MBC #1: 'Pumpkin Patch Pandemonium' (James and Reese Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a pumpkin patch. It's a close-up on a dozen or so orange pumpkins that are waiting in a field for people to claim and carve into them! The title 'Pumpkin Patch Pandemonium' is in a graffiti-like font that's colored vine green to match the theme.]

Instead of 'Happy Haunts', I altered our JR writing to this one after writing a few versions!

I'm excited to share it with you all; it's lengthy as a treat and, hopefully, packed with festive feelings. 🎃

_ _ _ 

The alarmed call of your name distracts you from the heart-warming moment unfolding between Reese and James. Reluctantly, you turn to already find Becca speed-walking her way through pumpkin vines and cutting across the rows of gourds once she spotted you. It's only thanks to Alina's secure grip on her elbow that she avoids tripping. She's frazzled.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"We lost him by accident. He just—there were these kids, and he's so cute, but then they"—Becca makes a grabby hand motion that's a little monstrous—"got excited, kinda squealed."

"Nox ran off."

Her rushed explanation is easily translated by Alina who directs a regretful look behind you, just in time for you to catch Reese's expression fall rather than harden. It's doubtful James's steadying hand on his shoulder registers once he glances at where the cars are parked. There is a back road nearby; however, this pumpkin patch is sprawling. What's worse is the fact it's nightfall. All of those details are likely quantified and assessed more rapidly by the Verner heir because that fear crystalizes into something controlled, a wall going up to act.

You know Reese cares deeply for his 'pet'.

His feline friend in the lonely Verner mansion.

"He what?" Reese demands. "He was in a harness. Nox knows better than to prowl."

Becca awkwardly reveals an empty leash from her hoodie pocket, its clip end swinging to underscore no cat is tethered to it. How did he get free of that…? Nox was batting at it earlier.

"We'll find him," you reassure Reese. "He'll come to us."

"We will."

Reese leaves it at that, striding past to where Becca indicated Nox ran off to, though James gently catches your wrist before you can join the search. Concern is evident on his face as he watches your mutual love move through the patch like a restless specter of ebony. You take his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "Let's go."

James shakes his head once, pensive.

"Stay near Reese," he advises you before adopting a murmur. "I'm going to check the parking area. I can't—won't—let him see Nox like that, if it comes to that…" Empathy further hushes James's voice after expressing the worst case scenario. "The four of you will have enough people here to look. I'll halt traffic."

It isn't a road, yet James says that with clear authority, likely already thinking of how to use his Detective role to make an announcement.

He's staying out of the patch to act as a buffer between Reese and Nox's potential death, taking the news first to be the one to tell him. It is both a grim and soft-hearted outlook. "Okay," you finally agree. "Becca, Alina, come on."

The three of you start your search.

. . .

. .

.

[Hours Earlier Before Nox's Disappearance at the Pumpkin Patch…]

The autumn leaves appeared to be set ablaze from the sun's dwindling rays diffusing through them, awakening a latent glow. Fernweh's fall foliage is gorgeous. While still dominated by ever-present green, color has clawed itself into the dark forest in tracts of maple red, sunburst orange, and buttery yellow. Throughout the car ride, you stared out the window until those trees fell away, replaced by open farmland.

It took a while to reach your destination, but everyone in Fernweh either makes the trek or buys from the festive, pop-up stall in town.

"Why are there so many?" Reese wonders. "Do people need such a quantity of pumpkins?"

Well, mostly everyone.

"There are varieties for different things," James answers him. He frees a set of tan work gloves from his jeans' back pocket, appearing farm-ready and rugged once he locates a collection wheelbarrow. His cozy, flannel shirt boasts your favorite colors with accent lines of black, a birthday gift from Reese. "Picking out your own means a lot of them are picked over until a person finds theirs. It's a process, really."

"I see… Typically, we requisition the best."

"That's different than selecting your own," you add, stepping up beside him. "It's a fun tradition."

Reese seems to be considering what was said, appraising the sprawling field that's lined with gourds of all shapes and sizes. Traditional orange pumpkins dominate the rows, though you also spy white, stripped, and a few other varieties of gourds. There are massive ones meant for grand carving competitions, possibly even photo opportunities based on the small children they tower over and dwarf. Halloween music softly plays from speakers as families search for their pumpkins that are guarded by festively dressed scarecrows who grin back.

You haven't been here in years.

It used to be a family event: you, your parents, and distantly, your grandparents as well.

Before your faded memories of your mother's hand being clasped in yours while excitedly weaving through the rows can resurface, you feel someone else's displace it. The phantom sensation is tangible. Reese doesn't meet your questioning look. He turns your palm over and then gives you a pair of black gloves. "Why?"

"My hands are too elegant for such labor."

They're made of soft cotton instead of James's work ones that are leather, so you don't believe him for a second. Reese's teasing smirk draws you back to the present before your thoughts darken to kill your miring nostalgia. It's how you cope. The pumpkin carving skills you learned from your grandfather threatened to take on a grim meaning, one where vibrant orange was replaced by his flesh tone. You shake it off.

"You're going to hate the pumpkin guts then," you point out. "They're stringy." Reese's mildly disgruntled frown entertains you. "I'm guessing you've never carved one…? Ever?"

"I had input on their designs. The theme was more important—the quality. Our decor does not overly feature them," Reese explains. "It is more All Hallows Eve than simply Halloween."

That's a 'no', but you'll leave it at that for now.

"Ooh, they have pumpkin bread! And pumpkin butter…? Also, taffy," Becca curiously notes. "I want to check all of that out, mainly the bread."

"It's like apple butter, just pumpkin," Alina says, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Pumpkin seeds are yummy too. I'll get a bag of plain ones for Huckleberry. Jay, we're going shopping!"

James waves off his sister while still sorting out if he wants a hand shovel or a small rake to uproot any pumpkins. He has the wheelbarrow ready to go. You decide to stay with him after slipping on Reese's gloves that are faintly warm to the touch as if previously worn. He's sticking close to your side, likewise choosing the patch over the few food and farmer stalls.

"Remember: Momma wants some for baking."

"I got it."

"And I promised I'd get Trent a mini one."

James nods at the mention of his green deputy, though he pauses once his sister lingers nearby rather than departs. "…And?"

"Also, if you see a dark one for Mal, get it."

"They come in black?" Reese asks, intrigued.

Neither of the Corvins address him while James purposefully glances behind Alina to one of the stalls, not quite frowning. "He might be out here," he calmly points out. "The diner buys local, you know, for its fall specials… I'll see if there's extra space in the wheelbarrow."

James's politely voiced reluctance almost distracts you from something grazing your leg.

Nox blinks up at you before continuing to walk with confidence in Alina and Becca's direction as if the confines of the leash mean absolutely nothing to him. You had almost forgotten he was present since he sticks to Reese's shadow, curled around his legs, or held up against his equally ebony jacket. Eventually, the leash limits him, which he reacts to by batting at it.

"Nox, you are not defecting to them."

The cat in question meows at Reese's opinion.

"Maybe he smells the food cooking?" Alina suggests. "They have bacon. We can take him. If Mal's there, I bet I can find him a safe treat."

"Please?" Becca hopefully adds.

"…Very well."

He hands control of the leash over to Becca who takes it with a seriousness you'd expect before she starts talking to both Nox and Alina on the walk away. Reese watches them for a moment before returning to your side. "It's hard to compete with bacon," you joke. "Come on."

The three of you begin your search through the rows that stretch on and on, although James's first priority is the sweet, baking pumpkins. He teaches you both how to spot them along with how their density might impact flavor and overall water content. Reese listening avidly makes your lips quirk on more than one occasion. It's doubtful he'll ever try to bake a pumpkin pie from scratch like Mrs. Corvin, yet he listens to James's every word, even trying to identify a 'suitable candidate' for her cooking.

When it comes to the carving ones, Reese is happy to stand back and admire your efforts.

"You could help," you suggest.

"I am by guarding our superior haul."

"From who?" James asks.

"The children"—your brief laughter doesn't deter his answer, nor does James's bemused look—"and the… The scarecrows. The crows."

Reese is resting a hand on one of the wheelbarrow's wooden handles, seemingly poised, although that soon changes when James decides to lift a sizable pumpkin with ease. It's one that most people would shuffle, if not slowly roll, to their haul. Reese's impressed stare is mirrored on your features, while James is too oblivious. He sets it down carefully to not jostle the other pumpkins, never pausing to fix how his shirt rides up on his muscular figure because there's more work to be done. Reese still holds his hand out to the side until he realizes he isn't actually leaning on anything anymore, quickly clenching it closed. The handle must've moved out from under his grip.

To be fair, you wouldn't have noticed either.

"May I?"

"I got it," you reply to James's kind offer, orienting your chosen pumpkin. "Thanks."

"At least switch gloves."

He hands you his that have traces of dirt on them from him doing the brunt of the digging, vine cutting, and picking up. James wouldn't let you handle what was intended for the Corvin household, reminding you of how he often asked you to wait or stand to the side when he had to do chores around the farm. He preferred to shoulder them alone. You slip on his gloves before hefting your own pumpkin, which is met with a once over from Reese. He curls his lips when you pointedly lift it higher before setting it inside of the wheelbarrow.

"Gourd-geous."

His compliment is equal parts playful and flirtatious, although his smirk is now a soft smile. It was punny instead of smooth. "How long have you been wanting to say that?"

"So long," Reese dramatically admits. "I was waiting for everything to fall into place."

He's far too proud of himself for you to crush it.

Mustering up a good-natured eye roll is as far as you get before someone calling to James interrupts what he was about to say. A middle-aged woman waves from several rows away before she easily crosses them in a way that suggests years of practice. The twisted vines and spread of pumpkins don't hamper her eager movements through the field. It took you a second to spot her since she is dressed similarly to the scarecrows: overalls, plaid shirt, and a wide brim, straw hat. She's grinning too.

"Do my eyes deceive me? Is that really you James Corvin?"

James double-checks if his hand is clean before extending it to help her over the last row. She fawns at that, charmed by his ingrained manners. "Mrs. Sutton," he politely addresses her. "Yes, ma'am, it's me."

Reese trades a quick glance with you following James's tone being well-mannered, which is to be expected, but it was different, unlike how he speaks in the station or to you. The Suttons own this pumpkin patch. Maybe he knows her as a fellow farming family? You watch them.

"I'm so glad it is!" she exclaims. "I'm sure you've heard the news about my Josie?" Mrs. Sutton waits for the barest of nods before barreling ahead with the conversation. "Your family is going to be invited, of course, and it seems you've already found yourself a plus one?" Her grin widens into a beam that's aimed at you. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure—well, a formal one. His mother raves about you often."

That was a lot at once.

"I'm Helen Sutton," she merrily continues. "It's very nice to meet you in person, [Name]."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sutton," you reply. It's all reflex at this point while James still appears lost from the 'plus one' comment and then further adrift by whatever his mom has been sharing. Unlike the two of you, Reese reacts by pushing the wheelbarrow ahead, which cuts through Mrs. Sutton's affected surprise with genuine shock. Her eyebrows disappear beneath her hat at the sight of a Verner out this far. She gapes at him.

"Allow me to move this out of your way."

That's all he says before treating it as a plow, intent on going farther away than necessary based on how he's doing more pushing than wheeling. While it is weighed down by pounds of pumpkin, that isn't why Reese is being more aggressive. James stops the wheel with his work boot. It forces Reese to stay around.

He isn't about to run over James's foot to spite a random woman, potentially her foot though.

You believe that was closer to a retreat than Reese storming off because he shifts before hesitantly releasing the wheelbarrow. Mrs. Sutton's couple assumption struck a nerve in him. The fact it might've been fueled by Mrs. Corvin is worse. She naturally favors you, so it may have been harmless, positive comments that grew into small town gossip. Who knows.

"I don't know what you've been hearing, but it's best if you ask me," James calmly reasons. "Do you have any questions I can help with?"

. . .

Mrs. Sutton blinks once following his prompt that most people wouldn't dare to follow through on. She steals a peek at where you're standing near Reese before her eyebrows make a reappearance to knit together. Still, her grin remains, just a little weaker. "Do you like chicken or fish? I'm debating this with Josie for one of the main courses—that and her colors."

"Chicken," James succinctly replies. "Reese?"

For once, Reese hesitates. "Either is fine…?"

James turns to you, letting you know from the steely look in his eyes that this isn't about a dinner's courses. He's making a point by including both of your preferences. This will get back to his mother. "Chicken," you agree.

"Right!" Mrs. Sutton half-exclaims. "I was also leaning that way. I'll consider that. Thanks, and you all please enjoy our pumpkins. Be safe!"

She leaves after that.

"You are more fearsome than a scarecrow to drive off a human, Detective, not that I mind."

James brushes off Reese's humor, removing his boot from the wheel to then come between where you're both standing. He observes Mrs. Sutton for a moment before concentrating on what's most important. "She shouldn't have assumed anything," he concludes. "…I'm sorry."

"You bear no fault in the matter."

James's stoicism erodes after Reese says that with a hint of indignation that you've felt too for his tendency to apologize, but he means well. It's a behavior you recognize from childhood. It can't be a habit since he's genuine about every apology, even if you were the one to wreck your bicycle or became upset after your grandfather predictably missed another school event. He is apologizing for how either of you might have been made to feel. "It was her. You spoke up."

James seems to accept your reassurance for now despite that there's a lingering question about what Mrs. Corvin said. He offers you a small smile that has the promise of growing. You have a distinct feeling it will involve Reese.

"After we get the pumpkins finished, we could have a wheelbarrow race? Alina and I used to."

As soon as 'race' leaves him, no matter its mild-mannered delivery, Reese shoots you a challenging look. "Fine, but it's me versus you with James in the wheelbarrow." The person you would be ferrying in this competition shakes his head in the negative. "Why not?"

"I was thinking you use Becca and Alina while I judge with Nox."

"Either of us can handle you," Reese flirts. It's as shameless as it is pointed when he trails his fingers up James's locked arm after he has resumed control of the wheelbarrow. A few pumpkins lurch from James pausing, which only emboldens Reese. He fixes his shirt for him, straightening its faint bunching with a single, firm tug ."If that is what you prefer, then I respect it… I will best [Surname] regardless of whether or not our cargo is less precious."

James softly clears his throat following that obvious praise, seeking you out for a reprieve that treats you to a glimpse of his bashful side.

You're taking in the exchange when someone calls your name.

. . .

. .

.

[Back to the Catastrophe, Present Time!]

Nox's name echoes across the field, blending with the current song that has creepy organ music bellowing from hidden speakers. He'll be able to hear you over the atmospheric noises and see you in the deepening shadows that are only broken up by orange string lights. Those scarecrows now resemble pyres, lit from below so their grins appear devious. Irrationally, you didn't care for them when there were remnants of daylight, but now, you find them off-putting.

"Noxie? Here, kitty kitty."

"Nox!?"

"Nox Verner, come out this very instant."

It's easier to pick out Reese's voice from Alina and Becca's because his tone is far less entreating than theirs. He's determined. You've been calling to the cat as well while shooting haphazard glances over your shoulder at the stalled parking area. The headlights you noticed flaring up to leave have dimmed, a line forming instead. James did what he said. He likely put in a word at the stalls and payment booth, although he'd also block the path out.

You angle around just in time to find Reese taking a sharp corner to start down another row. He has unzipped his lined jacket, a rarity for someone who cutely demands cuddles to warm up. His stride would deter most from the pumpkins he is hurrying past. You should go—

Something hooks into your shoe, prompting you to pause with your foot slightly raised.

It's hard to immediately make out anything among the rich soil, healthy pumpkins, and vines that are all blanketed in shadow. Light gleams faintly in two gilded eyes. "Nox?" Once you know he's there, his form becomes more apparent, except you mainly spy his head and his lashing tail. The rest—his body—has been engulfed by a soft-sided pumpkin costume, which further helped him blend in with the gourds he's hiding in, a sentient pumpkin. He has his claws in your shoelace. "Hey, sweetie."

He meows at you.

That's permission enough for you to pick him up, already feeling him start to purr before he accidentally knocks the soft stem of his pumpkin hat into your cheek. He wants a nuzzle. His paws find your upper arm before he settles in your arms similar to how he does for Reese, though he drapes himself over James.

"You almost gave him a heart attack."

Nox purrs louder, remorselessly adorable.

You're not going to yell, but you do speed-walk over to where Reese is. "Verner," you call to him. He whirls around before the honest relief on his face reminds you to breathe easier again. Nox perks up at the sight of him, turning some to watch Reese's approach. It's rapid—harried—with enough sense to not startle Nox.

Reese kisses your cheek in silent gratitude for being the one to locate his cat, though his hand on your arm tells you how tense he was.

"What are you wearing?" he asks. "You are no 'pumpkin' to me tonight." Nox raising his chin for a scratch beneath it before his eyes close in contentment changes Reese's tune. He can't affect being disappointed or cross, too happy. "Perhaps, 'pumpkin pie', but still… It is very orange."

"It's a pumpkin," you point out.

"A monstrosity," Reese retorts. "I would at least have him be a vampire if we go this route."

As if on cue, Alina and Becca regroup with you.

"He was totally fine with it," Becca assures you both. "Alina helped him slip it on, and his little ears were probably cold. I think the crowd near the diner's stand is what did it—spooked him." She offers a nervous half-smile to Nox. He doesn't seem to hold a grudge, purring. "The kids didn't help that… They were kind of sticky."

"A positive is that pumpkin waffles are pretty yummy," Alina adds. "They'll be around for a while according to Mal. Plus, we bought stuff."

"That includes the costume," Reese mutters while adjusting the hat on Nox's head. "I doubt they have a return policy. How fortunate he is cute in most anything. Where is your brother?"

"Still, dealing with cars, I think."

"He didn't want to risk anyone driving off," you carefully clarify. "He stopped them for Nox."

Reese must understand it was for both his cat and him personally because he takes a moment to study the parking area in the distance. He can't discern James in the crowd of townsfolk loitering around to leave, but his expression is slightly awed. It resembles how he looked at you when you brought him Nox.

"Let's not keep him in any suspense," Reese decides. "Can you two manage the chosen pumpkins?" He singles out Becca and Alina. "Since we now have our own to contend with."

"Yeah, sure," Becca instantly agrees, potentially to work through any leftover guilt. She hands over the leash too. "He's like a fluffy Houdini…"

"I remember the wheelbarrow's design, so we've got it. We'll meet you by the car."

The group splits up again under much happier circumstances with you and Reese intent on locating James. He's near the payment booth, surveying it and the parking area for anyone who might break rank. This is good business for the Suttons and other vendors. The pumpkin patch goers have been relegated to shopping until the town's detective gives the all clear. You see him direct a couple to the right instead of the left while still staying vigilant enough that no one would question it.

James's demeanor adds credibility, except he isn't pretending to take this matter seriously.

When another of his scans ends on you, Reese, and Nox, James smiles in a way that would stop traffic for far different reasons. He comes over after saying something to Mrs. Sutton and a few of the gathered workers. They'll likely tell people it's okay to leave. James glances over at Reese and then you before inspecting Nox.

"Is he doing okay?"

"He hasn't stopped purring," you share. Nox was curled in your arms, dozing off, until James's soft-spoken question stirred him. He stares at him. "Becca said he got spooked."

James gently pets Nox to halt his staring and increase his purring, familiar with what that specific look means when coming from him.

"Thank you for what you both did for me."

Reese expresses that quietly while the three of you are huddled around his cat. You glance up to find him fondly watching you both. It could be the festive lighting, but you think there is more emotion to how he's regarding you. He blinks it away, needlessly glancing at the cars.

He's touched by your care.

"No need for that, please," James says. "We were worried for him too, just like you, Reese."

"This scare won't make me go easy on you when we eventually have that race, by the way."

"It would be an insult if you did, [Surname], though one of our judges seems partial now…"

The three of you peer down at Nox who bops your cheek with his hat again to cuddle closer.