cinewhore - Tumblr blog

cinewhore · 18 hours

Text

a modest resolution

part 3 of blessed are the peacekeepers

part one | part two

summary: the hostage situation comes to an end. you've got some decisions to make, but you also need to eat.

warnings: really bad jokes,

The silence in the canopy is deafening to Dave. The last call with Carol had ended too abruptly for his tastes, which had Pike pacing the small space as they waited for some investigators to dig through Carol’s life and produce a Louis that she could be so upset with that she’d take so many people hostage with a gun she didn’t know how to use. He knew you were struggling to keep it together, but you were doing a good job of not acting as if your husband was in immediate danger in that diner. He may be hard on you, but he knew you were trying your best.

You were one of the best captains he’d worked with, always weighing your pros and cons and leading your team with one the highest operational mission success rates the Bureau had ever seen. You were good, you knew you were good, but you never let it go to your head. The mission always came before your ego, but in this instance he worried that you were separating your husband from the mission. He knew there was some tension in your relationship, your last operation in Northern California telling him as much. You’d been extremely tense while moving in from the airport to the operation site, turning your phone over in your hand while contemplating something. A couple times he’d watched you type out a message, stare it down, then shake the device to clear the text before locking it again, and he’d seen you do the same on the way back to D.C. One of your teammates had teased that you were having man-troubles, and your eye roll confirmed it as you stepped off the plane before grabbing your bag and heading for the garage.

But knowing that you were having some level of martial issues, things clearly being left unsaid between yourself and your husband, he knew that you were more than just stressed. You were terrified for your husband’s life, not wanting the last time you spoke to him to face-to-face to be in the middle of a hostage situation and definitely not wanting to leave things unsaid between you two. But you couldn’t act rashly; HRT would always be under a microscope after Waco, you were already at risk of losing your badge because you knew you were compromised by your husband’s presence in that diner and hadn’t informed anybody. Doing anything outside of typical protocol right now meant the end of your career and he knew that you knew that.

“Why didn’t you authorize Red team taking the shot?” He asks, successfully stopping your pacing and bringing your attention to him. “You instructed them to take the shot if she looked like she was going to do something dangerous. They thought she was, and you told them to hold. Why?”

“I don’t know where anybody is at in that room, meaning I know jack shit about any collateral damage. You think we can get everyone out, and I’m by your side on that,” you spoke calmly, dropping into the other seat at the small table and accepting the unopened bottle of water that was nudged to you. “They weren’t certain either, which is why they checked in rather than take the shot. My team doesn’t take risks.”

“You’re a great leader, Pike, you know I only question you out of respect for you.”

“You’re looking out for me, and I appreciate it,” you comment with a nod, looking to the entrance of the canopy when one of the investigators walked in with a laptop. You wished you remembered her name, you worked with her a lot. Maybe it was stress? You were going to say it was stress that made you forget. “Got anything good for us?”

“Not yet,” she commented, setting the computer down on the table before pulling up a chair of her own. “We scrubbed through all her data, socials, phone records, etc. There are three Louises that we can find – but none of them appear to have a strong enough connection to our taker.”

“Does Carol Anderson have an assault rifle registered in her name?” Dave asks, looking at you as you finally set your walkie down on the table. That thing had been your lifeline, and you’d been holding it so tightly for so long that it probably had indentations from your grip, but your hand could finally relax a bit and the way you try to stretch it out tells him that it’s much needed.

“No registered weapons, no licenses either. She does have some pretty emotional Facebook posts, though.”

“Well, she doesn’t know how to use that thing so the lack of license is not surprising,” you speak with a shrug, loosening one of the lower straps on your tactical vest so you could breathe easier. “What about our Louies? Any of them?”

“Louis Baskin has quite the gun collection registered to him, and he’s the only one with any licenses. Want his address?”

“Are his socials public enough to see if she shows up in them?” you ask, your fingers tapping against the table as you tried to figure this out. “And how emotional were her posts?”

“A lot of wanting to show off her love to the world, a little bit of ‘I hate that my boyfriend is always working’, that kind of stuff.”

The investigator misses the glance that you share with Dave as she continues to type, but you have to wonder if Dave is also thinking about how fitting it was that this hostage taker was emotional about a private relationship and that was eerily similar to the reason why your marriage was in a rocky place. Or maybe you’re projecting, since he had just found out you were married less than a week ago.

Either way, the universe was sending you signals that were much too bright for you to ignore at this point, and you hated it.

“Mr. Baskin here talks about his ‘lady’ Carol quite frequently. There is a photo of her that is captioned ‘the next Mrs. Baskin’… let’s see… two weeks after that photo he posted that he was single because he couldn’t give her the attention she deserved.”

“Dave, what did you say when you asked what she wanted earlier?” you ask, sitting up straighter and taking a drink of your water. “Before she started acting up and testing my patience.”

“His attention, but she didn’t say – oh shit.” Dave stands, and you watch as he starts pacing while going through his notes. “Katie, we need him on the phone at the very least, can you do that?”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Pike, she’s doing all this for him.”

“But how the hell do we get from a breakup to this?” you ask, gesturing to your current surroundings while leaning back in your chair. “Based on what Katie read, he did it for her because she deserved better.”

“What would you do in his situation? Private relationship, but you work too much to really give your partner the attention they want?”

That’s a low blow, but I’ll bite, you think to yourself, looking up to the roof of the canopy as you thought through your situation with Marcus. You were contemplating retiring for him, and probably would depending on how the conversation you’d be having with him later went. “Speaking from experience, I’d try to talk it out and see how we can move forward. If I truly loved my partner, I should be willing to make a sacrifice or two for him after talking it out, and vis versa.”

“And, to me, it seems like Carol was doing all the sacrificing in this situation.”

Much like Marcus, you consider with a small sigh, looking to Katie when she informs you both that Louis is on the line. Dave takes the call, and you are only half listening as he asks him about his relationship with Carol and informs him that his ex-fiancée has a diner full of hostages at gunpoint.

“Cap, we got movement headed towards the front doors,” Kennedy informs, and you’re adjusting your vest as you stand up and grab your walkie as you step outside the canopy. “Looks like two elderly people are being released? Did you ask for this?”

“No, but keep your sights trained,” you instruct, hopping over the barricade and greeting both Bernie and Ethel with a warm smile as Ethel takes your hand in hers. You’re asking about how they’re doing as you walk them around the barricade and towards the third canopy that had been set up an hour ago. “Did she tell you why she was releasing you?”

“Marcus convinced her to,” Bernie informs, helping Ethel into her chair before taking the one beside her. You’re not surprised to hear that Marcus was playing peacekeeper from the inside and, while you’re grateful for it, you can’t help but wish that he’d let you do your job. He was putting himself at risk unnecessarily despite knowing that there was a whole team working to get them all out alive.

“That husband of yours is a good man, honey, don’t you ever forget that.” Ethel pats your hand as she speaks, and you nod your agreement with a small smile before she gives it a squeeze. “That girl in there is troubled. You’ll make sure she gets the help that she needs, won’t you?”

“That’s the plan, but she’s got to let us help her,” you assure, looking back towards the diner while praying that your husband stopped butting in on your operation. He was going to get himself killed if he kept it up.

Inside the diner, it’s quiet. Marcus is certain the quiet bothers him more than when Carol was sobbing into her hand. He wanted to believe that she was overwhelmed by the situation that she’d gotten them all into, but he knows better than to think that. He knows that she’s upset over Louis, whoever the hell that was, and that was tragic. Not that they broke up, he didn’t give a damn about that, but that she would do all this with a gun she didn’t really know how to use over a man.

She looks up at the photo on the wall, then back at him, and Marcus watches the realization cross her face as she connects the dots.

“This is your wife?” Carol asks, pointing at the photo with her rifle. The action has Marcus on edge, since he knows this woman has no clue how to handle that weapon safely. That, coupled with the fact that she was pointing at his wife with it had him antsy, since he had no clue what she’d do next.

“She is,” he responds, sitting up straighter in the stool and maintaining her eye contact. He wasn’t afraid of this woman; he knew better than to be with you on the other side doing whatever you had to in order to save him and the rest of the hostages. Supervisory Special Agent and HRT Captain Pike was more terrifying that any other situation he’d been in, or probably ever would be in.

“You’d do anything for her?”

“I would.”

“I hope she understands how lucky she was,” Carol speaks softly, and Marcus feels himself tense as she repositions the weapon, but he can’t figure out where she’s going to aim. He just hopes he can protect everyone else in the diner. “One day when you’re both old and maybe one of you is dead, she can look back on how happy you made her during your lives together.”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? he asks himself, but he nods in what he hopes comes across as understanding as she lowers the gun once more before swinging the butt of it and knocking the top of the jukebox off. He was just going to let this happen, knowing you’d kill him if he tried any more heroics today. He was already in for about six lectures when he finally got out of there, and he really wasn’t interested in making it seven.

The sound of a loud crash has you reaching for your binoculars while Dave continues to brief your new friend Louis Baskin on what he needed to do when he talked to Carol in a few minutes. It definitely came from inside the diner, sounding like something very large had been knocked over, but it wasn’t a gunshot and that was relieving enough for you in this moment. You raise your walkie to see if your teams have a better understanding of what that was, but one of the front windows breaking as what looks like the top half of the juke box was thrown through the window.

“That’s…something,” you comment, looking over at Dave to see him watching while he continued to talk to Louis. “Tell him that he better get his ass down here or I’ll call for a whole fucking motorcade to bring his ass down here.”

“You can do that?” the investigator (who you remember is named Katie) asks, and you nod while raising your walkie to hush your team’s chatter and keep them in position. You knew they were antsy; it’d been hours and you were also feeling anxious because there had been no serious moves since Ethel and Bernie had been let out three hours ago. Dave had your team playing the long game and, if you had known he was going to drag this out, you wouldn’t have sent Blue Team to sit by the back door of the diner five hours ago.

“So long as I can justify it within the parameters of the op, I can do almost anything I want,” you shrug, looking to Dave when he gave a “thank you” before pulling the headset off.

“He’s on his way, I guess he lives a couple blocks away,” the negotiator informs, looking between you and Katie before he settles his gaze on you. “Pike, how’s your team?”

“Antsy, but they’ll live,” you respond, knowing that if they weren’t doing okay then they’d be sounding off and requesting updates. They’d been quiet, which meant they were fine. “What’s your plan for Richard Berry’s worst nightmare?”

Dave has to catch himself before he responds, taking a drink of his water as he processes your question before he chokes on the liquid while sputtering; “You did not just Louie Louie Louis Baskin.”

You only look at him, Katie beginning to hum the popular tune as she continues to type away for more information that could be used against Carol to get her to release the hostages. It’s then that the older man cracks a smile, getting the grin you’d worked hard to stifle to come out before you’re both grinning like idiots while humming along with Katie.

“Anyways, your plan?”

“I’m gonna have him ask her to come out.”

“You’re playing with fire, Baker,” you warn, looking back through your binoculars to see that your husband is looking through the now broken window and you want to scold him right there. He should know better than to be out in the open like that, what the actual hell was he doing?

“How so?”

“What if seeing him sparks her fury and she opens fire?”

“Pike we haven’t heard a single gunshot. I’m willing to bet that the safety is on, and she has no goddamn clue how to shut it off.” His argument is sound, but you did not like taking a chance like that. You’d rather have your team storm the diner than risk civilian lives like that. “She doesn’t want to hurt anyone, she told us both that, and she’s letting people out. Trust me.”

“The second they start speaking, if my team thinks she’s going for it, they will take that shot.” You know your point is made when he nods, this time without an argument or a complaint over you giving a kill order. This was ending in the next hour, one way or another, and you hoped that it ended cleanly. Marcus knew you made plenty of hard calls, but he’d never gotten the privilege of seeing you in action when you made one. This was uncharted territory for what you assumed was most marriages, and you doubted couple’s therapy would help if it was what you and Marcus needed to resort to.

“Cap, we’ve got a civie approaching the barricade. Looks like a hippie.”

“Louie’s here,” you announce, looking to Dave so he knew to go meet his bargaining chip. “That’s our bargaining chip, Dave’s coming to get him.”

“Copy that, Kennedy out.”

I hope you know what you’re doing, Dave, you think as you follow him out of the canopy, watching curiously as he shakes hands with Louis Baskin. He definitely didn’t look like the type of man to own the gun collection he did, but David Koresh also didn’t look like the type, so you knew better than to rely on looks alone.

You’re giving orders as you walk with Dave and Louis, stopping them when Kennedy lets you know that if you move any closer, you’ll block their sight into the diner. Once your positioning was confirmed, Dave gives the go-ahead for Louis to call out to your hostage taker and you place your free hand on your hip just over your holster. You’d shoot the woman yourself if you had to.

“Car-bear? Are you in there?”

“Louis bean?”

You’ve got to be kidding, you think to yourself, exchanging an unimpressed look with Dave at Carol’s in tone when she realized who was calling out to her. She never sounded that soft on the phone, and you were feeling kind of slighted.

“Louis, what are you doing here?”

“Carol, what are you doing here?” he asked her, and you were immediately doubting Dave’s decision to bring this man out here. “You gotta let these people go, babe, I’m not worth all this.”

“You’re worth the world, Louis, I’d do anything for you!” Carol yelled out the window, and you nod slowly while you bite your tongue. This was a hostage situation, not a young adult romance novel, and yet you felt like there should be a dramatic reunion in the rain starting any second now.

“You’ll be Mrs. Carol Baskin, and we’ll live happily ever after, just like we always wanted babe. Just put the gun down and come out.”

“You know this is a federal offense that she will be doing a lot of time for, right?” you ask Louis, raising an eyebrow when he looks surprised. “She held a diner hostage at gunpoint for six and a half hours.”

“But she’s letting them go?”

“Pike,” Dave warns, lightly elbowing you in the side to prevent you from further speaking your mind. You sigh, looking back to where Carol stands in the open window and getting ready to move when she tosses the rifle out the window.

“Blue team move in and apprehend,” you instruct into your walkie, beginning to move forward when you see your team close in on the hostage taker. You pick up the rifle and make sure the safety is on, keeping your hand on your holster until you’re inside the diner watching as Harper gets Carol onto the ground so he can cuff her. “Clean sweep, I don’t want any surprises.”

“On it, Cap!”

You do the mental math as everyone starts to file out of the diner, relief easing the tension in your shoulders when everyone is accounted for and looking unharmed. Carol is throwing a tantrum on the floor of the diner, but that doesn’t matter to you as you fall into step beside your husband as he makes his way out of the diner.

If the news crews weren’t looking for another layer to the story, you would’ve held Marcus then and there. You longed for his arm around your waist, his heartbeat against your ear as a large hand holds your head to his chest and he whispers his reassurances into your hair. You needed that more than anything, but right now you knew that you couldn’t have that. So you settle for a pat to his back, maybe a little lower than necessary if the way he looks over at you is any indicator, but he smiles and you can’t help but wink at him before looking back to make sure the rest of your team is following behind.

“You okay?” you ask softly, trying to keep it looking professional as you walked beside him towards where the medics were set up under another canopy.

“I’m fine, honey. A bit shaken, but we’re both going home today and that’s all I could ask for. Before you ask, no injuries, either.”

“Thank you,” you breathe your sigh of relief, finally letting your shoulders relax as you watch Carol get loaded into a car to get booked. You do a final headcount, watching as the young father reunited with his wife and their two children. Their emotion has you feeling emotional, but you push those down in an effort to maintain your stoic professionalism. You’ve got a press briefing to do, as well as a debriefing with your team, and then there would be reports to write, but none of that seems nearly as appealing as going home and lying in bed with your husband for about ten hours so you can tell him how much you love him.

“Pike, give them your statements so the circus can disperse,” Dave requests and you nod, adjusting your hair as best you could while making your way over to the small press area that had been set up. Again, you consider who the clowns were in this situation, but you have confidence as you decide that they’re the clowns for setting up a press area at the scene of a hostage situation. Not a single shot was fired today, and you could be proud of that.

You’d given so many of these statements to the press that you could (and probably have) done it in your sleep. We’re proud of another successful operation, hostage taker in custody, shout out to Dave, shout out to local PD for their cooperation (even if they didn’t do anything but you needed to stroke their over funded egos to maintain their pointless cooperation), grateful that nobody was harmed, no live fire occurred on the scene, and everyone was released without experiencing any injuries. Respect the privacy and space of those who have just been released from this stressful situation, you’re not accepting any questions at this time, and so on and so forth.

By that point everyone has been attended to, and you watched as various investigators took statements that would be compiled for the operation report. Marcus caught your eye from where he was talking with Katie, the investigator diligently taking notes but not taking note of the way he was looking passed her to make eye contact with you. You crack a smile as you trade your tactical vest for your FBI issue windbreaker, letting Spencer grab your vest before you approach Marcus and Katie.

“Was it your head I saw poking up in the window earlier?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stand behind the investigator. This is how he knows he’s in trouble, and a hand goes to the back of his neck as he admits to curiosity even know he knew better than to do something like that. “But Ms. Ethel back there says you got the taker to release her and her husband and, while I appreciate the help, stick to art theft.”

“Yeah, sure,” he chuckles, fishing his keys from his pocket as he looks to Katie. “If you don’t need anything else, am I good to go? I’ve got a date with some reports regarding a recovered Van Gogh.”

“Yes, thank you, Agent…Pike?” the question is obvious in her tone as she looks between the two of you. If she’s figured it out, she doesn’t say anything about it before she excuses herself and you look to Marcus.

“I didn’t drive to the bureau, I got picked up,” you tell him, and he nods as he unlocks his car.

“I’ll take you home, babe, text me when you finish your debrief. I’ll be in the office.”

You nod your agreement, whispering a “thank you” before the two of you turn to go your separate ways. You feel your stomach rumble and groan, wishing that Marcus had brought your pancakes out with him. You wouldn’t even have cared if they were cold, you were just hungry for real food.

“All I’ve eaten today are fucking granola bars,” you comment, opening what you think is your eighth one and taking a bite. You needed real food and to hold your husband, and instead you’re running a debriefing and munching on a peanut butter chocolate chip granola bar. “So, let’s make this as brief as possible so we can all go home and take a nap.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n!” Kennedy affirms with a salute, earning a pen being tossed in his direction as the rest of your team laughed. You did love these losers, and you’d hate that you wouldn’t get to see them every day if you did make the call to retire. But you’d still be able to see them, so it wasn’t all bad. But you needed to do what was best for your marriage, and you needed to put Marcus first.

The debrief goes smoothly, it isn’t drawn out but definitely wasn’t cut short and you’re pleased that your team felt that you made the right calls and felt very successful in getting everyone out of that diner alive. You knew it was difficult to hold position when you saw things getting uneasy in these operations, to have every muscle in your body tensed in an attempt to suppress the call to action to engage the hostage taker or to pull the trigger and end it before it could get any worse. It creates a soreness you feel for days after, a kink in your neck and shoulder that you don’t have the time to ease out between operations aside from using a heating pad when you finally get to sleep in a real bed and not a cot. You made sure to applaud them for their efforts and for staying in position under that level of strain for so long, they deserved all the praise that would come their way for how this operation went and, if it was your last one, you were proud of how you ended your career.

“I’ve been told we can all take tomorrow off, our Support cycle will officially start on Tuesday,” you inform as you all make your way to the exit. They’re letting out sighs of relief at the notion of actually getting a day of rest before it was back to work at a new pace, and you’re thinking that you might convince Marcus to work from home tomorrow so you can be with him a bit longer. “Get some rest and stay out of trouble.”

You receive a chorus of “aye aye”s from your team, and watch as they all head for the door. Marcus makes it in before they all try to barrel out and escape the bureau, and you can’t fight the smile nor the way you bolt for him. He only stumbles backwards a step, holding you as tight to him as he possibly could while he whispers words of comfort while you let out the emotion you’d been holding in all day.

He sounds like a broken record, cycling through “I’m here”, “I’m okay”, “I love you”, and “You saved me”, but he’d gladly repeat the same sentiments until he knew you didn’t need to hear them any longer. Your work haunted you sometimes, he knew that far too well as the man who had the honor of waking up next to you most mornings over the last few years. Even before being recruited into HRT, you’d been in some sticky situations working with and leading SWAT teams, and not all operations were as clean as today’s had been. He’d heard the stories that had prompted a few of your thousand yard stares, knows why you’ll never sit with your back to a doorway unless you’re with him. He can’t fault you for any of it and can’t fault you for being emotional. He was your husband and you loved him, and if things had gone differently, you could’ve lost him.

“I’m sorry,” you finally comment once you’ve calmed down looking up at him and smiling as he stroked your tears away with his thumbs while you wiped at his. “I’ll put in my resignation tomorrow, if that’s what you want.”

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay? Let’s get you home so you can get some rest,” he stated, kissing your forehead only to tilt his head when you pulled away from him. “Honey?”

“No, Marcus, you were right. This job, it– it’s been stealing me from you and that’s not fair to you or to me,” you explained, shrugging out of your windbreaker so you could throw it into your locker with the rest of your tactical gear. “I hate that it took you being in a fucking hostage situation for me to get the picture, but I hope you never questioned how much I love you. I just – fuck, I’m so sorry, Marcus.”

“Hey, hey, no. I’m sorry for trying to make you take a step back like that when you were trying to leave for NorCal.” His voice is soft, yet firm, as his hands hold yours in his. It’s the grounding that you need, all of your cold worries and concerns find their solace in the warmth that radiates with his love, and you find yourself relaxing as he begins to squeeze your hands in a rhythm you can’t yet place. “You’ve worked so hard to get to this point, to ask you to throw it away because my job, thankfully, keeps me in town isn’t fair to you.”

“Yeah, but you’re my husband, you’re supposed to let me know when you need things and I shouldn’t brush them off and-“

“-and I shouldn’t be whining because my wife is a badass. We both fucked up honey, and I forgave you for it days ago.”

“You did?” you ask, eyes wide at the notion of him simply forgiving you with no apology and no contact from you for almost a week. “But I was in the wrong, so wrong, and you-“

“And I love you, baby, and I know I instigated at the absolute worst time and I’m so sorry for that. I never want you to feel bad about your work and how hard you work. How many late nights do I constantly pull? And the fact that I pulled you along on a sting without telling you and making you think we were just on a date? I’m guilty of it too.”

You knew you were still in the bureau, and that if anyone caught wind you could kiss your badge goodbye, but you didn’t care. Marcus was your everything, and he meant more to you than your career ever would. He’d still be there when you had to leave the FBI behind. He was your constant, and nothing was going to stop you from pulling him in for a kiss.

It was everything you’d needed, albeit a bit salty from your combined tears, but it was still so Marcus. Minty, with a hint of coffee, while the smell of his aftershave still clung to his skin like his hands were gripping your hips. You don’t even realize you’re crying again until he pulls back just enough so he can raise a hand to your cheek to wipe at your tears.

“Stop that,” he smiles, brushing his nose against yours before he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. Then another, a third, then a fourth that has you letting out the faintest of laughs against his lips before you reciprocate.

“I’m just so happy you’re okay, Marcus,” you whisper, leaning in for another kiss only to stop when you hear a throat clearing. Marcus looks over, but you don’t when you hear seven more throats clearing and you sigh while turning to face your team. “Yes?”

“Cap’s got a boyfriend,” Kennedy mock whispers to Harper, the latter letting out a loud gasp while you throw your head back with a groan.

“Actually, I’m her husband,” Marcus corrects, and you don’t have to look to see the proud smile on his face at the admission. He was going to bask in this, and you wanted him to.

Your team erupts into chatter, all offended that they weren’t invited to the wedding despite that you didn’t even know them when you got married. Some are stoked that they were right about you having a man, Spencer chiming in that “only good dick would keep someone like you so calm” (which you knew Marcus loved), and you tolerated their chatter for about five minutes before gently pushing Marcus out of the locker room and letting your team know that you’d make them work tomorrow if they didn’t shut the hell up.

“They love you, babe,” he comments, taking advantage of the empty building and pulling you into his side as you made your way out of the building and to his car. “I get why.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an amazing leader, and you obviously care about them just as much as they do about you,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your temple before you smile up at him. “You’re incredible, and you’re sexy when you take charge Supervisory Special Agent and Hostage Rescue Team Captain Pike.”

“Pick one title, using both is a mouthful,” you whine, and he shrugs while opening the door for you.

“Speaking of ‘mouthful’,” he starts, already grinning when you look up at him, scandalized. “I’m sorry about your pancakes.”

“It won’t be the same, but we can hit Denny’s before the grocery store?” you offer, and he looks conflicted, but you aren’t sure if it’s over Denny’s or having to grocery shopping after the day you’d had. “Babe, I have only eaten granola bars all day.”

“Please say less, you know I hate when you don’t eat real food.” His request is punctuated by a kiss, and you forget all about your surroundings as you pull him in closer. You missed him, you’d missed this, and you’d steal all the kisses you could while cherishing the moments you had with him. But your stomach rumbled, the sound prompting Marcus to pull away as he placed a hand on your stomach. Your mind had other implications in mind, the promises you’d made to each other to start your family being the most prominent, while he only murmured that he’d made sure you got what you needed before he helped you into the passenger’s seat.

Twenty minutes had you seated in a booth with Marcus at the local Denny’s by your grocery store, the two of you seated on the same side and you leaned into him as you both looked through the same menu. You were sipping at an orange juice while he drank his water, and he’d comment softly about what looked good to him as you gave small hums of approval or disagreement with his notions. You were going to get the same thing you always got, pancakes with eggs, bacon, and hash browns instead of toast, and he was probably going to get blueberry pancakes with his eggs over easy, sausage, and toast. Five minutes later has you starting to doze, but you hear him order exactly that and smile because you knew your husband well. Marcus was a provider and a caretaker, he needed to make sure that you had what you wanted and were well taken care of, and this was him doing just that.

“You’re a blessing, Mr. Agent Pike,” you mumble into his side, and he gives your side a gentle tap in acknowledgement.

“Blessed are the peacekeepers, Mrs. Agent Pike,” he murmurs into your hair, smiling when you make a confused noise before reaching for the dessert menu to entertain yourself while waiting for your food.

#COMFORT FIC

59 notes · View notes

cinewhore · 18 hours

Text

Late 60s Early 70s medieval revival part 1

2K notes · View notes

cinewhore · 18 hours

Text

MARIANNE FAITHFULL performing on the Dutch TV SHOW FANCLUB. 1966. Photo taken by A. VENTE.

120 notes · View notes

cinewhore · 21 hours

Text

The Duchess of London (2)

Pairing: Thomas “Tommy” Shelby x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angst, mentions of drinking, drugs, blood, gore, fighting, guns, fluff.

A/N: Wrote the first part damn near a year ago! Wanted to finally finish it off. Please know that another part is highly unlikely! No beta. Enjoy! Credits to the gif artist.

Thomas Shelby ends up on your doorstep three months later.

Technically, it was the door of the Gentlemen’s Club, Adonis, where you helped to manage the talent and had a few stocks invested in.

If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would’ve missed him entirely. Tommy remained seated in the back of the room near the door, one leg crossed over the other, fingers delicately grasping the rim of a glass. It was a talent of his, being able to blend into a room seamlessly while still maintaining a sense of distinctiveness. You couldn’t lie, the thought of seeing him again taunted you day after day. Thinking about his plump lips on yours, hands pressing against your neck-

A throat clears. “I believe it’s your turn, Duchess.”

You blink a few times, returning to the present. Sir Donald Chesnut fixes you with a stare, pool stick tapping the floor impatiently.

Giving him your best innocent smile, you nod and saunter around the table. There were two of his stripes left compared to your four solids. The men who gathered to “watch” all gawked as you bent over the velvet lined table, dress straining against your backside. You’re sure to milk their attention for all its worth, a teeny frown sprawling across your face as you stand back up.

“Must I repeat the rules of the game for you, miss? See those colored balls? You have to hit them into the holes. Do you understand?” Donald taunts, voice barely masking his mockery.

You smile and shrug. “Gee, I just can’t seem to decide which one to hit, they’re all so pretty!”

A few in the audience chuckle at the perceived naivete. Thomas takes a swig of his drink, watching your hands carefully.

“Let me assist you then.”

Donald pushes up against you, hands helping to position yours correctly. Upon steading them, you attempt to hit one of your balls but fail to do so. You jerk back into him as you laugh, hands fanning at your cleavage.

“I’m not even sure how I got the other balls in, must be a lady’s luck.” you comment.

“Sure.” Donald nods, already gearing up for his next shot. He sinks his two remaining balls with ease but misses the eight ball by a hair.

“Oh! You almost had it. Maybe I can catch up.”

“Good luck.” Donald tuts, hands grazing your ass as he passes behind you.

The act drops immediately and you get to work cleaning up the table. The balls clinking against each other before they sink into the pockets fills you with such pleasure you fight hard to maintain your poker face.

The eight ball lays just a few inches away from the right corner pocket, albeit at an odd angle. If you weren’t careful, it was an easy shot to miss and you didn’t want to give this fucker a chance to win. That didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun with your prey.

“Are you gonna call it?” Donald asks.

“Eight ball, middle right pocket.

Donald huffs out something that sounded like a mix between a snort and a sigh. “No fuckin’ way. You can’t make that!”

You don’t take your eyes off of him as you station yourself off center to the ball, cocking the pool stick until the weight of the wood feels comfortable in your hands. Sucking in a small breath, you let the stick slip through your fingers as you exhale. You could feel everyone else in the room hold their own collective breath as the ball pings around the table, making haphazard patterns until it slowly nears the pocket.

The eight ball all but comes to a complete stop before it finally drops into the pocket, the white ball close behind. You refuse to move, afraid that any sudden shift could cause the other ball to fall in behind it.

The ball edges you as it nears the pocket but you release a sigh of relief as it comes to a halt. You don't dare celebrate openly, just smile and wink at Donald, who was turning more red by the minute. Murmurs fly and papers shuffle as the men protest about their lost money.

Thomas finally approaches you as the others file out of the room, for sure in search of ways to better their bruised egos.

You don’t pay him any mind as you rack the balls up.

“You look like a professional.”

“You can too. Would you like to learn how to play?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I can keep steady hands.”

You hum in response, eyes shifting up to meet his. “That’s unfortunate.”

He is quiet as he comes to stand in front of you, hands reaching up to brush against your cheek. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

You pour Tommy another glass of whiskey before settling on the plush cushions next to him. The office space you acquired wasn’t as glamorous as you’d hoped it’d be but it provided a sense of solace where you could conduct business without hosting unwanted people in your home.

“So, is this a visit for pleasure or business? Perhaps both?”

Tommy knocks back his drink, throat bobbing as the cool liquor coats his mouth. “Marry me.”

You sputter out a laugh, shaking your head. “Pardon me?”

“I need you to marry me.”

“No,” you hold out a hand to stop him as you notice that he’s reaching into his coat pocket. “Have you gone fucking mad?”

“I need to form an alliance with the Elephants and this is the best way in.”

He fixes you with that stare and for a moment you’re sucked into his abyss, thinking about the possibility of becoming Mrs. Thomas Shelby but as quickly as the thought comes, it fades. This wasn’t your fight and you found it hardly fair that you were being used as some sort of pawn. You were familiar with his antics and knew that anyone being used by the Shelby clan typically resulted in death. As it so happens, you were pretty fond of your life at the moment.

You stand up from your seat abruptly, pacing back and forth. “I can’t marry you, Tommy.”

“I know it’s not an ideal proposal but you’ll have full control over the wedding details-”

Stopping mid pace, you turn to face your childhood friend. “What, did the war fuck with your hearing? I said I won’t marry you.”

Tommy drops his head, reaching back inside his pockets in search of a cigarette. He gets up to lurk near you, admiring the sour look on your face. “Is this how Marcus turned you down, eh?”

You swallow thickly, resisting to meet his gaze. Of course he knew about Marcus, he knew about everything and then some. The all knowing Shelby’s with their endless amount of dirt, ready to throw it on anyone who stood in their way.

“I don’t know to whom you are referring.” you lie, terribly so. Tommy could hear the pained yearning in your voice.

“Marcus Toussaint, old money from the Toussaints of France. Made their fortune from coal. He’s the youngest of four brothers, the only eligible bachelor left. You two met in Egypt, he was financing an archeological dig and you were there on holiday. Nights spent filled with mutual lust and passion, I assume. He buys you an estate in the Mediterranean, where you spend the majority of the summer.”

Your eyes slip close at the mention of Egypt, a time where you felt you could truly be yourself and not be on guard all the time. Marcus was delicate, thoughtful. He never questioned you about your past and was very encouraging about you wanting to pursue artistic hobbies. He was the one who taught you how to play pool.

“Unfortunately, your summer was cut short when he was forced to return home and he decided to take you with him. He wanted to make you a part of the family but they knew all about you and decided that a two dollar whore from the slums of Brimingham who made her living spending long nights in the beds of men she did not know was not good enough for Marcus. You try so hard to fit in with that crowd, prancing around in your fancy gowns with your nose held up so high that you still can’t smell the shit on your shoe you’re tracking into their houses.”

A rage you had learned to smother was bubbling beneath the brim of your being, a feeling you had never thought would be directed toward Tommy. You knew what he was doing, plunging a knife so deep into your heart and twisting until he got what he wanted out of you. It was all a mistake. You have been used over and over all your life. You were not going to be used by him, even if it cost you your life.

You lick your lips which have since gone dry, forcing your face to return to stone. “It’s always a delight to see you, Mr. Shelby. Travel safely.”

With that, you turn on your heels and exit the room in silent fury. A pair of observant eyes watch you from the stairs above, then switch to regard the back of Tommy as he leaves a few minutes after you.

You normally spent most nights at the club but decided it’s worth it to leave and blow steam off at home, your head a jumbled mess. Everything Tommy said was true but what he didn’t know is that Marcus had told you his family made prior preparations for him to marry the daughter of a tycoon and that he had no say in the matter. You were silly enough to believe him.

You were so caught up in what had just occurred that you hadn’t noticed you were being followed until a hand clamps over your mouth, a black hood shoved over your head.

Tommy watches absent-mindedly as the young woman slips back into her dress, dancing leisurely to the music coming out of the bar a few blocks down. The window was cracked and she was thankful, having put up with enough of Tommy’s smoking. He was on his third cigarette since they finished fucking and she was sure by the time she actually left, he would have finished half the pack.

There’s a knock at the door and the woman stops to look at Thomas expectantly. He doesn’t move an inch but jerks his head near the sound. The woman is cautious as she opens it but cracks the door wider when it’s revealed to be a bellhop.

“Delivery for 317.”

The woman grabs the silver covered platter and thanks the boy. She smiles as she brings it over to Thomas.

“Did you order me something special?”

“No.”

His bluntness doesn’t deter her, she simply shrugs and searches the vanity for her earrings. Tommy takes the lid off to uncover a note folded in half.

The Royale. 8pm.

The hood is snatched off unceremoniously and suddenly you’re in the storage room of a butcher shop, in a chair with your hands tied behind your back. Some of the girls you used to run with when you were younger surround you, with Bobbi aka Big Red at the center.

You give your best smile. “Ladies, are we starting a sewing circle? Book club? I hear Agatha’s new mystery is to die for.”

The first punch comes from Janie on your left. You rock your jaw, hands straining against the rope. “I take it that you didn’t like the novel.”

The second one is from Georgiana. The bitch. To think you were there for her when she found out her husband was screwing her sister.

After the fourth punch, this one to your gut, you were beginning to get fed up.

“Alright, does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“You’ve gotten too big for your britches, that’s what.” Big Red finally speaks up. She took over operations when the leader you knew, Mary, got locked up. Operations almost went to shit but you had to hand it to her, Bobbi knew how to run a tight ship. She wasn’t as popular with the women and laid down stricter rules. Several of which you had broken.

“I don’t have time for riddles, Bobbi.” you chide.

Bobbi snaps her finger and Georgiana brings a chair over so that Bobbi could sit in front of you. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, missy. When Mary put me in charge, I swore I’d keep her seat warm until she got out.”

You tsk. “Last I checked, you squeezed your fat ass in her chair.”

That earned you a hard punch. You needed to dial it back if you wanted to keep your face intact.

“You’ve been fucking one of the Shelby’s.” Janie purrs, popping her gum obnoxiously.

“Not just any Shelby, Thomas Shelby.” Georgiana tacks on.

Big Red makes a motion with her fingers and the clucking chickens get quiet, always obedient for their mother hen. “You know fraternizing with a family like theirs is off limits. Do you know what could happen to us if you were caught with him? We struck a decent deal with Sabini and the last thing I need is for you to jeopardize everything we’ve worked for because you wanted to get your cunt licked.”

You knew that a few girls were messing around with some men who worked for Sabini but you didn’t realize it had gotten so deep. Outside of Thomas and his boys in Birmingham, Sabini had the next biggest family in the area with a huge control over land. It wasn’t like anyone was stealing from them but nothing hurt men more than a broken heart and bruised ego.

“Well, since you like spreading your legs for dirty men like Thomas, poppet, you’re gonna do us a huge favor and use that pretty little face of yours to sway him into staying another night in London. Get him to this location,” Bobbi stuffs a slip of paper down your bra. “We’ll handle the rest.”

Big Red puts your cheek tenderly before snapping her fingers. Georgiana and Janie descend on you like vultures and the only sound echoing through the room is muffled grunts of you getting your ass kicked.

Thomas flips out his pocket watch once more.

8:22pm.

It was unlike you to be late but he figured it was for good reasons. Women and their unnecessary grooming. Growing up around Ada and practically being raised by Polly got him used to being late for certain functions. The waiter enters again and Tommy is ready to refuse another offer on refilling his glass but stops once he sees that you’re being escorted in.

You were mesmerizing. Your body was wrapped in red silk, the material caressing your figure in all the right places. White gloves covered your arms up to your elbows and the front of your dress drapes downward in a cowl design, showing a sufficient amount of cleavage to leave the wandering eye wanting more. To complete your ensemble, you wore a tilted hat with a veil to cover the majority of your face.

Thomas is a gentleman as he stands while you enter, only returning to his seat once you sit on your own.

“You’re late.”

You cock an eyebrow. “And yet, you’re still here.”

As if the waiter was eagerly awaiting for you to take your seat, you barely have time to set down your purse before the first course is brought out. It looked decadent but your stomach was still rolling from earlier. You weren’t sure when your appetite would return.

Thomas doesn’t touch his food either. “So, I take it you’ve changed your mind.”

You take a long sip of wine, swishing the red liquid around the glass before knocking the rest of it back. “Something like that.”

The cigarette makes an appearance. He lights it, waiting for you to continue.

“Look at us. Both came from nothing and here we are. Eating at the finest restaurants, wearing the finest clothes, sitting at tables that otherwise we would’ve been shooed from. And for what? Money?”

Thommy nods, almost as if you’d ask a rhetorical question. “Yes. Money, power, control. I’m taking care of my family just like you would take care of yours.”

“I have no family.” you state, voice a whisper.

“That’s why I’m asking you to be a part of mine.”

The door to the private room swings open and the waiter appears, yet again.

“For fucks sake!” Tommy yells at the poor fellow.

“My apologies, Mr. Shelby but your other guests have arrived.”

Tommy steals a quick glance at you. “I don’t have any other guests.”

You don’t dare turn around in your seat as the echo of numerous footsteps sound off, trailing from the hallway until they reach the dining area.

“Well, well. Looks like the gang's all here.”

The voice sends a chill down your spine. Amelio Sabini. He wasn’t head honcho but far enough up on the food chain for it to mean something.

Tommy clears his throat and puts out his cigarette. He doesn’t stand.

“What? No warm greeting for me or my brothers? Alright then.”

The vultures descend on the table, squeezing in where they could and kicking their feet up. You recognize some of the women on their arms from the club.

“Amelio. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

“Really? Cause if I remember correctly, we were invited. I know you didn’t start eating without me, Tommy. That’s bad business.”

“What’s bad business is discussing it in front of the women. You lot,” he points to the scantily clad girls. “Out.”

The girls all cling to their men, throwing each other nervous glances. You envied them just a little. To be pretty and clueless. It wouldn’t get them very far though.

Amelio gives a signal and they suck their teeth, sulking back out into the main part of the restaurant. You attempt to walk out with them but a goon keeps you firmly in your chair.

“Where are you heading off to, puddin’? You’re the main dish.”

“I take it you’re acquainted?” Tommy asks but you hear the condescending tone laced in the question.

“She’s the one that invited us. Knows the Royale is my favorite. Have you tried the raspberry and chocolate souffle?” Amelio gives a chef's kiss. “Eccellente!”

The men squabble as you mildly disassociate, understanding that this was going to end in one of two ways: you live or you die. And if you did die, Big Red was gonna get what’s coming to her, that’s for damn sure.

Your small break from reality is abruptly ended when the cold metal of a pistol is shoved into your hands.

Your hands graze the gun, a once familiar object now feeling foreign.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Amelio coos. “Let’s not draw this out any longer, eh? We all know how this ends. I don’t want to draw this out any further. Va bene?”

You nod your head slowly, steadying your grip on the weapon. You aim the gun directly at Tommy, unblinking. “Sorry it had to happen this way.”

Tommy gives a half shrug. “Likewise.”

You’re quick to pull the trigger and watch as the bullet whizzes by Tommy’s head and glides straight into the neck of the waiter. The platter in his hands falls, the Beretta masked as the “souffle” tumbling to the ground.

And just like that, the room cascades into a full out battle. Tommy wastes no time in grabbing his own gun and you throw yourself into the heat of action, taking out two more of Amelio’s men before you get clipped in the left arm. You throw yourself down on the ground in search of cover.

Arthur and the other Blinders crowd in from the kitchen, helping Tommy to clear out the room. Finn is careful as he drags you towards the back door, where a car is waiting.

“We can’t just leave them there!” you scream through the searing pain.

“They’ll be fine, trust me!”

Before you could argue your point further, the doors to the car get slammed shut and you’re whisked away from the scene.

Making it back to a small office Tommy owned was nothing short of a miracle. You had never seen or been a part of such a gunfight. However, it wasn’t the shooting that pissed you off.

“I know this was your idea.” you murmur, wincing as Tommy pours more alcohol in your wound.

“I told Big Red to persuade you, didn’t know that meant leaving you with a bruised eye.” Tommy says, double checking to make sure he cleaned the graze thoroughly.

You shake your head. “She’s got it out for me, apparently. You could’ve just asked-”

“I did ask you. This was reassurance.”

You pull away from his touch, a disapproving look etched into your face. “It’s like you don’t even trust me! We’re cut from the same cloth, remember?”

Tommy puts away the whiskey, reaching around you to grab at the gauze. He wraps it around your arm tenderly. Satisfied with his work, he takes a pack of smokes out of his pocket, tucking one between his lips.

He saddles up to where you’re perched on his desk, spreading your legs to stand between them.

“I never doubted you once. There were things that needed to be in place and I wanted to make sure it happened.”

The deep pools of his eyes drag you under and once again, you find yourself pulled into his orbit. No matter how hard your gut alerts you to the dangers of falling in love with Thomas Shelby, you ignore the blaring alarms and steel yourself. He wasn’t like the others, happy to parade you around on their arm like some sort of trophy. You had a mind, a working spirit that was hard to break and a reputation to uphold. You didn’t want to be the dainty, seen but not heard wife.

You wanted to be his equal.

Plucking the cigarette from his lips, you take a quick puff from it, exhaling slowly. “I should go.”

“I’ve arranged for John to take you to the hotel. We didn’t have much time to grab clothing from your place but I can have Pol take you shopping tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“You got me a room?”

Tommy chuckles slightly at the question, demeanor unwavering as he takes a small metal item from his pocket, flipping it in-between his fingers like you’ve seen him do many times before with a coin.

“I got us a suite.”

You stare at the key, understanding that it signified much more than a cozy night in. Accepting this key and going to see him meant that you were tethering yourself to a man you swore was just casual. You weren’t sure if you were ready for that level of commitment.

He pries your hand open, setting the room key in it before closing it gently. Nearly forgetting how to breathe, your eyes flutter close as Tommy seals the deal with a kiss.

He runs a lone finger down your cheek, his own lips plump with the sheen of your affections.

“My proposal still stands.”

Tommy says nothing else as he exits the office, doors groaning in protest at his departure. You open up your hand again. Would you still remain the Duchess or become a Queen?

43 notes · View notes

cinewhore · 24 hours