Some Would Sing (Chapter 3)

A/N: Sherlock is curious about his new neighbor. What is she hiding?

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this fic may do things that are dangerous, toxic, and otherwise unkind/unhealthy. As the author, I do not agree with or condone these actions.

It wasn't until much later I learned our neighbor was harboring a dark secret. And it wasn't until much later than that, I learned what that secret was. Sherlock, however, was determined to know exactly our neighbor was about, she had intrigued him so. Often, I was worried she would call the police on him…

Since the night Marylin was discovered by her cousin she waited – unable to sleep most nights – for him, or one of his people, to come for her. For two weeks she waited, going about her days trying to feel some semblance of normal. She now worked at the Mayfair Library – which was only a twenty-minute walk from her home – and spend every second of her time there deep in her work.

Some evenings, she would be at the gym barely a kilometer away from home, throwing herself into her jiu-jitsu training or self-defense classes. Even on no sleep, and over a year out of practice, she was heads and tails above most of the students. Marylin could hardly hold that against them for she was the only one in the class who had experienced any life-threatening situations.

She had also successfully avoided interacting with her new neighbors, much to her satisfaction. John, who she suspected was job-hunting, was already out when she would leave for work and she was able to avoid him when she returned home. Sherlock, surprisingly, had kept his distance since that night. Marylin caught him staring down at her from his window, but that was the extent of their interactions since then.

No explanations, no inquiries about her wellbeing, nothing. And that was exactly how she wanted it. Sherlock Holmes' dangerous games had no place for her, not when she was already in too deep herself.

Those two weeks were hell. Constantly checking her whereabouts, her home security, flinching if someone so much as spoke to her. She wanted something to take the edge off… but had promised herself she wouldn't. That was what she had done when he had her taken. That couldn't happen again.

So, Marylin went about her days. Working, classes, home. Working, classes, home. Over and over and over, letting the mundanity of her new life wash over her with dread. Awaiting the moment it would all come crashing down around her. The worst of it all was she almost wished it would.

"She leaves at ten-thirty in the morning and returns at approximately six-fifteen each evening, Tuesday through Saturday." Sherlock thought as he watched Marylin leave her flat that morning. "But on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evenings she returns home and leaves minutes after with a leather case, not returning until nearly two hours later. Appearance is typically disheveled, face flushed, and her always perfect hair is mussed."

He had of course gone through many possibilities: Marylin was a smuggler for a secret ring of black-market dealers he had yet to bust, she was running drugs, she was a Jehovah's Witness, or she was an escort. But none of those options made sense. It was beginning to frustrate Sherlock; his neighbor was practically an enigma. From their first meeting, he had deduced nearly everything about her incorrectly. Which was not a common occurrence.

And since then, he had not had much of an opportunity to observe her. Well, not since the night she swept into the flat, the night she let something in that carefully crafted mask of her slip through. When he had held her to keep her from fleeing or falling to her knees before Jeff Hope.

She seemed terrified, but not of the killer who had been right in front of her, which was curious. And he wanted to figure her out. But John never went out of his way to chat her up, and Sherlock himself never found the right opportunity to observe her. She kept to a rigid schedule, unlike him, and he'd had more pressing matters to attend to.

But she was a nagging, ringing bell at the back of his head and Sherlock was determined to figure out where she went three times a week. He had on his scarf and coat and was out the door before John could even ask where he was headed.

Quickly and discreetly, Sherlock tailed Marylin through the busy sidewalks. He was careful to keep out of her line of vision, staying several feet away from her. Thankfully, she did not seem to notice. Sherlock would have been surprised if she had, seeing as most people he came into contact with were unable to observe basic things about themselves. He also wondered how she walked in the shoes she was wearing. Stylish, but tall t-strap pumps.

At about two kilometers away from Baker St, Marylin crossed the road toward a large, old-fashioned building and entered. The sign outside indicated it was the Mayfair Library, a popular wedding venue as well as retaining its status as a public library. Sherlock filed that information away for later.

The library's hours were precisely eleven am to six pm, so it was obvious to Sherlock that Marylin worked there, as her coming and going coincided with the library's operating hours.

Once the time on his phone showed the time as ten after eleven, Sherlock made his way across the street and into the now open library. It was a decidedly antique building, accented with dark wood from floor to ceiling. Lovely, old staircases, full to bursting bookshelves, and blue carpeting. All in all, a nice library.

His icy blue eyes scanned the room until he caught sight of carefully styled blonde hair and bottle-green shirtwaist dress and hurried off in that direction. As Sherlock came up behind Marylin he noticed the full book trolly she was pushing with ease.

"She must be rather strong." He mused.

Marylin still had not noticed him behind her. He surmised she must be used to people coming into close proximity to her in this environment.

"Excuse me, Miss," Sherlock said in an attempt to catch her attention. "I'm looking for a book, but I can't seem to find it."

Marylin jumped and whirled around to face him, brandishing a heavy book. She did not make a sound however, which was puzzling. Her fight and flight response seemed to direct immediately to "fight". Interesting. As for the why, Sherlock was near to bursting to uncover the reason.

"I apologize for frightening you, Ms. Montgomery." He said with an easy, practiced smile.

"Oh," Marylin sighed. "It's you."

Sherlock almost frowned at her words but decided to keep his face neutral friendly. He found that "friendly" made most people more willing to divulge certain information.

"What do you want Mr. Holmes? I assume this is not a casual visit?" Marylin said icily.

"You would be correct in that assumption, Ms. Montgomery." Sherlock replied, pleasantly surprised. People normally were not so astute. Though, he supposed, he rarely did anything casually.

"But she could hardly know that, could she? She has only lived next door for a few weeks."

"I see you have still taken offence from our first introduction." He stated.

"And I see you are still insufferably arrogant, and incorrect." A small smirk curved her well-shaped, red mouth. "I was offended, yes. Now I am not. You were wrong about me, which is amusing as you pride yourself on never being wrong."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" He asked, now becoming slightly annoyed.

"Oh, merely your demeanor. And your roommate, John Watson's, blog."

"You read his blog?"

"Yes. I wished to know who my incredibly rude neighbor was, so I asked your landlady, Mrs. Hudson. She said you and John both had a website." The smirk turned into a smile. "While you do have some interesting content on your site, I'm not sure many of London's populous are interested in the decomposition rate of human toes."

Interesting. Marylin had done her research.

"But you are?" Sherlock asked.

"The human body is an interesting topic." Her answer and accompanying shrug were non-committal, which Sherlock noticed. "You never answered my question though."

"Which was?"

"What do you want?" Marylin repeated, then asked, "Did you follow me to work?"

That tripped him up. He had not expected her to realize that little detail.

"Of course I haven't." He replied after a second of recovery.

"You really are a snobbish git." Marylin said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not the cow-eyed moron you think me to be, Sherlock Holmes."

"I never said you were a cow-eyed moron." His deep voice was now soft.

If John were there, he would have been making self-satisfied comments about "tact" and other silly notions. Now Sherlock supposed John could have been right about certain situations.

"I suppose you didn't…" Marylin sighed, turning to her book trolly. "Look, I've got books to shelve. I am sure you have noticed we use the Dewey Decimal system, like most libraries. That should help you find your book. If not, we've computers to help."

And that was that. Marylin left, pushing the trolly, and leaving Sherlock feeling like he had been caught in a whirlwind. Now he needed to know where she was going this evening.

Hours later, Sherlock Holmes was in his flat watching the sidewalk from his living room window. He had started to feel the beginnings of guilt as he watched Marylin walk away from him at the library, but guilt was a distracting emotion. He could not let distractions in while he was thinking. So, he became petulant instead.

It was six-fifteen and there was no sign of Marylin. She had not returned home, nor had she retrieved her case from inside her flat. And she definitely had not left for the unknown location to which she disappeared, leaving Sherlock more and more perplexed each time.

He was about to leave, to find her, when she came hurrying down the street and unlocked the door to her flat. Sherlock took a deep breath, and within minutes Marylin was leaving her flat again. Then he was off, after her like a bloodhound on a scent.

Again, Marylin weaved through the crowds as easily as she had that morning. It was almost difficult to keep up with her. Almost. She was still wearing those impractical shoes from earlier, which Sherlock attributed to her easy pace.

Eventually, she turned and headed inside a shop. Sherlock hurried to the place she had disappeared inside of and peered into the shop window. Inside were around twenty men and women gathered on mats, each wearing a gi. There was a smattering of blue and white belts among them, only the man Sherlock deduced to be the instructor was wearing a black belt.

A woman wearing a purple belt walked out of a room in the back and up to the instructor. It was Marylin. Her carefully coiffed hair was now braided back severely, and her face was scrubbed clean of makeup. Apparently, she was a practitioner of this martial art. Sherlock's eyes flicked up for a moment to read the sign.

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Self-defense, it back into the window, Sherlock saw that the group was now stretching and preparing to begin their lesson. Discreetly, he watched for a few moments longer, noticing the ease in which Marylin submitted a woman much larger than her. Her eyes, which had been on her opponent flashed toward the window and Sherlock ducked away, hopefully before she caught sight of him.

Impressed by her martial prowess, Sherlock walked home that evening with one question answered about his new neighbor, but a thousand more had surfaced. Who was Marylin Montgomery? Why had she come to the long unoccupied home next to his flat? What was she hiding? And most importantly, what was it about her that made her so damn intriguing?

It had been an odd day for Marylin. First, Sherlock Holmes had undeniably followed her to work that morning, which was troubling since she hadn't noticed until he showed up. Second, he tried to strike up a casual conversation with her after not speaking with her for weeks. Third, she was certain he had also followed her to class that evening due to the watchful, but nonthreatening presence she detected from the other side of the gym window.

As she walked home, refusing to take a taxi after the incident with the cabbie, she kept a watchful eye out for her curious neighbor. No sight of him with each meter Marylin walked and she began to get nervous.

Why was he just now beginning to… "interact" with her? What could she possibly offer despite a few moments' distraction? A few moments of diversion or intellectual stimulation with her secrets for sport? Sherlock seemed the type to like to uncover secrets, to reveal what has been hidden. But why now? Why did it have to be now?

Even the walk home and cool night air couldn't clear her head. Should she leave though she had not perceived any signs of danger? Sherlock Holmes certainly was. Not to his extent, perhaps, but a danger all the same.

As soon as she entered the door to her flat, Marylin locked the door, set aside her purse and the leather bag which contained her gi, and slipped off her heels. Then pulled her hair from her braid, shaking her head a few times to release the strands, and removed her coat, hanging it in the closet.

"Alexander!" Marylin called to her surprisingly quiet cat. "Alexander, darling, Mummy's home."

When he did not come trotting down the staircase Marylin began to ascend it in search of him, unbuttoning her dress as she climbed. She slid her arms out of the soft cotton, pulling it over her head, and stepped out of her petticoat, folding the garments over her arm as she entered the library.

"Alexander?" She called again, flicking on the lights.

What she saw before her when the lights illuminated the room, shocked her. Sat on her carved Victorian sofa was Sherlock Holmes, Alexander curled in his lap, fast asleep. The man, on the other hand, was staring straight at her, puzzlement etched upon his elegant features.

She could have screamed. Should have. It was the proper reaction to walking in on a man in one's home when one is only in their undergarments. But she did not. Instead, Marylin swept into the room with the air and grace of a queen, staring down the intruding man with such fierceness she was sure he nearly flinched.

"Why," she demanded. "Is my cat in your lap?"

Sherlock stared up at her quizzically. "You've discovered an intruder in your home, are in a compromising situation, and yet you wish to know why your cat is in my lap? Are you that brave, or just stupid?"

Without taking her eyes off him, Marylin retrieved a thin stiletto knife from her stocking and pointed it at his neck. She dropped her clothes and placed her free hand upon her hip, cocking her brow.

"The question, Mr. Holmes?"

Wonderment crossed his features for a moment before his expression slammed back into a mask of polite curiosity. "He seems to like me."

"Very well," she said coolly. "Now, why are you in my home? Why has my security system not been tripped?"

"I disabled it." He replied.

"How?"

"By disabling it."

Marylin observed him for a moment. He could have looked up public records about her, which she wouldn't put past him to do, but none of that would have told him anything. All of it was tailored to be perfectly unassuming, thank you very much. There was nothing there she would have used for the code, and nothing there that would indicate what she had used. The only explanation was…

"There is no way you would have guessed the code; you've actually broken my system!" She exclaimed.

"It's not as if it can't be repaired." He said dismissively, stroking her sleeping cat.

"Repaired!" She scoffed. "Of course, that's what I'm concerned about you blundering imbecile!"

Whether Sherlock started at the insult or the implication she was upset about something else, Marylin did not know. With a trembling hand, she replaced the stiletto and began gathering her clothes.

"I'll ask you once more before I call the police, Mr. Holmes," she hissed, turning to him again. "Why are you in my home?"

"Why are you in your undergarments?" He countered, removing a still sleeping Alexander from his lap, and stood.

"It's my house, you fool. I may do as I please in it. Now, answer my question."

"I wanted to figure you out."

"…figure out what?"

His eyes roved over her, though not salaciously. It seemed as though he were studying her, not undress her with his eyes. Which wouldn't have been hard to do since she was only in her bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings.

"You look different than before." He said finally.

"I'm nearly naked Mr. Holmes." Marylin replied.

He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

"What I mean is…" he paused, looking her over once again, this time she was certain she caught a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. "What I mean is, your appearance, your demeanor. They're completely different from before. When we first met, you seemed normal, and then…"

"Then what, Mr. Holmes? I must say, I'm growing rather impatient with you today."

"For starters, your dedication to your chosen era of dress does not appear to be for attention, since you're so clearly wearing the correct undergarments. You are still headstrong and hot-tempered but you seem more intelligent than you first appeared, and rather less neurotic."

Color drained from Marylin's face and dread flooded through her like ice water in her veins. "Get out…"

"You're hiding something Ms. Montgomery," Sherlock insisted as though he had not heard her, stepping closer. "I intend to find out what."

She felt boxed in. Tight. Trapped. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She could not breathe. She was being smothered. She could not breathe. She could not…

"I said get out." Her voice sounded eons away. So calm and controlled, as though she was not losing her mind. As though her eyes were not tunneling. Like she was brave, strong.

"As you wish," Sherlock said, studying her face intently as she gestured shakily toward the stairs.

"Leave." Was all she said.

Marylin willed her heart to slow as she watched him go, taking full, deep breaths. Her panic began to recede as she heard the front door slam shut. Instantly, she raced down the stairs, dropping her dress and petticoat in the process, and locked and deadbolted the door, leaning against it as she regained her composure.

Him. She would have to contact him. Her security system was ruined, there was no doubt as the wires were cut and sticking out from beneath the console. She could not believe she did not notice it before, but she was unused to having one in the first place.

He would have to have it fixed. Promised to protect her as a favor. He would not leave her defenseless tonight. But if Sherlock could disable such a system so quickly, then what good was it. He was just as clever, and had much more wicked intent. Surely something such as a security system would not deter him.

Head spinning, Marylin made her way into the kitchen. Alexander, who was now awake, trotted along behind her, meowing for his dinner. Oh, how she longed for something to take the edge off… To take away the shakes. The itch. But it was not to be, she wasn't about to go crawling around London's underbelly and risk exposing herself just for some second-rate cocaine or heroin. Alcohol just made it worse and she hadn't any marijuana to calm her nerves.

Tea would have to do. Scalding hot tea. And maybe a scone. If she had any that was.

When she flicked on the kitchen light, she blinked a few times as it illuminated him at her kitchen table. Sitting there as if he owned the place, umbrella propped up against the chair he sat in.

"Hello Ms. Montgomery," he said smoothly, a sardonic smile upon his aristocratic face.

"Oh hell." She sighed.

Oh hell indeed. He was here. And she had been so preoccupied with Sherlock Holmes… Was she trying to get herself killed?

"What are you doing, sitting here in the dark like some sort of vampire?" Marylin asked, hands on her hips. "You certainly have a flare for the dramatic."

Mycroft Holmes looked her up and down with a hint of distain. He seemed to have the same amount of interest for her lingerie clad body as her neighbor. Seeing him again, she had to admit there was definitely a resemblance. The two men did not particularly look alike, but their manner of speaking, the air of arrogant intelligence that poured off them. That was very much the same.

"I noticed your system was offline," He stated as if this were a typical topic of conversation, as if this was a normal occurrence. "I thought it best to come and check myself."

"I didn't know I mattered so much to you Mr. Holmes. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Marylin scoffed and set about feeding her surprisingly quite cat. Perhaps Mycroft unsettled him as much as he did her.

"I'm making tea," she told him. "Do you want any?"

"If you don't mind." He said.

When the tea was made, and Alexander fed, Marylin placed the pot and scones on the table, then moved to sit.

"Would it inconvenience you to put something on?" Mycroft asked.

"What for?" She asked disparagingly. "You're an unwanted guest in my house. It's your own fault if you see something you don't want to see."

Without a word, he was shrugging out of his suit jacket, and stood, placing it around Marylin's shoulders. He then pulled out a chair for her and waited until she was seated before returning to his own seat.

Now sat at the table, Mycroft's suit jacket covering her undergarments, Marylin stared at the man before her apprehensively.

"What is it with strange men breaking into my home?" She wondered aloud.

Mycroft laughed haughtily. "I'm hardly a stranger, Ms. Montgomery. I have a key."

"Right," she amended. "But you're here without notice. It almost constitutes as breaking in."

"We can argue semantics all night, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm here, and that there is a security risk."

"No, it doesn't. Shall I pour?"

"Please."

As she poured for them, Marylin noticed that her hands were shaking, and knew he had noticed as well.

"You seem familiar with your neighbor." Mycroft said, instead of commenting on her trembling.

"Your brother you mean," she retorted, glancing pointedly at him as she handed him his tea. "I'm not an idiot Mr. Holmes."

"So, you've figured it out, I see."

"It's not so difficult. You share a surname and are both highly intelligent."

That earned her a glare.

"A little sibling rivalry going on, Mycroft? I'd have thought you were too mature for that." Marylin teased, using his first name to annoy him.

"He's the one who insists on keeping it up," Mycroft sniffed. "Much to our mother's distress."

"I'm sure," Marylin demurred, smiling into her teacup.

An uneasy silence settled between them, punctuated by the occasional clink of China and Alexander smacking his lips as he devoured his wet food.

"If I had known you were coming, I'd have baked a cake." Marylin stated after a while, knowing it would get under his skin.

"You know I'm on a diet, Ms. Montgomery," he said with much displeasure. "It would have been a waste."

"Not for me," she laughed. "I would eat as much as I wished."

"Yes, I can see that," he studied her for a moment. "You seem well, your looks have improved since we last met."

"Yes," she agreed "I actually have fingernails now."

A look of displeasure crossed his face as he said, "Quite."

Marylin snorted into her tea in a very unladylike manner at the disgust on his face, then dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, I must laugh about it or it's too much to handle." She said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"It is quite alright Ms. Montgomery." He replied, but his voice had lost some of its smugness. She wouldn't comment on it though, knowing he preferred to pretend he was completely emotionless.

If it hadn't been for Mycroft Holmes owing her father a favor, Marylin likely would have been found and killed long before she could bury her old identity. And it was a pretty substantial favor. But the man before her was as dangerous as he was sharp, and she would do well to remember that.

"I'd appreciate it if you would stay away from my brother, Ms. Montgomery." Mycroft said, finishing his tea.

"You had better speak to him on that subject, Mycroft," Marylin replied airily, examining her fingernails. "He's the one who broke into my home and destroyed my security system. Not the other way around."

"You would be a danger to him, and by extension a more public danger to me. Do stay away if you can."

Marylin fixed him with a glare. "If I had any say in the matter, I would. I want nothing to do with your brother, he is a rude and arrogant prat! You would do well to warn him away from me, but I believe that would have the opposite effect if I've guessed your relationship correctly."

"I could threaten you, Marylin. Rescind my protection." He sneered, standing from his seat, and loomed over her threateningly.

"You could," she agreed, heart in her throat. "But you forget that I know all my father's clearance codes, and how to get the new ones once they change. I could bring your government down around your ears, you'd be so embroiled in scandal."

It was a gamble, but one she was willing to risk. Marylin knew the man she used to call "father" well enough that she could hack his personal and work accounts with ease, even after not seeing him for many months, and having no intention of seeing him again. Mycroft wouldn't risk her ousting some of the British government's darker secrets if he withdrew his protection.

"Well," Mycroft said, straightening his waistcoat and checking his pocket watch instead of acknowledging her threat. "I suppose I've taken up enough of your time."

"What did you even come here for," she hissed. "To warn me away from baby brother?"

"I came to see if you were still alive. Unfortunately for me, you are."

Marylin's expression morphed into one of finding a many-legged bug squished under her boot. She slid Mycroft's jacket off her shoulder and handed it back to him. He took it without a word, pointedly keeping his eyes no lower than her neck, and put it back on.

"So, are you going to fix my system or not?" Marylin asked, exasperation leaking into her voice. She was irritated. Annoyed. Afraid. Angry.

"I'll have a new one installed tomorrow." He replied, taking his umbrella in hand, and headed toward the front door.

"Well, what about tonight? What am I supposed to do, stay up and wait to see if I make it until morning?" She asked with condemnation, trailing along after him.

"You've been doing that anyway."

"Yes, and it's been hell."

Mycroft paused and turned to look at her once more. Whatever he saw in her face must have softened him somewhat, because he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as though he were tired from bearing a great burden.

"I'll have some men stationed around the neighborhood tonight," he said finally. "You can rest easy, though you probably won't, knowing you."

"That is correct, but I appreciate it all the same." Marylin said sincerely.

They stared at each other for a few moments before either of them spoke again. When they did, it was Marylin who spoke first.

"Did you know about that cabbie?" She asked, suppressing a shudder at the thought of his words, his tobacco and tea-stained teeth. "The one your brother outsmarted."

"Yes," Mycroft smiled sardonically. "Though, you're likely overestimating him."

"I surely hope not. That cabbie knew him."

With that, something changed in Mycroft's demeanor. His spine stiffened, eyes hardened, and hands clenched into fists.

"You're sure?" He demanded.

Marylin nodded, as sure of that as she was anything. "He said he knew someone who wanted to see me soon, and that he would find me eventually."

"That is…" Mycroft paused. "Troubling, but good news. If he wants to find you badly enough, he will make mistakes, or make a spectacle. All we have to do is wait for one or the other."

"If I don't die first…" Marylin muttered crossing her arms.

Mycroft sighed again, now looking very tired. Marylin thought he must be, carrying the weight of the national government on his shoulders. She almost felt guilty for teasing him, for being angry with him. Almost.

"Well, Ms. Montgomery," he said finally. "I'll take my leave now. Someone will be in touch soon, and you'll have a new system tomorrow. A better one."

"Thanks." She said, wishing him gone and wanting him to stay all the same. Not because she liked him. No, Mycroft Holmes was quite repellant to her, much like the ambitious man her father was. But he was safe. At least for her.

"You really should cover up when you have gentleman callers," he said disdainfully. "People will get the wrong idea about you."

"That's it! Get out!" Marylin exclaimed, face heating with indignation, and pushed him toward the door, flinging it open.

As the cool night air wafted through the open door, Marylin's temper only burned hotter. With a mocking wave, Mycroft Holmes sauntered out of the house and to the street where a dark car awaited him.

As he entered it, Marylin slammed the door of her house as forcefully as she could, locking it behind her. Anger and humiliation burned within her. She hated relying on Mycroft, on anyone, for her safety. Oh, she teased him, acted outrageously, but he was like all the others in her life. Controlling, manipulative, and arrogant.

Tears welled in her eyes as Alexander wound around her stockinged legs, meowing mournfully. Picking him up, Marylin snuggled her face into his fur and started up the stairs. Likely to another fearfully and sleepless night.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I look forward to your feedback!

For Marylin's clothes in this chapter, its kind of a mix of 1940's and 1950's inspired pieces. I like to mix eras with my clothes, and she does as well because she's my character... Ha. Anyway, this site has some cool images and descriptions of some of the pieces Marylin wears throughout this fic, so have a look!

/1940s/1940s-lingerie-history/
/1950s/1950s-lingerie/
/1950s/1950s-fashion-women-get-look/

I am constantly updating my Lullaby Playlist: playlist/1FV5C8nEAbC5xthyVwSmq2?si=595494eb7a8a4fa0

It sets the tone and atmosphere for the characters and the fic, so I encourage you to have a listen while you read.

I have cross-posted this story on Ao3 and will likely also post it to wattpad.