#SEARCHING FOR FBI HIDEOUT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingforyuh · 3 years

Note

Hi! How are you? First of all, I would like to tell you that my native language is not English, so I hope you can understand if I make a mistake writing this :( so, what I came here for is to request a Bucky Barnes x Male reader where the reader has the power of Mystique from x-men, I guess you know who I'm talking about haha, maybe it can be about the first time they met, they can be partners or enemies, I don't know, I trust you'll do something good, thanks for read xoxo

a/n: so... the first thing i want to say its sorry; you, my dear anon, gave me a damn good idea, but it is so good, soo goooood, that i think that i didn't something on the deserved level. But anyways, i hope you like it, this one was a bit complicated to do, so it may be not so good. Also, from now on, in my stories, i will be naming our reader(you). 'Cause for me, it's strange not to use a name or nickname sometimes, and i'll not use y/n or relateds, not that i don't like, i read a lot of fics with y/n, it's just that i don't want to use. On this one, i used Mystique's name, Raven. I also discovered that i can't center the txt when it's a reply like this one. I'm wheeping fandom: marvel/captain america/the falcon and the winter soldier too(?) words: 1.880 words/10.311 characters warnings: idk shapeshifting?, a tad fluff in the end, fight

Bucky Barnes x Male!Mystique!Reader

"The way you are"

As you walk away through the sidewalk, you shapeshift into a black woman, your blue skin turning brown, your yellow eyes turning green, your body changing to fit the appearance you want. In a mere second, the transformation it's done. Your clothes and ravenous hair are the only things that stay the same. You are going to a Japanese restaurant to pay a visit to a friend. Honestly, it's not exactly a restaurant, but you quite like the place. It's the only one place you feel secure enough to turn into something close to what you look. Though today you will be going with another look. Arriving at the place, which luckily wasn't so crowded today, you take a seat, waiting for your friend, who is the attendant, Leah. She is the only one who knows about your power and actual appearance. It was a dangerous decision to tell her about it, although you don't regret doing it. When she looks at you, you blink, so she knows that it's you. Before going to you, she passes on the kitchen and takes a plate full of sushi and other things and offers to you, on the house. You accept though you insisted on paying for all that. Leah ever treats you like you are special or something. You'll never admit that you like it despite all the refuses. She makes you feel... normal.

"So, how was the investigation today?" Leah asks, closing the distance through the counter You sigh, trying to hide things of Leah it's almost impossible, "Well, from what I discovered, the guy I'm after, that Ruin, works alone. I paid a visit to his former workmate-," "You paid a visit?" she interrupts you. "I... may or may not have invaded his house and gently asked about his old friend?" "Gently asked?" Leah raises an eyebrow for you, "Well, and then?" "Then, he said that he never heard that name or anything related for almost two years. What proves my theory that Ruin is working alone," you explain. "That's good," she states, surprised, "and you have an idea of where it's his hideout?" "Actually, no. But I heard some strange things about that famous club on the south that links with my guy," you explain, showing her a photo of the place on the phone. "That's Noapte Senina. You never heard about it?" "Why would I-" you stop yourself when Leah frantically passes his palm like cutting close to her neck.

The person who entered the establishment sits on the chair near you, and he isn't alone. Yuri is with him. The elderly sit on the chair next to the guy. Your friend walks away to serve customers, not before winking at you. As she goes, you gaze at that strange man: short brown hair, blue eyes, a bulky body, and a leather glove on the left hand. You never saw that guy here, yet he and Yuri seem good friends. In the middle of it, your eyes encounter his. A slight smile is now on his lips, one that makes your face burn a bit. You look away, regretting that eye contact. It's undeniable that he's handsome.

"You should ask her out," you almost choke with one sushi when Yuri said that.

Though you could shapeshift your body and everything that it covers, you still a man. However, the problem is not that he is a guy, but that he doesn't know that you are also one.

He says something to Yuri before turning to you, "I'm sorry for him, I... uh, you can call me Bucky." "Don't worry about it," you clear your throat, recovering your composure, "I'm Raven." "It's a... good name," he tries a compliment. That takes a chuckle of you, "Well, thanks. Bucky's not a bad name too." This time he let a giggle out, and damn... what a smile.

You two stay chatting for a while. Bucky is an unusual person, and come on! The man is so damn handsome, and being honest, you wanted to have more time with him, but you couldn't, you shouldn't.

"I need to go. But, it was nice to meet you, Bucky," you smile at him. At first, Bucky's expression seems to upsets, but as fast it seems, his serious countenance comes back, "It was… nice to meet you too." As you get up, you blink for Leah. She covertly nods to you. "Oh, look, wait!" It's Bucky's voice who's at you, "I... wanna know... ahm, we... if we maybe could see each other again?" You feel a twinge in your heart, and still, that doesn't stop you from doing what is necessary, for the sake of both, "I think that this won't."

...

It's late-night already. You didn't tell Leah about what you were planning to do tonight. You are with that same appearance as before, but now wearing a crop top with jogger pants, the most normal, the better. You read those big and bright letters: Noapte Senina. The place's full. There's loud music that's echoing the whole space. People everywhere, dancing, drinking, or just vibing along with the rhythm. You take a seat on the counter and ask for something not too strong to drink. While waiting, you run your eyes through the crowd of strangers, searching for your prey. The barman man brings your drink. You silently thank him with a nod. Taking a sip, you feel something that tastes like strawberry. It's better than you thought. You take another sup before trying another time to search for your target. Leaning against a wall with two women under his arms, a man probably in his mid-40s with an eye patch, "There you are..." you murmur. In a single gulp, you finish your drink. On your feet, pretending that you are dancing, you swiftly pass through the people on the way. Then out of nowhere, someone suddenly appears in front of you. You don't have time to figure a way of dodging, so you bump in.

"Ouch, I'm sorry. I didn't see you-" your voice fades when seeing in who you bumped in, "B-Bucky?!" "Raven?" his eyes widens. "I-I... what are you doing here?!" "I am... trying out this "club" thing," the brunette rubs the back of his neck, "but, well, I thought that we wouldn't see each other again." His word makes you redden, "This is only a co-coincidence, bu-but yet, I'm still doing something important, and if you excuse me," you say, walking over him. "Please wait," he grabs your wrist, "I-" "Bucky, let me go, now!" you demand. "Please just hear me!"

Even a plea won't work. You slide your hand through his glove, freeing yourself.

"Dammit! Raven!" he shouts.

You only ignore, walking away from him. Probably it's a good idea to shape into a different appearance, but there are too many people here that could notice. You take a deep breath and shale your shake your head before looking for Ruin again...

"FUCK!" you curse.

The man isn't in the same place as before. Frantically searching for him, your eyes catch a glimpse of his face. He entered the toilet, the male one. As you walk to the same as his, you lower your head. With your present look - a feminine one - someone could think something strange, but come on! It's the 21st century! Do people still care about these types of things? As you enter, it's evident that there's only one door closed. You look one last time to the entrance, confirming that no one is coming. You are ready to kick the Ruin's door on.

"Wait! Raven!" Bucky screams.

The brunette's eyes widen when the door collides with you, pinning you into the wall.

"Ohoho, so I really was being spied! I thought that Ramirez was only being a coward when he said that someone was hunting me, but look what we have here! You two are from the FBI?" Ruin asks. His voice's heavy, somewhat matching with him. Bucky doesn't say anything but rushes on the man, eyes on fire. He aims a left jab at the other's face. Ruin evades, kneeing the abdomen of the brunette, which throws him backward.

"HA! That's all you've-"

Before he can finish, you, recovered from the earlier impact, swing your body upwards, then scissors your legs around the Ruin's head, spins around his body, and rotate your legs downwards, take downing him. His head hits the ground directly, passing him out. With the rest of your energy, you handcuff him. A trembled gasp escapes of you.

"Wow..." Bucky's notably amazed by what you did. "Why did you follow me?!" you scream in your knees, panting, "Why did I follow you? Why you came after this man? You knew that he's a dangerous criminal?" He shouts back. "That's exactly why I came after him! That's what I do!" "What? You are a vigilant?" his mocking tone enrages you. "What if I-" An enormous pain progresses throughout your whole body. You passed too much time transformed. "Raven? What happened?" He lifts himself, running to your side, "Sam! I need support here, Now!"

You need to go back to your natural form, but how would you do that now? You force your body the best you can to maintain your shape.

Bucky puts you in his arms, "Raven, what's happening?!" desperation on his voice.

You tried your best to preclude that. However, you needed to do that. Your body slowly regains its blue color. Your eyes recover their yellow tone. The only thing that stays the same it's your ravenous hair and clothes. Simple as that.

"I'm... sorry..." you slowly say.

Bucky's eyes widen. The only thing you can do is think how disgusted he would be to see your pure form, how he would feel cheated by you. It wouldn't be a surprise for you. But that won't happen. You only feel Bucky's arms around you, hugging you tight.

"Please... don't scare me out this way..." his voice muffled in your neck. That puts you in a mess of red, "What... are you... do-" "I don't know too... I just... wanna hold you..." he intermits, "On the moment I saw you, I felt something strange and I-" This time you cut him off, pushing yourself away from the embrace, "Bucky, I'm strange! I'm fucking blue! I'm not even a woman! I'm a damn aberration, and I fucking tricked you!" your voice burning your throat. "You are saying that you are different and that you are a man? So what? I'm also a man and have a vibranium arm," he takes his left glove, showing his vibranium hand. "C'mon, Bucky... this'... completely different," you lowered your eyes, you couldn't look at his now.

Bucky has a strange power over you. How someone you barely know can mess with you this way?

"It's not. I don't care about your color or anything. I... think I like you... the way you are," one of the brunette's hand in on your wrist again, but this time it's a gentle and soft touch. the other lifts your face, so he could look in your eyes.

Bucky's now in a blush too. There's a grin on his face. For the first time in years, he feels that something good may happen in his life, and it is you.

95 notes · View notes

a-mended-pact · 3 years

Text

Unsteady Keys: Chapter 9

A/n: Hey everyone. I hope you're all doing well. I'm pretty proud of this chapter. Please let me know what you think.

Warnings: this chapter does contain flashbacks, mentions of slightly toxic relationships. Mentions of Spencer's mom. Panic attacks. If there are anything more to add let me know

Requests are open

Word count : 3,024

It's been a couple of hours since we've gotten to work. I couldn't find Spencer anywhere. I needed to tell him that there was a lead on Lindsey due to Simmons giving Ethan a cognitive interview. I had called him a handful of times and gotten no answer. Which is weird but with everything that's happened he has every right to have some alone time. I was still trying to call him when I found him in Morgan's old office. I don't know why I checked the cafeteria and the break room first. I felt myself facepalm as I looked around the room.

He was in a daze and hadn't even noticed my presence until I moved myself into the floor across from him. I leaned against the desk for support as I looked up at him. He glanced at me and then looked away. The hand he was using to prop his head up seemed to tense.

'You smell like mint and your cologne.' I said it with a small amount of amusement. I knew he would change. It didn't bother me if anything. I'm surprised he even went to work with the smell of my essence laced into his skin and his breath. He nodded to acknowledge what I had said.

'Love? Is everything alright?' He looked at me then and held my gaze. 'I know I said I'd talk to Ethan too but I can't seem to bring myself to. Seeing him for longer than a couple of hours has me remembering things with him so intensely.'

A soft comforting smile formed on my face as I gently grabbed the hand that rested on his knee and squeezed. 'There's a lead on Lindsey. I was going to leave with the rest of the team to go check it out. If you wanna stay here I can tell Em. Maybe you can get something more from Ethan. Then Matt did. ' I kissed his forehead gently.

Just like that. I left him to his own devices letting him figure everything out for himself. I was gonna need to tell Em he wasn't coming.

-------------

I walked into the interrogation room with Ethan and undid his handcuffs immediately. I didn't like seeing him like an unsub. So until further evidence came about I wasn't going to treat him as such.

'You look like you've seen a ghost Reid. What's wrong?' I looked at him as I stood against the wall. 'Did- did you?- ' I found myself stuttering and searching for words. My hands moved about as if I were trying to grasp each word that flew around my mind until it formed a sentence. How do you speak to someone that you haven't spoken to in years? Not in depth anyway.

'You're a big hot shot Mr. FBI. Married, professor most likely with a couple books published or at least articles and yet you are still just the same man I adored back then.' He spoke with care and love in his voice as he watched my face blanch at what he said.

If it wasn't for the fact he has seen me this way before I would have been far more embarrassed then I was. My mouth was still opening and closing and my hands had finally stopped. 'Did you? Was it you? I- was it you that hurt me? With the blade?'

I had finally managed to collect my words and form a complete sentence even if it was laced with fear and sorrow. I was terrified he'd say yes. I was even more petrified if he said no. If he hadn't done it then I'd have nothing to hold against him.

There was no way I could remain upset about something that happened in college and it wouldn't make me seem like an upset child. I hadn't bothered to meet Ethan's eyes. I was honestly too afraid of what he'd see residing in my own.

I didn't hear him move and I didn't notice how close he got until he spoke. Making me jump and look out of the two way glass. This was a bad idea. I need to get out of here. I feel like the room is shrinking.

Ethan cupped my face and forced me to look at him. The fact that this was being recorded made me even more nervous. What if the rest of the team found out what happened between us.

I finally met his gaze. I knew my eyes probably reminded him of the first time he ever hurt me. This time had nothing to do with the kiss I walked in on years ago.

'Spencer.' As he spoke his thumb traced my jaw. 'I would never. I could never hurt you.' I laughed bitterly and flinched when his thumb met the side of my lips. 'This was a mistake. I - I need some fresh air'. I quickly rushed out, locking the door behind me.

I blew out a breath I didn't realize I was holding within my lungs as I felt my breathing start to quicken. I made my way to the roof of the building that no one really used. I slid down the door as I made it fully outside.

I watched as the sun began to set. The sky turned different colors until emerging me in full darkness besides for the buildings lights I closed my eyes. Why do I feel like a young adult all over again? Why am I letting him get under my skin? The worst part was that he isn't even trying to make me feel like this.

One minute I was on the rooftop the next I was in the band room of our college laying on the ground with my head resting on Ethan's jacket as he played the piano.

'I could fall asleep to the sound of you playing. You know.' I said as each key played from his fingertips. His cologne was all over me because we may or may not have been making out on the floor before I scolded him that he needed to practice. He had a big concert event coming up.

'I could think of better things to do in here than you falling asleep.' His voice was teasing, making me blush. It had only been a few weeks since our first actual time together and in all honesty it made me nervous just thinking about it. Ethan seemed to want to sleep together constantly. Which is fine. I loved having sex with him but sex was never something I thought I'd experience so I'd much rather be reading or learning something new.

Just the other day we got into an argument because I turned him down.

I was sitting in a lecture with the man that created the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The BAU for short. At the time, I didn't want to get laid. I wanted to learn more about how learning to understand a serial killer could help catch them. I was deeply intrigued and asked many questions as the lecture hall went on.

'You know you did ditch me for some cop I don't see why now would be a bad time to make up for it?

'A federal Agent is hardly a cop and if you can't remember his job at least remember his name. Jason Gideon.'

Ethan scoffed in small annoyance as he continued to play. Only this time the sound of the piano sounded like chase music. I felt like it should play in Tom and Jerry.

'You can't seriously be upset with me about that?' I said trying to sound calm and collected in reality I was upset. I originally went to college to learn all the things needed to be someone that taught others. I had been debating on changing my career path for sometime now and I think I finally found it.

'I think I wanna try to join the BAU. Gideon already told me with how interested I was in the lecture and with how smart I am. I'd make a great addition to the team.'

He smashed his fingers on the piano and groaned. 'Reid we already planned our future together. Do you really wanna give that up to join the FBI?' The way he looked at me was as if I had broken his heart. It's not that I had forgotten our plans after college. The only problem was that I used to be able to see that future and now I couldn't.

Since the class with Gideon and all the research I've done. Working for the FBI just made sense. It would cover everything for my mother's doctor's and Care facility. Plus being able to keep a great roof over my head and food in my belly. I suppose to Ethan not living life on the edge was boring.

I shook my head to escape the memory. Out of all the ones to have right now, why did that one resurface? My head fell in my hands as I combed my hair out of my face. My phone went off with a text from Y/n.

'Hey, so we found her abandoned hideout but it looks like she hasn't been here in a bit. I don't know if you've gone to see him or not but I figured you could maybe get more info? If you're feeling up to it of course. Otherwise he made a bond with Matt. He can try again when we get back.'

I sighed. I wasn't in the mood to see him again. I thought I could separate my feelings towards him from this case and I know I'm not doing it. Perhaps I should step back from this case. I should talk to Emily. I know I'd still have to deal with Cat ever so often but otherwise she was my wife's problem now. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and closed my eyes. Everything just seemed like too much right now.

'Seriously we are not doing this right now Ethan?' I was putting back on my clothes. Situating my hair as well. 'You are not going to make me late. I refuse to miss seeing my mother again because you can't not want to sleep with me when we are alone.'

I walked around him as I grabbed my bag to take with me to go see my mom. It held some overnight clothes. I had missed the last time they were going to allow me to stay. All because I gave in to Ethan's advances to make him happy. I loved him and when we weren't bickering things were fabulous. After a year of it though it's exhausting.

He caught me by my hips and pulled me to him. I swatted his hands away. He may not have wanted anything from me but a proper goodbye but I didn't want to give him the chance. I had already prepared myself mentally for the arguing that was gonna come from me turning him down. Me leaving him alone for long periods of time made me nervous.

He'd never done anything to make me anxious about leaving him. He'd only go to bars and play and have a couple of drinks with other musicians. I had accompanied him plenty of times. Nothing ever happened besides musicians talking about anything and everything underneath the shitty neon lights of the bar.

'Tell your mom I said hi and that I hope she's doing well. Also tell her I'm sorry I kept you away last time. I don't know what came over me. ' He cupped my face and went to kiss me but I turned my head slightly. Again. I'm not taking any chances. I'd happily lose anyone or anything as long as I still had my mom. He ended up kissing my cheek.

A sigh escaped him as he let me go. 'I'll see you when you get back. Yeah?' I nodded and smiled at him as I headed toward the door.

'Wait, Reid. I'll be going out tonight to play. I'll message you when I arrive and when I leave. I know how you worry. Tell me when you make it to your mom's. I love you. ' I smiled as I ran off to see my mom.

A groan escaped me. Why? I'm so sick of these memories coming up. I looked around the roof and let out another sigh. I really need to let what happens next go. Yet before I could stop my brain it quickly wraps me and surrounds me in the memory and as it unfolds like a movie before my very eyes. I kept my vision from blurring from the unleashed tears.

Time with my mom had gone by well from when I got there until now. She started having a violent episode one that if I had stayed would have ended in her calling me crash again. I'd never tell her she'd hit me. I just wanted comfort. So I came home early. Well to a place Ethan and I were renting together. I hadn't told him I was on my way home. So when I came home to an empty place I wasn't surprised. I quickly dropped off my things and ran to where I figured he'd be. The bar with his friends. It was rare anyone would be there right now actually drinking; they should just be setting their instruments.

Only when I came in I found Ethan behind stage with a girl's tongue shoved down his throat. There clothes slightly askew He pushed her away when he realized I was there. 'Spencer this isn't what It looks like!'

I just stood there frozen. I couldn't form a word, I could barely comprehend what I saw. When he stepped towards me. I turned away and just walked away. I felt like my heart had just been stomped into the ground after being clawed at unintentionally by my mother. I was broken.

That night I got multiple calls and texts from Ethan. I ignored them all. I ended up sleeping on a campus bench. Comfy truly.

I never fully spoke to Ethan after that day. Things with my mom got chaotic and I didn't have the time to focus on anything but getting my PhD and taking care of my mom. As long as I was busy I couldn't blame myself that I was too afraid to face Ethan. He broke my heart and I didn't even give him the opportunity to even try to explain himself.

That was ages ago though so why am I still thinking about it. Why won't my brain just shut up. I need to get back Inside. Maybe the team is back by now.

------------

Having to find Spencer recently was starting to become a habit. I looked everywhere for him everywhere besides outside. I finally found him walking in from the stairway that led to the roof.

'Hey.' I gave him a small wave and what I hoped was a reassuring smile. This case was getting to him for obvious reasons. He honestly hasn't looked this distraught since after he came back from prison.

His eyes widened slightly. 'Good you're all back already then?' I nodded. My eyes didn't want to leave him. I knew something had happened. I just didn't know what. Pushing him was never something I had done and I wasn't gonna start now. Maybe I'll just bring it up a little to see if he decides to tell me. If not then it can wait until he sorts out his mind.

'So we didn't find Lindsey. We did find a couple of things though. Photos of you in Mexico. Photos of you even in the prison yard. Among others of max and you and us together. Lindsey appears to be stalking us. Maybe it was something Cat asked her to do. Or maybe Ethan was the one taking some of the photos.' I looked away and was staring at my hands as my brain started putting small pieces together. Theories really.

Spencer grabbed my hand gently and brought it up so I'd follow it with my eyes. 'I am actually debating on taking a step back from this case. I was gonna tell Emily and see what she thought.' The smile he gave me didn't reach his eyes.

'Let's be honest it's probably for the best that I do. I know too much and I am far too involved, especially with Cat and Ethan both being a part of this. It's just more than I think I can handle. I could be wrong. Maybe I just need a day to breathe. I'll have to figure that out though.'

He placed my hand on his face and all I could do was rub my thumb across his jaw. I let out a small laugh suddenly. Which surprised him. 'I'm sorry it's not funny! I just kept thinking that If I pushed hard enough on your jawline would it cut me?' It was a terrible time for me to not be able to keep things to myself. He needed me serious, right?

A laugh bellowed out of him and I could see some of the stress and pain he was carrying with him lift a little. I myself smiled too when he pulled me into his chest. 'Oh how I love you and your random thoughts.' He moved his hand to cup my cheek and leaned in as if he were gonna kiss me.

One of our arrangements when we started dating was no PDA in the workplace if any, keep it always at a minimum. With what he was doing it was making me question if he was about to break that small rule. Not that I minded if he did or not though.

He stroked my cheek and smiled at me as he pecked the tip of my nose and walked away.

I couldn't help but scrunch up my nose the way a bunny would. It tickled. A smile formed on my face as I watched him leave.

Taglist:

@sassymoon @rainsong01 @onlyhereforthefanfics @itsdars @dreatine

#unsteady keys #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer x you

8 notes · View notes

my-love-jake-love · 4 years

Text

I'll save you (MC's strange premonition 2)

*in the interrogation room*

FBI Chief: How did you meet Jake?

MC: ...

FBI Chief: What do you know about him? What did he tell you?

MC: ...

FBI Chief: who are you to him?

MC: ...

FBI Chief: why did you book a hotel room anonymously?

MC: ...

FBI Chief: SPEAK!!!

* MC is crying*

Chief FSB: well, we have plenty of time... sit here, maybe you'll change your mind…

* The FBI chief leaves the office*

FBI Chief: Is there any information about Jake on her phone?

Programmer: No, just conversations with friends. She told her relatives that they had gone to New YORK. They don't even know she's texting them.

FBI Chief: hmm…

Programmer: here, it turns out she wanted to surprise her friends, so the room was booked anonymously, here she writes so Lilly.

FBI Chief: Do you believe that? Why would she book a room anonymously? It doesn't make sense. Only if you don't want to be overlooked by the authorities, do you? Do you still remember Lilly's video? There were MC and Jake's data…

Programmer: Yes, but it could have been a misunderstanding. Because there is nothing about the hacker, no message, no information that they know each other.

FBI Chief: but how did Lilly and the others meet her then?

Programmer: I can't figure it out. Something is blocking access to her data. Or maybe he'd already deleted all the conversations from her phone

Chief of the FBI: You try to recover all the messages

Programmer: But nothing happens, her phone is protected from «attack»

FBI Chief: YOU HAVE TO DO WHAT I TOLD YOU!!! I'M NOT INTERESTED IN HOW YOU DO IT. SO THAT I HAVE ALL THE INFORMATION IN MY HANDS UNTIL TOMORROW! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

Programmer: Yes, of course.

* The FBI chief leaves the programmer's office*

FBI Chief: Bring in everyone who has corresponded with MC tomorrow. it is necessary to interview them too, if the MC does not tell anything, then someone will definitely let it slip.

FBI: OK!

*At this time, all MC friends receive the same text message from Jake *

The text message read: "You may all be taken to the police station for questioning tomorrow. You all have to say that you don't know who I am and MC doesn't know who I am. You met her on the Internet. She wanted to help in the search for Hannah. This is necessary in order to save MC. Be careful when answering, do not blab. After reading the text message, after 5 minutes, your phone will turn off and clear. Don't call anyone, stay at home. You may have someone already watching you"

*everyone's phone goes dead*

Everyone except Lilly: WTF... SO WAIT, MC IN DUSKWOOD?

*The Chief of the FBI enters the interview room*

FBI Chief: Well, what did you think? Will you answer our questions?

MC: NO!

FBI Chief: well, if you don't want it good, it will be bad. Take her to a solitary cell and let her spend the night there.

* 8 a.m. The FBI takes everyone to the station *

* talking to Jessy*

Chief of the FBI: So Jessy… How did you meet MС?

Jessy: On the Internet, she wanted to help us find Hannah

FBI Chief: Okay, Jessy, do you know who Jake is? Or do you know if MC knows him,

JESSY: Jake? No, I don't know who he is. MS and I are best friends; she would tell me if she knew him.

FBI Chief: Hmm ... Jessy do you know where the MC is now?

Jessy: Probably in his own city. And what?

Chief of the FBI: Look at this…

* The FBI chief shows Jessy a surveillance video of MC lying unconscious. *

Jessy: MC!? What did you do with her!?

FBI Chief: now you understand that every lie you make will be disastrous for MC

Jessy: I'M TELLING YOU SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO JAKE IS! LET HER GO!!!

FBI Chief: We'll let her go if we find out she's innocent, In the meantime, you can go. Your mobile phones will remain with us

*In this way, all were interrogated*

*all friends gather at Jessy's*

JESSY: Did anyone know MC was here? When did she get here?"

RICHY: I didn't know. It's you we should ask, you're MC's best friend

Jessy: Yes, but she didn't tell me anything

Lilly: Now you know everything, so there's no point in hiding it from you.

Jessy: What are you talking about?

Lilly: I knew MC was coming here. She asked me not to tell you. She said it was dangerous.

JESSY: But why did she tell you? You hated each other

LILLY: Yes, but we reconciled a week ago, and I'm sure she told me because she wanted to book the room anonymously so no one would know.

Dan: Yeah… I told her to stay away from this hacker, but she didn't listen to me…

* phone rings*

RICHY: Is that the phone ringing? They didn't take it from you?

Jessy: Taken away

Cleo: The sound comes from Lilly's bag

LILLY: What? I don't have a phone

* goes and checks*

Lilly: And the truth is the phone is here. But from where? It's not my phone.

*15 minutes ago*

Lilly: I need to get to Jessie's house faster, because it's already dark...

* collides with someone *

Lilly: LOOK AROUND!

JESSY: Pick up the phone!

Dan: and turn it up

Lilly: Alo…

Jake: I'm... the hacker, Jake ... don't worry no one from the FBI can hear you they won't be able to pick up our connection… How's MC? Is she all right?" I'm very worried about her…

DAN: OH YOU ... GIVE ME THE PHONE HERE ... HEY YOU HEAR ME HERE!!! MC IS SUFFERING THERE BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU KNOW. I TOLD HER TO STAY AWAY FROM YOU....

Jake: But…

DAN: BUT NO, SHE SAID, HE'S GOOD, HE WON'T HURT ME. I CAN SEE HOW YOU PROTECT HER…

Jake: I…

DAN: YOU SIT THERE AND LET HER SUFFER, DON'T YOU?

* Jake is heard crying; everyone is silent*

Thomas: You said I was just such a crybaby; do you hear your hacker crying too…

JESSY: Give me the phone.

Jake: It's... all... because of me… What have I done... I ... better give up, yes I will! Then they will release the MC.

JESSY: Stop, Jake! Calm down ... MC will be fine… Yes, it's your fault too, but we need you to find Hannah. During the interrogation, I talked to them and they said they would let her go if it turned out that she was innocent. We did everything you told us to do. So they should let her go soon.

Jake: You're just saying that to comfort me, aren't you?

JESSY : No, I'm telling the truth. Let's wait at least two days... if they don't let her go, then you'll have to give up.

Cleo: What are you saying... a lot can happen in these two days…

Phil: She's right…

Lilly: There's another side to it, if they're doing it on purpose to catch Jake. And if it's a trap, they'll catch you and MC not let you go. We can also go to jail for lying.

Richy: Lilly's right, we just have to wait…

Jessy: Did you hear everything, Jake? We'll let you know if there's any news

Jake: Okay, then we'll wait. Hide this phone so that no one can find it

Jessy: Okay, I know a place like this

Dan: If anything happens to MC, I'll find you and kill you myself, JAKE!

Jake: Don't worry, if something happens to her because of me, I won't let myself live!

*At this time in the police station, a conversation between the Programmer and the Head of the FBI*

Chief FBI: They're all repeating the same thing... it's too suspicious… Did you find anything in MC's phone?

Programmer: No, nothing new. But I found an interesting phone conversation between MC and Jessy.

But the MC didn't have that conversation. So the video shows someone in a mask attacking Jessy. I looked it up on the internet and found out that it was a "man without a face" mask from the legend of Duskwood. From their personal conversations, it is clear that a person without a face needs MC. If we can't find the hacker with MC, we can at least find Hannah!

FBI Chief: Hmm ... good idea

FBI Chief: Bring the MC to the interview room.

Chief FBI: So we'll let you go if you tell us about the man without a face

MС: I won't tell you anything! Don't even dream!

FBI Chief: Don't you want to find Hannah? This is what you wanted, isn't it?

MS: what's in it for me!? FBI

Chief: Freedom... we won't touch you again. And we'll also find Hannah

MC: Okay, if you want it so badly, I'll tell you everything if you stop "hunting" Jake!!!

FBI Chief: So you do know each other. Why do you need it? You're suffering here because of him.

MС: YES, I KNOW WHO HE IS!!! EVERYONE IS HAPPY!!! Either you stop hunting him, or I won't tell you anything.

FBI Chief: I SET THE CONDITIONS HERE!!! YOU HELP US FIND HANNAH, OR WE'LL KILL YOU!

MС: Then I choose DEATH!!!

FBI Chief: LOCK HER UP IN SOLITARY CONFINEMENT!!! LET HER STARVE TO DEATH THERE!!!

* MC in solitary confinement*

MC: Jake, I won't let them hurt you. I promise.

* Jake in his hideout*

Jake: MC, I won't let them hurt you. I'll save you. I promise.

END OF THE SECOND PART

#I'll save you #MC&JAKE #MC #DUSKWOOD #MC's strange premonition 2

40 notes · View notes

sierraraeck · 4 years

Text

Takin’ One for the Team

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Partially inspired by 8x12 Zugzwang. Maeve arc reimagined. Can Aundreya being in the mix change the outcome? Story seventeen.

Category: Angst. Per usual.

Warnings: Cussing. Shots fired.

Word Count: 4.4k

I felt like I was 14 again. Double that amount of time later, and I was back to doing the same damn thing. It’s like my life is taking place inside of a hamsterwheel and I’m just the ignorant, pitiful little hamster, tirelessly running around and around and around again, expecting to actually get somewhere. Expecting things to actually change. But I just kept looking at the same metal bars spinning beneath my feet. Or in my case, metal bars in front of my face.

Luckily, I was getting some reprieve from said bars because I was out, tracing a possible stalker and murderer. Much better than having to be stuck in a cell with one, though.

Hotch was right; this Robert character was not someone who wanted to be found. Not like he was any match for me. Garcia gave me a general starting point with his last known address and where he used to work, but he hadn’t been seen or heard from for weeks. I casually struck up a conversation with some of his coworkers and previous neighbors, indulging myself in the lies I had to come up with for the more cautious ones. I was Robert’s girlfriend, ex-wife, parole officer, drug sponsor, and hot barista fuck buddy. They gave me an even better idea about what kind of person he was and where I could find him. It was funny to me, that a few of the people I talked to had informed me ‘against their better judgement’ that the FBI was interested in him as well. I acted surprised, as if I didn’t already know that the rest of the team was still going about their profile as usual. They were just hoping I could maybe get to the same conclusion faster (since they didn’t want to get docked for using illegal stalking methods. Funny though, that they weren't allowed to do that, but were allowed to ‘hire’ someone to do that, but nobody asked for my opinion).

After two and a half days of nonstop chatting and moving around to follow his friends and family, I overheard a conversation between two of his previous best friends. They were meeting at 11 at night in a small bar. I sat a few seats away from them, pretending to sip on the cocktail in front of me. They mentioned some new and sort of secret girlfriend. The way they were talking, it sounded to me like they were worried about him.

“He hasn’t told me anything else besides that,” the blonde said.

“And you’re sure? I wouldn’t think that he’d just disappear on us like that? And for some chick?” the ginger questioned.

“I heard a woman’s voice in the background, and he quickly hung up. I’m telling you, that was it.”

If I could get my hands on his phone…

From my seat at the bar, I turned to face the pair. I caught the blonde’s eye, gave him a small smile, and then took a slow sip from my drink, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. Then, I looked away. I gave it a minute or so more of them arguing over what they think did and didn’t happen before glancing back over at the blonde. His eyes were on me, so I decided to cut to the chase. I didn’t have time for the long game.

I hopped out of my seat and strutted over to them. “Hello, boys.”

Both of them looked up at me from their seats, a smile spreading on their faces and their shoulders becoming less tense. I scanned the blonde, evaluating his pockets, trying to figure out which one had his phone in it.

“Well, hi there,” the ginger said. “What is a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

“I don’t intend on being alone for much longer,” I smiled, cheeky. I ran my hand along his shoulder and then across to his friend, the blonde, who was my real target. I noticed the rectangular outline of his phone in one of his pants pockets.

“You don’t?” the blonde squeaked. Good, he’s the shy one. That’ll make this a lot easier.

I walked around him to the side that concealed his phone. My hand brushed over his chest and down to his leg which had started jumping.

“No, not really.” I reached inside his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head, eyes wide.

Men, I laughed to myself.

I opened his phone and quickly typed a message to Garcia’s number, letting her know that she should track his call history. I deleted the message, and then seductively slid his phone back into his pocket. Just to complete the sale, I leaned over and put my lips to his ear. “When you’re done here, give me a call.”

I turned and walked out the door, offering him one more wink in my wake.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Garcia tracked the number back to his apartment. Which we already knew was empty.

Fuck. Ok, so if I’m Robert, skipping town for a girl is not usual for me, so I’m either running from something or I’m in trouble. If I’m running, the first place I’d go is to my secret girlfriend’s place, because no one would know how to find me there. If my girlfriend is crazy like my friends think she is, then she’s the reason I’d potentially be in trouble. If I’m the crazy one, then maybe I’m going after Maeve, which we already knew, but then where would I take her? I couldn’t take her to my girlfriend’s house, now could I?

Unless… I could? Maybe they’re both crazy and he’s getting back at Maeve for god knows what, and maybe his girlfriend doesn’t like that Maeve ‘hurt’ her boyfriend in some way? Or maybe she doesn’t like that he’s still thinking about her? Could this be a team effort?

However I sliced it, I had to figure out who, and where, this girlfriend was.

I broke back into his apartment and searched his entire phone again, already knowing there wasn’t really anything helpful there. I rummaged through his desk and random things in his bedroom and still didn’t see anything more useful than the first time.

So I’m dating someone that I feel comfortable sharing things like Maeve with. I’ve known her for a while, and I probably felt an immediate connection or something extra special because I haven’t introduced her to anyone. Maybe there’s something about her that I just don’t want to share. Am I embarrassed or protective? Am I worried that people won’t approve? Is there something different about her than my usual type? What is my usual type? Is she manipulating me into not sharing her? Is she controlling me, compelling me to submit to her? Is it more subtle than that? Could she be the mastermind behind all of this? I mean, his friends did sound pretty worried…

The one question I decided I could try to answer first was his usual type. For the next few days, I struck up more conversations about who he usually dated, and all of their answers described someone like Maeve. Smart, brunette, into science and medicine and stuff.

So this new woman, does she fit this type? Does she almost fit this type, but not completely? Based on what I’ve heard, someone like Maeve would handle these types of things, relationships and such, with a clear head, so whoever this is has got to be more immature. Petty? Probably. What is her role in all of this?

I went back to his apartment, again, to rummage through his stuff for the third time. But I guess they do say, third time’s the charm.

I was messing around in his bedroom when I heard the door unlock. I froze, not daring to make a sound. I peered around the edge of his door and saw Robert standing right there in the middle of his living room. He sighed and then started heading for his bedroom. Heading right at me. I scrambled over his bed and luckily hopped out of the window before he got in. There was a railing just below that I could put my toes on so I could peek into the room. Robert bee-lined it toward his bed, got on his knees, and then crawled almost completely underneath it. I watched in curiosity as he squirmed back out, seeming to have accomplished nothing, and then turned to walk right back out the door.

I slid back inside and dropped to my own knees, needing to know what it was he was looking at. I swiped my hands around on the increasingly dusty floor until I felt it. A small, single finger sized, latch. I tugged and it offered some resistance, but then revealed a pile of pictures. Him and his mystery woman. I pulled them out and into the light, only to notice an outline of dust on the top picture.

A gun. He just grabbed out a gun.

I flipped the pictures over and read a single sentence: “Lovely Diane, 2013.” Of course, there was no last name.

I tossed the pictures on the bed and exited through the window, eyeing Robert from above. I dropped down to the pavement, and made sure to keep a healthy distance behind him. I followed him all the way back to some beat up, abandoned loft, taking a variety of unnecessary twists and turns. At least he was trying to be thorough, not like it was really doing him any good. I watched him cross the street and stood in the nearest alleyway where I could still see him.

He walked in, but after 19 hours of nonstop serveilience, he never came out.

What is going on in there?

My answer came an hour later when a bang went off. It was practically the dead of night, but when it happened, even the few people standing around didn’t seem too bothered by it. If you really wanted to ignore it, I guess you could have just crossed it off as someone throwing a really heavy metal pot on the cement floors. I, however, knew better.

I left my hideout spot and swiftly crossed the street in search of a back door. Turning around to the back of the bruised building, I found no doors, but there were windows. Luckily for me, there was an emergency ladder drilled into the wall, so I could use that to peer through each of the windows. Of course, nothing can be easy, so it took me all the way until the top before I found something. Sitting there, tied to a chair, was Robert, blood streaming out of the hole in his temple. Across from him was that crazy bitch Diane, pacing back and forth with the gun in her hand, and Maeve, tied to the chair in front of her.

She’s pretty, and she looks sweet. Perfect for Reid. Too bad he refused to look at her picture.

I was tempted to just barge in and handle things on my own, but I knew it wouldn’t go as well as calling the team. I convinced some poor guy to give me a few quarters for a payphone I ran to, calling Garcia. She said the team was already on their way.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

“She got a gun, Robert’s dead, and Maeve’s in there,” I confirmed as the stream of agents got out of their SUVs.

Reid started moving in the direction of the door before I grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Where do you think you’re going? Did you miss the gun and the dead part?”

“I was kinda focused on the Maeve part,” he spat, trying to shake me off. I held him firm, almost digging my nails into him. He longingly looked towards the door, but he didn’t make a move to go. Had he, I probably would have left bruises on his bicep.

“What’s the plan?” I asked, directing my attention to the rest of the group.

It was Reid who answered instead, “Me for her.”

The weight of those three words hit me like a brick, causing me to loosen my grip on his arm. He took advantage of that, pulling his arm out of my grasp. “Huh?”

“I was in contact with Diane before the ride here. The deal is me for her. I’m going in there,” he gave me a pointed look. Whether you like it or not, seemed to be the follow-up phrase in his eyes.

Hotch gave out orders as to what everyone needed to be doing, and what they needed to be ready for, all except for me.

“And you are going to stay here,” his voice was stern and not one to argue with. But when have I ever not argued?

“What? You’re going to let Reid go in there literally blind while the rest of us wait out here? And then when something does happen, you just expect me to stand here?”

“Yes.”

The look in his eyes shut me up. But they didn’t stop me from looking for the first opportunity to get away.

Everyone was so focused on what Reid was doing, and paying attention to the front of the building, that no one noticed me sneak off to the back of the building. I used the same avenue I’d used earlier, climbing up the escape ladder to the top. I now saw Reid tied to a chair, opposite Maeve, Diane just waltzing around, waving her gun between the two of them. Since they were in a room across the narrow hall, I hoped she wouldn’t hear me as I slowly brought the window upwards. I slid into the room soundlessly, relieved that there was concrete beneath my feet and not squeaky wood. I looked around for anything in the room that could potentially be useful against this lunatic, considering I didn’t have a gun with me, and the FBI confiscated all of my knives. I found nothing.

When I turned my attention back to the other room, I saw Diane with her lips on Reid’s. Maeve and I had similar reactions to the sight, but there wasn’t time to think about that, because the next thing I knew, Diane screeched, “Liar!”

Had I blinked, I would have missed Spencer standing up out of his chair, aiming the gun away from him and towards the ceiling. There was a loud bang, followed by the echo off the roof. Within seconds, another bang went off and Hotch was leading as the team streamed into the room. Spencer was on the ground holding his arm, and I released a sigh of relief knowing he wasn’t dead. That relief quickly diminished as I saw Diane grab Maeve around the neck, gun to her throat.

No, no, not today bitch.

Spencer’s pleas for the team to stay back were being ignored, so he spoke up, “Diane, Diane, there’s still a way out of this.”

“You never wanted me,” she said, and I could hear the tears in her throat. “Never! You lied!”

As her grip on Maeve tightened, Spencer took a step forward. “I didn’t,” he tried, “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it. Me for her, let me take her place.”

He looked so desperate, and Diane’s posture was rigid as she continued to adjust her grip on Maeve, whose head was bobbing around like a bobble head. I started to move in from behind her, steps even and noiseless, like I liked.

“You would do that?” Diane croaked.

“Yes.” The sureness in Reid’s voice almost shook me enough to stop me, but I couldn’t stop now. I had emerged enough from the hallway entrance that the team could see me. Hotch gave me a wicked side eye, but Spencer seemed to be blind, tunnel vision on Maeve and Diane.

“You would kill yourself for her?” Diane’s voice cracked.

“Yes.” Not if I can help it.

Any doubts in my head about messing this up flew right out the window I’d come through. In a single move, I reached around the pair and grabbed both Diane’s hands. I easily pulled them out from around Maeve, turning her to face me, both arms up. I kneed her in the stomach, which left her breathless and on the ground.

But she didn’t drop the gun. The impact of her hitting the floor wasn’t enough to release the gun out of her determined grip like I’d planned.

Whatever Maeve was about to say got muffled by me yanking her behind me. With no weapon, no bulletproof vest, and a psycho with a gun pointed at me, all I could think about was how if I died, at least I died for the sake of two people’s happiness. Probably more.

From her position on the ground, Diane shot at me. My ears were ringing from the sensation and I made a movement to stay standing, but all I could feel was the cool concrete that seemed to be melting underneath me.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The first thing I felt was the chains. Well, that’s not true. I felt the pain first. The pounding in my head, the throbbing in my left side, and then the all too familiar ring around my wrist, surly leaving a bruise. I peeked one eye open, confirming my theory that I was in fact handcuffed to the hospital bed by my right wrist. Right after, I saw faces staring at me, and decided to close my eye again. I was not about to face the team. Not yet.

But, because I seem to have to face things much sooner than I’d like, a deep voice cooed, “Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”

With my eyes still squeezed shut, I muttered, “I swear to god, if you came anywhere near my lips to wake me up, I think I’ll vomit.” I squinted open my eyes to Derek making kissy faces at me and groaned. I went to playfully push his face away, but my wrist caught in the cuffs. He looked down at them with a strained face as I quipped, “Well, that kinda kills the mood, now doesn’t it?”

“Chambers-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Some bullshit about getting me outta prison and it being necessary or whatever. Doesn’t make it more enjoyable,” I gave a tight lipped smile.

“How do you feel?” Prentiss asked, trying to change the subject.

“Like someone who just got shot in the side,” I nodded nonchalantly, “What happened to our favorite sociopath?”

“You just told us. She got shot in the side,” Derek smiled with a shrug.

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. But seriously?”

“As Diane shot at you, I shot her in the back of the head,” Hotch stated.

“Naturally. Of course, you couldn’t have done that before I got shot,” I offered him a small smirk, “So, uh, him and Maeve are good?” I questioned.

“Yeah, Maeve and Spencer are fine,” Prentiss said, emphasizing Spencer’s name a bit extra, letting me know she, and probably the rest of the team, noticed I’d avoided using it. I just nodded in response.

“Actually…” Penelope said, looking around at the others for what seemed like some sort of approval, “They want to see you.”

My face scrunched up in a mix between a question and disbelief. “Why?”

“They want to thank you,” she simply put it.

“Great. Tell them ‘you’re welcome’ for me,” I raised my eyebrows. Hotch gave me a pointed look but I wasn’t really in the mood for seeing the happy couple together after just getting shot for them. I should have been fine with it, him and Maeve were good together and I was over him. I was. Really, I was, but I just didn’t want to see them together, was that really so bad of me? But the look on Hotch’s face told me otherwise.

I huffed out, “Fine.”

Penelope smiled at me, and went to fetch them. The interim before they showed up was painful, in more ways than one. Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss, and I all just waited in silence, the three of them sharing looks I was not privy to, and frankly too tired to decipher. Penelope returned, ushering Reid and Maeve into my room.

“Hey,” Maeve’s gentle voice rang.

“Hey,” mine, in contrast, sounded scruffy, tired, and deep.

“How are you doing?” she asked. Her soft features had a brightness to them, and I could tell that light was probably why Reid was attracted to her.

“I’m doing okay. How are you?”

“Doing okay as well, thanks to you,” she smiled at me. I attempted to give her one back without grimacing. I waited in silence for her to continue. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did. It was very brave and I wouldn’t be standing here with this amazing guy-” gag, “-without you. I owe you everything.”

“That’s very sweet, but you owe me nothing,” I managed through clenched teeth. I hadn’t even looked over at him yet. I honestly didn’t think I could, knowing only days before I’d been on the brink of a love confession to the guy whose girlfriend I just got shot for.

“I wanted to thank you as well,” the voice, his voice, hit my eardrums like a hammer, “You didn’t have to do something like that for her, you didn’t really even have a reason to, and you did it anyways. I’m glad you’re okay.” I wanted to be insulted by the fact that he thought I wasn’t nice enough to do that for any rando, but I knew what he was getting at, so I attempted to overlook it. I finally glanced over at him, which was one of the many mistakes of my life. My heart clenched, and I fought the feeling of water brimming in my eyes. I thought I could do it, but I couldn’t. I can’t sit here and look at them, thanking me for saving their relationship when I don’t want them to have one in the first place.

That thought hit me hard, realizing that, while I’d been convincing myself this whole time that he was better off without me, better with Maeve, I still didn’t want that. Yes, I still believed that he would be better with someone else, but it was the first time I cracked and allowed my real thoughts to rise to the surface of my mind. And it almost broke me.

I swallowed that though and replied, “Yeah, I’m okay. At least we both have matching injuries now, you know, trying to save Maeve and all.” Venom, and what I refused to be jealousy, clung to my words, and I knew the look I was giving the two of them. Both of their faces contorted into a vast mix of hurt, confusion, and discomfort. And while that’s what I was going for, I knew it was wrong of me. Neither one of them asked me to take a bullet for her, I did that all on my own. So I quickly shook the feelings, and the face, and covered with, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I think I’m just tired, and the drugs they’re giving me-”

Morgan piped up, “They didn’t give you any drugs, we made sure of that.”

“Good,” I clenched my jaw, but forced my words to be relaxed and welcoming, “then it’s the pain. Either way, thank you for coming in here and thanking me. It means a lot, and doesn't happen enough to the people in this line of work. Plus, it wasn’t just me, it was everyone else, too.”

Maeve and Reid quickly recovered and gave me a small smile. Maeve quickly thanked everyone else, which I’m sure she’d already done, and left with a small, “I hope you recover quickly.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re both doing well,” I croaked. Once they left, another quiet spell hovered over the room. Before anyone could say, ask, or scold, I followed with, “I think I’m going to get some rest.”

The three of them nodded, and left me alone without another word.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

The only thought coursing through my head was, I have got to get out of here.

So that’s exactly what I did. It’d been a few hours since they left, and I didn’t foresee any new visitors coming, or even nurses for that matter. I searched the room for anything useful that could release the cuff on my right hand, and luckily, the clipboard with whatever fancy papers on it was by the foot of the bed. I shimmied down until I could grab the board between my feet, and made an awkward maneuver to get it to my left hand. I brought it back to my face and pulled off the paper clips holding some of the sheets together. I awkwardly bent my right wrist to try to aid in the process of picking the lock, but I had to essentially do it all with my left, not like that was particularly difficult. Definitely not compared to some of the things I’d been through lately, that’s for sure. Then I heard what had come to be one of my favorite sounds, a nice little ‘click.’

I quickly got out of bed with a groan, hobbled over to the table with my few belongings, and threw on the clothes I’d been wearing since they retrieved me from prison. They were itchy and smelled similar to sewer water, but they were clothes that were not a jumpsuit or a hospital gown, so at least there was that.

Right before I left, I walked over to the sheets of paper still attached to the clipboard. I flipped the first one around, and wrote two simple sentences on it.

Because I had to.

Because I have to fix things.

I left that face up on my now empty bed, where I honestly should’ve still been considering how shity my side and head still felt. But instead, I kept my head down, my hands in my pockets, and just walked right out the door. Because while their stalker case might have been solved, I still didn’t have mine as neatly wrapped up.

Series Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx

#criminal minds fanfic #aundreya chambers #bau x oc #spencer x oc #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #bau #behavioral analysis unit #spencer reid #reid #morgan #rossi #hotch #prentiss #garcia #maeve

26 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 5 years

Text

Mixed Colors

Summary: Steve saves you but the case ain’t over and you have to find a way to catch the bad guy while pining for the golden boy…

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Nick Fury, Thor Odinson, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, OFC’S

Warnings: angst, tension, mutual pining, fluff, violence, fighting, mentions of human trafficking/kidnapping, characters death (only the bad guys/mentioned), language

Sequel to: Blue-white-red and grey

“Detective Y/L/N, great to have you with us. These assholes try to get their bosses out of prison by attacking allies, by infiltrating the Avengers tower and they believe we will just roll over and do as they say. Fuck no!” Nick Fury takes his laptop to smash it against the wall.

“Nick!” Tony gasps. He saw Nick angry before, but this seems to be…personal…

“What are you not telling us, Nick?” Tony asks as Natasha shakes her head knowing her former boss better than anyone in this room, except for you.

“Sir? Shall I explain the situation?” You ask and Nick nods, turning around to look out of the window, watching the clouds.

“Okay. Around half a year ago we got to know about this organization called Red Storm. We got in contact with the FBI but oddly no one wanted to confirm anything or even hear me and Porter out. A few days later Nick contacted me.” You explain as Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Why you?” He asks as you sigh. “We knew each other. Before I started working for the New York Police Department I worked for Shield. We stayed in contact. Nick was my mentor back then. I told him about the organization, but he already knew as he was trying to bring them down for a long time…” Your voice cracks as you glance at your former boss, your friend, and ally.

“Again. Why?” Tony asks as you take a deep breath. “Nick?”

“Go ahead,” Nick whispers not sounding confident right now. “They need to know everything before they get involved with this…”

“Around eight years ago Nicks sixteen years old daughter disappeared. No one knew anything. Everyone was telling him she ran away, but Nick knew better. She was a good girl, never got involved with drugs, parties or alcohol.” Your voice is trembling as you can see Nick’s shoulders tense. You know he is clenching his jaw, ignoring the pain he causes as it could never compare the pain he feels about the loss.

“Nick, I’m sorry,” Tony whispers glancing at the leader of Shield. “We will help you find her…”

“Anyways.” You clear your throat, silently telling Tony to drop the subject right away. “Nick tried anything. Called everyone he knew. Still, even after a year of searching the whole world – she was nowhere to be found…”

“Did he…” Clint whispers. You swallow hard before you keep on talking. You hate to rip open old wounds, but everyone deserves to know what kind of organization you try to bring down.

Hands shaking you take the laptop Nick didn’t destroy. Opening a hidden drive, you enter your password to show the Avengers everything Nick found out about the people behind his daughter's disappearance.

“Four years ago, Nick found her or what was left of her.” You whisper opening a folder showing Steve and the other pictures of a girl. Dirty and chained to a cold floor she’s barely alive.

“Goddamn bastards,” Tony yells jumping up to smash a chair against the wall. “We will find these bastards and kill them. I’ll rip them apart.”

“Tony,” Steve warns knowing this isn’t the end of the story.

“Nick brought her home, or rather into a hospital, later to an asylum. She was not able to talk. She couldn’t react. All she was doing was sitting on the floor.” Your eyes meet Steve’s as your own fill with tears. “She killed herself after a few months of therapy. She was better but…”

“Something triggered her,” Nick whispers. “A nurse said good girl and my daughter ran out of the room. We still don’t know how she managed to reach the rooftop.” Your friend’s voice cracks, and you get up, standing next to him to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“She jumped but she was hiding a diary under her mattress with names, places and everything she had to bear…” Voice thin you compose yourself before turning around.

“The trace got cold and the first evidence they still exist…” Now Nick turns around to squeeze your shoulder as you stop talking. “This brilliant mind put all the pieces of missing girls along with places and events together. She found a connection - Y/N found Red Storm after eight years.” Nick rumbles.

“What was her name?” Clint asks clenching his fists.

“Aurora. My daughter’s name was Aurora.” Nick says as everyone nods.

“Our operation will be named Aurora then. We will bring them down, all of them. First, we will find Porters family and then we will get every single bastard and break their bones.” Tony states.

“I didn’t know what we found was only the tip of the iceberg. Nick poured me in after we got hold of some of their most important members. We were able to save twenty-five girls that day. Still, so many are lost or get kidnapped right now. You all should know we won’t stop till we got hold of all of them…” Your eyes meet Steve’s stormy blue ones as he gets up, straightens his back before glancing at the pictures once again.

“Nick, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save your daughter, but I will put all my strength, all my will into this mission. The mission to avenge Aurora and all the other victims.” Steve rumbles. “No one will get away this time…no one.”

----

“How did you get this information?” You whisper glancing at the building through a spyglass.

“This nice guy only needed motivation.” Natasha chuckles watching two men checking the surroundings. They are heavily armored, and you assume this is where they keep Porter's family hostage.

“Motivation?” Steve asks.

“He wanted to keep his balls. I had a knife…things happen.” The red-head shrugs, giving you a grin. “Great job, Natasha.”

“Fuck, you are deadly.” Clint curses. “I’ll take the rooftop; we should agree to radio silence till we storm the building.”

Natasha follows her friend providing back-up to make sure he reaches the rooftop without someone attacking him. “I’m your eyes and your guardian angel, take care of Y/N. She might have been with Shield, but Steve will lose it if anything happens to her.” Clint whispers.

“I’m on it, Hawkeye.” Natasha teases. “I’ll make sure everyone will come out of this unharmed,” Clint whispers as he uses the fire escape to reach the rooftop.

----

“Everyone in position?” Tony asks.

“Steve, Y/N and I are in position,” Natasha whispers. “Nick?”

“I’m in position with Thor and my team. We can strike at any time.” Nick mutters clenching his fists. It’s been four years since he was able to get hold of one of the men responsible for his daughter’s death.

“Nick, we follow the plan. Get the family out and then, they are all yours…” You whisper as you watch Nick’s team moving forward. One of Nick's men wants to use a battering ram, but Thor shakes his head, swinging Mjolnir.

“I think my friend and I will clear the path for you, Lord Fury. I’ll help you avenge your daughter, your Aurora.” Thor rumbles.

“Everyone ready?” Tony asks.

“I said radio silence, Tony,” Clint mutters watching three men running toward your and Steve’s position. “I think the element of surprise is gone. Three pigs are on their way toward your position Nat.”

“I’ve got this. Thor, Nick…strike.” Steve orders as he jumps out of his hideout, shield aimed he storms toward the three men while Thor bursts the door open with his hammer.

“Team Strike is in. Team Leader follow us after you took care of these three pigs.” Fury says as he follows Thor into the building. “Barton, stay on hold to provide back-up. We don’t know if these bastards try to escape with the hostages.

“I’ve got this.” Clint curses as two more guys run toward Natasha’s position. Two arrows make a fast end of the attackers as Clint rushes to the other side of the building to makes sure Rhodey’s team will not run into a trap.

“Rhodes. The path is clear. Take the back entrance and help Nick.” Clint orders as Rhodey’s team storms toward the building.

Steve is ramming his shield into one of the men’s faces. He’s angry. The pictures of Aurora still in his head he uses all his strength to slam the next man into the wall. The last guy tries to escape but you are faster. While Natasha follows Tony into the building you use the shadows to attack the last man.

One precise kick to his knee and he groans as you broke his patella. Steve is looking over his shoulder as your fist collides with the man’s chin, knocking him out. Another wave of enemies storms out of a nearby building, ready to attack but Steve shields you just in time before a bullet can hit you.

“Stay behind me. I’ll handle these guys.” Steve calls for you but you won't back down now. Aiming your gun, while hiding behind his shield you shoot the first guy in the forehead, another bullet hits the next man trying to take Clint out.

Two arrows hit the next man, but he won’t budge, heavily armored he storms toward Steve who speeds up to ram his shield into the man’s chest. “Stay down,” Steve warns but the man wants to get up only to feel your foot colliding with his face.

“No mercy, Steve. These guys would rather commit suicide than getting arrested.” You pant as Steve and you run toward the building. “Clint, take care. We are back in a blink.” Steve orders as Clint searches the area for more enemies.

“I’m on it, Cap. Good luck.”

----

“Over there.” You call for Steve as another guy tries to attack Steve. Without any effort, Steve smashes the man into the wall. “We are a good team.” Steve laughs as you run after him, checking your gun.

“Tony? Fury? Anything yet?” You ask but the connection is bad, and you can barely understand what Tony is saying.

“Crap, he might be in trouble. I understood nothing.” You curse as Steve bursts through a door, seeing three young girls hiding in a corner, scared to hell and back.

“Shh…no one is going to hurt you. This is Captain America and I’m Detective Y/L/N. We are here to get you out.” You soothe the girls as one of them points behind you. Steve turns around to ram his shield into the attacker’s face, breaking his jaw.

“Stay down or get up and fight like a man. Kidnapping children. Bastard!” Steve curses as you shrug your jacket off to cover one of the girls. “Clint. Tell Team Free we’ve got three girls, we need to go further in. I’ll mark the position.”

“I’m on it. Team Free on it’s way.” Clint confirms. “Go ahead, Steve. I’ll follow you.”

“We shouldn’t part ways, Y/N.” Steve insists, and you smile at him. “I know, Steve, but I can handle this. Help Tony, find the family. I’m right behind you.”

“Five minutes or I’m coming for you.” Steve states before he runs out of the room, storming toward the stairs.

----

“I need to go after Captain Rogers, bring the girls out and check on them. Clint. Team Free is on its way. Is the path clear?”

“I…shit…Bruce...way...commun…” The connection breaks once again and you curse not knowing if it’s safe to bring the victims out.

----

“I’ve got this,” Bruce says running toward the room. “Just don’t get scared, girls.” His eyes meet yours as you run toward the stairs. Bruce looks at the girls, mouthing a sorry before he starts changing. His skin becomes green and the girls gasp watching the Hulk appear.

“Behind me…” Hulk growls before he runs toward the door, shielding the girls with his body.

----

Running toward odd noises you aim your gun at a man trying to attack Steve with a knife. Firing your last bullets you hit the man’s back, killing him in an instant.

“Steve…!” Panicked you rush toward Steve who lies on the floor, bleeding. “Shit, Cap.” Checking the wound on his lower abdomen you add pressure to the cut as Steve smiles at your worried expression.

“Just a scratch Detective but I like seeing you are worried about me.” Steve pants as you get a band-aid out of your pocket. “Always prepared…huh?”

“Always. I was a girls scout, Steve. Now let me check this mess, and don’t die on me. I still owe you this steak for saving me.”

“He doesn’t die that easily, Y/N.” Tony chuckles, but it seems he likes a cute nurse fixing his wounds. We found the family, Rhodey and Natasha are taking care of them. You should have a look at something. After fixing our Cap, of course.”

“Just a minute, Tony,” Steve mutters watching you cleaning his wound as you see it starts healing. “Great. You are as good as new, Steve.”

“Nice side-effect…huh?” He teases as he gets up, steady his body with his shield as he kneels to peck your cheek. “I think I got a new favorite nurse.”

“Stop pining, Rogers,” Tony mutters as you help Steve getting up, rolling your eyes at Tony’s comment. “Let’s check this out.”

----

“Bastards!” Steve curses seeing a whole database of girls the organization planned to kidnap. “Steve, this is good. We can warn the girls and their families.” Adding a flash drive you copy all data while Tony paces around the room.

“Nick is in the basement, taking care of the leader. After finding Porter's family he sent me away. Only his men and Maria can enter the basement.” Tony explains.

“He’s like a wounded animal, Tony. We better not get involved in this.” Natasha warns. “We found more girls in the other buildings, around twenty.” Your eyes meet hers and you can see the struggle. “I can tell they will need more than a band-aid.” She curses as you look at the data.

“We got Rasputin, maybe we can take them down with him in our hands.” You pinch the bridge of your nose as you hear screams echo through the building.

“Fury.” Tony curses. “What if he kills him before getting any information?”

“He won’t. Fury may be a lot of things, but he has the same goal as we – finding the rest of these bastards.” Natasha says glancing at her hands. “I knew Aurora. She was a nice kid, full of life. After her disappearance…”

“I get it, Nat but we need him alive…not dead.” Tony is not convinced as another scream makes him jump. “Goddammit! What is Nick doing?”

“Nothing you want to witness, Tony,” Natasha whispers as you nod at the others. “Got all data, I send the FTP server a nice trojan. Anyone accessing this server will have a red flag above his head.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“This more a catalog. Potential buyers go on this server, choose a girl and pay for her. Overnight delivery…” You explain disgusted. “Anyone tries to buy a girl, we get him.”

“You’re freaking smart.” Steve chuckles as you give him a wink. “Nah, I learned this from a friend, she’s the genius, not me. Now let’s get out of here…”

----

“Here.” Fury says not looking at Tony. His knuckles are bloody as he hands Stark all information he gathered during his ‘interrogation’. “All he was able to tell us. The remaining members, hide-outs, buyers, sellers…potential victims. His ‘little black book’ if you want to call it like that.”

“A lot of information and a lot of work to do…” Tony sighs.

“Maybe I should stick around a bit longer in that case.” You offer and Steve’s eyes lit up.

“Welcome to the Avengers initiative in that case. Steve will give you the tour with pleasure.” Tony chuckles rushing toward the quin-jet.

“Will you give me the tour?” You ask glancing at Steve.

“Anytime,” Steve says as he takes your hand, intervening his fingers with yours, leading you toward the quin-jet.

“Young love…” Natasha chuckles elbowing Bruce. “Wanna bet their children will be cute and annoyingly sweet.”

“She’s perfect for him.” Bruce retorts.

----

Steve’s eyes never leave your hands as you check on his completely healed wound. “Damn, great side-effect, Cap.” You say as you slide your fingers over his abs.

“No making out in the quin-jet,” Tony mutters. “Save this for the ‘tour’.”

Steve glares at Tony but there’s a grin all over his face. “Guess it would be for the best if you move into the tower for a while.” Steve offers and you chuckle.

“You are persistent, huh?”

“I want to make sure you are safe. We have to bring these men down. I don’t want you to get hurt, don’t want to lose you.”

“In that case, I’m all yours, Captain…”

To be continued...

All works Tags

@yolobloggers, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove , @mogaruke, @shatteredabby, @soryuwifeyxx, @letsdisneythings, @i-love-superhero

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove, @thedoctorscamanion , @officialmarvelwhore, @randomgirlkensy, @juniorhuntersam, @lumar014, @doctorswife221b, @badboysdoitbetter2, @sister-winchesters99, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@hhiggs, @roonyxx, @stylesismyhubs, @multisuperfandom, @mrspeacem1nusone

166 notes · View notes

diyunho · 5 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost” Part 2

Bane’s wife is a mystery to everyone, including her husband. Ghost also happens to be The Joker’s little obsession, not that she ever pays attention to him. Maybe that’s why The King of Gotham should stop messing around: when you push too much, you might get more than you bargained for.

The Joker and his girlfriend left about 15 minutes ago; Kara was in a bad shape and you offered to drive her car back tomorrow. You have no idea how she made it to your house after the events at the club. You could tell J was fuming and for once he seemed to care about what happened to his woman: maybe it was a little wakeup call The King of Gotham needed. Hard to tell when it comes to these matters due to his spectacular personality.

One thing’s for sure though: after his arrival Kara couldn’t stop crying and Ghost knew why. The Joker’s girlfriend merely escaped assault and him giving a damn about the ordeal made her overemotional: it was the first time he showed some real interest outside the bedroom; he held her hand all the way to the car and didn’t even mind a kiss before she got in.

“You’re awfully quiet,” your husband points out. “You’ve been staring out the windows at the empty parking lot since they left. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah…I’m fine,” you turn only to see him signal for you.

Bane is not stupid; he can tell you’re distracted and he can guess the reason. As soon as you straddle his lap he rests his forehead on yours, choosing to dig a bit dipper without sugar coating his objective.

“Are you thinking about that day?”

You take such a strenuous breath there’s no need for a verbal confirmation.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You are aware of the meaning: your spouse is not asking for details, he’s just bringing it up in case you want to share your feelings regarding Kara’s unfortunate experience.

You caress his bald head and sigh, prepared to describe the facts.

Bane never mentioned anything about the first time you’ve met simply because he always assumed he understood what he saw five years ago. The truth is he didn’t.

“When…when you found me…” you gulp and he distinguishes the struggle.

“Hey,” your husband whispers. “That’s not why I brought it up. You don’t have to re-live the past; I was trying to hint that if you want to discuss…”

He twists a strand of your white hair around his finger while you interrupt:

“When you found me behind the truck, that guy wasn’t trying to rape me; he was trying to kill me.”

Bane’s not wearing his mask and you can read the conflicting emotions written all over his face.

“Vee was my ex,” you continue and pause in order to gather your thoughts. “When I learned he was involved in human trafficking, I urged him to quit. The money was great and he refused so I planned to disappear and help some girls flee in the process. I was very careful yet he still perceived my intentions and when you bumped into us… he was trying to finish me so I won’t be any trouble for his boss and their line of business.”

“Shit…” HB mumbles, hating that his Ghost looks upset.

“I wasn’t defending myself from a rapist, I was fighting for my life. What do you think about that, hm?” you throw the question at him and his reply doesn’t fail:

“That whatever- his-name-was-your-ex had it coming. You can’t kill a Goddess! A man is lucky enough to encounter one and if he fucks up, then he signs up for the bitter consequences.”

A few moments of complete silence, then Bane hears his favorite words:

“I love you,” Y/N pecks the thin scars across his nose and decides to turn the gloomy night into a more accommodating situation. “We were having lots of fun when the unexpected guest barged in; we should stick to the original schedule and reprise our activity.”

“Agree,” Bane squeezes you in his strong arms tighter. “A tiny Ghost might be already in here,” he softly rubs your tummy.

“Or a handsome little brute,” you giggle and he has to underline:

“However, it doesn’t hurt to keep practicing.”

“U-hum,” you wink and he likes the smile forming on your lips, infinitely better than having his wife distressed about an incident that almost ended her existence.

*************

5 Years Ago

Bane was done loading the supplies he wanted in his truck, lingering at the spot chosen for that evening’s transaction. It was consistently a random place where everyone that wanted to buy or sell could get together and exchange merchandise; under the radar of course, since the negotiations were less than legal and the individuals present could have easily be enlisted on FBI’s most wanted list.

A lot of turmoil and movement at the campsite, but he still detected a woman’s scream; he carefully listened when it happened again. Bane circled his truck and walked between the vehicles stationed there until his heavy steps abruptly halted: there was a lady trying to get from under a limp body collapsed on top of hers, still holding the rock she used in order to defend herself.

You crawled from under Vee and froze when you noticed Bane glaring at you. Y/N recognized the masked man: he was starting to gain a certain reputation, not that it was his purpose; he only stuck to his agenda and didn’t give a damn about anything else.

Your future spouse believed that one of the imbeciles tried to sample the merchandise and got more than he could chew; he also knew they didn’t like the girls to rebel and the price paid if they did.

That feral look in your eyes reminded him of the same fire that fueled his veins every time he attempted to get out of the accursed Pit; made him take a decision he never regretted: instead of alerting the others and score a nice bonus for cooperation, Bane gave you a choice.

“If you want to survive, come with me.”

You hesitated: was he toying with you before sounding the alarm?! The pile of muscles indifferently distanced from the scene and you got on your feet, stumbling from the aftermath of almost being assassinated by your former boyfriend. Vee was out cold and you dropped the rock by his feet, not bothering to check if he was dead.

You followed Bane to his truck and he gestured for you to hop in the back; it was difficult to fit in between the boxes yet you managed anyway. He covered everything with the tarp and advised while sealing the way out:

“Stay put!”

It was a nerve wracking couple of hours: Bane drove away immediately and you had no clue about what will occur next. Where was he taking you anyway?

**********

He pried the door and Y/N strolled inside when she realized he was keeping it opened for her. “This is a gated, private property; we’re right outside Gotham, north of Willow Creek. You should lay low: by know they must have identified the guy and they might be searching for the responsible party.”

He was thinking you were “one of the girls” and you didn’t correct him.

“I had no clue I’ll find myself in this mess,” you skeptically brought it up. “I should go to my apartment and pack suitcases.”

“Bad idea,” the distorted voice huffed. “You should disappear, it’s safer. Those are not the type of people you want to cross!”

You nervously played with the hem of your torn dress and Bane added:

“There are clean clothes in the bedroom; you can use one of my t-shirts. I’ll bring some items your size tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying?!” you inquired, perplexed.

“Nope, I’m busy. Give yourself a tour; I’m positive you can cope with my absence.”

He saw the doubt and muttered:

“You’re not a prisoner; you can leave. Close the gates if you do. If I were you, I would linger on the premises.”

That’s all he said and left a very confused Y/N in the middle of the living room. You wished to ask why he was aiding a total stranger, but you figured it was dumb to do so: Bane seemed like the type of man that didn’t do things unless he felt like it. Period.

You curiously inspected the house, marveled that it was neat and organized: four bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, the spacious living room, another bathroom and the kitchen downstairs. The dust settled on the counters indicated the hideout wasn’t used very often; the decorations were minimal, mostly functional, basic furniture.

You were grateful when you opened the fridge and found some food that was still eatable: the precooked kind but you weren’t picky at that point. After warming up a container in the microwave, Y/N took a sit at the table; with the crazy events that spiraled out of control she didn’t have time to reflect about her current predicament.

It hit as you were munching on your ravioli: how the hell did you end up there?! A sudden, unbearable sense of isolation washed all over you, the numbness that protected you from the initial shock gradually dissipating in thin air.

You had no plan. None whatsoever.

Was it better to go with the flow until you could outline a strategy aimed to get you out of the deep whole you accidentally sunk in? Maybe…

So you did.

**************

Next morning, Bane popped at the residence as promised; at 10:12 am he discovered a hyper Y/N tidying up the kitchen: after a sleepless night and six cups of coffee, she was pretty much invincible. You were wearing one of his military print t-shirts: it was big and he was somehow amused to see you swim in the garment.

“I brought you clothes, shoes and food,” Bane grumbled and arranged boxes on the chair closer to you. “I estimated on the size.”

“Thank you,” the sincerity in your voice proved you meant it. “Thank you for helping me.”

“U-hum,” he intensely gazed at you and maybe because you weren’t in your best shape you misinterpreted his demeanor: was your savior expecting some sort of reward? Since you didn’t have much to offer at that time, Bane probably wanted sex as compensation for his services. If he would have taken what he wanted by force, you reckoned it wouldn’t have been pleasant, not with a man his size; not putting up a fight could have made it at least bearable.

Your logic was way off though: as soon as you took your t-shirt off he came near, picked it from the floor and dressed you back himself.

“You don’t have to do that,” he emphasized and saw how embarrassed you were. “Do you know how to load guns?” Bane switched the dialogue without making it awkward.

“Not really…”

“I’ll show you; I have a project coming up and you can assist.”

“OK,” you were fast to accept as it was an easy way to repay him.

“Besides cracking someone’s skull with a rock, do you know how to defend yourself?” the interrogation continued.

”If I have to.”

“Comes in handy,” he muffled the words beyond the mask and promptly took it off so he can enjoy the coffee too.

It was the first time you saw Bane minus the breathing device; definitely not what you imagined: he was good-looking. HB had a few thin scars across his nose and a thicker one above the upper lip that added a certain flair to his wholesomeness.

He caught you staring and misjudged:

“What?” he growled, pouring hot liquid in a mug. “Is the view not up to your standards?”

Y/N has always been a direct person, that’s why she described exactly what was in her mind:

“I was actually thinking that you’re handsome.”

One of Bane’s eyebrows went high and he huffed at the candid remark:

“Hm… … I’ve been called worse.”

You bit on your cheek and waited for him to finish his coffee in silence, but he had more to say.

“You should change your appearance; it’s safer if they’re searching around for the runaway girl that dared retaliate.”

You nodded a yes, wondering how you could accomplish such task. He wasn’t wrong: it would have evidently aided if they were indeed hunting for you.

“I know somebody,” Bane insinuated the path of action. “I can bring Zorina here and she can work her magic; the woman’s a pro.”

“Sure,” you welcomed his proposal and instantly blurred out: “I have money stashed at my apartment; it’s a hefty sum, all cash. I’ll have to retrieve it then I will be able to reimburse you for everything you’re doing for me.”

He snorted, entertained at your passionate tirade:

“Reimbursed!” Bane repeated and slammed the cup on the counter, preparing to bail. “Don’t worry about that; they might have the condo under surveillance or maybe they already raided the rooms and took your money.”

“I hope not…” you frowned, swiftly tense at his warning.

“Wait for Zorina,” the suggestion alleviated your anxiety a bit. “I’ll text her and she can be here in one hour. I am going out of town in the morning; I will return on the 27th,” he grabbed his mask from the table. “If you have an emergency, call the number I uploaded as an emergency contact,” Bane handed you a brand new cell phone.

“Will you be the one answering?” Y/N asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed and noticed how relieved you seemed at his affirmation.

Bane came back after 10 days, on the 27th as scheduled. You were outside on the porch and he stopped in his tracks when you emerged from behind the wood pillars.

“How do I look like?” you presented the new Y/N to the stunned man instead of a conventional greeting: your hair was completely white, shaved on the left side and the fresh skull tattoo inked on the exposed skin completed the ensemble quite beautifully. The dark red eyeshadow and black leather suit scored extra points with your future husband.

Bane was a straightforward person and didn’t utter words unless he meant them, yet the unpredicted reply still made you smile:

“Like a Goddess.”

*************

For the next six months you helped with whatever was necessary: it kept you busy and while you understood everything was a test, you were able to form your own opinions too.

Bane wasn’t a mindless brute: he was intelligent, outspoken and articulate; the crew didn’t question his decisions not necessarily due to his physical appearance that indicated he could level anyone to the ground with one punch, but because they respected him.

You blindly plunged into an unfamiliar environment: in the great scheme of things, your ex Vee has invariably been a pawn struggling to find his way up to the top. Weren’t you the same now? Another small piece of the puzzle trying to figure out where it belongs?

You weren’t positive so you kept your distance from the team members and never really talk to them; Y/N only did what she was told and stayed away from social interactions. After your disappointing past experiences, one could have said you didn’t like people. Why bother?

Even Bane was probably going to send you on your way soon: he kept on coming to the house more often and your best speculation was that he was getting ready to tell you to vacate the property. Which was fair; you couldn’t rely on his hospitality forever. And for some reason it made you sad.

It was true that Bane dropped by more often: from barely visiting the hideout once a month before your arrival, he multiplied his visits to 3-4 times a week. Under the pretext of checking up on his protégé and give her assignments, of course. It had nothing to do with how much he liked seeing your face light up every time he was around.

One night you fell asleep in front of the fireplace: it was cozy to pile up blankets and watch the longs burn until they turned into ashes. You woke up around 2 in the morning and stretched, surprised to see Bane passed out on the couch a couple of feet away. You didn’t hear him sneak in and assumed he had a motive for being there: to finally tell you he wanted the residence evacuated.

You rolled over and got on your knees, carefully placing two more logs on top of the dying fire.

“Add more,” the deep tone made you jump. “It’s getting chilly.”

“Hi,” you tilted your head to look at him. “I didn’t mean to awake you,” you apologized and did as requested.

“You didn’t,” Bane rubbed his eyes, totally used with short power naps instead of dozing off for hours.

You delayed more conversation, but it had to be addressed although you dreaded the subject; maybe he was expecting you to get the hint so you gathered the courage to speak up:

“I was debating… I should…e-hem…” you fakely coughed, “… find a new establishment…”

“Don’t you wanna stay?” he cut you off.

“I do,” you admitted, “but it’s not fair to take advantage of…”

Bane’s laughter at the statement made you halt your small presentation; it was his strategy of disguising how discouraged he was at your arbitrary idea.

“I doubt I’m the type that can be taken advantage of,” he got on his elbow and you abandoned the warmth of the fireplace in order to sit down by him on the sofa. “You don’t have to go anywhere…unless you wish to,” he gave you choices once more.

You glared at each other for a few seconds and then you demanded:

“Can you please take your mask off?”

“Why?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Bane unsnapped the leather straps without a second invitation: God knows he seldom dreamed about it without paying attention to what it truly meant.

Your lips touched and the intimacy made him slowly pull you in his arms; it seemed natural that the woman he was in love with belonged there.

“My name is Y/N,” you suddenly moaned in between kisses and Bane paused, eager to mention:

“For your own safety I suggest to never disclose it to another living soul. It’s better if you don’t exist; a ghost doesn’t have a past or present thus can never be seized.”

“I like the notion of being a Ghost,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “And you have to call me something; the rest of the world also.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a deal,” Bane grinned and instantly cautioned: “I also have to bring up to your attention that I’ve never slept with a Goddess before.”

Your mouth got close to his ear and you whispered:

“I’ve never slept with a Handsome Brute but I believe we’ll manage.”

************

Today, 1:13 am

Your cell phone keeps on vibrating on the nightstand; attempting to ignore the insufferable noise might wake up Bane: you exhausted your husband last night and he has to recharge. You’ll probably need his services by morning time so… might as well make an effort for his sake.

Great, it’s The Joker.

“Hello?” you keep your voice down.

“I was thinking,” the insomniac King of Gotham gets straight to the core of the issue without apologizing for the late call. “Next time Bane’s out of town and you don’t accompany him, I should take you out to dinner; then we can get some stuff out of our system.”

Is he for reals?!

“I have a better proposal!” you hiss, irritated. “Next time Bane’s out of town without me, you’ll take your girlfriend out to dinner and then you can get whatever you want out of your system with her!! I’ll wait for my husband and then when he comes home he’ll know how to take care of my system!! GOT IT??!!” you hang up and J is displeased at your behavior:

“How fucking rude!” he puffs, cuddling next to Kara; she’s snoozing after her misfortune.

“Who’s that?” your spouse groans.

“Uggghh,” you snuggle to his chest, aggravated by J’s crap.

“Idiot…” HB wraps both naked bodies tighter in the fluffy cover since he guessed the name; your reaction is enough clue.

Ghost pecks his shoulder and gradually relaxes, 100% convinced of the only truth in her life: if she ends up with nothing again, as long as he’s there she will still have everything.

Part 1:��diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/187322128171/the-joker-x-reader-ghost-part-1

Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker #bane #bane x reader #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #the joker suicide squad #joker suicide squad #dc #mister j #Mistah J #Mr.J

62 notes · View notes

stereksecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @gryvon!

Read on AO3

*****

Get your FEET off the Dash it's LEATHER

Chris Argent caught up to him at the same time as the FBI, and Kate. Chris had information and wanted his help, Kate shot him in the stomach and stole the yellow wolfsbane he’d taken out of storage to protect. Like an idiot. At least Kate couldn’t handle wolfsbane enough to put it inside bullets herself anymore. It still hurt, but he wasn’t about to die, and he managed to get up and track Kate back to the hideout she was sharing with the last of the hunters from South America. By the time he got there, Kate was long gone, but her accomplices were still around.

Derek slipped inside the hunters’ hideout to see what he was up against. They were hunters alright. Lots of them. With lots of guns. This might be where they stockpiled them; it was certainly big enough for that. He was hiding behind a shelf full of some sort of gun he didn’t recognize, not one that Braeden ever used, when he heard the trucks pull up outside. The FBI, he realized in surprise. He knew they were tracking him, but he didn’t think they’d catch up to him again this quickly. Not since Kate took out the last attempt.

The FBI was quiet enough that the hunters hadn’t heard them yet, and they managed to sneak inside just like Derek had, and space themselves out around the warehouse. Not very observant hunters, obviously. Derek waited patiently while they set up, figuring he’d give them a hand in apprehending the actual bad guys.

Satisfied that the FBI was in position, and not wanting to risk any of them finding his hiding spot before he’d had the chance to clear his name, Derek stepped out from behind the shelves and cleared his throat. Seven hunters spun around to face him, all bringing their guns up to bear.

Derek raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just here to talk.”

One of the hunters snorted. “Yeah, sure. After what we did to your buddies down in Brazil, I’m sure that’s true.”

So they hadn’t heard about the other group of hunters Derek had already caught up with. Or at least they weren’t bringing it up. “That was you then,” Derek said, raising his voice just slightly. “You killed those people.”

Another of the hunters outright laughed at that. “Yeah, people, sure.”

“Just so long as we’re all clear that I had nothing to do with it.” Derek kept his eyes on the hunters, refusing to let his eyes find the FBI agents hidden around the room.

“What are you talking about, we were looking for you.”

Derek grinned. This time he let his voice raise more obviously as he called out, “you got that?”

“Showoff,” someone muttered to his right. Someone with a very familiar, very distinctive voice.

Derek’s head jerked towards the voice. “Stiles?”

The air was suddenly thick with gunfire. The hunters jerked their guns back up, at Derek’s sudden movement or his addressing of the hidden figures in the room, it didn’t matter. The FBI opened fire and Derek dove for cover in the direction of Stiles’ voice as the hunters fired back. He rounded a shelf and came face to face with — yeah, that was Stiles, grinning like an idiot.

“Hey, Sourwolf.”

“Stiles.” Derek blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, me? I joined the FBI. We’re here to arrest you.” Stiles’ grin widened. He grabbed Derek’s arm and started tugging him towards the exit. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. Nice job, by the way. Quick thinking and all that. Figured you would have heard us — didn’t know you had it in you.”

Derek followed after Stiles, still a bit bewildered, with half a grin on his face, until he felt more than saw one of the hunters turn a gun in their direction. He yanked Stiles back and Stiles cried out in surprise almost at the same moment Derek heard the gunshot. Or, Derek thought it was surprise, until Stiles whimpered and Derek looked down to see part of his shoe had been blown off.

Stiles wobbled and Derek swore as he helped Stiles to the ground, kneeling next to him to yank off the book and sock underneath.

“Ow, hey, fragile human here!” Stiles chocked out a sob as Derek examined his foot. There were only four toes. The fifth was a bloody stump and Derek couldn’t see the detached tip anywhere when he glanced around for it.

More bullets whizzed by overhead and Derek gave up the search in favour of getting them both safely out of there. He scooped Stiles up in a bridal carry, and instead of protesting Stiles just grabbed onto Derek’s neck and started wailing. Derek carried him out the door, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ antics. He was so dramatic. It was just a toe. Not like it was an arm.

Stiles passed out just outside the doors and Derek carried him to the nearest available van. An agent was there to greet them. Derek dumped Stiles’ unconscious body in the back of the van and pointed to Stiles’ foot. “He got shot. I couldn’t find the toe.”

“Freaking interns,” the agent muttered, grabbing her radio. She glanced up and paused. “Aren’t you Derek Hale?”

Derek sighed and held out his wrists. “Yeah. You gotta handcuff me to the door or something?”

The agent hesitated, then nodded slowly, reaching back to retrieve her handcuffs. She fixed them on Derek’s wrists and he sat down in the back of the van next to Stiles's still unconscious — and possibly slightly snoring — body.

Everything after that was all very chaotic but still somehow efficient. A medic came over to check on Stiles and Derek was led away to be questioned, though thanks to the hunters’ confessions earlier he was no longer a suspect. He told them he knew the people who were murdered in Brazil, distant relatives of his, and when he saw the police had no leads he decided to take matters into his own hands. His interrogators — interviewers? —tried to chastise him for that, but Derek just rolled his eyes and pointed out that until he got the hunters to confess, the FBI still suspected him. The same thing happened when his sister died, and even with his family’s murders to a certain extent. Until Stiles stepped in and helped prove his innocence, he points out as an afterthought. Maybe it would impress someone here that Stiles had been successfully solving crimes for years now. In a slightly unlawful, vigilante fashion, but whatever.

When Derek got out of debriefing — ugh — Stiles was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with a cane propped next to him. He grabbed it and pushed off the wall, grinning when he saw Derek approach.

“Hey.” Stiles nodded.

“Hey yourself.”

Stiles punched him in the shoulder. “We made a pretty good team back there. As usual.” Derek rolled his eyes. Hard. “So where’ve you been? What’ve you been up too?”

“Oh, you know. Getting accused of murder, going on the run, chasing down homicidal hunters, getting called back to Beacon Hills to bail everyone out of the latest crisis. The usual.” Derek shrugged.

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “I know about all that. I’m in the FBI, there’s surveillance. Anyway, I meant — wait. What about Beacon Hills?”

“Scott didn’t tell you?” Derek raised an eyebrow. He figured Stiles would be the first person they’d call.

“No, obviously not! Tell me what? What’s going on?” Stiles’ free hand skittered through the air before he dove it into his pocket to fish out his phone and started texting. “Lydia didn’t say — but maybe she doesn’t know either? Why wouldn’t Scott — I thought Scott left! He’s still in Beacon Hills? What the hell!”

Derek snorted. “Even I know something’s going on in Beacon Hills and I haven’t talked to anyone in months.”

“What, being on the run turns you into more of a hermit than usual?” Stiles glanced up from his frantic one-handed texting. “We missed you, man. You could’ve called.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“You should probably get one.” It was Stiles’ turn to snort. “Wait.” Stiles finally looked up fully. “How do you not have a phone? How do you survive?”

Derek shrugged.

“Right. Forgot who I was talking to.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

An agent hurried past, carrying a huge stack of papers, and Stiles shifted out of the way, overbalancing with his cane and injured foot.

Derek reached out to steady him. “Should you be walking on that?”

“Technically?” Stiles made a face. “I mean it hurts but I’m on a shit ton of meds so it balances out. Doc says I’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“Normal for you anyway.”

“Asshole.”

“How long is no time?”

Stiles waves vaguely, apparently to indicate some length of time at the end of which he would be healed and ready to return to normal everyday activities. Like being in the FBI and fighting with and against the supernatural.

“More importantly.” Stiles fixed Derek with a stern look, his body suddenly still and focussed. “What is going on in Beacon Hills?”

What happened to I’m in the FBI, we have surveillance, Derek thought. He didn’t say it out loud though, going off on another tangent would do them no good when he should be leaving as soon as possible. Whether Stiles was coming with him or not.

Instead, Derek told Stiles what he knew: Kate had been searching for yellow wolfsbane — which Derek thought at the time she would use as a cure for Gerard, but she’d told him instead would be used as a weapon against Scott. He hadn’t had time to get much from Chris before going after Kate, but it sounded like some serious shit was going down. Not that it ever wasn’t — this was Beacon Hills — but this felt bigger. Not some lone Alpha or small group out to get revenge — something much more dangerous. Derek just wasn’t sure what it was.

By the end of the explanation, Stiles was still in shock that Scott hadn’t left Beacon Hills. He thought his best friend had left for college months ago. And after some internet stalking, it turned out that Lydia — now Stiles’ girlfriend apparently — had also chosen to stay in town, even though she’d had a full ride to MIT.

In the end, Stiles called his father for more details.

“Never thought I’d be calling my dad to check up on Scott.” Stiles grimaced as the phone rang. “Definitely always pictured it the other way around. Or that I’d be calling Melissa to check in on them both — hey, Dad! So, what’s up, what’s been going on and why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Stiles and Derek agreed that Beacon Hills — that Scott and Lydia and Chris and Melissa and apparently even the Sheriff needed their help. Stiles had a few days off from his internship to recover —

“Which means you should be using that time to recover, not mounting a rescue mission. What did the doctor actually say — bedrest?”

“Oh, shut up. You at least need someone to drive the getaway car.”

“Can you even drive missing a toe?”

“Shut up!”

They had their bags in the back of Derek’s Camaro and were on the road within an hour. Derek didn’t press too hard. Obviously Stiles was going back with him, that was never really a question.

…

They drove in silence, which surprised Derek, he thought Stiles would try to fill the space with random chatter. He did, occasionally, but mostly he seemed content to gaze out the window and watch the world go by. Something about the silence was comfortable, and Derek felt effortlessly anchored in a way he hadn’t since… he wasn’t sure when. He wondered when that had started, when Stiles became safety for him. Maybe it was something that grew out of necessity, and solidified every time Stiles saved him, and he saved Stiles back. They’d come to rely on each other for that feeling of safety, of having someone at your back. Derek hadn’t thought he’d needed that when he left Beacon Hills, but he realized now that he missed it. If you’d asked him back when they’d first met, Derek never in a million years would have pegged Stiles as the one he could count on time and time again, but here they were. He glanced over at Stiles in the passenger seat, watched him for a moment before Stiles looked over and made eye contact. He looked different than Derek remembered. Older. Sharper. More confident. Less spastic. Settled.

“What?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Something on my face?”

Derek shook his head. “Nothing, just. You look good.”

Stiles’ other eyebrow joined the first. “I’m running on about four hours sleep in the past forty-eight hours, lost a toe, am on massive amounts of medication for said toe, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t showered since the last time I slept.”

“In that case, you look incredible.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked away to stare out the windows again.

Derek chuckled, then said in a softer voice, “I mean it, though. Getting out of Beacon Hills was good for you. You look good, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced back over, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Back at you big guy. But, hey, it’s you. You always look good.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Seriously.” Stiles shifted in his seat so his knees were aimed towards the driver’s seat. “I’ve never met anyone who could have their guts rioted out and still manage to look like they could be on the cover of a swimsuit magazine. Well, a zombie swimsuit mag. Disembowelled quarterly.” Stiles snickered. “I used to have the biggest crush on you, you know.”

Derek blinked. He had not, in fact, known. He had known that Stiles had a crush on Lydia. Which had obviously never gone away considering the two of them were now dating. He hadn’t even known Stiles was interested in guys. When had it started? Shouldn’t he have noticed — if not on a personal level, Stiles would have given some other indication that he could have picked up on. Especially when they were in such close proximity. Like in the pool. Or at the sheriff’s station, with the Kanima and Matt. To be fair, those had been highly stressful situations. But he’d always thought Stiles was especially easy to read. Tracking him when the Nogistune shit had gone down proved that. Something would have slipped through, did Derek just not notice?

“We’re at the point in our relationship where I can tell you these things,” Stiles said.

“Literally,” Derek muttered.

“I’ve decided.” Stiles nodded. “It’s not awkward, we’re chill, we’re different people, we’ve grown up — don’t lie, you have too — but oh my god I do not want to know what you thought about me when I was sixteen.”

Derek smirked and glanced away from the road to give Stiles a once-over. “You know, now that you mention it, not much has changed, actually.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles said cheerfully.

Derek laughed.

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip. “It’s weird. Looking back, all the signs are so obvious now, but I didn’t realize liking guys was even a possibility — for me — until someone pointed it out to my face. And then I have to go and wonder if that ever even happened or if I was just out of my mind at the time with, well you know. Doesn’t matter either way I guess.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “I think my life was pretty much normal, except for my mom dealing with the occasional pack thing. Until I was fifteen.”

“With Paige.”

Derek blinked again. “Who?”

“Paige?” Stiles glanced at him and kept going when Derek just stared back blankly. “Your high school girlfriend? Got bitten by Ennis? But the Bite didn’t take and she died? Or you killed her, maybe? I’m not entirely sure, Peter was pretty unclear, and I’m pretty sure he was bullshitting most of it.”

“Peter told you about this? This Paige?”

“Yeah, why? Sorry, I guess it’s pretty personal.”

Derek wasn’t sure what his face looked like just then. He was confused, trying not to laugh, and not sure if he wanted to laugh at the same time. Who even understood why Peter said what he said. And when would he have even told Stiles this? What would have been the point?

“Derek?”

Derek looked over at Stiles. “I don’t know anyone named Paige.”

“Right… I mean, not anymore I guess? Since she died?” Stiles winced.

“No, Stiles. I do not, and have never known anyone named Paige.”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it again, eyebrows furrowing. “So this story Peter told me about you and your high school girlfriend…”

“Never happened.”

There was silence in the jeep once more, Stiles staring out the windshield into the middle distance. Derek made sure to keep his eyes on the road, so they wouldn’t swerve into oncoming traffic.

“Fuck, Cora is gonna be pissed.”

…

“Get your feet off the dash.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s leather and I said so. It’s my car.”

“It’s a stolen car. See, this is why Roscoe is superior —”

“Like you would ever let anyone put their feet up in your precious Jeep.”

…

After a few hours, they decided to stop at a motel for the night. Stiles offered to keep driving while Derek slept, and then they could trade off when Stiles got too tired, but Derek argued that they were both exhausted since neither of them had slept since the FBI raid on the hunters last night. On Derek, Stiles pointed out, and Derek ignored him in favour of pulling into the motel parking lot.

They stayed up longer than they should, talking, both of them exhausted but neither quite ready for sleep. They took turns in the bathroom and lay down on their backs in separate beds, staring at the ceiling. Stiles talked more about Malia and how weird and unhealthy that relationship was for both of them, how he should have handled it better, should have taken it upon himself to make sure both parties were enthusiastically and verbally consenting to everything instead of just following their twin horny virginal instincts. Especially with all the talks he got from his dad, the Sheriff, growing up, plus the fact that Malia spent so much of her life as a coyote and clearly wouldn’t know about these things.

Derek talked about Kate, how it was so strange after all these years to be tracking her down to prevent her from committing further evil. How it felt a little like atonement, and at the same time like something he should have done years ago. How he didn’t blame himself for everything that had happened in his life, not anymore, at least not all the time. How he was trying, and a lot of the time was successful, to be better, and happier, and how a lot of that had to do with seeing his mom — with her claws in his neck on the ends of Peter’s fingers. Of course there were still slip-ups, still moments where he blamed himself for Kate, for Peter, for Laura, for Jennifer, but he was able to catch himself more and more. But he told Stiles he knew he was getting better. He was healing.

He looked over at Stiles to find eyes turned towards him, shining with emotion.

“Good for you, dude,” Stiles whispered. “I’m happy for you.”

It sounded a hell of a lot like I’m proud of you and I hope I get there myself, someday.

…

“Are you looking forward to seeing Scott,” Derek asked once they were back on the road.

“Under once again life or death circumstances?” Stiles’ eyes stayed trained out the window, on the endless trees rushing past. “Not particularly. In general, yeah, obviously, that’s not even a question.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen Scott outside of life or death circumstances.”

Stiles laughed. “Fair enough. So are you looking forward to seeing him, then?”

“I am. He’s done well for himself. He’s a good alpha.” A true alpha, at that. Derek knew the stories, knew of the existence of true alphas. His mother had known one, he thought, but he always assumed they were so rare that he would never meet anyone who could achieve alpha status by sheer force of will. But if anyone could do it… well, Stiles could probably do it if he were a wolf.

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, alright.”

Derek’s eyebrows lowered in confusion. “You don’t think so?”

“I think he’s doing as well as he can for someone barely out of high school with no idea what he’s doing. But, and okay I love Scott, alright, but he can be a little… I mean he obviously isn’t learning from past mistakes if he’s deliberately keeping us out of the loop.”

Ah. So it was a jealousy thing. Stiles didn’t like feeling left out, even if it was for his own safety. Typical. Derek grinned. “Keeping you out of the loop, you mean.”

“I’m assuming they only tracked you down in the eleventh hour when Scott realized he couldn’t do it all by himself. Actually, it probably wasn’t even Scott’s idea. True alpha or not, Chris, Melissa, and my dad aren’t his underlings or whatever. And Chris is the one who found you, wasn’t he?”

“And you think that was Chris Argent’s idea. To come find me.”

“Hey, I thought you guys worked past your shit, on some level. And I’m not saying Scott’s a bad alpha. He’s doing surprisingly well, but he’s not gonna be winning any best-alpha-of-all-time awards any time soon.”

That was rather unfair. Doing the best you could is all anyone can do. And what the fuck was this ‘surprisingly well’ bullshit. Derek glared at the road. “He’s better than I was.”

Stiles just shrugged. “You would’ve figured it out eventually.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Stiles turned in his seat so his body was angled towards Derek. “I mean it. You had a rough start. Made some… pretty questionable decisions. But all in all, I think if things had calmed down a bit and you’d had time to find your footing, you would’ve been good at it. There was a reason you chose who you did for your pack, and not just because they’d say yes. In different circumstances, you would’ve been good for them. You could’ve been good for each other.”

Derek didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing, and they lapsed back into comfortable-ish silence. Until Stiles reached over to switch on the radio and accidentally flipped it on at full volume and Derek nearly swerved off the road.

…

They left around noon the morning after the FBI raid. They could’ve flown, except Stiles was supposed to be on bed rest probably in a special FBI hospital somewhere, and Derek was still on a bunch of no-fly watchlists or something, and it was gonna take a while for bureaucracy to come through and sort that out. So driving it was.

Neither of them particularly minded. Yes, they were in a hurry to get back to Beacon Hills to rescue everyone, but they weren’t in a huge hurry to get there and die, so it was nice to take a few days to drive quietly rather than taking a plane. The only time Derek’d been on one was when he followed Laura back to Beacon Hills when she went missing, and he hated it, for so many reasons, so he had no desire for a repeat experience. He expected Stiles to complain about being cooped up and immobile all day, but he found ways to entertain himself, and Derek, and it was peaceful to travel together. Like it was a real road trip with no particular goal in mind, rather than a dangerous rescue mission.

“It’s always a dangerous rescue mission,” Stiles sighed. “One day I’m gonna go on a road trip for real.”

“You’d like it.” Derek nodded. That’s basically what he was doing when he left with Braeden, before he joined back up with Cora, and then Kate and the other hunters had to go and kill a neighbouring pack and Derek just couldn’t leave it alone.

Stiles asked and Derek told him about travelling with Braeden, about trying to help her with her vendetta with the desert wolf, because it was nice to help out with someone else’s vendetta you had no personal investment in for a change. About splitting off to go visit Cora when he realized he could, which didn’t take long but took longer than it should have for him to realize.

After six hours driving on the first day, with both of them exhausted from lack of sleep, they’d stopped at the motel, and decided to forgo one the next night and drive straight through. They drove fifteen hours before Stiles finally gave up and admitted he shouldn’t be driving yet with his toe, and pulled over to the side of the road to sleep for a few hours. They made it ten hours the next day, and they could’ve kept driving — it was only another six to Beacon Hills — but by the time they got there it would be three in the morning and they’d be completely useless.

This was Derek’s thought process when they left the diner they stopped at for dinner, and instead of getting back on the road he pulled into a motel parking lot. Stiles didn’t say anything, so he must have been thinking something similar. Or maybe something more like if I have to sit in this goddamn car another minute I am seriously going to murder someone, going by the way he’d been squirming for the last few hours in the passenger seat.

They were quiet as the got out and crossed the parking lot, heading for the front desk together. Derek didn’t say anything as Stiles requests a room and the woman behind the desk handed over the keys. They stayed up late talking again and slept in the next morning before a lazy breakfast at the same diner as last night.

Derek didn’t want it to end. What would happen when they rejoined the others, and then after when Stiles went back to the FBI and Derek went… somewhere. Else. He didn’t really have anywhere to be. No one needed him. No one wanted him. But he liked this, whatever this was with Stiles right now. It was nice to feel connected to another person, to share the space in a way that’s easy and comfortable. He didn’t want to let go of it just yet.

He had to, of course. They made it back to Beacon Hills and —

“Oh my god, pull over!” Stiles was already undoing his seatbelt.

“What? What is it?” Derek pulled the car over and Stiles leapt out of the passenger seat before they’d fully rolled to a stop.”Stiles!”

Derek got out of the car to follow him and his eyes narrowed when he saw the only possible thing on the block Stiles could be running towards. He took off down the road and reached the jeep at the same time Stiles did.

“They’re not here.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Derek tensed. “Stiles. Tell me you did not just jump out of a moving car because you saw your jeep parked on the side of the road.”

“Parked! Abandoned, is more like it! What has Scott been doing to my baby, you’re obviously not being used to your full potential.” Stiles smoothed his hand along the hood of the jeep and Derek frowned.

No, he was already frowning. Now he was scowling. “Stiles! Give me one good reason why we just stopped five minutes away from where everyone needs us before I drag your ass back in the car.”

“Because my jeep is awesome and it has survived way more than your Camaro 1.0 ever did, and it comes with a built-in radio and weapons stash in the back, AND, like I said before, Scott is obviously not using Roscoe to his full potential, seeing as he’s left him abandoned by the side of the road, Derek.”

Derek took a deep breath to remind himself that Stiles is a human, Stiles wouldn’t recover if Derek smashed his face through the window of his precious jeep, and he wouldn’t forgive Derek for the damage either.

Wait — was that?

Derek took another breath in through his nose. Yeah, that was Scott alright, and close.

“We’re close,” he told Stiles, and took off running in that direction.

“Wait — Derek!”

He heard Stiles scramble for his keys and stumble into the jeep before the engine ground to life and the car started after him. Derek veered down an alley and a second later the jeep followed. Almost there.

Then suddenly the jeep was passing him, and Stiles was waving and calling “later, sucker!” Before turning the next corner and slamming to a halt.

Derek jogged up alongside it and there was Scott — and everybody. They said their hellos: Derek hugged Scott and Stiles hugged Lydia, and everything immediately went to shit.

No one died this time. Well, no one Derek cared about. They stop the Anuk Ite, but the hunters were still on the warpath, and they were setting up a global network. Derek headed back to South America to make sure Cora was safe, and warn the packs down there about what’s going on. Jackson and Ethan went back to Europe with Chris to meet up with Isaac. Scott called Kira’s parents in New York and they promised to spread the word there and make sure Kira was safe as well.

Scott and his pack tracked the hunters, stepping in when they went after someone. The younger ones stayed in Beacon Hills — they still had to finish high school — while Scott and Malia travelled the country. Lydia went to school and Stiles went back to the FBI, but they came running to the rescue whenever they could.

Stiles and Derek stayed in touch. Derek got a phone and gave Stiles his number, which opened the floodgates for communication. Stiles texted him constantly, random thoughts and observations, about nothing in particular, and Derek found himself smiling as the words echoed through his head in Stiles’ voice. …

A few months later Derek was back in the country, helping Scott track down this one young werewolf the hunters were after. Stiles and Lydia showed up in Stiles’ jeep — which he’d taken back from Scott when he went back to his internship, claiming he needed a way to come to the rescue if Derek and his Camaro weren’t gonna be around.

They got the kid into hiding, and ended up at an all-night diner, catching up before they had to go their separate ways again. There was only one booth big enough for all of them, and Stiles slid in next to Derek, while Lydia wound up on the other side of the table next to Malia. Everyone relaxed, catching up, smiling and laughing even though they were all exhausted. They weren’t any closer to stopping the hunters, who seemed to grow in number every day. They were getting worn out, all of them, and this was only the beginning, Derek could tell. More than once he’d considered just taking off again, going into hiding, to live in the woods by himself to get a break from all this. But when he looked around the table at his friends, his family, his pack, and he knew he could never leave them again. Even if they weren’t always in the same place, he would never abandon them.

As the conversations turned to other things, people breaking off into couples and smaller groups to chat, Derek turned to Stiles. Stiles asked about Cora, and South America, and Derek asked about the FBI and Lydia. All stuff they’ve talked about before, briefly, over text, except when Derek brought up Lydia Stiles gives him a weird look and says,

“We broke up.”

Derek frowned. Stiles never mentioned anything about that. He would have remembered.

“Yeah, we realized it just wasn’t working out, neither of us was really as invested as we thought we’d be, and we’re better off as friends.” Stiles shrugged. “I think I’ll always love her, but I’m not in love with her anymore, you know?”

Derek didn’t know, but he nodded anyway. The only time he thought he’d been in love before… well. It certainly wasn’t what he felt for her now, and he didn’t want to think too hard about it, honestly.

“It was definitely mutual,” Stiles continued, apparently not needing any actual input from Derek at this point in the conversation. “And I think it’s been heading that way for a while. I don’t know about Lydia, but I, well there’s someone else.”

Derek swallowed and looked away. Of course. Of course Stiles would already be moving on to his next relationship, it was a wonder he’d been single for so much of high school. Despite his personality. Derek glanced at him and looked away. “Think you’ll have more luck dating in the FBI rather than high school?”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. “Fat chance. Wouldn’t matter anyway. He doesn’t work there. And I’m pretty sure he’s straight.”

Derek looked up again to see Stiles peeking at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrow slightly raised in question, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Was he…? Maybe? Derek cleared his throat and smirked back. “Maybe you should ask him.”

Stiles’ smile widened and he turned his gaze back to his plate, poking at the few remaining curly fries. “Yeah?”

Derek relaxed back in his seat, letting his arm draped across the back of the booth behind Stiles. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Stiles glanced up at him and straightened. “Okay, maybe I will.”

“Good. You should.”

Stiles took a deep breath and then slumped forward suddenly, his head thunking down on the table. “Oh my god, Derek, would you please just answer my non-question so I don’t have to embarrass myself by actually asking!”

Derek put a hand over his face to hide his smile, and hopefully stop himself from laughing. “I’m sorry, what question is that?”

Stiles sat back up angrily and Derek quirked an amused eyebrow at him.

And of course that was when the rest of the table erupted with laughter and whatever Stiles had been about to say was drowned out. They held each other’s gazes for a while longer, but the moment was broken and they turned back to the rest of the group. Derek left his arm where it was as Stiles sat back in his seat. As the night wore on they drew closer, Derek’s hand brushing Stiles’ shoulder, Stiles’ knee bumping against Derek’s under the table.

Afterwards, Derek walked Stiles to his jeep and leaned on the hood while Stiles unlocked the doors.

“You know, DC isn’t too far from here,” Stiles said. He wasn’t looking at Derek, focussing intently on fitting the keys into the door.

“I’ve never been,” Derek said.

Stiles looked up at him. “I could show you around. If you wanted to come visit.”

“I’d like that.” Derek smiled.

Stiles nodded. He turned to open the door, then abruptly turned back. “As a date. I’m asking you on a date.”

“Oh. Yeah. I thought… maybe you were.”

Stiles kept nodding. “Good. Okay. Still a yes?”

“Yeah. Still a yes.”

“Okay. Good.”

He leaned in suddenly and kissed Derek. Both their eyes were open and they stared at each other, and then Stiles was back where he’d been a second ago and opening the door of the jeep before Derek could react.

“Great, okay. Text me when you’re in town. Or before. Like don’t wait until you’re in town to text me but, you know.”

Derek shoved off the jeep, nodding as Stiles turned the key and threw it into gear, driving away before Derek had even caught his breath enough to speak again.

When he turned around everyone was staring at him. They didn’t look shocked though. Smug Derek thought. He ignored them and walked over to his own car, not bothering to give Scott a wave before he drove off. He didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, so he turned in the direction a certain jeep had gone.

Now was as good a time as any to visit DC.

#gryvon #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

18 notes · View notes

simplyshelbs16xoxo · 5 years

Text

‘The Adventure of Philip Anderson’ Chapter 8: Shot in the Dark

Through sickness, a second degree burn, and school draining my creativity, I finally managed to get this chapter written!

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

Sherlock was pacing back and forth almost manically. The wall behind the sofa was covered with crime scene photos, maps, and newspaper clippings. Molly even saw her own photo up there along with one awkward photo of the Holmes brothers. She was sitting in his chair by the fire, nursing a cup of chai and a book in her hand. Despite how much she tried, though, Molly simply couldn’t keep her attention on the story, having reread the last paragraph three times to make sense of it. A week had passed since the identity of the murderer was now known, and Sherlock had been working nonstop to track him down.

Molly shut her book closed loudly, a sight escaping her lips. “Sherlock, why don’t you take a moment away from the case, and actually eat something?”

“It’ll only slow me down—we need to catch Moriarty. He’s not as clever as his deranged brother, which is why he’s been laying low. Too much activity and he’s sure to be found,” Sherlock explained. He felt exhausted. The case was going nowhere. Feeling a bit lightheaded, he supposed Molly was right about him needing more sustenance—he hardly ate a morsel this past week.

“Your homeless network is scouring London for the man. Until he comes out from the shadows again, there isn’t much else to be done,” Molly told him. She stood up, leaving her now-empty cup and book on the table, and closed the distance between them. “Come to bed with me, Sherlock. You need some rest…we both do.” She was due to work a double shift starting bright and early in the morning.

He frowned in confusion. “I thought you wanted me to eat something?”

“I do, but if it’s between eating and sleeping, then at least get some rest if nothing else,” she replied, almost pleading. “What we need to do is wait until we get a tip from someone before he strikes again.”

“Order takeaway and eat it in bed?” he suggested.

“Best idea you’ve had all day,” she agreed.

“Mmm,” Molly remarked, happily swallowing the first bit of chow mein she ate from the carton, chopsticks in hand. “This was a great idea.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement as he ate, listening closely to the program on the small telly that now sat in his room. It was Molly’s, brought over from her flat. She was going to leave it, but Sherlock knew how she loved falling asleep to a favourite program sometimes, so he insisted they bring it along. They were watching an American show that could only be described as a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream. Despite the absurdity of the show, Sherlock found that he enjoyed it quite a bit.

“Do you think I’m spooky?” The male protagonist—Mulder—asked Scully.

“We should do this,” Sherlock told her.

“Do what? Become FBI agents? Join the MI6?” Molly laughed.

“No—go out on the road, solving mysteries,” he explained.

“Isn’t that a bit Scooby Doo for you?” she asked, stuffing more chow mein in her mouth.

Sherlock smirked in amusement. “And for once, I got that reference.” He had loved the show as a child. It taught him that the real monsters were only human, and fed his compulsion to solve crimes.

They finished their food in companionable silence. When the episode finished, Molly reached out for her fortune cookie. She broke it open, her eyes taking in the words, a gasp escaping her lips. “Sherlock, open yours.”

“Molly, I don’t—“ His eyes widened when he read hers.

You’ll be next.

He scrambled to open his, forcefully breaking it apart. His fortune bore the words that the consulting criminal had spoken to him years ago.

I will burn the heart out of you.

Mycroft Holmes was having a fitful sleep. He felt as though something was wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. This brother of Moriarty’s that bore the same name—it was alarming. He was seeking revenge for his brother who he felt had died in vain all because Sherlock Holmes still lived. They were all targets supposedly, but it had been too quiet lately. Colonel Moriarty had been keeping a low profile, and rightly so.

His eyes fluttered closed in an attempt to fall asleep, and it worked for a bit until his mobile rang. Mycroft shot right up, noticing it was Anthea calling him. She never called him. He answered it, speaking her name in an uncharacteristically frantic manner. There was no direct reply, but he could hear her struggling, followed by a shatter of glass. She was fighting back whoever was attacking her. Mycroft didn’t wait another moment; he threw on the simplest outfit and was out the door in moments. The last thing he heard before the phone call ended was a gun shot.

Philip Anderson studied the wall of connections and theories he had concocted. It wasn’t dissimilar to the one he created whilst Sherlock was gone. What he had found out so far was that Colonel James Moriarty was a stationmaster up until three years ago when he had a psychotic break. It obviously runs in the family. He’s been taking out anyone who ever betrayed his brother. In Sherlock’s case, it wasn’t betrayal, but the fact that he was still breathing meant that Jim Moriarty died in vain.

If only he could discover where the stationmaster was hiding out, he’d have a lead for Sherlock to follow. He had a theory, but first, Anderson needed to find out the specifics from an expert. Who was that fellow that Sherlock and Molly spoke with for a case a while back? Philip wracked his brain, searching for the answer, and then it hit him. He looked up the number, dialing it into his mobile. “Ah, Mr. Shilcott, I have a couple questions for you.”

When Mycroft arrived at Anthea’s home—a cosy little townhouse—he noted that there were no lights on from the windows he could see. The door had been left ajar, and he crept inside, making sure not to hit any of the creaky floorboards. He had memorised them from the many times he had been over here, needing a reprieve from reality. Just then, he realised that it wasn’t much different than Sherlock using Molly’s flat as a bolthole. And just when he could possibly stumble across her lifeless form, Mycroft finally admitted the truth to himself: he loved her.

Please don’t be dead, he repeated in his head, silently mouthing the words. Little by little, he moved quietly through the house, his hand hovering above the pistol he never used, sitting in its holster that was clipped to his jeans. Soft sobs grew louder as he approached her bedroom door on the second floor, a dim light spilling out into the hall. He pushed it open slowly, and found Anthea, unharmed, crouched beside her bed. Despite the fact she had worked for him for years—almost fifteen now—Anthea had never been caught in the crossfire of a serial killer.

“Mycroft,” she called out in a broken whisper as the elder Holmes knelt down in front of her. “You need to be careful; he’s still in the house.”

“I need to get you out of here,” he insisted. “I didn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean he’s not waiting around.” Mycroft attempted to scoop her up in his arms, but all was a blur what with Anthea screaming. A sharp pain ripped through him—well, not quite all the way through—and was that blood? He slumped forward, heavy footfalls running down the stairs and out the door most likely. The last thing he remembered was the warmth of Anthea’s tears splashing onto his skin.

“Oh God…”

“Less than an inch away!”

“…a lot of pain when he wakes up.”

“Don’t wait a moment longer.”

“Mycroft? Please wake up, darling.”

Bright florescent lights blurred then focused into view. Standing by the door was Sherlock in full crime solving attire sans Belstaff, and Molly only in her sleep attire, though his brother had thrown his coat over the pathologist’s shoulders to keep her warm. He felt a smoothness running over the back of his right hand, and turned to see the source of it. Anthea sat beside his bed, both of her hands holding his, her thumbs running across the back of it. Her face was blotched and swollen from crying, tears still running down her cheeks.

“Hey you,” she managed to choke out. “I thought you were lost to us.”

Mycroft finally remembered. “I was shot.”

“You were,” Sherlock’s voice cut through the tension. “The bullet was lodged within you, nearly missing your heart.”

“It was less than an inch away,” Molly added. “You were very lucky.”

Feeling his mobile vibrate, Sherlock answered it despite the name that popped up on the screen. “Anderson, what is it? There’s been—“ He listened closely to him, his face hardening. “I see. Good work, there may be hope for you yet.”

“What?” Molly asked. “What is it?”

Mycroft and Anthea only looked on in curiosity.

“Anderson’s found a lead on Moriarty—he may be hiding out in the old York Road tube station.” The station had been closed for decades—ever since 1932—but that was why it was a fitting hideout for a former stationmaster. “Don’t worry, brother dear, rest assured I will find him.”

Molly cleared her throat. “Don’t you mean ‘we?’” she asked. “I’m not letting you go this alone.”

“Molly, it’s too—“

“Dangerous? Risky? I know, Sherlock. That’s why you can’t go this one alone. You need backup—I know how to fight. You and Mycroft made sure of that,” she told him. “I’m not going to sit around and wait, wondering if you’ll ever make it back.”

Sherlock sighed in defeat. He knew she would just follow after him if they didn’t go together. And then what? They’d arrive separately, and it could put her in more danger than if she accompanied him. “Fine, but we’re stopping back at Baker Street first. You need a change of clothes.”

Before walking out the door, Molly turned back to Anthea. “Remember what Sherlock said…don’t wait a moment longer.” And they were gone, off to slay a dragon, as Mycroft would say.

“What did she mean by that?” Mycroft asked.

Anthea gave him a small smile, wiping at the tears that still stained her face. “I love you, Mycroft Holmes. Don’t you dare scare me like that again.”

A look of awe crossed his face, and though he didn’t respond verbally, he lifted her hand to his lips. It was enough to let her know he felt the same.

#sherlolly #mythea #my fanfiction #the adventure of philip anderson

7 notes · View notes

notapackanimal · 5 years

Text

@lameutedemccall

it had been weeks since the last time he’d heard from scott. it was not normal. usually the alpha would message or call him once in a while -- ask if everything was alright back in beacon hills, and if liam had managed to stay out of trouble. none of that, though. he wasn’t sure the others had thought about it much. liam was busy with school and lacrosse, stiles was still away at the fbi, malia was traveling and lydia was off to MIT. everyone was busy with their lives. maybe scott was writing some tests and didn’t have much time, at least that’s what he’d been thinking at first. then, however, he got worried when he’d come across melissa, who was worried as well. there was no way scott wouldn’t have called his mom. there was something seriously wrong.

however, he didn’t want anyone to panic and leave behind everything they’d been doing. so he hopped into the car and drove to uc davis. didn’t take him much time to find out where scott lived -- but he’d been absent from there as well. eventually, theo had to contact the others, and soon, pretty much all of them were back at home and searching for their alpha. they figured it must’ve been hunters. while the other searched together, theo preferred to be on his own, using his own methods. plus, he was a lot quicker by himself and could check off quite a few locations within a few days, not just in california.

finally, he found someone who talked and gave him the important clues. getting into the hideout wasn’t too hard. when monroe wasn’t around, getting rid of the other dumbass hunters was pretty easy. theo was pretty proud he could say of himself that he’d only knocked them out. when he found the room scott was kept in and unlocked the doors, all he found was a once strong and powerful alpha who now looked like a picture of misery, tied to the wall with metal chains, dirty, wet, slimmed down. a shiver ran down theo’s spine at the sight. he knew what this felt like.

when the other heard someone enter the room he immediately flinched. the chimera slowly came closer, approaching the other carefully before kneeling down in front of him. “scott. it’s me... theo.”

#lameutedemccall #scott;;

3 notes · View notes

throughtheglassdarkly · 5 years

Text

Roadblocks, part 5.2

Yova was spending her lovely windy Wednesday afternoon alternating between spoiling Gershwin with new toys and plants for his terrarium and banging out “Crocodile Rock” on her piano to try and make my souffle fall (I never should have told her I hate Elton John). She almost missed the sound of the doorbell to her apartment, but stomped over, threw it open and sneered, “Oh, I’m so sorry, was that botheri- heeeelllo, Pam!” Pam beamed up at her and said, “Hello! I just heard from Derek and he was so concerned about you, so I thought I’d come over. I brought scones and bars!” Yova somehow managed to keep her hair from combusting into flames and invited Pam in.

Pam set things up in the kitchenette, putting it to good use (for once). She brought her own bean grinder and coffee beans to make coffee just how Yova liked and pulled out all the stops to make a nice little coffee party. It was around this time I asked Paisley to go up as a scout and let me know if Pam was there. She was eager as anything to go up, so we made our way upstairs. Yova opened the door and grinned, showing me every tooth in her mouth. “Deeeerek. What a pleasant surprise,” she said, molars grinding to dust. I grinned and held up a plate. “I brought mini quiches,” I said.

We stepped in and Paisley made a beeline for Gershwin’s new enclosure. I think Yova bought one of those giant saltwater fish tanks and converted it into his home. Paisley couldn’t stop herself from exploring and I caught her giving me a dirty look, clearly asking why I wasn’t stepping my pet owner game up. “Dude, don’t get used to it. I don’t have disposable pianist income,” I told her.

Once we settled down and had ourselves some coffee and bars and mini quiches, Pam asked Yova about her Fetch and how she was doing. “Oh, I’m fine. Honestly, I’d rather just leave it alone,” Yova said. Pam and I shared a look and I tried to lean on Yova, saying, “You know, I said pretty much the same thing. And that very nearly ended up blowing up in our faces,” I said. Yova sighed, leaned back in her chair and looked down in her coffee, saying, “I just want you to be prepared for it not to go well. I don’t know if she’s crazy or just putting on an act, by she is definitely self-aware enough to harm someone. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” She looked up and asked, “And there’s no way I could persuade you to not go through with this?” Pam just shook her head.

Yova drained her coffee and leaned forward, taking a bar. “Honestly, I’ve considered calling my parents and seeing if they’d take her in,” she said, munching on it. I considered for a second and said, “Well, there’s nothing wrong with one of us calling and trying it out.” She sat there for a second, then got up, grabbed her phone and started typing in a number. She punched send and handed the phone over to me.

While we were dining on baked goods and angst, Bella and Day were hanging out at his office, where he was sitting at his desk with the fancy name plaque he splurged on and she was trying to convince him of the merits of setting up a Facebook page and handing out crappy flyers she designed herself. They both turned, surprised, when they heard the door opening. Day tried to get more presentable, tucking his shirt in, but much to their surprise, they both recognized who stepped in: it was Marigold, bundled up in a fluffy wool coat. Day relaxed and said, “Mary!” “My name’s… Marigold… not Mary,” she said hesitantly. “It’s – I was trying to –“ he sputtered. “Oh, it’s a nickname!” Marigold chirped. Bella told me she considered jumping out the window at this point.

Marigold wasn’t there on a social call, however: she wanted to hire day for an investigation. Day told her to take a seat and tell him exactly what was going on. Bella sat up straight with a proper secretary’s posture and started taking notes. Marigold sat down, looking nervous, and pulled out a piece of something electronic with some wires hanging off. She slid it across the table and said, “This fell out of one of the vents at my apartment while I was cleaning it.” Day looked at the device, which appeared to be a crude sort of microphone. “Well, it’s pretty cheap and staticky, probably wouldn’t pick up much outside of the room it was in. At least it’s not the FBI,” he said. “Why would you think it’s the FBI?! I’m careful about that!” Marigold yelped. “Jesus, Mary, it’s a joke,” he said.

He reassured her that the bug was just a basic device, and so she probably wasn’t dealing with someone who was a real professional. Marigold was a little relieved by that, but told him that she still wanted him to look into it. “And please, don’t tell Yova. I don’t want her to worry,” she said. “No worries, it’s like a doctor-patient confidentiality. Anything you tell me doesn’t pass this desk. So, uh, to give me some idea of what we’re working with… when you and Yova do it, how does it –” Bella mercifully cut him off.

Day asked Marigold if she had any enemies who would want to listen in on her. “Ex-friends, ex-siblings, ex-lovers?” Bella asked. “I don’t think so? I mean, I’m the librarian at the Autumn Court. It’s not like that’s the most enviable position. I’m not trying to gain rank or curry favor. I’m just trying to get by.” Bella looked her dead on and told her that there were people in the Courts who just didn’t like Darklings. And then Marigold started to cry. Which is why Day and Bella are officially the worst people.

Once they calmed her down, Day told her that this had to be the work of someone who had access to her apartment, so she needed to try and think about anyone who might have come over to the apartment or come in for any reason. She wasn’t able to think of anyone other than Yova who came over. Day asked her if she could get a hotel for the evening so that he and Bella could go take a look at things, and if they found anything out, they’d let her know. She agreed and he told her to find a place to stay and just hang out there, and if she thought of anything, to give him or Bella a call. Bella proudly pulled out one of Day’s new business cards and handed it over.

After she left, Day asked Bella if she was ready to earn a bonus. “I think we should get a pseudo-Marigold to go to the apartment and do her everyday normal things, and see what happens,” he said. “What are you trying to say, Day?” “What I’m trying to say, Miss Pocket Pilfer, is we’re going to take one Darkling and put in another.” “So are you trying to say all Darklings look the same?”

Back on the saner side of my motley’s spectrum, I had the phone and was waiting for someone at Yova’s parents’ place to pick up. The phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing, and just as I was about to hang up, I heard an older woman’s voice come on and say, “Hello?” I straightened up and said, “Ah, yes, Mrs. Pavlovich? My name is Derek, I’m an orderly at Binghamton Psychiatric Center in Binghamton, New York. I’m calling about your daughter.” There was a long pause, then she said, “Oh… yes? But she was discharged, wasn’t she? I’m not sure what I can do for you.”

I managed, somehow, to keep from screaming, and cleared my throat. “Uh, yes, ma’am. But we’ve just realized that she left some personal effects here and we’re not permitted to hold onto these. I was hoping you might help us get in touch with her so she or a representative could come and pick them up?” I asked. She hesitated. “Oh. Well, we live out of state, so we wouldn’t be able to help you out there. I assume you have her phone number and must have called? I’m afraid I can’t help you out any more than that.” “I see. Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Pavlovich.” “You’re welcome. I wish I knew more but we don’t speak very much, so I don’t know what she’s up to,” she said. I bit back a few choice words, given what Yova had told me about her parents’ reaction to her coming out. Instead, I took as cold a tone as I could muster.

“Well, Mrs. Pavlovich,” I said, “perhaps you could try calling her sometime.” And then I hung up the phone.

I told Pam and Yova the bad news about the Fetch getting released. We quickly started brainstorming and Yova grabbed the notebook she got from Aurora’s hideout. After a few minutes, I spotted a couple of names I recognized: Deb and Greg, the changelings we met at the biergarten who were working with Day’s and Bella’s Fetches. We discussed whether Aurora might have dropped Yova’s Fetch off with them. Yova looked like she was internally kicking herself. “I thought she was where she needed to be. Out of sight, out of mind,” she sighed. “Well, we’re going to figure it out,” Pam told her.

Meanwhile, Abbot and Costello were putting their brilliant plan into motion. They got Bella dressed up like Marigold and Day staked out the apartment while she went up to the front door and got the spare key from the flowerpot. Bella headed in and started looking around, trying to spot anything that might have been out of place in Marigold’s apartment. She couldn’t help feeling a little bit on edge. Outside, Day didn’t see anything out of the ordinary to start with, but a few minutes after Bella entered the apartment, he spotted a U-Haul parked nearby slowly pull out and start to drive away. They were moving slow enough for him to take note. He jotted down the license plate and then climbed into his car to follow.

Back inside the apartment, Bella was distracted and on edge, searching through Marigold’s things. And it was probably the fact that she was so distracted that she didn’t notice until it was too late that another person was in there. The same person who brought a sack over her head as she was looking at the calendar with the adorable kittens on it. Wriggle and writhe and scratch and scream as she might, she couldn’t get away. As she struggled, she managed to pull a muscle in her back and became completely unable to move. Something hard came down against the back of her head and she was out.

As Day was following the U-Haul around the block, it pulled up to the street behind the complex. While he waited, he saw the driver walk briskly back around the front of the U-Haul. Someone else came up to it, popped something into the passenger side and threw it in.

Back at Chez Yova, Pam tried calling Day but just got his voicemail. Yova called the Summer Court to let them know what was going on. She got a hold of Brandon, the changeling who took Aurora’s body. She told him about the situation and he told her that Fetches were usually their changeling’s responsibility, but he said he’d take a description and they’d keep an eye out for her. Yova told him she had no idea who the Fetch would contact and didn’t know how physically capable she was, but she still recommended approaching with caution.

I realized it would be good for the Autumn Court to also be aware of what was going on, so I called Stella, and the conversation went about as well as you could expect. “It’s Stella, state your business.” “Hi, Stella, it’s your favorite bird brain.” “Hello, Derek, how can I help you?” “Well, Yova’s Fetch got busted out of the insane asylum she was in, so we’re calling around to alert people about that and tell them to watch out for her.” There was a momentary pause, then Stella said, “That’s surprisingly responsible of you.” I gave her a description of what Yova used to look like and she told me she would make the Court aware of it, then she hung up. I looked up at Yova and Pam and said, “She loves me.”

Around this time, Yova decided to call Marigold. She got her voicemail and left a message: “Hi, Marigold, it’s me. There’s a bit of a situation. If you can give me a call back, I’ll talk to you about it more, or I can text you the details, just please, please be safe.” She texted what was going on to Marigold. We decided to go to Day’s office and see what was going on. As you’re probably guessing, we just saw the sign on his door saying he was out on a case. That’s when we tried calling Bella.

Who was slowly coming to in the passenger seat of the U-Haul. She heard her phone buzzing and started to realize she was in a car and driving off somewhere. The bag was still over her head and her hands were tied behind her. She heard a feminine voice saying, “Look, I know this seems bad, but don’t worry, stop struggling. You’ll be out of this soon.” “You guys suck. Who does this?” she asked. Around this time, Day was driving through traffic and started losing them. He let out a very long and very rude series of words.

Yova was getting very antsy at not hearing anything from Marigold, so she drove us all over to Marigold’s. When we got there, she jumped out of the car about an eighth of a second after she slammed the shift into park. Pam and I got out and tried to make it up after her, but she was moving at mach now. She checked the flowerpot for the spare key, which wasn’t there. The door wasn’t locked and the lights were on the apartment. There was also a note on the door with an address written on it, which Yova snatched off.

She barged in, yelling, “Marigold?!” There was, obviously, no answer. I started checking the book, looking to see if Marigold’s address was there, but Yova was tearing through the apartment. And in the large closet near the living room, where Marigold had some storage, the door was open and it looked like some sheets that had been folded and stacked were pushed together in places, as though someone had been hiding there.

Yova was in a blind panic by now. She called Marigold, again got no answer, and then called Day. He picked up and before he could even get a greeting out, she half-shrieked, “Marigold’s been kidnapped!” “No, she hasn’t,” Day said. Yova paused, then said, “Day, what the fuck is going on? And you better tell me right now or I swear to God…” “Oh, she’s worried,” I murmured to Pam. “Shut the fuck up, Derek!” she snapped. Day explained what was going on and told her that we should try to meet him where they were going, but that she shouldn’t let on that we knew it wasn’t Marigold.

Across town, Bella got dragged out of the U-Haul and tied up inside the place she was brought in. The kidnapper said to someone else, “Okay, we got her. Can we get our money now?” This time, she recognized Deb’s voice. The voice that responded said, “Of course. You’re free to go if you want.” The two kidnappers talked quietly among themselves, but all Bella could make out was some murmuring. The other voice said, “So you’re just gonna stay here when people come looking for her? That’s your plan? You know, I don’t claim to be the brightest crayon in the box, but I think you’re missing steps B through Z here. The woman said, “I don’t have to explain anything to you. I have my reasons.” They seemed to shrug and left.

When Yova, Pam, and I arrived at the parking lot, Day was already there. The building where Bella had been taken to was an office at a self-storage unit place. It looked like it was abandoned, like it hadn’t been in use for a while. Yova demanded to know what the hell was going on and we managed to calm her down enough to try and figure out a plan. Day told her that the kidnappers didn’t know she was coming with a group. “They might not even be aware that Bella’s not Marigold, so it’s best if you ham it up a bit,” he said. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to find out that this was not going to come as any real stretch to Yova. She said she was going to kick in the front door and directed the rest of us to sneak in the back and try to ambush them. As Day, Pam, and I snuck around, we saw Deb and Greg going away. We quickly debated going after them, but then realized our first priority needed to be getting Bella out.

Pam stayed outside as a lookout while Day and I slipped in the back door. We could hear Pachelbel’s canon (which Yova had told me at one point was her least favorite song in all of time and space) playing off a CD. We slipped toward the central office and I could hear someone humming along to the sound. It was awful, and I could tell whoever it was was trying really hard to make the tune work, but she couldn’t get there.

Yova kicked in the door and standing there, leaning up against the wall, filing her nails and humming terribly out of tune, was her Fetch. Yova glared at the Fetch and said, “I gave you a chance. So why all this showmanship when you can’t even carry a tune?” “Are you really asking me why you’re extra?” the Fetch asked. “Oh, I know exactly why I’m extra. But why you, when you have no talent whatsoever?” Yova hissed.

The Fetch turned and looked at her, creepily talking about how all the talent stayed with Yova. “I have all your memories, every bit of knowledge that makes you you. I have all the same dreams and goals as you. But the one thing that makes them happen doesn’t exist for me. It’s really not fair. Not fair at all. You think you can just waltz back in? That angelic voice of yours, all that talent and skill, while I’m left behind to rot? No. It’s just not fair.” Yova narrowed her eyes and told the Fetch she was chasing something that was never hers. “Well, I wasn’t meant to be anyone else. And you can’t give up, of course not. You just strode right back in and grabbed it right back. If you can’t give it up, what makes you think I can?” the Fetch asked. “I’ve got eighteen years of skill and practice and I’m not a hollow imitation,” Yova snapped.

Around this time, I slipped in and was behind Yova’s Fetch, trying to make eye contact with her. I raised a leg, preparing to kick her forward so Yova could deal with her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head slightly, so I was left poised like a flamingo on one leg.

“I’ve just as much right to exist as you do and I don’t want to stop existing. My options for that while you exist are limited. So I figure that it’s only fair that if one of us has to spend this existence in a state of constant suffering, then we should be doing it together. It’s only fair.” Yova sighed, “What are your terms?” The Fetch made eye contact with Yova and hissed that she didn’t come there to deal. Yova suddenly saw that as the Fetch was approaching Bella, she was pulling out a very long, nasty-looking knife. Bella felt the knife come into contact with her neck.

Yova flared her brightness, which managed to blind both her Fetch and me. Day leapt forward and tackled the Fetch. Bella started wriggling out of her bonds. I axe-kicked the Fetch, narrowly missing Day’s face and she let out an unholy screech. Yova ran up to deck her and knocked her bitch ass out. Bella managed to free herself, sliding out of her bonds and we tried to assess what was going on. Yova was closing her eyes and breathing deeply, clearly trying her hardest not to go into a blind rage. When she had her breathing under control, she looked at Day and said, “We need to call the Summer Court.” He agreed and she asked him if he could restrain her Fetch while she called. “I don’t trust myself right now with her.”

Bella was a little loopy, so I put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from wandering into any walls.

Yova walked out past Pam, pulled out her phone, and did her best to keep tone level. Just as she was about to dial, a call came in from Marigold. It turns out Marigold had been enjoying the spa at the Albany Marriott (a fine establishment, to be sure) and didn’t have her phone on her. She quickly picked up on the fact that Yova was not okay. Yova asked if they could talk in person and said she was just so glad Marigold was fine. They agreed to meet up later and Yova called the Summer Court.

When Yova got a hold of Brandon, she told him that she didn’t trust herself with her Fetch and asked him what the policy is on Fetches who tried to harm changelings. He told her that usually it was to deal with them permanently, but that it was on her. “If you want us to show mercy, that’s up to you,” he said. “No. I gave her a chance. I tried to let her walk away. But I can never trust her again,” she said, deadly serious. Brandon agreed to send someone to pick the Fetch up.

While Day and Bella were bantering over her bonus, Yova walked back in and sat down in the chair heavily. Pam headed over and put a hand on her shoulder, which quickly turned into a mom hug. Yova didn’t react at first, but then just pulled Pam close. Eventually, the Summer Court showed up and took Yova’s Fetch away (though not before Bella got a good few kicks in). Day and Bella made their way off to bumble their way through another case and that left me, Yova, and Pam in the parking lot.

Pam asked Yova if she was going to head home. Yova sighed, pulled out her keys and handed them over to me. “No. I’m going to call an Uber to go see Marigold,” she said. I looked down at the keys in my hand and I could actually feel my eyes start sparkling. “I get… to drive,” I said to nobody. “And if I see one scratch on her – wait, do you even have a driver’s license right now?” Yova asked. “I do not!” I said, still captivated by the keys. Yova snatched the keys out of my hand and passed them to Pam. I was very sad the entire way home and collected Gershwin from Yova’s place because I was clearly going to be geckositting again.

As far as what happened when Yova got to Marigold’s hotel room, well, there are certain things that even Yova is reluctant to talk about. But what I got out of her was that they were both exhausted and completely relieved that the other was safe. And they decided to start going steady. And when she told me that, I was about two-thirds through a bottle of pinot grigio and started bawling because it was just so beautiful.

So that’s a good place to stop for now. Until next time, may all your brunch spots stay hidden.

#Changeling: The Lost #changeling #ctl #ic #recap #the marriott is the finest two and a half star hotel in all of greater albany

1 note · View note

actualbabe · 6 years

Note

Prompts: “I feel like I can’t breathe” and/or “How could I ever forget about you?” MAKE IT ANGSTY PLS (no pressure btw)

All in all, it’s been a pretty shit week for Ol’ Nicky Miller. It seems like every day something else goes wrong for him, wave after wave of failures and bad news that knocks him down each time, making it harder and harder to scrape himself up and face the next beat down. And now, the fucking icing on top of the goddamn cake of garbage, the kingpin they’ve been trailing for a good six months essentially vanished in the middle of the night, torching all of their leads and leaving them standing in the literally burnt-out remains of his abandoned hideout.

Nick scrubs his hands over his face for what must be the twentieth time that afternoon. “So you’re telling me we got nothing?”

The forensics guy nods, looking nervous. Nick dimly wonders if the little team of nerds drew straws to see who would have to come talk to him. He doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being particularly calm in situations like these. “Sir, our team combed through what’s left, but the fire was strategically set a few hours before arrival.”

“So they knew we were coming,” he asks, mostly to himself, rubbing at his eye once again. Now Valdez has a source feeding him information from inside Nick’s own damn operation. Exactly what this assmunch of a situation needed. “Fuckin’ shit.”

The tech nervously clears his throat, flipping through his pages of notes on a beat-up clipboard. “We’ve only done a preliminary search-”

“Then do another fuckin’ one!” Nick snaps back, losing control of the little restraint he had left.

“Sorry,” the tech squeaks, his grip on the clipboard tightening in surprise at Nick’s outburst. “I’ll just-” he does an almost half-salute before scurrying away back towards the quickly dispersing pack of blue-jacketed techs.

Nick lets out a long, frustrated exhale. He kicks his toe at a piece of rubble at his feet, his hands set on his hips as he tries to figure out where the hell he’s supposed to go next with this investigation that’s spiraling quickly down towards the shitter. There’s gotta be something. Some trace of evidence or clue that isn’t just them grasping at the smoke lingering in the air. This is the last thing he needed this week. He’d been banking on this bust to turn this shitshow around, and instead he’s just digging his grave even deeper.

“Hey, Miller.”

“You better have good news for me, Peralta,” he warns, picking his eyes up off the ground to address his detective.

Jake cringes and another chunk of Nick’s hope plummets into the pit of his gut. “FBI’s here.”

“You’re shitting me.” Nick glances over Jake’s shoulder towards the entrance to the empty warehouse where, sure enough, there’s a suit-clad agent stepping out of a tinted car and flashing their badge at the officers they have stationed out on the street.

And of course, out of the thousands of employees at the Federal Bureau of Investigation, she had to be the one assigned to his case. She’s such a stark contrast to everything around her that it’s a shock he didn’t spot her on his own, with that bright blue blazer and skirt combo, not to mention the way she genuinely lights up any room she’s enters.

Jessica Day, the girl of his dreams, is here, in New York, standing in the middle of his fucked-up demise of a six-month drug cartel bust. It’s been ages since he saw her, back when they were both in LA and he was still a wide-eyed and innocent detective who just wanted to prove his dick of a father wrong by racking up the highest arrest record of the precinct. Back when he was dumb and reckless and stupidly in love with the straight-laced detective who sat across from him in the bullpen. Back when he actually knew what it felt like to be genuinely happy for more than a handful of hours at a time without the help of alcohol or drugs to take the edge off and dull his memories. Before he bought into the corruption he used to hate so much, using the extra cash to fuel his increasingly expensive poker habit.

He’s changed so much since then, it’ll be a wonder if she even recognizes him. Jess, however, looks just as incredible as she ever did, listening intently to his secondary detective Rosa and then jotting down her own notes in a tiny, ribbon-laden field book. She tucks a lock of her shorter hair back behind her ear when she looks back up to ask a question, biting down thoughtfully on her lower lip as she waits for her response.

It’s odd to see her hair cut above her shoulders. He’s so used to her long, tumbling locks, those soft brown curls that cascaded down her back like a waterfall. He remembers running his fingers through them on lazy Sunday mornings in his bed, Jess smiling sleepily at him as she nestled closer into his chest. The way it would fall down around his head when he eased her into his lap, a dark curtain that blocked out the early morning sunlight, her blue eyes still shimmering in the dim shadow. The sweet smell of it when she drew even closer to kiss him, his fingers tangled up in the hair at the nape of her neck, guiding her in a slow rhythm that was so seamless he wondered if they were specifically designed for one another.

Of course, that was before, back before she realized that she could do a hell of a lot better than him, and rightfully so. Now she’s moved on, snipped off all her memories of him and sloughed off that old version of herself to give rise to this stronger, more mature version of FBI Agent Jessica Day. She’s strong and beautiful and confident and smart and capable, just like she always was, but now she’s honed herself even further, sharper and faster and scaling the career ladder in leaps and bounds, just like he always knew she would.

Nick glances around the charred warehouse and wonders if there’s some excuse that he could feasibly use to duck out of his own crime scene. It’s been forever since he dredged up these memories of her. He left them all behind when he moved out, when he cut all of his ties to California and the loft, leaving nothing but a beat-up cardboard box of memories and a shitty mattress in his wake. That chapter of his life is behind him. He’s closed the book and left it abandoned on his bookshelf, trying to pretend like he never started it in the first place so he won’t feel guilty about giving it up. Now he’s living life without a plan, just the way he likes, no threat of expectations he can never live up to or futures that knows will never happen.

But then Jess spots him from across the room, and the resulting smile on her face jolts his begrudging heart into high gear. Fuck, he missed her smile.

“Nick!” she says brightly, the hard heels of her flats clicking on the concrete floor as she quickly closes the gap between them.

“Hey, Jess.” Nick does his best to mirror her enthusiasm, but it still rings hollow in his own ears. He holds his hand out to her for a handshake, his professional reflex enough to override the intense anxiety boiling in the chasm of his stomach.

But in true Jessica Day style, she ignores his gesture and instead pulls him in for a brief hug, rising up on her tiptoes so she can reach an arm up over his shoulder to give his back a friendly pat. He catches a faint splash of her flowery perfume as his head ducks briefly into the gap above her shoulder, his own arm tentatively wrapping around her back in a way that feels like it’s only a touch more than platonic.

“Oh, I missed you,” she gushes, her voice ringing in his ears even after she pulls away.

“Yeah, I missed you too,” he agrees in what is decidedly the understatement of the year. His head is still reeling from even the briefest moment of intimacy between them, memories of feelings long-forgotten flooding back into his chest in a way that makes his shirt suddenly feel too tight. There’s a bit of a pregnant pause between them, in which Nick flounders for what he ought to say next and Jess seems far too content to let the silence linger. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” Jess’ cheeks turn a faint pink and she absently reaches up to brush her hair back behind her ear. It makes his ego swell a half inch, stupidly interpreting what is a decidedly friendly remark between old friends. “So do you.”

Nick’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?”

“No.” Jess giggles, and Nick’s face returns to its usual unamused frown. “What on earth is that mess in your hair? And is that a gold chain?”

“Hey,” he whines, his hand flying up to his temple. Okay, yeah, it’s not exactly the same as what he used to wear, but that was five years ago, and it’s not like he hasn’t changed a whole damn lot since then.

Jess’ grin just grows wider in spite of his protest. “You look like Schmidt.”

“Now you watch your mouth,” Nick mock-threatens, raising his finger up towards her with a scowl. It’s all bark and no bite, just him trying to fall into their usual argumentative banter. It’s like trying to learn to bike again, his muscle memory only half-succeeding while he muddles his way through trying to remember how to do something that once felt like second nature.

“I’m just teasing,” she reassures him, her blue eyes still sparkling with mirth before shifting into something slightly more serious. “I do like the beard, though.”

Nick rewards her compliment with a half smile, his hand drifting back to scratch at the corner of his jaw. It’s the one addition that he’s actually felt half-decent about ever since he moved out east with the DEA. His eyes dart over her face, and he’s suddenly reminded of just how pretty she is. Not that he ever really forgot about it, but it catches him by surprise all the same. “So, uh, are you and the doctor still…”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Jess almost seems caught off guard by his question, but quickly recovers into her usual cheery disposition. She raises her left hand, and there’s the unmistakable glimmer of a pretty expensive looking ring. “We’re engaged, actually.”

“That’s great,” he manages to choke out, despite the lump that’s quickly building up his throat.

“Yeah,” she agrees, almost like she doesn’t quite believe it herself, but not in a good way. “And what about you? Anyone special?”

“Well, I had plans for this Friday to celebrate my one-year anniversary with my girlfriend,” Nick explains, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he tries to remain mock-casual. “I was going to surprise her with these really nice restaurant reservations, but then she surprised me by dumping me instead.”

Jess’ face falls into a frown as she coos sympathetically, “Oh, Nick.”

He ignores her look of pity and continues, chuckling to himself as he tries to find the humor in his shitty plight. “Yeah, apparently her friend got her to a party where she met Michael Phelps and she decided that she would rather try her luck with him than a loser like me.”

She doesn’t laugh though. Instead her look grows even sadder. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he lies, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance. “Wasn’t working out, really.”

There’s another odd moment between them, the unspoken acknowledgement of what they used to have together, the messy way they left things afterwards. Nick feels like he ought to say something, but he doesn’t know what he really wants to say to begin with. And what he’s said to Schmidt when he was drunk off his ass on tequila is a whole different ball game as compared to the reality of having Jess right here to actually hear him out.

“So,” Jess clears her throat, breaking the tension and suddenly shifting into all-business as she flips back through her extensive, well-organized notes. “What have we got?”

—

It’s good to be working with her again. It makes him feel more grounded, and even having Jess in the room with him makes him see their previously collected intel with fresh eyes. Jess is fucking incredible at what she does, and it’s no surprise why they would send her out to help him with the case. Normally he’d be pissed off to have some higher up government-assigned chaperone craning their neck over his shoulder and critiquing his every move, but with Jess he doesn’t seem to mind at all. To the contrary, he often seeks her out specifically when there’s something he feels like he’s struggling with.

They crack down on security to try and weed out the mole, and within a matter of days they get a confession out of one of their suspiciously new officers that ends up leading them to a whole other potential avenue of investigation that they had no clue about previously. Jess steps out of the interrogation room with the sleazebag’s signed confession in her hand, her triumphant smile outshining the weary shadows under her eyes and the frazzled mess of her hair where she’s haphazardly tied it back. Nick pulls her into a congratulatory half-hug, his heart aching for the briefest moment as he remembers how these things used to happen between them, top of the line detectives Day and Miller taking LA by storm and locking up perps like it was the easiest thing in the world.

That’s the worst part about working with her, because every moment they’re together brings on another wave of memories from when they were still dating, when he was allowed to let his gaze and touch linger on her, when he didn’t have to think through the underlying meaning of the words he was about to say, when he didn’t have to pull back every time they got close, as if she was a live wire that could kill him if he happened to so much as brush up against her. Every brief glance and subtle contact and sweet smile sends his mind reeling, trying to pick apart the clues to determine whether she’s just being friendly or if there’s secretly something more lying beneath the surface.

Having Jess around is too much of a temptation, like putting a glass of water in front of a man dying of thirst. He keeps catching himself just looking at her sometimes, his eyes tracing over the curves of her face and the way she’s matured into some whole new realm of beauty. But then he has to drag his eyes down to the ring on her finger, shining dully in the fluorescent lights overhead and proclaiming that she isn’t his anymore, that she moved on to some handsome doctor who’s twelve times the man he’ll ever amount up to being.

It’s good in a way, because it reminds him of why he left LA in the first place. When he and Jess broke up, it absolutely destroyed him. He lost the love of his life and his best friend in one fell swoop. He’d retreated back to his own room across the hall from hers in defeat, head hung low and feeling the weight of the entire world pressing down on his shoulders. And to twist the knife in his gut, he couldn’t ever get some space from the situation, not while they were both still living in the loft that they shared with their fellow officer Winston Bishop. Jess was so close to him and yet leagues apart, so convinced that he couldn’t see a future together with her that she decided to call things off completely.

The breakup hurt like a motherfucker, but even worse was what came after. Jess picked things back up with her ex: the handsome, tall doctor who broke her heart the first time around when Jess kept trying to pretend like she was okay with being someone’s casual hookup. But all of a sudden Hot Sam had changed into this perfect boyfriend that Jess was always gushing about, how he took her out for fancy dates and wanted to introduce her to his parents and how he was just so good in the sack.

And no matter how hard Nick tried to deal with it, tried to shove it all back to the dark recesses of his mind and drown out the sound of them just across the hall, he couldn’t handle it. It drove him up the wall, and he almost felt like he was insane for it, because Jess didn’t seem to see anything wrong with what she was doing and Winston just kept his nose out of the whole thing, leaving Nick to fend for himself, save for the occasional remark about how Nick needed to move on.

The only one who ever got it was Schmidt, but the rich bastard lived in the apartment across from theirs, so there wasn’t much he could do about the situation other than let Nick crash on his couch when things got particularly bad. Schmidt was his only solace during the whole disaster, who poured him drink after drink without question or judgement, because he knew that sometimes the only way to cure a broken heart was by drinking to forget, which has always been Nick’s sweet spot. And Schmidt was the one who told Nick he needed to get some control back in the situation, even if he was nearly blackout on a truly despicable number of vodka crans.

So Nick, drunk out of his mind, gave Jess an ultimatum: it was either Sam or him. But then instead of answering, Jess just started to tear up, and Nick slurred out a mess of apologies before stumbling off to his room. He’d fallen into bed, feeling like an asshole, and decided that he didn’t need her to tell him that he was the one royally fucking up whatever was left between the two of them.

A job opened up at the DEA the next day, and within the end of the month Nick was packing up to leave for New York. Jess had sat in silence as she watched him clear out his desk, her mouth turned down in a slight pout as he threw away handful after handful of the assorted mess of contents from the depths of his desk. He kept waiting for her to say something, for her to tell him to stay or that she didn’t want him to leave. But instead she just sipped at her tea, and Nick walked out of the division office without looking back.

They never talked about what happened that night, even though Nick’s pretty sure he knows what her answer was. Because now she’s engaged to Dr. Sam and it’s been well over five years since she tried to reach out to him, and the only reason she did so was because work forced her hand.

—

He really fucking hates himself sometimes. He’s used to hating things, to approaching every change and situation with a reflexive distaste and annoyance. So his self-loathing is essentially second nature by now, an omnipresent disdain for his every decision that lingers in the back of his head no matter what he does to do to shake it off. It almost goads him on in a way, as if he’s constantly acting in spite of what that annoying little voice keeps telling him what he ought to be doing, that he’s a disappointment to everyone who ever believed in him, that he’s turned into the epitome of what he always hated the most.

Nick remembers sitting in the back of a place like this when he was barely older than eleven, swinging his legs restlessly back and forth while he watched his dad gamble away what was supposed to be the payment for their water bill and electric bill and rent. He always swore that he would be better than this, that he wouldn’t fall into Walt’s footsteps and would instead blaze an honorable path for himself.

Instead he’s forged his own place at the table, cracked ashtray to his left and half-empty plastic cup of beer to his right, his pile of poker chips paid for at the expense of the good people of New York City. He leans back in his chair and takes a drag from his cigarette as the play passes on to the next guy at the table. Nick knows that he’s dangerously close to the red for the night, and that he really ought to cash out before he gets even further in the hole and ends up having to go back to his guy in the major crimes division for another cashout.

But he doesn’t. He loses the next hand, and the next, and the next, slipping further and further into the hole with every ante that he can’t afford and makes anyways. He’s got nothing and he knows it, he’s losing and he can’t stop it, he feels like shit ground down into the sidewalk and yet he can’t stop, just keeps chasing after the feeling with every round he buys into.

He left LA because he fucked up everything he had there, because his connection to Jess was nothing but a smoldering bridge he’d burned while he was too stupidly drunk to bite his tongue and push through it. So when he came to NY to reestablish himself on a new ground, the foundation he built was one cemented in self-loathing and drinking himself stupid at night so he wouldn’t remember the sting of her rejection. Then one night one of the guys on his new squad invited him out for a night of poker where he first became acquainted with the feeling of having nothing and being a loser and being broke that somehow clicked in his head, that convinced him that he deserved to feel like absolute shit, that it was a feeling worth chasing because this was how a guy like him was supposed to feel.

It was all downhill from there really, and it seemed like without Jess around there wasn’t really any reason for him to try and climb out of the hole he was sinking into, so he just kept on digging. He kept drinking too much and picked up smoking again and settled in with a new crowd of ‘law enforcement’ who were more in it for the money than anything else. He gambled away nearly all the cash he had on hand week after week, dipping into the spoils of his raids when he came up short, because that’s what all of his buddies on the DEA did.

Weeks turned into months turned into years and suddenly Nick could barely recognize himself anymore, like looking into a mirror was like staring at some kind of doctored up photo instead of his own reflection. But it doesn’t matter, none of it does, because it’s all his fault anyways. He’s the orchestrator of his own demise and this downward spiral is the culmination of his lifetime of one failure after the next.

But now, with Jess back in his life, there’s a growing urge to bail out of this, to clean up his act and actually get his shit together. And yet having her around simultaneously makes him want to spin out even harder, because not only does he know he’ll never have her, he also knows that she’s with someone else now, and that it’s only a matter of time before she packs up and heads back out west, leaving his self-sabotaging ass behind to drag himself back into the mud.

“Hey, Miller,” the dealer’s voice cuts into his train of thought, hauling him back into the painful reality where it’s his turn to decide what he wants to do next.

“Yeah,” he agrees after the slightest moment of hesitation, his hand drifting up to rub at his bearded chin. “I’m in.”

—

After days of early mornings and long nights full of intense work on the Valdez case, things suddenly start to materialize into something half cohesive. It’s ridiculously late on a Friday night and Nick feels decent enough about what they’ve got to justify finally going home to get some rest while they wait for new developments. He drops into their workroom to close up all their evidence for the night when he runs into Jess, who is still pouring over her pages and pages of meticulous notes, her jacket discarded over the back of her chair and an ice-cold styrofoam cup of coffee abandoned beside her.

“Hey,” he interrupts, flicking the overhead lights on and off to catch her attention.

Jess blinks and her head pops up in surprise, looking around in confusion until she spots him at the door.

“C’mon.” Nick jerks his head over his shoulder.

“Oh, no,” she shuffles back though her notes. “I’ve got some more work still-”

“You’re exhausted,” he interrupts. “Driving yourself into the ground isn’t going to do anyone any favors.”

Jess bites down on her lower lip in a mix of worry and contemplation before hesitantly standing up from the desk and beginning to carefully rearrange her things back into her assorted folders. Nick nods in approval and starts to sort everything back into place, drawing the blinds shut to the little room and making sure that they’ve got everything really important still intact. He holds the door open for her on the way out and triple checks the lock behind them before waving for her to lead the way down the hall.

They’re oddly quiet in the elevator, exhaustion from the last few hectic days settling into their bones and muscles until it seems like everything seems to be going a half click slower than normal. The elevator finally arrives at the ground floor, and Nick’s suddenly struck with a wave of realization that even after spending literally all day with her, he’s not quite ready to say goodnight to Jess quite yet.

“You wanna get a drink?”

She turns to look at him in surprise, and then a slight quirk of a smile appears at the corner of her mouth. “Sure.”

—

Nick takes them to a grungy hole-in-the-wall dive bar, but it’s cozy and the drinks are cheap and it’s quiet enough that he can actually hear her over the din of everyone else and the warbling jukebox. He had a good night at the tables this past weekend, so he buys round after round of pink wine for her and beer for himself, smiling at the way she starts to get all flushed and giggly as the alcohol starts to seep into her system.

It’s not too long before they’re a handful of drinks deep and fall back into their usual bickering banter. They reminisce over the good old days and catch up on the milestones that they missed while they were so far apart. It feels like it used to be with her, easy and simple where he didn’t have to think so hard about anything. Jess is a touchy feely drunk, and she reaches out to brush up against his arm and hand when she talks to him, letting the contact linger just a moment too long. Meanwhile Nick does everything he can to make her laugh, the rush of seeing her smile inexplicably getting him higher than any drug he’s ever tried.

“I mean, she was just awful,” he complains, leaning a little too hard on the structurally questionable table of their booth. “Like I would try to talk to her, and it was as if she was from some other planet.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jess counters, cradling her wine glass between her hands as she leans in a touch too close into him, her suit jacket abandoned in the seat beside her and her blouse starting to slip down to give him a flash of what lies beneath the v-shaped neckline.

He shakes his head as he swallows another drink from his beer. “No, really. It was like she had been on Earth for twenty minutes and was now trying to explain to me all the wonderful things she’d discovered.”

Jess giggles again and leans back against the booth, her head brushing up against where he’s slung his arm over the top of the cushioned seat. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“I listened to her explain what stoplights do for, I shit you not, an hour.”

Jess collapses into a new round of uncontrollable laughter, and Nick beams at her, his chest swelling with pride at her infectious delight. It takes her a moment to recover, and Jess holds up a finger for him to wait so she can take another sip of her wine before she continues, “But you’re the one who dated her for a year.”

“Well, yeah.” Nick ducks his head back down towards the table, his thumb wiping at the condensation on his nearly empty glass. “If you can even call it dating.”

“What do you mean?” Jess’ brow furrows in confusion.

Nick sighs, wondering how much he really ought to divulge, but his filter is too muddled by alcohol to really be much help. “I mean it wasn’t like a real relationship. Like sure, we did the whole label thing, but we never talked about real shit, like meeting each other’s parents or moving in together or you know, if we loved each other or whatever.”

“That sounds awful.”

“I mean, yeah,” he agrees, cause it’s the truth, isn’t it? “But I got here and that’s all I really wanted, ya know? I slept with these women I met during the last call at the bar who went home with me because I was there and they were drunk.” Nick shrugs and takes another swill of beer. His filter’s completely blown out by now, so far gone that he doesn’t even consider holding back any of his ugly truths from her. “Cause it was easier, I guess, to sleep with this string of terrible women that just made me feel terrible afterwards.”

“Nick…” Jess is frowning at him, but not her disappointed frown or mad at him frown. Instead she just looks genuinely sad for him. “You deserve so much better than that.”

“I dunno. I mean, my life’s kinda a fuckin’ trainwreck right now.” He shrugs his shoulders again, the words pouring out of him before he even gets a chance to realize he ought to stop it. “And then dating these girls, it’s almost like i’m trying to get you outta my system. Like I’m searching exact opposite of how incredible it was to be with you, and if I dated these blonde haired girls who didn’t give a damn about what I actually cared about, then maybe I could eventually forget about what I lost when I had to leave you behind.”

Jess worries her lower lip with her teeth, some complicated mix of emotions in her eyes that he’s way too inebriated to pick apart. “I thought you’d forget about me.” She sounds part upset and part surprised, like she she’s mad at him but can’t quite believe why she has to be.

“How could I ever forget about you?” Nick scoffs. How could she not know that she was the best thing to ever happen to him? “I mean, shit, Jess. I miss you so goddamn much. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe, like being here without you just sucks all the air outta the room.”

Jess seems lost for words at his admission, her eyebrows slightly scrunched together as she tries to process what he’s telling her, her jaw visibly clenched and her frown firmly in place. She tries to open her mouth to say something, but then she falters, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds before she closes it again to instead reach for her wine glass and finish off the last bit of liquid left.

“You want another round?”

“Um…” There’s a look in her eyes that realizes they don’t need it, and Nick knows that she’s probably right. Things are getting out of hand, and he’s starting to say things he’s gonna deeply regret tomorrow when he’s nursing the mother of all hangovers. But then she surprises him by saying, “Yeah.”

Nick sets his hand on her shoulder for support as he stands up from the booth, but his touch lingers on the silky sleeve of her blouse for a few seconds longer than is really necessary. But Jess doesn’t pull away from him, her eyes traveling up the length of his bare forearm where it sticks out from the rolled-up sleeve of his dress shirt with a gleam of something almost like appreciation in her gaze. Then she seems to notice that he’s caught her looking, but instead of trying to cover it up, she inexplicably lifts her empty wine glass back up to her lips, her eyes still glued to his. It sends a shiver up his spine, and Nick has to literally tear himself away from her in order to fulfill his promise to get more drinks.

There’s a moment of silence when he returns to their table, and Jess accepts her fresh glass of wine with a gracious smile. She’s still sitting too close to him, so he has no other choice than to lean into her space as he slides into the booth beside her. Nick takes a long draw of his beer, his head still spinning as he tries to slot this sudden twist of events in alongside the fact that Jess is engaged to someone else and has absolutely no business in flirting with him. Then Jess absently presses the side of her wine glass against her cheek, and it’s just unexpected enough to make his attention glued to it, trying to make sense of whether she’s doing it on purpose or if it actually is completely involuntary.

“I’m up for promotion,” she finally says, cutting through the odd quiet that’s settled between them.

His brain mercifully manages to latch onto her words, a welcome distraction for whatever is starting to simmer between them. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Jess looks over the bar, almost confused, and a little voice in the back of his head wonders if she really has had too much to drink. “They want me to move out here to supervise a larger circle of more important operations. That’s why I’m working your case. It’s a sort of trial run before I officially have to decide if I want to take the job.”

“Jess,” Nick stammers out, his thoughts suddenly kicking back into high gear to process what she’s telling him. “That’s amazing.”

She nods in agreement, turning her gaze back away from the pool table in the corner of the bar to look at him instead. “Sam doesn’t want me to take it. Says he’s too established at his LA practice to justify moving across the country.”

“Sam’s an ass,” he says without even a moment of hesitation. That’s just the facts, not his own opinion of the two of them and how her relationship with Sam never really seemed to be healthy, not when she could do so much better with literally anyone else. This promotion would be a huge deal for her career, and the fact that she would finally be close to him once again has absolutely nothing to do with it. “You should take the job.”

“I don’t know.” Jess sets her glass back down on the tabletop, spinning the stem between her index finger and thumb. “Every time I think I’ve made up my mind something happens to change it back.”

“Jess.” Nick reaches out for her hand to cover it with her own. The touch makes her freeze up in response, but he holds onto her anyways. She’s so close to him now, closer than she has been in years, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna let her go without a fight. “You have to take it. I don’t know why you wouldn’t. And if Sam can’t handle it, well…” he trails off, unsure of whether he ought to close out the rest of that sentence or leave it up to her to fill in the blanks. “I mean, it’s your career. You’ve wanted this for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.” Nick sounds like he’s joking, but he’s never been more serious about anything in his life. “You’re amazing, and incredible, and smart, and brilliant, and this is the kind of thing you deserve.”

Her hand shifts in his, and for a terrifying moment Nick worries that he’s gone too far, that she’s about to yank away from him and storm out, that he’s finally managed to ruin what they have once and for all. But then he realizes that she’s not pulling away, and that she’s knitting their fingers together instead, and his heart fucking soars in his chest at the feel of how right it is to have them fitted perfectly between his own.

“You really mean that?” she breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

They’re close, impossibly close, far far too close, and Jess’ eyes dart down to his lips and Nick’s suddenly aware of the pool of sweat collecting at the pit of of his back when her teeth tease over her lower lip. His eyes lock back onto hers, and her breath catches when he leans in another fraction of an inch to whisper his response.

“Cross my heart.”

—

Jess practically drags him out of the bar, her hand gripping his like a vice as she leads him around the corner before shoving him back against the brick wall of the abandoned, shadowy alley. Nick barely has a chance to get a word in edgewise before her lips are on his, sloppy and merciless while at the same time exactly what he’s fantasized about more times than he can count over the past five years.

His first instinct is to freeze up, because there’s no way he expected this sudden turn of events, even though he knows damn well that he’s been flirting with her all night and that pink wine has a history of making her feel particularly daring and risque. It dimly occurs to him that they’re both fucking hammered and she’s engaged and that this is the absolute worst thing that either of them could do right now.

But then, after barely a second of hesitation, Nick grabs her by the waist and hauls her closer to him, fitting his lips against hers and tilting his head just a few degrees to get that perfect angle. Jess moans and then brings her tongue into the mix, surprisingly well finessed given her total alcohol consumption this evening. It kicks the heat between them up another notch, and Nick’s hand drifts down to fondle her ass while the other skirts up under her jacket and the hem of the back of her blouse, his fingertips dancing over the heat of her bare skin for her lower back.

They make out for a glorious stretch of time during which Nick completely loses track of time and space and anything other than the rhythm of her mouth against his, the feel of her body against his own, and the fucking decadent sounds he’s able to coax out of her. All those other concerns about the consequences of this incredibly stupid decision and his own self loathing dissolve in an instant, cast away to the far-off recesses of his mind that might come back to haunt him in the morning but don’t matter because that’s decades away from right here and right now.

Jess the first one to break away, her lipstick smeared and cheeks flushed pink to match. “Do you have an apartment?” she asks him, still struggling for breath.

Nick knows he should say no. That he should offer to get her a ride back to her hotel safe and sound. That he should put a stop to whatever absolutely horrible decision they’re about to make. That there’s too many consequences to outweigh whatever short-term bliss he’s currently chasing.

He also doesn’t fucking care.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head still lust-stupid. “Lemme get a cab.”

—

It’s a wonder that they make it into his apartment while still fully dressed. They’re so disgustingly all over each other in the back seat of the taxi that Nick feels guilty enough to tip the driver an extra five bucks for his troubles before chasing Jess out onto the street. She hauls him into another kiss in the stairwell and then yet another in the hallway outside his door while he fumbles to get the key into the damn lock.

They finally make it in and Nick slams the door shut behind them before crowding her up against it, and Jess lifts her legs up to wrap around his waist as he does. Her hands run through his hair as she kisses him frantically, her fingers messing up his slicked-back locks.

“I fucking hate your hair like this,” she mutters when he breaks away to trail kisses down her neck.

“Good thing I have you to muss it up, then,” he counters before sucking on that spot on her neck he knows drives her absolutely wild.

Jess doesn’t have a comeback to that, she just scratches at his shoulders beneath his dress shirt and lets out an accompanying moan. She writhes against him and Nick moves his hands up underneath her ass to carry her back in the direction of his bedroom.

“I feel bad for your fiancé,” he manages to stammer out once they’re standing next to the bed, his hands faltering slightly as they undo the buttons of his shirt. That’s the harsh truth of it, that she’s engaged and that what they’re about to do, what they’ve already done, it’s a betrayal of the man she’s promised to spend the rest of her life with. And he’s the asshole who’s jumping at the chance to do so, to be the guy who doesn’t have the decency to put a stop to the horrible mistake she’s about to make.

This isn’t how he used to be. He used to be straightforward and honest, used to take girls out on real dates instead of trying to pick them up at the bar after one too many rounds of drinks. He didn’t use to take cuts of recovered drug money and use it to fund his illegal weekend gambling. He used to be the kind of guy that deserved a girl like Jess. But then he got too afraid that he fucked it up and lost her.

And maybe that’s what this really is, that he traded that guy he used to be for this new asshole alternate-Nick who’s cocky and more than a little arrogant, who doesn’t play by the rules but always manages to get the job done. Part of him misses old Nick, wishes he could move back to LA and slip back into being the cranky, lovable detective who always wanted to do the right thing, like an old sweater he could dig up from the dusty depths of the closet in his room of the loft. But he can’t, and the truth of it is that it’s Jess who always brought the best out of him, that made him want to be better in every sense of the word. He’s lost without her.

But maybe she’s changed too, because Jess doesn’t even miss a beat as she kicks off her shoes, her eyes still dangerously dark with lust as she watches him undress. “I don’t,” she counters, shrugging out of her blouse before tossing her bra to the side, and Nick’s brain isn’t really capable of words beyond that point.

She rides him hard and fast, her hips swiveling hypnotically as she grinds down into his lap, so tight and wet and perfect that it makes his toes curl against the sheets of his bed as he grips her tighter and urges her along in her steady rhythm. Nick slides his hands up from her hips to her tits, cupping them in the broad palms of his hands as Jess picks up the pace, her neck thrown back in pleasure as she does.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips bucking up into hers as he tries to keep up with her near-frantic rhythm.

Jess nods in agreement, her bangs stuck to her forehead with a thin sheen of sweat. Her own hands shift from where they were braced on his chest to slide up the slick length of his arms, lighting up a trail of fire from her fingertips against his skin as she goes. She stops at his wrists, her thumbs brushing over the delicate skin on the insides, and Nick dimly wonders if she can feel the thundering of his pulse.

Then she takes his hands in her, twining their fingers together as she presses them into the mattress on either side of his head. Nick can feel the metal of her ring, and there’s another warning alarm that sounds off in his head, reminding him of what an absolute dirtbag he is to be fucking his ex-girlfriend who is engaged to some other guy.

But then Jess leans in close to him, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of his throat, and suddenly all these complicated feelings about himself and guilt fly right out the window, overshadowed by the reality of how she feels right now, in this moment.

“Oh my god, Nick,” she gasps, her grip flexing on his hands as she tightens around him.

He’s real fucking close, and he can tell she is too, the way her eyes are screwed shut and brow slightly scrunched up in concentration. “Fuck, honey,”

Then Jess surprises him by kissing him, but it’s different from the others they’ve shared that night. It’s softer, sweeter even. The beauty and novelty of it shoves him over and he comes, mind shuddering into a white bliss that overwhelms him completely.

When he finally pries his eyes back open, Jess is bonelessly sprawled out on top of him, chest heaving to catch her breath and her skin still slick where its pressed against his. After another moment Jess rolls off to lie on her side and Nick kicks the blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover the both of them, settling into the mattress with her tucked into him.

They lie there for a while, his arm wrapped round her waist to hold her close while Jess’ fingers trail over his chest, her head propped up on his shoulder. On a whim, Nick cranes his neck to press a kiss to the top of her head, the satisfaction of having her back in bed with him enough to overwhelm the cloud of what this really means that’s looming over their heads. A part of him wants to just stop here, to capture this moment in a time capsule and never leave it again, let it stay preserved in the back of his mind where he can’t ruin it.

“I think Sam’s cheating on me,” Jess says suddenly, her words cutting through the silence of his bedroom.

Nick sits up, ignoring the noise of protest Jess makes when he pulls out of her grasp. So that’s what this is about. She’s just using him to get back at Sam. She doesn’t care about him, she never did. This was all just some plot to get him to sleep with her so she could rub it in her fiancé’s face when she gets back home. He’s just another bargaining chip for her to outdo Sam with, a meaningless fling because he’s always been too quick to give in to her.

“I need a cigarette,” he bites out, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and throwing on whatever’s closest to his reach.

There’s the squeak of the bed as Jess sits up beside him, still holding his blanket up around her shoulders. “You smoke?”

“Yeah.” Nick hauls himself up out of bed and snags the carton and his keys off the top of his dresser before stalking out of the room. “I’ll be back.”

Jess doesn’t try to follow him, just watches in disbelief as he disappears out of his own apartment. Nick slams the door shut behind him, relishing the angry thud it makes and the way it rings in his ears.

—

He stakes out a spot on the tiny little open-air alcove on his floor, the one that’s practically a designated smoking spot with three cigarette dispensers strategically placed by the door and on either side of the wooden bench that takes up nearly all the space. Nick lights up out of sheer muscle memory as he paces back and forth, but not even the sweet bite of the nicotine can dull the swirling storm of his thoughts.

How could he be so stupid? It’s been years since he saw Jess, and barely a week of working together isn’t enough to rewrite the fact that he left her, burned their bridge to ash and then abandoned her without a proper explanation other than a drunkenly slurred apology. He’s a ruiner. He ruins things. There’s something bad inside him that makes him fuck up whatever he sets his hands on, like he’s the King Midas of destroying perfectly good relationships.

He hates himself. He fucking hates himself. He hates himself for being such a goddamn idiot, for blindly trusting her and reading into what was never even there to begin with. He hates himself for never letting go of her, for falling head over heels and then refusing to give her up, even when every sign in the universe told him to. He hates himself for having so little restraint and dignity that he jumped into bed with her the first moment that he could, that he didn’t even stop to consider how it would come around to bite him in the ass.

The funny thing is, he doesn’t hate her. This is all his fault, just like it always was and always will be. Jess is upset and drunk and let her emotions get the best of her. He’s the one who should’ve noticed that things weren’t going well between her and Sam when she told him back at the bar, and instead of capitalizing on it to make his move, he should’ve backed off and let her air out her grievances before encouraging her to try and make amends with him.

Nick comes to a stop and takes a long drag from his cigarette before letting out a exhale that’s equal parts frustrated and exhausted. He knows what he has to do, even though it’ll make him hate himself even more than he already does. Nick finishes off the rest of his cigarette before flicking it down onto the ground, ignoring the plethora of proper waste receptacles in favor of the satisfaction of crushing it out beneath his hastily tugged-on boot.

—

Jess is still in bed when he lets himself back into his apartment. She’s wearing one of his spare t-shirts, and Nick has to fight back the surge of interest he gets in response to seeing her like this all over again. It brings back a wave of memories of when things were simpler, when it was just the two of them still together and things weren’t so… complicated. He clears his throat and Jess looks up from her phone before shutting it off with a soft click.

“How was it?”

“Fine.”

There’s a heavy silence between them. Nick leans up against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, decidedly closed off to whatever advance she’s about to try next.

“So,” he tries, fighting down the nervous anger that rises up in the back of his throat. “You should probably get going. Early day tomorrow.”

Jess frowns at him, almost a little surprised. He’s never tried to kick her out before, even before they were dating. Despite his feigned protests, he let her come and go as she pleased, invading his personal space whenever she seemed fit, and he was weirdly content to let her do it. Whether it was her leaning up against his desk at work or her sitting on his bed beside him to talk about whatever was on her mind, he never turned her away, too in love with her to give up any moment they could possibly share together.

“I was hoping I could stay the night.”

There’s a dull ache in his chest at her words and the note of almost betrayal that accompanies them. It fucking hurts to treat her like this, to go against his nature and try to shove her away, even when he knows it’s for the best.

“I…” he trails off, pausing to take a reaffirming breath. “I think it’d be better if you left.”

Jess’ face falls and Nick’s heart plummets into the pit of his stomach at the way she looks at him, almost like she’s about to cry. Fuck. That’s the last thing he needs right now. It nearly kills him to see her like this. Every one of his instincts is screaming for him to comfort her, to wrap her up in her arms and promise her the world to try and make her feel better. But he can’t, because they need more than that, because they can’t go on ignoring all the consequences of their actions for any longer. He can’t let her drag him around like this again, because he’s just going to spiral even harder and hit a whole new level of rock bottom.

So instead of giving in, he shoves the guilt further down and does his best to push on. “Cause, you know, it’s not really fair for us to do this, not to Sam.”

A dawning look of realization comes over her face. “That’s not what this is about,” Jess insists.

“Then what is it about?”

“Nick, I swear, it’s…” Jess’ jaw tightens, her eyes hardening in resolve. “It’s not because of that. I wanted this because I’m still in love with you. Not because of Sam, or-”

“Why?”

“I love you.”

“Why?” he repeats again, imploring her for a better response than that, one that answers his fucking question, not some easy cop out that’s guaranteed to make his heart stutter and swarm his head with the emotions he’s been trying so hard to suppress ever since they broke up. She’s just using him. She knows which of his buttons to press, what words will make him ignore logic and reason in favor of trying to win her back.

Jess’ frown deepens in confusion. “I don’t-”

“Why do you love me?” Nick asks again. His hands are clenched in tight fists where they’ve fallen to his sides, his feet squared like he’s about to fight someone, even though the person he’s really beating down is himself. “I’m a piece of shit. My life is in shambles. I haven’t talked to you in five years, ever since I tried to make you choose between a friendship with your ex or the blossoming relationship with the guy of your dreams that you were passionately in love with.”

“Nick…”

“Don’t Nick me,” he bites out, his anger slowly unfurling from deep in his gut in response to her attempt to play coy and act as if she has no idea what she’s doing to him, as if she isn’t just using him as an ends to the mean of getting whatever she wants. “I’m not the guy that you want. I’m the guy who’s always gonna be the worse version of the guy you really want.”

“That isn’t true,” she snaps back, her own frustration starting to bleed into her words. “You have no idea what I want.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick says challengingly, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “Because you have no idea what I’m really like, Jessica.”

“Yes I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He’s wading into dangerous waters here, but he’s too pissed off at himself and her stubbornness to pay any attention to the warning signs telling him to turn back. “You don’t know about all the nights I can’t remember because I spent them trying to find the bottom of a tequila bottle. You don’t know about the string of shitty one-night stands when I tried to wipe the memory of you out of my system one forgettable night after the next. You don’t know about the fucking tens of thousands of dollars I’ve pissed away at backdoor poker games, chasing after a feeling I hate more than anything else. You don’t know the fucking half of it, because I’ve done my damn best to keep it from you, to try and preserve what little bit of respect you might still have left for me.”

Jess’ face falls, realization dawning on her face, as if she hadn’t known just what her actions had done to him. “I’m sorry-”

He doesn’t let her finish, because he doesn’t want to hear any more of her excuses. “But you don’t care about that,” he accuses, knowing damn well that he’s pushing too hard, that it’s any moment now before she finally breaks, snapping into two jagged pieces he’ll never be able to mend back together. “I’m good enough to fuck. That’s all that matters to you.”

The silence in the room is deadly, the tension between them thick enough to slice with a knife. Jess doesn’t have anything to say to that, just clenches her jaw and stares him down, her face terrifyingly neutral and her cloudy eyes devoid of anything he could possibly use to try and figure out what’s going on inside her head. But Jess doesn’t turn away from him, staring him down with nothing but a slight lip wobble to betray how she really feels.

Nick finally lets out a long, defeated exhale, his head dropping down to stare at the ground. The anger he’d been building up and up and up is suddenly seeping out of him, leaving him feeling wrung out. His arms are limp at his sides now, and he reaches up a hand to run through the mess of his overgrown hair. It feels like it did forever ago, when they had that big fight over the stupid kid’s toy that ended with them ‘mutually’ deciding that things weren’t going to work out between them. “I can’t do this with you again, Jess. I can’t let you lead me on.”

He looks back at her, his heart thumping in his chest. Nick feels raw, like his skin’s been peeled off with some kind of acid, leaving him stinging and aching and incredibly vulnerable, like his insides have been scooped out and left his chest cavity empty and devoid of any feeling at all. The ball’s in her court now. He’s said what he wanted to, doused the quickly crumbling remains of their relationship in gasoline, and all that’s left is for her to light the match.

Jess climbs out of bed without a word, getting dressed quickly and efficiently, not even sparing him a second glance as she pulls off his shirt to instead step back into her own clothes. Nick drops his eyes down to the floor, equal parts attempting to give her some semblance of privacy and to cover his own cowardice.

“Don’t call me,” she says as she breezes past him, moving so fast he doesn’t have the chance to come up with some snappy comeback. Then it’s her turn to slam the door shut, a resounding noise that echoes in the emptiness of his apartment.

Nick lets out a long sigh, scrubbing his hand over his face in his own disappointment.

Fuck.

—

He doesn’t hear from her until Monday morning when she arrives at the office. She drops her case notes onto the table and then takes the seat beside him without a word. They sit in a tense silence for a moment, neither of them willing to concede and be the one who speaks first.

After a painful fifteen minutes of silence Nick finally caves, clearing his throat while pretending to flip through a stack of documents. “How was your weekend?” It doesn’t mean anything, a question he already knows the answer to. It’s just an empty gesture, a habitual pleasantry to test out the rift between them.

“Fine.” Jess doesn’t even look up from her work, but her voice wavers slightly during her reply. “Yours?”

“Bout the same.”

He fucked up. He knows that. He ruined things between them all over again, and there’s nothing left to salvage from the still-smoldering wreckage. This was their last chance with each other, because Nick can’t risk another one with her that ends in an even bigger spiral. Maybe last time she didn’t know what their relationship meant to him, or just how hard he hit the ground after they fell apart. But this time she does. Even if she’s still mostly in the dark, she knows.

“Look, Nick, I’m sorry for-”

“Don’t.” His eyes fall shut as a fresh wash of pain and regret hits him in full force. He doesn’t want her pity. He doesn’t want her lies. “Jess, just… Just don’t worry about it.”

She relents to his plea and they fall silent once again, the weight of the room tense. He wants them to be adults about this. And by adults he means like his parents, never talking about their grievances and feelings and instead shoving everything down to be ignored forever. It’s awful, but it’s easier than getting hurt again.

“So, um…” Nick coughs again, anxiety making him jittery with nerves. “Do you think you’re gonna take the promotion?”

That actually gets her attention, and Jess pauses in her note-taking to look up at him. She looks unsure, an expression that’s almost foreign on her. He’s used to confident Jess, the Jess who kicks ass and takes names and has always been sure of herself. This is like a whole other side of her, a puzzle he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to solve.

But he needs to know for sure, to hear her say the words before he can actually believe them. Because once she’s says no, then he’s never going to allow her in his life again. He needs a final answer for them, because he can’t live with the half possibility any more.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, her voice oddly soft. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Well you have to make up your mind and stick to it.” His fingers nervously toy with the worn corner of a manilla folder. “You have to think about what you really want and then make your decision. And then that’s that.” He’s not being subtle, but it’s still easier than being completely upfront about it. “It’s not the kind of thing you can only partially commit to.”

There’s an understanding in her eyes, and Jess gives him a solemn nod. “You’re right.”

It’s like stepping back in time, all the way back to the last time she made this decision. Things were out of his hands then, too. He’s laid all his cards out on the table, and now it’s Jess who has to make the final call, whether she’s going to let him back into her life or if she’s going to leave him behind for good. Nick’s not sure which he’s more terrified of.

“They’re not gonna keep waiting for you to choose.”

“I know,” Jess murmurs, that trace of fear and uncertainty still lingering in her tone.

“You’ll make the right decision.” Nick forces his eyes back down to his work, trying to focus in on what’s in front of him instead of all the dark, messy thoughts inside his own head. “I believe in you.”

“I know.”

—

send me a prompt?

#new girl #nick x jess #nick/jess #my fic #crooked cop nick #cj #hope u like it bish #(theres smut below the cut fyi)#this is a mishmash of jake aus tbh #no activity and win it all mostly #the unified theory of jakes #(to steal grace's term)#anyways im back bitches #jakemjohnson #ask and ye shall receive

49 notes · View notes