchen as Earl politely shoved the plate to one side. 

“Just can’t make head or tails of it” his eyes took on a glossy quality, looking out the window as Holcomb County seemed to blossom to life. You reached across the table once again, squeezing his hand with encouragement.

“We’re hoping to help as much as we can” you urged him, watching Rockford pour a fresh cup of coffee on the far end of the table, preferably out of the sheriff’s reach. “Who do you suppose we should talk to first?”

“Well, normally it wouldn’t hardly be appropriate, but seeing as everyone in the town hall meetin’ knows, you could probably come to the memorial this afternoon” the sheriff definitively reached across Rockford’s plate and grabbed his fresh coffee before Tim could protest.

“We don’t want to impose” Rockford tried to hide the edge in his voice, before stifling a yawn. This was going to be a long day.

“No way around it now” the sheriff contended, picking up a fork tentatively before tossing it back on the table with a loud clang. “Everyone should be there, includin’ the girls, my undersheriff Wendle Meier, Bobby….that’s the boyfriend. Probably talk to Myrtle as well. She’s the town gossip…” Earl winced with chagrin “I mean, local postmistress. She’s privy to everything that comes and goes. You just come on by my offices later and we’ll get you set up before the FBI folks arrive…”. Earl shouted towards the back, “I’M HEADIN’ OUT DOLORES! Will you put their breakfast on my tab??” The sheriff shifted awkwardly out of the booth, straightening his gun holster and holding his hat tentatively in his hands.

“Look Mr. Rockford, I won’t pussy-foot around. The Clutter Family deserved better than this. Better than conjecture. I don’t rightly know what Holcomb can do to aid your investigation, but we are fixin’ to rise to the occasion. I confess I will be mighty glad when those FBI agents take control, but not everyone in Finney County feels the same way. You’re bound to find a mix of neighborly interest and small town secrets, but if you have any real trouble you just let me know. ‘Preciate your help as well ma’am” he took your hand definitively in his own before nodding curtly and heading out the door. “SEE YOU LATER THIS AFTERNOON D!” he shouted before heading out the door. Rockford shifted his gaze to you with curiosity before pouting over the now emptied coffee. As if on cue, Dolores emerged from the kitchen with a fresh pot of joe.

“‘Xpect you’ll be wantin’ more” she jibed, depositing the now obsolete check at your table and muttering under her breath, “Wouldn’t hurt to get a tip on that, Mack…” before returning to the kitchen in protest. You paused, looking at both of your untouched plates before you. 

Looks like you were headed to a funeral.

You gazed down appraisingly at your bandaged knee, which despite a disheveled aesthetic, was managing to heal nicely. You were a bit of a sight for sore eyes, and it never ceased to amaze you how quickly the ghost of condescension showed up, despite your protestations, and the small town atmosphere was doing nothing to aid your self-imposed ignorance. You couldn’t help but flash on the disapproving countenance of your own past, before batting the memory away once again. Seemed like the death of the Clutter Family wasn’t the only injustice that was rising to the forefront of your mind. Nonetheless, after a bracing breakfast and several pots of coffee, you and Rockford at least presented a respectable figure as you approached the milling group of mourners at The First Methodist Church of Holcomb in the late afternoon. Rockford had grabbed a quick shave and a new tie, and you had attempted to smooth out the wrinkling apparel of a dark blouse and coiffed hat. It had been a full month since you found yourself living out of a suitcase, and were anxious to check into the Holcomb Motel, but not before scoping out the first and foremost suspects in the town…while offering your condolences.

You blanched under the weight of whispered gossip before the sheriff quickly spotted you both and made fast work of welcoming you to the proceedings. It really was miraculous that you were starting the investigation off with that kind of support, and you weren’t about to take it for granted. You and Rockford were both bound to ruffle some feathers, but you couldn’t argue with the intentionality of the town itself. They wanted you here—and you wanted to help. As attendants began to straggle in, you were astonished to see so many individuals paying their respects, and you wondered how many people were well-meaning lookie-loos, or attending family members. There were easily hundreds of people, if not bordering on a thousand, as the Reverend Leonard Cohen ascended the pulpit to begin the proceedings.

“It is a sad day indeed that gathers us together on this unseasonably warm day. A warmth that I can only surmise is permeated by the glowing tenderness of the Clutter Family themselves” sniffles and coughs could be heard around the packed sanctuary and you and Tim sat shoulder to shoulder in the crowded pew. It was difficult to see, but you imagined a row of relatives sat towards the front, and just to your right were several teenagers sitting in a row that must be classmates from Holcomb High School.

The Reverend continued, “God offers us courage, love and hope even though we walk through the shadows of the valley of death. I’m sure he was with them in their last hours”.  You tried to surreptitiously look through the crowd for the two girls Sheriff Robinson had spoken of. Just to your right, holding tightly to the hand of the girl next to her sat a cherub faced young girl of about 16 years old. She was starkly appareled in all white, horn rimmed glasses perched atop a buttoned, red-rimmed nose. You bit your lower lip with compassion observing her dark haired confidant, who was practically wringing her hand in supplication. Outside of the obvious tear stained patches of tumult, they were both the idyllic mid-western ideal of purity and youth. You were sorry to see the town itself marred by such a painful and unfathomable occurrence as this. You wondered if an interview could somehow be cathartic, but also worried that the remnants of a traumatic wound only recently incurred, might be exacerbated.  

The soothing voice of the Reverend pattered on, “Jesus never promised us we would not suffer pain or sorrow but he has always said he would be there to help us bear the sorrow and the pain”. Rockford looked to the other side of the sanctuary, noticing the row of honored relatives who somberly sat in the front pew. He squinted skeptically at a young man whose gaze was narrowed in an almost combative scowl, contrasted by a halo-like tousle of golden locks atop the crown of his head. Was this the boyfriend, Bobby Rupp, as the sheriff had intimated? Rockford could hardly believe that anyone in the town of Holcomb, Kansas would be capable of such violence, particularly as a young teenager. But if the war had taught him anything, it was that man was capable of tremendous atrocity, even under the guise of benefaction.

“Let us now rise and sing Hymn 25, ‘Blessed Assurance’” the organ began a solemn refrain as you and Tim awkwardly rose, your hands easily finding the hymnal in front of you. You glanced sideways in surprise, hearing Tim’s raspy voice haltingly and quietly proceed, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine. Heir of salvation, purchase of God. Born of his Spirit, washed in His blood”. You would not have thought Rockford the religious type. But then again, you were still getting to know one another, and there was a quite bit that remained in the shadows. Rockford nodded curtly in the girls’ direction as you returned his confirmation. It would be entirely inappropriate for Tim to question them at such a time as this. But with a proper introduction from the sheriff, you might be able to offer some solace, perhaps in exchange for essential information. “This is my story, this is my song

Praising my Savior all the day long. This is my story, this is my song. Praising my Savior all the day long”. You admired the voices raised in shaky song, here at the First Methodist Church of Holcomb, Kansas. You were more determined than ever to get some kind of justice for the Clutter Family, who by all accounts were upstanding citizens and well-loved members of a tight-knit community. Wincing with remembrance, you only wished you came from a similar experience, but maybe this could be a small chance at redemption. “Perfect submission, perfect delight. Visions of rapture now burst on my sight. Angels descending bring from above. Echoes of mercy, whispers of love”. 

The service proceeded as family members and neighborly friends spoke about the deceased family with love and admiration. Mr. Clutter was described as a pillar of Holcomb Community, member of the Federal Farm Credit Board and a respected name among Midwestern agriculturists. His wife, Bonnie Clutter was a fragile wisp of creature who had often been plagued by maladies and chronic illnesses. Timid and pious, she attempted to run the household from her sheltered state, giving Herbert Clutter four children in total; Eve Anna and Beverly who had grown and left the family residence, and Nancy and Kenyon Clutter, the younger two siblings who had experienced the dismal fate of their aforementioned parents. Nancy had recently appeared in the school play, to resounding applause, and the youngest boy, Kenyon, was a well-liked but more introverted youth who mostly kept to himself. There were no obvious indications whatsoever of what could have motivated a crime of this magnitude. You batted away the looming possibility that a close relative might somehow benefit from an insurance policy of some kind. There was still so much information you had yet to gather.

"In this moment, let me also speak on the subject of forgiveness, as we the community try to make sense of the inexplicable" the Reverend ventured, as a nervous cough appeared from the back of the congregation. "In the same way we have opened our hearts to the visiting extended Clutter Family, they have invited us to do the same in our own hearts and minds henceforth. I have heard some congregants, on more than one occasion, suppose that the criminals of this dastardly deed should be hanged from the nearest tree. But let us continue in the spirit of Christianity itself when I encourage us to forgive, as God would have us do. For they shall know we are Christians, by our love" the Reverend's voice rang out in the all but silent church as you hazarded a sideways glance at Rockford, who seemed undeterred. "The deed is done and taking another life cannot change it. It is not right that we should hold a grudge in our hearts. The doer of this act is going to find it very difficult indeed to live with himself. Hi sonly peace of mind will be when he goes to God for forgiveness. Let us not stand in the way, but instead give prayers that he may find his peace".

You looked more intently at Rockford's visage to try to glean his emotional response to this retort, but his focus was in observance of those around him, probably searching for a similar motivation. Was it possible to consider that the murderer of the Clutter Family was in this very room? The probability seemed unlikely, but not nearly as impossible as the investigative task before you. Perhaps justice and forgiveness could not proceed hand in hand, and it was not your business to even attempt it.

“Let us now proceed to Valley View Cemetery on the north edge of the city for our graveside services, and recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. I know the Clutter Family will join us, even posthumously, in our mutual praise and worship of the everlasting and eternal God”. The congregation rose once again as the organ sprang to life with a final refrain of “Amazing Grace”, as people began to quietly and pensively leave. You firmly grabbed Rockford’s wrist nodding in the direction of the girls before catching the eye of the nearby sheriff. Tim gave a quick wink, and headed in the opposite direction, presumably to find Bobby Rupp or investigate another suspect while he had the chance. The Sheriff met you towards the front of the sanctuary, as the girls held one another in a firm embrace, sniffling quietly to themselves as the mourners exited. 

“Ladies, I wanted to make a special introduction of our newfound friend from the Rockford Investigative Agency” the sheriff smiled with encouragement as you offered a handkerchief which the girls declined. “I know you have already been through so much…” his voice cracked with emotion, much like this morning, and your heartstrings pulled ever so slightly once again.

“Nancy, Susan…I don’t want you to feel obligated to speak with me after such a horrendous event” you bit your lower lip humbly, clutching your purse for some sort of emotional anchoring. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever…want to speak to me about what you witnessed…” you trailed off, smiling wanly at passersby and craning your neck to see if Tim were having any more luck. This was going to be a delicate process, and you wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to avoid the microscopic attention Holcomb County was about to receive.

“I can’t get the images out of my head” Susan whimpered quietly, as her school friend Nancy Ewalt hugged her ever more tightly. “Never in a million years did I think such a thing would happen in our town”. Nancy nodded emphatically, as her hair bobbed around her.

“I couldn’t even stand to wear black today” Nancy’s face scrunched with overwhelming emotion, looking imploringly at the sheriff who helplessly gazed back. “Nancy and me was like twins, on account of our names, and friendship and all. I can’t sleep. Can’t eat. All I do is remember and remember” the girls both trembled slightly in one another’s grasp. “I think it might actually help to talk about…what we saw….and how we feel” Susan ventured, looking to Nancy for support who nodded quietly. The Sheriff pressed his lips together dolefully as you stretched a comforting hand towards Nancy’s back as she finally broke down into silent sobs.

“Let’s get you to the cemetery to make your final goodbyes, and we can set something up later this week. Does that sound okay?” you gently questioned, beckoning the girls forward and hugging Nancy tightly around the shoulder as you exited. They agreed to meet up for tea once things had quieted down a bit, and the sheriff continued to escort them onward as you met Tim at the church doors. You shook your head with lament, catching Tim’s equally darkened countenance. A brash young man tore past you both, nearly hitting Rockford’s shoulder en route and barreling past the rest of the congregation before anyone had a chance to speak to him.

“Bobby Rupp?” you questioned, catching Rockford’s grave expression.

“The boyfriend” he offered, watching Bobby recede into the distance. “Think I convinced him to join me at the diner tomorrow for a man to man talk. I might be city folk, but there’s nothing here that says hometown motivated quadruple homicide. That kid is mad as piss and vinegar, and I don’t blame him. Hell of a thing”, Rockford rationalized, drawing a hand to your lower back in emotional support. 

Rockford stifled a yawn while taking in the burgeoning colors of dusk tinting the steadily approaching evening sky. You brought a tentative hand up to his face, fingering the five o’clock shadow that was already appearing. “I’d say this has been fatiguing for all of us, to say nothing of someone, who shall remain nameless…” Rockford’s face relaxed with a humble chagrin, “who had been driving for ten hours straight”.

“Only so many things a cup of joe can fix” he rationalized, swallowing another yawn and looking towards the nearby Ford Falcon. “Let’s get a jump on the evening respite and we can start the day anew tomorrow. We can pick up the reports from the Sheriff and interview the youth to start” Rockford seemed to be convincing himself of a plan of action that didn’t involve running you both into the ground before the investigation had even started. You felt the pressure of success as well, but Rockford was right; justice would have to wait until tomorrow. You both headed to the car, arm in arm, anxious to uproot the unknown poison that was tainting the otherwise idyllic community of Holcomb County, Kansas.

The Ford Falcon puttered onto the main thoroughfare of Finney County, rounding the corner to arrive at the grandiose Windsor Hotel. You would not have thought such an establishment would be housed at the city’s epicenter, but noticing the bustling, nearly cosmopolitan energy of the main street, you were immediately thankful. If the funeral had been any indication, there could easily be hundreds of people milling around the otherwise sleepy town, hoping to get a look at the dramatic nature of the recent tragedy. Your anonymous benefactor had set up the reservation, before Rockford was even officially on the case, and whenever you discerned their identity, you would have to thank them for it. Your eyelids drooped tiredly, as Rockford lightly smacked the edge of the car door with his hand good-naturedly. “Be right back with our rooms, doll…” his ragged voice blurred around the edges as you gazed into the back of the messy Ford. Despite losing several newspaper clippings en route, you still had a few boxes of files, and were hoping to add to that from the Sheriff’s collection.

What a whirlwind beginning. You had not barely been in Los Angeles for a moment’s breath, before finding yourself at the center of one of the most talked about and sensationalized crimes in recent midwestern history. You tiredly emerged from the car, hefting a small box of files along with the small transportable typewriter into the front seat. You were starting to get a better idea of how your services might prove truly valuable. Rockford was an impressive P.I, but he didn’t have a midwestern sensibility, and there were some sensitivities that only a woman could provide. You were curious to resume your conversation with Nancy and Susan to get a better idea of the details surrounding the scene of the quadruple homicide, when you noticed Rockford slowly ambling back to the Ford Falcon. You knew you were both tired, but there seemed to be an added gait of dejection as his figure approached the car.

“Doll…I think we may have encountered our first bona fide small town scandal, I just wasn’t planning on being in the middle of it…” Tim nebulously began, shifting his weight awkwardly before you, a blushing tinge dotting the tops of his ears. He was cute when he was embarrassed.

“More scandalous than a four person murder?” you proffered, shifting the box to the side of your hip. “What is it now?” you wondered, taking in Rockford’s humorous and unknown conundrum.

“Well, seems that the hotel reservation is just for one…” he halted, looking around the crowded thoroughfare… “and the town is bustin’ at the seams with lookie-loos and passersby”. A growing awareness drifted into your periphery as Rockford’s cheeks reddened still further. “That is to say, in the most respectful of ways possible…notwithstanding any professional impropriety…” Tim began to stutter adolescently, rubbing the back of his neck with self-consciousness.

Your mouth dropped open with incredulity, “Oh will you spit it out Rockford? Are we sharing a room?” you asked tentatively before meeting Tim’s uneasy expression.

“We’re sharin’ a bed” he muttered with discomfort, looking around the square helplessly and shrugging with irritation. “It’s like somethin’ Biblical. There’s no more room at the inn!” he winced, trying to lighten the mood before catching your similarly humiliated expression and pausing dramatically. “I had to tell ‘em we were married”.

You nearly dropped the box of files before starting to laugh in hysterics at the incredulity of the unexpected situation. “Let me get this straight…” you guffawed, between bouts of strained laughter, “I have not only become employed in the last 24 hours, but I am now also MARRIED? And working for my faux HUSBAND?” you gasped between laughter, only slightly bruised at the similarity to past indiscretions Rockford had yet to learn of, which you weren’t anxious to regale him with.

“Till death do us part?” Tim’s playfully beleaguered expression elicited another round of laughter from you as you set the box on the passengers seat and doubled over with a fit of giggles before quieting down as the reality hit you. “Look I might be city folk, but I’m no turkey…” Rockford held out his hands in supplication before straightening his tie resolutely. “I’ll just be sleepin’ on the floor is all…” he nodded, as though deciding for you both, as you leaned against the car door with fatigue. Your eyes glazed over with defeat, huffing quietly as the evening air started to chill. You certainly weren’t going to have him sleep in the Ford Falcon. You took a deep breath before stealing yourself for the next leg of your adventure.

“Alright sweetheart, I’m not making you carry me over the threshold, but you’re gonna be bringing all of these boxes in yourself” you sarcastically joked, slamming the car door and taking in Rockford’s relieved expression.

“You got it, doll…I mean, Red” he chuckled, a wry smile curving the corner of his mouth mischievously.

“That’s Mrs. Rockford to you” you teased, grabbing the key from Tim’s outstretched hand and heading towards the Windsor Hotel. You offhandedly wondered if he were watching your curving figure as it sallied away from him. 

Till death do us part.

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My Darling Muse (iii),

Dieter is in LOVE. He's just not sure if he's met them yet. But in the interim, he's keeping a journal to house all of his inspiration, poetry and recipes, before they fly out of his head. And once he meets the ONE...or ONES...this is going to be his gift to you. Along with those sexy time IOU's he's always handing out...

Triggers: it's Dieter bub so this series will DEFINITELY include profanity, drugs, blood, alcohol, sex, smut and any meanderings D wants...He's endlessly inspired by art, poetry, songs, sex and YOU!

Series Masterlist

Rothko's "Red On Maroon", thanks @thecutestgrotto for dividers!

My Darling Muse,

I am a gaping wound, Aligned with your iron fluidity Throbbing with the passion of blood Warming at your scalding touch Like lava, I flow unbidden, a verse of self unhindered and free Pulsing, ebbing, molten and boiling Pistoning forward in poisonous acid, I am the red monster Alight with desire, wings unfurled in splendor and terror I survey all and know little, a word unspoken A thought unuttered, a feeling unrequited, A husk of a shell unravelled, like trinkets in a wind chime My words bounce on a red dawn A red tide that bears stealthy fruition A soundless crimson wave of meaning, Into your chasm I plummet, into the red void I sojourn Feathered wings in pained approach Molt and melt like Icarus, I am the red death I am the maroon birth, I am love alight And rage unaltered (scribbled in margins: Was Rothko bi? Is blood a good paint substitute? What's it like to date a vampire? Can I list myself as a Google location? Online anger management...with goats.)

Hey folks! This is J, Dieter's PA. I'm not sure if he even knows who I am, but I also run his TikTok page so he can "commune with the proletariat". His fellow actor and good buddy Pedro Pascal recently recommended "Autobiography of Red" by Anne Carlson. And Dieter has similarly been obsessed with John Logan's production of "Red"....No Dieter, I won't mention you thought it was originally a musical about menstruation...

Yes Chef! Dieter's Sky High Brownies

Ingredients

1 cup cannabis-infused coconut oil 1 1/2 cups sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 eggs 1 cup flour 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 1/2 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt 1 cup chocolate chips

Turn on the oven to… “a hawt vibe”, and then mix the ingredients in…no, Dieter that’s a vase. Alright, most peeps should probs use a mixer, Dieter is using his hands. Yes D, I will be happy to lick your fingers when I have a moment. I suggested adding the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, but Dieter started giggling as soon as I said the word “wet”. D, I don’t think we’re supposed to sample the cannabis before we…okay I’ll finish up here. Dieter has retired to his room to “watch the pretty rainbows form in his mind” and has requested we bring the brownies and our “bangin’ body” to his room when ready. #staybakedyall

Triggers: While we were "baking" Dieter the Chef taught me a naughty limerick and I thought I'd pass it on. Thanks to @punkshort for the fun prompt and congrats on the one year anniversary! D has cooked up the above mood board, poem and song to celebrate your artistry! Please imbibe at your own saucy risk...

Amongst all the chefs that you see His messy vibe fits to a tee He’s painter and poet He’s hawt and he knows it, “Would you like to have sex with me?” His question, though somewhat surprising Gives rise to your temperature rising Your lips form a YES! One needn’t have guessed Your morals he’ll have compromising. Starting the night with that look Your appetite clearly was hooked You went to your pad To bed the fine lad And learn how a chef like to “cook”. When sampling some of the fun He’s baking in more ways than one His favorite glaze is more Purple Haze And slapping your cinnamon buns. This Bubble Boy likes a cool kit-kat When edging his mistress or sweet brat. While giving a wank, Your tush-y he’d spank And pleasure your naughty pussy-cat? For boys or the girls he’s a bi And won’t say no to cherry pie. When adding some cream Your name he would scream Then ask if you want to get high. This evening, your sexy time cleft Was lonely and feeling bereft Your legs you did spread For his tousled head And found yourself chanting, “YES CHEF!” So let’s give a cheer for Chef Dieter Who mostly can cook with his “peeter” When adding the sauce Your lips he will gloss and say “Bon a Petite!” while he eats her....Mmmmmm....

If anyone is looking for more "saucy eats" please check out the recent @pedroscouts Ice Cream Social, we had a blast!

PB + J: Interview

I've been seeing this cute questions prompt, and it got me wondering how the man himself might respond. Before I knew it, Pedge was! At least in my IMAGINATION. I have imbibed most of his interviews so it's an educated GUESS, but I also like writing dialogue and this was a fun exercise.

It's also interesting how many times Pedge acts as an avatar for my personal growth or emotional exploration. As always, Pedge is a self-made man, if you count Bitmoji and my FABRICATED answers...

Do you make your bed?

J: Never. I detest it. I want at least one area of my life that stays cozy and messy and immediately ready for cuddles. Plus I’m single, so nobody else to answer to.

Pedge: If I remember. I’m kind of lazy. When given the chance, I’m a homebody so….wait, do I have a guest? 

Favorite Number? 

J: Seven? Three? I’m not superstitious, but I like patterns.

Pedge: Favorite number? Uh…2 billion…and FIVE! Point…6. 

What’s your job?

J: How much time have you got? I think of myself as an artist and collegiate professor. I specialize in music, theater and art mentorship.

Pedge: The jury’s still out. I’m trying. I think it’s official, but who knows? Trying to play in the sandbox over here. Would love to write some more. One dream at a time…

If you could go back to school would you?

J: Absolutely. I’m a collegiate professor so I go to school for a living. But I would get every degree, every subject…okay not EVERY subject…

Pedge: Absolutely not. I kind of….suck at school. I’m very good at reading. I’m voracious. But school and I were not a great fit.

Can you parallel park?

J: Yes, nervously. I had an apartment in college that required parallel parking, but downtown areas make me tremendously anxious. I hate doing it.

Pedge: Um, hello? Whataryatalkinabot? Yeah. I live in LA. Well, when I’m not in NY, and there nobody drives. I mean, I guess I’d rather walk? Without talking…I’ve got headphones.

Can you drive a manual car?

J: Nope. My grandma taught me to drive a tractor. Does that count? Don’t think I remember…

Pedge: Uh…I don’t know. Do I? I feel like this is one of those questions where they ask if you can do something so you lie about it on your resume. Yes. I also can ride a horse. That one I can actually do…

What’s your guilty pleasure?

J: Smoking. I have a weekly cigarillo and read Tumblr. Boop.

Pedge: NOTHING. I have no guilty pleasures…because pleasure is not something to feel guilty about. I did like smoking in Narcos. Narcossss. 

Tattoos?

J: I’ve been planning four very specific tattoos, particularly after my hysterectomy last year. But I’m waiting for the right time. Not sure when that is exactly…

Pedge: Yes. Next question.

Favorite Color?

J: Yes. I like all colors.

Pedge: I like colorful things. Colorful people. I’ve never forgotten that quote by Alice Walker, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple and don’t notice it”. I just finished reading “The Autobiography of Red” by Anne Carson. And I like “Bluets” by Maggie Nelson…

Do you like puzzles?

J: Definitely, but my mom is the expert. I like Lego Sets and internal emotional puzzles.

Pedge: Don’t have the patience. I can like…stand and point where things would go. I’ll boss you around while you work on a puzzle…I’d rather read…

Any phobias?

J: The ocean. This is ridiculous because I grew up on the West Coast, but I’ve only “swum” in the ocean once, in Mexico. I also dislike thinking about infinity. It’s just too scary.

Pedge: Phobias? Spiders? I like horror movies, so I’d take a good scare, especially in the cinema. Unemployment? Does that count? 

Favorite Childhood Sport:

J: Dance. Running? I didn’t get into half marathons until adulthood, so PE was a terrifying experience. Can we never do dodgeball again? 

Pedge: Viva Chile! I like futbol. I mean, soccer. If we win. WHEN we win…I swam competitively as a kid. Until I didn’t.

Do you talk to yourself?

J: Constantly. This is an ongoing monologue that never ceases. Why do you think I’m in the arts.

Pedge: Isn’t that…what we’re doing now? Wait, what is this? Who are you? Whyaruaskinmeallthesequestons? Yes. Sometimes I can’t get myself to shut up. Now, if I would only listen.

*thanks @thecutestgrotto for the dividers!

Treasure Hunt for Missing Post

Pedge the Pirate and I are on a Halloween Treasure Hunt for a missing post. We remember seeing fics that were catalogued as a VHS Rental Library, including some very fun trailers. Does anyone know where this treasure is?

Also final day to "Trick or Treat"!

The Big Goodbye (NY, NY Series Finale)

This series was so healing for me. My writing is obviously self-indulgent, so please proceed at your own risk. I'm sad to bid these two farewell, BUT anytime I'm missing NY or need more Pedge in my life, I'm just gonna pop in for a short.

Triggers: RPF, profanity, Narcos audition, alcohol, friends with benefits, goodbyes, artistic rejection, smut...I wanted to explore intimacy and the ways we love on one another that are non-traditional (hope you enjoy as I did!)

Series Masterlist

The words were ringing in the air along with the heavy patter of hypnotic raindrops.

“It’s a no. I didn’t get it”.

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise. Juxtaposed by the surrealistic events of the day the echo of reality seemingly throbbed in your being, watching P’s chest rise and fall with a heavy melancholy.

He swallowed harshly, turning his back to you again and pocketing the cell phone. You suddenly felt the dripping weight of the rain, clinging to your clothes, squeaking in your shoes. The once fragrant heat of the greenhouse now mildewed in soiled oppression, anger starting to leak out of you. Motherfucking "Narcos". They can’t even see what is glaringly obvious in front of them. But you could. Pedge placed his hands on his hips, a ripple of anxiety cascading across his back and neck. You could almost feel the rising lump in his throat from where you stood. Trying to shrug off the familiar feeling of rejection. So many auditions. So much indecision. So much insecurity. This industry could be a fucking nightmare, but to have so many “maybes”. So many “almosts”. You could only go to brunch and coffees and wine tastings so many times before it caught up with you. How do people expect us to have a thick enough skin, surviving the many rejections, but also remaining transparently vulnerable enough to process the emotions of artistry and humanity? There’s always a breaking point, and you were looking at one small example of it, standing in front of you.

Your eyebrows creased in concern. Sigh. Now, what was your motivation? Some intimacy coach you were. Nurturing? Comic relief? Logic? Lots of ways to handle fragility, but what offers the best support? You bit your lower lip, still tasting the cinnamon flavors of his chapstick. All of your senses were heightened as you reached out for his shoulder tentatively.

“Pedge….”.

“S’okay” he muttered perfunctorily, swinging around a bit too quickly and plastering a mostly believable grin across his face. “It was a long shot anyways” he tilted his head with joviality, coaxing a wry smile. “Win some, you lose some” he voice cracked a little at the end as he shifted with discomfort, looking down at his shoes. “See! Even Mother Nature is pissed on my behalf!” he shouted, arms outstretched, trying to lighten the moment.

You chuckled, mostly for his benefit, feeling the sting of your own insecurities and rejections coming to the surface. “Idiots!” you yelled to the greenhouse ceiling, attempting to diffuse the newfound tension. 

“Cabrones!” he exclaimed, gesturing to heaven as a loud clap resounded authoritatively. He grinned back at you in supplication, shrinking down a bit, deferentially. “Come on, let’s get out of here…”. You took each others waist on the exit, ducking from the all-encompassing rain, running in short bursts all the way back to the subway entrance.

Teetering precariously on the humming subway, you held Pedge’s hand tightly in your own. You’d learned a lot from the Big Apple, as you braced your legs in a wide stance, hugging the subway pole territorially and glancing up at this countenance surreptitiously. There was no doubt in your mind Pedge was a great actor, but there were some things that didn’t need to be fabricated. You could feel the self doubt rolling in waves off of his shoulders, as he bit his lip with a worried repetition. Pulsing your hand in his, his eyes immediately shot up to yours with curiosity. “My place?” he squeaked, attempting to pull himself back into the real world.

“Mine” you intoned lightly, bringing his encased hand around your back supportively. He nodded quickly, slipping back into his tumultuous state of mind. You weren’t sure what Pedge needed in this moment, but whatever it was, you were determined to give it to him. He had given you so much during your time in New York, and this moment was about him. Your stomach flipped with anticipation, as you realized you were mostly packed for tomorrow’s exit. You didn’t know how to reconcile the many emotions coursing through your veins, as the city whirred past you in a blurry din of lights and streaking raindrops. Excitement, confusion, dread, concern, curiosity…it was a tumult of electricity moving through you much like the city itself. P sniffled forlornly, hugging your hip and offering you a tight smile. 

“Thanks” he offered matter of factly, unsure of how else to communicate the complexity of the moment. You turned your body towards his, caging him in and touching his face lightly. 

“Hey,” he locked eyes with you as you whispered “it’s going to be okay”. A flicker of pain flashed across his face for a millisecond before it quickly armored up in the buzzing atmosphere. Your voice caught in your throat, knowing EXACTLY how P felt in this uncertain situation, poised before an unknown adventure on the horizon.

The subway started to grind to a metallic stop as you teased Pedge with his earlier retort. “Gotta expect the unexpected”. He smiled with fatigue, his shoulders heavy with gravitas, as you approached your stop. Leading him wordlessly by the hand you exited the  subway and quietly made your way down the street. Gazing at the flickering lamplights, uproarious laughter and honking taxi cabs you wished you could forever house him in a cocoon of safety, but soon enough. Hitting the doorstep to your Airbnb, you double checked once more, “Come up for a night cap?”

Pedge nodded quietly, eyes gazing downward. You pursed your lips pensively, cupping his face in your hand and bringing his eyes up to meet your face. “I have wine” you offered forlornly, rubbing your thumb in a small circle across his cheek. 

“Perfect for whining” he almost whimpered, losing steam by the second.

Hand firmly clasped and trudging up the stairs you led him into the apartment, dropping your purse and rain soaked shoes at the door. You set about pouring two glasses of Pinot Noir and returned to the door finding Pedge unmoving, where you’d left him. He was shivering slightly with his arms folded tightly over his chest, looking downward. Somehow his broad shoulders and chest had collapsed further down, and he looked so small. Almost like a little boy, fretting about stolen candy.

“Drink up” you offered, placing the wine glass in his hand and toasting it with a clinking sound. He grinned with an air of melancholy, downing the glass in one fell swoop and breathing heavily. “I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but I’m toasting you. I’m toasting us…”. He rolled his eyes with self-annoyance, tightening his lips in a fine line to prevent himself from speaking. “You were fucking GREAT in that scene” you congratulated him, as he took a shuddering breath, playing with the slightly frayed edges of his now drying dress shirt. “I’m serious” you stepped directly under his chin, nosing the bristling patches of his beard and coaxing his eyes towards yours. “I’m a touring Broadway performer…and I KNOW talent when I see it” you chided self-deprecatingly as he smiled slyly, still not meeting your eyes completely. “It’s not everyone who gets to die on Game of Thrones” you teased, kicking his booted foot with your bare one.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the status quo” his voice cracked in defeat, trying to drain the dregs of his mostly empty wine glass and pouting slightly. “Seconds?” he quipped, handing the glass back to you. 

“Definitely” you encouraged, downing your glass quickly as well. You gazed over at the pumping radiator hissing angrily in the corner as Pedge removed his shoes and headed over to the couch, plopping down unceremoniously. Pouring two more glasses of wine you came to join him, setting the glasses down on the nearby coffee table. 

“You’re all wet” you reprimanded, running a tender hand through his hair and drawing it down his neck. 

Pedge smiled mischievously to himself, “What, are we doing our scene again?” he teased, tilting his head sideways on his elbow.

“We get better every time we practice” you drew your finger across his brow which had become furrowed in bitter recollection. 

“What I’m missing in my apartment is a woman” he sighed, placing his palm over your thigh and sliding his fingers ever so slightly under the rain soaked fabric.

“What are you doing this weekend?” you asked, your breath hitching cautiously in your chest and drawing your finger down the front of his dress shirt, popping one or two buttons, loosely.

Moving his thumb to the soft skin on the inside of your thigh delicately he jested, “Stuck in a depressive episode because my friend is abandoning me for career opportunities that I lack”. 

You paused, reprimanding his harsh evaluation with a stern look.

“Too soon? It’s too soon for joking…” he sighed, sinking into the couch and laying back to gaze at the ceiling.

“Ven aqui” you whispered, tentatively sliding across the couch and straddling his quads as he held you around the waist. “Dame un beso” you leaned closer, collapsing your weight to his body and nibbling at his neck. You felt him relax beneath you as you drew the fleshy part of your lower lip up his chiseled jaw, nestling in the patchy scratches of his beard. Feeling his fingers drifting lower over your backside you kept your eyes closed, and then connected with his lips passionately, breathing one another in and out. All thought left your mind completely, poised at the task of comforting him however you could. You were mindlessly circling your hips over his dress pants as he slid the shoulders of your sundress down to your waist.

Pressing your breasts up against his chest, you moved together in synchronicity, allowing the vibrating warmth of the wine to pulse inside you. After a few minutes, you pulled back to look at his sorrowful eyes, placing your hands lightly atop his stomach.

“What does it mean?” he whispered, looking into your eyes imploringly. You weren’t sure if he was referencing your connection, or the audition, or even life itself. Naturally drawn to the existential questions, you smiled, moved by his artistry and confusion. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything” you repeated his words back to him from earlier. “It’s just a moment. And we can decide whatever we want”. His face crumpled slightly in recognition as you took his face in your hands sweetly. “What do you need?” you asked straightforwardly, trying to hone your skills of telepathy as he drew his arms lightly up and down your back.

“I don’t even know” he muttered, looking around the room for inspiration. “I’m all over the place” he dropped his hands to the side, laying back against the couch with resignation and pausing to consider his feelings.

You waited quietly, atop his lap, resting your hands against his chest, hearing the deafening tic-tock of the battery operated clock in the corner.

His face contorted quietly in a small whimper. “I really thought I had it” he cried softly, covering his face quickly with his hands in embarrassment.

You welled up, watching him doubt the artistry and talent he clearly possessed, and knowing all too well that sometimes that just wasn’t enough. “Hey” you gently took his hands away from his face as he turned his head to the side with chagrin. “YOU are enough” you laced your fingers through his own, bringing them up to your chest with abandon. He chuckled, feeling the edges of your exposed bra against his fingers, eyeing you from the side.

“You think so?” he teased dolefully, fingering at the delicate skin of your breasts and humming shyly.

“I DO think so!” you brought his chin back to center with a deft finger as he eyed your chest sacredly, slowly bringing his gaze up to yours. He shivered slightly, gulping back the tears, determined to offer a more resolute countenance. “There are just some moments in life you have to be…patient” you reasoned, realizing that your time was whittling down from hour to hour. “Timing is everything and sometimes…it’s not yet time” you looked at him appraisingly, realizing that perhaps he needed a different kind of release than the obvious one.

“Come on” you carefully slid off of his lap watching his melancholy gaze follow after you along with his outstretched hands. “We’re taking a shower, and then we’re going to bed” you stated matter-a-factly.

“We are?” his curiosity peaked as he stifled a small yawn of emotional fatigue.

“Yeah, mister, some of us have to get up early for our grand exit, and I’m not leaving you with a New York City sized cold” you rationalized, leaving the wine glasses on the table. “What you need is a hot shower and a cuddle” nodding your head firmly as Pedge shakily arose, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt en route. “You’ve bossed me around enough, now it’s my turn…”

“I haven’t been bossy!” Pedge called after you, unzipping his pants and hopping down the hallway awkwardly.

“You most certainly have!” your voice echoed from the bathroom as the shower roared to life, attempting to distract P from the tumultuous day’s events. You smiled to yourself, stripping off the clingy sundress and shimmying your underwear to the floor in a tangled bundle.

You wiggled your fingers through the lukewarm water, anticipating the vanilla scented body wash you’d discovered at the Airbnb. Pedge’s voice crescendoed as he rounded the corner in his boxer briefs, “Okayeeee California…” he stopped abruptly seeing your half naked figure in the bathroom. You turned your body towards him mischievously as you drank one another in. Pedge covered his crotch with one hand, blushing slightly, and then hiding back behind the doorframe. “Are we doing this?” he smirked, peaking out from the hallway.

“I’m taking a shower” you teased, unhooking your bra in one motion and dropping it to the floor along with Pedge’s jaw. “And I’m hoping you’re going to join me, Prince Dorne or whatever the hell your name is…” you clutched your hands around your chest stepping into the shower and immediately enjoying the hot streams of water pelting your skin.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, boss” he stepped out of his underwear, kicking it to the corner with yours and hopping in behind you, pulling the curtain shut. You laughed wryly, taking a quick glance at his nether regions with admiration.

“Okay, Prince…” your eyebrows shot up to the ceiling with curiosity. “Do we get to see you in all this splendor on the big screen, or is this a private showing?” you poked him in the belly button, watching his length pinken and swell slightly. He blushed again as the shower heated up in more ways than one.

“I’m not hearing any complaints” he rasped, drawing his body to yours and pulling your hair taut behind you. You shivered slightly with the changing temperature and feather light touch of his fingertips at your back.

“I’m proud of you” you nuzzled into his neck, trying to breathe around the billowing clouds of steam wafting over your bodies. He pulled his face back slightly, holding you around the waist loosely and looking into your eyes with intention.

“Thank you” he nodded, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Thanks for being here with me” he kissed you lightly on the lips for a long moment. You sighed contentedly, reaching haphazardly for the loofah sponge.

“Alright, any areas off-limits? How do we feel about vanilla?” you smiled, lathering your hands.

“Sky’s the limit” he laughed, slowly allowing his previous worries to wash away with the bubbling soap suds.

You drew the sponge across his chest moving in slow circles drifting lower and lower until you hit the tuft of hair at the base of his torso. Pedge hissed in quickly, twitching at your light touch. “This okay?” you intoned, watching his face for micro expressions. His eyes glazed over slightly, melting into your hand. “Yeeaaaa” he drawled, stepping an inch closer to your body magnetically. “My turn?”

You handed the sponge off to him, rotating in place, feeling the warm suds cascading down your back seductively. 

“Ticklish?” he teased landing a quick swath downward and cupping your backside, eliciting a myriad of giggles.

“Maybe?” you crumpled slightly, turning back to face him. He pecked at your lips tentatively as you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his length bump up in between your legs tantalizingly. You hummed into his mouth peacefully as you both swayed carefully in the sudsy, warm atmosphere. Enjoying one another until your fingertips were starting to prune, you broke away from the lengthy kiss to massage his shoulders comfortingly. “Any better?” you questioned watching his tranquil expression.

“I’ll be okay” he nodded, assembling his thoughts once again and sighing with relief. “Like somebody wise told me; not all who wander are lost” he acquiesced.

Toweling one another off to small kisses and quick tickles you ruffled his hair affectionately. “I think I’m ready for tomorrow. Any big advice before I head into the next adventure?” you asked, wrapping the towel around your body modestly and looking at Pedge in the steam coated mirror. He reached over your shoulder, swiping a clear path along the reflective surface and gazing back at your questioning expression. 

“Why? Do you want my acting advice?” he jested, before you elbowed him in the stomach jokingly. 

“Ouch” he rubbed his tummy slyly, pondering for a moment. “Just be good to yourself and be good to others” he rested his chin drolly on your shoulder looking at you in the mirror.

“Be good to yourself” you repeated to his reflection as he fluttered his eyelids comedically. “And be good to others” you turned to hug him affectionately, pressing your body against his. You stood that way for what felt like an eternity before Pedge chided,

“Is your towel gonna fall down if we stop hugging?” he laughed, before you pulled back tauntingly. 

“Wanna find out?” you teased, grasping your towel around the edge and scooting past Pedge before he swatted you on the ass.

You eyed your packed suitcase in the corner of the bedroom sadly before dropping the towel to the floor and throwing on a cozy pink sweater over your softened frame. Pedge appeared in the doorway, holding his towel at the waist. “Got one of those for me?” he quipped, looking around the room appraisingly. You grabbed one of your tourist purchases you had bought with Pedge in Time Square holding it up in front of his body with delight. 

“I heart New York” Pedge read, grabbing at the t-shirt and pulling it over his frame smoothly. “Works for me” he yawned, hitting the light switch as you both crawled into bed with exhaustion. There was lots of laughing and shifting as the bed creaked noisily over the hard wood floor. “Geez, is this futon gonna collapse under us both?” Pedge teased, finally pulling you in to his body and resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Let’s hope not, I don’t wanna pay an extra Airbnb fee” you yawned, settling into the mattress and covering his arms with your own. “Thanks again for all of your help, Pedge, I couldn’t have done this without you” your words started to mumble slightly as you felt your body relax into his hold.

“I’m really excited for you and your tour” he breathed into your neck, kissing it slightly at the base. “I’m sorry I ruined everything with a lousy audition. I didn’t want today to be about me…”.

You turned in his embrace, desperately trying to locate the chocolate depths of his eyes in the darkened room. “You didn’t ruin a thing, Pedge” you began. “As artists, we get to experience all of this together, wherever we find ourselves. Our victories. Our defeats. It’s one big tapestry, and it’s nice to find ourselves knitted together.” Even in the dark, you could feel the intensity of his gaze pouring into you. “Was tonight okay? I mean…do you need more?” you stuttered, eager to show your support in whatever way you could. The silence stretched out before you as your heart fluttered nervously in your chest. Perhaps you had said too much…Had the intimacy of the day somehow threatened your easy friendship? You heard a single tear patter to the pillowcase as Pedge caught you in an unexpected and passionate kiss. You held each other, attempting to hold time further still.

“Today was everything I needed, and more” Pedge whispered. “Thank you for being my friend. I’m proud of you” he smiled, and your heart exploded in your chest with joy. 

“I’m proud of you, P” you whispered back, slowly starting to drift into a happy haze, feeling the hairs of his beard bristling at your neck and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist in comfort. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, just rest” his voice echoed in the recesses of your mind before you fell asleep.

The morning was filled with anticipation as Pedge returned to the apartment with coffee and bagels before your departure. Although the air was tinged with sadness it was also humming with the electricity of a new adventure, as you looked over at your small suitcases dotting the stoop and winter coat draped over the luggage.

Pedge’s easy smile had returned, despite the previous day’s apparent defeat and you marveled once again at the resiliency artists such as yourselves had to demonstrate day after day.

“You gonna watch me on tv next month?” Pedge asked sipping at his iced quad espresso jovially, having already inhaled his breakfast.

“What do you think Mr. Six Shots?” you laughed, nibbling cautiously at the everything bagel, too adrenaline fueled to consider your own latte.

“I did okay” he deflected, considering recent events. “Netflix-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might be a dud, but somethings gotta be on the horizon…” he reasoned. “I think my agent mentioned something about Gotham coming up…”.

“I’m not gonna have to watch you die in that too, am I?” you jested, tossing your napkin deftly at his face. 

“Fine by me” he grumbled. “Currently I can’t get arrested, and I’m more than happy to die as many times as is necessary…”. 

You pouted placatingly. “See me off later?”

“You bet” he smiled. “I’ve got a meeting with my agent, but it might get pushed. They can’t drop me after GOT, right?” he pondered, inhaling the rest of his espresso nervously.

“They’d be INSANE if they did!” you argued, grasping his wrist. “I’m fairly certain any nervousness you’re feeling is fully caffeinated at this point…”. He smiled mischievously, wrapping his hand over yours. “I’m overthinking everything” he confessed. “Let’s head to the studio and get you on the road, chickadee” he teased, kissing you on the cheek and heading towards the door. “Adventures await!” he flung open the door to your Airbnb, attempting to grab ALL of your luggage in a bear hug, amidst your protestations and giggles. Goodbye New York City, and hello newfound adventure. It felt amazing to be taking Pedge’s encouragement right along with you.

The morning passed by in a blur. The company had assembled at Ripley Grier as P headed upstairs to the Equity offices for his meeting. You had already said your official goodbyes, but as the note session wrapped up, your heart plummeted slightly realizing this was it. The company was packing up, and Pedge was nowhere to be found. Better to rip the bandaid off, you reasoned, rolling your baggage into the elevator and heading downstairs to the awaiting tour bus. The atmosphere was tinged with anticipation, laughter and ambition as you all piled into the bus, heading to your out of town technical rehearsal in upstate New York. You marveled at the miracle your life had evolved into, and resolved to make every moment count in all the artistic relationships you had made and were going to enjoy for a lifetime. You just wished you could somehow wrap it all up in your little pink suitcase to take with you. Settling into your seat you nervously glanced at your phone.

Pedge must still be in his meeting, you thought, wondering why everything was taking so long. Would an agency really drop a star performer, just because they hadn’t landed the most recent audition? It was ludicrous to even consider, but you shook your head in disapproval. The artistic life wasn’t a predictable one, but P’s talent would sustain him in whatever situation he found himself. You were confident it was just a matter of time. Broadway, television, movies…Pedge could make it happen, and you would be able to watch him do it.

You waited expectantly, the seconds ticking by disappointingly. Damn. The production manager hopped on the bus mic, updating the company as you rolled out. You pressed your fingertips to the glass reticently. Bye, Pedge. Your lip wobbled with emotion as you heaved a heavy sigh of longing. Can’t be in two places at once, chica…Pedge’s voice seemed to tint your own imagination as you watched the cogs of the city slowly mechanizing forward. Swaths of bright yellow sunshine-colored cabs, elbowing one another for dominance. An array of humanity dotting the busy streets as the cumbersome bus angled awkwardly between cyclists, pedestrians and automobiles. Your phone buzzed loudly in your hand.

You pouted with discouragement, watching Ripley Grier fade into the background.

Sighing heavily you rested your head against the bus window. Geez, EVERYTHING was taking forever. NY wasn’t designed for bumbling busses. You inched forward at a glacial pace. At this rate, tech wasn’t gonna start until next week.

You parried, hoping to get a response, to no avail. Well this was anticlimactic. So much for the grand exit. You waited another five minutes, settling in for the lengthy drive. This was just the beginning of the adventure, so let’s all hurry up and wait, you surmised. New York City streets were a cornucopia of mankind. You smiled watching a woman in a mink, dragging a tea cup poodle behind her. A gaggle of school kids, obviously playing hooky on a Monday. Artistic graffiti. Piles of trash on the side of the road. What a town, you observed.

Your eyes shot up to your forehead in confusion. Huh?

I AM looking out my window, you chided, wondering if you were EVER going to exit the Big Apple. Hard to start the next adventure if you never finished the first one. You squinted begrudgingly at the sea of humanity before you. Pretzel cart. Check. The bus puttered a few more feet forward. Fire escape argument decorated with a laundry line backdrop. Check. Geez, New York was its own movie set. Pashminas, snow globes, tourist caricatures…What were you supposed to be looking for?

A bouncing balloon caught your eye as a beaming Pedge bounced playfully beside it. “Sorry For Your Loss” it read contradictorily, in opposition to the contagious light cascading out of P’s eyes. You goofball, you smiled, popping up in your seat and nearly banging your head on the luggage rack.

“Sit the f@ck down!” the driver congenially reprimanded, attempting to bulldoze over a school bus to the right. Pedge darted in and out of traffic, arriving at the molasses paced flow of traffic and banging on the side of the bus. “Get the f@ck outta the road!” the bus driver yelled, braking before he hit the taxicab in front of him. 

Pedge yelled back, “Hey, I’m WALKIN’ HERE!” unfazed by the onslaught of cars and apathetic onlookers. He skipped sideways, pointing to his phone as the balloon bobbed next to his head. Gazing down at your hand you immediately recognized his number and answered.

“You idiot, get out of the road before you’re flattened like a pancake. We don’t need another Dorne situation!” you laughed, stumbling to the front of the bus.

“I got it” he smiled, his voice a tinny, delayed echo on the phone in relation to his enthusiastic and Cheshire like grin.

You lumbered to the driver’s right, stopping abruptly at the front of the bus.

“What? I can’t hear you, Pedge!” you plugged one ear as the driver berated you for getting out of your seat.

“I got it. Narcos. I got it.” he wriggled around the front of the bus carefully, arriving at the bus entrance.

You froze in delight, watching his boyish expression through the somewhat dirtied glass.

“WHAT???” you shrieked, now eliciting curious giggles and questions from the company as the production manager attempted to regain control of the situation.

You watched his mouth as he pointed animatedly into the phone. “I’M. JAVIER. PENA! I got it!” he banged on the door again loudly as the bus inched forward another foot. You shymied down the stairwell, yelling back at the driver, “Open the door! Open the door!”

“Geeeeezus, actors!” the driver drawled, a thick New York accent spilling forward. “You’re way past the line, lady!”

One of your company friends shouted from the back, “Goddam open the door already! Open, open, open!” the bus started chanting with encouragement as traffic seemed to close up in support of your reunion.

You grabbed your stomach theatrically, “Man, I really gotta puke, you better open this door, if you don’t want a situation..” you bluffed, watching Pedge bang on the door repetitively.

“Bitchy actors” the driver finally acquiesced, punching a button as the door jettisoned opened towards you. Without hesitation you flung yourself into P’s arms as the bus erupted into applause.

“Well that was cinematic” Pedge exclaimed into your ear, sending an electric tickle down your spine. He pulled back to face you, beaming broadly from ear to ear. “Can I hang up on you now?” he joked, holding you around the waist and booping you on the nose.

“I don’t see any puking!” the driver stated matter-a-factly inching the bus another few feet forward.

Pedge carried you sideways as the company pressed their noses up against the windows in rapt anticipation. “You got it?” you questioned, pulled in by the magnetism of his joy and wonder.

“I got it” he repeated, nodding his head in affirmation. “They didn’t know if GOT was going to be a scheduling conflict, and then something fell through..and…I got it!”. You were completely speechless, feet dangling off the ground and heart dangling in your chest with effervescence.

“Puking!” the driver abruptly interrupted, moving the bus a solid ten feet forward as traffic eased up slightly.

Pedge hopped sideways to keep up with the shifting traffic as you gripped him tightly around the neck. “We’re going to start shooting in Columbia in the next few weeks, I’ve gotta lease my apartment, my agents have already set up a meet with the FBI, it’s all f@cking happening, J!” you both laughed maniacally as the information spilled out of him joyfully. “It’s happening!”

“I knew it!” you exclaimed as he set you down, gripping your hands in front of you. You both started jumping up and down like little kids, as the balloon bobbed in acknowledgement along side you both. “I’m so proud of you Pedge!” you grinned.

“I’m kind of proud of me too” he agreed. “Looks like you could be a GREAT intimacy coach if this whole acting thing doesn’t work out” he joked, stepping forward into your personal space and hooking his fingers through your belt loops.

“Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her!” the company started chanting repetitively as the sounds of the city began to fade around you. Even the bus driver’s reprimands dulled in comparison to the light shining in Pedge’s eyes. You wrapped your arms around his neck, magnetically pulled into a passionate kiss. The world slowed…much like the current traffic…while you enjoyed your Big Goodbye, New York style. After what seemed like an eternity, the sounds of the city came rushing back in a torrent of sound and fury, as the company uttered a communal, juvenile “Awwwwww”.

“Give ‘em what they want” Pedge teased, brushing that pesky hair out of your face, and tucking it behind your ear.

“Looks like they want YOU” you returned, clasping his face in your palm, and circling the small heart shaped patch in his beard affectionately.

“Lady, either you’re in or out!” the driver finally smiled, juxtaposed by the production manager who looked like they were ACTUALLY going to be sick.

You turned back towards Pedge and quickly exclaimed, “I love you!” gasping slightly at your bizarre, somewhat ill-timed confession.

Somehow P’s smile broadened even more as he leaned in for a final peck on your lips. He set you back on the stair-stoop of the bus, comedically yelling at the taxicab that was precariously perched behind him, and slapping the hood of it theatrically. The doors whooshed closed as traffic finally eased up, allowing the bus to slowly advance. Pedge’s silhouette began to shrink as the bus continued its formative journey, and the company returned to their seats amidst the exhortations of the production manager. You gripped the handrails as Pedge waved dramatically, the small balloon escaping his grasp and dotting the horizon… “Sorry For Your Loss”. He jumped after it helplessly, finally shrugging his shoulders and waving extravagantly, seeing you off for a New York Goodbye that was truly cinema worthy.

Sorry For Your Loss, you whispered to yourself, plopping back down in your seat and smiling warmly. Every loss was a newfound gain. Every ending, a new beginning. And realizing that some journeys had only just begun. Not all who wander are lost, you reminded yourself, gazing down at your buzzing phone that was still in your hand.

You sat back contentedly in your seat watching New York City blur around you. I’m ready, you mused. I’m ready.

Pedge's Juke Box

I love combining reality with fantasy, and while I'm sure this isn't a new Tumblr concept, I'm going to be cataloguing our Pedro Boys as per Pedge's suggestions! All playlists will attempt to utilize music or groups that Pedro Pascal has referenced at some point. Get your headphones and enjoy! I also am secretly hoping writers might utilize this playlists for inspiration. I can't write with music in the background, but some people can...

Pena's Playlist Max's Mix Joel's Jives Maxwell's Music J's Jams Frankie's Favorites Dieter's Deets Silva's Songs Pike's Playlist The General's Genre Baby's Beats

*Please keep singing darling, we LOVE It....(our DJ)

This is the most personal series I've attempted so far, but Mark Twain says to write about what you know. I've been really fortunate to work in NY and LA with some of the same peeps as Peepaw and often wondered how often we found ourselves in the same buildings, the same subways and the same cities as we pounded the pavement. I feel so inspired by the artists around me and wanted to celebrate our continued journey. RPF series...

Triggers: Set in 2014, it might progress to some lite smut, but this first episode only includes a slightly tipsy trip and mild profanity. NYC is rough enough--save the drama for your llama...

Episode One: The Big Apple Episode Two: The Audition Episode Three: Purple Rain Episode Four: The Big Goodbye (Finale)

Shorts:

Pedge Tweets Baby's Beats Moody Thespian

You twiddled your thumbs in nervous anticipation. There wasn’t anything to worry about. You had waited your whole life for THIS moment. You were as prepared as anyone could be. You’d packed a winter coat, hand sanitizer galore and zip lock bags for heaven’s sakes. The Big Apple wasn’t ready for YOU. You tightened your seat belt and looked out the plane window, marveling at the puffy clouds dotting the horizon. How did you arrive at the epicenter of your dream? A decade’s worth of auditioning and you were finally headed to New York City and were about to start your first Broadway National Tour. Maybe dreams do come true, you smiled, intent on ordering a celebratory champagne. It was all smooth sailing from here.

Ironically enough it was NOT smooth sailing from here, and it wasn’t until the plane started to level out that you noticed the heat emanating from your seat partner’s forearm, which you had locked in a death grip.

“You okay, there?” a low, honeyed voice dipped into your ear and your eyes tilted up to see brown pools of orbed concern above you.

Hello gorgeous.

You unlocked your hand from his arm, attempting to smooth over the finger markings starting to redden underneath.

“Sorry about that…” you mumbled, smoothing out your hair, brushing the dangling oxygen masks out of your face and rethinking that champagne order.

“Well that was unexpected!” he smiled broadly, twinkling with a charm that immediately shouted "actor". You swallowed dryly, watching people around you laughing with surprise and clapping in belated relief. “I’m Pedro” he reached over to pull a strand of hair out of your face with an intimacy that forced the breath out of your lungs. “And you are?”

“Uh…I’m J” you stammered, nervously attempting to roll the oxygen mask back into its compartment, but unable to quiet your shaking fingers.

“Here let me get that…” he reached up with a broad stroke that deftly closed the above compartment as he smiled with a sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

You covered your mouth, giggling quietly into your third champagne. “And the phone number was a NY area code, so I joked, "oh that must be Broadway calling"…..AND IT WAS!” you snorted uproariously as Pedro brought a jovial finger to his mouth to quiet you.

“Have you had anything to eat today?” he quarried, swallowing his own champagne. You hungrily watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down. Hiccuping slightly, your cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry…I’m so nervous, and excited…” you burped quietly and started giggling again. “I should eat something, huh?”

“Let’s get some food in you, stat” he pushed the button for the flight attendant and took your glass before you accidentally dropped it.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t even…” you hiccuped suddenly… “…haven’t even asked very much about you…How do you find yourself in New York?” you swayed a little, unsure if the plane was moving sideways or you were.

Pedro brought a light hand up to steady your shoulder, smiling easily. “I’m an actor” he responded dolefully “…but I might be the only one that knows it” he shrugged, motioning for the flight attendant to bring 2 box lunches.

“Oh my gosh, do you sing?!” you practically shouted, unaware of the volume of your voice in these close quarters.

“Absolutely not!” he whispered. “Though, if pressed, I confess I did appear in ONE musical at OSCA, it was "Gypsy".

“Oh my god, did you go to OSCA? I almost taught there last year…” you whispered clandestinely, as though plotting a bank heist.

“Well that’s why YOU are appearing in a Broadway Musical and NOT ME” he argued, taking your box lunches from the flight attendant and gesturing to your bag of potato chips.

“I’m actually just coming from a gig in Croatia and it was like…a DREAM. I got to meet these incredible artists, and I had this amazing costume. They did a cast of my head! Geez, I always say too much, but I get so excited. Have you ever heard of "Game of Thrones’?”

Your mouth dropped open as you dangled a potato chip before your poised tongue. “Ummmm, I’m sorry, Game of Thrones? That’s a frickin’ big deal!” you crunched loudly on your disappearing snack. “Are you shitting me right now?”. You hadn’t seen any episodes since you couldn’t afford cable, but hordes of your friends were obsessed with the show, and given the chance, you thought you would be too.

“I know right?!” his eyes lit up like a little kid’s, sharing his secret treasure trove of discovery. “But it doesn’t air for like…FOREVER, and now I’ve just gotta go back to my survival job and start hitting the pavement again. And I can’t even talk about…anything. I’ve got an audition coming up and my resume isn’t even current…” he rubbed the back of his neck as you took a massive bite out of your turkey sandwich.

“Dude, I’m SO impressed” you mumbled, smacking your lips together whole-heartedly as he reached over to swipe a dollop of mustard from the corner of your mouth.

“Thanks, it really feels like I pushed through a wall or something. Nothing has changed on the outside, but everything is different on the inside, you know?” his eyes sparkled with intensity, meeting your gaze magnetically, as he brought his thumb to his mouth enticingly.

“I do” you hiccuped, wrapping your fingers around his wrist encouragingly, and then squeezing with affection, “I really do”.

You sighed contentedly burying your face further still into your pillow. This was a weird pillow. It was curved. And slender. And warm. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your flight has landed” it said softly, cupping your face with one large hand.

You licked your lips as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking blearily at the blurry face that coalesced in front of you. “Do you need some water?” he squinted with concern, undoing your seatbelt and dragging a hand across your back.

“Ohhhhh” you sighed a bit too loudly, biting your lip with chagrin until you noticed that the plane was mostly empty. “Oh my gawd, have we landed?” the adrenaline pumped into your system as you bolted upright, nearly knocking your head into the above compartment.

“Careful!” Pedro cautioned, popping upward and doing the same. You both rubbed your heads with embarrassment, laughing slightly at the gaff. “Looks like we’ve arrived” he observed, gripping your hand and grinning with anticipation. “Welcome to the Big Apple!”

Standing nervously in the epicenter of Port Authority you felt like Little Orphan Annie. “Three bucks, two bags, one me” you muttered, under your breath, standing in the swirling vortex of humanity bustling around you.

“Do you know where you’re headed?” Pedro hefted his backpack over his shoulder, gripping a larger bag underneath his arm easily.

“I’ve got some friends in Brooklyn, they said to grab the Q?”

“Get outta town, that’s where I’m headed too!” he jerked his head towards the escalators as you trundled your pretty pink suitcase behind him.

“THANK YOU!” you shouted “I get lost EVERYWHERE I go!” you marveled at the buskers, fighting for attention in the echoing hallways. He beamed with pride at the city that never sleeps.

“I gotchu!” he nodded, grabbing your other bag and hoisting it over the turnpike, once you had purchased your subway pass. You fought the urge to clap your hands together excitedly as a subway loudly whooshed past you on the exit. A barrage of people purposefully stormed towards you as Pedro dodged out of their way with alacrity. You both made your way to the center of the pathway, nearly plopping down on one of the open seats before Pedro lifted you up by the elbow.

“Maayyyybe don’t sit there” he cautioned, eyeing the seat suspiciously and clocking the approaching Q train. You gulped with excitement seeing the rats scurry away from the vibrating rails and trash. 

“This is soooo cool…” you glittered, taking a deep fragrant inhale of mint, beer, urine and garbage.

“I know” Pedro concurred, drawing closer to the approaching train. “Now, it’s common curtesy when you board a subway to stand off to the side so people can exit first”. You nodded your head solemnly, intent to blend into the East Coast atmosphere. “And once you get onboard, most seats will be taken so stand close to the handrails and dig in with a really wide stance so you don’t fall over backwards with the momentum.”

“This is a lot different than L.A. traffic” you ventured, rolling your suitcase awkwardly to the front.

“Yeah, you’re not in the O.C. anymore” he chided, the train doors sucking open with piles of people pouring out.

“Let’s go!” he piped up, dragging you, your suitcase and your dreams right along with him into the overcrowded train, gently elbowing a path to the nearest open spot and hooking his arm around a handrail. “Hang on!” he reminded you, as the train lurched forward, nearly tipping you over your suitcase headfirst. A strong forearm gripped you around the waist and pulled you back to center before you bumped into the baby stroller next to you. “Surprise!” he tittered, nearly touching your forehead with his and scrunching his nose up playfully. “Gotta expect the unexpected…” he whispered into your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

A guardian angel, you thought. I’m living the dream. Three bucks, two bags and one me.

“I really can’t thank you enough for all your help!” you shouted into his ear as your stop approached.

“Oh my gosh, congratulations on your tour, it’s gonna be amazing!” he smiled, growing a little regretful at the end of your encounter.

“I can’t wait!” you reasoned, biting your lip hesitantly. Do you ask for his number? I mean, you kind of have your hands full with rehearsals starting and trying to navigate an entire city. That’s stupid, right? “And congrats on your upcoming episode, it’s gonna be EPIC!…I’ll have to get cable!” you joked as the train began to grind to a halt.

“So maybe I’ll see you around Brooklyn this week? Or Ripley Grier? Where are you guys rehearsing?”

“I’m not sure!” you shouted, gripping your suitcase excitedly as the mass of people pushed you out of the subway onto the platform. “See you around, Brown Eyes!” you called as the doors unceremoniously whooshed shut.

“Bye…” he mouthed holding up a hand placatingly, and miming a theatrical sob at your departure. You locked eyes joyfully as the train pulled out of the station, taking your newfound friend with it.

You sighed regretfully, hoping your paths would somehow cross again. You’d made it this far. And tomorrow, you had to learn how to hail a taxi.

Pike's Place; Love Actually

I fell hard for these two, but it wasn't until @burntheedges "Roll-a-Trope Challenge" that I managed to really sink my teeth into this delectable winter treat. Since y'all love them as much as I do, I've started a slow burn Winter Series with the assist of @inept-the-magnificent!

Triggers: profanity, talking lots of talking, a little smut, emergency situation/survival...

Series Masterlist

The firelight danced across Pike’s smiling face as he mischievously hid behind his third cup of hot chocolate, listening to you with delight. “And THEN, I opened the final gift and she had found it. She had found the entire original set that included the author’s notes!” Your face beamed enthusiastically, flush from the nostalgic excitement of another Christmas story.

“I never thought I’d meet someone who loves the holidays as much as I do” Pike stared in wonderment, gently kicking you with a socked foot.

“I mean, as a kid you don’t recognize the nuances at all. All you see is chocolate and games and…MORE GIFTS!” you laughed maniacally, plunging your fingers into Pike’s soft stomach and tickling him viciously as he struggled to grasp you around the waist in protestation without spilling his nearly finished hot chocolate.

“Watch out little girl, I’ve got you right where I want you” Pike laughed through gritted teeth, clamping your body between his knees and setting the cup down on the nearby coffee table.

“Is that so?”you drolled, slowing your tickle attack and gently moving your fingers up his chest and into his hair. Pike swayed his body from side to side, holding you tightly as your lips brushed against his serenely. “Merry Christmas” you mumbled into his mouth, kitten licking for more access as he willingly obliged.

A low moan escaped him as you felt him harden beneath you with longing. “You’re the gift that keeps on giving” he nestled into your neck, kissing at your sternum and jawline slowly. You smiled with happiness running your fingers back down his body and stuffing them into his sweatpants’ pockets. “What do we have here?” you questioned curiously, letting your fingers gently explore over the fabric, finding bristling hair and his hardening length. You paused mischievously, “Christmas ornaments?” dipping your hands lower still as Pike’s eyelids fluttered contentedly.

“Is this the part where I make joke about your Christmas box?” Pike whined, keening beneath you and tilting his hips up to meet you. You shifted your body to the side, pulling his sweat pants down slightly and massaging him languidly. “Only if I get to make a joke about your yuletide log…” you giggled, watching Pike’s face with delight. He bit his lower lip with yearning as you entangled your feet with his.

Pike twitched with surprise, furrowing his brow in consternation. “Okay, Abominable Snowgal…where are your Christmas slippers, your toes are FREEZING” he joked, gripping your chin between his icy fingers. You blushed with embarrassment looking down at your legs which were now bare and bristling with goose bumps. Pulling your nightgown down to cover them, it disappeared, leaving you totally naked atop Pike’s body and shivering violently. A blast of cold air whispered against Pike’s hair, washing over you both like a steely wave of winter as the cabin immediately flickered and darkened bizarrely.

“Can you hear me?” Pike’s voice echoed as he now lay atop you, image blearily coalescing before your eyes. A pounding headache jolted you from your cozy dreamscape as you felt the comparative hardness of the cabin floor beneath you. Your mouth was so dry, no words were forming, just a low moan vibrating in your chest as Pike sighed with relief. You closed your eyes for a moment attempting to return to the cheery warmth of your dream, but Pike protested.

“No, no, no, stay with me” Pike gripped your chin between his icy fingers and rubbed his palm in hard circles against your snow suited sternum. With slight annoyance you blinked rapidly, trying to follow his directions. The dull headache returned with blinding force, clarifying you back into a blurry existence as you wriggled your fingers aside your body. Your lips were numb as you tried to swallow and bring Pike’s concerned countenance into focus. Turning your head to the side the fire was no longer a cheery comfort as it whimpered unceremoniously in a blue haze, the final dregs of smoke curling into small wisps.

“Can you sit up? I’d like to get some water in you…” Pike gently advised, gripping the back of your neck and coaxing you into a sitting position as the room rotated around you.You shut your eyes fixedly as a wave of nausea passed over you, willing the cabin to stop moving like a boat atop the ocean. “Open up” Pike brought a water bottle lightly to your lips as you hungrily sipped, cool water dripping down the front of your chin messily. “Slow, slow…” Pike encouraged, massaging the back of your neck and eventually setting the water down beside you both. You opened one eye hesitantly as the cabin solidified into reality, a cornucopia of images vying for attention. You took a shaky breath, observing the myriad of blankets and pillows piled around you like a fort, shivering slightly in the cooling temperature and immediately noticing the rather large tree limb cascading through the living room window.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Pike joked, bringing both hands to the sides of your face and rubbing small circles into your cheeks. Smiling dolefully you acquainted yourself with your new cataclysmic surroundings.

“What happened?” you rasped, swaying slightly and closing your eyes with the effort.

“Well, how far back do we need to go?” Pike closed his eyes tiredly, finally taking a resolute breath in suspended relief. “My name is Agent Pike and I work for the Art Squad…” he countered as your eyes shot open with incredulity.

“Marcus…” you whined, gripping the hair at the top of his head and pulling his forehead to yours. “Jesus Christ…”

Pike’s body sagged against yours with exhaustion, smiling with reassurance. “What, is He in the room with us now? Apropos for Christmas, but don’t go towards the light…” Pike’s voice cracked a little as he attempted to lighten the tension of the last twelve hours.

“What’s going on? I think I missed a few steps. Are you okay? Are WE okay?” you winced, attempting to shake the burgeoning pulsation between your temples and trying to will your body into cooperation.

“Well, after you collapsed I want to Macy’s and got our Christmas gifts, Santa dropped by. Rudolf is a total diva…”

You tugged at Pike’s hair, pulling his face back to meet his gaze. “Agent Pike, if it weren’t for this splitting headache, you would be the main pain in my ass” you breathed heavily, cooling temperatures nursing you back to consciousness. “Talk to me. Are you okay?” you implored bringing your hand to cup the side of Pike’s face.

Pike stilled silently, tears springing to his eyes as he swallowed hard. “You really scared me” he sniffled, averting his eyes and gesturing to the tree limb punctuating the living room. “This didn’t help…” he shifted with discomfort, attempting to quell the many emotions he was holding at bay. You took a moment to admire his handiwork, as a large blanket had been stuffed through the protrusion, and haphazardly layered with gray duct tape. It was a marked benefit, but without the fire the temperature seemed to be plummeting by the minute.

“How long was I out?” you blinked, doing a quick body check and noticing the pitch black void outside, dotted by peppery clumps of snowfall.

“God, it felt like forever…” Pike laid down next to you, gazing up at the ceiling. “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes?” He closed his eyes breathing deeply and rubbing his hand over his forehead confusedly. He paused in the overwhelming silence as you took stock of your current circumstances. While you were unconscious Pike had lit several emergency candles that flickered lightheartedly in the otherwise dark cabin. A small amount of wind tickled the flames as your eyes flicked to the nearby wall heater that was chugging and sputtering weakly. You saw several bottles of water and emergency rations piled by the now defunct fire place. Did the winter winds knock out the fire so abruptly? Your mind was still moving at half speed as the headache dulled into the background, but a growing awareness was permeating your discovery. There must have been more to your apparent intoxication and disorientation. The headaches, the nausea, the vertigo…What could have disrupted both of you to such an extent? Your breath caught abruptly in your throat. You clamped your hand over your mouth, looking down at Pike’s resting figure.

“PIKE?” you nearly shouted into his face as his eyes blazed open with surprise.

“Yes?!” Pike sat up suddenly, grasping his chest nervously. “Are you cold? Hungry? What do you need?” he started piling blankets on top of you and breathing heavily.

“Sorry, I just…monoxide poisoning? Right? That’s why the fire is out? Did you pass out too?”

Pike huffed dramatically, nodding his head and grimacing with soreness. “It was touch and go there for a minute” he draped his arm over your legs trying to catch his breath. “I couldn’t figure out what the problem was until Mother Willow snapped me back into reality” he gestured again to the forlorn looking foyer. “I think that actually might have saved our lives. There must be more limbs or branches covering the chimney and neither of us noticed. If that blast of fresh air hadn’t disrupted our evening, I’m not sure either one of us would be here right now.”

You paused with the sober realization that things were worsening. Though the fire wasn’t available the wall heater was limping along, but not for long. If you had learned anything from your outside venture it was that Bessie the Hyundai was about to be joined by…Genny the Generator in the land of defunct machines. It’s a wonder it had lasted THIS long. Pike must be trying to get as much bang for his buck before the situation derailed completely. You swallowed dryly reflecting on your previous isolation. You would most assuredly be dead if not for this man sitting before you. You bit your lip with thanks, poised to articulate your gratitude when Pike interrupted, his face crumpling in defeat.

“This is totally my fault…” he chastised, laying back down and staring up at the ceiling numbly.

“Hey, hey…that doesn’t sound like Agent Pike from the Art Squad” you bantered, your fingertips drifting over his stomach, and resting assuredly on his chest. He took your hand in his as his lower lip wobbled insecurely.

“If I’m not careful I’m gonna get us both killed AND ruin Christmas…I’m not sure which is worse” he jested, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Look at me, Agent Pike” you drew your fingertips lightly over his cheeks, drawing his face towards yours. “Marcus…” you whispered, wiping a single tear that was trickling, unbidden down his scratchy cheek, “You saved us. You saved me…” you leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips which apparently did him in. He covered his eyes with the back of his forearm, shaking slightly and finally starting to decompress.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for YOU” you began peppering kisses over his face haphazardly and resting your hands on his chest for support. “This (kiss) is (kiss) not (kiss) your (kiss) fault…” you drew back studying his features appraisingly as he pursed his lips tightly in response.

“I’m so sorry” he apologized, turning his body slightly away from you with embarrassment and hugging his arms around his abdomen tightly. You laid down, your chest to his back, drawing a blanket up and over your both and wrapping your arms over his.

“I think, this is a very lovely, if not unconventional winter picnic you’ve planned for us” you rested your forehead against his back, breathing in his deodorant and hints of aftershave. “The candlelight is an especially nice touch…” you teased, hearing small sniffles vibrating through his chest. “It’s very important that we don’t dehydrate so crying is…only permitted for…gingers in pink snowsuits” Pike shifted with awkwardness, chuckling slightly at your feeble attempts. “Besides, I should be the one crying if this knight in shining armor is leaving for Washington D.C”. The room somehow became even more quiet as you wondered if your jest had overstepped. You didn’t want a repeat of last night’s debacle, but if you were going to meet the Grim Reaper, it was time to lay all your cards on the table. You felt Pike’s body collapse inward in defeat as he slowly turned to face you.

“I don’t know what to say” he began, nearly nose to nose with you under the blankets, breathing softly. “At this point an apology feels so inadequate, I just…didn’t think I…I didn’t think it mattered…” he finally ventured, placing his hand lightly to the side of your neck and feeling the feathering pulse underneath. You nodded your head with understanding, attempting to process the unexpected events leading you to this very moment. There was nothing about this Christmas that had been planned. If you knew anything, you knew Pike was a good man, and there wasn’t a deceitful bone in his body. Maybe the situation with his ex had so derailed his optimism and self-confidence that he couldn’t easily see the opportunities stretching out before him; including you.

“What really happened with you and…Lisbon?” you whispered, wanting desperately to understand how anyone could choose a life that didn’t involve Marcus. Pike sighed heavily, thinking back with nostalgia and hurt to the road not traveled.

“Lisbon was…IS…an amazing woman. We met on the job and formed a quick connection when the job in Washington D.C materialized. I knew it was the right professional step for me, but I…my enthusiasm just overreached. I tried to make us into something we weren’t. She was already deeply invested in…someone else, and we just needed time to realize the difference between a fantasy and a reality.” He swallowed hard, moving his thumb to the notch at your sternum, his eyes fixed on yours hesitantly. “I wanted too much, too soon and it all blew up in my face…” he stated matter-a-factly, as a light breeze ghosted over you both.

You shivered slightly whether from cold or emotion, but thankful for Pike’s immediate transparency. Relationships were so complicated, and it often seemed like a person’s greatest strengths somehow could misalign into their greatest weaknesses. “It was too big an ask, for me to deserve” he rationalized, turning his eyes downward and resting his head on the floor in acquiescence.

You tilted your head to the side in curiosity. Well, that wasn’t true, you mused, furrowing your brow in consternation. No wonder you hadn’t immediately arrived on the same page, and your own silence had complicated the situation. Not one to make the same mistake twice you decided to meet Pike’s transparency with your own. “I don’t think Love can be measured like that” you started, attempting to proceed sensitively. “It’s unconventional, hard to grab hold of…and impossible to predict. But, I mean…if anyone DESERVES it, it’s you, Pike. You deserve love, actually.”

Pike held his breath with anticipation, considering your meaning thoughtfully. He knew the truth of your words, but how could he believe them for himself? Just because you desperately want something doesn’t bring it to fruition. He WANTED to believe this whole nightmare had a happy ending, but how many times could one heart be broken? He held your gaze intently, willing you to feel the intensity of his desire. Somehow he was going to get you both out of this nightmare and try to find the answer to that question.

“I don’t think anyone would argue that we’ve had more than enough reality this holiday season” you forlornly admitted, gripping his hands tightly in yours, and attempting to warm them. The heater sputtered timidly in the corner, hiccuping quietly, on its last legs. “I never thought my life would become so isolated and alone” you pondered, reflecting back on the last few years. “My life felt vibrant and connected and exciting until the pandemic crashed into me and everyone around me. It was then that I realized that people couldn’t prioritize friendships in a world where family was just fighting to survive. It’s not that they didn’t care…people just couldn’t extend themselves further than distance would allow” you reasoned. “And rather than taking the risk to keep reaching out, I just receded further and further in”.

“And that’s how you found yourself on my lucky doorstep” Pike chided, his eyelids drooping slightly with exhaustion. “In pink” he chuckled, closing his eyes for just a second. So tired. He relished the tension leaving his body as he sunk down into the blankets contentedly. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, but he hadn’t felt this safe in a while. He really felt seen. Like you understood who he was and what he was about. The trip to Washington D.C was everything he wanted, but how could he just leave, knowing that you remained? Would he even get the chance to enjoy the adventure of life, with you at his side? And what if things continued to spiral out of control? Spiral. Why was the room moving in a circle? He sighed sleepily, being lulled into submission. Spinning, spinning, spinning…

“PIKE!” your voice jarred him out of his temporary reverie, as he shook his head, blinking rapidly. “You still with me?” you were rubbing his face aggressively, inches from his lips, a look of concern dotting your expression.

“I’m here” he mumbled tiredly, sitting up precariously on one elbow and clearing his throat with determination. “Not going anywhere” he yawned, chuckling to himself. “One good thing about being snowed-in is that you can’t escape me that easily” he teased leaning over to grab a sip of water and trying to engage his emergency training. “Gotta stay awake” he sighed, sitting up against the hearth shakily and motioning for you to join him. You gathered up more blankets and propped yourself up next to him, nestling into his side for warmth. “This is the survival component of our celebration, when our holiday heroes reminisce on the true meaning of Christmas”. The heater coughed dramatically as Pike pouted in opposition. “How do you suppose Christmas will be in Washington D.C?’ he wondered, trying to shift his focus to the future, rather than the current dire circumstances. “What if we were there right now, instead of here. What would be doing?” he pondered, trying to coerce you both into a proactive, optimistic mindset.

“Well, no ice skating” you chattered next to him, laying your head down slightly on his shoulder. “I’m a complete klutz, as you know, and would only be cajoled into winter activities if hot chocolate is included” you chuckled as Pike nodded into your head.

“Obviously” he smiled, looking over at the Christmas Tree which somehow cheerily smiled back.

“I went to school on the East Coast, you know?” you offered “Hence the pink snowsuit for this bumbling California girl…” you giggled tentatively, reflecting on the many adventurous seasons of your life. “Made it to Washington D.C a few times; you’re gonna love it there” you encouraged.

“Why?’ Pike stifled a yawn, attempting to focus on the flickering candlelight dancing before him. “What could D.C possibly have that WE don’t at Pike’s Place?” he grinned ruefully, hearing the winds pick up slightly outside the whistling window pane.

“It’s true, Pike’s Place has excellent coffee, pancakes….and the STAFF” you rested your chin atop Pike’s shoulder gazing at his profile. “Sooooooo cute. I’m thinking of giving the manager my number” Pike gripped you tightly around the waist smiling to himself. “But D.C is pretty cool too. The food is amazing, and the history around every corner…”. You stopped to lock eyes with Pike conspiratorially.

“THE SMITHSONIAN!” you both intoned playfully, pulling the blankets around you a bit tighter.

“Oh my gosh we’ll LIVE there” you agreed dreamily. “I mean, YOU’LL live there, Art Squad” your eyes drifted down to the small manilla folder propped happily against the unknowing Christmas Tree. “What did you get me for Christmas?” you elbowed Pike in the side jovially as Marcus laughed to himself clandestinely.

“You’re just gonna have to wait for Christmas morning” Pike protested, shaking his head emphatically.

“If we make it that far” you whispered, gripping Pike more fervently as the wind howled menacingly above you. Pike gulped back his anxiety, determined to provide a stolid demeanor.

“What else would we do in D.C?” he blinked lazily, setting his head atop yours in an attempt to ground himself to the moment.

“Let’s see…We would tour the capital”…

“Check” he agreed.

“Enjoying the cherry blossoms by spring and the farmer’s markets by summer”…

“Check” he concurred.

“I’m partial to Thai Food so you’d need to bring that home at least once a week…”

“But how will I enjoy your…unconventional cooking?” he joked as you scoffed in mock offense.

“Because I’ll be sending you to work with the most indulgent peanut butter and jelly sandwiches anyone has ever tasted” you promised, linking your fingers with his and shivering in the cooling cabin. For one terrifying moment the heater completely stilled, its exhausted fans clicking slowly to a silence as the blizzard batted against the punctured windowpane. Pike held his breath momentarily as the heater shook hesitantly back to life, pumping a few steady breaths of warmth over your tingling bodies.

The cabin was silent as you and Pike held one another tentatively.

“What do you think is the meaning of life?” Pike whispered, closing his eyes and burying himself in the shampooed vanilla fragrances of your hair.

You chuckled in bittersweet acknowledgement, shrugging your shoulders with curiosity. “Is hypothermia starting to set in, Agent Pike?” you halfheartedly questioned, acknowledging the looming possibility in the recesses of your mind.

Marcus beamed, thankful to be battling the given circumstances, whilst still enjoying your acerbic sense of humor. “We’re not quite there yet…” he mused, wriggling his toes determinedly and reflecting on the many art pieces he had admired over the years. “I just…love what I do…I love appreciating beauty and art, and humanity. Sorry I’m getting all existential on you…”.

“Apocalyptic blizzards will do that, you know?” you pulled back slightly, gazing intently into his eyes pointedly. “What do YOU think the meaning of life is?” you felt yourself melting into the moment, fixated on the beautiful features of his face, the candlelight beginning to blur everything around you in a hypnotic haze.

“I don’t know” he stated lowly, licking his lips dryly and admiring the cinnamon freckles dotting the bridge of your nose…and perhaps elsewhere. “None of the artists I work to protect are even alive anymore. But their beauty…” he paused to touch your face delicately, watching your eyelids flutter shut. “…their beauty lives on and on. The things we love. The purpose we give ourselves…Some of it kind of goes on forever and ever, I think. So I guess it’s…love. The meaning of life is love, actually”…

And then you were kissing. You couldn’t immediately place when you had begun, but much like Pike’s existential pondering, it seemed to have an element of infinity to it. No beginning and no end. Just breath after breath of one another, in a cyclical loop of forever. A comforting, nurturing, beautiful rose of infinitude. Maybe even, of love.

You enjoyed one another for quite some time, unaware of the heater flickering in and out of existence, as you found other means to warm yourselves by the now extinguished fireplace. Finally pausing to catch your breath, Pike pulled you into his arms, lowering you both to the floor, cushioned by the pillows and blankets surrounding you. “This is a Christmas I will never forget” Pike reflected, somewhere between a laugh and a whimper, watching your head rise and fall atop his chest with his breath.

“It’s definitely one for the books” you grinned, wrapping your fingers around his firmly, a new batch of tears threatening to spill forward. “Since we are setting up our last will and testaments, I just want you to know how much the last week has meant to me, Marcus”.

Pike hummed contentedly, his hold on you relaxing ever so slightly.

“I was determined to keep a cold exterior, but even a blizzard couldn’t keep my heart frozen forever. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness and warmth through this whole adventure, and I couldn’t be more grateful to you…for everything” you admitted.

“That’s the magic of Pike’s Place” he slurred, breathing steadily as his head lolled against yours.

“When we get out of this nightmare, you should really think about starting a Bed and Breakfast. Your pancakes are to DIE for, though something about your fireplace leaves something to be desired…” you paused, anticipating Pike’s retort, but nothing arrived.

“Pike?”

You gazed down at Pike’s hand which felt heavy in yours. Shifting your body quickly you looked up at Marcus’ face which had gone slack, his mouth slightly ajar, but chest still moving steadily.

“PIKE?!!” you yelled into the abyss, but his arms dropped loosely from your grasp to the floor with a dull thud. You snapped to attention, gaping around the room wildly for inspiration. “Don’t do this to me, Agent! Don’t leave me alone on Christmas Eve!” you yelled, willing a miracle to occur. You straddled his waist awkwardly, pounding on his chest animalistically as the tears began to flow freely. “Don’t you dare!” you cried through gritted teeth, rubbing your hands aggressively over his arms and neck helplessly, unsure of what to do next. The heater seemed to give one final exhausted cough of existence before grinding to a halt as Pike’s breaths similarly shallowed. “I just found you! I just found you!” you whimpered, gripping him tightly between your thighs and hugging your body to him with desperation. You grabbed the nearby water bottle slopping a few tentative drops across his face as he stirred once again. More. You needed more. Flinging yourself towards the door you crawled army style over the blankets and around the flickering candlelight for the last desperate option you could think of. Hauling yourself to your feet you flung the door open to in an icy barrage of wind and snow, which all but blew out the remaining candles. Nearly tripping over the doorstep you gathered a handful of ice and stumbled back into the freezing cabin hovering just a moment over Pike’s unconscious frame with indecision. More. You needed more. Adrenaline.

Wincing slightly in anticipatory empathy you smashed the powdery ice alongside Marcus’ now pallid countenance, sliding your fingers down the sides of his neck and shoulders, plunging him into a snowy alarm. Pike’s eyes flew open in surprised distress, grabbing at your hands solidly and sitting up abruptly. Biting back a cry of shock, he breathed in the cold night air which whipped cinematically through your hair, stinging your cheeks, but bringing Pike back to life and back to reality. “I’m awake! I’m awake!” he mumbled, blearily grasping at your tear stained face and looking around the darkened room haphazardly. The temperature immediately plummeted as the heater shrank into stolid stone and a vacuum of cold drenched the cabin in clarifying oxygen and steely darkness. You may have averted the immediate disaster, but had just literally opened the door on the next impending crisis. “How long was I out?” Pike shouted over the howling winds as you sat atop him crying and shivering.

“M-maybe a minute? T-two m-minutes?” you shouted back as your teeth chattered together violently.

“God, it’s a breath of fresh air!” he grinned, but immediately sobering to the new circumstances. “I’ve gotta keep you warm! If the carbon monoxide didn’t kill us, the cold will!” he observed, lifting you up by your elbows and holding you tightly. “At least nothing else can go wrong at this point!” he exclaimed, until it did.

A deafening boom shattered the relative stillness and a flash of light exploded into the atmosphere, rattling the nearby windows and sending a fresh cascade of wind and snow into the icy cabin. Whether from shock or impact your body splayed over Marcus’ figure as the vibrational blast flattened you against him suddenly. Shaking with cold and anxiety, you held one another for a time, until Marcus pulled back to look into your surprised face. “You okay, Pink?” he apparently shouted, though it seemed to be slightly muffled in the chaos.

“I think so!” you retorted, feeling equally dulled. Rolling to the side you did a quick body scan of one another as Pike pulled you to your feet shakily, heading towards the open doorway. Squinting into the snow flurry the woodshed burned brightly, silhouetted against the night sky. You flashed on the theatrical snapshot of “Gone With the Wind” as Pike draped his arm around your waist, magnetically pulled towards the residual heat.

“Well, there goes the generator” Pike’s now alert expression flickered ominously against the backdrop of billowing smoke and flickering flames. “I’d be thankful for the warmth if it didn’t promise to extinguish so quickly” he surmised, already bracing against the frigid winds.

You both stood in the doorway, thankful to be with one another, but desperate to be anywhere else, as it seemed Christmas, and your very survival was immediately going up in flames. “What do we do now?” you questioned, looking into Pike’s determined face and hoping upon hopes he would manage to offer yet another solution.

“I don’t know” he acquiesced. “We’re just gonna have to find some other way of keeping warm”.

*thanks @unknown-till for the cool dividers!

Pinterest Mood Boards

Thanks @inept-the-magnificent for that fun Pinterest prompt, it made me realize how much I enjoy those quick little vibes and snacks. Pop on Pinterest and select your top 5 images for celebrity, beverage, fashion, aesthetic and style. Meanwhile, what if we tried a Moodboard Monday?

I know Papi, if only the answers always came so easily...