Though I Walk Through the Valley (Prologue/38)
Though I Walk through the Valley
Title: Though I Walk through the Valley (0/38)
Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Beta: imagined_away
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Warnings: None for the prologue. Please see end of this for a detailed expose on (spoilery) story warnings. Next chapter I'll stick the ones relevant to the chapter under a spoiler cut for people to look at if they're worried.
Author's Notes: Welcome back to those who are still here and reading. Hope I didn't incite too many of you to violence with the end of the last story, but it just would have been too neat to wrap it all up there. Before you start on this journey, please note that it will be LONG. As in, I already have it written and it's over 200k in words and 38 chapters. There will eventually be a happy ending for all characters involved and they will all redeem themselves (except Moriarty, whom I don't believe deserves either the redemption or the happy ending), but in the mean time the characters will go through, and put each other through, hell. I'm not just trying to be in character, I'm trying to make them realistic.
Or maybe it's just my friends who all seem to be incapable of relationships that seem close to functional....
Anyway, you have been warned!
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
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Mycroft gripped the edge of the toilet bowl as his body convulsed again. He hated this. Oh, he hated this so much. He wasn’t his brother, he didn’t believe the body was just transport so he always took care of it, and this was how it repaid him? By betraying him again?
He relaxed his white knuckled grip and leant his forehead against the cool porcelain. This was not fair, not so soon after...He forced the thought away and took deep and even breaths. Without moving his head he reached for the flush mechanism, but his hand was gently battered away. Ah, Melibea was back.
She always did try to theme her names. He rather liked this one: Spanish, though exactly what it meant was beyond him at that moment, but he liked it and the syllables drifted through his mind.
“Here, Sir.” Her voice was soft and low.
He was handed a bottle of water and two anti-nausea tablets. She took care of the toilet and then helped him manoeuvre to the ornate mirror where Mycroft tossed back the useless tablets, face twisted with a scowl as he chased them down with water. They only ever dulled the need to vomit from immediate to pressing, but he required them to get through the day.
He hated Mexico. Every time he was here he ended up bent over a toilet in an undignified heap vomiting. He only ever drank bottled water, he brushed his teeth with bottled water, he ate very carefully and avoided salad, but every time...It was the only country he ever insisted on frequent recesses during talks or kept half an hour between meetings. Normally the wasted time chafed him. Here it was a necessity.
Melibea passed him a wet cloth, again bottled water, to wipe his face down and Mycroft endeavoured to make himself look like the last fifteen minutes since the wait staff had served breakfast had been spent in the emergency call he’d faked, not bent over in the bathroom.
“What’s first?” He cleared his throat, then rinsed it out again.
“Welcome meeting with El Presidente. His Bound Sub is expected to be there as well, against the express wishes of his advisors. Apparently he’s quite taken with her. The Americans have the welcome just after you. Are you sure you’re okay, Sir?”
Mycroft favoured her with a small smile. “Happens every time, my dear. I’ll manage.”
“Yes, but normally we have a couple of days Sir, before you,” she paused, obviously unable to work out a polite way to phrase the next part of her statement.
“My body has been through some unexpected trials lately. It must have compromised my immune system.” Mycroft wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation. The anti-nausea medication was slowly lessening the remaining sour edge in his stomach and his mind was once again racing ahead along all the political lines he would have to walk both during the visit and once he returned home. “After the meeting schedule a quick call to London. I’ll need to talk to Baxter about his latest analysis before the eleven o’clock with the Secretary of the Interior. American feeds priority one, Cuban and other regionals - two. We’ll need to make sure we’re not crossing Maxwell’s claims with our own. Also, I’ll need a spot this afternoon for the conference call with Granthorne for the latest on South Africa. His man must have something by now.”
Melibea nodded. “We’re supporting del Rollo then?”
Mycroft adjusted the last few hairs and deemed himself almost done.
“I don’t have time to change the American’s minds, thanks to the latest Korean crisis, and Maxwell is being particularly stubborn about this. Del Rollo is a more favourable option than Muscillio. His policies will be...” He smoothed his jacket and pulled his arms through the sleeves, “problematic for those not on the continent, but at least he’s not in the cartel’s pocket. That must be the first priority else the country is going to spiral even further out of control and I am loathe to think about the effect that will have on their northern neighbours. I don’t have time to continually babysit America and hold Maxwell’s hand every time he has a fright. We got rid of the blasted place after all, at their request I might add.”
Melibea nodded and at his signal collected her blackberry. It really was an invaluable piece of equipment. Without its white noise generator these conversations could never take place outside his office, and even then only carefully. The latest model was particularly useful as Q had integrated a rather sophisticated program that actually projected pre-recorded conversations, rather than merely generating static as white noise, and, most remarkably, was capable of timing them to fit the participants’ actual dialogue. It also detected ambient noises such as the chink of a glass and included them in the projection in real time. The device was even capable, when no pre-recording was selected, of capturing and adjusting the sounds that were being emitted in the immediate vicinity.
Unfortunately this meant anyone who had ears on Mycroft (there were no eyes; Melibea had made sure of that) now thought he was engaged in a sexual relationship with his PA, who was most certainly not his publically Bound Sub (not that he had one but still, scandal nonetheless). Mycroft had already noted ten other dignitaries who actually were having affairs with their assistants, and he’d only encountered twelve so far this visit, so he wasn’t anticipating any problems on that front. To the contrary, it would probably relax them, dignitaries preferring to work with a ‘known’ quantity they felt they had something to hold over, and if it didn’t, well at least one of the Alphas had a very beautiful and entirely Dominant female PA, and was from an entirely intolerant and traditional country.
He wasn’t quite sure if the sound of making love really was the closest match to vomiting, but Q did like his little jokes.
At his signal Melibea disabled the program and they left for the meeting, vague queasiness still hovering in his abdomen.
It was only a week. He could handle a week.
At the smell of some sort of breakfast dish passing, his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he resisted the urge to run back into the bathroom.
He hated Mexico.
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Previous - Next
Warnings: If you know you have any trigger points, you may want to quickly cast your eye over the list of warnings here. They will all be involved in the story to a lesser or greater extent, mainly because I've put in a couple of cases for Greg at the Yard, which means of course there are some rather nasty things he has to deal with. Just because something is listed here does not mean it will be graphic (for example, there will be no underage porn), however there will be references to child abuse.
From the top:
Non-con
Dub-con
Child abuse
murder (no character death)
BDSM
Emotional abuse
Abortion
Incest
Sexism
Infidelity
Biology
I think that's all. I will put the warnings under a spoiler cut as they apply to each chapter. If you're worried about anything, please feel free to message me and ask how much/how bad/how graphic. That's actually why the Biology tag is there, because I got asked a question related to it.
If that hasn't put you off, I'll load Chapter 1 on Wednesday.
Title: Though I Walk through the Valley (0/38)
Series: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part II of IV)
Author: melody_in_time
Beta: imagined_away
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish, I wish upon a star... but until that works, not mine and sadly no money made.
Warnings: None for the prologue. Please see end of this for a detailed expose on (spoilery) story warnings. Next chapter I'll stick the ones relevant to the chapter under a spoiler cut for people to look at if they're worried.
Author's Notes: Welcome back to those who are still here and reading. Hope I didn't incite too many of you to violence with the end of the last story, but it just would have been too neat to wrap it all up there. Before you start on this journey, please note that it will be LONG. As in, I already have it written and it's over 200k in words and 38 chapters. There will eventually be a happy ending for all characters involved and they will all redeem themselves (except Moriarty, whom I don't believe deserves either the redemption or the happy ending), but in the mean time the characters will go through, and put each other through, hell. I'm not just trying to be in character, I'm trying to make them realistic.
Or maybe it's just my friends who all seem to be incapable of relationships that seem close to functional....
Anyway, you have been warned!
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mycroft gripped the edge of the toilet bowl as his body convulsed again. He hated this. Oh, he hated this so much. He wasn’t his brother, he didn’t believe the body was just transport so he always took care of it, and this was how it repaid him? By betraying him again?
He relaxed his white knuckled grip and leant his forehead against the cool porcelain. This was not fair, not so soon after...He forced the thought away and took deep and even breaths. Without moving his head he reached for the flush mechanism, but his hand was gently battered away. Ah, Melibea was back.
She always did try to theme her names. He rather liked this one: Spanish, though exactly what it meant was beyond him at that moment, but he liked it and the syllables drifted through his mind.
“Here, Sir.” Her voice was soft and low.
He was handed a bottle of water and two anti-nausea tablets. She took care of the toilet and then helped him manoeuvre to the ornate mirror where Mycroft tossed back the useless tablets, face twisted with a scowl as he chased them down with water. They only ever dulled the need to vomit from immediate to pressing, but he required them to get through the day.
He hated Mexico. Every time he was here he ended up bent over a toilet in an undignified heap vomiting. He only ever drank bottled water, he brushed his teeth with bottled water, he ate very carefully and avoided salad, but every time...It was the only country he ever insisted on frequent recesses during talks or kept half an hour between meetings. Normally the wasted time chafed him. Here it was a necessity.
Melibea passed him a wet cloth, again bottled water, to wipe his face down and Mycroft endeavoured to make himself look like the last fifteen minutes since the wait staff had served breakfast had been spent in the emergency call he’d faked, not bent over in the bathroom.
“What’s first?” He cleared his throat, then rinsed it out again.
“Welcome meeting with El Presidente. His Bound Sub is expected to be there as well, against the express wishes of his advisors. Apparently he’s quite taken with her. The Americans have the welcome just after you. Are you sure you’re okay, Sir?”
Mycroft favoured her with a small smile. “Happens every time, my dear. I’ll manage.”
“Yes, but normally we have a couple of days Sir, before you,” she paused, obviously unable to work out a polite way to phrase the next part of her statement.
“My body has been through some unexpected trials lately. It must have compromised my immune system.” Mycroft wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation. The anti-nausea medication was slowly lessening the remaining sour edge in his stomach and his mind was once again racing ahead along all the political lines he would have to walk both during the visit and once he returned home. “After the meeting schedule a quick call to London. I’ll need to talk to Baxter about his latest analysis before the eleven o’clock with the Secretary of the Interior. American feeds priority one, Cuban and other regionals - two. We’ll need to make sure we’re not crossing Maxwell’s claims with our own. Also, I’ll need a spot this afternoon for the conference call with Granthorne for the latest on South Africa. His man must have something by now.”
Melibea nodded. “We’re supporting del Rollo then?”
Mycroft adjusted the last few hairs and deemed himself almost done.
“I don’t have time to change the American’s minds, thanks to the latest Korean crisis, and Maxwell is being particularly stubborn about this. Del Rollo is a more favourable option than Muscillio. His policies will be...” He smoothed his jacket and pulled his arms through the sleeves, “problematic for those not on the continent, but at least he’s not in the cartel’s pocket. That must be the first priority else the country is going to spiral even further out of control and I am loathe to think about the effect that will have on their northern neighbours. I don’t have time to continually babysit America and hold Maxwell’s hand every time he has a fright. We got rid of the blasted place after all, at their request I might add.”
Melibea nodded and at his signal collected her blackberry. It really was an invaluable piece of equipment. Without its white noise generator these conversations could never take place outside his office, and even then only carefully. The latest model was particularly useful as Q had integrated a rather sophisticated program that actually projected pre-recorded conversations, rather than merely generating static as white noise, and, most remarkably, was capable of timing them to fit the participants’ actual dialogue. It also detected ambient noises such as the chink of a glass and included them in the projection in real time. The device was even capable, when no pre-recording was selected, of capturing and adjusting the sounds that were being emitted in the immediate vicinity.
Unfortunately this meant anyone who had ears on Mycroft (there were no eyes; Melibea had made sure of that) now thought he was engaged in a sexual relationship with his PA, who was most certainly not his publically Bound Sub (not that he had one but still, scandal nonetheless). Mycroft had already noted ten other dignitaries who actually were having affairs with their assistants, and he’d only encountered twelve so far this visit, so he wasn’t anticipating any problems on that front. To the contrary, it would probably relax them, dignitaries preferring to work with a ‘known’ quantity they felt they had something to hold over, and if it didn’t, well at least one of the Alphas had a very beautiful and entirely Dominant female PA, and was from an entirely intolerant and traditional country.
He wasn’t quite sure if the sound of making love really was the closest match to vomiting, but Q did like his little jokes.
At his signal Melibea disabled the program and they left for the meeting, vague queasiness still hovering in his abdomen.
It was only a week. He could handle a week.
At the smell of some sort of breakfast dish passing, his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch and he resisted the urge to run back into the bathroom.
He hated Mexico.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Previous - Next
Warnings: If you know you have any trigger points, you may want to quickly cast your eye over the list of warnings here. They will all be involved in the story to a lesser or greater extent, mainly because I've put in a couple of cases for Greg at the Yard, which means of course there are some rather nasty things he has to deal with. Just because something is listed here does not mean it will be graphic (for example, there will be no underage porn), however there will be references to child abuse.
From the top:
Non-con
Dub-con
Child abuse
murder (no character death)
BDSM
Emotional abuse
Abortion
Incest
Sexism
Infidelity
Biology
I think that's all. I will put the warnings under a spoiler cut as they apply to each chapter. If you're worried about anything, please feel free to message me and ask how much/how bad/how graphic. That's actually why the Biology tag is there, because I got asked a question related to it.
If that hasn't put you off, I'll load Chapter 1 on Wednesday.