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Lilypads and Ducklings

Zachariah groaned loudly and rested his head against the wall,
"Are you done yet?" He complained, shifting the weight on his shoulders.
"Hang on, jeez" The weight replied, carefully placing the screw in the hole and using the screwdriver to tighten it in the little hole.
"You're heavy" Zach continued complaining. Ellie sighed and finished the screw. "Why do we need these shelves anyway?"
"Because" Ellie dragged the word, "You have a shit-ton of books and we have no where to put them." She tapped his side with her foot and he lowered her to the ground.
"No I don't"
"Do" She pointed to the large pile  of books in the corner of the room. Zach turned his head to the place Ellie was pointing to.
"Ugh" He groaned again as Ellie grinned at him. "Shut up"
"What I didn't say-"
"Shut it" Zach shook his head, crossing his arms, "You're getting heavy" He observed.
"And they say romance is dead" Ellie sighed again, walking over to the books to start placing them on the new shelves.  Zach walked over to her and helped carry some books.
"Seriously, though. Are you okay?" He asked, walking with a handful of books to the shelves.
"I'm fine" Ellie dead-panned and they continued the worked in silence, lost in their own thoughts, the only noise being that of books being moved around.  Zach often glanced over to Ellie, and Ellie was aware of this, so kept her head low, her hair covering her face.
"I have a feeling there is something you're not telling me" Zach noticed, once they had finished. He placed his arm over the door so Ellie couldn't leave. She lifted her head, and Zach reached forward and tucked the fringe behind her ear.
"I said I'm fine" She replied sharply, and, as if to prove the point, kissed his cheek. "Do you want Chinese for tea?" She asked, bobbing below his arm and walking out of the room, heading off to find a phone. Zach sighed and followed behind her,
"How about pizza? We haven't had that in a while" He suggested, walking up behind her where she stood next to the island in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Hm?" Ellie asked, leaning her head against his gently.
"You're acting weird, why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I am considering whether or not to teach you to drive" Ellie replied, causing Zach to groan loudly,
"No" He said, kissing her neck before letting go of her. Ellie giggled lightly and phoned the pizza place, ordering the pizzas. Zach walked to the other side of the kitchen,
"What would you like to drink?" He asked, scanning the wine rack for something that would go well with the pizza.
"Just juice please" Ellie said, placing the phone away and walking to the living room to turn on the t.v.. Odd. She mostly always has wine with a meal, and if she doesn't it's beer. Zach shrugged to himself and made them both a glass of juice before carrying the glasses into the living room. A while later, the sound of the doorbell rang out and Ellie walked to the door. She greeted the pizza-guy before giving him enough money to pay for the pizza. She carried the pizza through to Zach who divided the pizza equally between the two plates then settled down on the sofa, with Ellie curling up next to him. They ate the pizza in silence, watching some random thing that was on t.v..

"You've been very quiet this evening. Did I offend you?" Zach asked, slipping into the bed beside Ellie, who shook her head.
"No" She said, quietly, then cuddled up to Zach, in the foetal position. Zach watched her, kissing her forehead.
"I'm scared, Zach" Ellie whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, nuzzling into his side.
"What? Why the hell are you scared?" Zach asked, not moving her gaze from her. He lowered so they were face-to-face and he studied hers carefully. When she didn't reply, Zach repeated "Why?" She didn't open her eyes, nor did she move. Zach continued watching her, and with every second she was silent, he became more and more worried.
"Ellie?" He softly said, "Ellie?" He repeated, before noticing she had fallen asleep. He sighed, and made a mental note to ask her about this in the morning.
"Night, Ells"

Ellie threw the quilt off herself and scampered into the bathroom. Morning sickness. Scared, she said. Terrified is more likely. What if it was the same as before? She couldn't fail Zach like that again. She leaned back from the basin and sat on the floor, staring at the floor.
"Ells?" Zach said, knocking on the door gently before pushing the door open, crouching down to her side. "What's wrong?" Ellie shook her head, not looking at him,
"Nothing, just a little under the weather" She lied, standing up and climbing back into the bed.
"Clearly, something is wrong. I'm not stupid, Ellie" Zach said, moving to stand at the foot of the bed and looking at her. Ellie sighed and pulled the quilt tighter around herself, hiding all but her eyes which were fixed on a spot behind Zach.
"Ellie." Zach said, "Tell me, please"
"How long ago was our wedding night, Zach?" Ellie asked, not moving from her hiding place, Zach stared at her in confusion,
"About four months, why?"
"'By 16 weeks its face is becoming more human in appearance, although the chin is small and the mouth is quite wide. During this time the bump will start to become visible, if it hasn't already, and the rapid growth will continue for another two weeks.'" Ellie quoted, her voice slightly muffled. Zach continued staring at her,
"What?" He said, trying to figure out what she said, when suddenly it hit him, "Your pregnant?"

 "C'mon Zach! I could lift that and I am pregnant" Ellie commented, watching Zach carrying a cot up the stairs.
"Then why the fuck don't you do it?" Zach growled, dragging the cot clumsily up the stairs as Ellie watched, highly amused, from the top of the stairs.
"Because, aforementioned, I am pregnant" Zach groaned and after many curses, managed to put the cot at the top of the stairs.
"You owe me" He grumbled, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. Ellie smiled, walking around the cot to reach him. She kissed him gently before stepping back,
"Better?"
"Nuhuh" Zach shook his head and pulled her in for another kiss. As he tried to wrap his arms around her waist, he noticed a problem.
"Ellie.." He said, "That's in the way" He noticed, poking her enlarging stomach. Ellie laughed slightly and glanced down,
"So it is"
"How do we get rid of it?" He asked, still staring at Ellie's stomach.
"There is still a month left of waiting"
"Is there a way of speeding it up?"
"No, we have to wait"
"Jasmine oils...?"
"No, Zach. We have to wait" Zach groaned, and moved away from Ellie to continue dragging the cot into the new bedroom. The whole room was painted a duck egg blue, and was already filled with little toys for the little one. After many complaints, Zach finally got the cot into the room, and sat on the floor next to it.
"Too tired for this shit" He said, as Ellie sat down beside him, with a small amount of difficulty. She leant against him, and Zach kissed her cheek.

{Jake, one week}
A loud scream filled the house, a louder "Ellie!" could be heard over it. Ellie sighed, opened her eyes and lowered her sunglasses so she could look towards the door which had been opened. Zach held the week old child an arm's length away from him.
"Ellie" He repeated, "Oh my god! What is it doing? Why is it doing that?!" He asked, moving the child side-to-side as if looking for an off switch.
"Zach! Be careful" Ellie stood quickly and removed the child from his grip, she made gently hushing noises, holding him against her chest.
"It smells too"
"He must've got that off you" Ellie mumbled, still hushing the child. She carried the still screaming child into the house and beckoned Zach to follow.
"What?"
"Nothing!"
"Idiot" Zach shook his head, but followed behind her, Ellie sighed.
"Here, this is what you do" Ellie said, and showed him how to change the nappy.
"That's asinine" Zach commented, crossing his arms.
"What?"
"Idiot" This received another sigh from Ellie, who had finished sorting out the child. She picked him up again,
"C'mon, let's put him to bed" She said, walking to the small bedroom. She placed the child down in the cot, and looked at Zach.
"Sing"
"What?"
"You heard me, sing, your voice is more soothing"
"But why would I sing for it?"
" 'It' is your son, Zach. Sing"
"But-" Ellie glared at him and Zach sighed.
"Fine" Zach looked at his child in the cot and began singing quietly to him, as Ellie left the room. Zach continued staring at the child, long after the song had finished and the child was fast asleep. He smiled lightly and leant down, kissing his forehead gently.

{Naming Jake, one week + one day}
Ellie rested her head on Zach's chest, fast asleep, while he laid with his arm wrapped around her, asleep also. However, the peace of the moment was soon disturbed by the distorted sound of a cry coming from the baby monitor. Ellie rolled off Zach, and cuddled into the pillow, trying to ignore the sound.
"Ellie" Zach poked her shoulder, "Ellie" He repeated, but received no response. He sighed and got up, walking to the child's bedroom.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked, looking into the cot. "Why won't you be quiet?" He reached into the cot, and picking up the child. He tried hushing the child, but he kept crying, so Zach carried the child back into his and Ellie's room, Ellie was awake now, looking towards the door.
"Can we put it back? It causes so many problems" Zach complained, "First it stopped me from kissing you, and now he won't let me sleep" Ellie sat up, held out her arms and Zach placed the crying child in her arms. She hushed him quietly, as Zach sat down next to Ellie, watching her carefully.
"Jake" Ellie said, rocking the child gently.
"What? I'm Zach, not Jake"
"No, it's his name"
"Jake?" Zach questioned and Ellie nodded, he smiled at kissed the side of her head. "Little duckling" He added, placing an arm around her. Jake had now fallen silent, and was cooing up his parents.
"He has your eyes" Ellie smiled, running a thumb over Jake's cheek. Zach looked at Jake and shook his head,
"He doesn't. He has his own eyes" Zach noticed, Ellie looked at Zach,
"He has your eye colour" She corrected, he shook his head again,
"No he doesn't." He said, looking back up to Ellie, he leant towards her and kissed her gently. "He needs a middle-name" Zach noticed, now looking down at Jake, and moved so Ellie was leant against him..
"What do you suggest?" She replied, placing Jake into his arms. Zach looked at Jake and smiled.
"Douglass" He simply said,
"My maiden name?" Ellie asked confused, Zach nodded
"Yes, you said he has my eye colour, even though that isn't true, he can have your name"
"Jake Douglass Hewitt?" Ellie said, looking down at the child, who, as if he knew he was being mentioned cooed up at his parents again. Zach nodded, and kissed Jake's head.

{Jake, two months}
"Stop calling me dad around him" Zach complained, "My name isn't dad" He continued, holding a two month old Jake as Ellie walked around the kitchen making some formula for him.
"We don't want him calling you Zach do we?" She asked, passing Zach the bottle. He sat down on the sofa with the bottle in his hand.
"But that's my name." He noticed, gently placing the bottle next to his mouth and Jake guzzled it happily, placing his hand on the bottle, in case Zach was planning to take the bottle away from him.
"He's your son, so he has to call you 'dad' or 'papa' if you prefer" Ellie shrugged, placing a bib around Jake's neck because he had started to dribble. She sat down beside them both, watching Zach very carefully.
"Don't you trust me?" He asked, slightly offended.
"Of course I do" Ellie said, running a hand over Jake's head where his dark curls were starting to thicken and become more curly.  
After Jake had finished eating, Ellie tidied up as Zach stared at Jake for a second, before cracking into a full-sized grin. He kissed his forehead before walking over to the bookshelf and picking out a book. He returned to the sofa, with Jake in one hand and the book in the other.
"Right, duckling, this is how you make Trinitrotoluene. Also known as TNT. It's not difficult." He said, propping Jake up and holding the book open so Jake could see the pages.
"So we need to take two beakers.  In the first we must prepare a solution of seventy-six percent sulphuric acid, twenty-three percent nitric acid and one percent water. In the other beaker, we prepare another solution of fifty-seven percent nitric acid  and forty-three percent sulphuric acid" Zach started explaining.
"Zach what the hell are you reading?" Ellie asked, looking up from the kitchen into the living room.
"Chemistry, you wouldn't understand"
"If I don't neither will Jake" Ellie said, shaking her head.
"But he's more intelligent than you because he has my genes" Zach shrugged. "Next, Ten grams of the first solutions are poured into an empty beaker and placed in an ice bath." Zach continued, ignoring Ellie. Ellie sighed, walked into the living room and took the book off of Zach, and both Zach and Jake looked up at her with unimpressed expressions on their faces, mirroring each other almost perfectly.
"Oh God there are two of you now. It was insufferable with just one" Ellie sighed and walked out of the living room, after giving Zach his book back.

{Jake, three months}
"Ellie? Where are you going?" Zach asked, as Ellie dressed Jake in a big fluffy coat.
"Out"
"But it is cold"  Zach complained, watching her place Jake in the pram. "You'll both get a cold"
"We'll be fine" Ellie replied and swiftly walked over to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. "We're just going to feed the ducklings"
"But I fed him not long ago" He gestured to the mess he had left in the kitchen after feeding Jake.
"Not that duckling" Ellie shook her head.
"He'll find this positively boring"
"Bye, Zach" With that, Ellie opened the door of the house and walked outside with the pram, both Drew and the husky puppy, named Louise on leads walking beside the pram. Zach closed the door behind her and Ellie pushed the pram to the park, Jake making pleased babbling noises, like he was narrating everything that passed, but only himself and the stuffed duck he was holding understood what he was saying. Ellie smiled lightly to herself and when they arrived at the pond she got the slightly stale bread, gave Jake a little to throw for them and threw some herself. But instead of giving the bread to the ducks, Jake started chewing on the bread, and Ellie shook her head,
"Jake that is for the ducks" She said, crouching beside him to remove the bread from his mouth. Jake scrunched up his face in an annoyed way, Ellie kissed his cheek and starting throwing the ducks the bread. By the time all the bread was gone, Jake was sock on, clinging loosely onto the duck toy. Ellie pushed the pram back to the house, to see Zach sat on the sofa, twiddling his thumbs and waiting for their return. Ellie smiled and closed the door, starting to delicately remove the coat off of Jake.
"You're home" Zach said, walking over to them.
"Mhm" Ellie replied, focused on what she was doing. Zach looked down to Ellie and smiled lightly, picking up the sleeping Jake. He carried him upstairs, placing him in his cot before returning to Ellie. Ellie sat on the sofa, and Zach sat down next to her,
"Did he enjoy himself?" He asked, and she nodded
"He tried to eat the bread himself though" She noticed, smiling lightly and Zach chuckled. She cuddled into his side, and kissed him lightly.

{Jake, four months}
"Qwack!" Jake screamed, banging his hands against the high-chair table.  Ellie glanced over to him, confused. "Qwack!" Jake screamed again.
"Zach" Ellie said, with a small gape at Jake. "Zach!" She called louder, walking over to Jake grinning. Jake looked up to his mother, with what seemed to be a smug smile.
"Qwack" He repeated as Zach stumbled into the kitchen.
"What?" He grumbled, glancing between Ellie and Jake, "What's wrong?"  Ellie continued grinning at Jake, who now looked over to his dad.
"Qwack"  Jake said once again, and Zach shook his head
"You're saying it wrong. Quack. I told you this yesterday" He said, "I swear he is the tiny embodiment of you. Idiots" He shook his head and started to walk out of the room. "Better than the gibberish you spoke before. I never knew anyone with a worse vocabulary than Ellie until I met you" He said, looking at Jake.
"Zach" Ellie said, and he turned to look at her, "That's his first word" She said, still smiling.
"No it's not. 'Quack' isn't a word, Ellie" Zach rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. Ellie sighed lightly and lifted Jake from the high-chair where he was still shouting 'Qwack' at the top of his lungs.

{Jake, four months + one week}
"No, Jake, Quack isn't part of the song." Zach complained, "C, Jay" He said, reaching over to move the position of his son's hands. "You know the first line of the song"
"Babamamabamaaaaa" Jake half sang-half squealed, strumming enthusiastically on the little guitar Ellie had bought.
"No, no" Zach shook his head, he strummed on his own guitar showing Jake how to. "You need to change chord on 'secret'" He changed his hand position and played the next chord, Am. Jake attempted to do as he said but couldn't move his hand fast enough to be in time with Zach.
"That song might be a bit hard for him, Zach" Ellie noticed, looking over at them from behind the newspaper she was reading.
"No it's not" He replied shaking his head,
"He's only one" Ellie said, lifting the newspaper again, "Try '100 Suns'"
"No" Zach replied stubbornly, "'You're Beautiful'"
"Thank you"
"I meant the song" Zach grumbled, strumming the G again. "G Jake." Jake moved his hands and echoed the position in which Zach's hands were. He beamed with pride as Jake strummed the note perfectly,
"And again" Jake strummed the note again, "Okay, sing"
"Damamamaaa" Jake sang, in the same half singing-half squealing voice.

{Jake, five months}
"Your not pregnant again are you? You're still really heavy" Zach complained as Ellie sat on his shoulders again, Jake was on the floor playing with some building blocks, Ollie watching him intently, in the shade out of the sun.
"I don't think so" Ellie replied, hammering a nail into the block of wood that would become part of the ladder they were making.
"If you hit me with that you're fucking dead meat" Zach grumbled and Ellie glanced up at the tree, ignoring him, she knew this would take a long time to build, and the tree Zach had chosen made it slightly awkward, but he really wanted to build a tree house, so that's what they'd do.
"Okay, fat-ass, get off!" Zach said, making Ellie fall off his shoulders, but catching her arms before she fell.
"You're a bastard" She noticed but was smiling. "Don't you think we should get some work done?" She added, walking over to where they had a pile of wood planks, which hopefully will become a tree house in the near future. The house had already got the bottom structure, the floor, so all they needed to do was build the actual house. Ellie picked up one of the planks and half-dragged, half-carried the plank of wood.
"Weakling" Was Zach's comment as he picked up the other end of the plank and helped her carry it to the tree. With a small amount of difficulty, they managed to get the wood onto the flooring, and Ellie climbed the new ladder to join it, Zach close behind her.
"So where is this going?" Ellie asked, looking at the block of wood, Zach shrugged
"How am I supposed to know?"
"You're the smart-arse"
"So?"
"Sooo, you should know" Ellie concluded, sitting on the floor cross legged looking at the wood. Zach sat beside her, placing an arm around her and Ellie rested her head against him.
"Jake, no, don't eat that" Zach said, detaching himself from Ellie and clambered over to Jake, tugging the block from his mouth. Jake looked up at him grumpily as Zach picked him off the ground,
"Quack" He said, reaching for the block still in Zach's hand.
"No, Jay"   Zach climbed back up to the ladder and sat beside Ellie, with Jake still scowling.
"Is daddy being a bully?" Ellie asked him, brushing a dark curl from his face. Jake babbled, as if telling Ellie everything that Zach had done wrong.
"He says I am the perfect Dad and you're the bully" Zach translated, which received more grumpy babbling from Jake. Ellie laughed slightly,
"He disagrees" She said, and took him out of Zach's hands when Jake's arms extended towards her.
"Quack, park" Jake replied,
"You take him to the park too often" Zach noticed, looking down at Jake with a smile.
"Park park park park"
"He clearly likes it" Ellie noticed, "Do you want to go to the park?" She asked, receiving 'park park quack park' in response. "I'll take that as a yes" She said, "Coming?" She asked Zach who shook his head.
"Work" And Ellie nodded, carrying Jake down the ladder.

{Jake, thirteen months | Lily, one day}
"How the hell did this happen?" Zach complained loudly, staring at the newborn in Ellie's hands.
"When a mummy and a daddy love each other very much, like us-"
"I know that shit, but how?"
"I was going to explain-" Zach groaned, but took the tiny little girl out of Ellie's hands.
"She's smaller than Jay was" He noticed,
"She's slightly premature" Ellie replied, and looked over to Jake at the other side of the room. He had now learnt the total of seven words; quack, park, dada, mama, duck, yuck, no. He was currently sat on the floor, fiddling with Louise's fur. Ellie walked over to him and picked him up,
"Come meet your sister." She said, showing Jake the sleeping child in Zach's hands, who Zach was smiling down at. After Jake lost interest in his new sister he walked slowly back over to the building blocks.
"Your turn to choose a name" Ellie noticed, looking at Zach.
"Really?" He asked, slightly shocked.
"Mhm" Zach paused, thinking, looking down at his daughter.
"Lily" He decided, smiling and Ellie nodded,
"Lily, I like it, it suits her" She said, looking at them both with a smile.

{Jake, eighteen months | Lily, five months}
Ellie laid back on the blanket, relaxing in the sunlight on the beach.
"I'm boored" Zach's voice said for the fifth time beside her
"Go entertain the kids" Ellie said, Zach grumbled and stood up. He walked over to them and picked up the lone bucket that neither of them were playing with.  After a short while, Ellie had fallen asleep.
"Wait, I have an idea" He said, grinning at the kids. He walked over to the sea and scooped up a bucket of water. He signalled to Jake to follow him, and picked Lily up in the arm that wasn't carrying the water. He held the bucket just above Ellie,
"Three two one" He tipped the bucket, causing water to completely drench Ellie.
"Holy shit!" Ellie exclaimed as Zach held Lily tighter and ran off, laughing. "Zachariah Hewitt!" She shouted and stood up to chase him, Zach quickly placed Lily on the floor away from the sea and continued running as Ellie started to catch up to him. He ran directly into the sea, Ellie on his tail. She soon caught up to him, and tackled into him, causing them both to fall face first into the waist deep water.
"You're a bastard, Mr. Hewitt" Ellie noticed, and gave him a quick, and salty, kiss before heading back over to the kids.

---

{Quick little thing - Jake, ten years | Lily, nine years}
"No, you idiot! It needs more yeast!" Jake said, adding more yeast to the container. Lily shook her head,
"No Jake" She complained, but she couldn't do anything about the added yeast. Jake next got the water that was over a hundred and twenty degrees.
"Be careful" Ellie warned from her chair in the corner of the room. "Don't do what your father does" She said,
"What did I do?" Zach asked, poking his head around the door frame.
"Nothing" She smiled, then Zach spotted the experiment,
"Oh what are you guys making?"
"An explosion!" Lily exclaimed excitedly. Zach gazed at the ingredients and shook his head.
"That will make hardly an explosion" He noticed, and walked over to them. He found some potassium iodide.
"This'll be better." Zach got a large test tube, placed the hydrogen peroxide and food colouring in it, added soap them smiled.
"Ready?" He asked, the kids nodded staring at him.
He added the iodide then backed away, watching the mixture fizz up and over flow onto the table.
"Your cleaning that up" Ellie noticed, from behind her newspaper.
"See, that's better than some shitty volcano" He ignored Ellie and walked out of the room. x

She was in danger as long as I was alive. Well, we dealed with that problem.

Before I even start telling the story of how I freed her, let me tell you a few things.
She's an ocean, taking the air out of your lungs and replacing it with water. You can still breathe, but you're not breathing oxygen, you're breathing her. She is in every fibre of your being.
She is a hurricane, spiraling in your insides, tossing and turning until she's sure she's noticed. When she dissapears, she leaves an aftertaste.
She is a lightning storm, always present, but sometimes striking just to make sure she's still noticed.
She is, most of all, a person. Her name is Amelia.

I was in the HQ before her so it was only right to leave before her as well.

It happened on a mission.

I jumped in front of a bullet for her. And it felt right, dying to make sure your loved ones survive. A fair exchange, if you ask me. After I felt the bullet in my stomach, I knew it was too late. I closed my eyes, my hearing being the most reliable source of information. There was an another bang, which meant the shooter was taken care of. There was also a voice which kept screaming my name. It was her. I felt her hands trying to find the entry wound, and when dhe did, she knew, too. No miracles for me. I guess I already had my fair share of miracles.

I felt her light, but wet touch trave across my face. Some of the wetness reached my nose and I noticed it was blood. How ironic. I was a spy my whole life, and blood only scared me now. I was afraid of dying, but it didn't hurt.

What hurt were Amelia's sobs.

They came like an ocean, trembled like a hurricane, struck like a storm.

I opened my eyes one last time, for her.

She started to say something, but I dropped my weak hand on top of hers, which was shivering."I told you I would keep you safe."

Black.

There are a lot of people who don't wish to die. I'm not one of those. Death will come, sooner or later. It came sooner for me, but it was expected. My only regret is that I couldn't keep her safe anymore.

She joined me three years later.

"Welcome home."

All things come in three forms. Solid, liquid, gas.

Having a crush is gas.
It makes you feel dizzy, it makes you float. Having a crush changes nothing in your body, but it adds just a dash of helium to shake things up a bit.

Trust is solid.
It is a big cube made of rock. Heavy, but managable. Breaking the trust of someone who isn't so close to you is pressing that rock cube with a weight which separates the cube easily with huge amount of pressure. Breaking the trust of somebody you love, however, is trying to destroy the rock cube with a butter knife.

Love, on the other hand, is liquid.
It leaks down your spine, drips through your veins, and when the veins fill up, the liquid breaks them and oozes through yor whole body, graduatelly filling up from your toes to your brain. Ah, but when it reaches your brain, you're in it too deep. Love fills your brain, occupies your thoughts, toys with your emotions. Suddenly, you're hooked. You have to do everythong in your power to keep the love in your body, your brain, but it's dripping out through your palms. You don't have enough love in yoir body so you need to find somebody who will share their love with you. I found my person, that's why we're here today. I won't tell you anything aboit her you don't already know.

She's the light of my life.

She is my savior.

She is my best support but my worst judge.

She is my world.

That's all you need to know.

I didn't know it in kindergarten, when he drew over my favourite drawing and when he kicked my feet while running.

I didn't know it in elementary school, when he made fun of me and threw waterballoons in my face.

I didn't know it in high school, when he ignored me when he was hanging out with his gang, but in his free time he was helping me with my homework.

I didn't know it when he brought coffee to my office and opened up the schedule for me so I could finish my work with ease.

I didn't know it when I was the last person he said goodbye to after going to war.

I didn't know it crying on his grave.

Today, when illness is destroying my body slowly, today, before death, I know.

He loved me. I was loved.

Make it stop.
Let this end.
Eighteen years pushed to the ledge.
It's come to this,
A weightless step.
On the way down singing

Chameleon was the main criminal mastermind in England, maybe even world. His battles were not fought with fists; but with bombs. Benedict had already been to Paris. He was sent there on a mission, assignment, to deactivate Chameleon’s bombs, placed in a dozen of cars placed all around the Eiffel tower. Only the best of best were sent there to get rid of bombs, because in each car there was enough explosive to demolish everything in the radius of a kilometre. Of course, they did it, but it was anything but easy. They were attacked for the first time flying in a plane from London to Paris. That thing alone was pretty common, and everybody knew how to fly a plane in the team, but the presence of two hundredish civilians made things considerably harder. Not to even mention deactivating bombs in Paris, full of tourists, in the middle of the day. That mission, the most important mission of 21st century, which Benedict successfully finished as a nineteen-year-old, was called Mission Delta.

I'm not a sentimental person. Who, me, Benedict Bennett? Never. Only for her.

Life as a spy isn't the safest. Our everyday was filled with shattered glass, bloody bullets and scars. Not that I minded. I hope she didn't, too. Running, icy wind against your face, legs barely touching the ground, I lived for that. You know how drug addicts have their favourite drug? So did I. Yes, boxing, yes, knocking someone out for a day, yes, shooting, all that was incredibly satisfying, but running. Heart is pumping blood to give you power, and you're God, for just a few seconds. My drug of choice.
Not hers. She hates running.

I made this decision nearly a decade ago.

Every time we'd be out on a mission, no matter what kind of a mission, something crazily, stupidly hard or just a routine check up, I'd kiss her. No matter where (though her hair is still my favourite spot). Just a kiss, a marker that she's mine, that I'll protect her with my life. A promise, if you will. Even after all these years, I still felt sparks. Not sparks, not really, stars. A little explosion of guaranteeing my love. Cheesy, I know.

But my kisses weren't limited only to heart-pumping moments of dangerous frenzy. Sometimes, when we got days off (and that, considering my persuasion skill, was more often now), and when we drove away from the HQ in Howard's car, we'd dig up the old CDs and wipe off the thin layer of dust from it. Music from the nineties and early noughties was the only one which we knew, we didn't have time to listen to the TOP 40s or anything like that, so the ancient records like The Black Eyed Peas, Cascada, Eminem, not to forget Radiohead or Pearl Jam, were the things we cranked up on the player. We knew every word. Yelling out lyrics in the crazy traffic of London was never the best idea, and yet we still did it. Especially when the lyrics were misheard, like 'sucking on a leprechaun' or the classic 'I got a gay dad' from Boom Boom Pow. I really doubt she didn't know the lyrics of that. I think she did that only to cheer me up. It always succeeded and ended with a kiss on the cheek. Just our thank you.

Why did I choose to kiss her before missions? What made me choose that little thing to be 'our thing'?

Humans are selfish creatures, and I am no exception. I kiss her because if we die on a mission, she'll remember me. The last kiss she got would from me.

Very selfish. But hopefully, not necessary.

"John"

Kill me
or Murder, but not a crime

Universe: original, BBC
Genre: Angst
Lenght: Two pages

No. Breath stops, cold in my throat. No. I kneel down, next to the figure in black and red. One bullet hole in his lower chest area.
"Sherlock?" I ask, shivering with my whole body. He tries turning his head to me, but unsuccessfully. Instead of an answer, he coughs and spits blood. I freeze. We both know what it means. The bullet hit his lungs. They fill up with blood, making it hard to breathe and, eventually, suffocating him. Long painful death. And there is nothing I can do about it.

He coughs once more, with more blood.
"John-" more coughs. "John, please"- he stops talking entirely, maybe because of the pain. He grabs his gun and throws it out of the pocket. The action is more than enough to understand, but he speaks up."Kill me."
"Sherlock-" my turn to choke.
"John, please." He raises his head to take a huge gasp of air."I'm going to die neverthrless, and I can't-" his breath didn't last very long.
"I-" I can't breathe. His broken image floats in my mind as I take the gun. Hands shaking, legs shaking, whole posture shaking, I get up. I notice that the gun is slippery from his blood. There are hot tears slipping down my cheek. I shake my head to hide them as I point my gun at him.

"Aim for the heart", he advises me, and those are the last words he ever said.
I aim for the heart.

I don't miss.

When I'm sure I did my job, I drop to the ground. I watch him. Blood and life drip out of him, drop by drop. I can't keep on looking, but I can't look away. I look at him while his light shirt goes dark, while his pale skin goes paler, while we both sit in a pool of blood. He looks at me and opens his mouth, but he can't say a word. He takes one last shaky breath, chokes, closes his eyes, and just like that, he's gone.

I'm not sure what to do. One part of my brain wants to run, run as far as it's possible, and the other wants to turn back time to take the bullet instead of him. He's dead because I'm alive. He often said that his brain was his most powerful weapon, and when I asked, he answered quickly, too quickly. 'Heart'. It hits me. By shooting him, I shot myself.

It feels like that, if nothing.

Too late.
It was always too late.

The police came an hour later, to find  body, a gun, and a man with blood on his hands, curled up so he can't see the body, and he was screaming. Screaming for an escape from reality.

to listen
to look at

Sherlock Holmes didn't have friends. He only had one.
And that one friend was someone he was madly in love with.

♔

They've known each other since Sherlock was John's height, which meant since first grade of high school. It was insane how much both of them had changed. John's shoulders doubled in width, and Sherlock grew like a mushroom in the air. But no matter the physical differences, they were still the same nerd and the same punk from before. John still wore glasses and knit pullovers. Sherlock wore leather jackets and gelled his hair in a way which made John tease him. And they were together in the 'friends' sense of the word.

Their school colleagues had gotten used to seeing them around with their faces in books, ushering hushed words at each other, almost uncomfortably close, they'd got used to their crazy antics.

Sherlock, no matter how careless and whimsical he was about school, he was bright as a polished button, knowing things John didn't without even touching the study material. John was constantly amazed by him. And Sherlock returned the admiration.

John's determination was one of a kind. He never got less than an A in all his tests, because he studied and studied with a focused look on his face, at which Sherlock only recently realized he stared. He was staring at John for years. And he never did anything about the gut-clenching, devil-may-care feelings which devoured him from the inside in a tornado Kansas would be proud of. He had dreams, of course.

♔

The haziness, dustiness and heavy feeling of the morning dawn all lay heavy on Sherlock's shoulders. And he was as carefree as a sparrow.

Sherlock nudged his nose against John's warm, salty skin. The early sunlight shone through the half-shut blinds, falling on the perfection which was John's nude chest. (That part Sherlock didn't have to imagine. He saw it on the beach during summer holidays copious amount of times, oh, and the time when John accidentally spilled orange juice over himself from laughing at Sherlock.) John was covered waist down. Even in his dreams Sherlock respected John's privacy. Besides, he'd rather leave it to reality than to his over-strung, exaggerated imagination.

He pressed a kiss on John's throat, where he could feel the heated blood pulsing through his veins, giving him life. John tangled his fingers into Sherlock's curly hair, a tingly sensation dripping down his spine, like thick oil from a spoon. Sherlock glanced around the room. Even in his imagination John's bedroom was impeccable, cleaned in a feverish, OCD way, while John revised out loud for the next test. But now there were clothes thrown on the spinning chair Sherlock liked to annoy John with, there were shoes on the floor, converse all-stars with socks still in them, and Sherlock's scarf wrapped around the door knob of the slightly opened entrance.

"Good morning, love", John whispered into Sherlock's unruly hair.

♔

"Sherlock, for Christ's sake, stop!" John spluttered toothpaste foam all over the bathroom mirror.
"You have no right to mention Christ, you sodomizer" Sherlock spoke as he decided that brushing teeth is boring and started tickling John instead.
"We have to get ready for school and- you think this is a bloody game?" John threw the toothbrush into the sink and spat out the rest of the foam from his mouth before attacking Sherlock. He pinned him to the tiled, cold, but smooth wall and started tickling his sides, which he knew where the most sensitive. Sherlock squirmed around in his grasp like a fish out of water.
"John, no, no, please, I'm sorry, have mercy!" Sherlock let out a strange mixture of a squeak and a wheeze as he struggled against John, but all his attempts to speak or just get away failed and resulted in a loud uproar of laughter. Finally, as a last resort, he used his hands to grab John's tousled-up strawy-golden hair and pulled him away. They ended up staring at each other, icy silver eyes clashing with an ocean of kindness. John pressed a firm, quick kiss onto Sherlock half-parted lips. John tasted of toothpaste and just pure John.

"As much as this is pleasant and enjoyable and all other adjectives, we have school, you tosser."

♔

John kissed Sherlock in a way which shook his entire field of vision and made it blurry and ripped on the edges, washed away by the tide of John's infinitely destructive lips.

Sherlock imagined John as a grabby person, so John grabbed two handfuls of Sherlock's hair so he could pull Sherlock closer, closer to him, pressing his strong body against Sherlock's shivering frame and tangling their legs together. John's kisses, no matter how dominating and or straight-forward Sherlock was with these things, left him weak, his whimpers begging John for more, always and forever more. Sherlock helplessly grabbed the bed headboard behind him so he could stabilize himself, but John used the opportunity against him, pinning him against the headboard, making Sherlock leave a wet and raspy whine into his mouth.

"My God, John", he moaned under his breath, his voice barely a growl, rough as it scratched its way out through Sherlock's otherwise occupied mouth."Can we keep on doing this forever?"
"No, because I have something else planned", John played with the buttons on Sherlock's shirt before popping them open all at once and kissed Sherlock's neck.
"Do whatever you wish, but never - ahh, never stop."

♔

Sherlock woke up in a hospital room, positively sure that this wasn't one of his dreams. It felt too real, it had a material feeling to it. The air was heavy with anticipation.

"He started twitching in his sleep, then, when I went to check on him, he started talking to himself, then he just fell off the bed, and there was blood, so I called..." the voice of his mother came from the outside of his room, weepy and trembling.
"Ma'am, your son's condition is pretty bad, I'm not going to lie to you. He's in the late stages of psychosis, I have some pamphlets on it... Nevertheless, if you'd brought him any later, it would've gone worse, he would've started hitting pillows, and, lastly, people, because of his delusions and hallucinations." An older, irritating noise made Sherlock scowl.
"Mom?" he called, but his voice was feeble, meek, barely a whisper. He was surprised to hear footsteps and see his mother when she sprinted into the room with a painful look on her face.
"Oh, honey, you're awake. Listen, everything's going to be alright."
"What's wrong?" Sherlock didn't believe one word that passed his mother's lips.
"Nothing, dear, nothing, you have sort of an illness, but the doctors can cure you, you just have to go on a trip, just a vacation, little journey, to America, isn't it lovely?" she sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than him. Tears gave her away.

Sherlock packed and traveled to the city of Reichenbach, Cleveland, to a hospital, like he was mental. He wasn't mental. He wasn't insane. He was out of his mind.

He never left the emotionless rooms of hospital. He never got to see John again, but he could feel John's lips on his, even though they were never there.

The walls of his small room were chilly, but the walls Sherlock had built in himself were colder, gradually freezing Sherlock's soul, heart and brain. He never recovered.

He gave up.

to listen to
to look at

It was a beautiful day, he thought to himself.

The birds were tweeting their all-too-familiar, washed-out, chirping song. The wind chimes on the other building across his flat clanked their metal poles, creating a cacophony of melancholy and nostalgia. Even the people on the square below the flat were politer to each other, they smiled at strangers, they threw quarters and pennies to the raggedy guitar player and his Yoko Ono, there was a proposal near the fountain and people stopped and cheered and clapped, even shred a tear or two.

Yes, it was indeed a beautiful day, he thought as he charged his gun. This would be the day when he finally ended Sherlock Holmes.

Shame, really, he continued his inner monolog. Holmes could have been quite a partner. His skills are undeniable, a stitching scar on his hip itched as a reminder. Bullet-sized. He cringed. Too slow, he'd been too slow and blood was spilt. Ah, never mind that now. He had better things to do than to count the bullets he had had in his body. He stopped counting after the number got larger than a hundred.

He fixed the lapels on his well-ironed shirt, reminding himself to thank his partner for that. Ironing fell under the verbs he disliked. He checked if his partner was still asleep (and tried for his pulse. Strong as a bell) before he scribbled a note in a frantic rush. No, he couldn't leave him alone in the morning without as much as a note, who knows what he'd think. He left the chaotic note on his chest and gave himself one quick look in the window reflection.

It felt like something was missing, but he couldn't decide on what that something may be.

Never mind, he repeated shaking his head like a wet dog. He needed to get out. Now. He snatched a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses and shoved them forcefully up his nose before leaving the flat.

Time was dripping away like rain on the roof of an empty house.

š

"Damn it!" Sherlock Holmes punched the steering wheel, knowing it won't help. Punching machines only worked on water boilers, and he'd taken considerable amounts of time doubting it was only his that worked on kicking. The paycheck of a freelance spy was, he thought, not enough for all the things he did and all the things he went through. Every one of his shirts had bloodstains. He'd turned to black ones.

After another enraged punch, he gave up, muttering swears and blasphemy under his breath. If a religious person had heard him, he'd be in a lot of trouble, for insulting God in at least five different religions. But he didn't care. There was a special place in Hell reserved for him already.

He felt his beloved gun between his skin and his shirt, leaving marls on already well-tattered skin as Sherlock leant back into the car seat. He squirmed about in an uncomfortable manner; when was the last time he changed the ripped fabric? Not more than a year had passed, and yet they were already compromised into bits and tears.

He sighed. A new car was even more of a luxury than a new boiler. That's why he took on this job by the most anonymous, unnamed, no-face, dirty company he was ever employed in. He raised his eagle-like nose in disgust as he remembered the smell of the office. If he found out in the newspapers that that company was a drug and prostitute cartel as well as an assassination centre, he wouldn't be even remotely surprised.

He yawned widely, as if he may swallow Pluto. The last time he slept was on a plane to London to Montenegro, from another assignment, this time from the more reliable, but still not trustworthy hands of Scotland Yard. He couldn't remember the last time he slept through the night.

He removed a lock of his hair from his face, greasy with sweat and not being washed in weeks (read under; water boiler) with the same hand he simultaneously rubbed his eye with, occupying both is fingers and his wrist. After a couple of moments fumbling in the pockets of his old coat, which belonged to his great-grandfather, he fished out a note, which still smelled of cheap wine, marijuana and body glitter. A note was a messy combination of mathematical squares and black tint letters which clearly ignored the squared guidelines.

"get RID of: jim MORIARTY!!!" The incompetence of the office man completely baffled him, even after reading it a dozen times. But, no matter how smart he considered himself to be, he would be nothing without the comparisons to the ignorant, inept individuals whose lives he could read off of the state of their teeth. He scoffed and got out of the car. Guess he'll walk, then.

š

He bought himself a pack of cigarettes before heading to the abandoned building in construction. No, not abandoned, he dismissed his words after he lit the cigarette. The work on it was stopped due to the changeable London winter weather. It looked abandoned, though.

Oh, how his partner would kill him if he saw him light yet another cigarette.

'Those things are deadly', he'd say. And his reply would be always the same.

'And so is my job'.

He promptly, subtly grazed his back, finding the comfortable and relieving weight of the gun lodged next to his spine. Soon, as if he purred to it. Soon you'll get your chance to attack.

He told his people all around town to tell Holmes where he could find him.

Time stopped dripping like water; it turned into oil.

š

There was something peculiar in all the people Sherlock talked to. They looked absolutely positive to their statement. The answers to his questions were too quick. Even to a mind which wasn't as bright as Sherlock's it would be clear as glass.

The construction works on the address the people gave him paused just days after Sherlock returned, due to foul weather conditions in the area. The building, even its skeleton (which was really the only thing which was done for now) was huge, and it reeked of drying cement, adrenaline and oure, unadulterated danger. The corner of his lips tugged up, just slightly, before returning to their usual state.

How could he find one man in a building this size? Then he heard it.

A child singing.

'Itsy bitsy spider' had a ghostly echo through the bottom floor. Sherlock knew it was reckless and foolish to run into the building on his own. Should he call backup? Which backup?? He pulled out the cold gun and paced steadily into the building.

There was something odd about the child's voice, but he couldn't tell what.

When the song ended, he sighed in relief, but then it started again, louder, sang by a chorus rather than just one child. Chills poured down his spine as the song filled every corner of his mind, every cell of his brain.

And then he got it. Like a push in the chest.

The children weren't English. They had a Slavic accent, maybe Slovenian, Serbian... Sherlock stopped and nearly dropped his gun. He'd been to Slovenia. Then to Croatia. Serbia, Bosnia. Montenegro. All along, he was chasing a man who possessed information destructive enough to rule the world.

In those countries, he was known as Pauk. Or, translated, Spider.

"Sherlock!" A voice so sweet it might have given Sherlock cavities spoke through melodic laughter."I thought we'd never meet, dear. My, oh, my, I thought I'd have to kill you back there in Bosnia. You put up quite a fight, darling, but it was all for none, mind me saying." A lithe person Sherlock had never seen before stepped closer, holding in his arms a stereoplayer which emitted a dreadful sound of the children's song.

The man noticed him staring at the stereo."Oh, this little piece of work? Children of Ljubljana kindly offered to demonstrate their singing skills before I got rid of them. Collateral damage. I think of it as my theme song now."Jim Moriarty's manipulative eyes met Sherlock's."What about you? What's your theme song, is it Smooth Crim-?" he was stopped by a clicking of a gun. Both Moriarty's and Sherlock's head snapped to the sound.

"Which one of you is James Moriarty?" a cold professional voice spoke and Sherlock felt his whole stomach freeze. Moriarty raised a hand and grinned manically at the source of the voice. A gun was pointed at him and a blond man stepped into the light squinting, somewhat surprised."And who might you be?" man's blue eyes fixed on Sherlock at which he shook his head hurriedly.

"No one, I'm no one."  Sherlock decided that the man only had one gun and Moriarty was a bigger threat at the moment. Oh, how blissfully wrong was he.

Blond took out another one from his back pocket.

"Okay, 'No one', move and you're dead." Both of his guns were pointed at Moriarty and Sherlock respectively."Where's Moran?" his voice was stern and demanding. Moriarty seemed unshaken.

"He's at home, sleeping. I don't drag him along to all my escapades, he's not a dog", Moriarty snorted in response and dropped the stereo."Did you think he was waiti-" both Sherlock and Two Guns saw what he was doing.

He reached out into the back pocket of his jacket where was, undoubtedly, yet another gun. Blond thought he was going to shoot at him, so he moved in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock thought he was going to shoot at him, so he moved in Blond's direction. Their sides bumped into each other's, hip and waist clashing together.

They fired two shots each. Sherlock aimed for the head. Blond aimed for the heart.

š

He remembered what he was missing.

A bulletproof vest.

š

The two men stared at each other, their guns still pointed at the air Moriarty occupied just seconds ago. Now he bled out on the floor.

"Sherlock Holmes", he introduced himself.

"John Watson."

It was beginning of a life-long partnership.