Rossi Drabbles
Feedback to Rossi.
Contents
The Life And Times of Madelyn Bartlett
For Maureen, who asked for Madelyn, tomorrow.
Morning Routines.
"Who's Daddy's big boy? You are! That's right, you are! Here comes the airplane again!"
"Da! Plane!"
Madelyn chuckled a little at the voices drifting from the kitchen as she made her way down the tiny hallway, pausing to pick up the wooden train that threatened to turn her ankle out from under her. Billy was in his high-chair, banging his hands enthusiastically on the tray, watching his blue furry father swoop - with appropriate noises - the oatmeal-laden spoon towards his mouth. Hank was balanced easily on one foot, the bowl balanced on his other foot so as to leave both hands free for feeding and clean up duty - Billy had a tendency to turn his food into face paint.
"Morning, you two," she said, setting the train down on the kitchen table and giving Hank a kiss on the cheek. "And how's Billy-boy today?"
"Da! Mad! Whee!" Billy crowed, regardless of the oatmeal now dribbling down his chin. Hank caught the mess on the damn washcloth in his non-feeding hand.
"He's full of beans this morning," he said, beaming at her. "And how about you? Refreshed and revitalised and ready to commence the day, my dearest?" He nodded at the coffee maker. "It's just done brewing, by the way. Some of the Jamaican blend Alison sent over."
"As always, you're my blue furry guardian angel." Madelyn headed for the blessed machine, smoothing her hand over Billy's silky jet-black hair as she passed him and neatly avoiding oatmeal-encrusted hands. "I've got a meeting first thing with the Board."
"Ah, hence the suit. And here I was thinking you were wearing it for me, knowing the effect seeing you in such attire has on my poor male senses." Billy giggled and clapped, and Hank grinned. "Apparently Billy shares his father's taste."
"He could do a lot worse. After all, his father did so very well in his choice of girlfriend," Madelyn teased, sipping at her coffee and making a happy noise. "That's the stuff."
"And his father never stops thanking his lucky stars his choice returned the favour."
"His father is an incurable romantic who makes his choice very happ-- oh, crap, is that the time? I've got to run." Madelyn gulped at her coffee, trying not to waste any. "Did you book a sitter for tonight, hon?"
Hank, busily spooning oatmeal into his son, looked puzzled. "Sitter?"
"For tonight. Dinner, remember? We were going out?" Madelyn sighed. "Hank."
The big man looked sheepish. "I must have gotten caught up in that paper on biochemical abnormalities in energy projectors and completely forgot. I'll arrange something today."
"You'll never find someone in time." Glancing at her watch again, Madelyn swore softly under her breath. "We'll do it another time. I really have to run or I'll be late - you know what traffic's like this time of morning." Pressing a kiss to the top of Billy's head, she gave Hank a brief squeeze around the shoulders. "Don't fret about it, hon. We'll sort something out tonight. Have a good day!"
"Well, okay, but..." Hank began, but she was already halfway down the hall in a rattle of heels.
For Kate, who asked for Kurt and Maddie at her wedding:
Dance Partners.
"Excuse me, but may I have this dance?"
The soft German-accented voice came none-to-soon, cornered as she was by her mother and Edna McCoy. The two older women had practically planned the next twenty years, down to schools for the children and a nice little farm in Iowa - the whole thing was making Madelyn feel just a little claustrophobic. And Hank was off, talking advanced physics with some of his university colleagues. She smiled gratefully up at Kurt, and excused herself.
"You're a Godsend, Kurt," she said, catching up the trailing skirt of her dress as he led her over to the dance floor. "Mom and Edna are just as terrifying together as I imagined."
"You were looking rather wild-eyed, so I thought I'd rescue you. Asking you to dance was much more subtle than simply teleporting you away from them." His yellow eyes danced with amusement as he took her hand. "You look beautiful, Maddie. But then again, you always did."
She blushed, covering her reaction by laying her free hand on his shoulder and following his lead into a waltz. "I'm grateful for the save. And the compliment." Rallying, she poked his shoulder lightly. "You're looking rather dashing yourself, Mr. Sefton."
"It seemed appropriate, for the occasion." He expertly steered her past her niece and nephew, flowergirl and pageboy spinning themselves around on the dance floor until they were giddy. "This reminds me of Nathan's wedding," he ventured, a little hesitantly.
She nodded, squeezing his hand gently. "Me too. The last time we danced together, actually." Her tone was a little wistful. "I miss it sometimes."
"So do I." Now it was his turn to squeeze her hand, reassuringly. "But it does me good to see you so happy, Maddie. It really does."
"I am. I really am." She smiled again, the expression banishing the brief moment. "Now, what about you, Kurt? Anyone on the scene? Or should I tell Carlie you're footloose and fancy free? She still has that crush on you, you know."
For Aisy, who asked for Sofia and Madelyn, meeting in ten years.
Consultation.
"...extensive bruising to both legs, consistent with being struck with a heavy object. Abrasions consistent with rope burns on both ankles..." There was a harsh buzzing sound and the examiner looked up, frowning slightly behind the Plexiglass shield of her face mask. "Pause," she said, and the voice recognition program ceased the recording.
"Dr. Bartlet?" The voice through the intercom was a woman's, crisp and professional. "My name's Sofia Mantega-Barret. I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time?"
"From Profiles?" Madelyn's eyebrows rose, and she walked over the door, peeling off her surgical gloves as she did. Removing the mask, she set it aside before opening the door. "What can I do for you, Ms. Mantega-Barret?"
"Please, call me Sofia. The other is such a mouthful." The woman on the other side of the door was brunette, tall and attractive, but with a reserved element to her, as if she was holding herself in check. "I was wanting your expert opinion, actually. Do you have time for a coffee?"
"There's always time for coffee," Madelyn replied, with a grin, even as her curiosity spiked. She knew of Sofia Mantega-Barret - her chequered history at the Bureau was the only one that outstripped Madelyn's own. "Just give me a minute."
And for Erik, who asked for Maddie, fifteen years on:
Point of Honour
"So, it's 'Will' these days?"
"Billy's a kid's name. I'm not a kid any more."
That he wasn't, Madelyn thought with a mental sigh, looking at the tall young man sitting across the small cafe table from her. William Norton McCoy was a good-looking young man, tall and self-assured, with a challenging gleam in his dark eyes.
"Will, then. What brings you down to Quantico?"
"Same old Mad," he said, the slightest hint of a smirk easing the tense lines of his face. "Always straight to the point."
"Less of the 'old', kiddo," she replied, smiling. "You'll give me a complex."
He snorted at that, and relaxed into his chair, long legs stretched out before him. "I need you to find someone for me," he said, all practiced nonchalance. Madelyn wasn't fooled: Bill- no, Will wouldn't come all the way out here just to ask her to look up an old school chum.
"What kind of someone?"
"My father." He caught the flash of concern across her face, and hastily amended. "My birth father. Dad's fine, still back on Muir up to his ears in test-tubes."
"You had me worried for a minute there - Hank likes to try and relive his glory days with the X-Men and I thought he'd gone and done something silly." Like gotten tangled up with another supervillainess like Infectia. "Did you talk to Dani?"
"Yeah. She doesn't know where he is, doesn't want to know." Will sounded frustrated, as he usually did after conversations with his birth mother. "Tried to tell me to forget it, that he's just another no-good bum. And you know Dad - he'd move heaven and earth for me, but he's terrified of losing me. Like..." He stopped himself before completing the sentence, but Madelyn knew what he meant.
Like he lost you.
She hid the wince, and reached for her glass of water to collect herself. "You've got every right to know who your birth father is," she began. "And it's up to you to decide whether to get in touch with him or not. You're a smart boy, B... Will. Smart enough to know your own mind. I'll see what I can do."
His smile was brilliantly white in the tan of his face. "Thanks, Mad. I owe you one."
She shook her head. "No, you don't. I owe you."
Five Times Amanda Met Angelo
In response to the prompt from Kate: "Five times Amanda met Angelo".
March, 2004
"All right, ladies and gentlemen! Eyes on the cards an' you might just catch me out. Nothin' up my sleeve, just three ordinary playin' cards. Round an' round an' round they go, where they stop... well, that's the profit, ain't it? Pick the Lady an' the money's yours."
The three Xavier's students stopped, joining the loose audience watching the performance. Jono snorted telepathically, glancing at the teenaged girl behind the card table. *And here we have a perfect example of a London con,* he said. *C'mon, Paige, there's this music shop I want to show you...*
"Yes, dear. You can drool over the shiny guitars again," Paige said wryly, before casting a glance over her shoulder at the third member of the party. "Coming, city mouse?"
"I'll catch up," Angelo said with a one-shouldered shrug. Jono's 'tour' of London was rapidly turning into 'places Jono wants to show Paige', and he was getting a little bored. The black-haired girl with the multiple piercings and the amateur magic act was just the sort of distraction he needed.
Paige looked to be about to protest, but then Jono tugged on her arm and she followed, with a small wave and a 'see you later, puppy!'
"An' for my next trick, I need a volunteer... you, sir, the young gent in the back, you look like a lively sort. Care to risk certain embarrassment by givin' me a hand?"
Angelo glanced around, realised everyone was looking at him, and stammered: "Uh, me? Sure, I guess..."
"Round of applause for the brave volunteer!" The girl gestured, and he stumbled forward, feeling awkward. There was some unenthusiastic clapping. "Couldn't help notice the accent - you a Yank, then?"
"I'm from California," he replied, reacting to the 'Yank' label. "LA."
"California boy, is it? Well, welcome to Blighty. Now, if you just stand here..."
Angelo stumbled through the trick, a relatively simple sleight-of-hand piece involving a ten pound note apparently being set on fire. As it ended, with the girl inviting him to 'take a bow, for being such a good sport' and a pat on the back, he rejoined the small crowd, feeling a bit better about this whole England trip.
It wasn't until later that he realised his wallet had been stolen.
April, 2005.
"Angelo! I want you to meet someone. Do you have a moment?"
Angelo looked up from the book he was studying - finals were around the corner, and whilst he still didn't have a clue what he was going to do with himself, he wanted to at least have some choices, which meant cramming. However, Kurt was providing a perfectly acceptable excuse to take a break. It'd be rude to say no, after all. "Sure, Kurt." He lay the book down and approached the blue-skinned man, taking in the blond teenaged girl beside him.
"Angelo, this is my sister, Gemile. You might have seen on the journals she was coming for a visit? Gemile, this is Angelo, one of the students here."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Angelo," the girl said, sticking out her hand for him to shake without hesitation, even though he wasn't wearing the inducer. She had the same German accent of her brother, and met his gaze squarely. Her hand, when he shook it, was slightly callused and the grip surprisingly strong.
"Pleased to meet you too, Gemile," he replied, his smile warm. "You stayin' long?"
"A week or two. Mother wants me to make sure Kurt is looking after himself," she said with a grin at the older man.
To Angelo's surprise, Kurt laughed easily at the teasing. "Mother believes no-one can look after themselves without her input," he answered wryly. "But I am sure you will be finding that out for yourself." He turned to Angelo. "I know you are busy with finals, Angelo, but I have some business to attend to. Could I ask you to show Gemile the school?"
"Sure," Angelo replied readily. An afternoon spent with a pretty girl instead of a bunch of moldy old books? You didn't need to ask him twice. "No problem at all."
September, 2006
"Excuse me, is this the Jenkins Building, do you know?"
The girl was blonde and kind of pale, her accent English and rather prim-sounding, but when Angelo focussed on her, he was surprised to see faded jeans, Doc Marten boots and a leather biker jacket. Not even a hint of tweed, despite the fact she sounded like a Watcher.
"Um, not this one, but I'm headin' that way myself," he offered, hitching his book bag up onto his shoulder more securely. "You want to come with?"
"Oh, that would be brilliant," she replied, smiling at him, and the smile made her whole face come alive. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Wisdom. I'm here on exchange from Oxford."
"Um, Angelo Espinosa. From Cali originally, but my mom and I moved out here a while ago. Studyin' law."
"Really? So am I! You wouldn't be taking Professor Jones' class, would you?" She fell into step beside him, having to stretch her pace a little to match his longer stride.
"Intro to litigation law? Yeah, I am. That where you're headed?"
"Yes. Oh, this was a lucky coincidence, don't you think?" She laughed a little. "Sorry, personal joke. Rom, that's my mum, she says coincidence follows me around like the Queen's corgis. Whatever it is, I'm glad for it, because I've only been here a week or so and this place is so confusing. Tell me, do you find Professor Jones as dishwater dull as I do? Because I swear, he could make Sex Pistols lyrics boring..."
January 2007
"So, this is the famous 'Danger Room', huh?"
Angelo cocked an eyebrow at the speaker, the young woman who had come from England a few weeks prior. Pete Wisdom's niece, apparently. Angelo had been away on Elpis business when she'd arrived and had been bemused to see the trainee name "Trouble" next to his name on the Danger Room schedule. A test of her skills, Scott had said. Nice easy milk tun. Now, catching a certain glint in her blue eyes, Angelo wasn't so sure about that. He tugged at the collar of his uniform self-consciously, wishing their uniforms weren't so... leather-y.
"Um, yeah. Doesn't look like much now, but once the scenario starts... I'm Skin - Angelo - by the way. I wasn't around when you turned up - I was off workin' in Tel Aviv."
"Trouble. Or, Amanda Sefton, if we're bein' less wanky." The girl's accent was broad South London, but her voice and expression held no malice, despite the words. Just amusement. "Uncle Pete's nickname for me - when they asked about a trainee name, it was the first thing that came t' mind." Thrusting her hands in her jeans pockets, she looked around. "So, how d'you switch this thing on?"
"Voice recognition." He nodded at the pendant she was wearing, some kind of crystal. "Um, you might want to take the jewelry off - wouldn't want it to get broken or somethin'."
"This? Oh, this ain't jewelry, 's a power source. Considerin' this place is about as magical as Milton Keynes." At his frown, she grinned again. "Oh, they didn't tell you want I do? This is gunna be fun."
Angelo swallowed. She had that same manic grin Nathan got sometimes. Oh, this was going to be fun all right. Clearing his throat, he instructed: "Begin evaluation sequence, Gamma-Zero-Alpha," and as the lights shut down and 'Trouble' lifted herself off the ground, hands and crystal charm glowing, he wondered just how she'd gotten that nickname.
June 2007.
"Here's what we've got so far," Scott said, his voice clipped and professional, the way it got when it was bad. "From what we've been able to get from Pete's contact..."
"His sister," Nathan corrected quietly, his voice bleak and his eyes stony. Scott nodded.
"Pete's sister, Romany. From what we were able to get from her before communications were lost, we're looking at a full-scale magical war that's destroyed a good chunk of London."
Cain snorted derisively, although one hand unconsciously moved to touch his chest. "Magic war. Right. A bunch of kids got hopped up on that Harry Potter crap and let off a few fireworks. We go in, give 'em a spanking and teach 'em to respect their elders."
"Ah think more than a spankin's in order ," came Sam's voice from the cockpit, hushed with something close to horror. "Ah think ya'll want to have a look at this."
The sun was rising, bathing the Dover cliffs in gold as the Blackbird skimmed above them, but it wasn't the landscape below that caught the gaze of the X-Men. It was the pall of smoke, thick and black, rising over one of Europe's largest cities. As they got closer, they could see the crumbled cityscape, skyscrapers toppled like children's building blocks, suburbs ablaze...
"Dear God," Kurt murmured, reaching for a rosary that wasn't there.
"What's the target?" Nathan said, and the sudden harshness of his voice startled them out of their shock.
"A girl." Scott said, holding up a grainy photograph, obviously taken from one of London's street security cameras. It showed a young blonde woman, eyes blazing with some kind of energy. Where her skin was exposed, they could see black lines of writing, a contrast to the mundane jeans and Union Jack tank top she was wearing, and in her hand was a familiar white object. A Kick inhaler. "This girl. She calls herself 'Mystic', and we believe she's single-handedly responsible for what you see down there."
"She's just a kid..." Marie said softly.
"And she's killed thousands of people already," Scott reminded her. "Just remember that."
It was a good plan, one of Scott's best. Perfectly executed, almost guaranteed to work.
Almost.
The fliers went in first, to distract the girl whilst the heavy hitters went in hard. With an almost careless gesture, the girl - Mystic - sent Sam careening into one of the gutted buildings. His blast shield protected him from the impact, but not from the walls that collapsed on top of him. Marie fared a little better, rebounding off the energy shield that Mystic erected at the last minute and ploughing into Lorna and Haller. Cain's massive fist shattered the shield, and the girl reached up and caught his hand against hers, looking up at him with an almost placid expression. Her pupils were so dilated, her eyes seemed black, a think strip of blue around the edges of her irises.
"Huh," she said, almost conversationally. "Elder god, is it? Haven't tasted one of those before." And with that her hand flexed, and Cain felt his strength, his power, his life being sucked out of him. The black armour faded and disappeared from his shrinking frame, his red hair thinning and turning white, his skin wrinkling and blotched with liver spots. He dropped to knees suddenly too weak to hold him up, mouthing protests in a voice too reedy to be heard.
Mystic shuddered, closing her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again, they glowed with a ruby light. "Yum," she said, and pushed the old man aside, looking at her leather-clad foes. "You know, you can't stop me," she told them, her tone matter-of-fact. "So you might as well go home while you still can."
"I really don't think so, little girl," Nathan replied, tone calm as the firebird took to the air. Mystic staggered back as he unleashed a combined telepathic and telekinetic strike, flinging her arms up to protect her face. "You think a shitty life is an excuse for this?" he continued, pressing deeper into her mind, shredding the drug haze and showing her exactly what she'd done. "Your... guardian - Rack, that was his name, wasn't it? - he was a monster, but that was no reason for you to become one as well." By now Mystic was on her knees, head bowed under the telepathic onslaught. "Revenge is all well and good, but this? This is too much."
"You think so?" The girl raised her head, and reached out to take Nathan's firebird construct by the throat. "I don't." And with that she made a raking gesture with her free hand, and the very fabric reality tore. "Bye," she told Nathan, and shoved him through the portal, closing it with a snap behind him.
"NATHAN!" The cry was ripped from the throat of the newest X-Man as Angelo shoved his way past Scott. "You fuckin' bitch! Where did you send him?"
"A world without oxygen," she replied serenely. "Bloody telepaths, always barging in where they're not invited." She smiled at him, and added: "Or it could be the world without shrimp. I get them mixed up sometimes."
An optic blast splintered the rubble beside her into fragments at the same time electromagnetic energies lifted chunks of rebar-reinforced concrete to float menacingly over her head. "Bring him back," Scott ordered, eyes narrowing for another blast.
Mystic shrugged. "Fine. You could have just asked nicely." Another ripping, tearing sound, and she reached into the portal, yanking back a limp, ashen-faced form, frost liming his still features. "Oops. Guess it was the world without oxygen after all. You sure you want him back?"
There was no holding back after that. And in the end, after barrage after barrage of percussive force beams, of plasma, of metal pylons and parts of bridges, of lightning and sheer superstrength, Mystic barely holding her ground, it was Angelo that ended it. Seeing an opening as she concentrated on knocking Ororo out of the sky, he shot out several lengths of skin from both hands, wrapping them securely around her face, cutting off her air.
She didn't struggle. That was the strange thing. And when it was over, and Angelo released his hold, there was the slightest hint of a smile on her face.
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
~*~
There's a song by Noel Coward: "Mad dogs and Englishmen Go Out In The Midday Sun." While it might be that Angelo Espinosa had never met a mad dog, he had met an Englishmen. Several, in fact. Even a couple of English women. And yes, they were all insane when it came to summer and lying in the sun.
Take Exhibit A, for instance.
Amanda Sefton lay on her front by the pool, soaking up the searing heat of mid July. Admittedly her bathing suit covered far more skin than say, Jubilee's infamous bikini, but it was still beyond 100 degrees and climbing and most sensible people were inside taking advantage of the air conditioning like the aforementioned sensible people. Angelo wiped the sweat beading on his brow as he approached her, worried that she had fallen asleep and was going to broil herself.
"Hey, little sis," he said, flopping down on the poolside beside her. "Might be an idea to get some shade. It's pretty hot out here."
"'S sort of the point," came the response, muffled by the fact she had her face resting on her forearms and was speaking to the towel beneath her. "Nice and hot. Good suntannin' weather."
"Do you even tan, though?" Angelo pointed out, quite reasonably, he thought. "I remember you sayin' you go red and peel and then go back to white."
"Maybe I haven't tried hard enough," Amanda replied stubbornly. "'M comfy here. Don't make me ask Frenchie t' animate one of Shiro's weird cartoon posters to chase you around the mansion for botherin' me."
"Like she would," Angelo replied confidently, contemplating the inviting waters of the pool.
"She loves me. Of course she would. Roomie code an' all that."
"Uh-huh." Angelo looked at the pool, and then the steadily-frying Amanda. "Sure she wouldn't take my side?"
"Not if she wants her coffee in the mornin'. I've got her well trained."
"Sure you do." Angelo took another look at the pool and made his decision. Amanda was only a little thing, lifting her took not much more than a good heave. Ignoring her shrieks and threats to turn him into something unnatural, Angelo got a good grip on her waist and heaved her bodily into the pool. However, he hadn't counted on the sneakiness of witches, particularly ones that have grown up on the streets of London and Brighton - even as she was going under Amanda reached out with her telekinetic spell and dragged Angelo in after her.
All was fair in love and war, after all.
Our Place In This World
~*~
"Go away, you vulture, this is my sandwich," Kitty told the pigeon in no uncertain terms. The pigeon in question ignored her admonishment, cooing and picking hopefully at the ground by her feet. "Jamie made this sandwich especially for me and I'm going to eat every bite."
"I think Jamie would be pleased to hear that, Kitten. Although I don't think the pigeon quite believes you." Ororo sounded amused. "May I join you?"
"Of course!" Kitty smiled and shifted slightly across the bench to give the older woman room. In the spring sunlight, Ororo's hair shone as bright as a brand new nickel. "And Mr. Rat-With_wings here can make as many pigeon pouty faces as he like. My sandwich." Kitty took an emphatic bite to punctuate the statement. The pigeon gave her a dirty look and flew away in a clatter of wings.
Ororo laughed and the action smoothed away the air of tiredness too many of the staff had. It had been a long winter. "I believe that establishes you place in the natural order of things," she observed.
"Well above pigeons? I should hope so." Kitty snorted a little and finished her sandwich. It was a very good one, but then again, Jamie's sandwiches usually were.
Christmas Cheer
Prompted by Ben - Amanda, Mark, Christmas 2008.
~*~
"What do we have left?"
"That was it."
"That was it? What about the gin?"
"Gone."
"The tequila?"
"We used that up ages ago."
"That wanky fake absinthe stuff you save for the poetry majors?"
"Gone the way of the dodo."
"Fuck." Pause. "Cooking sherry?"
"Now you're just being silly."
"Bugger. Well, that's it. We're officially Fucked. Who'd have thought it, Silver running out of booze?"
"I'll never live it down. Well, that's if I survive at all, that is."
Clink.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That noise. Sounded like a bottle... oh you stingy bastard."
"But that's the Barcardi!"
"I don't care if it's antique wine from the vineyards of Atlantis, give it over."
"But..."
"Mark, I love you, but if you don't give me that bottle right now, you're a dead man."
Sigh.
"Fine. But I get to finish it, right? It's only fair, since it's my place."
"Good man. Ah, that's the ticket."
"Such a waste."
"I'll buy you a new bottle. Later.'
"I want that one. It's got sentimental value."
"Desperate times, mate. Now, here you go. You wanted to do the honours?"
"Damn straight I did. Give it here."
Mark took the bottle, holding it out whilst Amanda lit the rag poking out of the top of it. As it flared with a blue-edged flame, he rose from behind the bar, eyes fixed firmly on his target.
"Merry fucking Christmas!" he yelled, hurling the Molotov cocktail with all his might.
Scheduling
Prompted by Kate - Amanda and Angelo, ten years from 2007.
~*~
"How about the 3rd?"
"Got a meetin' with the Turkish health minister. In Turkey. The 6th?"
"Pete wants me in China. Another virologist went missing and he thinks they're making another stab at that anti-mutant bug."
"You're not goin' alone, are you?"
"'Course not. 'M taking the newbie with me. Training run. How's the 13th?"
"That's a Friday. Thought you didn't like doin' stuff Friday the 13th?"
"Oh, funny bloke. Ha-ha."
"I am. Very funny. Doesn't matter any way, got a trip to Nicaragua that weekend. The 21st?"
"Flesh eating zombies."
"Huh?"
"Don't ask. Something Strange asked me to come down to India for. The 29th?"
"I don't think... no, wait, I think that actually works. There's the usual research, but I can put it off a bit."
"Ta so very much. I rate higher than research."
"You know you do. You're just fishin' for compliments now."
"A little. So, the 29th then?"
"Works for me. Doesn't give us a huge amount of time, but we don't really need it, do we?"
"Not really. Trying to keep things simple or it'll never happen."
"Yeah. Let's not think of that."
Amanda circled the date in her planner in red pen, and carefully wrote 'Wedding' next to it. "There," she said, capping the pen and giving Angelo a grin. "That's sorted. No getting blown up between now and then."
Angelo grinned back at her, and leaned over the kitchen table for a kiss. "I won't if you won't."
Bedtime Story
"Once upon a time there was a little girl who was very special. But she was also very bad, so her parents sold her to a nice man who would teach her to be useful. And the man paid a lot of money for the little girl, but she was a sloppy student, who made mistakes and wouldn't do as she was told. So the man had to spank her to get it through her thick skull that the man knew what was best for her."
Rack surveyed the child's swelling black eye, the fear in her face. "The end."
Steel
The bullet is hard and heavy in his hand, and it gives him reassurance. Whenever things get too much out of his control, Angelo pulls the bullet out of his pocket and holds it hidden in his fist. It is real, and solid, and powerful. It reminds him of what he was.
At the moment, the bullet is enough. When it isn't... well, he knows a guy. He's said he can get Angelo a gun any time he wants one.
