A/N: *TRIGGER WARNING* for this chapter. This chapter contains mentions of suicide, abortion and reproductive coercion – please proceed with caution if any of those upset you.

2009

It was in the early hours of the morning, but Raoul didn't really care what time it was. He couldn't sleep and refused to take his sleeping pills. He tried to only take those pills when he absolutely had to, when the images of that dirty little cell in China lingered behind his closed eyelids or when the sounds of screams and gunshots of all the deaths he witnessed during his time at MI6 rang out in his ears. The pills always left him groggy and feeling like he hadn't even slept at all the next day, they were hardly worth it. Luckily tonight wasn't one of those nights that were full of terrors. Tonight he was just curious.

He found himself flipping through some of MI6's classified documents on their poorly encrypted archives. Truly their information was safer when it was just manilla folders full of papers with big black blocks concealing any redacted intel, now it all hung in the cloud where any old hacker could find it. Raoul pulled up some agent files, wondering who was in the field now. It looked like Peter Daniels had resigned from MI6 in 2001, and Claire Porter later left in 2006. Lau was still around, which surprised him, but when he looked at the most recent pictures it was easy to see that Zixin still had a muscular body that looked far younger than his real age. Good for him, Raoul thought, and oddly he meant it.

He pulled up the files regarding the 003 position, wondering who had inherited the title from him. A few different names popped up as he scanned the documents, and it claimed the position was now held by someone named Alan Brown. Raoul looked over the picture of this so-called Alan Brown; he looked incredibly generic, which was probably an asset since he would blend into a crowd easily. Another name was listed, Madhuri Malhotra, and Raoul investigated those documents. It seemed for some time 003 had been a woman, but she had been caught sleeping with one of their targets and removed from duty. She'd killed herself by taking a lethal dose of painkillers. Not surprising, he thought as he kept digging in the file. Eventually he found what he was looking for – a document with his prior name on it, Santiago Rodriguez. There wasn't much written about him, all it stated was the years he was active and a brief recounting of the botched mission in Penang. That's what he'd been reduced to, just a few years of duty and a distant memory of one of the greatest failures of his life. He'd been reduced to an embarrassment that was better left forgotten.

Feeling appalled by what he saw he quickly shut the browser window and sighed. What a waste of his time that career had been. What an utter disappointment his whole life had become. Now he was just a man with a disfigured face who hid in the shadows, like some monster from one of the spy-thriller paperbacks he used to read as a child. Hadn't he once been the handsome hero?

Sleep never did come for Raoul that night.

Raoul and Sévérine were only seldom out in public together. He was always sending her out to work on his little schemes, usually sending her off with Patrice to double cross their targets, so sometimes they wouldn't even see each other for weeks at a time. That being said, he would reward her with holidays and shopping trips once she returned, and even the occasional weekend on the town in either Macau or Hong Kong depending on his mood.

They were in Hong Kong this time, and Raoul still remembered all the old streets he used to haunt. Many things had changed since the 80's, and even more things had changed since the handover, but it was still the same city as its core. Raoul still had an affinity for it, even despite everything that happened to him there.

They walked along the streets of the Central district and glanced in at all the high end shops they passed. He didn't mind shopping with her, it actually pleased him to buy her whatever fancy dress she desired knowing he would eventually be ripping it off of her in the bedroom. Sévérine suddenly stopped in front of one shop, staring at the window display intently. Raoul looked up and was surprised to find it was a children's store, and he realized Sévérine had honed in on the mannequin of a baby. It showcased a very frilly little dress that was bright red with tufts of tulle and satin all over it, plus a big red bow on the mannequin baby's head to match. It looked ridiculous, and there was no way an infant would be able to wear such a thing without destroying it immediately.

Raoul scoffed, "A bit much for a baby, no?"

Sévérine just smiled, "I think it's cute."

"Maybe. It's not like we have use for it. Come, darling," he said, grabbing her at the elbow and trying to move her along. She lingered for a few more moments but eventually followed him.

"It wouldn't be so bad." she said to him.

"What wouldn't?"

"A baby." she had a coy smile on her face.

"Not a chance." Raoul answered quickly. She needed to perform his little quests for him, which would be impossible with a heavily pregnant belly. Not to mention the eventual screaming baby that would be demanding constant attention. Raoul had no use for children in this life he had built for himself.

The smile dropped from her face but Raoul chose to ignore it.

They ended up getting dinner, sitting out on a terrace and watching people pass by as they ate their food. She didn't eat much, it seemed like her mind was on other things. Raoul's mind was on other things too, namely a little project he'd set up for himself to embezzle funds from a large real estate firm in New York City. They had a careless web developer who left all of their baking information in a vulnerable position. Raoul was going to profit from their mistake, and he felt no remorse about it. It would be a fun little project.

Sévérine had been talking to him about their next trip to Macau, which he didn't care much about, but she suddenly became quiet. Wondering what caused her to stop, he turned to see what had caught her eye. A woman was walking by with a rather chubby baby in her arms; the baby's dark downy hair was sticking out all over its head, and it was reaching out fat little fingers while cooing sweetly. Even Raoul had to admit it was a cute baby, the kind you would see modeling in magazines or social services adverts. Sévérine seemed hypnotized, and her eyes followed that mother and baby as they walked out of their line of sight.

Raoul turned back to her and frowned, "Sévérine? Darling?" he said, "Don't get any ideas."

He just knew this was going to be a big problem.

2010

Olivia ran her hands over the cover of the photo album, the maroon leather squeaking as her fingers dragged across it. She opened it to the first page where a large image of her and Matthew on their wedding day was pasted in with glue that was now yellowing around the edges. Her hair had been shoulder length at the time, and she looked so young that it was like looking at another person. She could barely recognize Matthew either, with his dark hair and shaved face, it was just so different from the man he had turned into.

He'd been gone for a year now, and her home felt so quiet. She missed his homecooked meals, and his smiles, and his practical advice. She missed all his books and the lines of poetry he would share with her whenever he read something particularly powerful and thought she would like it.

She was packing up some of his belongings for their grandchildren, hoping they would have a small piece of him to reflect on. Her grandson would get his watches and some of his leather-bound books, and her granddaughter was getting this photo album and some unopened vintage bottles of scotch that Matthew had been saving for a special occasion. Olivia figured that teenagers wouldn't be interested in these things just yet but hoped that one day these items would be appreciated.

Slowly she looked through the photos of their lives over the years. She found a very sweet picture of Matthew holding their eldest daughter when she couldn't have been more than a week old. He had a huge smile on his face, and strangely Olivia could even remember the day the picture was taken, since she had been the one holding the camera. She went on – so many pictures of their girls, of their many pet dogs, of many friends and family who were now gone. There was a picture of her looking rather proud, and Olivia recognized it as having been taken shortly after she'd been promoted to M. She chuckled as she saw it, thinking how she looked so young there. Her hair was mostly brown with just a few flecks of grey in it and her face looked so youthful. Funny, she had felt so ancient at the time. Now her bad joints and white hair reminded her of her age every day. She'd been so naïve back then and hadn't even realized how lovely she looked despite the stern exterior she always tried to exude.

Olivia put the album away with the other belongings she was giving away but went back to her box of photos to reminisce some more. She paused when she picked up an old polaroid, and though the layers were beginning to separate and the image beginning to fade she recognized the people in it instantly. It was her sitting in the middle of a couch, with Bert and David to each side of her. This picture had been taken in the early 70's, and she could remember the weekend it was taken. It had been a lovely summer weekend spent mostly on the beach in Brighton, one of those perfect days that so seldom happen in life. Even though the image was a bit warped now she could make out the bright green color of Bert's eyes. She could never forget that color as long as she lived.

As she put the picture away again, she found herself drifting back to memories of all the people she'd lost. There were so many. So many from MI6 alone that it seemed preposterous. Tiago popped into her mind, and for the first time in a long time, she smiled when she thought of him. There were no pictures to commemorate his place in her life, even though he held such a precious part in her past. All she had were memories; the memory of his smile and his charming voice, and the memory of walking the streets of Hong Kong and holding his hand while hoping no one would see them. Maybe in some other timeline or in some other universe where all things were possible they could have been a family, the two of them. Maybe she would have even been allowed to keep the child they'd conceived together. She wondered how different her photo albums would look today.

She sighed and put the box of pictures back in her closet before putting a lid on the box of belongings for her grandchildren. Olivia prepared herself and grabbed the box on her way out. She would be spending the afternoon with her eldest daughter, handing off the box for safe keeping. At the very least Olivia was glad she got to have these days with her remaining family, and she looked forward to the conversations that the afternoon would bring.

Sévérine is completely silent and sitting still as a statue. Her face is blank, but Raoul can feel her rage simmering under the surface.

He is surprised he isn't the only man in this waiting room, but the other men here seem to be engaging with the women they're with – holding their hands or whispering conversation back and forth. It's only Raoul and Sévérine who sit in silence, both staring straight ahead, not wanting to touch one another or utter a single word.

A nurse in teal scrubs opens the door and calls out the fake name Raoul had given them, scribbling something down on the clipboard she's holding. He nudges Sévérine to get up. Sévérine doesn't even look back at Raoul as she stands, looking so stilted as she walks away. Soon she disappears behind the door and he breathes a sigh of relief.

It was a miracle he was able to get her here. Getting her here was the biggest struggle he'd had in years, and he knew that if he couldn't get her into the clinic then he would have to take matters into his own hands. He didn't want to hurt Sévérine, but she had almost left him no choice. He wasn't going to compromise himself for her or anyone else.

She had come to him one night with a cheap pregnancy test, shoving it in his face and grinning as he read the 'Positive' result out loud.

"Did you do this on purpose?" he roared, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her, "Show me your arm! Show it to me!"

She whimpered but did as he asked. He felt around her bicep but the implant she used to have was nowhere to be found. He hadn't taken her to be so conniving and manipulative as to dig into her own flesh and remove the little piece of plastic that ensured this wouldn't happen.

"We're not keeping it." he told her in no uncertain terms.

She had burst into tears and wept for hours. They had screamed at each other all night, and it had gone on so long that even the hired guards looked incredibly concerned as Raoul and Sévérine swept through nearly every room in his flat, and Raoul destroyed every single room by throwing whatever he could lift and punching holes in the walls. Eventually she escaped from him, pulling her wrists out of his grip and running off to spend the night aboard the Chimera.

Raoul just sat in the rubble of his once well-appointed home, his mind racing. Hashima was no place for a child to grow up. Sévérine could no longer be a pawn in his schemes, she would be too busy with pregnancy and then caring for a baby. If he gave in to her this one time, he knew she would ask for more babies. He couldn't imagine a loud passel of children roaming around his quiet island.

More than all of that, he wasn't fit to be a father. Maybe he could have been at one point, but that time was long gone. He knew he couldn't handle it now, and part of him felt like he didn't deserve it anyway. No, he didn't deserve a family; he was simply a lone wolf, damned to walk on the outskirts of society his entire life. His time at MI6 had done that to him. They'd warped his sense of duty and turned him into nothing short of a killing machine. The only things he understood now were blood and death and misplaced honor.

He made arrangements with a clinic on the mainland to terminate the pregnancy, but they would have to wait a few days for the appointment.

Raoul wasn't that surprised when Sévérine tried to make a run for it.

One of the hired help found her trying to take one of the smaller boats, attempting to leave with only a small suitcase and a few belongings. After that Raoul kept her locked in a room, with two guards outside the door at all times. She'd screamed and thrashed as they dragged her inside, begging them not to do this to her. She pleaded with Raoul not to kill her baby, to just let her leave peacefully. When that didn't work she started screaming again, "It's your baby too, Raoul! Please don't do this!"

As the door slammed shut he felt remorse suddenly sinking in to his bones. Maybe he could have just let her go, but in the end, she just knew too much about him and his island. He couldn't risk being caught at this point.

He just wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted her to go on his little secret missions and come home with large sums of money. He wanted to take her on exotic holidays where they would fuck like teenagers. He didn't want this domesticity she was suddenly so interested in. Why had she become so boring?

After a long time spent in the waiting room she finally came back out, still lacking any sort of emotion on her face. The nurse gave them a packet of painkillers and some instructions written in Chinese script, and then they were sent on their way.

He took her home, but she said nothing the whole way back. Once they were back on Hashima she locked herself in the flat that he'd built for her many years before, the one she never spent any time in. She didn't come out for two days, and when she did it was like all the life had left her eyes.

She never gave him a real smile ever again. From then on out, she only gave him false smiles, and that was only ever because she wanted to subdue him.

He hated it.

2011

Raoul doesn't sleep much these days. He's up until the early hours of the morning, devising new schemes and snooping on various world governments. His bank accounts have never been fuller and his home has never been more opulent. Frankly, he has everything a person could ask for and more. He can never pinpoint why he feels so empty inside despite it all.

He sleeps alone when he does manage to get any sleep. Sévérine stopped staying in his flat, and his bed was always empty now. Sometimes he would go to her, and she accepted him when he showed up. She would give him one of those demure fake smiles and let him rut against her, but he could tell she didn't really want to be anywhere near him. Eventually that stopped too, since it often felt like he was raping her by the way she laid there so stiffly – that and he was also worried she might try and pull another stunt and make off with his child in her belly. Now he just left her alone most of the time, and they were merely an odd pair of roommates living on a deserted island while surrounded by hired help who carried machine guns. It was an incredibly odd existence. It all felt so hollow.

Sometimes late at night his mind would drift back to his years at MI6. He snooped on them as well, always wondering what new problems and imagined enemies they were fighting off. The British Empire and its fallout, what a fucking joke it all was to him now. Sometimes Raoul hated himself for having worked for them, for having slaved away in the name of fading imperialism.

Tonight he was meddling in the MI6 archives again. He was back in the double-0 files, looking over all the new names. The latest 003, Alan Brown, had been killed in the line of duty. Apparently the position was currently open, and there were a handful of agents being considered for the role. When Raoul grew tired of reading about his successors he read through various other files. Eventually he reached 007, and when he clicked on it he was surprised to see a face he recognized. It was Bond, the man he'd heard so many rumors about back during his tenure with MI6.

There was a picture of Bond's face and multiple other pictures of his various injuries in the field, but in comparison he had a huge list of accolades mentioned and several completed missions written out in detail.

Raoul let out an audible grunt of displeasure, reading over the minute details of every mission where Bond had succeeded. Something caught his eye at the bottom of one of the debriefings, a simple signature but it almost knocked the breath out of him. Plain as day the name Olivia Mansfield was scrawled across the page as a witness signature, along with a few others that he didn't recognize.

He looked back at the mugshot of Bond. Sure, he was handsome, and he was even the kind of man Raoul would be interested in himself. But then the thoughts crept in, memories of those stupid rumors he had heard floating around the office that M of all people had hired Bond to get in his pants. At first Raoul had blown them off as what they were, just disgusting rumors and gossip, but as they persisted he began to believe it. He would have thoughts of Olivia back in London, treating Bond to the delights that Raoul, or rather Tiago, had once been receiving. It made his blood boil. Looking at this dossier he felt no different.

It was absurd that he had been replaced; not only replaced as her favorite in the field but replaced as the lover in her bed. Raoul felt the bitterness rising up in his chest. All those years of devotion and longing had been for nothing. All those years of passion and even what he thought might be love were just creations of his own. He'd always been nothing to her. Just a blunt instrument, some commodity, merely a toy made of breathing flesh for her to indulge in on her work trips.

Now she had Bond who was handsome, and charming, and dangerous. Just like a double-0 should be.

Bond... just another fool, Raoul thought, you think this won't happen to you too?

As jealous as he was, part of Raoul felt as if he wanted to warn Bond to stay the hell away from that succubus of a woman. She would bleed him dry, just like she did to everyone employed at MI6.

Raoul looked at her signature once again and involuntarily sneered. You ruined my fucking life, he thought as he became hyperaware of the metal plate in his mouth, and you know what, Olivia? I think it's about time I ruined yours.

Raoul cursed his curiosity. What had he thought was going to happen when he went snooping through MI6's information? Originally, he'd hoped to see a picture of her, some reminder that she was alive, but now he just sat stewing in his anger.

He suddenly decided he was going to kill her, but not after making her suffer a bit. He'd suffered for her, after all. Oh, and he was going to kill Bond as well; he was going to put that dull piece of meat out of his misery.

Raoul slammed his laptop shut and stood up, pacing around the room and thinking. He had to figure out how to humiliate her, how to make her see that her entire career was just a farce, just another wasted life in the name of England, of all godforsaken places.

He was going to make her pay for what she'd done to him, once and for all.

2012

Olivia has just got off the phone with Tanner, and she's staring dumbfounded at her computer screen.

Names and pictures flash across it; five agents who have just been compromised by this mystery hacker. She doesn't understand what's happening. Why are they targeting her agents? Why are they targeting her?

She doesn't know where they found the picture to make the mock photoshop of her face superimposed over the Queen. She can only assume they found it on the MI6 archives, and to her knowledge those archives are encrypted. How far had they researched into all those classified documents to find one simple picture of her? It seemed insane.

The slot machine that first popped up on her screen seemed like an odd choice to her. She'd never won a slot machine game even once in her life. Did this person know that, or was it a random coincidence?

Think on your sins.

What an absurd idea. Olivia thought on her sins every day, they were always lingering in the back of her mind. Without warning her mind goes back to Macau, to the trips she'd taken there with Tiago. They'd played the slot machines twice and lost, and when he took her to the Ruins of St. Paul's she was forthright with him about her long list of probable sins. The synchronicity was uncanny.

Her heart fluttered. It couldn't be – Tiago was dead. She searches her memory for someone who might have known about her and Tiago. The only other person she could think of was Zhao, but after the handover he'd resigned, washing his hands of MI6 and moving on with his life. Surely it couldn't be him? He was not nearly so computer savvy as to pull a stunt like this off.

Olivia thought about all her enemies and pondered which one of them would go through all this trouble. When she was young she was just following orders; once she became the one giving those orders it wasn't personal, at least not from her position. This was personal.

She kept coming back to Tiago. But Tiago was dead? He'd been beaten or starved to death in a Chinese prison over fifteen years ago. This couldn't be him. Could it?

All of a sudden, for the first time in fifteen years, Olivia considered the thought that maybe he had not died in China. Her blood ran cold and she slammed her laptop shut.

Before Tanner can whisk her away to court, Olivia excuses herself to the lavatory and breaks down, pacing back and forth while hyperventilating.

It really was him. She didn't recognize him at first because of the blond hair, but the closer she stepped towards him the more she could see it. It was those eyes – those eyes that had once made her so lovesick. There could be no mistaking it.

She had to muster up all her resolve to not let him see her fury. Outrage is unprofessional, even more so than regret. And she did regret everything, regardless of what she told him. All she could see when she closed her eyes was his disfigured face, so horrific and unimaginable. In her heart she wished him dead instead. That way they could both have solace.

The thought raced in her mind that this couldn't be over. Tiago was not the kind to give up so easily, and there was enough havoc he could wreak with just one computer even if he was behind bars.

She thinks back to the things she was told about him, and what he'd been up to the past fifteen years. Hacking, well, that was nothing new. He had obtained his own private island, that much didn't really surprise her. But then it turned out that he also hired assassins and had people murdered on his behalf. Worse yet, he'd even shot his own lover in cold blood. That wasn't her Tiago, it couldn't be. Her Tiago would never do that. She couldn't bring herself to believe this was the same man she'd once seen save a little girl's life while risking his own all those years ago. This couldn't be the same man who'd nearly sacrificed himself to save his colleague from certain death. It couldn't be. He was like a changeling, just some monster who'd taken over Tiago's body but was nothing like him.

Eventually she realizes she has to leave or she'll be late. Tanner seems concerned about her when she reappears and puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

"I suppose." is all she can say, but she's not alright at all.

On the ride all she can think about is him. She had no idea where he came up with the name Raoul Silva, but the sound of it makes her sick.

"Say my name! Say it. My real name. I know you remember it."

How could she ever forget? She'd said his name enough – screamed it in anger, chastised it in annoyance, moaned it in ecstasy. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing it on her lips one more time. Not after everything he'd done.

Tears burn behind her eyes but she doesn't let them fall. She has to be strong for what's about to come.

All she can do is hope that this hearing will rule in her favor.

After all those years they were finally together once more. There were no crystal cages here, just the musty smell of an old chapel and the dim glow of a lantern.

He can barely breathe from the mixture of cold air and heavy smoke. Despite all the preening he'd done in the past fifteen years he suddenly doesn't care how he looks. If his hair is askew and his clothes are torn it doesn't matter. What matters is her.

She looks terrified. That's the look he had wanted to see all along. He wanted her to feel as scared as he once had back in that dirty cell in China. Somehow, he doesn't care that she recoils from him. He hasn't been this close to her in so long. It feels like a dream or a vision. He wishes that old man wasn't here, interrupting their intimate moment, but he'll get what he can take – and he's going to take her.

No, he's never seen her look this frightened. He's really never seen her frightened at all. Those big blue eyes of hers give away all her feelings, but he can only smile as he looks at her. Then he notices the wound on her side.

"You're hurt? You're hurt!" he cries, and he takes her hand like he used to, before he looks over the rest of her body to make sure she's alright. His memory drifts back to the first time he failed her, when she was grazed by that bullet in Macau. He swore he would never let that happen again.

He lifts up her face and stares at her. It's nothing like the glances they used to steal, and she's scowling at him like she used to do when they were in public. This chapel isn't public though, and he longs for one of those smiles she used to give him behind closed doors.

Suddenly Raoul Silva and whatever he stood for is gone, and it's only Tiago left standing in front of her. Only that naïve young man who wanted nothing more than to make her proud.

He lifts the gun to her head, and though he wants to cry he can only grimace. This is what he wanted. He had wanted her dead. He wanted her to feel his fury.

But as he stares at her terrified face he realizes it isn't what he wanted at all. He didn't want to live in a world without her, he couldn't live in a world without her. All he ever wanted was for her to love him the way he'd loved her. His life meant nothing without her.

His life meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Abruptly he remembers her dragging him down from his balcony in Hong Kong, and how in that moment she couldn't bear to see him die. He can't hurt her, he just can't. Even after all those years and all those lies and betrayals, he loved her too much. Now he just wants to back down from this mess by putting the barrel of the gun in his own mouth and pulling the trigger, but he can't do that to her either. She saved his life once; he wouldn't disrespect her by killing himself now.

She has to do it.

She has to realize this is the only way.

He grabs her hand and wraps it around the gun, putting the barrel to both their heads. If he knew better, he would have cherished the feel of her skin against his one last time, but he's too distressed to notice it.

"Free both of us. With the same bullet. Do it. Only you can do it."

Tiago waited for his misery to be over. Surely Olivia would do him this last service. She had no other choice.

She can feel her consciousness drifting away. The hold James has on her is strong, but even that isn't strong enough to keep her here. In this moment she is more grateful for him than she has ever been. Of all her decisions, hiring him was the best one she had ever made in her lifetime. What cold comfort it should be that he was the one who held her as she left the mortal coil.

As the lights around her grew dim she thought of Matthew, and all their years of domestic bliss. He had been good to her. He had bought her flowers and dried her tears at the end of tough days. They had so many years of memories to reminisce about. If there was something waiting for her after this life, she hoped he would be there too.

Noises grew fainter. She felt herself unable to breathe, but she didn't feel any sense of panic. James' arms around her reassured her that everything was alright now. Even this.

She knew that Tiago's body lay not far from her own. In another life she would be weeping over him, but here she was, dying in another man's arms instead. She didn't know that dead man anyway, not really. It wasn't just the blond hair or ruined face, or even the cruelty of his actions that she didn't recognize. She couldn't recognize that spark in his eyes that she had once seen. It was as if he'd already been dead for decades and was just waiting for his pain to end. She'd been mourning for her beautiful boy for so long. She lost a part of him after Penang, and then she lost all of him during the handover. Now she had lost him once more. How had every decision she'd ever made regarding him been so utterly wrong?

For a moment she swears she feels his hand on her cheek. Not James' hand, but Tiago's hand; soft and tender just like she remembered.

"You're hurt." Tiago says again, bluntly, less panicked than he sounded earlier when he first found her in the chapel, "You know I hate to see you hurt."

Olivia knows this must be a hallucination. I'll be alright, she thinks, as the pain melts away from her body. She feels nothing but bliss running through her veins. In this euphoria her mind returns to their hotel room in Hong Kong. In that moment it's as if she truly is there; she smells the carpet cleaner and Tiago's heavy cologne. She can taste plum wine and lotus seed buns on her lips, and her body aches in the most delicious way from their lovemaking. Olivia gets trapped in that moment forever; where she is safe and happy and satisfied, and her beautiful young lover sleeps peacefully next to her. It is an exquisite oblivion.

A/N: They loved each other so much but love just wasn't enough :'(

FYI This was cross posted from AO3. You can find me (and my much spicier works of fiction) there under the same handle. Thank you for reading!