#Quicken Tech Support Number

[fleckcmscott]

Bewitching Hour

Summary: October has been a blissfully busy month. With Halloween around the corner, Arthur and Y/N have some planning to do.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,665

A/N: Special thanks to @hhandley80​ for this request! You've been so supportive and sweet. I truly appreciate you and hope you enjoy it!

On a side note, my oneshots will be more sporadic. I'm still writing but life has been life. Also, I've finished the first draft of another multi-chapter featuring Arthur and Y/N. It's going to take time to rewrite the subsequent drafts and edit, edit, edit. The chapters will go up once the story is ready. Thanks for your patience and support! 🙂 I heart you all!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! 

Arthur's suggestion that they make plans to celebrate Halloween should not have been a surprise. He loved starting traditions with Y/N, and she prized adopting them with him. "It's been awhile," he'd said as they'd walked arm-in-arm to the laundromat. "I think it'd be nice."

Holidays had been a source of merriment most of her life. The beauty of red and green decorations at Christmas. Turkey and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving. An egg hunt and chocolate rabbit at Easter. The togetherness of family during them all.

Halloween, though, wasn't a favorite.

As a child, she'd had fun trick-or-treating, riding her bike from house to far-flung house. And she hadn't minded escorting her little sister as a teenager. Y/N's homemade witch costume had been passed down. She could still recall the sleekness of the ribbon between her fingers as she'd secured the pointed hat under Mabel's chin.

But the magic had fallen away. When married to Jeff, she'd had to attend his boss's annual party. After receiving an apologetic shrug and kiss, she'd be relegated to hanging out with the other wives. They'd included her in their recipe swaps, in their exchanges of mild gossip. Her natural friendliness made chit-chat easy, far easier than having a good time. Those evenings had been spent nursing a glass of wine and willing the clock to go faster.

During the period she'd cared for her father, she'd tried to hand out candy. She liked being a good neighbor and imparting kindness in the form of bite-sized sweets. As his health had declined, the porch light had gone dark. Random rings of the doorbell would result in shouting and swearing. Repeated attempts to explain the door's lock wasn't broken. Festivity would transform into drudgery. It hadn't been worth the trouble. Instead, she'd watched terrible TV specials while her thoughts wandered to a future far from Boonville. A future she'd doubted would ever be.

"I don't know if it's your thing," Arthur had continued, bringing her back to the present. "But you might enjoy it with me." The response he longed for was evident in the worrying of his pocket, outlines of his knuckles visible through the tan cloth.

Everything they'd experienced together had soothed the sting of those wasted years. The hesitancy lurking in her was silly. Unwelcome. Less than either of them deserved. She'd met his keen eyes and half-smile. The sudden mental image of him dressed as a cowboy or pirate, eyepatch and all, prompted a laugh. Convinced her as she dug out her dry-cleaning stub. "It isn't my thing," she'd said. "But you are."

Relief had relaxed his wrinkles, save for his crows feet, which had deepened as he'd returned her happy expression. A slender arm wrapped around her waist, drew her against his solid frame. Once the clerk disappeared through the swinging doors to retrieve their clothes, Arthur grasped her chin and kissed her. The tender explorations were soon sloppy, and she'd giggled, his enthusiasm becoming her own. Their noses had met, his lashes resting on his wide cheekbones. "I think you're the sweetest treat, Mrs. Fleck."

Currently, Donahue's Department Store, Gotham's number one retail emporium (if the ads were to be believed), was bustling with last-minute shoppers. Weary mothers escorted their babbling children through the aisles. Clerks swapped out displays for the changing blue light specials. Lines went for yards. Patricia and Y/N sought refuge at a corner table in the café on the top floor. The warm glow from the pendant lamps provided a relaxed ambience, one that matched the hot cider and pumpkin spice cake they were savoring.

"I've got my grandson on Sunday," Patricia said between bites. "My daughter's going to a party with a medical records tech from Gotham General. Met him when she missed the bus. They split a cab and hit it off." Chuckling, she lifted her mug. "Speaking of, how's married life been so far?"

Memories of the past week quickened Y/N's heart, until she thought it might stop. How Arthur had gripped her replacement Social Security card, just to read her new name. The way he'd grab her for a twirl whenever they were in the kitchen. The reverence in his gaze when they'd lay together after sex, a look that both thrilled and made her blush. "The bills for his medication and appointments will no longer make us cringe," she deadpanned. She lowered her fork. "When we met, I was kind of blindsided - I'm not the type to fall in love quickly." The corners of her lips tugged up. "Being married to Arthur feels like a habit. A habit I should have learned twenty years ago."

"I'm glad you found each other." Patricia reached across the light brown table and covered Y/N's hand, gave it a squeeze. Then she wiped frosting from her mouth and nodded in the direction of the escalator. "Now let's find a costume that'll drive him nuts."

Beyond the colorful cosmetics and pungent perfume counters, they sorted through racks of vinyl smocks and plastic masks. Pop culture icons and princesses. Vampires and spooks. Knockoffs of classic movie monsters. Most were poorly made and decidedly uninteresting. Y/N pawed through accessories in a nearby basket, a cigar here, a patched hat there. "How about a hobo? I could steal Arthur's tie."

"This was his idea. Give him something a little exciting." After a roll of Y/N's eyes, Patricia held out a plastic display bag. "Found it."

The white font on its blue label declared she should "Create a unique look!" A woman in a leopard-print leotard and bow-tie wore black cat ears and a tail, the only two items included in the set. Y/N's nose wrinkled. "I don't think so, Patricia." She rummaged through another bin and examined a hockey mask. "I don't show a lot of skin."

"You show Arthur." Patricia ignored Y/N's glare, continuing to shove it at her. "Every man loves a woman dressed as a cat. Our next lunch is on me if I'm wrong."

Patricia could be relentless, but Y/N had to admit she was usually right. She arched a brow as she eyed the costume. Maybe she could find a solid body suit instead of animal print. The kit was only $2.98. And her friend had made it a challenge. "You're on. But I'm not wearing a bow-tie." She crossed her arms across her chest and tapped her mouth. "Your turn. Would Robert like you as a French maid or a go-go dancer?"

~~~~~

It was a busy season for performers. Arthur remembered HaHa's talent agency being booked solid for October by the end of August. Myriad functions at nursing homes, parties, and children's organizations took place throughout the city. Amusement Mile had a series of special events, allowing Arthur to work extra hours before the slowness of winter dragged in. Once the holiday was over, he'd buy make-up and props on clearance.

He'd always assumed he would like Halloween - if he'd had the chance to celebrate it properly. It was about connection, something he'd never managed. The customs gave him a pretense, a template to meet people, rather than leaving him wondering how to go about it. Provided a hiding place for his seeming inability to act normal.

Recollections of the day were few but vivid. When he'd been around eight, there'd been a party at school. The teacher had made brownies and given the students a half-hour respite from lessons. (A welcome relief, since he wasn't very good at most of them.) But he hadn't had a costume. Hadn't known how to reply when the other kids asked where it was. Not wanting to be left out, he'd pocketed a watercolor pallet and sneaked to the bathroom.

The teacher (he wished he could remember her name) had walked in as he'd smeared green and blue on his face, a pathetic attempt at a turtle. Fear of punishment had caused his laughter. But her kindness as she knelt, wiped away tears and pigment with a scratchy, brown paper towel, had calmed him. "Wait here," she'd instructed. It had taken all his courage not to run home.

After some minutes, she'd returned, an old white sheet in one hand, black marker and pair of scissors in the other. "The nurse won't miss this." She'd traced eyeholes, helped him cut them out. She'd asked questions. About his mother and what it was like at home. Questions he was at a loss for how to answer. Finally, she'd draped the cloth over his head. "There," she'd declared. "Gotham Elementary has its own ghost."

Even as he'd gotten taller and the sheet no longer went beyond his knees, that costume had remained his go-to. He'd venture out to the rest of his building, knocking on paint-chipped doors and pushing broken buzzers. Having learned to stay away from doors that yelling or funny smells emanated from, he hadn't gotten a lot of candy. What he had collected he'd shared with Penny. The wax lips became a free toy. He wasn't sure his memory of startling his mother and being tickled until he couldn't breathe was real or imagined.

At twelve, he was told he was too old to go trick-or-treating. He'd starting scrounging for change to buy hard candies at Helm's Pharmacy. They weren't particularly appetizing, but they'd been what he could afford. Only a few kids rang, a number that dwindled further every year. Most neighbors kept their distance, likely aware he was troubled. Cinnamon discs and butterscotch drops had loitered around the apartment for months. He'd sucked on them in an attempt to cut down on his smoking, just to save money. It hadn't worked.

Y/N hadn't spoken about the holiday, not the way she had other special occasions. At first, he'd thought it had slipped her mind. Work, planning their honeymoon, completing the red tape required to meld all aspects of their lives had taken up much of their time. But, given her reluctance to talk in detail about her past heartache, he'd come to assume her Halloweens had been unpleasant. He was certain he could change that.

Sitting on the dingy, dark green plastic seat of the train car, he giggled to himself, chest puffing up as he straightened. They'd been man and wife for eight whole days. Movies and songs said love was supposed to be somewhere between serendipitous and fated. A happy accident that was meant to be. Lying awake at night, he would find himself wondering where they were on that scale. If the emotions swirling through him - the excitement of belonging, the fear of fucking up - were what every newlywed felt. Then Y/N would snuggle closer in her sleep, murmur nonsense into his skin, and for a few minutes he'd be at peace.

Years had been spent trying to figure out who he was. Trying to find an identity, his role within the world. While he was still searching, it had been far easier to become accustomed to the role of "husband" than he'd dreamed.

Teaching his wife about events across the city had been a delight. Gotham Village's Annual Costume Extravaganza was a parade that went all the way to Gotham Square. He'd participated a couple of times, never formally registering but slipping into the clown section. It had been exhilarating. Had allowed him to pretend, for a little while, that he was being seen. That the crowds lining the sidewalks were cheering for him. Signs for extravagant balls were plastered on billboards and lampposts throughout the streets; he'd have gladly attended and shown her off. A haunted house was being held in a building in his old neighborhood, a fundraiser for the orphanage. He hadn't brought that up.

In the end, once he'd explained trick-or-treaters went from apartment to apartment, they'd decided on a cozy evening at home. The details had been left to her. Whatever she'd plan, he'd love it. He wondered what she'd disguise herself as. Would she be a sexy devil or nurse, like he'd seen on a sit-com? The notion sparked a fire in his cheeks.

Given how busy he'd be, he'd stay dressed as plain, old Carnival. Part of him regretted accepting two gigs, especially on a Sunday. He would have preferred her company. But he wanted to put the money towards the wedding band he'd put on layaway. (Even though they had one account, he wasn't going to let her chip in for it.) He should already be wearing it for all of Gotham to see.

The lurch of the subway prompted him to rise and grasp the pole grip. His stance widened as it came to a halt, knees bending with the instinct of a man who'd ridden public transportation since he was a boy. As soon as the graffiti-covered doors parted, he stepped out onto the platform and ascended the stairs, eager to share his new insurance information with Dr. Ludlow.

~~~~~

Scratchy violins and the hum of a theremin. Shrill shrieks and cracks of thunder. A cackle resounded, then a pipe organ, playing a melody in a minor key.

There was no doubt about it. Halloween spirit had saturated 4A.

NCB's Movie Marathon Mayhem had begun at 10:00 AM. Y/N had had it on since getting out of the shower, hoping to catch a horror classic while she decorated the apartment and prepared Bloody Mary mix. As she hung cotton batting between the television's rabbit ears, creating a long, narrow spider-web, she realized they were only playing cheesy B-movies. Giant insects threatening buildings. Science experiments gone wrong. Alien invasions. Oh well. At least she wouldn't have to pay much attention to get the gist of the plots.

The orange plastic platter, black bats along its edges, had been an impulse buy. She thought its array of sugary skeletons, candy bracelets, and Jolly Jack chocolate bars would be well received. But having seen only one or two kids in the lobby, she had no idea how many children lived in their building. She hoped she'd bought enough.

The cardstock window decorations she'd found were festive and matched Arthur's sweet nature. One portrayed a warted, green witch flying on a broom past a full moon. On the other, a ghost and mouse shared a pillowcase of candy and wished a "Happy Halloween." She held the tape dispenser between her teeth as she stuck them to their white front door.

Just then, the elevator dinged. Glancing to her left, she saw Arthur stroll down the cheerfully lit hallway. Buoyant expression on him, despite his white, blue, and red make-up being streaked from sweat. Striped prop bag on his shoulder and carved pumpkin cradled in his arms. "The store owner was going to throw it out," he explained with a half hug. "But he let me have it as a tip."

Classic, triangular eyes evoked the annual carving contest her parents had taken part of back home. Her father had been well-known in the community, being the town's only doctor. Entering the competition had been expected. They'd never won but enjoyed it all the same. Y/N had picked out the patterns and scooped out the squash's slimy innards. Her mother had baked the seeds. Peals of their laughter echoed in her ears, and a lump formed in her throat.

She swallowed hard against it. Dammit, Y/N. Get it together. This was supposed to be a special night for Arthur and her. She needed to distract herself. One of his curls peeked out from under his bald-cap and green wig. She twirled a strand around her finger. "With that toothy grin, it just might be your twin," she said. He pecked her temple, the kiss sticky from greasepaint. She lit the half-melted candles using his red lighter and put the jack-o-lantern just outside their door.

While he freshened his paint in the bedroom, she slinked into the bathroom to change. Arthur's and her routines were closely aligned; keeping her costume hidden had not been easy. The headband holding the furry cat ears was quite stiff, its teeth a tad sharp on her scalp. Once it was in place, she hid it under her hair. The lint on her form-fitting stretch top and leggings reminded her why she rarely wore all black. She retrieved her brown eyeliner from the nearby shelf and started in on her whiskers.

Arthur's footsteps neared, heavy due to his clown shoes, and Y/N turned to lean back on the sink. His thin lips parted as he scanned her body, forehead furrowed in pleasant surprise. His reaction planted a seed of bliss in her belly, one that bloomed every second they regarded each other. The lunch she'd have to spring for was well worth the pink shells of his ears. Eventually, she held out the fluffy, wired tail and a safety pin. "Would you pin this just below my waistband?"

Fingers grazing hers, he took it and sat on the toilet lid. He cupped her hips and pulled her closer, positioned her until the dampness of his breath hit a bare sliver of her back. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice sending a tingle through her. At his gentle ministrations, the spandex of her leggings felt snugger. "Did you- Did you read my journal?"

A faint click of metal as the pin closed. "No." She colored the tip of her nose, frowned at how lackluster the shade was. "I'd never do that. Even if I'm dying for a preview of your material. Why?"

"No reason." A soft huff, his shy smile clear in his answer. "I have an idea." He handed her a washcloth and hurried out of the room. She was patting her face dry when he returned, a fine tipped brush and pot of black greasepaint in his hand. "This'll look better."

Her brow arched. She'd only had her make-up done once; Patricia had invited her when they'd first met. Such an outing was not her preference, but Y/N had accepted, being new in town and wanting to learn about her colleague. There'd been champagne at the counter, which she'd sipped until she'd spent too much on eyeshadow and apricot scrub. The next morning, she'd put the products and a note on Patricia's desk: "I'll never forgive you. Thanks!"

The heat radiating from Arthur prompted her to close the gap between them. She craned her neck towards him, slid her palms to his yellow vest until she held him just below his ribs. His forefinger curled under her chin, lifted it slightly and angled it to the right. The cool, wet brush met her fevered skin. The dusty smell of the greasepaint blended with a whiff of stale cigarette smoke and traces of his sweat. She licked her lips.

The vibration of his chuckle was felt before heard. "I really like your costume," he said lowly. Two more ticklish caresses of the bristles on the apple of her cheek. "If you're not careful, I might werewolf and go wild."

She stretched closer to him, the fervor in his tone going straight to her center. Though he'd been growing bolder, his cocky side wasn't often revealed. She wanted it, thirsted to see more of the wild horse kicking inside him. Her touch ran over his chest, until she dipped under his black suspenders and pulled. "Are you going to gobble me up?"

Teasing strokes on her nose. "Maybe." Then his thumb whispered along her jaw and guided her face upwards. His kiss was supple, slow, a drag of his mouth as his tongue sought entry. She yielded, the simmer of anticipation bringing her to her toes. He groaned deeply and palmed her thigh, then fondled the curve of her rear-

The ding-dong of the doorbell halted them. He lifted his head and laughed, gaze sparkling. "I got paint on you."

She twisted in his arms and looked in the mirror. The whiskers caught her eye, embellished at the ends with dainty curlicues - his skill never ceased to impress her. Red brightened her lips and streaks of white were on her cheek. "It's all right. They'll just know I've been necking with a clown."

~~~~~

The sound of the bell continued. Over and over and over. More than it ever had in Otisburg. There were mummies, ghosts, a couple of skeletons. A superhero proudly displayed his red cape and blue tights, and a kid in her karate robe went on about her yellow belt. A tiny clown, too young to walk, was brought by her sister. As Arthur made funny faces, the baby cooed and tried to take his red, foam nose. Arthur parted with it gladly.

Only one member of the Wayne family appeared, slicked back hair and pompous pout making the disguise complete. The man accompanying the boy introduced himself as their upstairs neighbor and shook their hands. After one look at Y/N, he nudged Arthur's bicep. "So, she's the one keeping half the building up at night. Good on you, pal." Arthur blinked in confusion as she ushered the guy away, red-faced and muttering about his nerve.

Arthur was overly generous, giving out fistfuls of sweets while taking a few extra seconds to gather his nerves and compliment the costumes he liked best. It felt good to interact with strangers without constantly second guessing himself. Y/N would rub his arm or kiss his shoulder and tell him what a great job he was doing. "Kids are easy," he said, refilling the candy dish. But he reveled in her praises, anyway. And the knowledge that meeting the neighbors was going well.

Clean-up required little effort. The jack-o-lantern sat on their kitchen table, flames flickering as the wicks burned away. The door decor was packed safely for use next year. His plaid blazer was slung over the back of a dining chair and his wig was off. Y/N's decision to leave her whiskers on pleased him - she made a damn sexy cat. He pocketed the last few pieces of candy to snack on during the remainder of the evening.

The Sunday Night Special Presentation she'd picked out, a made-for-TV horror movie, began at 9:00 PM on GBC. Most of its airtime was punctuated by her tipsy snickers and legal wisecracks, which was typical when they watched something stupid. Yet, as the show went on, she grew quieter, barely speaking between sips of her third cocktail. As they sat on the sofa, her posture stiffened. Forearms crossed over her breasts. Her nails dug into her upper arm.

The change started two-thirds of the way into the show, when the plot about a doll running amok twisted into a story about a professional woman trying to assert herself against the demands of her mother. Against the expectations of availability. To fight for the simplicity of having dinner and peace and quiet. It resonated with him, which felt weird. Especially when the film cut to black, the implication being the mother would meet a violent end at the hands of her possessed daughter.

A cheerful jingle came on. Puerto Rico was a direct flight from Gotham Airport, it advertised, a flight that lasted "two hours and fifteen tropical minutes." They should get out while the weather was still good. The juxtaposition of mood broke him out of his ponderings. He flicked off the blaring television with the remote. Then he heard Y/N sniffling.

She set her glass on the coffee table, a slight tremble in her hand. "I need some air," she whispered as she rose, then went out onto the fire escape.

Arthur rubbed his thigh and pressed his lips together. He wasn't used to seeing her cry. Not from sadness. Should he follow her? Give her time? Both had worked previously, depending on the situation. But he wasn't sure what had upset her, what situation they were in now.

Exhaling sharply, he grabbed her glass and dumped the rest of the drink down the kitchen sink. Rinsed their dinner plates and put the slow cooker in the fridge. When he'd finished making decaf coffee ten minutes later, she still hadn't returned. He ambled towards the ajar glass door and stepped out.

Moonlight outlined her shapely figure and reflected off her hair, the silver a contrast to the orange glow of the streetlamps illuminating her face. Her stare seemed fixated on the street below. He followed it to see a group of ghouls and goblins spraying shaving cream on a shop window. A couple, one he'd see occasionally when out for a cigarette, walked down the sidewalk. A woman was half-carrying a drunk man towards a bus stop.

Upon clearing her throat, Y/N spoke. "I may not look like it, but I had a great time with you tonight. The movie just got to me." Relieved, Arthur sidled next to her, wrapped his arm about her back. Her head fell to his shoulder and she smoothed her hand over his stomach. "I don't mean to hide from you. Someday you'll know the details of my earlier life." She scoffed. "When I'm ready to think about them." He entwined their fingers and kissed her hairline, avoiding the wired tips of her cat ears.

Shivering, she took a shaky breath. "There are no skeletons in my closet. Only disappointments." Her voice cracked as she beamed at him, cupped his cheek, and pressed her face to his. "Knowing I'd get to have you would have made those years so much easier."

He held her tightly, massaging between her shoulders. She'd been speaking about herself, but he couldn't help thinking it was about him, too. His years with Penny. His stints in Arkham. The loneliness, the isolation, the endless anger and yearning to be more than a speck of dirt no one cared for. His journal was full of questions about where the hell his one and only was. If he'd known she'd be real, tangible instead of a figment, would existence have hurt less?

Wincing, he tried to push through those thoughts. To focus on her instead of himself. What mattered was that Y/N needed him. Perhaps a joke would cheer her. "I was thinking the other night of how easy it is to smile around you," he said. "You tickle my funny bone." Amusement bubbled in her throat, music to his ears. She released a contented sigh and nuzzled the crook of his neck.

Peaceful stillness ensued as the minutes passed. Though the breeze was chill, goosebumps forming on his pale skin, her affection kept his heart warm. His fingertips rubbed circles into her lower back, and she offered a pleasured hum. Across the way, footsteps pounded. He glanced to see a kid darting up the street, plastic pumpkin pail in tow. The boy's scream was filled with boundless energy: "Happy Halloween, Gotham!"

Snorting, Y/N took Arthur's hand and led him inside. The cheap tail she wore bounced with every exaggerated swivel of her hips. "I've behaved all evening, which your werewolf comment made extraordinarily difficult." She looped her arms around him and flashed a come-hither stare. "May I have a goodie?"

The scrape of her nails on his scalp coiled a knot in his abdomen. "Aren't you supposed to say 'trick-or-treat?'" he asked huskily.

"Your pussycat needs a petting or two." She closed the bedroom door behind them. "Maybe even a mauling."

His brows shot up on a hitched giggle. Then he palmed her hip while she started in on his buttons. Before she got too far, he traced a whisker with the pad of his thumb. Let their foreheads meet and pecked her eyelids. "Only if you give me something good to eat." He pressed into her, his enjoyment relentless, not waiting for her reply before devouring her mouth.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @howdylilflower​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @mrscarnival​

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Our Dearest Readers,

Hey all! @missjennifercole​ has had quite the week and I figured I’d take something off her plate. Here is episode 49 of Cuba v DR. We’ve got one episode left and I am FREAKING OUT! I really hope we’ve done this series justice.

I’ve been reading through some of the previous season the last few days, gearing up for whenever we decide to start going through them to edit, and I think along the way I’m comfortable saying that we’ve had some stumbles, but hopefully the ending we have in mind leaves you guys satisfied. We love you all so much and especially those of you that have been with us since the beginning of this series, the amount of love and support for not only the story but for us as the writers has often times been overwhelming and I think I speak for both Jen and myself when I say that we have the most amazing readers on the planet.

Sinceriously,

Amanda

EPISODE 49

After work Roxie was happy to be home, she loved her job but lately she found that she had started missing Liam more. She’d had her first talk therapy session that morning and despite it only having been one session, she had already begun to feel better. At least the thought of seeing her baby was much less anxiety-inducing as it had been the day before. 

“It was so wonderful to watch you work, Roxanne. The camera loves you, darling,” Helena said, beaming with pride at her oldest daughter.

“Thank you, mum. I loved having you there as well. My co-host can be a bit much to deal with at times.” Roxie rolled her eyes at the thought, it had seemed that Aaron had been coming up with any excuse for them to have to reshoot this or that. “I was thinking we should take Liam to get some pictures done, professionally, baby portraits. It will be a chance to send it out to the family,” she said to her mother as she fumbled for her keys in her purse. “Plus Rafael and I have only been taking pictures on our phones and he’s doubling in size regularly. Soon he’ll be thirty at this rate.” She opened the door walking inside. 

“Oh, that would be lovely! Your father and I would have a photo of him to hang in our living room,” Helena answered.

“Precisely my thoughts,” Roxie answered as she pushed the door open. “We’re back,” she called out to her husband, moving into the living room where she usually found the two snuggling on the couch. When she found an empty room, Roxie turned to her mother. “That’s strange. Rafael left me a message telling me they were already home.”

“Well, perhaps they went out to pick up something to eat,” Helena replied with a bob of her shoulders.

“It’s close to Liam’s bedtime, I can’t imagine a reason why they’d leave.” She heard a cry from the bedroom, immediately sighing in relief as she moved into the room. “There you are-“ she paused, looking around and frowning. “Rafi?” 

She picked her son up, patting him on the back and gently rocking him as she moved into the guest bedroom where Helena was staying, and searched. There would be no reason for him to be in there but she was quickly running out of locations. 

“Love?” 

“Something wrong, darling?” Helena asked from the kitchen.

The lights were out, eerie silence of the room only deepening the pit in her stomach. She moved to the guest bathroom, then their bedroom, their adjoining bathroom as she felt real panic settle in. Rafael barely set Liam down at all, he’d never just leave. 

She turned to her mother, brows furrowed. “He’s nowhere.” 

“What do you mean, he’s nowhere?” Helena asked as she closed the fridge. “Perhaps in the bath?”

“I’ve checked everywhere, mum. He's not anywhere,” she said, moving to pick up her phone in her free hand. 

“Something’s happened,” Helena said, her previous task of warming food for her and Roxie completely forgotten. “He would never leave Liam alone.”

“I’m calling the police,” Roxie replied, thumb already moving over the flat screen of her cell phone.

“Isn’t his sister close by? You should call her after. Perhaps she knows something.” 

Roxie nodded, dialing 9-1-1 and listening to the longest three rings of her entire life. Even as she began to talk to the operator, she felt like this couldn’t be real. Rafael would never just leave their son alone in the apartment, she was offended just at the thought. But anything was more preferable than thinking something horrible happened. 

Her husband wasn’t shy of enemies from court cases or even by proxy of Nevada and that put him in a dangerous position. She couldn’t help but feel something had happened here, something truly bad. 

When she hung up the phone, she was trembling.

“I can call his sister, darling,” Helena offered, putting her hand over Roxie’s to take the phone. Roxie just shook her head, taking a breath to steady herself.

“No, no I need to do it. Will you stay with Liam for me while I’m in the other room?” she whispered. She could barely stand the thought of taking that baby out of her sight now, but she didn’t want his little ears hearing that his father had disappeared. Even if he couldn’t process it.

She dialed your number, feeling a rush of anxiety wash over her. 

“Hey you,” you answered with a smile. “What’s up?” 

“Y/N, something’s happened,” Roxie said, trying to keep the panic from rising further. “Rafael isn’t here.”

“What?” 

“Liam was by himself, he wouldn’t just leave the baby here. He would take Liam or call you. There would be no reason to--“ 

“--Roxie,” you said firmly. “Okay, I get it. Just calm down. Is there any sign of a struggle or anything?” 

“What? What the bloody hell are you talking about? I’m not a detective, Y/N! Where is my husband?!” 

You gave it a moment to let her panic, waiting until she calmed again. “The police are going to look for the same thing. Look, it doesn’t matter now, are you alone?” 

“No, I’m with my mum.” 

“Okay, stay there,” you said, standing up and pulling on a jacket. “I’m calling Nevada to see if he knows anything and I’m coming over. Lock your doors, close all the windows. If someone did come for Rafael, I don’t think they’re coming back but you can’t be too safe.” 

Roxie nodded as if you could see her, wiping a stray tear that had ran down her cheek. “Okay, I’ll lock everything now.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” you assured her as you moved out the door and downstairs to your car. Hollower words had never been spoken. You didn’t know that. You couldn’t assure that and more than anything else you weren’t even sure of it yourself. But she needed that assurance right now. “Rafael is going to be okay. I’m coming now. I’ll call you when I’m there. Don’t open the door for anyone but me or the police.” 

Roxie nodded again. “Okay, okay, please hurry, Y/N,” she begged.

“I’m coming, I promise I’ll be right there.” 

As you ended the call and got into the car, you looked at yourself in the mirror for a split second, you looked scared. You had to pull that look off of your face before you got to Roxie. There was no room for more than one person panicking and none of that would help Rafael.

You dialed your phone again, this time calling your husband. “Come on,” you mumbled, growing more frustrated with each ring. “Come on, Nevada, pick up.” 

---------

Rafael’s temples throbbed as a wet, sticky trickle ran down the side of his face. There was a slow drip coming from his right side and a low rumble beneath him vibrated against his bottom. A tight, sharp grip cut into his wrists and an attempt to move them elicited a hiss from him. His eyes opened to the darkness of a cold, damp room as the pain in his head doubled and he pressed his forehead against the wall next to him. Taking a deep breath, he carefully tilted his head up to find handcuffs around his wrists over a rusted metal pipe. 

He tried to pull his hands free by pulling down on the pipe with no success. His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the dark and his legs moved in an attempt to stand but he couldn’t establish a firm footing. His muscles sore and screaming, he slumped back against the wall and continued to look around the room for a possible way out.

Where the hell was he?

He remembered Charles standing in his living room, holding his son. The image swarmed his mind and his pulse quickened.

“Liam,” he groaned, looking up at his wrists again and using a newfound strength to pull himself further up against the wall behind him. Straining his ears, he tried to listen for any familiar sounds and it was then that he realized he was gently rocking from side to side. The muted sound of crashing waves confirmed that he was on a boat of some kind. 

His eyes darted around the room, looking for something--anything--he could use to cut himself free. The room had obviously been prepared ahead of time, but he would’ve expected nothing less of Charles Heeley. The man had always been one to account for every detail. Looking along the floor around him, he scoured the filthy surface for something, anything to pick the lock of the cuffs. He hadn’t the slightest idea as to how to pick a lock, but he was determined to try anything.

He didn't care how long it took him, but he had to get free and find a way back to his family.

---------

“Holy shit.” 

The whisper sounded in the otherwise silent lab, where a technician was testing the partial fingerprint and DNA sample found at a crime scene they were convinced had been sanitized. Quickly moving to print out the matches he’d found, he wrenched the pages from the printer and shot up from his chair. File in hand, he raced out of the lab, deciding to take the stairs up to Captain William’s office. In retrospect it wouldn’t have made any difference to take the elevator, but he had been one of the many who doubted they would be able to find anything at the scene, let alone connect it to a suspect. His genuine shock had clouded his rational thought and he ran as quickly as his legs would carry him up the stairs from the basement to the third floor of the old precinct.

Shoving the door to William’s office open, the tech heaved and bent at the waist as he tried to catch his breath, one hand holding the file up.

“Don’t you knock?” Williams asked with furrowed brows at the sweaty technician.

“Sir...w-we found a m-match...for both the partial print...and the DNA.”

Williams’ face fell and he stood, snatching the file away to read the results. Eyes widening, he pointed at the report in his hand as his eyes met with the tech. “You’re sure about this.”

It was more of a statement than a question, this was what Leonard had been waiting for since he’d arrived in the Heights.

The tech nodded, breath still coming in heavy pants. He took a moment to right himself, swallowing as his breath finally began to slow. “Yes sir, there’s no question. The DNA sample belongs to Oscar Diaz Jr and the partial print has a seven point match with Nevada Ramirez.”

Williams dropped the report on his desk and grabbed his jacket before going into the pen and calling out to his lead detective. “Let’s go pick up Ramirez and Diaz.”

“We got them?” 

“Like a mouse in a trap,” Williams answered as he charged out the precinct.

---------

Nevada's phone rang loudly in the office building he'd just entered and he pulled it out to look down at the screen, seeing your name. Dropping the call, he stepped onto the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. He usually always answered when you called, but now all he could think of was getting out to where Natalia was. After what she'd done to Izzy, he couldn't wait to watch the light leave her eyes.

"Mr. Ramirez, it's so good to see you again!" Jasper's secretary said, flashing Nevada a bright smile as soon as he stepped off the elevator.

"Hola mi amor" he answered as he walked to her desk. "He in there?"

"Yes, go on in," she replied.

"Thank you. You look nice today, by the way," Nevada said with a smirk as he walked past her desk, up to Jasper's office.

"Always so sweet," she replied with a smile.

Without knocking, Nevada went into Jasper's office and nodded to the other man.

"Nevada," Jasper said with a smirk, looking up from his laptop. He stood and buttoned up his jacket, extending a hand towards the man in leather to shake.

Nevada shook his hand. "Oye, bro, I don't mean to bust in on you pero I need a huge favor."

"Name it," Jasper replied.

"Need to borrow your boat."

"Going on a trip?" Jasper asked with a smile.

"Not exactly," Nevada answered. "We found Natalia. She's off-shore--" His phone rang again, and he pulled it out to drop your call again before he looked back up at Jasper. "I wanna rearrange that bitch's face and hang her by her intestines."

"That seems like mercy compared to what I'd like to do to her," Jasper answered. "Your sister-in-law is a good girl. I was looking forward to seeing her succeed with her gallery. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's criminals who drag civilians into our business."

"You wanna come with?" Nevada asked as though they were planning a vacation.

Jasper grinned widely. "I thought you’d never ask."

---------

It took nearly two hours of pulling, his muscles screaming in agony as with his teeth clenched and a deep, loud grunt Rafael finally had been able to break the rusted pipe. Compressed air rushed out of the broken metal as Rafael collapsed to the floor. He took a moment to catch his breath, then despite the protest of his legs, he stood up and went to the heavy steel door on the opposite side of the room. Gripping the metal wheel at the center, he grunted as he turned it to the left, opened the door and peeked out into the corridor. This seemed too easy, but upon seeing no one in sight, he slowly stepped out of the room. The real task would be to find a way out and hoping that he was some place familiar. 

Were they docked at Chelsea Piers? Coney Island? 

Choosing to go left, towards a set of metal stairs, his eyes stayed alert for any movement other than his own. A whistle accompanied by footsteps sounded from the stairs and Rafael quickly went into the room to his immediate left, tucking himself behind the door. The whistle was closer, heavy thud of each step keeping a tempo as the man made his way down the corridor. He looked down at his still cuffed wrists and wondered whether the Whistler had a set of keys. Rafael turned his eyes back up, ducking and waiting for the man to walk past the door he was hiding behind before he came out and hooked the man’s neck with his cuffed wrists. Clenching his jaw, he used all his strength to pull the struggling body against his, pressing the chained metal against his neck. 

The man, surely much more rested than he was, rushed backwards and slammed Rafael against the corridor while his hands scratched blindly at his attacker. One hand reached for the gun at his waist, but was having trouble getting it out of it’s holster. Rafael pulled with renewed vigor, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head to one side. Never in his life did he imagine himself ever killing anyone for any reason, but he was determined to get back to his family no matter what, even if he had to commit murder. The man stomped and slammed him over and over into the corridor, attempting to get free, but Rafael only pulled harder, growling with his efforts. 

The nails against his skin slowed their digs as the life drained out of the man pressed against him. With one last yank, he heard arms go slack and slap against his victim’s sides and Rafael opened his eyes to find the man’s eyes were closed. Rafael let the body fall to the floor and looked to either side of the corridor just as a heavy door groaned in the distance. He heard footsteps approaching and voices of more than one man. 

More were coming and he didn’t have the strength to fight them off. Moving as quickly as his body would allow, he gripped the back of his victim’s shirt and dragged him towards the door he’d been hiding behind. Sweat dripped off his nose as he pulled the dead weight into the dark, empty room and carefully pushed the door shut just as the men turned into the corridor where he’d committed his first felony, and Rafael held his breath as he waited for them to pass his hiding place. 

“It’s fucked up is all I’m saying, how he left the kid all by himself,” he heard one of the men say.

“What the hell would he do with a baby? Good riddance. The little brat’s mom probably got home eventually,” another replied.

Liam. Charles must have left Liam at the condo. Rafael felt a silent sigh pass through his mouth at the news that his son was safe with his mother. Now he just needed to get out of this alive and all would be well again. 

Turning towards the unconscious man, Rafael couldn’t help but check for a pulse. He sighed in relief at the faint flutter beneath his fingertips and began to look through the man’s pockets. Finding a set of keys, he looked for one that looked like the one Liv carried for handcuffs and used it to uncuff his wrists. Rubbing the raw, cut up skin, he looked back down at the man, then down at himself. He was barefoot and his cashmere pants were certainly not made for a situation such as this. Working quickly, he changed into the man’s clothes and shoes, tentatively placing the gun in it’s holster on his belt before he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

He wiped the blood off the side of his face as best he could and made his way down the corridor, looking for an exit.

And that was when he saw it.

A window.

Moving double time, he stepped up to the small, circular glass that offered a view of outside. 

Water...and not just any water. Ocean. Open ocean.

They were out at sea!

---------

OJ whipped his head towards the door of the club at the sound of it bursting open, brows knitted and fists clenched as Williams and seven other detectives walked into the club. He was sick and tired of this new Captain coming into the club whenever it suited him and OJ stood, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Something I can help you with, pendejo? Buffet doesn’t open till dinner time,” he sneered with a smug expression.

Williams burst into laughter as he closed in on OJ. "Oscar Diaz Jr," he said, grinning at him. "Where's your boss?"

"Not sure. But I'll tell him you stopped by," OJ answered with a smirk.

"That might be difficult seeing as how you're under arrest," Williams replied, earning a scoff from OJ as the larger man stepped behind him and cuffed his wrists. “You got the right to remain silent and I, for one, wouldn’t be offended if you exercise that right--”

"--You got nothing on us, bro. This is fuckin' harrassment," OJ growled, turning his head to one side to peer at the Captain over his shoulder.

"We’ve got your DNA...bro," Williams replied, turning to his men. "Find Ramirez.”

"Yes, sir," one of the detectives answered as he and the other moved past the Captain and OJ.

Williams turned his head to address his detectives once more. “And put cuffs on every person you find! I don't care who they are, if they're here, they're either an accessory or an accomplice!"

---------

When you arrived at your brother’s apartment, Roxie ran right to you, hugging you tight. You squeezed her back, hand moving to the back of her head to gently cradle her before turning back to where Detective Carisi was standing beside Helena with a notepad.

“Y/N,” he said in a greeting, brows furrowed. You knew how much Sonny adored Rafael so this couldn’t have been easy for him either. 

“Do you know anything?” you whispered desperately as you let go of Roxie.

He shook his head. “Still taking a statement, Roxie said she just came home and Liam was alone. No sign of Barba anywhere in the apartment.” 

“He would never leave our son,” Roxie continued to repeat as if no one was listening to her.

“We know that, Rox,” you assured and laced your hand with hers, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Alright,” Carisi said, looking at Helena and then Roxie. “How long were you gone for, Roxie?” 

“The whole of the day, since this morning. I went out with my mother and then I had to work. Rafael had been with Liam, he needed to go to One Hogan Place to drop off his resignation. He left me a voicemail about half an hour before we got home,” she said, wiping tears again. “He said he and Liam had just gotten back and that he would see us soon.” She couldn't help but laugh a bit. “He wanted to know about my day.” She loved Rafael more than she could ever put into words. The idea of living without him was something she wasn’t prepared to entertain.

“This is all good Roxie,” Sonny said, offering a reassuring smile. “Any detail helps. Did you notice anything outta place when you got home? Anything knocked over? Broken?”

“No, everything was just as it should be except Liam was alone in his crib.” 

“Had there been threats by anyone lately?” Sonny asked.

“No, not that he mentioned.” Roxie shook her head, gripping your hand tighter. “He had just resigned, there were no new cases where he angered someone...no reason for anyone to be cross. Who would want to do this?” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you said softly. 

“Did you call Nevada?” Roxie asked, turning to you and not caring that Sonny was listening. “Did you ask him i-if he knew anything.”

“He’s not picking up, but I’m going to try again okay? Let’s let the police do their jobs.” You couldn't remember the last time you’d said that.

Liam started to fuss in Helena’s arms, screaming until his tiny face started to go red despite his grandmother trying to rock and calm him. 

“Roxie, why don’t you take a seat with Liam, feed him, whatever you need. I’m going to talk to Y/N and your mom,” Sonny offered. “You have all of SVU on your side, Rafael has always been and will always be family and we don’t take this lightly. We’re gonna find him.” 

Roxie nodded wanting to protest but hearing her son cry changed her mind. She took Liam into her arms and holding him tight. “It’s alright, Liam, it’s going to be okay,” she whispered, moving to the bedroom to rock him and feed him.

After Roxie was gone, Sonny turned back to you.

“Listen, off the record, okay? Any threats made on your end? Towards Rafael, I mean,” Sonny asked. 

You shook your head. “I don’t know what’s happening, Rafael hasn’t pissed anyone off recently that I know of. Unless he was hiding something. He might not tell me but he definitely would have told Roxie. If she doesn’t know, then there was nothing.”

Sonny sighed and closed his notepad. “I just had to ask. Alright, Liv’s out with Fin looking for him and Rollins is tracking his cell phone. We’re gonna find him.” He looked up just as the CSU team walked into the apartment. “Mrs. Hume can you show me to Liam’s room so these guys can dust for prints?”

Helena nodded. “Yes, yes of course, anything to help.” 

---------

Nevada checked the safety on his gun while Jasper dropped anchor before the former got into the inflatable life raft on the starboard side. He could see the yacht a mile or so in front of them and from what they could see from their distance, there didn’t appear to be anyone on deck. Jasper handed off a backpack, which Nevada carefully placed at the front of the raft while the Englishman climbed in.

"How many do you reckon are aboard?" Jasper asked as he yanked on the pull string to start the small engine.

"I don't know. Boat that size, it's gotta be at least ten, right?" Nevada answered. 

"Let's assume fifteen," Jasper muttered, steering the raft towards the large yacht.

"She packs a lot of heat, so we gotta be on point," Nevada said. 

"Just keep them off me while I plant the bomb. We'll have five minutes after I activate it to get back," Jasper replied.

Nevada knitted his brows as he took in the vessel they were headed towards. It seemed far more luxurious than anything Natalia would have, especially considering she wasn't nearly as rich as she had been when he'd first met her. In fact there was only one person he knew of that could easily afford a yacht like the one they were approaching.

"Heeley," he said, almost to himself.

"What?"

"Heeley, that motherfucker. That's gotta be how she got out, how she's been able to make moves without drawing any attention," Nevada replied. "We might get two for the price of one."

"So, twenty men aboard," Jasper mumbled as they came up to the stern and pull up next to a small boat that was tied to the yacht. Tying their raft to the larger vessel as well, they crept onboard, Jasper turning to look at Nevada. "Ten minutes, meet back here."

Nevada nodded, and the two split up, Jasper to plant his explosives in the engine room and Nevada to find Natalia. Stalking along the port side of the yacht, Nevada made his way towards the bow, gun at the ready. A movement from his left had him raising his weapon and firing off a shot, clipping the body coming out onto the deck before he took cover behind a corner as the person shot back and shouted for backup. 

Moving quickly, he fired off another round just as two more men appeared. He shot one in the throat before ducking into a cabin wall just as the second fired round after round in his direction. Waiting for the sound of empty chambers, Nevada held his position until the telltale click. He came out of his cover to shoot again, hitting the man in the chest as he stalked once more towards the bow. He knew with all the gunfire that it would only be a matter of time before more men came, but he had one purpose in that moment.

"Where are you, you fuckin' cunt?" he growled under his breath.

---------

Roxie sat down at the precinct with her son, rocking him back and forth with her arms as she tried to calm him. She had a feeling he could tell something was off. He was crying for nothing. Not for food, not to be changed, nothing. He was just crying. 

“I’m here,” she whispered. “Daddy will be home soon, alright?” 

The waiting so far had been the worst part, not knowing what had happened, wondering if he was alive or dead in a ditch somewhere. 

“As soon as Daddy is back, I’m going to take a week off and we can stay home and spend time together, alright? Just us three.” 

The baby calmed after another moment of rocking as she bounced him gently in her arms. 

“There we go,” she cooed. “All better. You don’t have to worry, Liam. Mummy is here for you. No matter what. She’s here. And daddy will be too.” 

She wasn’t lying, Rafael would be here. She knew he would. He had to be. 

“Roxie,” Olivia called as she moved out of her office and took her usual confident strides over to the British woman, pulling her into a hug. “How are you and Liam holding up?” 

Roxie hugged back. “We’re managing, please tell me you have something.” 

“Fin and I couldn’t find anything on our canvas, but Rollins traced his cell phone,” Olivia began. 

“Oh thank god, and you found him?” She jumped to conclusions too soon, desperate for any hope she could cling to.

“No, it led to a warehouse. I sent Rollins and Carisi there but it was a dead end. All they found were his wallet and phone,” Olivia said regretfully. “But that’s not gonna stop us, we’re going to find him. I have CSU combing every inch of that warehouse, if there’s any prints or anything to tell us more about who was there with him, they’ll find it.”

Roxie offered a bit of a smile. “I know you will,” she mumbled and looked down at her baby then over to where you were talking with another officer.

She watched your phone ring as you looked down at it and walked out of the room. She felt a glimmer of hope, perhaps it was Nevada calling about Rafael. It had to be.

You answered once you were a safe distance away from law enforcement, frowning down at the caller ID. It wasn’t your husband like you’d hoped, it was Sawyer.

“Sawyer?” you answered. Sawyer never called you, there was no reason to. If she was calling there had to have been something wrong. “Are you with Nevada? I can’t get a hold of him.” 

“No I’m not. I’m calling because Captain Williams came to the club,” she said in a panic before her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. “Dama, he’s looking for Nevada.”

“What?” You frowned. “Why?” 

“He’s wanting to arrest him,” she said. “He came to the club and arrested everyone, Dama. Everyone. Me, Chibby, OJ, the dancers...even the guy who refills the vending machine in the break room. I don’t know what he has on us but it’s bad. It’s really, really bad.” 

“Oh my god. Okay, has someone called Rita yet?”

“I think so, yes. They gave me one phone call and I used it to get in touch with you. I needed to warn you. If you see Nevada, tell him to stay away,” she pleaded. 

"Alright, time's up," you heard from behind her and your heart sank. Sawyer wasn’t made for prison, neither was Chibby. You felt sick to your stomach for more than one reason.

“Thank you, Sawyer, thank you,” you whispered, hanging up and trying your husband again. “Come on, come on, Nevada, dammit!”

---------

Rafael made his way to the deck of the yacht, looking around frantically for a way off the boat. There had to be a life raft somewhere, he just had to find it. Turning towards the stern, he began to look for the raft. He had heard shots from somewhere on the deck and knew he didn't have very much time before someone inevitably spotted him. With any luck it was Olivia or Carisi coming to find him.

He could just jump into the water, but with no land in sight there was no telling what might happen if he did. Then he saw it, far into the distance but there nonetheless, another boat. If he could just get to the stern without incident, he could swim to it and hope that whoever was onboard would take him to shore. Keeping low and close to the cabin wall, he made his way towards the stern. 

A figure that walked with a purpose stomped in his direction and Rafael gasped, ducking behind a wall, hand quickly reaching for the gun at his side. He looked down at the weapon to take the safety off and waited with baited breath until the footsteps came closer. As he rounded the corner and raised the gun, he was met with a familiar face.

"Nevada?!" 

His brother-in-law stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widened as he stared back. "What the fuck are you doing here, Rafa?" Nevada demanded, lowering his gun.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Rafael repeated. 

Nevada ignored the question. "Where's Natalia?"

"What?!" Rafael shook his head.

“Natalia, I know she’s here. Where the fuck is she?” 

"I don’t know, I didn’t see her. Look, it doesn't matter, let's just get outta here. Heeley is somewhere on this boat and he wants me dead."

"I want that bitch--"

"--Nevada! My son needs his father, my wife needs her husband and my sister needs hers, too. Let's go!" Rafael answered, engage the safety once again on his gun and grabbing a fistful of his brother-in-law's jacket. He pulled him towards the stern, eyes continuing to scan their path for hostiles.

Nevada clenched his jaw. His vengeance would obviously have to wait until Rafael was safely off the yacht. There wasn’t enough time to get to Natalia and save Rafael. Turning his eyes to his brother-in-law, he shook his head idly. "How the hell did you get here?"

"Heeley kidnapped me out of my apartment," Rafael answered, leg muscles burning from his pace. “I don’t remember much, he must’ve knocked me out somehow.

"It was a challenge, for certain." The sound of Heeley's voice came from behind them and the two men whipped around to face the blonde villain, who was pointing a gun at them. "Now exactly where do you think you're going, Rafael? We haven’t even had a chance to talk."

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I spent 3 days with a 2019 C63 AMG Here's the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly! via /r/cars

I spent 3 days with a 2019 C63 AMG Here's the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly!

It was a pretty fun three days and all that I can say is that its a car where what's good is very good, what's bad is annoying, and what's ugly ruins the whole experience.

The car was a 2019 C63 AMG in a stunning green colour with a sticker price just shy of $85,000 and 1800 miles. I was given the car to demo by a very good friend of mine that operates a rather large MB dealer.

So, first, the car has a lot to like--the Good.

It's no surprise how well the car drove. It steered precisely, went like a scalded dog, clicked off up shifts and downshifts like a race car, and stopped on a dime. It also had a very surprisingly compliant ride--every now and then it almost makes one forget that its a hot-rod at heart. The Burmeister sound system added to the fun of it. The seats were comfortable and yet supportive in a sort of hugging manner. The interior is beautiful to look at and there were more tech features, including the very cool AMG Dynamic screens, then you could shake a stick at. Finally, the car is simply stunning to look at with a sweet looking design with a real elegance to it.

The green colour is perhaps one of my favorites. It was the kind of green that really hits the spot, dark enough to be black looking at times but bright and yet deep in the sunlight. I wish more cars came in such an awesome colour.

When it comes to the good, the car delivers where you expect it. There isn't much else than can be said. A car like this doesn't become a market stalwart without getting a lot right.

The bad left me perplexed and scratching my head a little bit.

That steering? That very sweet driving steering is done through an absolutely terrible steering wheel. The great looking flat bottomed steering wheel is simply stunning to behold but its a nightmare to use. Its dripping in a million buttons to control everything--and then some. Particularly noteworthy are the two strange buttons on each side that you sort of wave your finger over. If the finger sliding volume slider in a Cadillac was bad then this is worse. It is a smallish "button" but it rarely actually worked and when it did it the results it produced were infuriating. Too much pressure to one side would sent the infotainment system into a new set of menus or submenus when all you wanted to do was change the track. Oh, and the center "cap" holding the iconic MB emblem was misaligned in this particular car so a roughly 1/8th of an inch gap existed between the faux aluminum trim and the textured plastic of the cap--an odd gaff. So the steering wheel is annoying but then again you can always just choose not to touch any of the buttons and drive the car like you stole it and believe me the car responds by seriously quickening your pulse.

How about that scalded dog part? What else would you expect but a car with blistering power? How about a real scream? Yea, it actually lacked that. The sound of the V8, while great at low RPMs with a deep burble, actually managed to disappoint some. It was never quite as loud or obnoxious as you wanted it to be. And, going back to the steering wheel, can be controlled via a very cool thumb button on the bottom left of the inside of the wheel. That was a nice design. What wasn't nice was the fact that the button is astoundingly brittle feeling with the button screaming out with creaks and pops loud enough for a passenger to ask what the creaking and popping was over hearing the exhaust get louder. But, you can simply not touch that button and use the spare control around the center control wheel--which I would suggest. With that in mind, you can stick with just the good by doing that and blowing the doors off slower traffic.

Few things give you more of a feeling of an excitement than when the C63 stampedes towards the redline and then slams, in a good way, into the next gear with an assertive thud. The transmission is always responsive, no matter what driving mode you are in. It's always doing exactly what you want it to. That is, unless you are shifting using the paddles. Let's face it, little good is coming from that steering wheel. The aggressiveness of the shifts drops off noticeably when you take control yourself. Also, the sooner MB moves away from the odd little column shifter the better. It works and once the 10 second learning curve is conquered you will never mess up again. But, its just out of place in that car--but that's admittedly personal so your mileage may vary. Flatten your right foot and let the car do the work and you won't care though.

The brakes are strong, like you would expect. They need to be because you'll find yourself hurtling past the speed limit on every open road and so repeatedly bringing you back down to reasonable speeds requires serious hardware. The bad, the first movement of the peddle does nothing. For a performance car with the chops of the C63 its a bit weird to modulate your brake pedal like that. The first bit of travel will result in absolutely no change in velocity. So, just hit them a little harder and you'll be fine.

The Burmeister sound system most certainly falls into the Good category. Its powerful, clear, and envelopes the driver. Not much better praise can be heaped on a sound system than to say that it contributes to quickening ones pulse and the Burmeister certainly did that. But, it isn't all sunshines and rainbows. The MB spin wheel control system is not simple to use and the various controls awkward instead of intuitive. Imagine that all you want to do is turn up the volume, as I said before the less you use the steering wheel the better, so you find the little roller on the passenger side of the main control and you spin. It does nothing. So, you spin some more. It still does nothing so you spin a little more and suddenly that fantastic Burmeister system is blasting your passengers. The system has this purposeful delayed response that makes volume imprecise to operate and in a car as point and shoot as the C63 is its rather stupid. So, after you struggle to adjust your volume you are then met with menu upon menu and a burning hot wheel with a pad on top and the ultra luxurious feel of harsh plastic. I can't bring myself to say anything nice about the system, other than the display is beautiful. Its just an annoying system with too much going on. Again though, just turn it all off and drive like the wind and you really won't care.

Oh those wonderful seats! Not only are they extremely attractive but good lord are they comfortable. They're comfortable in a way that would take you the whole lease term of a Lincoln to get right on those perfect position seats. They hug you but without ovvrgripping, like in an Alfa. So what's bad? They supposedly have a cooled function but regardless of the setting you'll never feel anything. And, no matter how fit one may be the high, and quite loving, bolsters will make it impossible for you to make a graceful exit out of your car. Still, who really cares? I know that speaking for me I can just turn up the rather fantastic A/C or simply keep my right foot down and the sound of the V8 will keep me from ever realizing that the cooled seats are a waste or that you can never look cool crawling out of a car.

Much has been said of the beautiful MB interior design. There is an undoubtedly elegant look to everything. The flowing console with its slight taper and the eye popping speaker grilles all give a wonderful look to it all. Its the first thing just about everybody says when getting in--its beautiful. The bad part is the longer you stay in it the more oddities you start to notice. There are plenty of things that just shouldn't be in a car that expensive. That's not always a problem, but it is when that's mostly what your passenger looks at. The dash in front of the passenger is the same here as it is in the base model--no changes. And, the more you look the more of this you start to find. The beautiful grey looking wood is really plastic, or if it isn't its missing a damn good opportunity because it fools nobody. Finally, the more you look around the more you start to notice things--big and small. The "cap" in the middle of the steering wheel mentioned earlier is just the start. There were quite a few misaligned panels, particularly obvious are those around the wood looking material flowing down the center console and from there the work in and around the A/C vents where the cutting looks like it was done more in Hungary than Germany. Black plastic looks good in no vehicle and the same is true here. Still, all can be forgiven with just a couple minutes of angry driving.

So there is some bad, and some of it is pretty bad, but there isn't anything that can't be forgiven by anybody who appreciates the car for what it is, a German hot-rod to blast up and down the road. But, then there is the ugly--a catastrophic breakdown.

We all know that the days of rock-solid buy-it-for-life Benz quality waived bye-bye sometime ago but for the most part modern cars, no matter where they are from, just don't leave people on the side of the road. Well, this one did. On a simple cruise over to a local Friday night football game the car came up short on 4th down. Upon arriving at a red-light the car shut off and didn't come back. An epic number of warning lights flashed across the beautiful gauges warning of all manner of catastrophe. It wouldn't start again. A call to MB resulted in the arrival of a truck to take the vehicle back to the dealership but even that was made difficult by the fact that the car would not go into neutral to be pushed out of the road or pulled onto the truck. Yup, that means that my family and I had to get out of the car and go across the street and leave the car, with flasher on, in the middle of traffic for the 2 hours it took for MB to get somebody to the vehicle. Pushing it was not an option. That's ugly.

But, good Lord did those sweeping lines and beautiful green paint look good as we sat there watching the emergency lights flash.

The unplanned breakdown also means that unlike after my Lincoln Navigator review I never got a chance to get any good photographs of the car which is disappointing because I really wanted to share how gorgeous the green was. The world needs many, many, more green cars.

Putting the breakdown aside, there is a lot to love about the car. The car oozes appeal. I had a great time driving it and enjoyed my time with it. But, I couldn't help be just a little disappointed as a whole. That isn't to say it isn't a great car, because it really is, but its still a flawed car and some people are going to find those flaws pushing them into alternatives, like a BMW or an Alfa--I know that's where I'd be. It looks good, drives well, and sounds better than most and that's pretty high praise.

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