"We're gonna bloody leave without you if you take too much longer," Tiger yelled back into the flat, where Tom and Alex were arguing over…face-paint? Who got to wear which jersey? Lion wasn't sure, exactly. All he knew was that while he wasn't about to leave them, they probably needed to get a move on if they were going to make it to the game on time, including with parking and security.
"That includes you, Bear," Tiger added after a second, and Lion could definitely agree on that.
"Coming, coming," Bear responded, finally exiting the bathroom quite thoroughly decked out in Chelsea gear. He had a jersey, white sweatpants he'd spray-painted blue, gold, and red for the occasion, the Chelsea logo drawn clumsily on his left cheek, and his winter garments (hat, gloves, scarf, everything) were all within the Chelsea color wheel. "I'm ready! How do I look?"
"Like bloody autumn incarnate," Tiger muttered, and Lion couldn't suppress a laugh—Bear definitely took the prize for most team spirit. Especially considering he was a Manchester United fan, most days.
"You're not dressed up at all, prat," Bear defended, taking off one glove so he could mess with something on his phone. "Lion, neither are you! Where's the spirit?"
"…I think you've got enough for the three of us," Lion admitted. He'd worn everything he'd had that was blue, but he hadn't gone to such lengths as Bear.
Bear rolled his eyes, pocketing his phone. "Weak. Oi, brats! We're gonna leave without you! We've been waiting ages, hurry it up!"
"Oh, you bloody yatsume," Tiger muttered.
"Coming, coming, don't rush perfection," Tom shouted from the back room, dragging Alex after them. Lion had to admit—Tom didn't seem like he did anything halfway. Alex and Tom were both decked out as much as they could both be, a bit more subtly than Bear, but anyone could tell they were both die-hard fans.
Lion smiled. Alex was grinning with a sun-bright smile, dressed head to toe in blue and gold. "Sorry we took so long, Tom wanted to switch jerseys at the last minute."
"Oh, sure, blame it all on me like you wouldn't have sulked all day if you hadn't gotten to wear Drogba's jersey."
"I would not have sulked."
"Oh, you bloody liar, just like you didn't sulk when Jamison stole your Chelsea keychain before the championship game in Year 6? You blamed the loss on him for two bloody years! You're more superstitious than my grandma, and she's had all her bloody mirrors covered since I could walk!"
"I was eleven, Tom!"
Lion laughed as Tiger scolded them for taking so long, no matter the reason, and ushered them into the lift, tickets in his bag. Although Lion was easily the most responsible one of the group (and he knew it), Tiger was actually somewhat obsessive with his time; he planned his schedules to the minute, and trips like these were no exception. He'd deny it if asked, but Lion knew for a fact he had a printed itinerary somewhere on his person, and Alex and Tom had probably knocked him off schedule, which was why he was grumpier than usual.
Still, after the time Alex had been having, Lion would do just about anything to keep that smile on Alex's face.
…
The game was the most normal I'd felt in a very, very long time.
It was a piece of the Alex before Matthew, before Agent Rider, before Here Lies Ian Rider, and before I saw blood seeping from dead bodies and not from the familiar cuts and scrapes of football. It was so, so far away from who I was now that I was almost scared it was going to be too much, but it wasn't.
It was amazing.
Security scared me, simply because I was worried that everyone in a uniform somehow knew that I was a liar and in hiding, and I was so afraid that they were going to be on to me, but we passed through with ease. The fact that the stadium was located in London didn't help, either; sure, there were 60,000 people attending this game, but the knowledge that I had a lot of friends who liked footie and the knowledge that I might be recognized was still eating at me. I thought I'd hidden my unease well enough until Lion skimmed a hand over my hair and squeezed the back of my neck in reassurance.
I glanced up at him, distracted by his gesture from Tom (who was bouncing around the stadium like a bloody fool, determined to see every part of it) and Lion sent me an even smile. "All good?"
With a reluctant smile of my own, both unnerved and relieved that he seemed to be able to sense when I was feeling off so correctly nowadays, I nodded. "Just…security, and it's in London. I just know a lot of people here—Alex does."
"Mm," he confirmed, sending a look of his own to Bear, probably to keep him in his sights. Tiger had a hand locked firmly around his forearm and was dragging him away from the merchandise booth, yelling at Tom stay in his sight. I wondered why Tiger had seemed so tense all day. "We're all fine. I doubt they care very much about the people coming through, anyhow. Most of them are volunteers with bright vests and badges," he said with a roll of his eyes. I supposed as someone who knew how awful terrorist attacks could be, he was a little miffed that they hadn't been taking the job more seriously. "And if anyone recognizes you, we'll take care of it and you and Tom are going to go hunker down in the bathroom or something until we can get it sorted, yeah? No worries."
I huffed a laugh of acknowledgement under my breath, grateful for the reassuring words. "You're right. I'm just worried."
"That's fine, but don't let it ruin today. Let me do the worrying, and you just enjoy."
I had to smile, something like fondness in my gesture, but some sadness, too, as I glanced at him. "You worry too much. It's going to make you gray." And he was fairly pretty young, too—despite my comment. I couldn't and wouldn't expect him to take on all my demons just so I could enjoy things, no matter how much he tried. I knew all too well that there was only so much someone could give of themselves before there was too little left. "We can split it, though. The worry."
Lion blinked, his eyebrows rising the slightest bit, but there was humor in his eyes. "I'll take it."
Emirates Stadium was a monstrous thing, I was coming to realize. The only games I'd ever gone to had been at the Stamford Bridge stadium (home stadium of Chelsea), which held 20,000 less people than this one did. Since the game was at home for the Arsenal team this time, we were here at this gigantic thing. It was similar in structure to Stamford Bridge, swathed in red instead of blue, just so much bigger and intimidating. The concessions area was already bustling, even though we were an hour early, rushing with writhing fans in red dotted with the occasional Chelsea fan in proud, bright blue. I was glad I wasn't by myself at another team's stadium—being in a group made the veiled glances of contempt from some of the more hardcore Arsenal fans a bit easier to bear.
I'd forgotten how expensive concessions prices were, too. I tapped nervously at my pocket, feeling my phone and wallet inside, my knuckles throbbing faintly from where I'd punched the mirror last week. It was almost healed, but they still twinged, sometimes. I got a water and called it a day—I supposed I could always come back later, and I wasn't very hungry right now, anyway.
Once we managed to corral Bear and Tom, luckily before they spent their respective life savings (Tom on merchandise and Bear on food) we found our seats. They were towards the back of the rows, but on the lower deck instead of in the nosebleeds, which I was a bit surprised about and excited for—the view was brilliant. I was sat between Lion and Tom towards the end, just one seat from the aisle, with Bear on the other side of Tom and Tiger on the other end.
It was still forty minutes until the game was supposed to start, but some of the players were already warming up. I picked out my favorites, including Drogba and Lukaku, and I saw Arrizabalaga warming up in the goal—I'd watched a lot of his film when I was learning how to goal keep in Year 7. I watched his familiar motions, the way he seemed to guard the sizable goal with just his hands and motions, and smiled at how normal it felt. Tom talked my ear off when his favorite strikers finally started warming up, pointing out all of their habits and signature moves as they jogged around their side of the field with each other, passing or attacking the goal in sync to get things going.
I smiled. So stupidly normal.
"So I'm more of a hockey fan," Lion finally admitted, twenty minutes before the game started. I glanced at him, startled out of reading the statistics on the big screen by his sudden comment. There was a faint hint of embarrassment in his eyes, probably because he'd waited so damn long to admit he didn't like this sport in the first place. "Could you explain a little bit? I know what football is and how points are scored, I just don't know specific positions or penalties."
Something in me was incredibly warm at the prospect of him taking his time to come to a game with us, even if he didn't much care for the sport, or didn't know a lot about it.
"Sure," I agreed, unable to hide the smile as I started talking, everything coming so naturally even after a couple years of talking and thinking so much more about espionage and terrorism. I was glad this part of me wasn't lost for good. "So, that one in the goal? He's the keeper. He can use any part of his body to block a shot on the goal, but it's really not recommended that he come too far out of the box—see those lines on the field, around the goal? And those two up there, warming up by the line down the middle of the field, those are the strikers…"
Lion listened patiently, even when I started rambling more than I'm sure was strictly necessary, but he nodded along and even asked questions. I couldn't tell if he was just kind of placating me or if he was genuinely interested, but I was glad for the opportunity to talk about it anyways.
I trailed off as the game was finally about the start, the crowds roaring as each of their teams came running out the locker rooms to line up, playing the anthem and each team's promotional video. The entire stadium stood, the thundering sounds of 60,000 cheers echoing off the walls and the grass and even into the sky. I was sure we could be heard miles away. Lion must have felt me flinch when the cheering first started, because he was quick to drop an arm around my shoulders as the shouting continued.
Because it was an away game for Chelsea, we were surrounded by Arsenal fans who weren't afraid to be loud. Most of them kind of ignored us, but I did see a couple of people send looks of general contempt our way when it was the Chelsea fans' turns to cheer. I ignored them, and the others did too—prat fans were a given for most games, anyhow.
The game started quickly and continued uneventfully for the first twenty minutes, but I was on the edge of my seat the entire time, literally. I watched every move, analyzed and was surprised to recognize every formation and strategized play, in awe of the goalkeepers' movements—on both sides—and wholeheartedly enthralled with this sport. God, I missed it.
"Oi, Al," Tom said about fifteen minutes in, punctuated with an elbow to my arm. "You alright? You're laser focused."
I met his eyes with a distant grin, flicking my own quickly back to the field, afraid to miss a single minute. A single second, a single play. "I miss this. I miss football. And this is a good game."
I saw Tom continue to look at me for a few long seconds, something unreadable in his eyes, before he smiled a much more docile smile than usual, patting my upper arm. "Yeah, it misses you too, mate."
Chelsea scored six minutes later.
The fans in blue went wild.
I had never been so thankful for a gift.
Little by little, so, so slowly, living with L-Unit—Lion and Bear and Tiger—had made me feel more human again. More…real, like I told Tom. I remembered how I was when I joined just a few months ago, strung out and scared and just so bloody tired. I remembered waiting for Tiger to shoot me in the back, for Bear to stop trying to be nice to me, for Lion to talk to Sergeant about having me removed from the unit, and I was resigned to allow these things to happen. I was resigned to being looked down on and ignored and cast away—
And against all odds, against all the actions of normal people, they hadn't done that. They'd kept me. Despite the assassin on their doorstep, my getting captured on our first mission, my seemingly unending depression and fear of people and things and crowds and being alone and everything—the stark, unwavering knowledge that any day I could be back in the claws of the ones who were after me—they didn't see me as trouble or a burden or a hardship. If they did, they were doing an excellent job of hiding it.
They kept me, and helped me heal. They watched me spiral into suicidal urges and dragged me back up. They bought me football tickets and gloves and gave me a key and a home and a—a fucking family after I told myself I didn't need one.
And now, since I heard the doorbell ring in the middle of the night, I felt so, so dangerously close to normal.
Not whole, not healed, but somewhere closer than I was. Somewhere in the middle.
So much better.
I smiled, and cheered with my family and best friend and fellow fans, and the roar didn't make me flinch. Instead, I joined in, screaming at the top of my lungs, so, so grateful for the chance to be alive.
…
Chelsea won the game 3-1, and the entire game went very well—Chelsea was never down or tied, and by the time the 90 minutes was over, and overtime began, all of which I relayed and explained to Lion, it was pretty obvious that Arsenal didn't have much of a chance left in the game. I wasn't sure what their conditioning had been like so far, but the players were exhausted, and Chelsea's were still moving with ease.
I'd acquiesced to Tiger's insistence that I eat something from the concessions, as it was pretty much lunchtime, so I'd been nibbling on a hot dog for the last half hour by the time the game ended. I finished it quickly and gathered the trash around my seat while the other Chelsea fans roared, ignoring the grumbling Arsenal fans filing out of their seats.
I couldn't help the excited buzz in my blood, the familiar thrill of watching my team play in win, heightened exponentially by the atmosphere in the stadium, fellow blue fans riding the high of victory.
Lion was giving me one of his stupid smiles, probably in response to the grin on my face.
"Stop it," I said, but I couldn't stop smiling anyway.
He rolled his eyes, tousled my hair, but didn't stop smiling. It had been a nearly perfect day.
The trouble came in the car park, actually. I hadn't figured we'd have a day of no trouble, not with me around, but I did like to hope.
We'd successfully escaped the raucous crowd with minimal casualties, and Tom was talking about his favorite play—Chelsea's second point, a slide score by his favorite striker, right in between two huge defenders and tipped just into the goal, quite literally close enough to brush and keeper's hands. It had been nothing short of a miraculous shot, and the crowd had gone mental. I laughed with him, also pretty impressed by that play. We were walking a bit behind the other guys—Tiger was leading, as he was the only one who remembered where we'd parked in the frankly enormous parking lot, and Lion was listening to Bear's rambling not unlike me and Tom. Bear was a surprisingly big footie fan, himself.
There were lots of other fans around us also going to their cars, so things were a little crowded, especially weaving between the lines of traffic already poised to exit the lot. I was glad it was a garage and not an open lot—it was snowing outside, and even with the roof, the exposed sides of the garage let the bitten cold seep in, and I was ready to be warm. Two Arsenal fans, middle aged men and obviously intoxicated by the way they were stumbling, were walking towards us, probably lost. One of them was clicking the lock button on his car keys incessantly, probably listening for their car horn.
I was already aware of them, unsurprisingly, so I tried to tug Tom inconspicuously out of the way as they passed, but one of them swayed enough that he knocked Tom's shoulder anyway.
"Oh, sorry," Tom said offhandedly, prepared to continue his rant.
I would've let him, but I saw the anger in the man's eyes almost as soon as he bumped Tom and was quick to tug Tom back by his elbow.
"What the fuck," the one who'd been bumped slurred, eyes crossed in contempt. He was wearing a number 8 jersey and had what looked like 2 days of stubble. Then he saw Tom's jersey. "Fucking Chelsea. Think you're better than us? That it?"
Tom's eyes widened the more he spoke, and I felt something like resigned exhaustion in my bones.
One day. Just one day.
"He apologized," I said, pulling Tom all the way behind me despite the way he resisted. Never mind that the man had bumped into him. "Sorry again. It was an accident."
I turned, nodding further down the cars to indicate to Tom that we were leaving. He turned, but not fully, keeping his eyes on me. I flicked my eyes in the others' direction; they'd seen that something was obviously wrong and started back towards us, weaving through opposing traffic. They didn't know what was going on, but there was concern all the same.
"Alex—" Tom said in warning, pulling my wrist as his eyes widened at something behind me, but I caught the brunt of the shove at my back all the same.
I stumbled forward, and immediately, I was in a war zone.
I was still present enough to know where I was, mostly, but there was also an undeniable sense of danger with the man at my back, so I was quick to turn around, wrenching my arm from Tom's scared grip with more force than was probably necessary.
"You don't want to do this," I said finally, well aware that there were eyes beginning to look our way. Someone pulled out a phone. I couldn't be filmed. I could not be filmed. If it was streamed—if it was posted— "It was a mistake. You're just going to end up arrested if you keep going."
"Little shit," his buddy said, and they advanced on us. One of them went for Tom.
I immediately went for the one advancing on Tom, who hadn't backed away at all—despite his small stature, he was far from a coward, and I knew he didn't want to leave me—but the man was drunk and big and clumsy, and it wasn't hard to grab the front of his shirt and pull him off balance, then kick out his knee from the back and send him tumbling to the ground at Tom's feet.
"Tom, get back," I ordered, aware of the multiplying eyes, the phone, the security guards rushing over from the post a few rows down (I suppose they'd been alerted), Tom's position—but I'd been focused on making sure Tom was safe, and on the camera that was still pointed at me bloody hell what if someone saw it what if I was found what if what if—
…and I wasn't paying attention to the other one.
Someone grabbed my shirt collar from behind, and the danger increased, and it became a fight for my life. I thought of all the people who'd grabbed me like this, or attacked me from behind, and suddenly when I was turned around and shaken like a child with a hand around my collar and another painfully tight around my bicep it wasn't a sloppy old drunk that I could take in my sleep, but it was Nile, and it was Drevin, and it was Vole and Rothman and McCain and Conrad—
—and then it was Lion, with a look of worry and hatred all rolled into one, the look I saw on his face the day I stopped his father from hurting Jonah, the one I'd distinctly thought I never wanted to see again, tearing the man's hands from my collar and throbbing bicep and hurling him to the concrete at the feet of the security guards who'd just arrived.
I couldn't tell where I was anymore. All I knew was that there was a camera, and that was bad, but I couldn't see where all the noise was coming from. I didn't know what I was seeing. I didn't know if it was blood on the battlefield with enemies in front of me and enemies masquerading as allies behind me. I didn't know if it was a parking garage with too many people. I didn't know if Tom was still here. Lion was still here.
Why was he here? I never wanted him anywhere near MI6. I never wanted them to find him. Had I failed him too?
Hands found my shoulders, and I flinched, turning to look, but there was still a confusing mixture of civilians and enemies everywhere I turned, and the hands wouldn't let me go. I was being pushed, away, away, away from the eyes and the camera—that's good, but I still couldn't tell where it was coming from—between two metal things. Cars? Military Jeeps? Four-wheelers? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
Hands on my shoulders. Hands on my shoulders. I flinched back, putting my hands out in front of me like I could ward off whatever's trying to hurt me, whoever's hurting me, but they just moved to my wrists and even though it didn't hurt it was still hands on me and I was scared because I couldn't fight back if I didn't know who I was fighting—
"Alex, Jesus, it's just me, mate, it's just me, I'm Bear! I'm Bear, okay? You're in the car park of Emirates Stadium, it's like—I dunno, sometime after eighteen hundred? We're both wearing a shit ton of blue because we were at the Chelsea-Arsenal game, which we won, by the way, we kicked arse—Alex, look at me, mate. I'm here. We're all here, no one's hurting you—Lion taught the bastard a lesson, alright? No one's hurting you. No one can hurt you right now."
Slowly, slowly, I started to reconcile Bear's voice with my surroundings—the car park, not a mansion where I was being held or a plane in the air with Sabina, or a Jeep with enemies or a cool stare from a man in a gray suit. Not enemies, not enemies dressed like allies, but friends. Family.
"…Bear," I finally breathed, no longer fighting his hold on my wrists, no longer backing away from him. Things faded back into focus one at a time—the crowd looking at us where we were wedged between cars away from the scene, the security guards holding the two drunks in cuffs, another talking to Lion who had his arm protectively around Tom, Tiger talking to a kid in a red hoodie with the Arsenal logo and a phone—
"—the phone," I said as soon as I'd caught my breath, losing it just as quickly, glancing up at Bear with desperate eyes. I barely recognized the concern in his. "The camera, he was recording—"
"Tiger's talking to him," Bear assured quickly, releasing my wrists and moving his hands to my shoulders, glancing behind him and backing me a little further from the scene, further from the watching eyes. They couldn't be looking at me, not like they were. My body was crawling with the lies and the sins I was sure they could see, inked in blood across my skin. "Lion and Tiger and Tom are taking care of it, let me take care of you, okay?"
"Tom," I said quickly, holding his wrist more insistently, the crowd fading for a moment. I fought with him, trying to see around him, trying to get a good look at Tom—"He's okay, please say he's okay—"
"He's fine," Bear assured gently. "He's just fine. You protected him. He's just fine."
"I couldn't last time," I admitted, my voice pleading. I didn't think I was all the way back to myself yet. Things felt foggy, like I'd just woken up from something unlike sleep. All I knew was that Tom was hurt once because of me—shot, like I'd been, shot, my best friend who should've been safe— "I couldn't last time—is he okay—"
His hands, gloved and rough, moved quickly to my face and forced my eyes up. "Alex, look at me." I did, unable to look anywhere but Bear's steady brown eyes, brows tight in honesty and worry. "Tom. Is. Fine. I don't know what happened last time, but then is not now. Now was just a couple of dumbarse drunks who can't take a loss, and you protected him. They never touched him. He isn't hurt. He's just fine."
Slowly, the more Bear said it, the more it became true. My eyes found Tom, steady and strong at Lion's side, unhurt despite everything, looking with not fear but sarcastic disdain on the men being led to the security station at the north end of the garage. Tom called something out, some biting insult no doubt, but he wasn't wincing, wasn't limping, wasn't bleeding, wasn't hurt.
Lion was just the same, unhurt, with familiar ice in his posture, but unhurt.
Bear and Tiger were unhurt.
Only then did I truly come back to myself, sagging to my knees quickly enough to startle Bear.
"He's not hurt," I repeated, shaking, choking on the bitter air, my breath clouding in front of me in shaky, disjointed puffs. "You're not hurt."
"Everyone's okay," he assured, one hand on the back of my neck and the other on my shoulder. "Including you. We're all fine."
We're all fine.
No more camera, no more enemies, no gunfire, no blood.
I felt the adrenaline leave me in a big rush, felt my limbs go limp like puddy, and I knelt on the freezing concrete for a long, long minute.
"…I'm sorry," I finally said when I felt completely anchored in my body once again, no longer floating somewhere outside of myself, and therefore able to feel the full force of the shame and embarrassment flame in my face. I hoped it would be mistaken for the bitter cold's influence.
"It wasn't your fault," Bear assured immediately, but I still felt stupid. It was just a couple of bloody pricks after a game, and I'd let myself go completely mental. I'd even bloody frozen.
I didn't freeze. I couldn't freeze. Freezing would kill me and the people around me, but that's what had happened.
"Mate," I heard Tom's voice, and my head whipped up as he walked between the cars towards us, concern in his eyes that had been so expressionless just a moment ago. Lion was hot on his heels.
I abandoned my place on the ground and leapt up, skirted around Bear, and met him halfway, taking his shoulders and studying every inch of him while he let me. I'd seen him, I'd heard Bear's words, but I had to touch him, had to look, had to be sure—
"I'm fine, Al," he assured quietly, putting careful hands on my biceps, looking steadfastly at me with unhidden worry. "I'm okay. You got me out of the way. I'm alright."
I couldn't last time still rang in my head, and the sight of a bullet tearing through my school window and into Tom was something that would haunt me until I died, but he was telling the truth. He wasn't hurt.
Somehow, unable to keep the façade, pride damned and dignity forgotten, I lowered my head until I was stooped low and it was against his chest, and every part of me was shaking.
"I couldn't last time," I finally choked out, unable to keep it down.
Tom went very still.
I breathed, and Tom didn't move.
I stayed there a long moment before Lion's reluctant voice broke the silence. "Matthew," he said carefully, and the name immediately told me that others were listening. "I'm sorry, but security wants to ask you want happened. I told them you didn't want to file a report, but they'd like your statement anyway."
The annoyance was clear in his voice. Still, I took another deep breath, assuring myself that Tom was safe, and the others were safe, and stood up, squeezing Tom's shoulders before releasing them. "Go stand with Bear," I said, unable to let him too far away from me.
The questions were quick and paltry, and I almost bit out something about having my time wasted, but I figured that wouldn't help matters. They tried asking Lion to leave at first, but Lion just raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. Lion wasn't small by any means—I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his glare.
Finally after it was over, Tiger informed me that after some cajoling and a docile threat or two, the kid with the phone had deleted the video and allowed Tiger to check, which was a huge weight off of me.
It was very quiet on the way back to the car, when we were finally allowed to go and the crowd had finally thinned, and I hated myself.
It was such a good day, such a nice gesture, such a normal day.
Why couldn't I have this one day?
We got in the car. Lion cranked the heat all the way up. I sat between Tom and the window and peeled my gloves off as my fingers thawed, staring at the seat in front of me. Tom tapped his legs with rapid fingers. I couldn't tell if it was the nerves or his ADHD acting up.
"Those fuckers," Lion growled into the silence.
I blinked. Looked up. Blinked again.
I didn't hear Lion swear like that very often.
"Agreed," Bear said from the front seat, rubbing his hands in front of the air vents. "Shouldn't come if they're just going to be arseholes at a loss. Aren't they doing super well in the rankings anyhow? This won't hurt them much."
"Well, I don't think they'll be messing with anyone else," Tom cut in, thumping my shoulder with a grin. "You schooled 'em, mate! Pansies. My hero."
I blinked again, Tiger taking up the mantle. "Well, it's an hour past when we were due to leave, and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm bloody ravenous. Let me pull up restaurants near here and we can decide where to go."
"I told you he had an itinerary," Lion whispered, voice still gruff in anger, but tempered by the normalcy of Tiger's comment.
"Shut it," Tiger grumbled, but didn't deny.
"Oi, did you plan bathroom breaks, too?"
"I'll hit you."
Tom just laughed, patting Tiger good-naturedly on the shoulder, and Lion shifted the car into gear, catching my eyes in the rearview mirror. I blinked at him.
Everything returned to normal…very quickly. I wasn't sure if it was intentional for my sake or if I was missing something.
Lion, though still stiff, sent me a terse smile and said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over Tom and Tiger's banter, "Don't let them ruin a good day, kid. Just let us end the day right for you and Tom, okay?"
Slowly, letting my surprise dwindle to enormous gratitude and something like love, I nodded.
Lion smiled. It was a little more relaxed this time.
I could live a thousand lives and never, ever deserve them.
…
We got back late. Even after getting dinner at a really, really good Italian place, there was still a lot of traffic on the way out of London. Bear switched with Tiger to drive back, and Tom slept on my shoulder most of the way back.
I was quiet through most of dinner, but it was a much more relaxed quiet than it had been earlier. I felt the fog disappearing the more we talked, the more I laughed, and although I had to glance at Tom every once in a while to make sure I wasn't imagining his safety, I was largely alright, if not a little drained.
When we got back, Tom went immediately to shower, ignoring Tiger's grumbling about how he was normally first. Bear, ravenous man that he was, went immediately to the fridge, and Lion stayed behind to walk with me. I was still a little sluggish, still a little foggy, but present enough to know everything around me and react accordingly.
"You alright?" He asked quietly, concern belying his relaxed stance as he put his keys on the table in the hall and locked the deadbolt.
I nodded, glancing at the familiar wilted plant and feeling my breath come just a little easier. This was safe.
"I'm sorry those idiots were such arseholes," he said, sighing. "Did you have fun at the game?"
This time, my smile was genuine and wider than before. "Yes. I really did. Thanks again for the tickets, and for coming with us."
"Of course," he said. So easily. Of course, like it was something I could expect. "I had fun. I might start getting into football after all."
I huffed a quiet, tired laugh and stretched, feeling some of the stiffness drain from me. "Sorry about spacing out."
"You don't have anything to apologize for," he said with a little more emphasis than he normally did, some of the rage returning to his eyes, more so than the anger I was used to.
I paused, and then asked quietly, "Um…are you okay?"
He glanced at me, then seemed to realize how on edge he was, and forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath. He looked away towards the living room, and something in his posture wilted like their plant. His eyes, bright green, darkened the slightest bit.
"They were drunk, and older than me."
Oh. Oh.
Of course he was on edge. His drunk of a father—
"…I'm sorry you had to see them," I said finally, concerned but with no idea how to make him feel better. "Can I…do anything?"
He glanced at me with a huff of exasperated fondness, if the look in his eyes and his exasperated smile was anything to go by, and dropped a hand on my head, fingers in my hair. I blinked at the contact, but his hand was big and comforting, nothing like the way the man had grabbed me today. I didn't know how Lion could ever think he could become his father when he was always this kind.
"What about you? Are you okay?"
I thought for a moment, then nodded. "I was mostly scared for Tom, and then I…didn't really know where I was. But once I knew he was okay and that I wasn't in any real danger, I think it was just a matter of…convincing my body of that, you know?"
Lion nodded, and I heard Bear moving around quietly in the kitchen, aware that he could probably hear everything I was saying.
Lion's eyes sparked with reluctant curiosity and familiar worry, and I could almost hear the question before he asked it. "You don't have to answer, and I won't bring it up ever again if you ask me not to. But…you kept saying you couldn't protect Tom 'last time.'"
I looked down. I'd been waiting for that.
"…Tom and I had a couple classes together, even though I was a year ahead of him," I said, trying to remember all my lies, feeling my guilt deepen for each one. "Electives and things. One day…after a lot of shit…there was a sniper," I swallowed against the words, feeling my nails dig into my palms. "He was aiming for me, and I moved, and he hit Tom."
Lion's eyes widened. I didn't think he'd been expecting that.
"It was just in the leg, and it was just a bad graze. Not a direct hit, but…God, Lion, of everything I've seen and felt and been through, him bleeding from a bullet meant for me was one of the worst things I've ever seen," My voice broke twice in that one sentence, the stress of the day and of the memory finally just…coming to a head.
"Oh, kid," Lion said softly, and after meeting my eyes, making sure I could step away if I needed to, he pulled me in for a hug.
It wasn't the first time I'd ever hugged Lion. I was sure it wouldn't be the last.
But even though I flinched and shied away from touch, even though I didn't like it, and this was—normally too much, it was warm and safe and just…good. Good, after today and its emotional highs and lows.
"He's safe," Lion said, palming the back of my head. "And you're safe. We'll protect the both of you as best we can, and we're pretty good, you know." I laughed softly into his shirt, hands in fists at his back. "You said we could split it, the worry. We can split this too. Let us take some of it, Alex."
"It's too heavy," I muttered. "I don't want that for you."
He squeezed the back of my neck. "And I don't want that for you."
I closed my eyes.
A million lives. Eternity. I would never be able to earn them, not if I worked for centuries.
"Oh my God, this is adorable," I heard Bear's voice behind me, but I couldn't bring myself to care, not when I felt so safe. "And for the record, Lion's right. I may not look it, but I can bench two of you! I can handle a little worry."
I barked a laugh into Lion's shirt, and he took it. He was somehow so good at taking things from me and making sure I never felt a loss, but relief.
"See? Nothing to worry about," he assured.
I wouldn't go that far. But in this moment, in this safety and peace, I could pretend.
A/N: Just a bunch of men being in touch with the emotions. I'm so sorry it's been so long. I really have missed you guys :)
Me trying to write fluff: "Um…should he smile…fondly? Abashedly? Uh…how do I make lots of grown men and a couple not grown men soft? Aw, Alex is happy, but how do I say that with more words that isn't cheesy…um…"
Me writing angst: "I am fucking speed, see my fingers typing? See how I'm writing a mile a fucking miunte? How else can I fuck this up, huh? The possibilities are endless, and I'm going to explore every one."
I really liked this chapter, and I'm happy with how it turned out. Let me know your thoughts :)
Thanks again to all my wonderful, wonderful reviewers: Fox, MillieM04, Psycloptic Furry, Asilrettor, OnlyABookworm, , Puff and Proud, ElNonie, Guest, AppIe, Eva Haller, marthecaterpillar, Guest, TheLostPlanet, namisnakama, NeleWW, Wraith and Demjin, Clover266, Guest, Guest, Guest, Swirling Starlight, taliaTMNTdrea, and Guest!
Fox: Haha I'm glad! Me too, I love him
Guest (Another great chapter!...): Thank you! ME TOO!
Guest (Not the olivia Rodrigo reference…): Lol XD I love dogs so much. Thank you so much!
Guest (So good!...): Thank you!
Guest (Can't wait for more!): Thanks!
Guest (Ahhhhhh! Tom is adorable…): YES I KNOW I LOVE HIM! Thank you so so much!
Guest (I don't usually)…: THANK YOU FOR BEING MY 1,000TH REVIEWER! Omg these were such nice and genuine compliments, I really enjoyed reading your review! So kind, and thank you so much for your words! I really hope you continue to enjoy, and thank you for taking a chance on my story!
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Thank you guys so much for 1000 reviews :D I love you all so much!
Til next time :)
