Random Stories

Cat ~ Isadrew

"I'm allergic"
"No you're not"
"It's just like pollen, it gets up my nose"
"Just stroke her"
He held the cat up to my head height, might a challenge I must say, quite frankly the thing looks like a fat hairy baby. Isaac kept pushing the cat up into my face, I reached a finger out and patted it slightly on its head. I pulled my finger back as soon as I could, Isaac looked unimpressed.
"That isn't stroking her."
"I still touched it"
"Hold her"
"Er, no"
"Andrew, hold the cat" He shoved the cat closer to me, before pretending to drop it. I reached out to catch it, because even though this thing was no more attractive than a horse's backside, Isaac seemed to like it, so it had some worth. It looked pissed as it looked up at me. I can tell already this cat and me are going to be best friends. "See? Not that bad"
"What did you name it?"
"Cocoa"
"Why did I even ask?" I got a kiss on the cheek as a reply.

--

Isaac had to leave me and this cat alone while he went to school, and I swear that thing hates me.
"Why are you staring at me?" I got no reply apart from the continuous hard stare. I sighed, turning away from it, heading back to my shop. Damn thing followed me.

"Get off the counter"

"Oi. Touch the Chrysanthemums and their meaning will become true"

"Hey! Don't rub yourself against me, you'll get hairs everywhere"

"Look now, you're scaring my customers away"

"Right that's it" I picked the cat up, "Why can't you have a lead or collar like a dog?" I walked back into the house to deposit it in the kitchen. I glanced around before putting its bowls down on the floor for it. Isaac seemed to get everything provided when he adopted this thing. I didn't exactly know where he got it. I bet Tina.
"Don't scratch anything. It was all Ikea specials." It meowed. "Good."

--

The cat is already replacing me. It laid across Isaac's lap as we watched t.v., his hand slowly gliding over its back. Isaac is going to be the next crazy cat (wo)man, I would place bets on it. I already think one cat is too many. Hm, this is a plan I shuffled down the sofa slightly, dropping my head onto his lap, in the space where the cat wasn't.
"Oop. Andrew?"
"Mm?"
"What are you..?"
"Don't I get my fur stroked?" I gestured to my hair, receiving a giggle from Isaac.
"Jealous?"
"Of that feline? No"
"Yes you are"
"No I'm not"
"Are"
"Okay, I am, so where's my love and affection?" Another giggle. But I did get a head massage, so it paid off, and a glare and a hiss from the cat but who cares. My Isaac. I don't share.

--

"Ooh! When did you get a cat?" It used to be 'ooh when did you get a husband?' but no, the cat is centre of attention, it isn't even cute.
"Is she like a replacement for a child? Do you spoil her?" Just because we can't have a child doesn't mean there isn't another way of getting one. Though, thinking about that, I would rather have the cat than a child. At least this thing doesn't cry and I can put it in a cupboard if it annoys me.

--

"Go away, Cat" Honestly? I forgot the cat's name ages ago. It hisses at me too much, so why should I spend time trying to remember its personal things if it doesn't like me? "Feed yourself. I've seen cats do it on YouTube, so you can too" I got another nudge and hiss. "My God. Fine" I stood up and walked over to the kitchen, opening one of the food packets. The only thing worse than the cat itself was its food. How is this appealing for it to eat? I placed the bowl on the floor so it could eat it. I really don't like it being on the furniture, gets hairs everywhere. It hissed as I walked past it, so I growled back.

--
 
Isaac came home late, Tina made him stay behind to help her with her work. Andrew laid on the sofa, waiting for him. But, he had eventually snoozed off. Isaac looked around for Cocoa, he knew she and Andrew didn't agree with each other, and feared one day he would return to see them having had a fight, (he was pretty sure Cocoa would win). Andrew was curled tightly around a little ball of fur, which snuggled closely into his neck. Neither of the two seem disturbed by the fact they were literally curled up around each other, but he knew if they woke up it would be a completely different story. He placed a little kiss on Andrew's head, placed a blanket over them both (Andrew's feet not being quite covered) and headed off to bed.

--

"AH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" A loud hiss followed.
They'd woken up.

Heh imma shit.

It was moments like this that made me believe in a God. Only He can make something that holds all the beauty of the world. That beauty was sat high up in the tree, on the thickest branch, his legs dangling over the edge. His hands were clinging onto the bark as he was looking down towards me, laughing, his whole face lit up as it crinkled into the look of pure happiness. With the sunlight behind him, the rays dispersed through the leaves, he looked like a true angel. One that God spend days, weeks, months even years trying to perfect. And, my, did He perfect him. His smile shone rays of colours from every end of the spectrum that go running in all directions, looking for an untouched canvas on which to leave a mark. He was the reason for the good in the world, he was the reason for the light. He was the rainbow in the sky during the rain storm, reminding everyone that even on the darkest, dampest days; there is hope for humanity.  He is probably the reason why the Earth rotates back into the day after a long drawn out night, he's what makes the blessed spring come after the bereaved winter. Isaac is the good of the world. The beauty, happiness and love. He's my angel. My love. My life.

Report by PC Nugent.

Case Report: 002

Date: 01/02/09

Description: Rosina Lockhart, 30, found at 2300 hours in her apartment in Colorado by her sister Tasmine Browne. Police arrived at scene at 2323 hours, the door showed no signs of forced entry neither picked nor attacked. Lockhart either left her door open or willing allowed her killer in.
Body was in the centre of the room, dead for at least 20 hours, surrounded by a pool of blood, DNA test proved it as hers. Torso remained unscathed, but limbs were completely shredded, as if by an animal. Only the flesh was damaged, the bones remained untouched. The shreds of flesh remaining showed to have been cut with intricate detail. Too detailed for kitchen knife, too deep for razor, penknife is what is thought. Forehead had a symbol etched in; the signature of the killer. It was the shape of a Rook.
Lockhart was meant to meet Browne for their weekly bowling competition. Lockhart never showed, Browne tried to contact but got no reply. Out of character for Lockhart.
Autopsy confirms Lockhart bled to death.

According to this note, Ms Lockhart had been a naughty girl, Or, more, this Client had said she had. I don't really know that much about it, I just do my job. He wants her dead, he is paying a good price, so I oblige. Oh I know what you must be thinking. 'What a greedy person, killing to get paid thousands.' You should know I donate most of the money. I don't need it. I would be a lawyer or something if I did this for money, Hell knows I am smart enough. No, I do this job for the kicks. Nothing gets the blood pumping through your veins quite like watching somebody else's poor out across the floor in front of you, creating a sea of red. It's rather beautiful, really. Blood is unlike anything else. I love the burgundy colour, such a deep, rich colour, one that has so many mixed opinions and meanings. Fear, love, life. Blood is vital for humans, With every drop lost, so is a piece of their life. That's why I like my victims to bleed nice and slowly, so they can see their sins of their life. And so they can watch their life slowly draining away, every bead of the warm, red, sticky liquid could be the last before darkness encases on them.
Ms Lockhart had cheated on Mr Client. I don't like jobs such as these. So cliché and boring as this. I mean, they cheated? So what? Get over it. But, after Ms Lockhart broke up with Client, she stole his Twilight Boxset. So she is a thief and an adulterer. Plus it is kinda funny. Ms Lockhart wasn't hard to find, Client had told me of her plans, (that seems stalkerish is you ask me, but no one did, and he isn't the one I am meant to be targeting. That makes it none of my beeswax). She wasn't hard to track down, and it was even easier to get into her flat.
The procedure is easy. A single blow to the philtrum to cause unconsciousness, this could cause a concussion but never causes death if hit right. Next, engrave the famous Rook into the forehead. The pain of that should cause them to wake up. If not, continue anyway. This is the best part. You delve the knife straight into the fleshiest bit of the thigh and slowly drag the blade dow towards the knee, listening to the screams as they fill the room. Don't let these get too loud. You really don't want a concerned neighbour walking in halfway through. It's a really awkward conversation. A sock shoved in he mouth is good for muffling screams. It is important you don't forget the quality control checks. Gloves, hair tied back, that sorta thing. More awkward than a neighbour walking in on you is the Police finding out who you are.
Ms Lockhart was an awesome victim. She did everything she was meant to. And at the perfect timings. I do love it when things go right. It makes things so much easier for both the victim and me. There is on last thing you must not forget to do. You are allowed to admire your art afterwards. You must have spent ages plotting this moment, and you can't just leave with admiring your ingenuity and craftsmanship. Cherish the moment you had as God, choosing who is to die and who is to live. Not many people get to do that, y'know.

"Isn't this pointless? We'll just eat them anyway."
"Shush, Zach, it is for Easter! And look at the Ducklings, they are enjoying themselves."
That they were. The two children, one five the other four, both were covered head to toe in paint. We were all sat at the table, paints scattered across it, with two open boxes of eggs in he centre. The kids were laughing as they coated each other in a multitude of colours. I must make sure that Zach is the one who has to wash them up after this. Lily had stopped flicking her brother with the paint and turned her attention to the eggs she was meant to be painting. She swirled the paint creatively over one of them, Jake was slightly less enthusiastic, much like his father. He dabbed the paint over the pieces of newspaper covering the table, drawing what roughly resembled an atom.
"Jay, please draw on the egg"
"He doesn't have to"
"The whole point of this is to draw on the egg"
Zach picked up a brush and dipped it in to the green paint, I, at first, thought he was going to pick up an egg and join in with the kids, but as a grin grew on his face, I knew something wasn't right. He grabbed the front of my, or more his, t-shirt, pulling me into a kiss. The horrible cold, wet texture of paint hit my cheek instantly and I was unable to pull away until he had finished completely covering my cheek green.
"Zach!" I pulled away from him as soon as I could to wipe the paint away with my shoulder, "You bastard" Zach was just sat laughing his head off, and I was reminded of the time they were painting in their flat. "Green is a terrible colour"
"No it is not. It was the best colour"
"Blue is the best"
"It is not!"
"Yes it is"
"I think red is the best"
"Shut up, Jay"
"Zach!"
"What?"
"Don't tell him to shut up. Shut yourself up"
"Fuck off"
"Fuck you"
"Fuck you too"
We glared at each other when Lily made a loud squeal, "Mummy! Will the Easter bunny be  proud?" She showed me the egg with a huge grin lighting up her pretty little face.
"Wait, you let them believe in that?"
"Yes, because they are real"
"No they are-" I slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Yes they are. Santa visited us when we first met, remember?"
"Yeah, but that was you being a bitch, not Santa"
"But Santa is real"
"I give up"
"Good, now paint a bloody egg"
I placed an egg in his hand while I stood up to get my face washed properly. It took a short while, but when I returned, I saw the three of them concentrating on their eggs. I decided to leave them be until they had done.

Lily's egg was very well painted, she had chosen lots of colours to express the true meaning of Easter and spring. Jake's wasn't as well done, but it was red with blue and green stripes. Now Zach's. I have no idea if it was a good painting or not, but he claimed it to be the molecular structure of 'human genome'. He seemed happy enough about it. And God knows he is hard to please.

"Thank you so much boys! You both are saints!" According to the bible we are the complete opposite.
"Any time. So feed at five then bed afterwards? Okay" The woman at the door, who happened to be called Rita and lived a couple of doors down. Her usual babysitter was on holiday, so she relied on us to look after Imogene while she went on a date or whatever it was she was doing. I didn't care that much about what she was doing, just that she had dumbed a baby onto us, a cat is bad, a baby is worse.
"Yes! I will be back at ten! Bye boys!"  Rita continued smiling brightly at the two of us as she handed the infant over to Isaac, who happily took it, while I took the bag which contained everything the baby would need in her night at ours. She gave us a quick wave before running away from the door.
"So, what do we do with her now?"
"Well, it is only four thirty, so we can't feed her yet. We can entertain her."
"How?"
"Watch tv? Kids like tv." He headed off towards the living room while I went off to dump the baby stuff in the kitchen, seemed the most logical place to put it. I found the cat lurking under the table, so I took the feline up and carried her through into the living room where Isaac was sat on the floor with Imogene. I sat down beside them and put the cat down in front of the young girl who instantly started grasping onto its fur and tail. Cocoa didn't seem to mind that much, but did often try to escape from the child's wrath.
"We can't feed her" I noticed as I huddled next into Isaac's side. He moved his gaze away from the child and the cat to look towards me with a confused look.
"Why not?"
"Neither of us are female, so we can't give her any milk" I got the very clear look of 'you are an idiot' before he burst into laughter. "What?"
"There is such thing as formula milk. Don't you know anything?"
"About having babies? Not really, never had that experience, surprisingly enough" Isaac just laughed again, returning his attention back to the other two. Both of which had calmed down enough to sit and watch the tv.

Imogene, it seems, knew exactly when it turned five o'clock, as she started screaming bloody murder.
"What do we do? Why does it sound like a cat being dragged backwards down a motorway?"
"She needs to eat."
"You can do that then."
"Nope you're coming to help." He made me pick up the screaming child and I followed him through into the kitchen. He quickly prepared the milk as I held the baby an arm's length away from me, trying to not get deafened by the racket. "Hold her properly so I can feed her" I changed the position of the child, so I was holding it in a more traditional way. Isaac walked over and moved the bottle over Imogene so she could suckle on it easily.
"Ah, peace and quiet" I grinned at Isaac as the girl fell into a contented silence, happily guzzling the milk. "How much do you think we should feed her?"
"As much as we've got? We don't want her to go hungry"
"Good idea" I took the bottle off Isaac as he began warming up the rest of the milk for Imogene to drink. I never really imagined having to feed a baby, since I never saw myself having any of my own. For obvious reasons. It is pretty calming though, just the warmth of the baby seeping through its clothing onto my bare arms. It felt almost natural to start humming, or more singing, to her. I used to sing to the twins, but I didn't really interact with them much when they were this age. I handed Isaac the bottle when it was empty so he could fill it back up with milk. I continued singing as Isaac gave her the second round of milk. Isaac smiled as he held the bottle for Imogene, who happily started guzzling this one down.

Imogene dropped to sleep not long after her food and lullaby. Isaac and I settled down on the sofa, Isaac curled up into my side.
"I really hope this isn't giving you any ideas to get any kids" I said to him, looking down towards him with a soft smile.
"You'd make a great dad"
"So would you, but we're not getting any"
"Why?"
"You already have that cat"
"Not the same as a child though"
"Exactly, easier to care for" We fell into a comfortable silence, watching the tv until Isaac started talking again.
"If you were female, we would have kids by now"
"If you were female, we would have kids by now"
"Yeah, but not as many"
"What makes you say that, hm?" I raised an eyebrow down towards him as he started giggling. I grasped what he meant after a second and playfully growled at him. I pushed him onto his back and kissed him gently. "We can amend that"
"No we can't"
"Why?" And as if on queue, the baby in the room next door started screaming her head off.
"That's why"
"Ugh. We are never having kids"
"We can't anyway"
"Yeah, I am letting you no where near an adoption place"
"Why?"
"You would adopt every poor soul in there"
"So?"
"We are not having any children" The baby continued crying, meaning I had to slid off Isaac to go tend to her. I gave Isaac another kiss before starting to walk into the other room and turned to look at him, "I think we're happy enough with just a cat"
"You, Cocoa and I. Best family I could ever wish for"

"ZACH! Get your ass down here right now"
"Whatever, Mom"
"Watch your attitude, young man"
"I'm older than you. You can't call me young man"
"Just shut up and come down here. With clothes on"
"But the kids aren't here" Zach noticed as he walked down the stairs, thankfully, dressed in pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt, his usual sleeping gear. He looked very dishevelled, and grumpy, as if he had just woken up. At the glance at her watch, Ellie saw it was quite possibly true, seeing as it was just past half past eight and Zach didn't normally get up until nine. "What?"
"We're going to the petting zoo"
"Yeah, no we're not" He turned heel started to walk back up the stairs.
"Oh no, you're coming with us."
"Why?"
"Because your children want you to go" That made Zach stop and slowly turn on the spot. He groaned loudly, stomping down the stairs in a childlike fashion. "Put some more clothes." He continued trotting down the stairs, walking to where his jeans were hanging up still drying from their wash yesterday.

The two picked up the kids from the babysitters after Ellie had forced food down her husband's throat. All four of them sat in the car, driving towards the closest petting zoo, with a surprisingly small amount of complaints from Zach. Ellie had a feeling he might actually be looking forward to this.
When they reached the entrance, Ellie left Zach to buy the tickets as she watched the children gaze around the gift shop. She made a mental note to buy them a gift each, if they behaved well. She thought it would be a good idea to do the same for Zach, it might tempt him to behave too. She looked over to Zach who was now talking to the very bored looking cashier who was selling the tickets.
"Would you like to feed the animals, pet the animals or ride on the tractors?" She asked, watching as Zach reached into his wallet to find his card to pay for this day out.
"Personally, I would rather not do any of them. I'd much rather be at home reading up on Dibromohydrocinnamic acid. But she dragged me here"
"Zach, just answer the question and stop wasting everyone's time" Ellie called from the other end of the gift shop, watching Lily as she gazed excitedly at a stuffed animal of some sort.
"I did answer" Ellie sighed and walked over to the counter,
"Four for all, please" She said to the girl before heading back to her children as Zach paid.

Lily enjoyed feeding the animals much more than Jake, who like his father, looked on with slight disgust as Lily offered her hand out to one of the pigs.
"Careful, Lily, don't let it bite you" Zach said, who even though he looked disgusted, also looked quite worried for his youngest. The pig was about three times the size of the four year old. Ellie didn't share the concern of Zach, she happily let the pig snuffle at her shoes and hand.
"Why do we even love these idiots?" Zach asked his son who shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't love the pig. Much too big"
"Ugly too. Much like the one who is currently scratching its head" That one was Ellie, who, even though she wasn't looking in his general direction, managed to hit Zach in the face with some of the pig food. He just scowled as he wiped it off, deciding to pay her back later on.

While Jake and Lily sat stroking the animals in the petting part of the farm, Zach decided to take Ellie for a detour. He took her hand and lead her to a large building, grinning the small feeling of déjà vu that occurred as they walked through the plastic that was dangling to cover the open door frame. The whole building was mostly dark, apart from the panes of glass that had small lights inside of them.
"Here, look at this" He pulled her over to one of the bigger panes of glass, which turned out ti be a small enclosure for an animal. At first, Ellie didn't seen what it was, before she let out a loud scream and scrambled backwards, away from Zach and the animal.
"You dick!" She shouted at him as she leant against the back wall. This exhibit wasn't very popular, and Ellie knew why. In the enclosure was a very large Goliath bird-eating spider. Zach had read about them once, and he thought Ellie would love them. "I hate you so much" He just walked over to her, grinning, and kissed her forehead.
"Awh, I'm sorry"
"Why would you do that?"
"I didn't want to come here"
"You're like a fucking five year old"
"No, Jake is more like me than I am him"
"Just shut the fuck up and lets go back outside"

They returned to where they had left their children, and decided to sit down and join them in stroking the small animals. The kind looking woman smiled at the two adults and handed them both a fluffy animal each. Ellie got a bunny, while Zach got a ferret. All Ellie could say is that he looked mildly traumatised by the creature sitting patiently on his lap.
"You're meant to stroke it Zach"
"I don't like ferrets"
"I don't like you but I still stroke you put up with you"
"Rude. But really, I really don't like ferrets. They're all long and sneaky"
"Unlike you then"
"Shut up and get this animal off me" Zach scrambled to stand up as soon as the animal was off of his lap, and climbed out of the pen. "You three enjoy yourselves, I am going to explore"

Ellie and the kids found Zach half an hour later sat on one of the tractor rides, seeming to enjoy himself very much. He was racing the younger kids around the track, his tall body much too big for the tiny tractors, making him look very ridiculous with his knees bent so they were almost reaching his head. Jake ran off to join him while Lily stayed at her mother's side as she watched the boys all racing around the track.
"Daddy looks really stupid"
"I know he does honey, but enjoy it while you can. He is too smart for his own good. For our own good"

They returned to the gift shop just before the farm was about to close, and Ellie allowed the two kids to pick out a toy of their choice. Zach, completely uninterested in the shop, returned to the car, giving Ellie a chance to pay him back for earlier. With the toys her kids had chosen, (Lily a stuffed gazelle, and Jake  a slinky) she bought a stuffed ferret. She had the cashier wrap it, so that Zach could open it in the true fashion of a present. All holding tightly to their gifts, they returned to the car, where a very bored Zach sat on the bumper.

"What's this?" Zach asked, as Ellie gave him the present later that night after the kids had gone to sleep.
"A present"
"Why?"
"Because" Zach squinted at her in the dim lighting of their bedroom before slowly ripping the paper off of the toy. He held it up in the air so he could see it properly before giving Ellie a cold glare.
"I hate you"
"I love you, too"

"How many did you drink?" He asked, slightly leaning against her shoulder. It caused a domino reaction and she came falling down on a wall on her right.

"How much did I drink", Amelia corrected Benedict as she handled him up and searched his back pockets for keys. When she fished them out, she unlocked the door and pushed the mess of limbs and dizziness inside.

"No, I mean how many bottles."

"I mean, how much liquid."

"Alcohol."

"Whatever." It must have reached Benedict's mind at some point that they are professional spies, not immature irresponsible adolescents, because he put both his hands on Amelia's shoulders.

"Ames."

"Ben."

"We're on a mission, yeah?"

"Yeah...?"

"Mind you reminding me what the hell are we doing? We should find the... the bloke with nuclear stuff."

"Nice going", Amelia said. "But he isn't here. We told Howard. Remember? He's in France-"

"Since when is he in France?" Some light returned to his sky blue eyes. "Paris?" Worry.

"No, no. South. He sent Jon and his partner there. He knows how we feel about France", she scoffed. Not that she minded. Bringing Benedict to Ireland was probably the best idea in years. Who knows he had such a low tolerance to Irish whiskey. They drank almost the same amount, Amelia didn't count the millilitres, but the consequences varied.

"What a way to ruin such a nice country", Benedict frowned.

"Shh. Sh. Why do we keep on returning to Paris and France? Forget they ever existed."

"I try."

"Do or do not, there is-"

"Don't make us any older than we actually are by quoting Star Wars", he stopped her.

"You know, there are nicer ways to make a girl shut up", Amelia bumped his hip with hers, which wasn't the best idea because Benedict fell forward, somehow aiming and hitting the sofa face first. "Shit. Are you okay?"

"Might hurt in the morning. Nothing I haven't experienced before", Benedict grumbled, sobering up a bit. He turned around on the sofa and adjusted his shoulder. Was that bullet wound there only for a week?

"Doesn't mean I'm not sorry", Amelia clambered on top of him and nuzzled into his chest.

"Yeah", he huffed. "Even after decades of being a spy you still somehow manage to surprise me, every time."

"If that may be my only legacy..." she said and left a soft kiss somewhere near his lips, but not near enough.

Benedict gazed into Amelia's eyes as if they hid all the wonders in this world. And, for him, they did.

"Amelia May-Lee, am I not your legacy? Look what you made of me."

"I do hope it's good."

"The best." He went for a sloppy, misaimed kiss, and Amelia guided him to make their lips meet, softly and gently. Benedict's hand almost instinctively ended in Amelia's hair, and her arms around his neck.

"We don't do this not even close to enough", he exhaled peacefully against her skin.

"But when we do", she simply said, and kissed him again.

"Cali."

Nothing.

"Cali."

Still nothing.

"Callipso Ravelle."

"Huh, what?" Callipso snapped out of whatever it was and turned to Melissa.

"You just sat next to me."

"Yeah, so?"

"I'm a Gryffindor."

"And?"

"You're not. What is that..." Melissa pulled the seventh-year's tie and gasped. "Cali!"

"Oh my god, what now", Callipso ripped his tie away from Melissa's grasp and stared at its colour for a few moments.

"I didn't even want to know why you're so confused, but now that I do, ew." Melissa didn't seem impressed. "Gee, Cali, didn't know you were a Hufflepuff."

"Shut up and help me find him", Callipso grabbed Melissa's hand and dragged her out of the Great Hall.

"HIM??" Melissa shouted after him. "WHAT THE HELL, CALLIPSO?!"

"Did you think I was straight? Did you really?"

"No, but shit, I thought you were hitting on me for years!"

"Gross, Melissa!"

They bickered all the way to a hallway. A specific hallway, Melissa noticed. A hallway which turned to a door.

"Freddie? Open the damn door."

"Is it that Miller kid you've been studying with all the time? OH MY GOD DID YOU EVEN STUDY?"

"Who's there?" A much quieter voice than the two called from the inside.

"Me. Open the door, why'dya lock it?"

"I'm studying", Freddie answered and opened the door. He looked at Callipso's tie for a second, not noticing Melissa, who decided to leave, as she remembered she had Potions to study. "Why are you wearing my tie?"

"Why are you wearing MY tie?"

"I think we both know the answer to that, and we both agree never to do that again."

"Only if you specify what 'that' is."

Fuck her. Or, better yet, fuck me.

So there's this problem. A six-foot, pink-haired, flat-chested, willowy-in-the-nineties-style problem. She's a model for my human anatomy class, and every time I draw her my mind wanders to the darkest depths of... My mind, I guess?

I don't know. But she's fucked me up and I don't like it.

There's no telling just how much I try not to shout at whoever from the class who tells her to change positions, move one hand up, down, stretch her spine. I know it's supposed to be professional 'n all, but you put a half-naked attractive girl in the room and expect us not to be just a bit distracted? (By is I mean lesbians and dudes. Straight girls don't give two shits.)

It doesn't even matter that she has coloured galaxy tattoos all over her arms, random hipstery geometrical shapes over her legs and small chibi-like creatures on her feet and fingers, it doesn't matter that she's practicalky blind without her thick, geeky glasses, it doesn't matter that the only shoes she wears are those stupid low Chuck Taylors I saw on commercials and wanted to get so bad, hell, it doesn't even matter that she was born a guy. What matters is that I get flustered whenever I smell that cheap, disgustingly sweet perfume she wears.

Is there a club for sexually frustrated folks?

Hi, my name is Bree. Hi Bree, says the support group. I'm twenty one, I continue, and I still haven't gotten out of puberty. A round of understanding nods and supporting murmors and fourty five minutes later we all go get cupcakes someone named Brenda made and hahaha life is so great. Bullshit.

I don't even know what to do about that problem. Everybody knows I'm not the most quiet person in the room, and that I have literally nothing to lose, but it was still so hard for me to walk up to her, hug her around the shoulders, and say 'gurl get some lunch w me at five k thx bye'. I've done that before, but for her, it was a particularly touchy subject. Screw it, I don't even remember her name.

But the thing is, she is too good for me. If I was in and league, she'd be way out of it. See, those tattoos were expensive. Quality hair dye was too. Not to mention SRS and hormones and shit. So, firstly, she's rich, or at least her parents are. I pay my rent by sleeping with my housekeeper.

Just kidding. It ain't far from that though.

I work on a gas station, as the person from whom you buy stuff. It's the graveyard shift, which means, school in the morning, coffee, then work. When do I sleep, you ask? My sweet innocent child, sleep is a long forgotten childhood memory.

Where was I going? Ah.

She's rich, pretty, and smart. On her way to a medical doctorate.

What would she do with me, a broke-ass college student with purple eyeshadow (but the trick is, it's under my eyes, not above them geddit geddit), never clean greasy hair, charcoal and ink-stained wash-bleached jeans, and a family in New Jersey?

Her mother or grandmother was Korean; her father or grandmother was Jewish. You can guess how that racial history made her look like.

Hell yes. Walking and talking sex in an icecream cone sprinkled with brains and humour.

Humour? Do you even know how funny she is? (Normally funny, but everything she does is sliced bread for me. She is my goddess.)

She hangs out with her crew under my flat, in the worst, but the cheapest coffee shop in this part of Queens. I know that's supposed to be a sign from God or whatever to talk to her but no. As you know, most of the people who are getting their doctorates are nerdy, asthmatic weaklings, and she once made one kid laugh so hard he nearly had an asthma attack. (I didn't hear what she said. But I bet it was hi-fuckin-larious.)

I need to find out her name before I take my grandfather's WWII gun and shoot my brains out.

-..-..-..-

I was sketching the slope and the sku resort of her lower thighs from memory when she appeared, hovering above me.

"Hey", she said, and oh my god if it wasn't the hottest 'hey' ever uttered in human history. "Hadn't had the chance to talk to you yet."

The struggle of raising my head was too real.

"Hi", I said, my voice a mixture of cracking adolescent boy mutating and a country singer. That's what you get when you don't speak for a while.

"Oh, I like this", she said, gesturing at my drawing.

I usually don't get praised much for my art. It's too abstract for Van Gogh, but it's too realistic for Picasso. I don't use a wide range of medias, because I madr charcoal my bitch back in the nineties and till today it's the only media I'm truly comfortable with using. My painting of her (just her legs this time) was edgy, smudged, a play on negative space and just how much black I can get on my clothes. But hey, proportions.

"I dunno. I've seen much better."

"Yeah, me too, but I still like it." Oh, so self depreciating doesn't work with her. I like that in a woman.

"I'm Bree", I said, watching as her nude waist touches the edge of my chair, the wood touching the centre of one of her tattooed stars.

"Sam. Maybe we could hang out sometime? You seem like the least camp and stuck-up person here."

"I try." If not being camp means wearing hobo clothes, fuck yeah I'm up for it.

"That a yes?"

"Sure." Play it cool, B.

"Friday, three o'clock, that coffee shop you like to stalk?"

"Daamn, busted. I actually live there, thank you very much."

Sam left with a wink. She caused a boiling pile of melted brain inside my skull. Damn that girl.

-..-..-..-

Skip forward a few months and a few hours, and I have Sam on my bed, asleep.

She hated when I did that, but I still did.

I drew her while she was sleeping.

She always complains, because 'shit, Bree, you draw me when I'm prettiest, why do you like to draw me slack-faced', but seeing her eyes closed oh so innocently, kick-starts my inspiration.

She'll wake up soon and be mad at me for half of the day, and the other half she'll spend prancing around the gas station with barely legal clothes, just to see how confused can I get when I try to return money to costumers and watch her at the same time.

Of course, I could always put my drawings away. But my fingers always get stained by charcoal.

Drugs are great kids

"Well, this is a problem."
"Congratulations, Amelia. I never actually noticed how intelligent you were."
"Shut up, Benedict! You're meant to get us out of this."
"I am? You're the better spy out of both of us."
"Oh yeah right, just get us out of this mess." The two were sat back to back around a pole, their hands tied together with rope. They were meant to be getting a chip containing the nuclear plans. But, after being injected with some sort of red liquid. "This rope is kind of itchy on my wrists"
"Will you stop talking? You talk too much sometimes, but I love you."
"I don't know why I am talking so much. Might be the red stuff they gave us. Did you know you're eyes so very blue? It's my favourite colour now. I used to like red but that just makes me think of Paris. I don't like red any-more."
"Amelia-May! Shut up!"
"What's your favourite colour? I have a feeling you can't lie right now."
"Why do you care about my favourite colour so much?"
"Because I want to know everything there is to know about you, plus I was planning your birthday card and Howard wouldn't let me go out and buy one so I have to make one and I didn't know what colour to make it. and I should stop talking because it will ruin the surprise but I was planning to decorate it with everything you love but I don't know what you love apart from this job and running, but I can't draw them"
"Amelia!"
"What is your favourite colour?"
"Your hair colour."
"What?"
"That's my favourite colour, now shut up while I try to work a way out of here since you're not being helpful." Amelia looked at him and pouted, "Don't look at me like that! You look adorable. Wait, what?" Amelia grinned at him, "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything!"
"Shut up. Let me concentrate!"
"You're not doing anything!" Benedict's hand broke free and he waved it out beside Amelia's face. "Shut up"
"I didn't say anything." He grinned and winked at her, before untying his other hands and Amelia's. "C'mon you" He stood up and rubbed at his wrists. "Let's go." He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a sprint.
"I hate running."
"I know."
"I love how you look when you run though. Muscles rippling, eyes glinting, beads of sweat dripping down your torso making your t-shirt cling to you but I much prefer it when you're not wearing it-"
"Amelia. Shut up." He took a glance at her, stopping to grab her waist and pull her into a kiss. "See? That's better" He rested his forehead against hers. He pressed one last kiss on the corner of her lip before he grabbed her hand to start dragging her along back to the entrance.
"Isn't there meant to be security stopping us from escaping?"
"Don't know, don't care, I'm just getting you out of here alive, bonus if I'm out too."
"Of course we'll both get out alive.."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because I do believe we are pretty damn good at our job."
"True. Let's show that to the idiots who locked us up."
"They didn't really lock us up-"
"Shut up, Amelia!"
"You've said that so often today."
"You should follow the advise."
"Thanks?"
"You're welcome"

Freli Vegas
I hope you werent expecting anything good

"How many is that now? Surely you have had enough?" No matter how hard he tried , the words came out jumbled and slurred, and the other guy sat next to him threw back another shot before he fell into a giggling fit.
"Shh, Freddie. Enjoy it. We're in Vegas! Y'know let's go explore more." Cali stood up on unsteady feet, reaching to balance himself on his even more unsteady feet, making both men crumple unceremoniously to the floor in a pile of limbs. Cali continued his monkey like giggling as he sat up, pulling Freddie up with him. He placed a sloppy kiss, presumably aimed for the lips, on to Freddie's cheek.
"Hey, hey, let's make us official."
"We are oh-fish-shall though, you're my bf."
"No. No, no, like proper official. Then no one can separate us, not even your crazy fans and paparazzi."
"Are you prop-oh-sing?"
"Yeah. You could say that."
"Ring?" Cali gazed around the floor, finding a plastic tie and held it up triumphantly.
"Ring!" He took hold of Freddie's hand and wrapped it around his finger, placing a kiss on top of it. "C'mon husband. We should go make it official official." They dragged each other off of the casino floor, receiving multiple funny looks from onlookers as they both downed another shot before they staggered out of the door.

"Cali..?" Freddie received a grunt as he nudged the sleeping figure next to him. "Cali."
"Fuck off."
"What happened last night?" Cali gave Freddie a dark look before he grumbled his reply after lifting the bed sheets up.
"Guessing from the amount of clothes we are wearing and the amazing hairdo you have, I think it was something great." Freddie lifted his hand up to fix his hair subconsciously, only to get his hand batted away by Cali, even though he had returned to the depths of the bed.
"No, no. There's something different?"
"Did we try a new position? Because if we did, I ache a lot after it but it is certainly a very nice ache."
"Shut up, Cali. I'm being serious."
"You started talking. Let me sleep." Freddie groaned and ran his hand over his face, flinching as metal pinched his skin.
"Ow.. What?" He pulled his hand back from his face to look at it. "What the..?" A glitter of gold caught his eye, wrapped gracefully around his ring finger. He reached under the bed and grabbed Cali's left hand from the other side of the bed. The same gold band was around his finger.
"Cali, did we get married?"
"Probably." Freddie dropped Cali's hand in his frustration, colliding with the man's chest, receiving a grunt of pain from him.
"You're such an asshole."
"Yep."
"Cali, this is important."
"So is sleep." Freddie sighed loudly, starting to clamber out of bed but Cali grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into bed. "No, you're staying here." He shoved Freddie down onto the bed, laying his head onto his chest.
"Cali, we need to pack to get back home."
"Noo, we don't. Sleep."
"Cali."
"Freddie." Cali threw a hand over Freddie's stomach, pinning him into place. He scattered chaste kisses down his collar bone, "I don't mind having you as a husband."
"Don't mind?"
"Could have been worse."
"Could it?"
"Could have been better though."
"Shut up." Freddie moved Cali's head up so he was able to press his lips against his, "I don't mind having you as a husband either, well, I will if you don't get up and help pack."
"Fuck off, let me sleep."

The world was dying in peace. For once.

Earth had had its war-wrung days, but it was dying calmly, like a hero.

The year was two thousand seventy three, precisely thirty years from the end of World War Three. Nobody celebrated it, but it was thought of, anyway.

Here's how sixth-graders learn about it; 'In the year of two thousand thirty nine, a hundred years after the Second World War, Russia attacked the Middle East, under USA's control. Russia had fallen to the command of the United States (page 85), but some of its spies had landed presidential roles, starting to control both Americas and the North-East to West Asia. Russia's weapons were nuclear bombs, which were thrown on Iraq and Iran respectively on 5th and 6th of July, the days following Independence Day (page 14). The bomb destroyed everything in a hundred kilometre radius, and the radiation is known to had even reached places as far as Egypt on the south, India on the west, and Romania on the east. It even destroyed parts of Russia which were warned fourty eight hours prior. Russia had then taken over Canada, Kazakhstan, Poland, Bulgaria, Baltic States (page 114), and East Germany, rebuilding the Berlin Wall as a sign of rebellion directed towards the renewed forces of UK, France, South Africa, India and China, who joined a pact called FUSIC (page 102). It took them two years to free the occupied countries and a year more to break Russia's resistance. 26th of February is celebrated as the official date of the end of World War Three.'

It's all blunt facts, black and white on the pages, and it tells nothing of the true story. They don't write about the victim count, which is massive, unguessable;  they don't write about methods a commander from Cyprus used while leading the British foot army through Serbia; and they don't write about Berlin. Nobody speaks of Berlin, whose wall now completely surrounds the east side, even thirty years after the end of the battle. There are people who, under the watch of remaining under-cover Russian soldiers who lived in America during the war, still live in those ruins. The Russian soldiers bring them food and water, and little else, and the Germans survive on will-power, and will-power only.

Lincoln Stark glanced judgingly at the orange sun which burned his already dark skin. He couldn't fathom how people could live so long under the torn atmosphere. He was about to find out.

He stood in the British camp, not far away from Berlin, watching soldiers and spies, all warriors, rushing about to find their stealth weapons and guns. Very primitive looking things, he noticed, but that's all war-torn Germany could give them. It should be enough. Or that's what he hoped.

The world was failing on itself slowly, silently. First bees disappeared, animals started dying, plants dried out. Remaining radiation, scientists say. Or just old age of Mother Earth. People discovered it soon enough so they could build starships to hold the remaining human population in space until they find oxygen somewhere else. They built ships for animals, too, and for plants and chemicals scientifically unable to create, using mind-blowing technology, but even then, some of earthly treasures couldn't be carried away.

They sent photographers all over Earth to take pictures of all nature's children, mountains, lakes, rivers, the never-explored depths of oceans, and buildings by people who died thousands of years ago. They saved it all into a huge motherboard, which was connected to the entire starship. They even went so far and collected every USB or CD or more primitive media holders which existed on Earth and slowly, but surely, uploaded them to the motherboard. All movies, songs, personal pictures, artwork, saved. Only touchable evidence isn't possible. It took humans a decade, but they succeeded.

Final days. People were packing to go to their new home, the starship, taking final glances at their beloved Earth who fed them for years. The last time Lincoln checked, everyone was on the ship but Japan and New Zealand, and of course, Russian soldiers, who ignored their wives, husbands and children, families leaving them behind and boarding the ship without them. They refused to survive, thinking that the Earth will then belong to a couple of thousand of them when everybody else leaves.

The Earth rumbled beneath Lincoln's feet, and he removed a curl of his black and frizzy hair from his forehead, covered in a coat of warm sweat.

Everybody has left but Japan and New Zealand, who are soon to be boarded, the Russian soldiers, and them, the rescue mission.

Berlin hasn't boarded the ship yet, as well. And the people around him were there to make sure that they do.

Gregory Stark was the tactical leader of the rescue mission, and was generally a tough son of a bitch. Felicity Stark was the commander, who made sure all the plans were followed correctly, and was even tougher than her husband. Lincoln Stark was sent to the mission by his dad, was not in Germany by choice, and was afraid of cats.

Two of them were soldiers, born from and for battle. One was a historian and a map reader, who really doesn't want to be on Earth when it's on the edge of collapse.

Lincoln hit a smooth pebble with a tip of his dad's well worn combat boots, and went to search for his mother's braided ponytail, poking out of a commander's flat, beige cap.

He found her in the map room, bent over old, faded, yellow papers. Her right-hands, the German locals, must have gone for food or beer, as they do.

"Hey, Commander Stark", he said, just to annoy her. She glared at him under her thick eyebrows, but the anger subsided mere seconds after. A mother can't be mad at her son. Unless he didn't make his bed.

Commander Felicity Stark was a woman in her mid-forties, with wrinkles around her deep-set eyes, and around her large, full lips. The greys in her hair were carefully braided invisible, and her nose was slightly turned to the right. She didn't wear any make-up—and why would she, in the middle of a battlefield—but her lopsided smile and her short, but dark eyelashes made up to it.

"Mornin', Link. Have you eaten?" Typical mum question, if Lincoln had ever heard one.

"Too nervous." Commander Felicity Stark looked at him again, narrow-eyed.

"Why are you nervous, you're not going to be fighting."

"It's people I know, mum. I've seen them practice together for weeks now. I'm worried for them."

"Not worried for me?"

Lincoln sat on the chair across of his mum, and started going through the maps.

"Of course not. If the whole army left you alone in the middle of the fight, you'd still finish them all." His mother was invincible in his eyes.

"You just say so", Commander Felicity Stark grinned. Lincoln loved her smile, it somehow reminded him of home. Her cracked tooth, one missing in the back, the warmth of her eyes. His home in Liverpool was a distant memory, something they left behind. He missed it, but it was a thing everybody lost.

A tall, scared, but determined-looking woman stomped into the tent, a whirl of pale, sunburnt skin and blonde hair, messily flying around her face.

"Commander Stark", she said, with her thick German accent. "The soldiers say that the best day to start the mission is today, an hour from now."

Lincoln felt his breath hitch. Wasn't that too soon?

Commander Felicity Stark got up and turned the map around.

"Can't do, Frau Schmidt. We need at least ten more spies to handle the first wall of defence."

"But the soldiers…" Schmidt stopped, and eyed Lincoln suspiciously.

"Go", said Commander Felicity Stark, handing a rolled up map to him. "Figure out if there's another way to the city. I'll deal with this."

Lincoln didn't doubt it. He grabbed the map and found himself a nice place in shade, on top of an old Range Rover, whose back had been covered by a metal roof. He didn't find an opening in the defences, but the map was very old, so he didn't give up hope.

He didn't notice, though, that some people in soldier uniforms boarded the Rover, speaking a distinctively Slavic language, not noticing Lincoln on their roof. He only noticed when the motor started, and the Russians headed to Berlin.

***

"Ma'am! Ma'am!", called a deep, strong voice from the outside. "We're six men short, ma'am, and—"

"What? You sure, Torres?" Commander Stark stormed out of the planning tent. "Six men? We're already in weak numbers, we can't afford to lose any more—"

"One of them is your son, ma'am."

"Lincoln?" Her eyes started to glow in worry. "He wasn't going anywhere, he was in my tent not even an hour ago…"

"And we're missing a metal-enforced Rover, too, with weapons in the back."

Commander Stark doesn't swear, but sometimes she makes exceptions.

"Goddamnit. Russians."

"What makes you think so?" Rick Torres wasn't sure of her words, but he trusted Stark. They'd fought together before, and she never lead him wrong.

"Schmidt told me that 'soldiers' wanted to attack today, and that she had her doubts set on Russians infiltrating our system."

Torres nodded, understanding.

"So what do you plan on doing?" he asked. Commander Stark frowned, her fight-face on. She's a soldier. Casualties are a part of her job. She wasn't religious, but she prayed in her mind for her son to return alive.

"There's nothing I can do. Not before Gregory sends us more people. At least fifteen more. We do nothing until then. It's a command, Torres."

Her stomach turned and twisted, and she felt like throwing up. She might have just lost her son with that order.

***

Lincoln was not dead. Yet. As the east side of Berlin approached, his legs itched more and more to jump off the Rover and run back to safety, to his camp and his mother, and the safeness of tents…

Berlin's wall was very high. Lincoln couldn't exactly see how high, but he'd say at least fifteen metres, maybe twenty. It was made of old stone and stable concrete, grey and bleak. Lincoln remembered the entry in his maps, and saw it wasn't guarded. He made notes in his mind to tell it all to his mum, but then saw something which wasn't in maps.

A small, stone hut, attached to the wall some thirty metres from the entry, which had no windows but a door with a rusty lock on it. Lincoln had broken locks like that when he attended basic military training, and sheer curiosity made him jump and grab a tree branch, escaping the Russians in the Rover. He climbed down a tree, thanking God and his mother, who forced him into gym every morning, that he made virtually no sound as he clambered to the ground.

The Rover continued its way, and Lincoln held his breath, hid behind a tree, until they disappeared, on the other side of the wall.

He could've ran to camp.

Instead, he walked up to stone hut, and picked the lock with a pocket knife his dad gave him. It only dawned on him that there might be Russian soldiers on the other side, when the lock gave away and fell to the ground with a dull clinking sound.

His heart was beating a wild rhythm somewhere between his eyes, his hand held the knife in front of him, and he opened the door.

"Hallo?" Lincoln heard, and he felt dizzy. Was it someone who survived World War Three? Was it a child of people who were tortured? And, most important question, why were they, whoever they were, locked away from the rest of his people? "Wer bist du?"

"I…" Lincoln knew a tiny amount of German, and he would have given anything to know just a bit more. "Do you speak English?"

"Ein biss—A bit."

"Are you… Jesus."

The inside of the hut smelled like stale air, human waste and dirt. A man lay in old hay, in shapeless, grey and brown clothes. His hair is long and dusty, eyes red, his cheeks fuzzy with an unshaved beard. He's about Lincoln's age, maybe younger, and he's chained to the wall, the cuffs restraining his leg.

"Oh, Lord, I am so sorry. I, I…" Lincoln needed a way to get closer to him, to release him, to carry him to the camp, but none of that could happen if he didn't trust him. "Mein Name ist Lincoln, you know, like the president?" The man shook his head. "What is yours?"

"Wolfgang."

"Like Mozart, right?"

Wolfgang's frightened hazel-blue eyes remained confused, and Lincoln sighed.

"Can I… Can I help you with the chain?"

"Bitte, ja", Wolfgang stretched his leg out with a painfully sounding crack, and a weak moan.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Lincoln said, even though he had nothing to do with his pain. "How long have you been locked up in here?"

"Ich weiß es nicht."

"Shit."

Lincoln wiped his knife clean from the dust which fell from the foor and started picking the lock on the cuff.

Wolfgang stayed quiet for a few moments, watching Lincoln carefully, and searching for the right word.

"Depends."

"Sorry?" Lincoln looked up at Wolfgang.

"It depends how long it is from war."

"Thirty years", Lincoln said, confused, and returned to the cuff.

Wolfgang did the math in his head quickly.

"Vierzehn."

"Hm?"

"I've been here fourteen years."

The knife fell out of Lincoln's hand. He stared at Wolfgang, his jaw losing contact with his face.

"Fourteen…?" he gasped. "B-but why?"

"Mutti und Vati tried to escape. They succeeded, and the Russians kept me as a bait."

There were no mentions of anyone trying to escape, even less escaping succesfully. If Lincoln was still holding his knife, he would have accidentally cut Wolfgang's leg.

He couldn't focus. He needed to do one thing at the time, and freeing Wolfgang was his priority.

"O-okay. I'll just get rid of this and then you'll tell me everything. Can you walk?"

"Ja."

It took Lincoln a couple of more minutes to uncuff him, and on the place where the metal rubbed against the skin, it was red and bruised. He'd been struggling against it.

Lincoln helped Wolfgang up. He weighed less than fifty kilos, clothes and all, and Lincoln could have carried him with ease, but he insisted on walking. They walked out of the stone hut.

Wolfgang marvelled the sun for a few seconds, just soaking up the sun.

"I missed the sun", he said, and his voice hit Lincoln a bit.

"You're going to see lots of it, but now we really need to go."

Wolfgang nodded and followed Lincoln west.

***

By the end of the journey, Wolfgang used up the last ounces of energy and collapsed to the ground. Lincoln picked him up and ran the last half kilometre to the camp.

He was met by some of the soldiers, in training clothes, looking worried, but energised.

"Hey, I have no time", Lincoln said, handling Wolfgang to Private Cho. "I have to go to Commander, please get him to the medics… Mum!" He called out, running off.

It took him half a minute to find Commander, in her tent. She was with Rick Torres, who told her about solders missing, their real names and intentions. When Lincoln hastily ran in the tent, Commander got up, toppling over a plastic glass she was holding.

"Lincoln", she said, her voice weak.

"Mum, you won't believe it—" and he started to te her what happened, but she cut him off.

"We know, Link. Torres was just telling me, we were about to send a couple of our men to go and get you back… How did you escape them?"

Lincoln puts his hand on the table and leans against it, exhausted from running.

"They didn't even know I was there, mum… But that's not important."

"What do you mean—"

"I rescued a man from Berlin." Commander and Rick Torres stared at him blankly. "He was imprisoned in a stone cottage, outside the wall, but connected to it. It wasn't on any of the maps, so I decided to check it out."

"You could've got hurt", said Rick Torres, but Commander had her thoughts somewhere else.

"Who is the man?"

"I don't know. Says his name is Wolfgang, and he was born after war, I think. His parents—" suddenly, a new rush of energy flooded through him, like a shot of caffeine. "His parents. He said that his parents escaped Berlin fourteen years ago, and that's why they locked him up."

"We've never heard of anyone escaping Berlin. Goverments kept Berlin wholly a secret, but it was still known among few of us who were ranked high enough", Commander said, tapping her fingers against a wooden column which held the middle part of the tent up.

"I know", Lincoln said.

"Where is he, now?" Rick Torres asked, putting away some maps and plans. "I think we have some questions to ask the man."

"Handed him over to the medics", said Lincoln, scraching the back of his neck. The tent was hot and stuffy. "His leg is hurt, he's dangerously underfed and, after being in the dark for so long, the sun exhausted him. Fainted some six hundred metres from the camp."

"So long… You said, fourteen years?" Commander asked.

"That's what he told me, yes."

"Poor man."

Rick Torres nodded in agreement, but had action in his mind.

"We still need to talk to him. He's the most valuable source of information we have right now."

"I don't think he can tell you much", Lincoln admitted. "Fourteen years is a long time—a lot of things can change in the meantime." Before his mum could even open her mouth to speak, he cut her off. "And he was just a kid when his parents escaped, so no information there, also."

"Hm", Rick Torres nodded, agreeing. "You're right. But, still, we have to question him."

"After he wakes up", Commander added. "Leave him to be taken care of. He deserves it."

They sit silently for a few seconds, but then get up and return to life. Duty calls.

***

"He's lost at least twenty kilos in the past month", said the plump German volounteer nurse. She was short, her cheeks pinkish red, her light brown hair in two thick braids. She stood beside a bed with a thin mattress, where they lay down Wolfgang.

They washed and cut his mousy brown hair, shaved the scruff on his cheeks, dressed him up in clothes too big for him, all with military preciseness. He looked so much younger, and so much older, now that Lincoln could see his face as a whole.

"Why past month", asked Commander.

"Well, you see, Commander", the nurse said, lining her papers in order. "Russians have their own ways of torturing their prisoners. They'd—" her voice broke a bit. "They'd starve them, for two, three months, giving them bread and water, then return them to normal food. It weakens the organism, you see, meine Oma told me about that."

Commander put her hand on the nurse's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"He should wake up", the nurse continued, her eyes glassy, "soon. He's just exhausted, but his health is, overall, survivable."

"Thanks, Anne."

The nurse and Torres left, leaving Commander and Lincoln alone with Wolfgang's sleeping figure.

"He's going to be fine, physically", Commander made a bitter remark, "but there's no saying how traumatised he might be."

Lincoln hummed in agreement, and stayed next to Wolfgang's bedside.  The next day they found him with his head on the bed, soundly asleep.

***

"Space?"

"Yes, kind of. We're not actually going to float around amongst the stars."

"I've never been to space."

"I would've never guessed."

Wolfgang awarded Lincoln with one of his few smiles. And, during the week they'd known each other, Lincoln learned to appreciate it.

"But, anyway", Lincoln said leaning back against his suitcase. He was sitting on the floor, across of his bed, where Wolfgang was. The tent was small, but they didn't mind it that much. "How'd you learn English?"

"Mutti had an English book", Wolfgang said, as he picked at the sole of his borrowed shoes. Avoiding Lincoln's gaze. Lincoln sensed sadness coming. "She kept it away from the Russians, otherwise they would burn it. She learned English before she was locked here, and she taught me."

"I'm—"

"That's how I know they survived", Wolfgang continued, "because, before she left, she told me that she'll leave that book in front of the… Entrance?" Lincoln nodded. "In front of the entrance. So I sat in front of it the next day, and the Russians opened it and saw the book. Then, I think… They locked me in a room for about a week when, I think, they made the stone…"

"Cottage", offered Lincoln.

"Prison", Wolfgang said. "They thought Mutti and Vati were going to return. They never did. Ich war traurig, ich war klein und… Alone." He looked up from his shoes at Lincoln, who stretched his hand to hold his.

"I'm sorry."

"Du kanst nicht helfen."

"I know."

Wolfgang muttered something under his breath and squeezed Lincoln's hand tight. Lincoln didn't hear what he said, but he couldn't understand it anyway.

"You're here now, right?"

"Richtig."

"And I'm not letting you leave."

They don't move their hands long after they stopped talking.

***

"Mum says they freed Berlin from the Russians."

Wolfgang doesn't acknowledge Lincoln said anything.

"They're letting people out as we… I… speak."

"Are they alright?"

"Most of them, yeah. Do you want to—"

"Nein. They probably forgot me. Und das ist okay.  I don't remember their faces anymore, as well."

***

"You scared me the first time I saw you", said Wolfgang as they travelled to the station in the back of a Rover.

"Did I? I'm not that scary, am I?"

"No", Wolfgang shoved Lincoln playfully. "No, wait… How do I say this… Possibility? I don't think it's right, but nevermind. The possibility of what happened that you're there, that scared me."

"Don't understand, sorry."

"Hm."

Lincoln let Wolfgang rearrange his thoughts for a couple of minutes.

"I remember that they took away Frau Müller's adopted child from Kenya and we never saw him again. Herr Ling und seiner Schwester, Fraulein Ling, they disappeared one day, as well. Herr Patel and his three children as well. Herr und Herr Winther, a week after the Patels. And, Frau Linder, first they took away her wheelchair, then her. And Frau Rostenkowski." Wolfgang looked at Lincoln, hoping he'd understand. When he didn't get the realisation he wanted, Wolfgang inhaled sharply, held his breath for a few seconds, and said, "They took away everybody who was different than what they believed in. And, I thought, when you came into the prison, I thought that Berlin was gone and I was the last one. I thought Russians took everyone away, and you were searching for survivors."

Lincoln watched Wolfgang for a few seconds.

"Dear Lord", his voice was barely a breath, "I can't imagine how that feels."

They sat in silence, until Wolfgang found the word he was searching for.

"It feels hollow."

He leaned his head against Lincoln's shoulder, sniffing, gulping back the words he doesn't know how to say. Lincoln leaned against him, feeling guilty of things he didn't do.

***

"Well, this is it", Lincoln said, putting his suitcases down. The room in the spaceship looked small, minimalistic, and bare. Lincoln would choose dangerous tents any day over it. But he was allowed to customise it later on.

"Can I…" Wolfgang started removing the backpack from his shoulders insecurely. It was his room too, after all, but he seemed afraid to claim anything his.

"Of course. Don't have to ask me for permission." Lincoln saw an object of interest and walked up to it. "Whoa, check it out, we have a computer in our room!"

Wolfgang raised his eyebrows, patiently waiting for an explanation.

"A computer, this thing", Lincoln motions towards a transparent keyboard and a white, very ordinary-looking wall. "Oh, crap, might want to turn it on, I think."

"Du weißt", Wolfgang snorted. Lincoln rolled his eyes and pressed a few buttons. The wall lighted up; a huge screen with small buttons on it.

"Nice. We have music, movies, books, everything", Lincoln pointed at some of the buttons. "Dear Lord, we have internet, too. Is there anything you want to know? We've got all the knowledge in the world."

"Oh, ja." Wolfgang sat on the bed, testing it out. "Wer bist Lincoln, Präsident, you told me about?"

"Come on, that's basic knowledge."

They looked up Abraham Lincoln, then read out random passages they found in Shakespeare's work, then Lincoln told Wolfgang about the invention of VHS, then they watched Titanic.

"If this ship sinks like that one, I swear", Wolfgang said, which sent Lincoln into fits of laughter.

When they ran out of ideas, they looked at what other people searched. That gave Wolfgang an idea.

"Can I just search for something?"

"Sure", Lincoln passed the keyboard to Wolfgang, who slowly typed in 'Mozart' in the search bar.

"I want to know who that was, that's all", he said.

"A composer", answered Lincoln quickly, grabbing the keyboard back and typing in a composition. "He was Austrian, and was a smart kid, and played the piano or something." He found a video and clicked on it. A soft tune filled the room.

"Für Elise", read Wolfgang the title of the video.

"Yeah, it's my favourite composition." Lincoln lost himself a bit, his eyes now not leaving Wolfgang's. "It's so amazing, how many artists have written songs poems, novels, drawn paintings, made statues about love, and they still do, and yet, nobody can explain what it is."

"An emotion", answered Wolfgang, looking at the video, pointedly ignoring Lincoln's gaze.

"It is, but, at the same time, it isn't", Lincoln insisted, "because you can't feel it the way you feel sad or happy or scared. You can feel scared, but you can't feel 'love'. You can feel it existing, you can feel it when it's directed towards you, but you can't feel it like you feel emotions."

"Ich weiß nicht... Are you suggesting something?"

Wolfgang finally looked at Lincoln, who had a silly grin on his face.

"Yeah."

"What?"

Wolfgang's hands were suddently entrapped by Lincoln's, but that was nothing new.

"I finally know how to say it. I did some researching."

"Ich verstehe dir nicht."

"You verstehe me very well."

"It's verstehst, in that place..."

Wolfgang had to admit it. He did understand him, but still refused to believe it.

In fact, he still didn't believe it when Lincoln leaned in, and actually kissed him.

It felt like the time stopped, and when it restarted, Wolfgang found himself with his hands around Lincoln's neck, Mozart still in the background, slightly dizzy.

"You…" he coughed, "you wanted to say something?"

"Yeah. Might have forgotten it, though. I'm a bit lightheaded", Lincoln said, making Wolfgang grab the collar of his shirt and pull him into another kiss, to which he responded laughing. When they pulled away, noses touching, Lincoln looked into Wolfgang's hazel-blue eyes, and, with a smile, he said,

"Ich liebe dich."

Wolfgang's face is unreadable, at first.

"What, I thought you understood the language", Lincoln said, a chill creeping over him.

"I do, I just… I thought it was going to be something I didn't know already."

"Oh, you idiot", Lincoln said, and pushed him off the bed. He fell down with a string of swears, and when he got back up, the Mozart composition was done, the starship still hadn't started moving, his parents were still not on the ship, he still wasted more than half of his life in prison, but the world seemed just a bit brighter.

The windscreen wipers couldn't keep up with the volume of rain that were falling from the heavens, the water obscuring the view more than ten feet from the bumper. Benedict sighed loudly as he slowly drove down the road, leaning far over the wheel and squinting, trying to get a better view of the road in front of him. He grumbled to himself about Portland's weather, his highlight's main beams reflecting most of the light back at him. The term raining cats and dogs didn't seem more true to Benedict than it did right at that moment.
A flash of red made him stamp hard on the brake, his car skidding and slipping along the sodden road. the red belong who a young woman, who glanced at Benedict for a second before squatting down in the road, directly wear Benedict needed to drive.
"What the..?" He wound the window down, to shout over the rain, "Hey! You can't just stop there!" He tooted his horn obnoxiously, but she didn't move. Something was up, Benedict decided, when she removed her coat and seemingly placed the coat on the road in front of her. He sighed, grabbing his umbrella as he got out of the car. He expanded the umbrella as he walked over to her, standing beside her to see what she was doing, and so the umbrella covered the two of them. On the road in front of her was a young looking dog, now bundled up in the woman's coat.
"Some douche bag hit him and drove off." She explained, not looking away from the dog as she picked it up and drew it close into her chest. The dog whimpered slightly as pressure was applied to its body, but cuddled closer into the source of warmth. "I'd better get him to the vets. Thanks for not hitting me," She gave Benedict a brief nod before turning to walk out into the rain.
"Hey, wait, are you walking to the vets?" She stopped and turned to look back at Benedict, she gave him a small nod, her wet hair plastered against her face. "I'm driving that way. I'll give you a lift." She gave him a wary look, which received a grin off Benedict. "I won't kill you, I've missed my chance to do that today. I'm Benedict." He introduced himself.
"Amelia-May."
"Well Amelia-May, you can stand there and get even more soaked, or join me in my lovely warm car." Amelia contemplated her options for a second before nodding. She walked over and got into the passenger side of the car, the dog still bundled up in her arms. Benedict climbed into the other side of the car, turning up the temperature to dry his two passengers off.

--

Benedict still drove slowly through the pouring rain, even as the rain became easier to see through.
"Are you going to give it a name?" Benedict asked as he looked over at the creature snoozing brashly in Amelia's arms.
"'It' isn't an it, he is a he. I'm not going to bond with him, in case his owners want him back." Amelia explained, her gaze purposely avoiding Benedict's as she stared down at the dog. Benedict smirked as he looked at them.
"Not forming a close bond, yeah right. You're smitten"
"Shut up and get us to the vets."
"Alright, Princess, alright."

--

Benedict dropped Amelia outside the vets, watching her go inside before driving away. The rain had completely stopped by the time he had made it home, and that night he dreamt of dogs and a girl with vivid red hair.

--

Benedict didn't see Amelia again until a week later, the dog glued to her heel, its head staring up towards her. He pulled over to the side of the path and wound down his window.
"Not forming a close bond, I see." Benedict smiled at Amelia, who started at the sound of his voice.
"Oh shut up. His owners didn't come forward and the vet has made me care for him until they do."
"Have you named him?"
"Well.. I have been thinking of names."
"And..?"
"I was thinking of naming him Jonathan."
"No."
"What?"
"You are not naming the poor thing Jon. I think you should call him Howard." Amelia looked down at the dog and shook her head.
"No way." The dog had padded to the side of the car, staring up to where Benedict was sat, its tail wagging lamely from side to side. "I will keep thinking of a name."
"You'd better. See you later, Ames" With that, Benedict pulled away from the path and drove to work. He swears he only glanced in the wing mirror once to look back at Amelia watching him leave. It was only once, but he didn't take his eyes off it until she was just a spot in the distance.

--

"Benedict!" He glanced up from the cup of coffee he had just bought and was planning to drink when Amelia and her dog friend ran up to his side. "How about Spot?"
"Spot? That's a bit... unoriginal?"
"Yes, but it fits him, don't you think?"
"I guess..."
"Spot it is!" Amelia cheered, receiving a loud bark from the dog, from Spot.
"Hey, Ames" Benedict started, reaching his hand out to stroke Spot's head.
"Hm?" She asked, grinning down at her newly named dog,
"Would you like to go out for coffee?"
"But you just bought one"
"Not now, I mean, together, sometime?" Amelia smiled at his awkwardness,
"Sure, Benny, you owe me for paying all of Spot's vet bills."
"What?"
"Yep, so if I work that out correctly, that is about one hundred coffees."
"But-"
"Nope. See you later, Benny, Spot needs a check up." Amelia left him with a wave and a laugh as she walked off towards the vet clinic.

--

"Does he never leave your side?"
"Nope."
"Right" Benedict handed Amelia her coffee, rubbing the top of Spot's head.
"C'mon lets go to the park. Spot likes it there."
"Is everything you do based on Spot now?"
"Yes, does that bother you?"
"Not really."