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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 14 | S.R.)

Summary: Separated and terrified, Spencer and Reader rely on their unique skills to survive. The team, minus Penelope and Derek, don’t know who the strange girl in the bank is, but they find out very interesting things about her history.

A/N: I don’t know how banks work. Idk how heists work. I know nothing. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: ANGST. Just. All of it. All of the angst. Every bit.   Content Warning: Gun violence, discussions of death and dying Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

“Hello, my name is (y/n)(y/l/n) and I’m calling from the Bank of America on K St. Northwest to report shots fired. The shots sounded like burst-fire from multiple semiautomatics.”

When adrenaline kicks in, there are a lot of things that don’t feel real. Time seems to warp into some ominous presence weighing down on you, but your body has never felt lighter.

“Ma’am, where are you?” Her voice sounded so far away. My own just felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

“I’m inside the bathroom. Listen, I might not have a lot of time. There’s a federal agent inside the bank. His name is SSA Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. Call...”

My mouth blanked on the names of the two men Spencer talked about the most. I’d met them both, why couldn’t I remember?

Several more shots rang through the building as an answer. It was enough to shake loose the names, which flowed from me before I could even comprehend where they came from.

“Call SSA Aaron Hotchner and… Derek Morgan.”

“Can you remain on the line?” She sounded insistent — which is against their protocol by the way. My eyes were glued to the bathroom door’s hinges.

“Only until the door opens.”

The sentence conveyed my thoughts without actually forming the words. Once that door opens, I’m probably going to die. It wasn’t a completely irrational fear.

“Okay. I need you to remain calm. Did you see any of the gunmen?”

Jesus, it was like everything I’d just told her had gone completely over her head. “No, I’m in the bathroom.”

“Does the agent have his service weapon?”

“No.”

If she didn’t ask me a question I could say yes to soon, I was going to lose my fucking mind.

I tried not to think about Spencer outside, but I couldn’t help it. All of my thoughts were on him, even before the commotion.

Was he even still alive?

“Help is on the way, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

“Please hurry.”

My entire body shook from the hormones, my instincts telling me to do anything besides sit crouched on a toilet in a bathroom stall. I don’t even know why I bothered hiding. They would definitely kick them in, or just shoot straight through the doors.

“We’ve contacted Agent Hotchner and he’s also on his way.”

Finally, some good fucking news. I released my breath as quietly as I could, closing my eyes for just a moment to compensate for the fact I hadn’t blinked in several minutes.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the phone like it could actually do something for me past this point. But it couldn’t. No amount of breathing exercises would help me through this one.

Suddenly, there was movement outside the door. A crowd of people were shuffling past the door, and I heard the distinct sound of a toddler wailing.

“I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up—“

I couldn’t wait, though. With trembling hands, I erased the evidence that I’d ever called them in the first place. And then I resumed my position as a sitting duck; quietly and as ready as I ever could be.

I listened for his voice, but I never heard it.

—————————————————

Three seconds.

Did you know that a semiautomatic weapon can fire up to three rounds per second, depending on how fast the user can pull the trigger?

After the first shot is fired, no one moves. Puzzled and alert, people are paralyzed. Your first reaction is to look for the source of the sound. It’d been a second before I turned to see the three armed people and two dead security guards behind me.

It takes the average person one and a half seconds to cognitively process that they're in a potentially life-threatening situation. It takes another .7 seconds for a physical response to kick in.

Three seconds.That was long enough for a maximum of nine shots per person to be fired- twenty-seven shots in total; it was long enough for the air to be filled with the sudden outburst of helpless screams the patrons of the bank, and it was long enough for me to realize that I didn’t have my gun and that my girlfriend wasn’t by my side.

“Everybody get down on the ground!”

Amid the chaos, I felt that all too familiar twisting sensation in my gut that begged time to reverse just enough for this to be a dream. Enough time to reverse the decisions that led us here.

But time was a cruel mistress, and she did not plan to bend to the whims of mankind, no matter how desperate.

Another deafening burst of sound rang through the air, shots fired into the ceiling now as myself and the others fell to the ground.

My gaze was fixed on the bathroom entrance. I couldn’t breathe. Please, I begged, stay hidden.

“Listen up! If everyone does what we say, you can all go back to your boring fucking lives.”

Injuries occur in less than two percent of bank robberies. Deaths occur in less than one. Saturdays are the second to least likely day for a robbery to take place. In the past 5 years, less than 10 people have been killed in bank robberies, and most of them were the perpetrators. Statistics usually calmed me down and helped me focus.

But these people didn’t care about statistics. They were defying the odds I had just recited to myself. They had already killed two people. Our luck was already stacked against us.

“Take everything out of your pockets and put it in front of you.”

As soon as the order was given, I was running through an inventory of everything in my pockets. It didn’t take me long to realize that with a cursory inspection of the items, they would figure out who I was.

But what were the odds that they would actually scrutinize them? I figured they were fairly low; you don’t rob a bank to get cheap jewelry and petty cash, even in a bank. What were the odds they would notice if I left something in my pocket — especially if my wallet was in front of me. If it wasn’t large enough to be a weapon, and I put out my objects of value, why wouldn’t I put out the rest of the contents?

So I decided to take the risk, removing my wallet while retaining my separate identification.

Luckily, the attention seemed pretty far removed from me. If I wasn’t too busy being extremely grateful, I might have been offended that they didn’t consider me a threat in the building.

“Alright ladies, all of you get up and follow my lovely friend here. You’re going on a little trip. Fellas, you stay right where you are.”

The sound of my heart pounding drowned out the instructions that weren’t intended for me. It was fine, I hadn’t planned on moving, anyway. As long as I could see the door to the bathroom, I was perfectly fine right where I was.

But I still felt for the terrified women that were shakily rising to their feet. To my right, I saw a woman struggling to hold a small infant. My heart was fracturing at the struggle, wishing I could help her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk doing anything that might draw attention to myself.

I felt like a traitor. I felt useless. I was quite literally trained to handle this exact situation, but now that I was here, I couldn’t move. I wasn’t thinking about strategy or how to maximize efficiency; all I was thinking about was her.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice screamed from the other side of the room. When I turned, I heard the sound of a rifle cracking against bone before the man hit the ground.

“Jake, huh?” The man above him laughed, using the business end of the rifle to turn the disoriented man on his side. “Well, Jake, how would you feel about your girlfriend watching you die?”

“Please don’t hurt him!” The woman sobbed, scrambling up off the floor that she’d resisted leaving. I wondered if (y/n) would have refused to leave me, too.

The man prodded the woman with the gun, urging her to follow the rest while simultaneously providing easy enough instructions. The man apparently named Jake made a few noises of desperate protest as he watched her leave.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I’m sorry,” Jake pleaded, “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt her. I’ll be quiet.”

Smart man. I understood his hesitancy, though. His girlfriend kept her neck craned back until she was no longer in sight, gazing back at him for as long as she physically could. I closed my eyes just for a moment, to try and combat their current strain.

Unfortunately, just like it always seems to happen, that’s when they spoke the words I had been dreading.

“Hey, you check the bathrooms yet?”

“Nah, I got it.”

I closed my eyes tighter now, scared that if I opened them, I’d give myself away. There was no possible way that I could hide the terror I currently felt. To be fair, I think it was only natural to be scared — but not like this.

There was a loud crashing noise of doors slamming, and the voice I knew better than I knew my own reached my ears, making sounds I’d never heard from her before.

Don’t fight them. I pleaded again, Please, don’t fight them.

“Let go of me!” She screamed as the door to the bathroom swung open. Unable to keep my eyes shut any longer, I opened them to see her clawing at the ground as she was dragged out by her ankle. “I can walk by myself! Let go of me!”

I wasn’t sure if she didn’t see me in the commotion, or if she’d just made the decision to act like she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful. Still, my worries were justified as one of the three unsubs walked over to me.

“Why are you looking at her like that? You know her?”

Craning my head up, I shook my head no. It must not have been very convincing; the rage in my heart at them for thrusting her into this situation evident in my eyes.

“You wanna play hero, kid?”

“Sorry. No.” I muttered, taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to regulate my heart rate or my voice, “She’s… very loud. I get headaches.”

“Yeah well, deal with it.”

That might have been the end of it, if I’d played my hand better. But it turned out that the risk I had previously elected to take was woefully miscalculated. I didn’t meet their eyes anymore, knowing that doing so might threaten whatever frail illusion of masculinity they possessed.

It still didn’t stop them from holding the gun to my head.

“Empty your pockets.”

“Okay. I can do that, but I have to put my hand in my pocket.” I explained, moving my shaking hand to my back pocket, “It’s not a weapon.”

For once, I was grateful that I was the resident wimp when it came to stressful situations. Sure, I could handle myself, but I definitely didn’t look like I wanted to be there. Had I been any more of a visible threat, I was certain they would have figured out my identity long before this point. They might even have killed me right away.

“Hurry up.”

Swallowing hard, I pulled the identification from my pocket, flipping it open and holding it up for him to see, my gaze aimed fully forward. He snatched the badge away, a cheeky chuckle and a smile in his words.

“FBI, huh? Well, aren’t we lucky. You just became our most valuable player.”

—————————————————

Morgan arrived on the scene relatively unhurried and mostly just curious. The information Garcia had sent over text message was vague, likely due to the crime being a local one. Nothing about this seemed to be the BAU’s usual fare.

It took him almost no time to find Hotch, dressed in casual clothing, surrounded by the massive response team swarming around the bank. But Hotch hadn’t spotted him yet, fully involved with SWAT.

“What’s going on?”

Finally turning to notice his arrival, Hotch gave his normal matter-of-fact report in his simple, succinct manner. “Three people stormed the bank approximately 20 minutes ago and killed two security guards. There are 19 confirmed hostages inside the bank.”

But there was one significant detail that seemed to be missing, and Morgan started to scan the crowd for familiar faces as he spoke. “Hotch, this doesn’t sound like anything we’ve been working on. Why are we responding?”

“The caller alerted us that Reid is inside.”

The words were so unexpected that Morgan actually did a double take, his eyebrows furrowed and bowed as he replayed them in his head. “Wait, how did the caller know that?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch said with an equally perplexed look, gripping tighter to the communicator in his hand, “but she referred to us and him by name.”

‘She?’ Morgan thought, his heart stopping for a second as he excused himself from Hotch’s side, pulling out his phone and frantically calling Garcia, who had already made her way to the BAU.

“Hey there handsome.” It was a mild nickname for the famed Penelope Garcia, but Derek knew that she was probably already in a tough spot. After all, it’s not every day that one of their own is in these situations. At least, not unexpectedly.

“Hey Garcia, do you have eyes on the people in the bank?”

He could hear the feverish click-clacking of keys on the other end, followed closely by her equally frantic voice. “I’m working on it but so far I can only see the main lobby. They separated the women and the men for some reason. Why would they do that?”

“Just focus,” he calmly reminded, “Can you see the women?”

“No. All the women and children were moved to the back.”

Rubbing his face to try and relieve the tension that had quickly made its home over his jaw, Morgan glanced over at the entrance to the bank. It was strange to think that so much had happened so quickly.

Garcia had mentioned twice now that the women had been moved to the back, and he was trying to figure out why they would do that beyond the usual control mechanisms.

“I’m trying to see in the back now, but apparently banks take their video surveillance far more seriously than everything else. Last I checked, a camera never stole money or fired a gun!”

“Focus, babygirl.” It was an instruction for himself just as much as it was for her.

“Sorry, I’m nervous, and you know how I get when I’m nervous!” She squeaked, “I don’t like seeing you guys on my screens. I’d much rather see you in person, safe and sound and preferably smiling.”

Trying not to lose his patience, Morgan just sighed. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault, except that of the bastards who just had to go and ruin a perfectly nice weekend.

“Can you at least tell me who the caller was? Did they call from inside?”

“They were inside and, one second, let me check, it was... oh.” Her voice cut off abruptly, dropping into a high pitched, desperate whisper. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s... the girl from the movies,” Garcia’s voice got faster and more panicked, “Derek, it’s (y/n). It’s Reid’s girlfriend. Reid’s girlfriend is inside the bank.”

Now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he wasn’t really sure what to do with the information. Because now that he knew Reid wasn’t alone, he felt the need to tell Hotch.

A profiler with a loved one involved was in dangerous territory. It wasn’t just Reid, but Morgan had personally seen just how unhinged Reid could get when it came to (y/n).

“Can you see her?” He asked, his voice lower than it was before.

“Oh, god, yes! I can!” It was not the kind of excited exclamation Morgan had hoped to hear, but at least he had confirmation she was alive. “She was in the bathroom but… They’re dragging her away…”

Morgan had tried not to pry too far in his best friend’s life before, and he took a moment to consider whether his next request was honestly necessary, or if he was just trying to find a reason to snoop.

But he wasn’t. There was something off about that girl. It wasn’t that she was bad or wrong, but she was far too comfortable in situations that didn’t call for it. The way she carried herself told him that she had held her own hand too often.

“Garcia, I know I’ve already done this to you once but... I need you to tell me everything you can find on her.”

—————————————————

My entire body ached; the sensation of an unfamiliar hand clenched tightly around my ankle burned long after I was released. It was definitely sprained, at the very least. I didn’t dare try to touch it, though. It wouldn’t be worth the trouble, and the bristling discomfort kept me where I was.

Which, for now was on my knees in the backroom of a bank lobby. Beside us was a large, heavily reinforced steel door with way too many different contraptions. I decided then that this whole arms race between burglars and corporate America had gotten a little fucking ridiculous.

But however annoyed I was by that, I was far more irritated by the hushed bickering between the man and woman holding rifles on the other side of the room. I could only hear every couple of words, but I got the gist of what they were arguing about.

Apparently, they’d never heard of an alarm system that’s connected to locks, which seemed extremely stupid for people who had gotten this far. In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that something was off about this entire situation.

Still, I couldn’t deal with them making the same fucking arguments over and over, so eventually I blurted out what I’m certain any millennial in the room would know. “The keycard won’t work if they’ve sounded the alarm.”

The statement earned me a gun to my face, and after a brief second of confusion, I flinched away from the cold metal of the barrel.

“What was that, sweetheart?” She was clearly looking to gauge my reaction rather than actually ask me to repeat the information. That was fine. I wasn’t exactly a talented actress, and I didn’t see the point in pretending to be meek.

If she was going to kill me, she was going to do it. Although I was certain Spencer would disagree, I chose to believe that our fate is dictated long before it happens. I was not a profiler; if I survived, it would be because I had been taught to survive through brute force and spite rather than calm negotiation.

“The keycard system is linked to the alarms,” I said, slower now, “Someone hit the alarm, so the cards aren’t going to work. You’ll need to use the old school keys.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a much lower register as she crouched down to my height. “How would you know? You work here?”

“No, my dad worked security.” It wasn’t a lie as much as it was an understatement, but she didn’t need to know that. I guess that’s one of those good things growing up with the dad I did; I got very comfortable speaking in vague generalities. Spencer hated it.

“Well, your daddy isn’t here to help you now.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth. But that didn’t mean I was alone, I reminded myself. Despite being dragged and my vision turned literally upside down, I had caught a glimpse of him in the lobby. He was alive. That thought alone was keeping me sane right now.

“The different keys you need for an override are probably kept on separate people so one person can’t do it alone. Probably the different managers.” I muttered, nodding to the side where one of the employees flinched at my words. Anything to get away from the fucking gun in my face.

“Is she right?” The woman sneered to the manager, turning her full attention to someone else. I felt a little guilty, since the poor manager seemed a lot less put together than I was. But hey, they needed her, too.

“Yes, I already gave you my keys,” she squeaked, holding her trembling hands up, “Th-There’s another set behind the desk I think.”

“Would you look at that...” It was the first time the man in the room addressed me since he had pulled me out of the stall, and I had to admit I wasn’t exactly a fan of his. But at the same time, I knew that he was going to be remarkably more receptive to me than the woman. She seemed to be the one who was actually in charge.

“Little miss problem was actually helpful,” he cheered, raising his weapon to point to the ceiling as he approached me. I chewed nervously on my cheeks, trying to meet his eyes but finding them uncomfortably bare.

“You should turn off the camera too, I’m just saying.” This time I didn’t nod, using one cautious finger to point to the small device that was currently staring right at me. I understood that it was probably helpful to Spencer’s team to be able to see, but I wasn’t really keen on my death being videotaped... as well as anything else I might end up doing.

‘Never leave a trace.’ That’s what I’d always heard.

‘Keep’em guessing. Even if you think it’s gonna kill you, because you don’t want to live with that over your head.’

“Fine. Do that and go get the keys.” He sounded intrigued, and I felt his searing gaze against my face.

“I think you should do it.”

The tension from before, when the two were arguing, had quickly resurfaced. She clearly didn’t trust him to be alone in the room, which solidified my belief that she was calling the shots, and he was just being dragged along for the ride.

In another life, I might have respected her ability to order stupid men around.

“Why the fuck is that?” He snapped, earning a bored roll of her eyes. The next thing out of her mouth was expected, but unfortunately the last thing I wanted to hear.

“I want to talk to her alone.”

Great. And naturally, her idea of ‘talking’ to me included weaponry. Using the end of the gun to tilt my head up to her, she gave a suspicious smile.

“Why are you helping us?”

“I want to go home.” It was my immediate and instinctual answer. It was the truth. I was helping them because I wanted to get the fuck out of here.

But you know, people expect everyone to have a squeaky-clean moral compass, so I decided to give a few more reasons.

“And I don’t give a shit about a massive corporate bank. I was just here to go to the bathroom– I don’t even have an account here.”

Maybe that was too many reasons, because just as her hesitance waned, it was back in full force. Shoving the barrel against my throat, she sneered, “I don’t believe you. You’re too comfortable with a gun in your face. You a cop, too?”

Cop?

I tilted my head to the side, baring more of my throat to her as I drawled, “Who’s a cop?”

For once, I was glad that Spencer had made such a point of reassuring me that he was not ‘a cop,’ because otherwise I’m certain the terror would have been obvious in my eyes. But for now, I could trust the numb apathy that was washing over me.

Please don’t be talking about Spencer. Please don’t know that. Good things never happened to law enforcement in situations like this. Hell, the two security guards had been dead in seconds.

“I think you know.” She was smiling, and I realized that this fucking psychopath was sharper than she wanted me to think.

“I don’t.” The words were said through clenched teeth, and I prayed that she would see them as insistent anger over the fear that lie beneath them, “And why would you kill me if I was helping you?”

She smiled, drawing the weapon up and down my throat until it landed lower at my chest. The movements were slow and light, a playful glint in her eyes when they met mine again.

“For fun.”

I didn’t move a muscle, my body remaining tense under her ministrations as I forced myself to hold my gaze steady. If she wanted fear, she wouldn’t get it from me.

“Then do it.”

The look she gave me told me she had seriously considered it, probably a little annoyed with my presence. But there was something else there, too, that same soft recognition that in another reality we might have been friends. I’m sure she saw herself in me a little bit; or at least somebody useful.

This confirmed my suspicion that I’d never really be able to read a psychopath. I didn’t understand how Spencer could do it every day. It’d only been a few minutes alone with her and I could feel myself losing the happy memories of the day.

Luckily, the man returned at the same time I saw a plan developing in her mind.

“Hey, come help me,” he called to her. Her response was surprisingly swift, the metal that was tracing over my collar bones disappearing without another word. He was holding a small bag of money, which seemed to seriously irritate the woman.

“Did you get that money from behind the counter?” I asked it before she had a chance. I wanted him to trust me. Or at least look at me more. It wasn’t that I wanted his attention as much as I knew I could distract him fairly easily.

He looked over at me, a dumbfounded look on his face. Men are so fucking stupid, I thought. The pissed off expression on his partner’s face told me that she agreed.

“It’s going to explode if you mess with it or it leaves the area. Probably with tear gas. If you’re escaping in a car, you’re not gonna want it.”

“Yeah, we know about dye packs, bitch.” She snapped, grabbing the bag of money and tossing it to the side of the door they intended to use.

I stared at the locks they hadn’t even bothered trying to touch. The same locks they apparently didn’t look up or know anything about when they came. Suddenly it hit me why this all felt so very off.

It was strange enough that no one was wearing a mask, and as far as I’d heard, no one was really trying to get out of this situation. I was certain that by this point there was a large crowd of armored men outside.

“Just trying to help,” I muttered as I started to scan the room, looking for telltale signs of tampering. The anxious whispering of the man distracted me just long enough to get more information.

“Won’t that set off some shit? Chain reaction shit?”

“Shut the fuck up,” the woman responded with a swift elbow to his gut as she started to walk away, “you are an absolute moron.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, I heard the faint curses that fell from his lips. As he picked up the bag just to toss it away again, I noticed the presence of odd packages in the corner of the room. He really did not want exploding dye packs near those boxes, which seemed remarkably out of place.

“Why does she think she’s in charge?” I asked, finally ripping my eyes away from the objects that now seemed glaringly obvious. “You two guys outnumber her.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

Relaxing my body as much as I could, I shifted back and forth on my knees, rubbing the tired muscles of my thighs. “I may have been told that once or twice.”

He actually chuckled; his eyes drawn to my legs like the absolute moron he so obviously was. She definitely had gotten that one right. The other women in the room were watching me, but I tried not to pay them any mind.

I didn’t know when or why they decided to let me do whatever I wanted, but I appreciated their apparent comfort in letting me try to kill myself. He made his way over to the boxes, each a specific size and shape. He carried them so carefully.

“I figure there’s no point in being scared if I’m going to die anyway.” I finally said. Shocked gasps and whispers filled the room, but I didn’t divert my attention to them– No matter how much I wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up.

They would distract me from the way his mouth curled into a smile when he closed the gap between us, his hand sliding down my head and over my shoulder to follow the braid Spencer had meticulously woven an hour before.

“How about you just shut up and sit pretty for me, sweetheart.” I tried not to let the disgust show as his hand slid behind my neck, holding my head so that I had to look up at him. “You seem like you’d be real good at that.”

Ha! If only Spencer could hear him say that. But I could play the good girl for just long enough.

“Do you need help?” I asked with a tiny shrug, “I might be little but I’m pretty strong.” Strong enough to break your fucking hand if you don’t get it off of me.

“Nah.” He ordered, his hand on my neck getting tighter. “But I don’t doubt that you could be useful. You look real good on your knees.”

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might be visible through my ribs. I just needed an excuse to move. If he could give me an excuse to move, I could do so many things.

“Please let me help,” I begged, raising my hand to his forearm against my shoulder. His eyes began to shift, moving just enough to tell me that he wanted to look to the hallway. He could hear her footsteps, too. She was coming back, and I only had a few seconds left.

Once both of my hands were on his arm, I got the feeling he knew something even worse was coming for him.

“I’d love a chance to get to show you how helpful I really am.”

—————————————————

Hotch had spent the past five minutes on the phone with the male unsub in the lobby, and the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. For whatever reason, they just seemed to deflect any opportunity provided to them.

They didn’t seem to give a shit about anything beyond pushing the buttons of each person they interacted with. Which, they did quite successfully.

“Didn’t realize one pig would bring the whole flock of you here,” he laughed, clearly motioning to Spencer on the video, “How bad do you want him back?”

“What do you want?” He responded without hesitation or a surprise. It was such an expected question to ask that he’d barely even thought about his words before they came out.

“Easy. A chopper, and for you to fuck off.”

That was the equally stereotypical response, meaning it was entirely unhelpful to them. From what they could deduce, they were equally confused as to why this heist seemed to follow all the rules, but match none of the motivations. It was like it was a show, a game, rather than an actual attempt to maximize profits.

“We can do the helicopter, but we can’t give you a pilot.”

“That’s fine,” he responded with a shrug, “Don’t need one.”

It was the first piece of useful information he’d gotten so far on the call. Because if they didn’t need a pilot, it meant one of two things: either one of them possessed the skill themselves, or they weren’t ever intending to use the helicopter.

Briefly pulling the phone away, Hotch turned to Morgan. “Tell Garcia to check our list with people with pilot’s licenses or any other connection that might provide them the skills to fly a helicopter.”

He returned to the call, continuing the usual script for these situations, trying not to act like he’d learned anything new.

“Can you release the women and children?”

“Nah,” the guy said with a chuckle, “I’ll wait.”

Hotch listened to the sound of the receiver for a moment, staring at the entrance to the bank like it would provide him the answers he still needed. He had his suspicions of what might be happening, but with no eyes in the back anymore and the trigger-happy group that had formed around him, he wouldn’t have the resources to convince them not to go in guns blazing.

“We’re ready to move in.” Which is exactly what they had requested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He stated before finally moving to look at the man next to him, “Something isn’t right here.”

“Yeah, a lot isn’t right here. There’s 19 innocent people in there.”

It didn’t really matter how many times he went through this situation; the results always seemed to be the same. No one listened, even when it wasn’t one of their men inside.

“Storming the building isn’t going to help them. There are three armed perpetrators inside, and they’re each in a different area. It would be impossible for us to take out all three at once. Especially now that we can’t see in the back. There could be explosives in there for all we know.”

The man was unpersuaded.

“If we can’t save them all, minimizing casualties is the name of the game.”

“Wait a few more minutes. I’m waiting to hear back from our analyst. If they have the capability of flying a plane, its highly likely they also have the knowledge and skills to create weapons that we aren’t currently prepared to handle.”

Although still unconvinced, the man grudgingly gave in to the request. Hotch closed his eyes, trying to be grateful for the extremely small victory; they’d gained a few more minutes. But the relief was short lived, with Morgan putting his phone aside for a second to mutter the same thing Hotch was thinking.

“Hotch, these people are way too confident. It’s like they know there’s a way out.”

As soon as he said the words, the two just looked at each other.

“Garcia, can you also check for any other way out of the bank?” He asked, walking back over to the table laid out under the nearby tent. This would have been a great time for Reid to be here, he thought as he stared at the ridiculously complicated schematics.

He understood they didn’t want people to be able to figure them out (so they couldn’t rob the bank), but this was just ridiculous. It looked ancient.

“Sure thing, but… Morgan, I think there’s something else you should see.” The nerves dancing in her voice told him that they were about to switch subjects. “You know how the guy disabled the camera feed in the back room. I was reviewing the footage we do have and it looks like… (y/n) told him to.”

“Why would she do that?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he glanced over to the ornate bank doors. Part of him wanted to joke that things would’ve been a lot simpler if he didn’t have to worry about Reid’s weird girlfriend, but it didn’t feel as funny when they were both in danger.

Maybe later, he thought hopefully, when they were all together again.

“I… don’t know why. But I did what you asked, and I went through her record and found a ton of sealed files on her and also her dad…”

Morgan’s attention was definitely piqued at that point, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. In the stunned silence, Penelope spoke again.

“Should… Should I unseal them?”

It was the same question he was debating in his head, and he honestly didn’t know. Although a long shot, he hoped that she could provide at least the bare minimum of context before they made that kind of decision.

“What kind of files are we talking about?”

“I can’t be sure until I unseal them b-but, I mean, they’re sealed for a reason and I’m talking scary sealed. Like, it might take me a minute sealed. Giving me the heebie-jeebies sealed.” She grew more frantic as she continued. Morgan knew they were running out of time.

“I get it.”

“Is Reid okay?” She switched gears, recognizing that Morgan’s hesitance meant it was probably a bad idea. She wasn’t going to push it unless he did. They didn’t even know if she could help even if they unsealed the files. Especially without a visual.

“They know he’s with us,” Morgan sadly admitted, “I don’t know what’s going on. Did you find another way out of the bank?”

“Right.” The conversation was going to give everyone involved whiplash at this point. “Yes! There is an access way through tunnels underneath the bank but it would take a massive distraction for all three of them to be able to get out of there without us meeting them on the other side. I’m talking earth shatterin–.”

She didn’t finish the sentence, her tongue halting the second her mind caught up with her voice. Morgan was equally concerned, recognizing the kind of distraction that this might require and the perfect way to escape with maximum damage.

But that wasn’t what got his attention. There was no fiery explosion or shouted epiphany, because at that same time there were the muffled sounds of gunshots coming from inside.

“Oh my god, what was that?!” Garcia yelled, accompanied by frantic clicking as she filtered through each individual camera to try and locate the source of the noise.

“Garcia, do you have eyes on the main room?”

“Yes! But it wasn’t in the main room, Derek, it was in the back!”

It was a difficult and necessary job, to consider what those sounds might mean for the young girl they’d met only a few weeks earlier. Morgan’s thoughts went even further, not only worried about her safety, but his best friend’s sanity. Lord knows Reid didn’t need another thing weighing on his conscience. Especially not about her; it just might destroy him.

“What does the unsub in the main area look like? Does he look confused? Surprised?” The words were coming, but he didn’t know where from. His body was on autopilot, desperately seeking any validation that they could still save everyone.

“I-I don’t know! He looks grainy! The image is like an inch wide!” She was clearly growing frustrated, which was a feeling they all shared at this point. “This camera is from before I was even born!”

“Try, Penelope,” Morgan pleaded, “Give me something.”

But the other men weren’t willing to wait.

“That’s it. We’re moving in.”

Morgan turned to them, his hand clutching tighter to the phone just in time for her to speak.

“He’s calling for them but they’re not coming out. He looks… Oh no. He’s yelling at Reid now. And... And it looks like someone is coming down the hallway? But he’s not looking–”

It was impossible to focus on everything that was happening, heavy boots and massive commotion as people began to take their positions. But if someone was coming down the hallway, and the unsub didn’t know, that could only mean a few things. Either he was about to be proven disposable, or someone else had fired those shots.

Either way, one thing was clear.

“Wait! We can’t go in there yet!”

—————————————————

There was a point in time where I might have questioned whether I would ever get used to a gun in my face. There was also a point where I actually had gotten used to it. But nothing could have prepared me for this moment, this terrifying realization while staring down the barrel of an assault rifle that I didn’t want to die yet.

I used to think that my life was somewhat disposable. Sure, I was helpful and useful for my job, but ultimately, I considered myself replaceable. The next person to come might not have the same credentials, but they probably wouldn’t also have half the flaws I do.

But now I wasn’t thinking of work. I wasn’t thinking about how replaceable I was, because it wasn’t my life that mattered.

I didn’t want to die yet, because I wanted to see her again.

So I just stared at the weapon, trying to remember that it was still a great possibility that I could. I tried not to think about what was in front of me, choosing to use most of my brainpower to picture what it would feel like when I had her in my arms again.

The vision inside my head ended swiftly, with the sound of rapidly fired weaponry coming from down the hall. Through the commotion of screaming, I surmised that at least two guns had been fired.

Silence followed. It was a stifling, exhausting, painful silence.

What broke it was even worse, with the gun in my face smacking into the side of my head as the man holding it lost his grip at the sound.

“What the fuck was that?!”

He looked at me like he expected me to have the answers, but I didn’t.

“I don’t know. I-I don’t—“ Not only did I not understand why two guns would fire, I didn’t know who had shot them or for what reason. There was one thing I did know. “It sounded like your weapons.”

“Hey, what’s going on back there?!” He shouted, twisting his body just enough to see around the corner.

There was no reply.

“Did your people get in here somehow?” The panic was obvious, and I didn’t know how to calm him down without arousing suspicion. He was continuing to devolve, stepping closer to me as he stuck with his original thought, “How the fuck could they have done that, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you do know?”

It was a question I’d been asking myself. The longer the silence continued in the back, the more rapidly my anxiety rose. There are only a few reasons why we wouldn’t hear more screaming.

Either someone had managed to get remarkable control over the situation, or all of the hostages were dead. Including (y/n). I forced myself to consider the far less likely, but still possible third option: She was dying, and I could still help her.

“I know that there is still a way for you to get out of this.” I barely recognized my own voice as I rambled, “Is it possible your partners… Is it possible they were planning on leaving together?”

“What?” He sounded disgusted and exhausted, but simultaneously insecure. It didn’t take much effort to realize that he was the weakest of the crew. I’d already had my suspicions that whatever the next step in this journey was, he wasn’t going to be making it with them regardless.

“It was their decision to leave you out here, right? In the place with the most windows and the first access to the door? They put you with all the people most likely to fight back. And now it sounds like…”

I paused, my lips unable to make the next words without a deep breath. “It sounds like they killed the people in the back as a diversion to send in SWAT. Does that sound like something they would do?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That was enough confirmation for me. It was definitely something they would do, and he knew it. He probably suspected it himself. Thankfully, it gave me enough courage to push back for the first time in this encounter. “Then go back there and see if they’re still there.”

“And just let you be hero and save all these guys? No chance.”

I wanted to laugh; if only he knew the real reason I wanted him to go back there. As terrible as it was, I didn’t care at all about the rest of these men right now. As far as I knew, they were relatively safe. In fact, they were in a better position if what I’d deduced was true. This man, while violent, wasn’t the kind to murder everyone in sight, even when cornered. He’d more likely be shot by SWAT.

“I’ll come with you.” It was a plea, a desperate attempt to get more information that I both wanted and feared. He watched me carefully, trying to read the terror on my face to determine where exactly it was coming from. He knew the hostages were useless to him if he had me, so I wasn’t particularly scared for my life.

At least, not just yet.

“Fine. Get up.”

I willed my legs to stop shaking; to just carry me far enough that I could see her face. I just needed to know that she was okay.

But then I felt a fine mist over my skin— it almost felt like the noise happened after, but I knew logically that couldn’t be true.

A gun fires before the bullets hit their target.

Time seemed to move slower as his body fell to the ground in front of me. My eyes followed him to the floor, but only until I saw the person holding the gun through my peripherals.

“...(y/n)?”

And there she was, clutching tightly onto a rifle, her body barely upright as she staggered forward. There was something remarkably off-putting about the sight of her holding on for dear life to something so morbid. A jarring contrast I would not soon be able to forget, if I ever could.

There was something even more unsettling about the ease with which she carried the weapon, and the fact that she had managed to fire something that powerful without a single stray bullet.

“They’re dead!” She boomed across the room, dropping the weapon onto the floor before she yelled again, “Everyone get out! Hurry!”

No one moved. All of the men, myself included, stared at the tiny girl who’d just saved all of our lives.

“Get out now! There’s a bomb in the back!”

Those were the magic words to stir a panicked crowd into action, people stampeding to the single double door at the entrance, but my eyes were fixed on her. She staggered forward, her arm around her waist and her eyes beginning to roll back.

Perhaps I was just clueless, my one-track mind too slow to navigate the scene in front of me, but it took me that long to see it. My brain rioted against the visuals it took in, the dark crimson dripping down her body. It looked like it would swallow her whole.

I tried to will my body to move, to run to her and do something, anything to help her. But I couldn’t, frozen in place as her small steps got weaker. It wasn’t until I saw her begin to sway that I lunged forward just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Wait!” I screamed to anyone who would listen, my eyes frantically trying to meet someone in the crowd, “Someone get a medic!”

The woman with a child was the last one to pass. She stopped among the commotion, looking down at the carnage in my lap before bolting towards the door.

I had to trust that she would care enough to do something, because from that point on my attention wouldn’t be leaving (y/n). Her eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance and wandering aimlessly despite my face being in view.

“Hey, hey little girl.” My voice crackled as I held her cheek, “Hey, look at me.”

She was finally able to meet my gaze, her eyes filling with love with a small, delirious smile gracing her lips.

“Hey old man.”

The grin didn’t last long, the sounds of her choking and coughing replacing it as blood filled her mouth. I tried to turn her enough that she could spit it out, but it was obvious she was struggling to get any air at all.

“We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” I said with a false confidence, the twisted curve of my lips not even barely resembling a smile.

“It hurts,” she sobbed, her hands slipping in the blood on her stomach.

“I know.”

There wasn’t anything I could do; all I could do was sit there and stare, trying to decide where my hands should be. She was applying pressure to her wound on the front, but I could see the wreckage that was once her back. My hands wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I know.” I was trembling, tears dripping from my face and mixing with the bloody mess; they still couldn’t dilute it, somehow make it vanish. “I know you’re tired. But you’ve gotta stay awake, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

At first, I wanted to say the innocence in her voice was surprising, but it wasn’t. She was innocent. She was just a young girl, trying to live a happy, normal life before she met me.

“You’re doing great.” I tried to convince myself this wasn’t my fault, but it didn’t work. She had said it herself — she wouldn’t have ever come to a bank on her own. The statistics of the rarity of this situation kept playing on a loop in the back of my head, but it was just a low hum beneath the sound of her pained whimpers.

“Spencer, I need to tell you something.” The newfound insistence in her voice twisted in my gut, and my hands held tighter to her arm.

“No, don’t,” I begged, already anticipating what was going to happen. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I have to tell you right now.” And then her voice was calm, a smile on her face as her blood-soaked hand left her stomach, trying to raise to touch me. It didn’t make it.

“No, you can tell me later.”

The words were so slurred and pathetic, I’m surprised she understood them. But she did, taking a deep, whistling breath. It was clear it hurt her to speak, and I wanted to tell her to be quiet, but the masochist in me needed to hear the words all the same.

“Spencer, please. Just listen to me.”

This sounded too much like a goodbye.

“I love you.”

Our bodies rocked as I realized I hadn’t taken a breath of my own in too long, the pain in my oxygen deprived lungs not nearly enough to distract me from the genuine softness of her voice.

“I love you so much,” she whispered, “Do you know that?”

I don’t know how she wasn’t crying, her eyes barely open but too tired to blink. That rosy complexion had faded, her skin blanching the longer she lay in my arms.

“Yes, I know.”

“I love you with my whole heart.”

My mind was flashing images from only a couple hours prior, her warm laugh as she laid on my lap, the way her hair slipped between my fingers while I wove it together.

‘You think you’ll still be around?’

‘If you’ll have me.’

The memories were blurring together, creating a symphony of promises that were about to be shattered in front of my eyes.

‘Forever,’ she’d said. ‘Forever.’

‘A white picket fence. Two little bratty genius babies. Just a normal, domestic life with Dr. and Mrs. Reid.’

Rejecting the thought, I shook my head, “You’re going to be fine.”

“I understand what you meant when…” Her voice was too quiet, too distant, to be this warm. “When you said it was nice to be able to say it.”

The heavy footfalls and sound of a transport bed wheeling across the floor alerted me that I would have to let her go soon. Whether this would be the last time I ever held her, I couldn’t be sure.

“They’re gonna come take you now, but I’ll be right behind them. I promise.” I barely got the words out before their hands were all over her, those tired eyes shooting wide open as unfamiliar hands replaced mine.

“Wait, Spencer!” She cried out, her body too limp to make a meaningful attempt to stop them, “Don’t leave me!”

Her screams and sobs were ringing louder than the gunshots had, my body slowly making its way upright as I watched them place her on the bed.

“I’m not leaving you, I promise.” I tried not to let the panic bleed through, raising the volume as she started to be taken away from me, “Stay awake as long as you can.”

I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her attempts to scream. If she was calling my name, it wasn’t recognizable. I’m not sure which hurt worse— the sound of her tired lips butchering my name, or the silence that followed.

She wasn’t able to scream anymore.

When I emerged from the bank, the sun burned my eyes just as much as the sight of my team shocked to see me covered in blood. But I couldn’t focus on them at all, immediately bolting after the paramedics without another thought.

The extra time it took them to carefully load her allowed me to jump into the back of the vehicle before the doors shut. There were no words to describe this situation, nor make it any better.

So I just stared in horrified fascination, trying to gauge her odds as they rapidly changed in front of me. Of 107,141 firearm injuries last year, 31% died. How many of the 69% had assault rifle wounds? I couldn’t remember any other statistics. My brain had turned itself off, focusing only on the frantic beeping and scrambled voices.

“Where is he?” Her tiny voice cut through both the internal and external noise.

“I’m right here.” I nearly shouted from my precarious position standing in the back of the rattling ambulance. I wanted to move closer, but I was too scared. There were so many hands on her, and I didn’t want to get in the way.

“I’m scared.” She said, mirroring my exact thoughts.

“I’m right here.” I repeated, closing my eyes to hide from the carnage long enough to put words together that might make her feel any ounce of comfort, “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Taking an experimental step forward once the paramedics seemed settled in their places, I came to stand behind her. My hands were tinted red and trembled as they reached out to touch her cheeks.

She took a sharp inhale at the sensation, just barely holding her head up straight. I couldn’t tell if she was leaning into my touch or just couldn’t control her neck any longer. Her skin felt like ice, and although she was still beautiful, the blue tint creeping over her face struck fear in my heart.

“How much longer until we get to the hospital? Her body temperature is dropping.”

If she heard me, she didn’t respond. I stared at the paramedic who was obviously more concerned with other things at the moment. They were kind enough to give me a response, even if it wasn’t a satisfying one.

“Just a few more minutes. We can’t do anything until we stop the bleeding, sir.”

“Spencer…” Each time she spoke was simultaneously terrifying and comforting. It was confirmation she was alive, but also troublesome, because I knew that she should be reserving her efforts for staying alive.

“Hang in there, little girl. We’re almost there.”

She opened her eyes, staring up at me with clouded vision. I could see the pain so clearly it might as well have been me on the table.

“Please help me,” she sobbed, “help me.”

“I-I can’t.” They were the two hardest words I’d ever had to say. Frustration mounted in me, but none of it was directed at her. She didn’t do anything wrong. Myself, on the other hand, I hated myself in that moment.

She was begging for me to help her, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but stand here and watch as she bled out in the back of an ambulance, a stranger’s hands practically inside of her stomach.

“I don’t want to die.”

The way her voice cracked took whatever was left of my sanity with it, and I felt my fingertips slip in the blood as I pressed against her face.

“You won’t,” I tried to assure her, “You’re going to be fine. Just stay awake.”

“I can’t.” The usual spunk in her voice had faded, leaving behind the sound of a twenty year old girl with no fight left in her. “I’m so sorry, Spencer…”

‘Sorry?’ I thought below the horror, ‘for what?’

When her eyes shut, they couldn’t even make it all the way. It was an expression I’d seen before on the field. I wasn’t meant to see it on her.

“No. No, no, wake up.” I urged, patting her cheeks softly before closing my hands around them more tightly, “Wake up, little girl, please.”

I was talking to no one, because I don’t think she could hear me anymore. Absolutely nothing in her body changed, even as the paramedics became more rushed.

“I’ve located the bleed!” The woman beside me yelled as the ambulance began to rapidly slow down. “I’m sorry sir, but we need you to move.”

“Whatever you need. Please, just help her.” I’d said the words, but my actions didn’t follow. She stared down at my hands that were still tethered to (y/n)’s face, trying to provide the warmth that she desperately needed.

Somehow, I was able to wrench them away, only then realizing the bloody handprints I’d left behind. Her face still wasn’t moving.

“Please, I—“

Before I could say another word, they were already out of the ambulance. I followed as closely as I could behind them, trying to focus enough to ensure that every word said could be played again in my mind. Because the second she crossed the threshold into the surgery suite, I wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore.

I would have to wait. I would have to wait for her to be better, or wait for a declaration. And in that vast silence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop from torturing myself with every single word uttered in this building before the doors closed.

The doors were ahead of us now, and I wished time could slow down enough that I could give her one more kiss and tell her to be strong one more time before she went into the Schrodinger’s Box that was the emergency room operating table.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and when the thought crossed my mind, I realized that I’d never said it back. She’d said it three times, but in my adamant denial I’d failed to return it.

It was so much like us, I’d almost laughed. She’d made such a point of worrying about me leaving her, neither of us had ever stopped to think about how I’d live without her.

How would I live without her? The only person I trusted to have an answer was wheeled into the room, the door shutting abruptly in front of me.

In the reflection of the metal door I saw myself, drenched in the dark liquid. I tried to clean my face with my hand only to realize that they, too, were dirty with her blood.

The world had fallen silent, and I let myself be crushed by the overwhelming loneliness of an existence without her.

‘Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.’

It was too late.

—————————————————

| Part 15 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #dr spencer reid #h2m #spence reid #spencer reid request #reid request

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 03

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Mentions of alcohol, a very long conversation happens where Hotch is a little buzzed. Big, BIG focus on their age difference, and unintentional misinformation. Spencer has no idea Hotch thinks he’s older, or at least not OLD older, and gets a little panicky/clams up -- and yes I realize Hotch could just background check him and find it out but he respects the man enough to not do that. The chapter is linear, it just encompasses a lot of time passing so hopefully that’s not too confusing. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 5025

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 03

Early September 2010

And so, it begins.

The dynamic shift, the vast change in how Hotch and Dr. Reid had been corresponding for the past few months. Evolving from something so professional and academic to something… looser. More freeing. More room for error, of course, but the risk turns out to be more than worth it for what they gain.

The texts are sporadic, at first. Short interactions, here and there, all stemming from that first, longer conversation about Jack. Hotch follows up the very next day, after he gets to talk to his son in the morning over pancakes. Jessica hovering nearby the whole time. She had apologized for her harsh words, and commended him after the fact how he’d approached Jack on the subject and led the little boy into a conversation rather than a lecture like his teachers had done. Because, as Spencer had mentioned -- there was no need for one. Jack already had the situation handled.

[]6/4, 12:39[] You were right.

[]6/4, 12:39[] He invited the kid that was bullying him over for a playdate. Trying to win him over by killing him with kindness.

[]6/4, 12:43[] My kind of kid.

[]6/4, 12:44[] You’ve taught him well, Hotch.

And that was it. That was all it took to kick off what turns into a frequent occurrence. Slowly, as time passes, their quick texts turn to conversations that naturally revert to work. It’s where they spend most of their time, after all, and what they had bonded over in the first place. But unlike in their emails, it isn’t just about the cases or profiles or statistics required to crack them. It’s much more opinionated than that, erratic in it’s content and frequency. Commentary on Hotch’s team, ideas on the cases they work, case studies and research projects and sometimes even just office gossip that somehow always makes its way to Hotch’s attention despite everyone trying to keep it from doing so.

Or just Dr. Reid observing their antics. This is the beginning of the tonal shift, and Hotch can’t help but think… it just might be a welcome one.

[]6/12, 10:03[] Your tech analyst always sends me rainbow font emails.

[]6/12, 10:07[] Yes, she’s doing that with everyone on the team. It’s Pride month and she’s being supportive.

[]6/12, 10:11[] She considers me a part of the team? How sweet of her.

[]6/12, 10:12[] You are, and as far as the bureau goes you might as well be.

[]6/12, 10:13[] I doubt I could sneak you into payroll, though.

[]6/12, 10:21[] I bet Ms. Garcia could.

[]6/12, 10:28[] Don’t. Say. Anything.

[]6/12, 10:29[] But yes, she could.

It turns into a small reprieve, for Hotch, in the constant deluge of bureaucracy and violence that fills his work day. The single moment he allows a sliver of himself to appear through the cracks of his armor he has to wear to guard himself from it all. To be the stoic leader the team needs, the unmovable tree in the storm.

Only in his quick, typed under the table conversations he has with Spencer does he allow himself the slips of humor. Barely there traces of a smile. Finding the smallest spots of light in his dark days, in his work that can surround and consume to the point of suffocation. Hotch thrives in it, he always has -- while others have drowned. But he doesn’t mind finding this small self-indulgence. Making the decision for himself that he can joke and poke fun at his work and not feel guilty about it. That, for once, he can allow himself this.

Until one day, Spencer returns the favor -- and starts talking about his own work.

[]7/21, 16:17[] If I leave all of my Ph.D. applicants in a ditch in the desert, is that still murder?

[]7/21, 16:30[] Technically or hypothetically?

[]7/21, 16:34[] Different question, would you be my legal council if I snap and it happens anyway?

[]7/21, 16:37[] Of course.

[]7/21, 16:38[] But as your attorney, I have to advise you that we never had this conversation, and murder is wrong.

[]7/21, 16:40[] Hypothetically.

Spencer takes a little longer to open up, but when he does it is through this window into an academic world Hotch had never planned or thought he would ever be privy to. He begins to reveal pieces of it, bit by bit, until Hotch starts to form a picture in his mind of what shape this professor’s life really takes. Making deductions based on his speech patterns, what goes on throughout his day, his word choices, and profiling the man through text message without even meaning to.

He tries to put a stop to it as soon as he realizes this. Dr. Reid isn’t just a consultant anymore, he is his friend -- and Hotch will always do his utmost to not profile his friends. But it’s a little too late for some aspects that can’t help but stand out as time goes on. Such as the inkling that the other man probably isn’t senile with a cane and a stooped back, like Hotch had first thought. Certain parts of his day allude to someone who is a bit fresher to the academic scene -- instead of spending decades on a college campus.

But Hotch sets that aside, to be scrutinized at a later date, and instead turns his focus into enjoying what Spencer has to offer him. As his friend. The stories he shares freely, now that they’ve spent all this time breaking down the barriers. He regales Hotch with his own daily problems, grievances, as well as the little bright spots that he just wants to share with Hotch so that it can lighten up his own days. Which were much more bleak, and crowded with danger and horrid things.

Hotch lives for those messages.

[]7/28, 20:42[] So I have a godson.

[]7/28, 20:44[] He’s four, and he just came to visit last week with his mother. Have you and Jack ever done science experiments at home?

[]7/28, 20:46[] Because I have some that are definite crowd pleasers. Do them right, you can call them ‘physics magic’. I can send you the instructions, it’s well worth it.

[]7/28, 20:47[] I’m not sure how helpful I would be in a scientific area, but I’m always willing to try.

[]7/28, 20:49[] I’d require video evidence of it, then.

[]7/28, 20:50[] But they are so fun, I’d forgotten how much.

[]7/28, 20:51[] No children of your own?

[]7/28, 20:54[] Never found the right person, but I always spent so much time on my degrees that I hadn’t really thought about being a parent.

[]7/28, 20:55[] My Godson really brought it to light, though. I love having him here.

[]7/28, 20:56[] I bet he loves when you come around, or when they get to visit you, too.

[]7/28, 20:59[] I work in a science lab, with lasers and telescopes bigger than my first apartment. My approval rating is pretty high when it comes to my godson.

Although Hotch finds that he doesn’t always start these interactions, the ones that lead to topics outside of work, he also isn’t against them in the slightest. They begin to start messaging at all hours, because of this; first thing in the morning, during their lunch break, whenever something pops up -- what used to be jokes that would just be kept to themselves, turn to conversation starters. And that development shifts the dynamic even more.

[]8/11, 10:31[] Coffee shops always make me feel old, and like I’m a grad student all over again.

[]8/11, 10:38[] You don’t have a T.A. to run and get you coffee?

[]8/11, 10:41[] Of course you would send out for coffee.

[]8/11, 10:42[] Well my order is two steps, not sixteen.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Tyrant.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Pretentious.

They start to tease, banter, and poke fun at each other. Comradery, friendship, and the more it goes on the more it seems to spiral towards something else. Something new.

But it’s these small moments, messages, conversations that can last a minute or an hour, that make Hotch’s chest feel so much lighter as the weeks go by. Hints of a smile easing onto his face, smoothing out and softening the edges in a way they haven’t in a long time. Garnering some attention from the rest of the team, or whoever is in the vicinity that felt brave enough to mention it.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“No one,” Hotch would answer, schooling himself and pocketing his phone. “Just a consultant on a case.”

This is how it goes… for months.

They never speak on the phone. Never even hint at video calls. Never send pictures. (Although Spencer does make a mention once or twice about that promised video when Hotch finally gets around to attempting the ‘physics magic’ experiment he’d emailed him. Hotch secretly hopes that maybe, one day, Spencer will just get to show them in person. Instead of Hotch having to record it for anyone to witness.)

But they talk like clockwork. Play chess on the regular, allowing them to talk more fluently with a laptop to aid the flow of conversation. It starts with once a week, then twice a week, standing dates after hours that meld so seamlessly with their messages every workday. They keep it to the weekdays, at first, since Hotch is busy with Jack on the weekends. But that doesn’t last long. Suddenly, without warning -- it becomes every night as well. That shift is such an organic, natural progression, that it slips in without either of them making comment on it. A silent agreement, because mentioning it would mean admitting why they were pushing this in such a new direction.

They just… missed talking to each other. Two days was too long.

Now, it’s every day.

They text for hours; check in on each other at random throughout the day even when Hotch is on cases or Spencer is busy with his duties as the leading doctoral expert of Caltech. Times when they should be swamped, unavailable to anything other than their primary focus and work load, still littered with short messages. Before and after each flight, when Hotch gets back to his hotel at night, when Spencer has to lecture out of town and they just so happen to be passing each other during travel -- mere states away. So close, yet so far. It’s all the time, it’s constant, and it’s wonderful.

Spencer still helps with cases. Often, even more often than he ever helped the L.A. field office. But it’s not always through email, anymore. Sometimes it’s just easier for Hotch to shoot him a quick text. A detailed message in the middle of their everyday banter and dribble but no less out of place, knowing the good Doctor will answer him quickly. Time is of the essence when they are on a case, but they are always on retainer for each other. Waiting in the wings, ready to jump in with quick, snappy wit and bitten-back smiles, and Hotch feels so good. So light. Better than he has in years.

Happy.

Hotch is happy, finding a friend in Dr. Spencer Reid, even if sometimes that friendship seems to transcend layers he didn’t know were there. Developing into something else, something he hadn’t touched in a long, long time.

Months pass. Months. Like a blur. Like they’ve only just started this thing that’s anticipatory and comfortable and flexible in its medium and that is so easy -- everything Hotch needs in his life -- that he can barely imagine what his days and nights were like before this. Before Spencer.

But it’s months into this correspondence, this charged and bright thing, that he’s home late one night with a Scotch in one hand and a losing game of online chess long forgotten on his laptop screen. Lost in messaging Spencer, back to his phone instead of the chat feature of the chess game. Because texting is their comfort zone, now. He never thought it would be, had seen teenagers and adults attached to their phones like a lifeline and used to scoff about it, but he finally has begun to understand.

Because here he is -- not even looking up when he takes a drink -- lost in his conversation with Spencer. Making each other laugh, in a way he hasn’t in so long. Loud and high and afraid he might wake Jack down the hall so he stifles it with another sip of his Scotch.

[]9/8, 21:12[] If Jack wakes up, you know that’s it for us. He’ll never go back to sleep.

[]9/8, 21:13[] Then stop laughing so loud. I honestly can’t imagine you laughing enough to wake him.

[]9/8, 21:14[] Usually I don’t. I never laugh like this, but I used to.

[]9/8, 21:16[] Mr. FBI isn’t allowed to laugh, I thought. Didn’t they beat that out of you at the academy?

[]9/8, 21:19[] I was able to retain a smidgen of humor, it’s well hidden. You just seem to bring it out more than others.

[]9/8, 21:20[] I’m flattered.

[]9/8, 21:20[] You should be.

[]9/8, 21:21[] If my team saw me crack a smile I’d probably be forced to get a CAT scan.

[]9/8, 21:23[] Do you need one? I have an M.A. in Cognitive Sciences, I’ll be your second opinion.

[]9/8, 21:24[] Probably, but I’ll live.

[]9/8, 21:25[] Very stiff upper lip of you. They teach you that at the academy, too?

[]9/8, 21:26[] No, that would be Scotland Yard. I liaised there for a while.

[]9/8, 21:28[] Wow, you get around. Have you been anywhere else on your global exploration?

[]9/8, 21:31[] Hardly that, I just go where the bureau tells me. I’ve already been bounced all over the country before landing at the BAU. All you can do is keep the ‘stiff upper lip’ and adapt.

[]9/8, 21:31[] “Keep Calm & Carry On”?

[]9/8, 21:33[] Garcia gave me that on a mug last Christmas. I still don’t know what it’s from.

[]9/8, 21:34[] Your age is showing. Get with the times, old man.

[]9/8, 21:35[] You’re one to talk.

[]9/8, 21:35[] What?

Hotch bites back a smile, thinking about how for months he had been so sure Spencer was this elderly professor in his 60’s or 70’s that just happened to find their conversations interesting. That was… very apparently wrong, Hotch can see that now, but he hadn’t had any evidence to the contrary for the entire time they corresponded those first few months.

He could have done a background check on the professor at any time, is sure Garcia already has one saved in a file ready to send him at his first request, but it’s more fun this way. The not knowing, the learning about each other piece by careful piece. Even the smallest bits of information, such as age.

He bet Spencer would get a kick out of his first impression of the man, though.

[]9/8, 21:37[] Oh come on, you know.

[]9/8, 21:39[] No, I actually don’t. Congratulations, you’ve stumped the super genius.

[]9/8, 21:39[] But really, what do you mean?

[]9/8, 21:42[] I always just assumed you are at least ten years my senior, maybe even fifteen. How are you more with the times than I am?

[]9/8, 21:43[] I work at a University. I am surrounded by hormones and the dribble of youth.

There’s a slightly lengthy pause after that exchange, enough Hotch starts to pay closer attention through the buzz of liquor settled over his skin pleasantly.

[]9/8, 21:49[] How old do you think I am?

[]9/8, 21:50[] I don’t know, is it rude if I answer?

Hotch is not laughing to himself, he promises.

[]9/8, 21:52[] Why do you think I’m older?

[]9/8, 21:53[] This feels like a trap.

[]9/8, 21:53[] It’s not.

[]9/8, 21:56[] Well, honestly just from your academic achievements. Not everyone has that kind of time. And all your departments you run, you have to have a pretty level head and knack for maturity to keep that all in order. Especially doctorate students.

[]9/8, 21:58[] Thank you, I think.

[]9/8, 22:00[] I bet you’re the coolest old man on campus, though, don’t get me wrong.

Hotch does outright laugh after he sends that, manages to keep it a little bit quieter, and commends himself on having the upperhand in the conversation for once as he stares at his phone for a few minutes, awaiting an answer.

If he had to guess, Hotch supposes he’s held on to that stubborn image of Spencer being a stooped old professor out of habit. But the more the two have talked, after he'd gotten to know the man and his written verbal expressions and just the way his life runs day to day, it’s pretty easy to see that that is not correct. Spencer could be someone around Dave or Jason’s age, but more likely even younger than that -- closer to his own.

And that… is an intriguing thought that sparks something in his chest. He smothers it with another sip of Scotch and realizes that it has been a solid five minutes of silence. With Spencer not even typing out a response.

[]9/8, 22:06[] Was it something I said?

[]9/8, 22:07[] No, I’m just… contemplating my answer.

[]9/8, 22:07[] Answer to what?

Hotch hasn’t drank that much, but he doesn’t believe he asked a question at all. He scrolls back through their conversation and doesn’t see one. Spencer has asked a good handful, though, all about Hotch’s perception of his age.

Interesting.

[]9/8, 22:09[] Respond, not answer.

[]9/8, 22:10[] I’m all turned around now.

[]9/8, 22:12[] Flustered in your old age? Now I’m flattered.

This is almost like flirting. Skirts the edges of it, and Hotch feels more emboldened to try the more Spencer tap-dances around what is obviously Hotch’s incorrect assumption of his age. He had had no idea Hotch thought he was older, that is apparent, and it’s throwing the other man for a loop for some reason Hotch can’t ascertain.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not old.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not even older than you.

[]9/8, 22:16[] And how do you know that?

[]9/8, 22:17[] Just trust me on this.

[]9/8, 22:17[] Well, how old are you?

Another long, lengthy pause that Hotch waits for with baited breath. He knows that Spencer is there, that he’s staring at his phone and trying to decide the best way to answer without really answering anything. It’s only a matter of minutes, but that is a long time for them. When they are deep in a conversation like this.

Hotch isn’t laughing to himself anymore, but he’s more pleasantly confused than worried. He really has no idea what is making Spencer so hesitant.

[]9/8, 22:22[] Spencer?

[]9/8, 22:25[] I’m not going to tell you.

[]9/8, 22:26[] What, you want me to guess?

[]9/8, 22:28[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/8, 22:29[] That sounds like a challenge. How many guesses do I have?

[]9/8, 22:31[] None. Listen, I don’t want you to know. I shouldn’t have said anything.

[]9/8, 22:33[] I’m afraid it’s going to change your perception of me, and we’ll stop talking like this.

[]9/8, 22:34[] Just keep imagining me with wrinkles and a cane, I’m okay with that.

That drops the small smile right off his face.

Hotch is… surprised by this turn of events. What could be so shocking about this that Spencer thinks they would stop talking to each other? They’re corresponding every night. How could he possibly stop on a dime like that?

It doesn’t make any sense. And that’s not the alcohol talking.

[]9/8, 22:37[] I honestly don’t see how that would be possible.

[]9/8, 22:39[] I’m not going to stop talking to you just because you aren’t the senior professor I imagined running Caltech with an Iron Fist.

[]9/8, 22:40[] Now you’re projecting.

[]9/8, 22:40[] You saying I’m too strict?

[]9/8, 22:41[] Tyrant, I think was the term I chose.

[]9/8, 22:42[] Pretentious.

[]9/8, 22:44[] But Spencer, unless you are somehow underage with five Ph.D.’s, there’s no reason for us to stop talking.

[]9/8, 22:47[] You would not believe how many people treat me like I'm underage, to this day. So that doesn’t inspire confidence.

Hotch pauses with his glass halfway back to his lips, only a few sips left in the glass. Staring at his phone and struggling to make sense of what Spencer is saying. Hotch had been trying to joke and tease with him, but now the word ‘underage’ feels like a glaring beacon of a word on his screen.

He’s very suddenly more than a little nervous, even through the haze of alcohol. He is 45 years old, no matter what he keeps telling Spencer -- there is a limit to this being appropriate or not. What that limit is, he’d have to consider when he’s more sober, and it makes him feel like he should be reigning in the flirtatious notes that keep worming their way into the conversation.

But it’s not actually possible for him to be that young, and everything he’s learned about the man indicates he’s closer to his own age. Was he in his 30’s? Even that felt too young for what Hotch had (subconsciously) profiled -- no, it has to be something else.

No matter what, he didn’t want to keep getting Spencer worked up like this about it. His age hadn’t bothered Hotch before that night, so maybe if he drops it they can revert back to how they’d been spending their late evening hours before this turn in the conversation.

[]9/8, 22:50[] But I’m NOT underage.

[]9/8, 22:51[] If that needed to be said.

[]9/8, 22:53[] Can you buy alcohol by yourself?

[]9/8, 22:54[] Yes.

[]9/8, 22:54[] See this is what I was afraid of.

[]9/8, 22:55[] Relax, I was trying to tease you.

[]9/8, 22:57[] You don’t have to tell me, Spencer. I’ll just keep picturing Sean Connery, or John Steinbeck in the later years.

[]9/8, 22:59[] I see you have a type.

[]9/8, 23:00[] Well, who do you picture when you think of me?

[]9/8, 23:01[] Hugo Weaving, Matrix era. Or Richard Feynman.

[]9/8, 23:02[] Well now I feel typecasted. Who’s Feynman?

[]9/8, 23:02[] An American Theoretical Physicist from the 40’s-60’s.

[]9/8, 23:03[] Ouch. How old do you think *I* am?

[]9/8, 23:04[] I’m afraid to answer that.

[]9/8, 23:04[] O.u.c.h.

[]9/8, 23:06[] You’ve been borderline flirting with me, and you just said you thought I was in my 60’s! What was I supposed to think?

[]9/8, 23:07[] If you’re looking in that age bracket, I’m sure I can get you the Biology Department Head’s number.

[]9/8, 23:07[] He’s 72 with rheumatoid arthritis.

[]9/8, 23:08[] You are hysterical. So funny.

Hotch is smiling wide down at his phone again, feeling lighter and glad he got them back on track.

But…

He can’t help but think back to what he just tried to drop entirely. Blame the Scotch, or whatever drive to know that makes him dig down and root out information in cold cases in his spare time, Hotch doesn’t think he can let it go. Not when it was something Spencer hadn’t meant to be a secret in the first place. Not when, knowing that it has created misinformation between them unintentionally, results in Spencer shying away and hesitant to tell Hotch anything more about himself.

Not when he’d said ‘flirting’, because that had been what Hotch was doing, and he can’t even describe how disappointing it would be to quit while he was ahead. When the build up has been so gradual and easy and everything he’d been looking for and could never seem to find.

Now, this slight disruption is sticking in his mind, sharp like a thorn in his side. Always there, making itself known, and he wonders if he is lucid enough to try and draw the information out of Spencer via interview tactics -- or if the brilliant man would see right through any of his attempts.

Probably. Who was he kidding? Spencer had more degrees and college hours under his belt than Hotch could manage in a lifetime. Best to do this the old fashioned way, then.

[]9/8, 23:10[] 38.

[]9/8, 23:11[] Oh. Really? That’s kind of young to be Unit Chief, congratulations.

[]9/8, 23:11[] No, not me. You. I’m guessing 38.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Oh.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Incorrect.

[]9/8, 23:13[] I don’t even get a hint?

[]9/8, 23:13[] Nope.

[]9/8, 23:15[] We’re not playing a game. I’m not telling you.

[]9/8, 23:15[] So you won’t guess my age, either?

[]9/18, 23:17[] Chicken.

[]9/8, 23:17[] 45.

Hotch near throws his phone across the room. Almost makes a quip about how reading his file is cheating -- but he knows Spencer just made a stupidly accurate ‘educated guess’ because he knows fucking everything.

They really should just put him on the payroll. Hotch is being selfish keeping the man all to himself.

But God, is he enjoying it, too.

[]9/8, 23:19[] There’s no way you profiled that with that kind of accuracy.

[]9/8, 23:20[] How do you do that?

[]9/8, 23:21[] Black magic.

[]9/8, 23:22[] I’ll get it out of you one day, I swear.

[]9/8, 23:23[] And as a man of your word, I believe that you truly believe that.

[]9/8, 23:23[] Full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?

[]9/8, 23:25[] I live to amuse.

[]9/8, 23:25[] And make you smile.

[]9/8, 23:27[] You are one of the few that do.

With a careful pause, nothing left in his glass, a thought perched on the edges of his mind that is already watery with cognitive dissonance, Hotch starts typing before he’s even fully made the decision.

[]9/8, 23:30[] You really think my flirting is borderline? I was going for subtlety, but I must be rusty.

[]9/8, 23:32[] Actually, I just thought I was projecting.

[]9/8, 23:23[] You were married, I didn’t want to presume.

Oh.

The consideration is touching, and sobering even in the dimness of his home office, but it draws the softest of smiles back to Hotch’s face when he begins to type out his answer.

[]9/8, 23:35[] Thank you, for thinking of me first.

[]9/8, 23:37[] But Haley and I separated a long time before she died. We were actually divorced before she went into WICSEC. I miss her every day. But I did try to date for a while, before that.

[]9/8, 23:39[] No luck? I would have thought the FBI badge would at least garner some interest.

[]9/8, 23:40[] I’ve been told I’m intimidating.

[]9/8, 23:41[] I don’t think you are.

[]9/8, 23:42[] You will if you ever meet me. I’ve made underlings cry before without speaking a word.

[]9/8, 23:44[] The Hotchner stare. Have you coined that?

[]9/8, 23:45[] I should. It’s got a ring to it.

They banter and causally slip a few more… flirtatious comments in, and Hotch realizes it really isn’t that much different than before. That he had indeed been flirting with the man long before he knew his age. Which was odd, he didn’t typically go for older men and women. But now that he’s aware Spencer is younger than he thought, possibly even his own age (he swears he is, would put money on it if he could), somehow there’s more of a charge in their correspondence, a warmth and buzzing elation that has nothing to do with his Scotch. Especially now that it’s long gone.

It’s all Spencer, and how they compliment each other, and Hotch finds himself near giddy with that information.

He tries, towards the end of the night where it tips over into the early hours of the morning, to imagine an image of Spencer again -- and finds that he doesn’t even care to. He’s enamored with the man and his wit and the way he makes Hotch laugh without trying. How he looks, his age, it doesn’t matter. Not really. Not to Hotch.

But he is still curious why Spencer won’t reveal it. He can’t be that young.

[]9/9, 00:43[] You really won’t tell me?

[]9/9, 00:45[] Maybe one day. When I’m feeling brave.

[]9/9, 00:46[] Well, I’ll be there. Waiting.

[]9/9, 00:46[] 32.

[]9/9, 00:47[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/9, 00:48[] There’s only so many numbers.

[]9/9, 00:50[] Goodnight, Hotch.

[9/9, 00:51] Goodnight, Spencer.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I've read and rewritten this chapter so many times I'm starting to hate it #but it's super important so I hope it lives up to expectations #we get to all the good stuff after this #but the development here is something I've spent WEEKS trying to make realistic so #I hope you all enjoy it <3 #Chapter updates are Saturdays at 5pm EST #if you want in on the tag list just message me <3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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scabopolis · 3 years

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lv au week, day 2: super heroes

Title: superbloom Fandom: Veronica Mars Rating: PG-13 for content, R for swears (Veronica writes in her feelings journal and really lets those swears go) Pairing: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars Other Characters: Mentions of Mac and Meg Additional Tags: Secret identity (again?! what?), unnecessary epistolary literature (does a journal count as epistolary?), half-baked world building, a vague understanding of superhero lore Word Count: ~1,075 Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

***

Again, written solely because @cubbiegirl and @marshmellowbobcat are earth angels. I even added a title this time so that MB doesn’t have to come up with one.

Why did I write this as Veronica’s journal? Mostly because it’s a style which seems to be a fanfic right of passage and I haven’t tried it so...here we are.

I probably owe a lot to other superhero universes and their world building (as in, referring to them as ‘supers’ ala The Incredibles). What are the full extent of Logan and Veronica’s powers? *shrug emoji*

***

Date: February 15 Tracked a low-level Kane agent to a tourist trap bistro in downtown San Diego. Place was packed. Is this the new thing? Shitty men forget to make Valentine’s Day reservations, so they make them for the day after?

Thought I had the guy but when I mistimed my pulse he metamorphosed into a cockroach and scurried away.

Best part of the night was the chocolate mousse I got to-go. Despite appearances within, the food wasn’t too bad.

Date: February 17 Caught up to Cockroach. Real name is Abel Koontz. Slimy guy tried to escape again, but Mac outfitted me with a souped up Morph Choke as backup — emphasis on the choke. Gonna need to recalibrate that a bit, Mackenzie.

Bonus! Forgot it was laundry day, so had to wear my backup uni. Next time I run into Meg out in the field I’ll have to ask her if she can see my underwear through it.

Date: February 18 Finally got around to watching season two of The Boys. Where do they get this shit?

If Piznarski brings up forming some sort of super team for the 7-millionth time at the summit this year, I’m siccing Clayton on him.

Date: February 21 Got into a fight with Mac. Technically my fault.

I faded while in public, and look, I get it.

Being detected while living as my alter would be bad. BUT!! Being forced to interact with my ex as he is on a date with a woman who legitimately looks like she could be my doppelganger is very bad.

Date: February 22 Clarified with Mac: me fading in public did not worry her. Me tripping Leo on purpose as I faded was apparently a problem.

Date: February 24 Cockroach stood me up.

Date: February 25 For all that is good and holy if another fucking cocky cowboy of a super moves to Neptune, I am going to lose my shit. This newest one? Got in my way as I attempted to track Kane, Jr into a warehouse. Fucking Smirky McCowboy stepped in my way and assured me I didn’t want to follow. Something about a dozen armed guards with guns aimed at the door. MAYBE THAT WAS MY PLAN!

(Because, of course the guy ripped a powers page right out of Superman’s book and has x-ray vision.)

(And, his uni? Not hard to tell when a super has money. They’re always the worst.)

Date: February 28 Ran into Smirky McCowboy again. This time outside of a poker game hosted by a real estate developer with connections to Kane. Smirky said it was a coincidence.

Still no sign of Cockroach.

Date: March 2 FUCKING HELL. He beat me to it. AGAIN! How is he doing this?

Date: March 4 Smirky’s name is apparently Logan. Which I learned because I was getting coffee at Willow Grove (just minding my business while covertly eavesdropping on previously mentioned real estate developer) when some guy sat at my table. Unprompted. Uninvited. UNWELCOME.

Mask or no mask, THAT SMIRK.

The more concerning thing is that his x-ray vision apparently sees through the skeletal enhancements Mac wired into my mask, meaning he ID’d me right away.

Date: March 5 Why do they keep coming here? Doesn’t New York have more crime? Go there!

Mac says it’s my fault for busting the Fitzpatricks, outing Kane as the sociopath he is, and helping all those kids find their lost dogs.

Okay, she only mentioned the first two, but I think the third has value.

The point is! these hangers-on need to find their own territory.

Date: March 6 Mac traced at least 70 arrests to Smirky in the Los Angeles area alone. I hate him.

Date: March 10 If he scoops another one of my cases…

Date: March 11 He calls me Supergirl.

He calls me Supergirl and I want to punch him.

Mac says Cockroach’s tracker is still active but the signal is being blocked.

Date: March 13 Saw Meg today. She took down her own parents. Fucking savage. God, I love her. She flew me up to American Plaza and we drank champagne to celebrate.

Oh! And good news! She says my backup uni isn’t see through.

Date: March 13 Woke up with this terrifying thought: can smirky see through my uni?

He wouldn’t...right? I mean...he’s an asshole but I don’t think he’s a creep.

Date: March 16 I punched him.

Not for the underwear thing! He swears he’s never looked and I weirdly believe him.

And I didn’t punch him as much as he walked into a pulse. Yes, fine.

I maybe purposefully put up the pulse to see if his x-ray vision could detect it. But I didn’t tell him to walk into it.

(He can’t detect it, btw. I did it a second time just to be sure.)

Date: March 18 Found Cockroach. Or, I guess I should say Koontz. He washed up on Dog Beach as his alter.

Mac said it could be a coincidence but we both know that’s not true.

Date: March 19 Did I do this? Did I get Cockroach killed?

Date: March 19 Logan has very good alcohol.

Date: March 20 Hangovers. Bad.

Date: March 20 Logan makes very good pancakes.

Date: March 21 Logan has seen me drunk, which means Logan must be destroyed.

Date: March 22 In a certain light, the smirk isn’t so bad.

Date: March 23 Oh god.

Date: March 24 Oh god.

Do I like him?

Date: March 25 I hate myself. I’m a giant cliché. I apologize to all women supers everywhere.

Logan swears he can’t see past the new enhancements Mac made to my uni.

He also asked me to dinner. Was tempted to 1) fade, and 2) run away, but I did neither.

Date: March 26 Adding insult to injury, Smirky McCowboy really knows how to kiss.

Date: March 27 Mac says I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.

Actually, what she said was that neither he nor I are all that pleasant to be around so we might be meant for each other.

Date: March 28 He really knows how to do some other things, too.

Date: March 29 Logan got me a present: surveillance footage of Kane’s mysterious second-in-command with Koontz the night before he was found.

He’s been upgraded to not the absolute worst.

Date: March 29 To be perfectly clear: we are not a super team.

Date: March 30 Logan and I are on surveillance detail tonight.

Maybe I can convince him to stop for some chocolate mousse.

#lvauweek2021 #vm fanfic #lv fanfic #logan x veronica #veronica mars #logan echolls #never stories #otp: the one person #p: logan x veronica #cubbiegirl #marshmellowbobcat #a title AND a read more?#she's learning!#by far the silliest thing I have ever written.#BY FAR

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laurenmm62017 · 3 years

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Kalluzeb Appreciation Week Day 5!

Prompt: Soulmates

I may continue this at a later date cuz I had so much fun writing this! Maybe from Kallus' POV or post S3? Who knows!

This was inspired by When you Pry it From My Cold Dead Chest by @anathtsurugi

@kalluzeb

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary:

Soulmates work differently for many different species. Most humans see black and white until they meet their soulmate. Twi’leks stop aging at 20 years old until they meet their soulmate.

For Lasats, they receive the same injuries as their soulmate until one of them dies. However, they heal after a few hours, while their soulmate has to suffer the regular healing process.

Zeb knew from personal experience that his soulmate was a tough bastard. When he was only about 15 years old, his soulmate bruised their ribs so hard the Zeb could not attend training that day. At 21, he was promoted to lieutenant in the High Honor Guard of Lasan. During his ceremony, his blasted soulmate broke their leg, and Zeb collapsed in front of his family and his commanding officers. At 25, his soulmate was caught in some sort of explosion and burns showed up all over Zeb’s face and body. At 27, he became the youngest Captain in the Honor Guard in Lasan history and he was grateful that his soulmate decided to wait until after the ceremony to break their left arm.

Zeb often wondered if his soulmate was also a Lasat, and if his injuries showed up for them. He knew that his sparring injuries and his childhood injuries were nothing they couldn’t handle. He hoped that he hadn’t been detrimental to any missions that his soulmate ever had to do.

At 30, he was charged with the Royal Family’s safety and he moved out of his family home and into the Royal Palace. During his move, his soulmate was electrocuted over and over, causing Zeb to spasm on the floor of his new quarters for 15 minutes before a servant found him and brought him to the infirmary. He wondered if his soulmate even knew that he got the same injuries as them.

At 34, the Empire invaded Lasan, and Zeb lost all hope of ever meeting his soulmate. The Imperials were using T-7 ion disruptors to execute every Lasat that crossed their path. The Royal Family were taken to the underground safe room while he stood guard in the throne room to keep the Imperials at bay. Suddenly, he felt the familiar zaps of a bo-rifle and saw familiar burn marks blossoming on himself.

Several things happened at once: 1. Garazeb realized his soulmate was here on Lasan. 2. He realized that they were an Imperial fighting a Guardsman. 3. A huge explosion ripped through the throne room and knocked him out.

When Zeb woke up, everything was silent. He dragged himself to his feet and sprinted to the safe room, but he was too late. The Royal family, as well as the guards he had ordered to stay, had been completely disintegrated.

Horror filled his heart. The Empire destroyed Lasan. His soulmate had participated in this. Bike threatened to swell up in his throat but he forced himself to keep it together.

He sprinted over to his family’s home across the city. He didn’t see a single person or Lasat. He burst into his family home, yelling for his mother, father, any of his family. He found his grandmother hiding in the secret room; she was the only one left. He was able to smuggle them off planet, but she had already not been doing well. She passed away only a few days after they escaped and he was again, completely alone.

At 39, he finally met his soulmate, at Vizago’s base of operations. The T-7 ion disruptors were already weighing heavy on his mind, but feeling the zap of his own bo-rifle on his shoulder when he hit the ISB agent really took the cake.

“You…” It hit him that this Imperial was also wielding a bo-rifle, which should have only been used by a Lasat in the Honor guard. He found out that his soulmate really had been on Lasan all those years ago, he had been the one to order the use of the ion disruptors, and that he had won the bo-rifle by the way of the Boosahn Keeraw. It was obvious that his soulmate trained hard with the weapon. He got past Zeb’s defenses again and again. When the ion disruptors overloaded, he took the opportunity to bring Zeb to his knees and was about to deal the final blow, but was thrown into one of the rocks by the Force, knocking him out. Of course, this also led to Zeb passing out as well.

When he woke, he was surrounded by his crew. Kanan said that Ezra had been the one to save him from… his soulmate.

They encountered his soulmate (he learned his name was Kallus) many more times, before that fateful day on the ice moon over Geonosis. Kallus broke his leg on the way down to the surface, causing Zeb’s leg to throb with pain, but he could ignore it after all the crap his stupid soulmate has put him through. However, Kallus seemed much more affected this time, for some reason.

Zeb discovered a peculiar meteorite that seemed to radiate heat and light, so he tossed that to Kallus to hold while he fashioned an improvised homing beacon so that they could be found.

They talked for a long time, all while plotting a way out of the ice cavern they crashed in. Zeb talked about Lasan, how Hera and Kanan found him at his lowest point, and dragged him back up by the ears to begin fighting for something bigger than himself. That had always been his goal, after all. To make a meaningful difference in the galaxy, even in small ways.

Zeb explained the Boosahn Keeraw to Kallus, and that he had earned the borifle. Kallus seemed guilty for not understanding the significance but Zeb brushed him off. How could he have known, after all?

Kallus told Zeb of his childhood and early career, the awful events of Onderon and the Lasat who worked for Saw Guerera.

“Well, you can’t judge all Lasat the same.”

“Does that include Imperials?”

He even told Zeb of that first time he saw Zeb, when color had filled his once black and white world. On the surface of the mining planet when the Ghost crew were freeing the Wookiee from slavery. The first color Kallus saw was purple, the color of his soulmate, and color seemed to ripple out like waves from where Zeb was.

“Objectively, it was magnificent, but I was rather horrified that my soulmate was a Rebel.”

They decided the best way out was for Kallus to piggyback on him while he climbed the pillars that held up the cave. Zeb could feel the slight warmth of Kallus through his jumpsuit as he climbed the pillars. A few harrowing minutes later filled with cracking ice and horrifying bird-beaked creatures, Zeb threw Kallus up and out of the cave and Zeb scrambled to get out as well. As he reached the opening he saw Kallus aiming Zeb’s own borifle at him. Kallus’ gaze then drifted slightly to the side and fired at the creature that had tried to follow Zeb out of the cave.

Zeb felt relief and something he wasn’t quite sure of fill his chest as Kallus held his hand out to help him climb the rest of the way.

The rest of the night was spent in the cover of a shallow cave they found, huddling around the warm meteorite they found in the cavern.

Kallus admitted that Lasan was not supposed to end like that, and that he wasn’t actually the one to give the order to use the ion disrupters. In exchange, Zeb offered his name to Kallus.

“Zeb. Short for Garazeb. I know. My name is Alexsandr Kallus.”

After what seemed like forever, the storm cleared up, and gave a perfect view of the Ghost flying above them. Zeb wanted Kallus to come with them. They’d treat him fairly, allow him to atone for what he did. However, Kallus admitted that he needs answers now, and the only way he can get them is to stay with the Empire.

Before Zeb left Kallus, he said “When you find your answers, I’ll be there.”

Then Zeb turned to the Ghost and went to greet his family.

#star wars #star wars rebels #kalluzeb appreciation week #alexsandr kallus #garazeb orrelios #kalluzeb #kaw2021

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redsector-a · 3 years

Text

AO3 Ask Game

I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still). 1. How many works do you have on ao3?

46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

309662 according to the stats.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm. Basically AO3 can be summed up as: Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related) Torchwood Highlander But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best. Highlander Star Wars Babylon 5 Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count) Torchwood Star Trek LOTR Stargate (SG-1, SGA) Mortal Kombat I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1: You rearrange me till I’m sane Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes. Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him. Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living. 2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.

3: Puck Luck Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.

It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?

4: Loose Lips Launch Ships

Based on the following prompt: “We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-” Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.

5: Indelible Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...

(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At the moment? Probably: Look at you look at me Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be. For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love (I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin). Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;) Torch Song Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes. --- A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way). The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -

The Immortal Mr. Jones A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones. My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist* The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands* Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around. One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible. Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.

#icyredfics #writing #winterhawk #long post

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imjustthemechanic · 3 years

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The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome Part 22/? - Up to Speed Part 23/? - Expect Further Delays Part 24/? - The Welcome Wagon Part 25/? - Fugitives Part 26/? - A Reluctant Accomplice Part 27/? - Deja Vu Part 28/? - Interview with a Madwoman

Hey, check it out, I’m still alive.

Peggy knew she couldn’t spend all her time moaning over the romantic dilemma life had presented her with. She let herself dwell on it for a moment, then forced her mind on to more practical matters. By the time they returned to the farmhouse, she’d decided how she wanted to approach this interrogation.

“I think you should talk to her first,” she told Kay. “While I’m out of sight.”

“You’re the one who knows her,” Kay protested.

“Yes, but she’s expecting me,” Peggy reminded her. “If we start with you, it’ll catch her off guard.” She did not want Dottie to think she was in a position to make demands.

Kay nodded slowly. “All right, you go down by the hood. I’ll open the back.”

The back boot opened with a creak. Peggy could immediately smell ammonia. At some point during the night, Dottie had needed to relieve herself and had been either unwilling or unable to hold it in. Peggy probably ought to have felt sorry for her, but after all Dottie had put her through, it was hard.

There was a silence that was just a bit too long to be the moment in which Kay pulled the tape off Dottie’s mouth, and Peggy found it rather reassuring that the woman could still be taken by surprise.

“Dobroye utro,” said Kay. That meant good morning. “Olga Barynova.”

“Kto ty?” asked Dottie. Who are you? Her voice was level and measured, deliberately toneless.

“I’m you, but smarter,” Kay replied in English. “You didn’t read the message. You didn’t think you needed to, because you already know everything. Surprise!”

There was another silence, as Dottie re-assessed the situation. Peggy wondered what was going on in her head.

“You won’t take me back,” Dottie said. “You’ll have to kill me.”

“You didn’t read the message,” Kay repeated. “Do you want to know what it said, or are you just going to lie there in a puddle of your own piss trying to pretend you know what you’re talking about?”

Peggy really did rather wish she could see the expression on Dottie’s face. It was probably well worth seeing.

“What did the message say?” asked Dottie.

“That I have no intention of turning you back over to them,” Kay reassured her. “I want you and I to go back together, and we’re gonna burn the place down.”

Dottie laughed. “That’s exactly what you would say if you were here to drag me back, because it’s exactly what I would say to you if our positions were reversed.”

“You don’t trust me?” asked Kay. “You sure do seem to trust Peggy Carter, and I’m pretty sure she wants to see you rot in jail for the rest of your life.”

“Peggy thinks she’s one of the good guys,” Dottie snorted. “She keeps her promises even when they’re stupid. If you’re anything like me, you don’t know what a promise is.”

Peggy decided that was her cue. She came and stepped into Dottie’s field of view. It had clearly been a rough night for Dottie in the trunk of the car. She’d evidently struggled quite a bit, trying to loosen the tape, and had not succeeded. There were red marks on the visible skin of her arms and legs where it had dug into her flesh. Her hair was in disarray. She did look momentarily surprised when Peggy came into view, but hid it quickly.

“Peggy, Peggy, Peggy,” she said, clucking her tongue “You of all people should know better than to partner up with one of us. We’re bad news.”

“I decided I needed some expert advice,” Peggy replied. “Despite what Chief Thompson thinks, I am not nearly deranged enough to think like you do.”

“I’m not deranged,” said Dottie. “I know exactly what I’m doing. You just can’t believe that because it doesn’t align with your goals.”

“You want revenge,” said Kay. “You want to get back into the USSR un-noticed and destroy the people who made you. You don’t want another little girl to ever become what you are.”

“I’m not that altruistic,” Dottie replied. “I was seven years old when they put me and my best friend in a ring together and told us that only one could leave. I just want them to suffer.” She smiled tranquilly.

“So do I,” Kay promised.

“I don’t believe you,” Dottie told her flatly. “What’s in this for you, Peggy? Or are you the altruistic one?”

Peggy decided on the truth. “Kay has informed me that one of Captain America’s men is a prisoner in the USSR,” she said. “I want to help rescue him.”

“Aw, you’re doing it for love,” said Dottie. “That’s cute. So what makes you think I have any idea where to find him?”

“Because the same place that made us is also working on him,” said Kay. “He’s part of the Winter Soldier program.”

“And you don’t know where to find that?” Dottie asked suspiciously.

“My information is out of date,” Kay replied.

“I promise,” said Peggy. “I will not return you to your masters. I’m not sure what I am going to do with you, but I know to give you back to them would mean your death.”

“Oh, no,” Dottie shook her head. “It would be way worse than that.”

“I will rescue Sergeant Barnes, and you two may do what you wish with this Red Room and the people in it,” Peggy said. “But I promise that when I leave Russia again, I will take you with me.”

“What happens if I refuse?” asked Dottie. “Are you going to send me back to jail to have you hanged for treason, Peggy? I know you’re not going to kill me… that’s not your style.”

“No, but it’s mine,” said Kay. “And I doubt she’ll shed a single tear.” She took out a pocket knife. “I know you’re thinking of how you’re going to run away, or how you’re going to betray us both, but keep in mind. I know all your moves. I know all your hiding places. There is nothing you can do, and nowhere you can go, that I cannot anticipate. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes,” Dottie said. “I understand perfectly.”

“Do you agree, then? You will help Peggy to find Sergeant Barnes, and in return I will help you to destroy the Red Room?”

“Absolutely,” said Dottie.

Peggy knew they couldn’t trust her, and realized she was counting on Kay to make sure they could keep Dottie under control. Kay had asked Peggy to trust her, hadn’t she? Now there was no choice. Was there a chance this still might turn around? That Kay might turn out to be the enemy after all?

It didn’t matter. Peggy was already in this too deep. Sunk Cost might have been a fallacy, but when the cost involved was one’s freedom and reputation, there wasn’t much to be done.

“It’s a deal, then,” said Kay, and started cutting the tape off Dottie.

“So,” said Dottie, entirely too casual. “It’s Kay, is it?”

“It is,” said Kay. “And what are you calling yourself these days, Olga?”

“Not Olga,” Dottie replied. “Olga Barynova died years ago. I like the name Peggy uses for me. After all, I am quite dotty, and I tend to do things under the table.” She looked at Peggy and smiled.

Peggy did not smile back.

“Then that’s what we’ll call you,” said Kay. She finished cutting the tape, and began peeling it off. “You’re hungry and dehydrated after being in that trunk all night. Come inside and we’ll give you something to eat.” They’d saved some of their own breakfast for her. “And you can tell us everything you know about the Winter Soldiers.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Dottie wagged a finger. “I’m not stupid. I’m not telling you anything until you’ve held up your end of the bargain. When we’re in Russia and haven’t been caught, then I’ll tell you where we’re going.”

Peggy would have protested, but Kay just shrugged. “That sounds fair,” she said.

“And how are we supposed to know what part of Russia we’re going to?” asked Peggy.

“That I can tell you after breakfast,” Dottie said. “Don’t worry about money, I’ve got some stashed away for the occasion. Now where’s that food. I’m starving.”

The two women sat and watched Dottie eat her breakfast, and Peggy’s misgivings only increased. Talking to Dottie had reminded her rather sharply that Kay was a master manipulator… she’d manipulated Peggy when Kay had been the one in prison, and now she’d managed to play Dottie, too, something Peggy would have thought was next to impossible. Now it was her, of all people, whom Peggy had to trust with her life, because the only alternatives were jail or Dottie.

Somewhere along the line she’d made a terrible mistake. In fact, the longer this went on, the more Peggy was sure the whole thing had been a series of terrible mistakes, right back to…

… well, no. Not staying in New York wasn’t a mistake, because if she’d done that, Steve would still be frozen in the arctic ice right now. And anything she’d done after that… no, there was really no point at which she could have extracted herself from this and not gotten in trouble for it. Not unless she was willing to admit that getting Steve back at all was a mistake, and she couldn’t possibly say that. Or could she? When Kay had told her outright that this wasn’t how history was ‘supposed’ to go, maybe it was a mistake.

It didn’t matter now, did it? The future was already changed, and they couldn’t go back and fix it.

Dottie devoured the breakfast they’d set out for her without the slightest thought of table manners, stuffing so much in her mouth that Peggy was afraid she’d choke. Once she’d satisfied her hunger, she asked for some twigs from the woods. Peggy sat with her while Kay brought back an armful they’d already gathered up, intending to use them as kindling. Dottie selected the ones she liked the shapes of, and arranged them into a map of the USSR.

“We won’t get in from the west,” she said. “They watch that too closely. To go from the east, we’d have to pass over Chinese airspace and that’s just as risky. From the south we’ve got the Himalayas blocking the way, and I don’t think any of us are crazy enough to try to go from the north. Not even me.” Dottie glanced up at her companions and smiled as if this were a very funny joke.

Peggy did not smile back, but Kay chuckled a little.

“The way in,” Dottie went on, “is through Turkey. The area is mountainous and difficult to patrol, but the locals know their way around I have some things prepared. It’ll be a long hike, but we can take the train from Tbilisi to Stalingrad…”

“Volgograd,” said Kay under her breath.

“… and from there, I’ll tell you where we’re going next,” said Dottie.

“Mm-hm,” said Peggy. It seemed straightforward enough, though Dottie was right – it would be a very long walk through some hostile terrain. “You said we’ll need that money you mentioned… where have you got that squirreled away?”

“Nevada,” said Dottie. “Joseph’s hanging on to it for me.”

The first Joseph Peggy thought of who might have anything to do with Dottie Underwood was Josef Stalin, but that could not possibly be right. “Who is Joseph?”

“Joseph Strieber.”

It took a moment for Peggy to remember who that was, and then it seemed almost as unlikely as Stalin – perhaps more so. “The Governor of Nevada?” she asked. “He’s the one who wants you caught! The mafia is breathing down his neck after you robbed the Toucan Hotel!”

“Plausible deniability,” said Dottie. “If he’s the one shouting that I need to be in prison, the mob won’t realize that he’s the one who let me into the Toucan at their grand opening. I was his date for the evening.” She smiled. “And now I can make him do anything I want.”

“So we’re going to Carson City,” said Kay.

Peggy thought she’d better make sure Governor Strieber didn’t get a look at her during this visit… she had enough problems right now without a desperate politician getting any leverage over her. “Then we need to catch up with Steve,” she added.

“Steve?” Dottie cocked her head and smiled. “We’re taking Captain America with us?”

“It’s his friend we’re rescuing,” said Peggy.

“Well, if you’d told me that from the beginning, I might have agreed to help without all the threats!” said Dottie, delighted. “He’s a dish, isn’t he?”

“So people say,” Peggy said. People who’d never met Steve, and didn’t realize that he was so much more than that. But she had another worry now, she realized… Dottie liked to know people’s weaknesses, and now she already knew what Peggy’s was.

#fanfic #captain america #agent carter #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

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viwihere · 4 years

Text

189 (Spencer Reid x Female Reader)

*gif is not mine

Summary:

y/n is a new addition to the BAU team, she is also a doctor, so can she and Dr. Reid work together to solve her first case or will the keep butting heads? Reader is 21 in this, it is set in season 3. (Spencer is 26 for reference)

Warnings:

Bad editing, a few nono words. Mention of drugs, kidnapping, and murderey stuff. somewhat implied smut. enjoyyyy. this is my first fic, I tried with the case stuff so hopefully it makes sense. teehee it probably sucks.

word count:

5,280 The time it took for the elevator to get from the ground floor to the bullpen was too long, but not long enough. I only gained the privilege of drinking a few weeks ago but here I was walking into the bullpen of the Bau. The weight of my Go bag over my shoulder couldn't match the weight of nerves and excitement in my head right now. Jesus y/n. Get yourself together, I cursed myself in my head. You have three doctorates in your name, you can do this.

I watched as a man walked down from an elevated platform leading to what seem to be a bunch of offices.

“Ah you must be Ms. y/l/m, I’m Supervisory Agent Hotchner. If director Struass wants you here so bad you must be special. Not many people warm up to that woman, me included. Please follow me.”

I’m not sure if I should be happy or frustrated he didn't let me get a word in. Probably happy, he saved me the embarrassment. I followed him up the stairs into what I assumed was a meeting room. And I was right. He pushed open the door to reveal a bunch of people sitting around a round table.

“This is your new team, ssa Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, derek Morgan, Emily Pretniss, tech analyst Penelope Garcia, and… Dr. Reid.”

I looked right at the man he pointed to as he said that. Tall nerdy type. He looked very young to be a doctor. Then I remembered I’m a doctor times three and I can't even rent a rental car yet. He was cute, scratch that absolutely adorable, and his hair. Jesus. I was pulled out of my trance when Hotch continued,

“Team this is new special supervisory agent y/n y/l/n.”

That's when I realized I could make my impression and the world fell out.

“Actually it’s Doctor.”

Everyone in the room stared for a few seconds. Emily was the first to speak,

“what are you 16? I mean I shouldn't be surprised cause Spence is only 26 but I didn't realize young people are getting smarter.”

This reaction wasn’t new to me.

“I’m 21”

I replied with a smile as I sat down next to Garcia. I quickly turned to see Morgan pat Dr. Reid on the shoulder and proceeds to say,

“Well pretty boy, looks like she beat your record by a year. You were 22 when you joined.”

Dr. Reid quickly brushed off his hand and shifted in his seat.

JJ was the next to speak,

“Where did you study?”

I quickly thought back to two years ago as I received my third (and final) PHD from MIT. I missed school, things were easier there.

“MIT, that’s where I got my doctorates.” I replied.

“Wait, Doctorates? As in plural?” David Rossi asked even more dumbstruck.

“Yeah…” I replied hesitantly “Mathematics, psychology, and humanities. I was only going to study psychology but after I received it I realized no one was hiring 15 year olds so I stayed in school till 17. After that I participated in a few field studies with professors and my mom made me take a break and do some normal things, like friends and stuff.”

I don't know if it was possible but everyone was even more shocked. Everyone but Dr. Reid, he seemed more… shameful. Derek spoke first, turning to Dr. Reid

“dude she broke your doctorate record by two years AND has friends.”

That certainly didn't help with the shame he was displaying. But seconds later he resituated himself and seemed more closed off, even angry. I tried not to think much of it.

“Alright folks, you spent all our briefing time interrogating Dr. y/l/n here, Garcia you’ll have to prep us on the jet.”

He turned to me this time. “You have a go bag with you?”

I nodded my head in reply as everyone stood up. “Good, wheels up in 30.”

Everyone shuffled out of the room. Across the table Derek was rubbing Dr. Reids back again saying, “don't worry kid, you still have your IQ of 187.”

I smirked and even giggled a little at the statement, but when they both looked up at me questioningly I quickly squeaked out a “sorry nothing.” Now, about this jet…

_______________________________________________________________________

Spencer’s POV:

When y/n first entered the conference room I took her in. She was very pretty with a “doe in the headlights” type of innocents. She looked extremely young, I was happy to have someone more my age around. I assumed she had just excelled at her training at Quantico, but when she announced she was a doctor my heart sank a little. She was beautiful and smarter than most people in the room already, how would she like me at all? At least I have my two other PHDs I told myself, but then she delivered the second blow. She did too. And sooner than me.

I could already tell the team was going to go to her as their “resident genius.” Most of them found me annoying already. And she said it herself, she has friends. Which means she has some sort of social skill… Even Morgan expressed his belief I had been beaten out. I have to prove to the team that I’m just as smart as her though I may lack most of her other attributes. Especially after she smirked when Morgan mentioned my IQ of 187.

Like Hotch said, we were wheels up in 30. Garcia was on the monitor briefing us.

“You guys are on your way to Ann Arbor. There have been three deaths of males, ages 20-26.”

Rossi interrupted “why haven't we been called sooner?”

“I was getting to that…” garcia retorted

“All of the causes of death were overdoses. The local police didn't think much after the first one of it till two more showed up. All the bodies dumped in public places. Each male did very well education wise. One was valedictorian, the other two honors at university of Michigan”

y/n jumped in this time. “What did they all overdose on?”

I could immediately see the change in demeanor on Garcias face. She paused for a second before she proceeded to answer

“they all overdosed on...Dilaudid.”

Shit.

_______________________________________________________________________

y/n's POV

As soon as Garcia spoke those words the whole mood on the place shifted. I could immediately tell Dr. Reid was the most uncomfortable. I tried to break the silence but I could tell right after I said it it just made things worse.

“Hydromorphone? That’s an oddly specific drug. This could be personal.” Everyone remained quiet.

“Is something wrong?” I asked directed at everyone.

“No.” Dr. Reid replied immediately so I took the hint to let it go.

JJ and Emily made knowing eyes with me right after. Hotch broke the awkwardness soon after and begane giving assignments.

“Ok, so the sheriff informed me they still have the most recent crime scene barred off, so y/n and Spencer I need you to check that out. JJ I need you to get ahead of the press, this is a school so it's going to be a mess, the rest of us will go down to the precinct and meet the local police.”

The rest of the plane ride was calm with nothing but a whisper or two from everyone.

We landed and headed to the latest dump site. It was a public library. The ride to the library was even more awkward then that moment on the plane, Dr. Reid was acting very guarded.

Many people have asked me what goes on inside my head, what makes me a genius? I hate that word. The only way I can describe it is that like most people our brain is aware of everything going on around us, but does not register it. My brain does. I can assume it's the same for Dr. Reid.

“So…” I began, “You know a lot about me already… how about you?”

He obviously dreaded the fact I opened my mouth. He didn't take his eyes away from the windshield as he responded.

“My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I graduated from Caltech with three doctorates in Engineering, chemistry, and mathematics, I can read 20,000 words a minute, I have an IQ of 187, I have an eidetic memory, speak four languages and partial of a bunch more, and I work as a profiler for the BAU. ”

I honestly couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic, or just trying to piss me off. I really wanted him to like me but I guess that wasn't happening. Was he showing off? I tried to lighten the mood,

“four? I only speak three. English, latin, and greek. But I can sing the alphabet backwards so I guess that makes up for the rest.”

He didn't say anything afterwards. So I sat back and enjoyed the quiet car ride to the library. That’s not true. I silently spiralled about how to get Dr. Reid to like me. But the more and more time I spent with him, the more closed off he became.

Everything about the crime scene was textbook. There wasn't anything obstruct, just the body. Nothing of interest was found at the crime scene except how Dr. Reid was obviously ignoring me, and when he finally did speak it was a passive aggressive remark.

The coroner confirmed it was a dilaudid overdose. When Reid and I arrived back at the station the rest of the team was just as stumped. All we could profile was that it was probably someone with a hatred for successful scholars. They were probably rejected by The university.

We had Garcia look at rejects, and people on dilaudid prescriptions. There were no red flags in either categories. We were all sitting around bouncing ideas off each other. Everyone seemed to be glossing over the fact dilaudid was the drug of choice but I knew it was important in some way. Hotch got the team's attention a little while later stating,

“The sheriff informed me we have another body at a public park.”

And a few minutes later we were all on our way to see it. I was in a car with Emily and JJ this time. I liked them both, they seemed like a good group of people to get blackout drunk with on a saturday night. And trust me, I'll be needing that with all the worrying I've been doing about Dr. Reid hating me. Almost like Emily could read my mind she bagan,

“So, y/n, you’re 21. Have you had the time to get a drink at your first bar yet? JJ and I are going out tonight if this case goes nowhere.”

JJ jumped in, “just a drink or to, can't get drunk on the job… Emily.” Emily scoffed at her remark.

“Depends, are you buying?” I gave my answer in my response.

When we arrived at the park, most of it was barred off, the body was covered in a white tarp. Hotch lifted the tarp to reveal a female body lying there.

“Wait a second, she's female, that doesn't fit the profile,” Emily stated.

“We have to wait for the coroner's report to determine if it's the same cause of death.” Hotch replied. “Derek get Garcia on the phone, see if we can identify her.”

Derek walked away talking to Garcia on the other end of the line.

I jumped in “the crime scene is the same as the one at the library, nothing”

Dr. Reid finally spoke an unamused look on his face, “that could mean this isn't related at all, actually She looks like a druggie who just overdosed in the park last night.”

I bent down and examined the body, that's when I noticed a bit of dried vomit in her nose. “She definitely overdosed, there is vomit in her nose. She probably aspirated. But there isn’t any on her lips or on her face. It looks like she was wiped clean. Remorse? Her clothes are dirty but that could just be from the rain last night”

Reid seemed to be making a game out of dismantling everything I was saying with his reply “Or she aspirated and the rain washed the vomit away. And her clothes could just be dirty cause she's an addict. We won't know till we have the coroner's report. I don't think this is related at all.”

Damn he was getting on my nerves. Something nagging in me knew this was connected just like the dilaudid. Derek came back,

“Garcia couldn’t identify her, she doesn't have any ID on her. We have to wait a bit.”

Hotch added “Well then, till the coroner report we can't do anything so I think we should all head to the hotel.”

Emily lit up “woohoo drink timeeeee,” everyone shook their head. I got in a final word before everyone left,

“Something tells me the dilaudid, and this woman are connected to this case in a way we aren't seeing.”

Reid seemed even more annoyed with me now. Then it hit me, the denial, the walls I knew it all to well. I had been there.

_______________________________________________________________________

Loud music and people chatting filled the room. JJ, Emily, and I are out at a bar like promised earlier. Two drinks in we all cut ourselves off in case we needed to chase someone down later that night. We were all still tipsy and chatting now. JJ was talking about the annoying parents trying to interfere with the investigation and press. Emily suggested we take them out next. Yeah, she wasn’t tipsy. She was drunk.

“Is Reid always such an asshole?” I asked bluntly.

“No, I think he just doesn’t know how to act around girls. Especially his age.” JJ snickered.

I followed up “Did he have a problem with hydromorphone? He gets more and more annoyed with me everytime I bring up dilaudid.”

The girls immediately looked at eachother sceptical. At that moment I knew. “Nevermind, forget I asked.”

The rest of the night consisted of giggles and silly stories, but the wheels about the case were still turning in the back of my head.

_______________________________________________________________________The next day came quickly. We were all back at the precinct, waiting for Hotch and the sheriff to arrive. Emily and JJ were sitting in the corner whispering to themselves, when derek walked over to them,

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside girls?” He asked them. I giggled cause I remembered back to last night after they decided to order more than two drinks. Emily could see the smirk on my face and responded with a very sincere “shut-up.”

Reid sat in the corner of the room observing. I took that silence as a time to speak up,

“Guys, I’ve been thinking a lot, what if the unsub isn't targeting a certain type of person because they don't like scholars, what if they are playing with us?”

Derek chimed in “what do you mean?”

“Well it depends, do any of the males on the team have a history with dilaudid?”

That was the final straw. In that moment Dr. Reid got up and stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him. I immediately got up and followed him out of the precinct into the ally behind the building.

“WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?” he yelled at me. He was frantic running his hand through his hair.

“What's MY problem? I DUNNO YOU ALSO HAVE THREE PHDs WHY DON'T YOU FIGURE IT OUT?” He looked startled but I continued,

“The MINUTE I joined the team you’ve tried to upstage me or ignore me. You’ve completely closed yourself off to me, you only speak to me when you want to challenge me.”

He was slowly inching closer to me but I wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention as I continued,

“And stop trying to hide the dilaudid thing! You make it so obvious! You forget I’M ALSO A PROFILER!...” I had many more things to say to him but I was immediately cut off by his lip on mine. They were soft, which confused me, one would think his lips would be dry for someone who doesn’t know how to shut-up.

We stayed like this forever which was really only 30 seconds. He pulled away and looked at me. I couldn't read his facial expression. Not two seconds Hotch came into the ally.

“Is everything good, we got the ID and coroner report of the woman from yesterday.” Before I could speak Reid replied,

“Yes everything’s fine.” He began walking back into the building.

Regret, that's what the look on his face was.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Linda Ferell, age 20. She graduated from MIT this year.” Garcia gave us the woman's ID.

“Why was she all the way out here?” Emily questioned,

Spencer was sitting across the room yet again ignoring me as I made eye contact with him. He was unreadable again.

“She has a mother who lives a mile from here. She fits the profile but why would the unsub start killing women?”

“Cause of death?” I asked.

Then my fear, the thing that was weighing on my gut for the past 24 hours.

“Xanax.”

At that moment I knew my theory was right.

“I know what this is about.”

Everyone turned to me, I gulped and began telling the story that you’ve only ever told your parents and your therapist.

“I had a hunch the unsub was targeting someone personally for the specific use of dilaudid and how all of the male victims matched the description physically and education wise of well… Reid.”

Everyone was confused. I could see it in their faces. The only person keeping up was Dr. Reid. genius’s I guess. I continued….

“So when I thought that Dr. Reid had some past involvement with umm… dilaudid I began to think the unsub was targeting him.”

Some of the team was starting to get it… I think. I looked over at Reid, he was ashamed but he nodded at me to keep going. Almost as if he knew what I was going to say next.

“Two years ago. I was out of school, I had no plans. Like I said my parents pretty much forced me out of school and I was lost. I could pretty much do anything and I became overwhelmed and decided to do nothing... That makes no sense but it does in my head, anyway, I got into well… Xanax. So just now when Garcia confirmed the victim not only excelled academically, but graduated from MIT young and overdosed on Xanax…”

I took a pause and the team was obviously on edge,

“I think this unsub is targeting Dr. Reid and I.”

Everyone was caught up now. And they seemed even more on edge now.

The room filled with “Hows?” and “whys?” Everyone began questioning me and the memories started coming back. Doing drugs made me feel powerful, it was the after where you felt worthless, not only worthless, but wasted potential. I couldn't bear to relive it. I had moved on. I started to feel bad cause these are the feelings I Probably brought up for Dr. Reid.

“I um, I need to take a breather, when I come back I’ll give you the rundown list of everyone who possibly knows about my… past.”

And with that, I quickly walked back out into the ally.

But then, everything went black

_______________________________________________________________________

I woke up in a room with industrial lighting next to boxes. Wait, am I in a supermarket? Shit, what the hell happened. I can feel my hands tied, not ziptie or duck tape, which are the two things I know how to get out of, dammit. Rope? My feet are tied as well. My mouth Is free though. There's a figure walking towards me.

“Well well well, guess who's awake. y/n y/l/n. Or should I say Dr. y/n y/l/n. Or even Agent y/n y/l/n! Where’s your little friend Dr. Reid?” The voice was a woman.

“Wha- who are you? How do you know me, how do you know us?”

“Your little genius counterpart, I was in his class.” she paused and bent down in front of me. I got a good look of her face, she was young. No more than a few years older than me.

“Ya Know…” she continued “you guys aren’t the only geniuses. There was one time… i was in his class, Dr. Reid was sweating, frantic, constantly itching his hands. He was so obviously high, didn’t take much sleuthing to figure out what he was constantly fidgeting with in his pocket. Good ol’ dilaudid.”

She took a long pause and sat on a crate on the other end of the room.

“He’s such a hypocrite ya know? He comes into class high like three times, but I come into class high once and he reports me. Given it wasn’t MY class but…”

“You’re mad cause Dr. Reid got you kicked out of school for being high in the wrong class? Why didn't you just report him?” I said groggily.

“Nah, my revenge was going to be much sweeter. So yeah, anyways got kicked out sent to mandatory rehab, I’m surprised you don’t remember me. I was in one of your field studies. Jesus Dr. Rohden lovedddd youuuu. He totally wanted to get in your pants. I bet Dr. Reid does as well. Heh”

I thought back to that field study with Dr, Rohden, it was just a simple eco testing site. I was the youngest person on the case. And it was also the last time I got high. The woman continued.

“The first few days on site, YOU were high to! No one noticed though, cause ur miss goody goody.but four weeks later I was fired for showing up high. Well I guess my point or the “source of my pain” is the fact you two still have a future. Well not anymore. Here I am, working at Blue market or some shit after you two ruined my life.”

Blue market. Keep that in mind! She walked over two me and pulled a bag out from behind me. She unzipped it and… shit, pulled out a homemade bomb.

“Well, I guess my major in chemistry will finally come in handy for once!” she said gleefully.

“Now, lets see if the two of you are truly the geniuses you say you are… you can send him a hint to come and get you. Also if you couldn't tell already, those other dead people didn't mean anything to me. I just needed to get your attention babe. They were just some smart people who are now dead. Sad. wasted potential, almost, like, soon to be, you.”

She handed you a phone, you carefully grab it with your tied hands getting ready to tell him where you are.

“But there’s an exception” she started again. I dreaded her next words.

“You can only use numbers… and you have 30 seconds starting, NOW!”

Shit, what the fuck am I supposed to write?!? Ok I thought back to any conversation we ever had (which was very limited) Finally after almost 15 seconds of contemplating I knew what to write. I had no faith he would know what it means though. He better, He’s the only one who could know. I typed it up and handed it to her.

“really , you seriously think he’ll figure this out?” she snickered. “Oh well, he doesn’t have a choice.”

13.21.15.18.15.6..5.12.2.

- She sent that, come get her you have two hours.

(figure it out spencer, you’re the only one who can ;))

“And… sent.”

She taped up my mouth, walked out of the room, a remote in hand. She closed the door. I felt relieved. It was short lived. Cause seconds later the timer on the bomb I was tied to started ticking. 2 hours. Come on, Spencer.

_______________________________________________________________________

Spencer’s POV

Dammit, I felt like a jerk. She knew what I went through, if I hadn't pushed her away she could've related to me. Then I kissed her. Wow Spencer, you can’t get anything right. The room was full of chatting. Morgan and Garcia were digging into y/n’s past.

I left the room for a second, JJ coming out a few seconds later. She put her hand on my shoulder.

“Hey Spence, are you ok?”

“Yeah,” I gave her a look of sincerity. I fumbled my hand through my pocket and pulled out a coin.

“My ten month chip. Ten months sober. I’m ok. I’m gonna go check on y/n.” She had gone outside around 15 minutes ago. JJ smiled and went back inside.

I made my way out to the ally, but y/n wasn’t there. I checked the block, and the car, she wasn’t there. Don’t panic, she’s an adult, she probably just went somewhere. Only 30 seconds later I got a text.

13.21.15.18.15.6..5.12.2.

- She sent that, come get her you have two hours.

(figure it out spencer, you’re the only one who can ;))

I ran back into the precinct extremely frantic. I burst into the room.

“Hey pretty boy, what's wrong?”

I was on the verge of tears. Ignoring her couldn’t be the last thing I did. All I could do was hold up my phone to everyone.

2:00pm

That's when I received the text. I had to have those numbers figured out by 4:00pm, no 3:30 to be safe to get there in time. Garcia couldn’t track where the text came from. So I had to.

2:07pm

A cup of coffee, it did nothing. Come on, Spencer, she's a genius. So are you. She gave you a message only you would understand.

2:16pm

“Are they coordinates?” “A phone number?” “address?” “Social security?” No.

2:45pm

Everyone was working frantically, I’ve translated the numbers through five computer codes, nothing. Garcia was fiercely translating as well.

3:02pm

Time was running out. No, no… I was drifting to sleep.

“four? I only speak three. English, latin, and greek. But I can sing the alphabet backwards so I guess that makes up for the rest.”

I jolted awake. That’s it! I looked at the clock

3:26pm

Why did no one wake me? Oh well, I got it!

“Guys! I think i got it!” I walked over to the dry erase board where the numbers were written down, staring at me for the last hour and a half taunting me.

13.21.15.18.15.6..5.12.2.

“We were in the car yesterday, she told me something, we were talking about languages, I told her I can speak four languages, her response was four? I only speak three. English, latin, and greek. But I can sing the alphabet backwards so I guess that makes up for the rest.”

Everyone was confused. I started re-arranging the numbers up on the board.

Alphabet backwards, to greek, to latin, to english.

2 12 5 6 15 18 15 21 13

“If each number corresponds to a letter…”

Ble foroum, greek.

forum blue, latin

“BLUE MARKET. GARCIA LOCATION OF BLUE MARKET!” I rushed out of the precinct, everyone followed and we jumped into the cars.

3:30pm

_______________________________________________________________________

y/n’s POV

There were 16 minutes left on the countdown and I had pretty much given up all hope of being found. Oh well, I wonder what happens when you die. Time to find out. That’s when I heard footsteps. I immediately started making noise. With my hands, feet, yells that really came out as moans. Then I almost cried because they were telling my name. Oh my god, Reid actually figured it out.

The team burst in. JJ cut my free on my hands and feet free. As soon as I got to my feet Spencer pulled me into a huge bear hug. Almost like he forgot he kissed me earlier. But I wasn’t going to let him.

“You figured it out genius,” I ruffled his hair up, and he blushed.

“You’re the genius.” I left him with a peck on the cheek and walked outside, leaving him blushing even harder.

I gave my statement and told the team that she didn't care about the people she drugged and killed, it was just to drag us out here. Bomb squad had enough time to disable the bomb. A female body was discovered a few minutes later on a street a block away from University of Michigan. I identified her as the woman who kidnapped me. She had overdosed. Her name was Tracy Stern. After the field study incident her parents kicked her out and she was stuck working at that supermarket. That must’ve been the trigger. She had been stalking us ever since. Spencer said he remembered her incident from a few years ago. She had an Opioid problem, which is what she had overdosed on. Hotch sent us all to the hotel, we’d be wheels up in the morning. For my first case I’d say that went ok.

I guess opioid was her poison, and like most of us, we eventually succumb to it.

_______________________________________________________________________

I had just showered and changed, I was getting ready to sleep when I heard a knock at my hotel room door. I opened the door to see none other than Dr. Reid standing there.

“Rei-” He cut me off,

“I know I acted like an asshole this entire time, I know I kissed you when you were expressing your feelings and I shouldn't have, and I promise I wasn’t trying to shut you up I just don’t know what came over me. And I promise you I’m not very ego protective but when you walked in you were just as smart as me if not smarter, and you have friends which I don’t, and your pretty, like extremely pretty, beautiful, and you have everything and all I have is my brain so I got worried everyone was gonna pass over me even more than they already do, and I’m also sorry for pushing you away about the drug thing and basically i just wanted to come here to tell you I’m ten months sober and I really want a fresh start, and please stop me cause I’m rambling-”

“I forgive you Spence, and I’m two years sober, and I’d love a fresh start. If it includes this…”

I stepped forward, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him as though I WAS going to blow up, that we were going to explode together but the only thing exploding in this moment was my heart. And by the way our lips moved together I could definitely tell he felt the same.

I pulled away for a second, “so you think I’m pretty…” He began blushing. “I’m kidding.” I snickered. We gravitated back towards each other and our lips met again. I pulled away again speaking again,

“You wanna know why I giggled yesterday when Derek said your IQ is 187?” He nodded, obviously eager to go back to kissing.

I got on my toes, brought my mouth to his ear and whispered,

“Mine’s 189.”

A fire lit in his eyes, he crouched down and picked me up by my thighs making his way into my room.

I knew I was in for it now.

#Criminal Minds #spencer reid #spencer x reader #emily prentiss #jj #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #derek morgan #fluff #spencer reid smut #reader #teehee

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mcwriting · 4 years

Text

sweet home alabama (1)

Here’s chapter 1!!! I hope you all enjoy!

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2178

Warnings: Really mild language and mentions of alcohol consumption

∆

“Tom! Tom! Over here, Tom!”

The 23 year old actor tuned out the voices of the paparazzi and ignored lights flashing as he walked up the sidewalk.

For the first time in 5 years, he was finally headed back to where it all began: his tiny hometown in Alabama. With his private charter leaving at noon, Tom had known the paparazzi would be unavoidable, but he was still annoyed by their insistence.

When his team finally made it in the doors, he breathed a sigh of relief, but still felt a turning in his stomach at the thought of returning after all these years.

He hadn’t exactly left everyone on the best of terms.

He chose not to dwell on it though, instead saying a few goodbyes and loading up with his younger brother, Harry, who had been back and forth since his own high school graduation and knew what to expect back home.

One could tell by the way Harry’s accent stuck and Tom’s hadn’t, taking on a more neutral midwest sound to hide his roots. He wasn’t necessarily proud of it, but it sure did keep him from being typecast.

With one last sigh, he turned and waved to his agent and bodyguard, getting a quick glance at the city around him before stepping inside the cabin.

This was going to be interesting.

∆

Y/n took in a deep breath as she dug a spade into the earth, just beneath a cotton plant.

She was out in the middle of one of the hundreds of rows on this particular farm. The soil she had collected was scooped into a small plastic jar, which she then labelled with the date and location.

It was the beginning of summer, early June, and already pretty hot. Even though it was starting to become dusk, y/n guessed around 5:30, the stiff jeans and long sleeved button up she wore to protect from any excess pollen, as blooms were beginning to form, made her hot and thirsty.

She stuck a little dowel with a pink flag tied to it in the hole, filling in the dirt around it so it stood up straight before she got herself up.

When she stood, her unbuttoned shirt allowed some airflow over her tank top, but her back was still wet with sweat. Although her hair was pulled into a bun, the wispies that fell from it also stuck to her neck uncomfortably.

She began the walk back up to her truck, which was parked in the driveway of Melanie’s home, one of her childhood friends.

As she was organizing the fresh jar with the multiple others in a cardboard flat on the floorboard, Melanie stepped out onto the front porch, leaning over the railing.

“Hey, y/n!” she called. Y/n shut the door and turned around, wiping her brow as she leaned against the old pickup.

“What’s up, Mel?”

“You comin’ to Alan’s tonight? I gotta feeling you’ll want to.”

Y/n furrowed her brow. Alan’s was the town diner where everyone liked to convene on evenings, when it would transform into a bar. Friday nights were especially popular with those in their 20s and 30s. It was predictable who would show up each week, but Melanie’s tone indicated something unexpected was to happen tonight.

“Oh yeah? And why d’you say that?”

“I won’t spoil anything,” she answered, hands up in mock surrender as she stepped off the porch. “So you in or not?”

“Melanie, it’s a Friday night… I wouldn’t miss it for nothin’,” she replied with a wink, both girls laughing. “I just need to drop this box at the S.H.E.D. and clean up a little. Is 7 good?”

“I’ll see you then I guess. But don’t do too much work before you come have fun, alright? I need my pool partner to be on her A-game!”

They both laughed again as y/n waved her off, hopping into the cab. As she drove towards home, she couldn’t help but ponder on what Melanie had said.

∆

“Aw come on now, y/n! We can’t all be good at math and angles and all that!” Harrison exclaimed, annoyed that she had won yet another round of pool.

“Haz, I don’t know when you’re gonna give up. I’ve beaten you about a hundred times now and I don’t think I’m gonna stop any time soon,” she replied, earning a cheer from the crowd around her. It probably didn’t help him that she wasn’t even buzzed yet.

Once y/n had rinsed off at home, she’d changed into some skinny jeans, boots, and a tight sleeveless top to meet Melanie for dinner in. After dinner, the sun had finally set and the bar was hopping, as usual. Y/n’s friends always packed around the pool table when she went up against someone, especially Harrison.

Someone went up to a chalkboard nearby, marking another tally by her name in the record for most wins so far in the year. Harrison had the next highest number, which was still 15 behind her.

It was all in good jest, though, as the close friends clinked beer bottles and drank to officially finish the game.

Just down the street, Tom and his younger twin brothers, who’d somewhat recently turned 21, walked towards Alan’s.

“Man, the last time I was in here I was swiping a couple beers for me and…” he trailed. The happy memory ended when he remembered who it was with.

“Yeah well now we’re all legal,” Sam cut in. “And you’d be surprised at who you see around these parts.” He stepped forward and opened the door for his brothers, allowing Tom to step inside first.

Y/n, Harrison, and Melanie were laughing and talking when the usual bar chatter got louder, with a few “he’s back!” and “welcome home!” shouts ringing out.

Her friends were facing the door with eyes wide, already knowing that Tom was coming, but unprepared to see what might go down when y/n realized it.

“What the hell has gotten into you two?” she jokingly asked, but her face fell serious when the pair pointed their heads to the door and raised their brows.

When she turned around and saw his face, it was like the world stopped.

∆

The whole “we’re gonna be in love and get married” thing had worn off by the time y/n and Tom got to middle school, but they still remained closer than ever, trying to fight the new territories that came with puberty.

There was a few months’ period when the two couldn’t handle the emotions that came with growing up (and being best friends with the opposite sex), but eventually they came around and chalked any “crush” feelings up to hormones.

Who would have guessed the feelings would stick?

But it takes a long time to figure that kind of stuff out.

Instead, they began the journey of exploring what it meant to grow up with other people; new friendships and school crushes forming, awkward dances and learning what it meant to have a real “boy-girl party.”

Y/n and Tom had thought it would be just like any other hang out that they liked to have, just with more people.

Playing 7 minutes in heaven at a friend’s barn changed that.

They both acted disgusted at the idea of being shoved in a closet full of horse tack to make out, but curiosity got the best of them and they ended up being each others’ first kiss. It was only a peck, but neither could stop blushing until they got home.

It wasn’t the beginning of a story, but it definitely wasn’t the end either.

And this was only one of the hundreds of memories flashing through y/n’s head as she looked at her former best friend across the bar.

∆

Y/n gulped heavily, staring at the actor who had come in through the door.

“What is he doing here?” she asked quietly, looking between her two closest friends. They averted their eyes. “Y’all knew he was coming, didn’t you? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“We didn’t want you to skip coming tonight. It’s been five years, y/n. Maybe he’s changed?” Melanie replied gently.

“Well he’s definitely changed,” y/n added as she looked him up and down, her tone indicating a different kind of change than Melanie had implied.

Tom was looking around waving as everyone greeted him, Harrison brushing past y/n to greet his childhood pal and blocking Tom’s view from her.

“Thank you, guys. You all didn’t have to do all this!” Tom said, everyone noticeably taken aback by his accent. Sure they’d heard him in movies, but not many people in town knew he had officially dropped his southern twang. He also wore skinny jeans, an expensive brand-name tee, and most noticeably, tennis shoes rather than boots.

Y/n leaned back on the pool table’s edge and swigged on her beer, trying (and failing) not to roll her eyes.

“Oh Lord, he thinks this is a welcome home party. There’re more people here last week than tonight,” y/n commented, causing Melanie to elbow her and laugh.

“Don’t talk too loud, now,” she giggled.

Tom hugged Harrison excitedly. He had flown the guy out to a couple premieres, but now it had been over a year since the pair had seen each other. When they separated, Harrison slung an arm over Tom’s shoulder, motioning his hand around the bar.

“Miss this place?” he asked as Tom scanned the room.

Tom couldn’t answer straight away as his eyes suddenly met y/n’s. His face lit up and he smiled, y/n offering back an awkward grin and wave, turning around to answer something Melanie said.

“Uh. Yeah, you bet I did,” he finally said, eyes still trained on y/n.

“Just go talk to her,” Harrison said, knowing exactly what Tom was thinking as he pushed the actor forward a bit.

After straightening out from Haz’s shove, Tom came up to y/n.

Melanie was mid conversation with y/n when she saw Harrison’s move.

“He’s comin’ this way,” she warned y/n, who took one last deep breath, rolled her eyes, then plastered on a smile before turning around.

Tom was taken aback when y/n turned to face him, a warm smile on her face.

“Uh… h- hey,” he said apprehensively. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Hey, where else would I be on a Friday night?” she asked smoothly, chuckling. “Sooo… how’ve you been? You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself these days.”

“Yeah, yeah I have been. And what about you? What have you done for the past 5 years? I never hear anything anymore.”

Probably because you don’t care to look y/n thought.

“Oh, well. You know. Finished college last year. Been workin’ ‘round the farms in town. Pretty boring stuff, I’m sure.”

Tom nodded, eyebrows raised. Y/n could see right through his feigned interest. She always could read him like a book.

“So what are you doing back here?” she asked him after a pause.

“You haven’t heard? I got cast in a role about farming so what better way to get into the role than to come do it for real at home!?” Tom answered excitedly.

“Oh, I see. That’s great. You gonna drive your granddad’s cattle or collect eggs or something?”

Tom’s parents had never been farmers in his lifetime, his dad owning the local town grocery store and mom running a clothes boutique across the street. There were other places to buy goods, too, if you wanted to make the 45 minute drive to the nearest Walmart, of course.

Y/n’s, on the other hand, were. They raised livestock in conjunction with her mom’s parents and siblings, something that ran in the family and would one day be passed on to her cousins.

“I might help him out some, but my brothers have a lot of that handled. Maybe Haz’s fam will let me do some work on the peanut farm.”

“Doin’ what? They just planted a couple weeks ago, Harrison ‘n Charlotte just finished spreading straw, and harvest ain’t till September at the earliest. There’s nothing you could do.”

Tom’s brows furrowed.

“Oh. What about cotton?”

“If you’re lookin’ to work cotton, blooms are startin’ to form and it’s lookin like we might have an early harvest in August this year. I’m sure daddy would love some extra hands to water everything while I’m at work,” Melanie piped up. Y/n looked at her smug smile with wide eyes.

“Really? You’d do that for me? Thanks Mel. That’d be amazing. I’ll even work for free.”

“Well if you’re gonna work for free then I don’t even gotta ask him. You’re hired! We’ll see you bright Monday mornin’?” she asked, getting an affirmation in reply.

“You know, it was nice talking to you guys but I should probably visit with some other people,” Tom started to say, then turned directly to y/n. “Hey we ‘oughta catch up some time. Whaddya say?”

Y/n gave another tight-lipped grin and nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Once he stepped away towards the guys again, y/n let out a deep sigh and turned her back to him again, looking at Melanie.

“What was that! You know I’m still in the middle of research at your farm!”

“Look, he needed a job, I gave him one. Hell, he’ll probably quit after an hour of hard labor and gettin dirt on his precious little hands,” she laughed, causing y/n to crack a smile. “And what was that smile you had on your face, huh? I thought you hated him still.”

“Oh believe me I do. Can’t no one say Tom’s the only actor to come out of this town,” y/n said, causing both girls to laugh as they went back to their drinks.

∆

A/N: ahhhh here’s ch 1! Posted a little later in the day than I was hoping but I’m glad I got it out there! Hope you all enjoy!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @mortallythoughtfulgurl, @onebigolemess, @justafangirlduh

#Sweet Home Alabama #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #Harry Holland #sam holland #harrison osterfield #tom holland reader insert

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evabellasworld · 3 years

Text

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 26

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

——————————————————————————————

Summary: When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

“So, how are we getting inside?” Tori asked, sitting next to Fox in speeder. “Like, what’s the plan?”

Fox turned to her in a blank eye, his brows furrowed. “Do you ever pay attention, Tor? Like, are you always daydreaming whenever you’re being brief about something important?”

“You never even told us,” she crossed her arms as she tapped Dipper’s sleeves, catching the ARC Trooper’s attention. “Dip, please tell me what Commander Fox said about this stealth mission?”

Dipper lifted his shoulders, holding a datapad in his hands. “He only told us that Riyo and I were the ones who will sneak into the Chancellor’s penthouse and grab the files from there. You two were supposed to watch the speeder in case things go wrong.”

Pouting her lips, she focused her gaze towards the view of the city, which was much livelier than last night. There were people pacing up and down the streets, going about with their daily life, while the lights from skyscrapers and houses were lit. Tori couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

There were schoolchildren clad in uniforms rushing towards their classrooms while office workers had their blazers and blouses on, carrying their datapads and briefcases. This was like how it was 6 months ago, before the war came to the capital of the Republic, which the Empire tried to crumble with their iron fists.

As long as they were people fighting for the Republic, then it still exists to Tori, Fox, Riyo, and Dipper. Riyo saw the smiles on the citizen’s faces, which made her lips curled downwards. She enjoys seeing others happy, but somehow, she doesn’t share their sentiments.

Are they really content with their life? The former senator pondered, glancing at the little Rodian boy, who was enjoying his ice-cream underneath the sunny day, which reminded her of home.

Riyo misses the paddy fields on Pantora. Her father used to harvest a massive field of rice, and brought a sack of harvest for the entire family. It wasn’t much, but she enjoyed the rice that was grown just kilometres away from her village home. If her father was lucky, he would also bring some eels, which tasted juicy.

“So once Dipper and I got the files, does that mean we’re leaving Coruscant?” she asked Fox.

“Yes, dear, we’re bringing Senator Amidala with us after this,” Fox affirmed. “We can’t stay here for too long. It’s not safe for all of us here.”

“So, what do we do with the files? Padmé did suggested us to show them to the Imperial Senate.”

“I know she did, but the general’s order was to get the senator out of the planet and head back to base. It’s too risky to head into the Senate building. We don’t even know what’s waiting for us down there.”

“Foxy has a point,” Tori agreed. “This planet is under heavy surveillance. If we are caught, then it could compromise not only the location of our base but also the number of our army as well. We’ve lost so many soldiers in battle, and we can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Riyo frowned from their answers, making Fox sighed. “Look, I understand you want to help your friend, and I’m all for it, but we also need to think about us as well. I know it seems selfish, but we can’t always have it all.”

“I understand, dear,” she gave a weak smile. “Let’s hope our plans go smoothly. We don’t want anyone interfering with it.”

Dipper chirped. “Don’t worry about it. By the time the Imps realized it, we would already be long gone by now. I have a good feeling that we will successfully escape from Coruscant with ease.”

“Fingers crossed on that. I really don’t want to be interrogated by the Imperial secret police. From what I heard, no one made it out alive.”

“Speak of the devil, and he will come to you,” Tori scolded Riyo. “We don’t want any sort of trouble during this mission.”

It better not, Fox hoped, as he drove in mid-air, searching for Palpatine’s penthouse through his scope. He had been there many times before, and memorised every single room in his building, including the bathroom. He was in charge of security along with Thorn, which was important for him to know the building schematic. He never said his last goodbyes to Thorn, or spent their last moment together before the latter was gone.

On the other hand, he wasn’t particularly sad that Palpatine died, but if those files mean turning the tide of the war, then he has no other choice. I hope his misdeeds were recorded, so that everyone knows what a terrible man he was.

As Fox noticed the penthouse’s balcony from afar, he slowed down the speeder, driving away from the highway. “We’ll be arriving in 5 minutes,” he informed them. “Get into position.”

“Yes, Commander,” Dipper saluted, as he gave a wink at Riyo, who was clutching her hands together. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this kind of mission before. You’ll befine, Riyo. We believe in you.”

“May the Force be with all of us,” she prayed, as they arrived in front of the lobby, which was on the ground floor. With silence surrounding them, the former senator noticed plenty of overgrown weed between the bricks on the grounds.

No one was inside the apartments, except for the complete void inside. There were people here when the Chancellor was still alive. Did the Empire forced them out as well?

Fox and Tori glanced at them, giving them a nod. “Good luck, and be careful,” Tori said. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

“We will, commander,” Dipper acknowledged, as he gestured to Riyo to follow him inside the abandoned apartment.

As they stepped inside the lobby, both of them noticed the red carpet was torn, covered in fungus. The paint on the walls was peeled off, and the fluorescent lights were hanging on the ceiling, waiting to crash on the floor.

“It looks scary in here,” Riyo commented, glancing at the vacant receptionist counter. “What do you think happened here?”

Dipper observed many blast marks in the room's corner, clicking his tongue. “Whatever it is, I doubt the tenants here left voluntarily,” he replied as he turned towards the lift and pressed the button, much to her bewilderment.

“Are you sure this lift is working?”

Before he could answer, the lift door opened, with the background music playing and the golden lights working. “Well, looks like your question is answered, Ri. After you.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she smiled and walked inside, pressing the button that leads all the way upstairs. “I’m surprised there’s still something working here. I wonder who switched on the power?”

Dipper felt uneasy as they arrived at the penthouse, which was well kept, despite no one living there for months. He felt the cooling air coming from the air-conditioning and the scent of nutmeg lingering, prompting him to draw out his blaster.

“Riyo, I don’t think we’re alone,” he warned her. “Stay closer to me.”

“Alright then,” Riyo bobbed her head, holding a blaster as well. “The files could be in his studies, but we have to be careful not to trigger the sensors.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he took out his Onderonian army knife, as he tiptoed towards the study room, where everything on the bookshelves were arranged in order.

Riyo remembered how the place was. She attended a party in the Chancellor’s penthouse, where many of her colleagues were there, along with close associates. There was champagne and wine, and she only had a sip of the sweet alcohol. She also had some cream puffs at the party, and offered them to Fox, who was in charge of security. He enjoyed the pastry, and Riyo would love to make them for him, when there’s a place to bake, of course.

“The sensors are on the top shelf. Maybe that’s where the files are.”

“Good eye, senator,” Dipper praised. “I’ll disable it for you.”

“Alright,” she took a deep breath, as she wore her rubber gloves, which won’t leave any trace of fingerprints. Riyo never done a stealth mission before, and she will not fail their team.

Stretching his arms, the ARC Trooper flipped the switch behind the small, black sensors, deactivating it. Using his screwdriver on the pocket knife, he slowly removed them from his shelf, tossing them aside. Riyo searched through every file from the bookshelves, starting from the letter ‘A’.

Audits for Coruscant, Audits for Alderaan, Banking Clan accounts, well, that’s a lot of files that start with the letter ‘B’. Bursary Market, Core World populations…

Dipper tapped his foot as Riyo was still searching through the files. He never thought it wouldn’t take long, but he was mistaken. He always thought anything involving paperwork was easy, but it was otherwise. Counting files from ‘A’ to ‘Z’ was quite a challenge for the both of them, and time is not on their sides. Now I understand why Commander Fox hated paperwork so much.

“The Death of the Young twins, Grand Army of the Republic Protocols,” Riyo muttered underneath her breath, wiping her sweat on her forehead. “Project Cyborg, Project Starfleet, wait, I think I found it.”

“You did?” his face lit up. “Can I see?”

“Yeah sure, the file was named The Assassination of Chancellor Palpatine,” she showed him. “It was pretty easy to find it, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, sure,” he groaned, his clammy hands still gripped on his pistol. “I still think this was too easy. I have a funny feeling something bad is going to happen to us soon.”

“We should head to the lift,” Riyo reminded, hiding the files underneath her blazer. “We can’t keep Fox and Tori waiting.”

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

Text

A Need So Great-Chapter 10

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count:

Warnings: Alcohol, smut, unprotected sex

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

The bathing suit still fit. Eva was glad of it, she hadn’t had time to go out and shop for a new one. A cherry red halter top paired with high waisted bottoms, she’d purchased it a year or so previous on a whim and only worn it a handful of times. Being a consultant for the DEA didn’t lend itself to lounging by the water. She threw on a soft cotton cover up, stepped into her sandals, and grabbed the fifth of vodka sitting on her counter before walking over to Steve and Connie’s apartment.

The sun was shining brightly that day, as it did most days. And, like most days, the humidity was high. Eva could feel the heat rising from the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot and made her way down the street. When she got to their door, she shifted the vodka to the crook of her arm and knocked.

The door opened and Steve welcomed her in with a wave of his hand. He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, his hair wet and slicked back. She shuffled inside, putting the vodka in the freezer and heading out through the back door to a rectangular courtyard. The pool was encircled by a black metal fence about waist high. She spotted Connie standing next to Javier at the grill, setting down a plate of uncooked meat. She caught sight of Eva and smiled wide beneath her shades.

“C’mon,” she yelled, waving her hand wildly, “We have the pool for about four hours—til the sun goes down.”

Eva returned the wave, passing through the gate and over to where a few lounge chairs were situated, towels hanging over the back. Umbrellas provided each lounge with some shade from the sun.

“Okay,” Eva said, motioning to the courtyard, “Someone in housing definitely hates me. My shower barely works and you’ve got a fucking pool.”

Connie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, with a schedule so tight and political it could run for president. It took two months of sending brownies to the landlord just to get a half day booked.”

Eva squinted at her, “You have to book time?”

Nodding, Connie gestured for Eva to sit on the lounge chair opposite her, “I know, right? There are families here who have standing appointments months out.”

Steve, having followed Eva outside, called out, “What Connie isn’t telling you is that I slipped a stack of money into one of the brownie pans last week. Only way we got the permission.”

“Can’t you just...jump in?”

Connie’s eyes went wide, “Oh, Jesus. Saw someone try to do that the first week here. The guards fucking swarmed them, hauled ‘em out. Haven’t seen them since.”

Sounds about right, Eva thought. Everything seemed to be a quid pro quo down here. She’d seen a couple agents pay off their informants only to turn around and expense it to the department. Money could buy literally anything here.

“Let me tell you what happened yesterday at work,” Connie sighed, turning to lay back on the lounge, “I started at the NICU four months ago and I thought I had a handle on it. But, oh no, one of the other nurses has been taking my reports and shredding them. So, now my boss thinks I just don’t turn in my work.”

“No way,” Eva blurted out, scandalized.

“Yes, way,” Connie confirmed, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose, “So, I started making copies and locking them in my desk. But, I found out one of the maintenance guys has been letting her into it and she’s been taking my copies.”

Eva rested her head on her palm, mouth curling, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Connie smirked, “A little Ipicac in her morning coffee.”

Brows hitting her hairline, Eva’s mouth dropped. Connie was a forceful woman, could be outright domineering when she wanted something, but this was shocking behavior for her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Its harmless. Just a little vomiting during the staff meeting.”

“Does she know you did it?” Eva’s voice came out as a whisper, as if she was trying to keep the story secret.

“Nope,” Connie shook her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, “I was pretty slick about it.”

“I’m sure,” Eva confirmed. “One question: How is the behavior going to stop if she doesn’t know it was you who did it?”

Connie shrugged, “Every time one of my copies goes missing, I’ll do it again. She’ll get the picture eventually. I also had Steve get me a false bottom for my desk. I’ll have a third copy waiting, just in case.”

The smell of meat wafted over, a welcome change from the chlorine. Eva glanced at Javier and Steve, both of them staring at the grill intently. Javier was fidgeting with a metal spatula, forearm wiping at his brow.

“Is that a guy thing? Standing by the grill and watching food cook?”

Even though Eva couldn’t see Connie’s eyes behind her shades, she could tell that the other woman was rolling them, “I guess. Every man I know does it.”

“Same here,” Eva said, eyes squinting. “I mean, they’re not even talking.”

Connie laughed a little, reaching into the cooler and handing Eva a beer. She popped the top for her and grabbed one for herself, “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Could be fireworks.”

Brows raised, Connie asked, “Is there a story there?”

“Ah,” Eva edged, “When I was a kid, my parents used to have this block party on the fourth with this huge fireworks display. One of the neighbors built a potato cannon that they primed with hairspray. One year they shot roman candles out of it.”

Jaw open, Connie took a few seconds to reply, “Did...someone get hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Eva clarified, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand, “A window got knocked out, but no one got hurt.”

A while later, Eva was fanning herself with her hand, sweat falling down her neck. In the late afternoon, the sun beat down on them. Even with the umbrellas above, Eva could feel her body fighting to keep itself cool. Standing, she pulled off her cover up.

“I’m getting in,” she declared, “I can’t take it any more.”

Connie laughed and stood with her, “I’ll go with you. Nice suit, by the way.”

Eva thanked her, returning the sentiment. Connie was wearing a canary yellow one piece, the thighs cut high to highlight her muscular thighs. She threw off her sunglasses and pulled her hair atop her head into a tight bun. Eva wished she’d thought to bring a hair tie. She’d never really been concerned about the way her hair curled in irregular little ringlets and waves before, but knowing that Horacio would be stopping by afterwards made her a little self conscious. With a little effort, she shrugged it off and darted out to the edge of the pool, jumping in.

The water was cool, a shock to her body as it enveloped her. Eva felt the air rush out of her lungs as she sunk beneath the surface. Her feet touched down and she kicked hard, breaching the water with a sharply indrawn breath.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she laughed at Connie, who had used the ladder to drop daintily into the pool.

“I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” she said, her cheeks hurting a bit with the force of her smile.

Connie nodded enthusiastically, “We had a pool, too. Above ground. Mom would make us wear pool floats the whole time we were in it.”

Eva shook her head, “I suppose there’s something to be said for safety. I was an only child, so my parents let me do whatever I wanted, mostly.”

“Are they still around?”

Eva swallowed, her eyes falling to the water she was swishing between her fingers, “No, they died a long time ago.”

“Oh, my God,” Connie gasped, “I’m sorry. How did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was an accident,” Eva explained.

It was the same explanation that she’d given a million people before and would likely continue to give. A plane crash. No survivors. They were headed to a little resort that Josh had booked for their anniversary. Eva could still remember what her mother’s face had looked like when Josh handed her the tickets—excited and charmed. It turned her stomach.

Connie read her expression and approached slowly, arms pushing through the water, “Was it… was it because of your husband? Because of the things he did?”

Eva had been as honest as she could about the things that had occurred in her marriage, had told Connie about the way she learned to cover bruises, about how she used the work to give her purpose even though she knew it resulted in the destruction of people’s lives, about how he hurt her less when she did a good job.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Um, I tried to run away—had a passport and some cash hidden. I can’t prove it, but I think he killed them to make a point.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eva,” Connie breathed. “That’s horrifying.”

Eva blinked at Connie, trying to smile, “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“That’s not something you make peace with.”

She was right, Eva hadn’t made peace with it, not really. It had taken a long time for her to stop feeling guilty and to place the blame solely on Josh. It was part of the reason that she was able to kill him that night. She’d channeled all that rage into the fight, and she’d finally come out the victor.

“I got him back, though, didn’t I?” She said, chin lifting.

“Yes, you did.”

They swam for a while, until the food was done. Steve called out to them, a pair of tongs clapping together in one hand. They ate off paper plates, beers fresh from the cooler dripping condensation onto the cement below.

After wards, Eva laid back on the lounge, feeling sleepy. She kept a beer next to her, drinking from it lazily. One arm thrown over her head, she stretched her legs out long, enjoying the sun and relaxation. That’s how Horacio found her. Eyes closed, half shaded by the umbrella, suit drying out on her body. She heard him walk up and sit on the lounge next to hers.

Eva opened her eyes and smiled, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She sat up, swinging her legs around so that she could face him, “You get everything done at work?”

He nodded, “Got some paperwork in the truck I need to finish. I parked at your place, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s no problem, you park there most of the time anyways.”

That was very much the truth. They hadn’t spent many nights away from one another, almost all of them at her place. Horacio told her that he liked her apartment better than his house because it was cozier. Eva could see why. She’d finally gotten to see his house, and it was sparsely decorated, indicative of a man who lived at work and only slept when he had to.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Another nod, “Since its a Saturday, we order take out for the guys.”

Eva started to reach out to touch him, but the first two fingers of his right hand lifted quickly, stopping the motion.

“There are a lot of eyes here.”

Right. Although he hadn’t explained in detail, Javier had let it slip during a meeting that Carillo had a literal bounty on his head. In his fight against the rise of drugs in the country, he’d ruffled a lot of feathers. And, that made anyone associated with him vulnerable. When they were in public, he kept a distance between them and, outside of rare occasions, he didn’t touch her. The longer they were together, to more strict he became about it. Eva was still adjusting.

Eva pointed to the swim trunks he was wearing, “Did you go home to change or did you wear this to the office?”

Shooting her a sardonic look he asked, “What do you think?”

“I know, I know,” she replied, “God forbid you show up anything less than immaculate.”

It was probably the only point of contention between them. He always got up early to get dressed for the day. Eva argued constantly that he could go in one day without going through his entire routine, his coworkers wouldn’t notice. He argued back that he was supposed to be setting an example and that meant ironing his undershirt. She hadn’t yet managed to convince him to sleep in with her, his internal clock kicking in like….well, clockwork.

Now, though, he was wearing teal colored swim trunks and one of his more casual polo shirts. His hair was still combed back from his face, the curls tamed by the pomade he kept next to his aftershave on her bathroom counter. He’d taken a little extra time to shave that morning.

Eva gestured towards the cooler, “Go get yourself a beer. Relax for two seconds.”

She watched him as he rose and sauntered over to the little cooler by the grill, greeting the others along the way. Connie stepped over and sat next to her, leaning a little into Eva’s space.

She handed Eva a fresh beer, saying, “So… you guys are good?”

Eva nodded, “Yep.”

Connie stared at her.

“What?”

“You like him.”

Eva snorted, “Of course I like him. We literally discussed this a few days ago.”

“No, I mean you really like him,” Connie clarified, “You do this thing where the more you want something, the less you talk about it.”

Looking at her with a flustered expression, “What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

Connie took a swig from the bottle in her hand, “I don’t know, maybe admit that you like him more than you let on and you’re afraid that its going to self destruct because you’re both working dangerous jobs in a dangerous country where one or both of you could be killed and the pressure is a little too high for such a new relationship.” She took a deep breath, “And that scares the shit out of you.”

Eva’s mouth thinned as she regarded her friends, “Way to put it so succinctly.”

“Thank you.” A beat, “So, are you going to admit it?”

Eva glared.

Connie rolled her eyes, “Alright, don’t admit it. We both know its true.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eva glowered. Then, after taking just a moment to think about it, she said, “He thinks I’m going to become a target if they find out.”

She didn’t have to say who ‘they’ were. Connie knew, had married into it.

“That’s possible.”

“I don’t know how to prove that I’m not scared. Hell, I was on the other side of this fifteen years ago. I know the risks.”

Connie rolled a shoulder, resting her arms on her knees, her gaze following her husband as he told yet another wild story, “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Some thought,” Eva agreed.

“Sounds like you’re willing to take on those risks.”

“Some risks.”

“Sound like you just admitted you like him a lot.”

“Jesus, Connie,” Eva grumbled.

Flashing a smile at Eva, Connie cajoled, “Is it that hard to admit?”

“Given my last long standing relationship ended in literal murder, I would say I’ve got grounds to be cautious.”

Lifting a finger, Connie asserted firmly, “Cautious, not cowardly.”

She had a point. Eva kind of resented her for it.

They spent another hour or so talking among themselves, until the cooler ran out of beer.

“I bet that vodka’s good and cold,” Eva announced, heading for the gate. She didn’t bother with a towel or her cover up, already mostly dry from the sun.

Connie threw up her hands, “Yes! There’s orange juice in the fridge. And, another six pack.”

“I’ll help,” Carrillo offered, following Eva towards the door.

The sliding glass rumbled as she pulled it open, pushing through the vertical blinds to duck inside. The air conditioning hit her hard, goosebumps rising over her skin. She hissed a little bit, rubbing at her arms as she made her way across the kitchen to the fridge. Behind her, the heavy glass door slid closed.

Bare feet shuffling across the tile, Eva opened the fridge and found the six pack and orange juice, setting them on the counter beside her before pulling the vodka out of the freezer. It was definitely cold enough, the bottle immediately frosting despite the cool air.

“You know, there’s going to come a time when I’ll be able to out drink Connie, but today is not going to be that day,” she said with a smile.

Eva stood and ran abruptly into Horacio, who reached behind her to shut the freezer door, the other hand taking the bottle from her and setting it next to the orange juice and the beer. Without further preamble, he leaned down and kissed her hard. She squeaked a little, unprepared for it, before settling into the motion.

He pulled away, hands skimming her waist and hips, “I’ve been meaning to do that since I got here.”

Eva wrapped her arms around his shoulders, “I think we’ve discussed that you’re free to kiss me whenever you want.”

“Not always,” he replied, the implication heavy in his tone.

She gave a little bob of her head in understanding, “Still, offer’s on the table.”

“Noted,” he whispered before leaning down and kissing her again. Slower. Deeper. “Have I told you how much I like kissing you?”

Eva smiled as she ruffled the little hairs on the nape of his neck, “The feeling is mutual.”

Hands spanning her waist, he gazed down the length of her body, “Have I told you how much I like this suit.” His grip tightened the tiniest bit, “So much skin.”

At this, Eva’s smile morphed into an abashed laugh, “You’ve seen me in less.”

His brows quirked, mouth curving into an almost but not quite smile, “Usually, I can touch you.”

“You’re touching me now, Big Guy.”

She watched his lips as he pulled them in between his teeth, pressing lightly before letting go. He pulled her into him until they were pressed together, standing between the counter and the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Little kisses trailed up her neck to her jaw, and finally to her mouth. Though his arms held her tight, his mouth was soft and gentle, tongue snaking out to taste.

The easiness of the kiss, the fact that they’d been apart for almost a day, the knowledge that once they stepped back outside she couldn’t touch him again until they were safely ensconced in her apartment made Eva greedy to have what she could, when she could. Despite the fact that he wasn’t doing much more than holding her, she felt the echo of arousal bloom in her belly. Lifting up onto her toes, she deepened the kiss, tilting her hips into him.

His response was...absolutely to be expected. Thigh pushing between her legs, he walked her back to the counter until it dug into her lower back. One hand came up to grip her damp hair, angling her head back so that he could press his face into her neck. Eva tried to roll her chin down to get at him again, but he held her still.

Dark eyes looked up at her from beneath his lashes, “As soon as we get back to your apartment.”

It took her maybe half a second to process his meaning, and then she was giving a quick jerk of her head. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent, before stepping away. Shoulders tense, he picked up the orange juice and six pack and gesturing towards the sliding glass doors.

With shaking hands, Eva grabbed the vodka, thankful for the freezing bottle. She pressed it to her belly, walking ahead of Horacio. By the pool, the group had gathered on the lounge chairs.

Eva held up the bottle as she approached, “I come bearing gifts!”

“Ah, Jesus,” Javier groaned, leaning over to stage whisper to Steve, “I don’t think I’m up for this.”

Connie rolled her eyes as she took to bottle from Eva, cracking it open, “Man up, Javier. This is a party.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, hanging from the back of the chair, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “All your parties end in fights.”

“Excuse me,” Connie retorted, offended, “One party ended in a fight, thank you very much.”

Eva frowned, “Is this the bar fight, gun fight?”

Beside Connie, Steve dropped his head into his palm, shaking it. Javier took a drag and blew out the smoke. Connie glared.

“So, here’s what happened,” Javier said, making room for Carrillo to sit by him. “We’re at a work thing, schmoozing with the big wigs in the department. Usual stuff. One guy gets a little drunk and makes a pass at Connie, who proceeds to grab his hand and break it.”

“Sprain it,” Connie cut in. “I sprained it. Barely.”

Javier scoffed, “Anyways, the guy happens to be a major player for this political group who gave us money. They don’t give us money anymore.”

Connie handed Eva a cup—vodka and orange juice, “What was I supposed to do? Let the guy grab my ass in a room full of people.”

Eva thought about it, “I agree with Connie. Break his fucking hand.”

“Thank you,” Connie said, touching Eva’s arm in solidarity.

“One thing I don’t understand,” Eva said, crossing one leg over the other, “How is that a fight?”

Javier’s brows lifted as he recalled, “Oh, right. Steve got in the guy’s face.”

Eva made a sound of disbelief, “Alright, no. This wasn’t Connie’s fault, Steve’s the one who escalated things.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he echoed Connie’s sentiment.

She shrugged, “I’m not the best person to answer that question.”

Three pairs of eyes crept over to Carrillo, who was already shaking his head, “I probably would have done the same.”

Eva had to take a deep drink from her cup to cover the expression unfolding on her face. She couldn’t help the image of him pushing into someone’s space, a threat spoken lowly. His thick frame blocking any hope of escape. Eva thought she’d like to see that someday.

“That’s not the point,” Javier cut in.

“What is the point?” Connie asked.

“That your parties end in fights.”

“One party—not even my party.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Eva blurted, setting down her cup. She grabbed Connie’s hand, “Let’s go.”

Tugging the woman along, Eva hauled ass towards the pool tumbling headfirst into the water. She heard a second splash nearby, and she smiled beneath water as she kicked to the surface. Breaching, Eva pushed her hair back from her face, her eyes going wide as she caught a body flying over her, sending a wave of water over her. She ducked under, hearing a third splash.

Coming up laughing, she spotted both Javier and Steve swimming away, Connie following not far behind, shouting. She looked up, smiling at Carrillo, who was popping to top off a beer.

“You gonna join us?”

He looked dubious.

“Oh, don’t tell me you can’t swim,” Eva wheedled before ducking down and pushing off the edge of the pool to shoot out towards the center.

She popped up next to Javier, dodging Connie as she pushed him under. Tiptoeing around Steve, Eva put a little distance between them, her wide smile dropping as she looked down to the other side. Carrillo had set down his beer and was walking towards the pool, tugging off his polo. She would never, ever get used to it. Eva had spent many nights holding onto those shoulders, feeling him move between her thighs, and she was still struck dumb. He caught her eye, and though his expression didn’t change, she could tell that he was gloating. With sure movements, he gave a little bounce and then his arms swung forward as he executed a seamless dive into the pool.

Righting herself, Eva leaned against the wall of the pool, flicking water at Connie, who swam up beside her.

“Please tell me you…”

“Yeah.”

“And its…”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Eva confirmed with a long sigh.

They relaxed in the water as the sun started it descent towards the horizon. Eva held her position against the wall, talking with Connie and trying like hell to keep her eyes and her hands off Horacio. It seemed all too easy for him to act casually—a little sarcasm here, a little small talk there. She envied that ability. Her body, already attuned to him, seemed constantly on edge. Anticipation simmering under her skin to the point that she was surprised the water around her wasn’t gently steaming.

Too soon, a couple men in uniforms approached the gate, yelling out towards them. Connie grumbled and loudly announced that their time was at an end. They were, evidently, being forced out. After gathering the cooler and towels, they headed inside.

The phone was ringing, pausing the conversation for a moment. Steve answered it, speaking for a few minutes, then hanging it up. He looked annoyed.

“Well, looks like we’re heading into the office tomorrow.”

Connie scowled, “Its a Sunday.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve replied with a shake of his head, “We’ve got a meeting. You too, Carrillo.”

Beside her, Carrillo put his hands on his hips, “They tell you want its about?”

“Nope, just said we report in at eight.”

Eva pushed her wet hair back from her face then pulled her cover up over her body despite the fact that her suit was still pretty wet, “They say anything about me coming in?”

Steve opened the cooler and popped the top off another beer, “No. I think its just us three.”

She nodded. Highly classified meeting, then. She didn’t want to admit that she felt left out, so she shrugged and said, “Alright. I’m going to head home. Thank you for having me over, Connie.”

Connie hugged her, “Thanks for coming over and saving me from hearing more about office politics.”

They said their goodbyes and Eva headed out into the night, stars just beginning to shine above her. A little tipsy, she strolled along leisurely, not surprised when Carrillo followed.

“That was really fun,” she said when he moved up beside her, keeping pace.

He made a noncommittal sound, his gaze focused in front of them.

“When was the last time you actually spent a weekend afternoon not attached to your desk doing paperwork?”

Or, attached to her kitchen island, or the little dining room table in the nook of his house. More often than not, he brought files home with him. Eva had seen him sign his name so many times she could have probably forged it by now.

Lifting a shoulder, he replied, “Its been a long time.”

Eva scratched at the skin above her brow, a little unsure of herself, “You should do things for fun more often.”

He looked at her, “I assume you have ideas.”

“I might,” she said coyly, spinning to walk backwards in front of him, “There’s apparently some beautiful scenery, here. We could go hiking.”

His brows lifted and she could see a ghost of a smile, “We could do that.”

“Alright, its decided, then. We’ll go hiking when you get some time off.”

Eva knew that it was a long shot that he’d have more than a day off at a time, if past history was anything to go by. Still, it was nice to make plans, ambiguous as the timing may be. She hadn’t ever made plans like this before, and the prospect made her warm inside.

Keying into her apartment, Eva left the door open for him to come in. She started to say something innocuous about being home again, but she was cut off. Horacio grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into his body and kissed her. She gave a stilted gasp, arms coming up to rest on his biceps.

Hands traveling down her body, he scrunched the fabric of her cover up in his palms, pulling it up and over her head. When he slipped the pads of his fingers down into her suit bottoms, Eva stepped back, pulling him along with her.

“I have to get this chlorine out of my hair,” she explained, pacing backwards towards the bathroom, “You want to join me?”

Fire sparked in his eyes, his steps guiding her back and into her bedroom, rounding the corner and pushing her into the bathroom. As she moved to turn on the taps, he pulled at the ties of her top, throwing the fabric to the floor. After doing the same with her bottoms, he yanked her back into his chest, one hand tracing down her stomach in a confident caress.

He cupped her mound, fingers sliding through her folds and pressing firmly. Eva swallowed back a moan, head tipped back as he kissed along her shoulder down to her collarbone. Steam began to fill the room, heat wafting from the shower. She reluctantly pulled away, tugging off his shirt and swim trunks and stepping into the spray.

Eva half expected that he would push her against the tile and fuck her against it. His touch was impatient in a way that was new and shot heat straight into her core. She was, however, surprised to find that he reached down and grabbed her shampoo, lathering it through her strands thoroughly. He crowded her under the water, tilting her head around to rinse the suds away. She watched him grab a loofah and pour some body wash on it, her skin sizzling with anticipation.

Long, careful strokes swept the pool water from her body. She could feel the arousal that was always at a low simmer ramping up even though his touch wasn’t remotely sexual. Unable to help herself, she pressed a kiss to his sternum, resting her forehead against his chest. He sighed, his arms wrapping around her.

Wanting to return the favor, Eva reached back and took the loofah from him, running it over his broad chest, his stomach, his thighs. Though his erection bobbed up between them, she avoided it for the moment. Switching sides with him, she let the water fall over his body, her hands pushing the soap down towards the tub.

Dropping the loofah, Eva grabbed the shampoo and poured just a little into her hand, arms lifting to gently scrub it through his curls, finally free of the pomade he regularly combed through it. Using her nails, she lightly scratched at his scalp, smiling when his eyes closed in pleasure. Tilting his head back, Eva rinsed the shampoo from his hair, hands tracing down his face and neck.

Leaning down, Horacio’s lips found hers, his tongue darting out to taste. The water falling over his back sluiced down to run between her breasts and down her stomach. Eva pressed against him rolling her hips invitingly.

He broke the kiss with a moan, one hand grabbing her ass. Eva knew that, if she didn’t act quickly, he’d slot his fingers inside her and she would cease to be able to think, let alone respond. The omega in her loved that he was taking care of her, reveled in it, even. But the omega in her also wanted to make him want her just as much as she wanted him, wanted him feeling wild with it.

Lightly, so as to not give herself away, Eva traced down his chest, palm turning so that she could grasp him in her hand. He rested his forehead against her temple, mouth open, breath stuttering. She pumped him slowly, but firmly, wrist twisting at the top.

When the hand holding her hip started to dip down towards her center, Eva stopped him, holding him by the wrist. She kissed him, teeth catching at his lower lip. The wrist in her palm flexed as he tried to pull free. Eva shook her head, stroking him just a little faster. He groaned, pushing his thigh between hers, using the hand on her ass as leverage to drag her clit against him.

He breathed her name, the sound of it loud against the tiled walls. Eva felt her chest swell at the strain in his tone, power building with every choked moan, every sigh. She watched him lick his lips, her gaze dropping to his cock. He was hard, pulsing, his hips tilting towards her. It was a sight that she knew would always be with her, a feverish memory locked intimately with his scent.

As she contemplated dropping to her knees, the water began to turn cold. Eva laughed as he hissed, spinning to turn off the faucet. When he looked at her, Eva’s laughed faded, blood rushing in her ears at the intensity of his expression. He ushered her out of the tub, hands pushing her forward. Impatient, he hauled her up and over his shoulder, walking quickly to the bed.

He tossed her down, her body bouncing with the force. Eva watched him crawl over her, the muscles of his body flexing with every motion. More deep, intense kisses followed, his hands arranging her beneath him. When she reached for him, he swatted her away, lifting to his knees. Balanced over her, Horacio opened the nightstand to grab a condom.

When he paused, brows together, Eva asked him what was wrong, her voice a hoarse rasp.

His eyes closed, his chin dropping to his chest, “We’re out.”

She squinted up at him, “Out?”

“Of condoms, we’re out.”

That was impossible. She’d gone out and bought some maybe two days ago, they couldn’t possibly…Her brain very eagerly explained that they had been having a lot of sex. Eva tried to suppress it, but the giggle burst forth, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Horacio looked down at her, mouth half smiling, “I’m glad you’re amused.”

Affectionately, Eva pulled him down to her, rolling them to their sides, “C’mere.”

Her name was a warning as it passed his lips, but she shut him up with a kiss. Stroking along his skin, Eva kept kissing him until he relaxed against her, big body falling deep into the mattress. Arms wrapping around her, he rolled to his back, pulling one of her legs over his thigh. Hands on her hips, he encouraged her to move on him.

Eva couldn’t get close enough, her hands falling to his shoulders, using them to help her get friction on her clit. She ground down on him, her slick coating his skin and easing the movement. Still, she couldn’t quite get there. Her arousal burned through her, soaking into her very bones, but she couldn’t make herself come.

Sweat beaded on her temples, her muscles burning. She bit down on her lip, eyes closed. It wasn’t going to work, not when she could feel him pressed against her hip. Not when all she wanted was to be stuffed so full of him that she could barely move.

Shifting, Eva wavered over his body, weight on her palms as she kissed him, licking into his mouth. Moving determinedly, she opened her hips and swung her leg up and over, straddling him. The first contact seared through her, and her body screamed out that this was much better. She rocked against him, hands falling to his chest for balance.

“Yes,” he breathed, urging her faster, hands pulling at her hips, her thighs, “Like that, just like that.”

Eva picked up the rhythm he was guiding her to, her body working to get off. This was so, so much better, but she still couldn’t get there. She felt on fire from it, a whimpering, desperate mess. The orgasm was so fucking close, but not even his thumb circling over her clit was pushing her over the edge.

He pulled her down, sandwiching his cock between them, hips arching towards her. Horacio planted kiss after kiss over her neck, her chest, her jawline, her mouth. Little yearning growls sounded in the space between them. Eva pulled her knees beneath her, letting her hips open so that she could rub as much of her pussy against him as she could.

Every upward thrust brushed against her clit, every twist of her hips, coated him from root to tip. The pace picked up, and Eva’s eyes rolled back when their bodies aligned perfectly so that the head breached her just a little, sliding in then out and along the length of her folds.

Eva moaned his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. Beneath her, Horacio groaned long and low, eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly, he rolled her over, most of his weight falling atop her. His hands held her to the mattress so that he could grind down on her. Even though she could barely breathe, Eva let out a pleased gasp. The force of his body pushing against her, the way he buried his face in her neck, arms holding her tight, all of it pushed her pleasure higher.

“So good, so good,” she chanted, hands in his hair.

Lifting a little, he looked down between them, his cock pushing up through her her folds, wet and swollen. Hips fluid, he grabbed her ass in one hand, pulling her to him. Eva braced her feet on the mattress, shifting beneath him to get that feeling of him opening her up just a bit. It was almost enough, that tiny breach followed by a hard drag across her clit.

Giving a frustrated grunt, he dropped onto an elbow, catching her chin and forcing her to look at him, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have to stop trying to fuck me, Eva.”

She whined, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, “I can’t help it. I want it. Please, Horacio.” She stole a kiss, “Feels so good with you inside me. Love when you fuck me.”

Against her, he pulsed, hips jerking. He blinked down at her, jaw unhinged. Deep breaths, grip tight, “Evangeline. Listen...listen. I’m gonna.” The thought alone seemed to spur him on, movements snapping against her, “I’m gonna… you need to listen. When I tell you, you need to let me pull out.”

Eager, she nodded, taking another kiss as he lined himself up and pushed inside. This, this was what she needed. Fuck, but he felt bigger than he ever had, the stretch tight. Eva arched, pushing her breasts into his chest, neck exposed for him to mouth along. Her body clenched so tight he couldn’t get more than an inch or two inside.

“Fuck, Eva. You have to let me in.” The words were half growled against her neck, teeth pressed against her skin.

She bit down on her response, “I’m trying.”

He pulled back, another thrust stunted by the squeeze of her cunt. His fists clenched beside her head, a wordless groan sounding.

“Try harder.”

Eva breathed deeply, trying to form coherent thoughts, “Maybe if you, if I...if you let me on top.”

He shook his head hard, “No. No—feels too good when you ride me.”

A laughed bubbled up, Eva cupped his face, catching his eyes, “Its supposed to feel good.”

“Too good. Come too fast,” he breathed, then, “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He still hadn’t bottomed out inside her, and Eva’s desperation grew every time he pulled out and pushed in again. She wanted him deeper, harder, wanted him to hold her down and leave bruises in his wake. In between breaths a plan formed. Eva reached down and grasped his hips for purchase, pulling him down as she rotated her hips up. Yes, yes! The feeling spanned electric down her spine.

With a curse, he snagged her hands, yanking them above her head, her name a warning on his lips. She arched her back, her hips working against him, moving on him from below. Ignoring a second warning, Eva rolled her hips as best she could, taking him further and further. He’d stilled above her, eyes watching as she moved.

His hands gripped her tighter, voice rough, “Look at you.”

She kept throwing her hips up until she’d worked him all the way inside, the feeling short circuiting any ability to think beyond the ‘more, more more’ that chanted in her head.

“There you go,” he praised, “Take what you need. Take it from me.”

The snap of his hips resumed, shoving his cock inside her and hitting every pleasurable spot she had. Eva felt a sharp, high pitched gasp rush out of her. Words fell from her lips, encouraging him, telling him how good it felt, how much she needed him, nonsense syllables rising along with the orgasm that fairly exploded outward from her center, her muscles locking down on him from the inside.

He rode her through as much of it as he could before he pulled away, reaching down to stroke himself—fast, hard pumps until he was spilling over her lower stomach. Still breathing hard, Eva leaned up and wiped the sweat from his brow, kissing his cheek softly. His come dripped over her mound, falling down over her lips. He watched it with dark eyes, jaw tight.

With one hand, he pushed her back to the mattress, the other threw a leg over his shoulder as he moved down the bed, mouth on her before she could draw her next breath. Eva might have had the capacity to be embarrassed by the sounds coming out of her, the choked, half screamed moans, but her body was already skyrocketing towards another orgasm. What pushed her over the edge was the sight of his hand, resting on her pelvic bone, sliding upwards to drag his come over her skin, his eyes watching her face. She threw back her head, cunt clenching down hard enough that her vision blacked out momentarily.

For a long time, she could only stare at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. She felt him move, heard his footsteps, sighed at the warm cloth he dragged over her sensitive skin so tenderly. He threw the cloth towards the bathroom, gathering her in his arms. She fell asleep to the feeling of him kissing her shoulder softly.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

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mandaloriandy · 3 years

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Fic Writer Interview

I suppose I should... actually get around to doing this.

I was tagged by @maderilien, @stormwarnings, and @willowcrowned! (that’s what I get for putting off doing this, I get ganged up on.) (I’m just joking, I am very touched that you all thought of me)

How many works do you have on AO3?

What's your total AO3 word count?

339,898

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

oh fuck there's so many. uhhhh 32 apparently. big yikes. I'm just gonna copy-paste the list over, that'll be easiest. A lot of these are overlaps but alas such is life

1. Star Wars - All Media Types (24) 2. Star Wars Prequel Trilogy (18) 3. Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types (7) 4. TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms (4) 5. Homestuck (4) 6. Doctor Who & Related Fandoms (3) 7. Avatar: Legend of Korra (3) 8. Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling (3) 9. Marvel Cinematic Universe (2) 10. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV) (2) 11. The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types (2) 12. Doctor Who (2) 13. Ender Series - Orson Scott Card (1) 14. Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) (1) 15. Iron Man (Movies) (1) 16. Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (1) 17. Original Work (1) 18. Sherlock (TV) (1) 19. Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016) (1) 20. Big Hero 6 (2014) (1) 21. Emelan - Tamora Pierce (1) 22. The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien (1) 23. Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga (1) 24. The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien (1) 25. Captain America (Movies) (1) 26. Paranatural (Webcomic) (1) 27. Torchwood (1) 28. Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica (1) 29. Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types (1) 30. Star Wars: Rebels (1) 31. Doctor Who (2005) (1) 32. The Hobbit - All Media Types (1)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

To nobody's surprise, my top 5 fics by kudos are (in order) the first 5 parts to the Jedi Shmi AU.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Oof. I used to. But I ended up spiralling pretty badly uhhhh a couple years ago and had to stop. I feel like I should reply to comments, especially those wonderful long ones, but even though I do this whole writing thing, I always have a really hard time, like, knowing what to say to them? Like "akjsdfk;jf thank you" always feels inadequate, but writing a well thought-out reply takes a stupidly large amount of brainpower, and I'll leave them marked as unread if I want to reply to them and then they just accumulate in my inbox and I end up spiralling again, since it just continues to exist as a mental load of something I have to do and the avoidance just gets bigger and bigger the longer I put it off and–

look, I just get into my own head too much about it. I respond to questions, usually. I love all the comments but I can't let myself overthink it, and the easiest way to do that is to not let myself reply.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I guess Obi-Wan’s Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Life doesn’t count because it... doesn’t have an ending yet? and I don’t know how angsty that ending is going to be. Even Composing Hallelujah doesn’t count because it ends happier than in canon, even though it’s... y’know, not exactly happy-ending.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written?

Hahaha I don't do crossovers often, but I have done them, and the craziest one I've actually written is probably my Sailor Moon/Puella Magi Madoka Magica fic. It’s especially crazy because I’ve only seen a few episodes of sailor moon lol

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

lmao YEP

There's this one, like Ender's Game/Doctor Who fic I wrote and posted on FFN back in middle school. And it got a ton of hate, as far as I can tell mostly from the same person, talking about like, how bad and non-canonical and whatever it was. And when I migrated over to AO3, I reposted it there too. This was in like 2012. The migration, at least, the fic was written in... idk, 2010?

And then. In 20-fucking-19.

I got a comment saying "Terrible. Makes zero sense. It’s like the author threw canon out the window and took a shit on it." like lmao what??????

(for reference: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361723?show_comments=true#comments and https://www.fanfiction.net/r/7621672/)

(like what the actual fuck was this person on)

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Not any that I've been brave enough to post. And… also… nothing that I've actually written more than a few paragraphs on… I keep chickening out. I did recently make a deal with a friend, though, so… we'll see. If I do, it’s probably going to be quite dark, because that’s the kind of smut I like to read.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I sincerely hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! See how the blackbird walks into russian and just recently In all your wanderings into french!!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've tried. It's never gone… especially well? I don't think any of them ever actually ended up complete, they all just petered out after a while.

What's your all time favorite ship?

I don't really have an "all-time favorite" anything, let alone a ship. I'm a horrible multishipper and I'm going to cause problems on purpose

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Sigh. Probably my intricate, 30-something-k unpublished Silmarillion Helcaraxë fic. It has so many moving pieces. I know where most of them end up but it's going to take so much effort to get there

What are your writing strengths?

writing

What are your writing weaknesses?

writing

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Hm. Given that I mostly write fic for SF/F, I don't run into the "real life languages" problem a lot. I end up working with conlangs of various complexity, for the most part, and for those… I'll sprinkle in a word or two if it makes sense, especially swear words and stuff. But for most of those conlangs, grammar is… less well-determined than vocabulary, so I almost never do phrases, let alone full sentences. I'll just put it in italics (if the POV character understands it) or say "and they said something unintelligible in [x language]" or the like.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think………. let me check the dates on this. I think the actual first fanfiction I wrote was sometime in fifth or sixth grade, for this "Zenda" book series I read?? Either that or Harry Potter.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

A big shout-out goes to The Lichtenberg Figure, which I can’t believe is the only Tamora Pierce fanwork I’ve published, but for my favorite... it's gotta be Messenger. Like, looking back, there is a bunch about it that I am very not happy with, and a lot of things I think didn't come across the way I wanted, and things I would not write the same way now, years down the line, as I have very differently balanced understandings of… well, a lot of these same characters. But, fuck, I just can't let go of Mandalorian!Beru.

No pressure tags!! @apaladinagain @determamfidd @faeymouse @lumateranlibrarian (apologies if you’ve already done this one and I haven’t seen it!)

#tag game #tag thing #andy original

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megafreeman · 4 years

Text

Questions for an Author

Tagged by @eulerami. Thank you so much for taggin’ me, had fun answering these!

Tagging: @punkishrogue, @classicsinga, @thetwobosses, @dorkdevil, and

Name: Mega / Wolf

Top 5 Fandoms Written:

Saints Row...

Fallout

Mass Effect

Dragon Age

Agents of Mayhem

IDK if its fair when most of these have unpublished/unfinished works lmao

Top 5 Fandoms You Want To Write For/More: Apex Legends, I’m really considering it. But honestly, more than other fandoms, I really want to finish at least one fic for a non-SR fandom. I’m struggling to keep inspiration on them.

Stories You Wish More People Knew About: Please read Rose of Stilwater, I’ve kept that idea to myself since like 2014 and wanted to realize it since then, I’m really proud of it despite only publishing the “intro chapters” so far 😔👉👈

Ship(s) Written The Most:

Boss/Shaundi

The Bean Boys, Hal/Jonathan

Character(s) Written The Most: Gotta love my little bean Jonathan. Also Shaundi is a character I enjoy writing a lot for, She’s just one of the few complex characters SR has to offer

How Many OCs Do You Have: Man I used to post counts all the time lmao. Saints Row - 48 (4 universes), Agents of Mayhem - 3 + 2 headcanon characters, Dragon Age - 21 (3 universes), Fallout - 20 (3-ish universes, currently reworking them all), Mass Effect - 18 (reworking them all currently, as in actually deleting some), Rockstar - 5 (4 Bully, 1 GTA), TES - 11, but tbh don’t care as much about them, Valve - 4 (used to have more but never finalized some lel)

How Many Series Do You Have: None honestly, I’m afraid of committing and then forgetting about them. Currently finishing my Rowvember 2020 series of small prompts and that’s about it.

What Do You Do With Fics You’re No Longer Interested In?: WIP folder Hell

Coming Soon: Joker x M!Shep longfic (ME), Jonathan/Shaundi brOTP, “Socialite Fall” (Bully), Kaidan x M!Shep one shot, my Courier shipfic (just cause its a rare pair lel) and two Alistair x Warden one shots

Line From A WIP: "Fine, but only to visit your mom." Lina waved her finger at the cowboy "If I hear you pull any shit while there, I'll... I dunno, I'll cut off your ear or something."

Do You Accept Prompts? Oh, I never really thought of “accepting” them TBH, if anyone has any suggesion by God’s gift, please do share them with me and I might do something with them! (but alas, as someone from

How Do You Feel About Kudos? Every time I get an email notification about a kudos, my heart melts, thank yall so much 🥺️🥺️🥺️

Do You Read Fic As Well?: Oh I love, but honestly, I struggle keeping attentin when reading and prefer reading shorter stories over long fics. I got like 3 books I started reading and haven’t finished them yet, so sometimes I even feel guilty reading really long 20 chapter fics

#about me

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imjustthemechanic · 3 years

Photo

The Price of a Soul

Captain America’s return is big news, which meant that it will not be a surprise to Daniel.

Takeoff the next morning was delayed a little longer, as Howard said he needed to go see a man about some dogs. This turned out not to be a euphemism – he had purchased a team of sled dogs to send to Resolute and replace the ones the army had shot. That was fine with Peggy, because it gave her a moment to figure out what she was going to do next.

When they got to Los Angeles, the SSR would doubtless be there to meet them. Daniel was probably frantic, both because he was about to meet Steve in flesh and because he doubtless wanted to know how that would relate to his future with Peggy. Masters would probably have doctors lined up to give Steve another physical, since he would want to extract as much information as he could from the living man. That would give Peggy a moment to take Daniel aside, tell him an abbreviated version of the story, and perhaps give him some reassurance that she wasn’t going to run off with Steve.

Not immediately, anyway.

The problem was deciding exactly what she was going to say. As the plane roared through the sky, she was happy to let Steve, Howard, and Jason play cards with Kay, while she took some time to think. She would need to let Daniel know what Kay had told them… that she was a Soviet defector from the future. She would need to let him know that whether that was true or just an excuse, the woman did seem to know what she was talking about. And she would have to explain the proposed next step.

Peggy had enough faith in Daniel to be sure that he would want to do the right thing, even if he were worried about what Steve’s return might mean. He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. Neither was Steve, thank heavens. She could count on both of them.

That would only last so long, however. Kay’s quest would be a distraction for a while, but eventually Peggy would have to make a decision about her own future.

“Okay, show me your cards,” said Steve in an accusing voice.

Peggy looked up to see Kay beam as she turned her hand around to display all four queens. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the game, but Peggy was pretty sure the woman had an entire extra deck secreted about her person.

“You’ve been cheating this whole time!” Steve said, reaching for the pile of cigarettes they’d been using as chips. Kay snatched them away.

“She has?” asked Jason. He and Howard were both trying to play through their hangovers, and neither had noticed.

“Is this all part of your master plan to make us trust you?” Peggy asked.

Kay’s only reply was to take one boot off and pull four more queens out of it. The men groaned and tossed their cards on the floor as she laughed at them.

“You shouldn’t smoke anyway,” said Kay, tucking the cigarettes into her coat. “It’s bad for you.”

Steve, who had been prescribed tobacco for his asthma as a teenager, looked at her suspiciously. “Is it really?”

“Gives you cancer,” said Kay. “That is bona fide knowledge from the future that you will all thank me for someday.”

Everybody got rid of their coats and boots as the plane came in for a landing in Los Angeles. They’d been able to wash and change their clothing at the hotel in Nome, but Peggy was still looking very much forward to a long, hot bath. She would talk to Daniel first, of course, but by tomorrow Steve’s return would be in all the papers and the press might want to talk to her. Now that she’d healed from Kay’s spray attack, she had no intention of facing them without makeup on.

Unfortunately, that choice was very much made for her. As the army’s plane taxied towards its hangar, Peggy looked out the window to see there was a crowd gathered. The hangar was decked out in red, white, and blue bunting, and expensive cars were pulled up. When they came to a stop and the back of the plane opened to let them out, somebody was there to unroll an actual red carpet for the passengers to walk along.

Masters straightened his tie before heading down the ramp to address the crowd with a smile on his face.

“Governor Warren, Mayor Bowron, ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he began. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I am here to tell you that those rumors are…”

Peggy could almost hear the collective breath being held as Masters held the pause for dramatic effect.

“… absolutely true!” He beamed. “Captain America is alive and well!”

Steve knew that was his cue. He sighed and heaved himself out of his seat. “You’d think being dead would earn you some vacation time,” he muttered, but went to stand next to Masters and wave to the ground. Flash bulbs popped and a brass band began playing America the Beautiful. Howard, never one to miss out on the spotlight, hurried up to stand on Steve’s other side and join in as the Mayor of Los Angeles and the Governor of California, with their wives, came up to be introduced. Right behind them was a figure in a tan suit, leaning on a crutch… Daniel. Peggy closed her eyes and wondered what he must be thinking right now.

“I can make it look like an accident,” Kay offered.

“No, thank you,” sighed Peggy. “If anybody’s going to kill Vernon Masters I prefer to do it myself.”

“I’m not joking,” Kay told her.

“I’m not entirely sure I am,” Peggy replied.

One of the soldiers came running up to hand Steve his shield – they’d ruined his uniform cutting it off him in preparation for the autopsy, but the shield they’d saved – and Steve held it up to wild applause. The politicians led him to a red convertible that was waiting, also hung with patriotic fabric and with a flag flying from the back, and police vehicles gathered around for an escort.

“Are they going to have an actual parade?” Jason asked, watching this motorcade drive off. The brass band was climbing into a bus to follow.

“Looks that way,” said Peggy.

“Car accident?” Kay suggested. “Heart attack? I’ve got several things that can induce a heart attack. Fall down the stairs?”

“I’ll think about it,” Peggy said.

The crowd began to disperse, the flash bulbs stopped, and the soldiers who’d accompanied them started to troop off the plane. Peggy took this to mean that she and the other plebes could leave as well, and grabbed her things to head down to the tarmac with Kay and Jason. By this time, somebody had already come to take the red carpet away.

Among the few people who stayed behind was the contingent from the SSR. Daniel was waiting there nervously, and did not approach as Peggy walked down the ramp. Something pulled in side her heart. She knew that if Steve had come back as a corpse, Daniel would have been right there to hold her and help her to deal with it. Steve coming back alive was something he was no more prepared for than she had been.

“Hello, Daniel,” she said.

“Hi, Peggy,” he replied.

Plainly he was not going to take the initiative, so it was Peggy who went up and put her arms around him. “That was horrid,” she said.

“Yeah.” He hugged her back… and was it her imagination, or was it a little tighter than usual, as if he were afraid of her vanishing? “I guess you probably need to go and…”

“And what? Join the parade?” Peggy stepped back. “Look at me, Daniel, I’m hardly fit to be seen in public. All I want right now is a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep, but I need to tell you what happened up there.”

Daniel nodded. “Masters intercepted Dr. Wilkes’ request for backup from Stark Industries,” he said. “And…”

“No, no,” Peggy told him. “There’s ever so much more to it than that.” She looked over her shoulder, and found somewhat to her surprise that Kay was still there. It didn’t seem beyond her to vanish into the first crowd she found and never be seen again. “I don’t think you two were properly introduced…”

Kay came up and offered a hand. “Chief Sousa,” she said.

“This is Katerina Lachkova, Katherine Lake,” Peggy said, having decided for now to keep Kay’s real name to herself. She had no proof that Natalia Romanova was less of a pseudonym than any other this woman had used. Katerina Lachkova would get the point across. “She claims to be a Soviet defector, and has more information for us than just Steve’s location.”

Unsurprisingly, Daniel looked skeptical.

“I know,” said Kay. “I wouldn’t trust me. I cheat at cards.”

“She does, but I cannot deny that at least one thing she’s told us is entirely true,” Peggy sighed.

Daniel pressed his lips together for a moment. “Okay. You ladies go get cleaned up, and we’ll talk.”

He squeezed Peggy’s shoulders and then stepped back to let the women get in one of the cars. Peggy felt as if something inside her were being torn to pieces. He was trying to look like it wasn’t affecting him, but he desperately needed to be reassured. What reassurance could she give him when she didn’t know, herself?

Peggy didn’t know if it were a good idea or not, but she pressed a quick kiss to Daniel’s cheek before getting in the car. Kay got in and sat down next to her, feeling around on the seat beside her for a moment before sitting back and scowling.

“What are you looking for?” Peggy asked her.

“Nothing,” said Kay. “Force of habit.”

Daniel went in a different car. Peggy watched him get in, then looked away from the window as their own vehicle started to move.

“Sorry,” Kay said.

“Hardly your fault,” Peggy assured her.

“Actually, yes, it is,” said Kay. “Like I told you, if I weren’t here, nobody would have found Steve until 2012. You’d have been married to Daniel until 1955, when he was shot by an undercover HYDRA operative.”

Peggy blinked, and then covered her mouth in horror at the mental image. “So… if we aren’t married, will he not…”

“I have no idea. I doubt it would have made a difference,” said Kay. “Anyway, if I manage to get my to-do list done, that will never happen anyway.” She sighed. “But I’m sorry for putting you in this situation. I’m not very good at having emotions, but I’m good at reading them. I figured you’d be happy to see… Captain Rogers, because I knew he always wished you two had gotten your happy ending. I didn’t stop to think about you making your own happy ending after he was gone. Now I’ve ruined it.”

Peggy didn’t know how to reply to that. If she’d gone into this knowing everything Kay had just told her, would she have done anything differently? No… no, she would not, because there were so many ways in which this was not about Peggy. Steve deserved to live. Sergeant Barnes deserved to be rescued. Howard deserved to feel like he’d brought some good into the world. Peggy’s personal problems were nothing next to that.

“I suppose I’ll just have to figure it out all over again,” said Peggy.

“I can’t even tell you what should happen, because I’m flying blind from here,” Kay admitted. “Free will, isn’t it great?”

“Are you so very sure that changing the future is a good idea?” Peggy asked her. “Isn’t there always the possibility you might make things worse?”

“Too late to worry about it now,” said Kay. “I can’t skip ahead and check and then come back and tweak it. I’m just here… making it up as I go along.” She offered Peggy a weak smile. “Just like everybody else.”

“Well, you do have a few…” Peggy tried to find a better metaphor, but was forced to fall back on the unfortunately obvious. “A few more cards up your sleeve, let’s say, than a normal person.”

“Don’t worry,” Kay replied. “I’m going to play every single one of them.”

#fanfic #captain america #agent carter #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

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westannatasharomanoff · 4 years

Text

THG AU Chapter 27

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26

*Natasha Romanoff was in The Capitol for an interview. She was now three months pregnant and everyone was buzzing about the baby. This interview was to announce the winners of the baby naming competition. The only thing keeping Natasha from being furious about not getting to name her own child was the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to stick it to The Capitol.*

Ceaser: I think we all know what we’re here for. Natasha, if you would open the envelope.

Natasha: Okay, Ceaser. Here goes nothing.

Ceaser: Can we get a drumroll please? *drumroll* Thank you.

Natasha: The winning name for a baby girl is Victoria, and if it’s a boy, the winner is... Triffle. *her face falls*

* Meanwhile in District 12, everyone is watching the interview together at Natasha and Bruce’s.*

Pietro: Triffle? *bursts out laughing*

Fury: That poor child.

Maria: That’s unfortunate.

Bruce: Triffle?! They want us to name our child Triffle?! That’s not even a name!

Wanda: Evidently, it is in The Capitol.

Melina: That’s okay. Triffle is a bit... odd, but we would love him anyway. Besides, Victoria is a very nice name.

Alexei: Our poor grandson is going to be teased so much.

Fury: Have you met this child’s parents? He’ll be fine.

Bruce: For everyone’s sake I hope we have a girl.

*A week later, Natasha and Bruce went to their first S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting. It was held in a hovercraft above the wilds.*

Peggy: I know we haven’t met in a while, but I assure you S.H.I.E.L.D. is as active as ever. We have three new agents today, so please give a warm welcome to Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, and Natasha Romanoff.

Grant: Wait, didn’t she just get married? Why does she still have her same last name?

Natasha: The Capitol already knows me well, so changing my name didn’t make much sense.

Peggy: Why don’t we all just introduce ourselves? I’ll start. My name is Peggy Carter and I live in District 4.

Phil: I’m Phil Coulson, I live in District 9.

Melinda: Melinda May, District 2.

Lincoln: Lincoln Campbell, District 5. I know, shocking.

Lance: Lance Hunter, District 2.

Thor: You guys know me. You also know Steve! *Steve waves*

Daisy: Daisy Johnson, I’m from 3.

Bruce: Yeah, I’ve met you. You’re the new girl from coding.

Daisy: That’s me.

Tripp: Antoine Triplett, but you can call me Tripp. I also live in District 3.

Grant: Grant Ward, from District 2.

Jemma: Jemma Simmons. I live in District 3, but I invent medical devices so I’m always in The Capitol.

Bobbi: Bobbi Morse, I’m also from District 2. Imagine that.

Lance: She’s my wife.

Leo: Leo Fitz. I’m from District 3, but we’ve met.

Bruce: Yes, yes we have.

Mack: Alphonso Mackenzie, District 6. You can call me Mack.

Daniel: I’m Daniel Sousa. I live in District 10 and I think that’s everyone, right?

Gamora: You forgot us.

Daniel: Right, our friends from The Capitol.

Gamora: I’m Gamora Zen-Titan, as you may remember.

Mantis: Mantis Brandt-Snow. I’m so happy to be here!

Nebula: Nebula Lupho-Titan. *pointing at Gamora* I’m her sister.

Peter: Peter Quill-Snow. *pointing at Mantis* I’m her sister.

*Everyone goes silent and gives Peter an odd look. A few people stifle laughter. A moment later, Peter realizes his mistake.*

Peter: Wait, no! She’s my- *sigh* never mind.

Bruce: Wait. Snow, Titan, I know those names! You let the children of the president and his closest advisor join a society to take them down?

Peter: Our father is Snow’s brother, actually.

Gamora: Not to mention none of us want anything to do with the corrupt and unfair system that is our government! The things going on in Panem just aren’t right, and anyone could see that no matter who their “family” is! Panem needs to enter a new era, and soon.

Bruce: Fair enough, carry on.

Loki: I’m Loki Odinson and *pointing to Thor* I’ve never met that man in my life.

Natasha: Oh, are you two siblings?

Loki: No. I’ve seriously never met him. It’s a total coincidence that we have the same last name.

Thor: It’s actually kind of freaky, especially considering we look very similar.

Loki: For the last time, we do not look alike! At all!

Peggy: Can we get back to business?

Thor: Right, sorry.

Peggy: Anyway, we need to take a few more people before we’re ready to start the next phase of our plan. *to Bruce and Natasha* That’s where you come in. We need to recruit Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, and Pietro Maximoff. Banner, you need to get Tony on board. Natasha, you will handle the Maximoffs.

*Natasha and Bruce accepted their assignment and the rest of the meeting went pretty well. After the meeting, Bruce was snuck to District 3 so he could talk to Tony. He encased them in the secret bubble.*

Tony: Bruce? What are you doing here?

Bruce: I’ll tell you in a minute, but first I want to know how you’re holding up. Did they ever find Pepper?

Tony: *starting to cry* No. It’s been four months and we’ve found nothing. Well, nothing but this. *Tony pulls out a ring* They found her wedding ring in the ruins of her sister’s house.

Bruce: *pulls Tony into a hug* I’m so sorry. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. How’s Morgan?

Tony: She’s still my pride and joy. She misses her mommy, but she’s a wonderful daughter. Just turned three. I’m keeping this one close, I can’t lose her like I did Peter and Pepper. Speaking of children, congratulations. I heard about the baby. You’re not seriously going to name a boy Triffle, are you?

Bruce: We have no choice. Anyway, back to the reason I’m here. The government of Panem needs to be stopped. A secret organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. is working to overthrow Snow, and I’ve been sent to recruit you.

Tony: No. No way. I can’t join a revolution.

Bruce: We need you! The Hunger Games, the bombings, the whippings, the avoxes and muttations, none of this is acceptable! We owe it to Peter and Pepper and Vision and Sammy and everyone else The Capitol saw as disposable. This isn’t right and it isn’t fair!

Tony: I know, but this sounds dangerous and my top priority will always be keeping my daughter safe.

Bruce: What if your daughter could live in a world where she didn’t have to worry about the reaping every year? A world where she could see other districts. A world where the citizens aren’t oppressed.

Tony: That sounds amazing, but I can’t. What if they find out and kill Morgan?

Bruce: We won’t let that happen. Just please consider it. These people really want to make a change, and I want to be a part of it. But none of this is possible without you.

Tony: And you’re sure these people can be trusted?

Bruce: Yes.

Tony: Then count me in. For Pepper. And Peter. And for Morgan. Most importantly, for the future of Panem. I’m joining your revolution.

*Meanwhile back in 12*

Natasha: You may be wondering why I shut you both in a soundproof invisibility bubble with me. There is a secret organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. that has been created to overthrow Snow and I was sent to recruit you because-

Both twins at once: We’re in.

*About two months later, everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. was preparing to deliver the first blow. *

Peggy: Okay, we want to start small with something barely noticeable. In order to do that, we need someone to sneak in and grab a secret file. With that gone, The Capitol will no longer have arena ideas for the next few years.The 91st Hunger Games is probably already all planned, given it’s in a month, but this will be a major setback and a distraction for some of the most prominent figures in The Capitol.

Natasha: If we’re doing something against the games, I want to be involved.

Peggy: Absolutely not. You are in no condition to sneak into that building.

Natasha: What’s that supposed to mean?!

Peggy: Ordinarily, I’d send you in in a heartbeat, but...

Natasha: What? Am I not good enough? Did you see me in the games? I’m not proud of it, but I’m told I was impressive!

Bruce: Nat, you’re five months pregnant.

Natasha: Oh, right.

Peggy: Anyway, we’re sending in Wanda, Daisy, and Gamora. Tony Stark has made rigs for Daisy and Wanda similar to what Peter Parker made in the games. Wanda, yours will allow you to move objects with your mind.

Tony: These ones are a lot stronger than what you had in the arena. You’ll be able to move bigger objects and even people. They also work long distance.

Peggy: Daisy, yours will allow you to pulse vibrations through the floor, creating miniature earthquakes.

Tony: You can direct them towards specific people and everything.

Peter: What about Gamora? Are you just going to send her in with nothing?

Gamora: Don’t be ridiculous. *pulling out ID badge* I have my dad’s ID badge. It’ll give us access to everything. Also, I have a retractable sword.

Peter: Oh, okay.

Daniel: So you’ll be safe then? Because you have the ID badge?

Daisy: We’ll be fine, I promise. *kisses his cheek* Besides, it’s a really fast, in and out, kind of mission. We’ll be back before you know I’m gone.

Daniel: I miss you already. Be safe.

Daisy: Don’t worry, we will.

*After they leave*

Tony: So, you and Daisy, huh? How’d you two meet?

Daniel: We’re both involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. She and I met through this.

Tony: Meeting through work, nice. That’s how I met my wife. *sniff* Well, I guess now she’s my ex wife. *begins sobbing*

Bruce: *puts hand on Tony’s shoulder* You’ll be okay. here. *hugs Tony*

Daniel: Messy divorce?

Bruce: She was killed in an attack by The Capitol.

*An hour later, Daisy, Gamora, and Wanda return. S.H.I.E.L.D. is officially up and running, and they aren’t going to back down.*

#the hunger games au #hulkwidow #the hunger games #brutasha #brucenat #bruce banner #natasha romanoff #marvel #avengers

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gentlethorns · 4 years

Note

1-31

JKJFLKJGDKLS did you mean. 1 through 31?? like. all of them?? LMFAOOOOOO okay but i’m sticking them under a readmore bc that is gonna be SO long

1. what is a genre you love reading but will probably never write? mysteries/crime. i love the technique and expertise it takes to expertly lay out and set up a plot twist, but i don’t think i could ever do it aptly myself.

2. which writer has had the greatest stylistic influence on your writing? probably stephen king, if we’re talking fiction, but even then i don’t think he’s influenced me a ton - my writing voice is pretty distinctive (or so i’ve been told). as far as poetry, i think reading @candiedspit‘s work has really caused me to stretch my expectations of where words can go and what they can do.

3. has a specific song/lyric ever inspired a work of art for you? absolutely! i’m super inspired by music, bc music is really important to me as a means of emotional expression. back in sophomore year of high school i was working on a story where all the chapters were inspired by songs from folie a deux by fall out boy. it didn’t pan out and i never finished it, but i still think the concept was neat.

4. a writer whose personal lifestyle really speaks to you? lmfao not to talk about him again, but stephen king’s lifestyle really appeals to me. his writing is widely known and renowned, but he just chills at home and watches the red sox games and takes pictures of his corgi and keeps turning out stories. that literally sounds like paradise to me.

5. do you write both prose and poetry? which do you prefer? i do write both! and i can’t say i honestly prefer one over the other - my interest bounces between them and waxes and wanes, but i don’t consistently indulge one more than the other, i don’t think. last year i went through a huge fiction phase in october and cranked out eight or nine different short stories/flash pieces, and then in november/december i went through a poetry phase and wrote multiple poems a day for a long stretch of time. it just depends on my mood and my mindset and what i need from writing (a kind of escape vs. emotional expression/release).

6. do you read both prose and poetry? which do you prefer? i do read both, and again, i don’t think i have a preference. i definitely read fiction more, i think, but like writing, it kind of depends what i need at the time.

7. which language do you write in? which do you want to write in someday? i write in english, since it’s the only language i know. i’d like to learn spanish at some point, but i don’t know if i could ever write in spanish - i’m so firmly married to english grammar and structure that i don’t know if i could ever exercise the same control and mastery over spanish that i could english.

8. share a quote or verse that has been on your mind lately. “you said i killed you - haunt me, then!” from wuthering heights.

9. a writer/poet whose life you find interesting. *sigh*. stephen king. i’ve read his memoir/writing workshop book (”on writing”) and his success story always fascinates me. i just can’t imagine living in a shitty one-bedroom apartment with your wife and two kids and working days at an industrial laundromat and spending nights writing on a shitty wobbly desk in the laundry room, and you get your first manuscript accepted for publication, and eventually the paperback rights go up and you think you might get $60,000 if you’re really lucky, and then one day while your wife and kids are visiting the in-laws you get a call from your agent telling you that the paperback rights for your book sold for $400,000 and 200K of it is yours. that’s just literally. unfathomable to me lmfao.

10. what do you feel about the idea of someone unearthing your unseen or discarded drafts someday, long after your death? what about your personal journal? it’s really hard for me to imagine that happening, i think bc i tend to see myself as really like. insignificant or unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so i can’t imagine any part of me lasting beyond my life. also, it’s very hard for me to imagine someone i don’t know personally reading my work, probably because my work (especially a personal journal) is a window into me, and i have a hard time even letting people i trust see into that window sometimes, much less a stranger.

11. do you prefer to write in silence or listen to something? what do you listen to? i definitely prefer music in the background, although i can work in silence. i tend to gravitate to music that goes with the scene i’m writing, if i’m writing fiction (often i work music into my fiction, so if there’s a song playing in the scene, i’ll listen to that song), and if i’m writing poetry i tend to just listen to laid-back music (unless i’m writing from a place of grief or sadness, in which case i listen to sad music lmfao). i do also love writing when it’s storming outside and just listening to the rain and the thunder as i write.

12. has an image ever impacted your artistic lens/inspired your work? absolutely! less often than music, but visuals can inspire me on occasion. i once wrote a poem based on this image. i just couldn’t get it out of my head, so i decided to figure out what it was saying to me.

13. how would you describe the experience of writing itself? as in putting the words to paper, not planning or moodboards etc. do you agree with the common idea that the satisfaction lies in reading your work after you are done with it, rather than the process of writing itself? i think the process can be arduous sometimes, and other times it can be incredible. sometimes i write very slowly and haltingly, sometimes i write at a normal pace and it feels like the work it is (bc i am trying to write professionally), but sometimes the magic tap in the mind turns on and it starts flowing. that being said, i don’t necessarily agree that the satisfaction lies only in reading your work rather than also in the process. there’s a certain fulfillment in watching everything come together and knowing it’s going to be good.

14. how often do you write? it varies. i would like to write more often than i do, now that i have a full-time school schedule and work part time friday-sunday, but i think i still get a decent amount of writing done, when i can actually sit down and motivate myself to get the words out.

15. how disciplined are you about your writing? not very, in the creative sense - as discussed above, i don’t write as often as i should/would like to, and don’t hold myself to much of a schedule. however, as far as the business side of it (submitting to magazines/contests), i’m pretty disciplined, and i’m usually pretty good about keeping all my “good” pieces in circulation at a couple of places at a time.

16. what was your last long-lasting spurt of motivation? maybe last night? i worked on a couple of pieces and then submitted a few groups of poems to some magazines. i also did some decent work on thursday while i was in my campus starbucks waiting for my zoom class to start.

17. have you ever been professionally published? are you trying to be? i have been professionally published! i got my first acceptance back in 2018, and now i’ve had poetry published multiple times and fiction published twice. i’m still trying to publish more of my work, but i think i’ve had a decent start.

18. do you read literary magazines? not regularly, although i entered a fiction contest for into the void last year, and since it came with a year-long subscription, i’ve been browsing the fiction there periodically. into the void tends to publish good short/flash fiction, so anytime i feel like reading some new stories, i head there.

19. a lesser known writer you adore? idk if she’s necessarily “lesser-known,” but i loved ally carter’s gallagher girl series when i was younger. the first four books were immaculate (although i do remember that the last two books seemed almost unnecessary, and the ultimate end of the series was anticlimactic).

20. do you write short stories? do you read them? i write and read them! up until october of last year i could never figure out how to write a short story and effectively resolve a conflict in 5000 words or less, but then suddenly (like. literally overnight), a switch flipped in my head and i could do it. as far as reading them, i don’t read a ton anymore bc of my busy schedule ( :( ), so sometimes if i’m in the mood to read i’ll opt for a short story online or a book of short stories instead of a full-length novel.

21. do you prefer to involve yourself with literary history and movements or are you more focused on the writing itself? any favourite literary movements? i’m typically more focused on the writing itself, although i do love to learn about the horror boom from the 50s-80s (if that counts as a literary movement lmfao). i also do particularly love work from the era of deconstructionism, which i think took place in like. the 40s-60s, if i’m not mistaken. i enjoy that era bc of its symbolism and abstract nature - a lot of the work leaves the reader to draw their own conclusions.

22. are you working on anything right now? not particularly? i have a few works in progress that i tinker with now and then, but i’m not seriously working on anything in particular.

23. how did you get started with writing? i honestly don’t even remember. i remember the first time i realized that i really liked writing and had fun doing it (in fourth grade, for a school competition), but i know that even before then i was writing stories and poems.

24. do you have any “writer friends”? most of my mutuals are writer friends! but i don’t have any irl. i almost made one in my math class last semester, but we lost contact when our university shut down in march.

25. what is your earliest work you can remember? the earliest work i can remember is when i was really young (maybe like. five or six?). it was about our dog being pregnant (which she was at the time) and able to talk (which she was not).

26. have you found your writer’s voice yet? does your work have a distinct tone? absolutely. i’m very confident in my style and the distinctiveness of my voice - it’s been there pretty much since i first started writing. i’ve improved since then, honed my voice and made it more sophisticated and effective, but at the core, it’s still me, like it always has been.

27. do your works share themes/are commonly about certain topics? or are your subjects all over the place? in poetry, i think i tend to write about grief or loss of some sort or another often, bc it’s something i tend to feel often - either that or a false bravado (but ig that’s more of a tonal device). as far as fiction, i like to write about religion gone wrong (false religion, religion as a front for personal gain and corruption, religion gone too deep into obsession and mania, etc.), and i like smart underdog-type characters that fight and have a lot of grit to them.

28. what does writing mean to you? to me, writing is catharsis, a bloodletting. this particularly applies to poetry, but it also applies to fiction. poetry shows you the things you’re regurgitating up-front, but fiction does it slyly, in a mirror or through a distorting lens. regardless, both stand to offer release and healing.

29. in an alternate universe, imagine you had not found writing. what do you think would be your fixation otherwise? honestly, i’m not sure. probably acting or theater. something creative, for sure.

30. do you feel defined by your work? maybe a little, but not to a large or limiting extent. like, in a new class, my interesting fact about myself will probably always be “i’m a writer and i’ve been published a few times,” but i think that i’m a well-rounded person and that once people get to know me, my writing is just a part of me, not my whole identity.

31. have you ever written/considered writing under a pen name? if you would be okay saying, why? no, i don’t think i have. while a pen name can be a good tool, depending on your goals and what you’re writing, i have a Thing about getting credit where i’m due credit lmfao. i don’t think i’ll ever use a pen name bc if i know something i do is good, i want my name on it.

#asks #anon #thirty-one asks for writers #JAKFJDLJDALKJ this was so long thank you for asking

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