#and being like. this means Nothing to me. i still read on though bc it was the coolest thing ive ever read

[skrs-cats]

thinking about it it's kinda crazy how little scourge actually even was in the series. When I first got into warriors I always assumed he was the big bad/ a major character from start to finish and I didn't even know that tigerstar or the clans were a thing then. Dude surged to popularity through pure aura. People loved him cuz he was edgy and cool and I was one of them LOL

[vv-ispy]

.

[relicsongmel]

Kieran's personality shift in the Indigo Disk is really hammering home to me that his voice is just an edgier version of Simon Keyes and I don't know how to feel about that

[jjk4isen]

ꗃ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 .

❝ answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and holding me— was she the one on your mind? ❞

summary: it's hard knowing you aren't really the person in toji's heart but loving him was something you still did regardless. as for toji, he thinks he's ready to give you his all.

desc: 2.8k words, f!reader (referred to as ‘mama’), canon compliant i think, takes place after mamaguro's death and before toji’s, age gap (early 20s reader, early 30s toji), baby gumi ahhhhh, sfw, angst to fluff to angst again lol, intended lowercase, think you're tsumiki’s mom but without tsumiki bc the relations would be too complicated and also the second wife erasure in the canon storyline?? yeah it's reserved specifically for this fic, not proof read i fear but pls read it's really interesting i can swear by it lmaoqhdhns

dating a widowed man with a son wasn't easy especially when the said man is still in love with his former wife, or rather, his wife who had died.

love is often beautiful but sometimes it's unfair. it can also be cruel. what other reason would make you still stay despite knowing you'll never measure upto the person who had been here before you?

and you've heard stories about her. she was sweet, so beautiful— not just in her appearance but her entire being was beautiful. there always was an ache in your heart upon just the mention of her name.

so how much more would it have ached for toji?

“mama” the spiky haired boy, barely two years old calls you and you realise the silence in the room. “not mama, i’m nana okay?” sick.

nana. not mama but close enough. it doesn't matter anyway, n and m are just letters and next to each other so how much difference would that make? you're the one that's here after all, are you not?

if there's a lump in your throat and your eyes are burning with unshed tears, you force yourself to ignore.

“okay nana” megumi nuzzles his face into your chest, slowly drifting away to sleep. the boy always liked cuddling with you and it melts your heart immensely.

your hands strand through his dark hair. people always said he's the carbon copy of his dad but you'd like to differ. megumi has his mother's eyes and his hair resembled hers more than it did his dad's.

the thought sends another ache in your chest but you push it away– as you always have.

you recall the last time toji had heard megumi call you “mama”. you had never seen toji that livid. he was never a gentle man to begin with but that night, there was nothing else you've been more scared of.

was he like that to his wife? maybe not.

does that matter though? it's not like toji treats you badly. he's decent and loves you an enough amount. you weren't crazy enough to stay when you're not wanted so that must mean you were something to him right?

you also recall the whispers of pity and condemnation thrown at you for just being with toji. him being a brute is one thing but the difference in age is what people seem to have a problem with. you're so much younger than him and have your whole life ahead of you so why are you entrapping yourself this way?

you disagree though. love doesn't know any age and you definitely aren't naive to be head over heels over a guy just because he's relatively older. no, this was real and genuine.

a faint knock disrupts your train of thoughts. “he sleepin’?” toji nods towards the small boy in your arms and you nod back in return.

taking care not to wake the sleeping kid, you slowly pry his hands away from you and pull over a blanket to cover his small body.

when you make your way towards toji, he wastes no time in pulling you closer “missed you” he mumbles, placing a kiss onto your forehead and suddenly all thoughts plaguing your mind disappears. that's all you could ask for, even if it was just for a moment.

“i missed you more” you whisper back, he only huffs out an amused chuckle.

“got bad news though” a frown finds itself on his lips, decorated by a single scar next to it.

“did you lose all your money again?” toji was a gambling addict, another thing you forced yourself to tolerate just for him.

“sorry, doll. thought i’d win this time” he rubs small circles on your back comfortingly and it makes you a bit uneasy to know that he has his way with you so easily.

“it's alright. i’ll just find another part time job”

“so good to me” toji pulls you into his chest and you let out a sigh— of exhaustion? relief? you couldn't really tell but that's not important, toji had you in his arms.

“i’ll try and think of something too. don't worry your pretty little head too much” he lifts you up with ease. while you're in his arms, you feel the safest.

toji really felt bad this time. he was confident he would win but that stupid horse had to trip and lose its lead, ending up last of all places. he knows luck never favoured him but that's didn't stop him from trying again and again and again.

he also knows how you didn't say anything more than necessary about it but he isn't that much of an idiot either. he sees how your expression falters and your shoulders slump a little more when he comes home with another news of his gambling loss.

this is also why he tries, or rather, tried to quit — one too many times, unbeknownst to you. however, old habits die hard and most of the time (everytime) toji gives into his urge and loses yet again. the cycle keeps happening.

maybe this isn't just about gambling.

with the way you're asleep so soundly next to him after putting his son to sleep and taking care of him too, he is overcomed with yet another feeling to be better for you and megumi alike.

toji isn't a gentle man; everyone knows that, you do too — even more than anybody else but he can't help the familiar pool of warm feelings surging through him the longer he stares at your peaceful state.

he remembers the last time he felt it, with another person. it felt like a lifetime ago.

he also remembers how painful it was when he lost it — the person, the feeling altogether. his hands that were making their way to caress your face stops mid air.

toji knows you deserve so much better. you've been nothing but patient to him, so amazing, so perfect to him. still, he just can't do it yet, just not yet.

he will eventually, he hopes you stay until then.

toji wakes up to an empty bed and his heart sinks a little but the creases and wrinkles on the sheets serve as a reminder that you were really here.

he makes his way towards the kitchen, only finding megumi sitting on a chair next to the dining table.

“hey kid, where's your mama?”

toji freezes. it came out so naturally he didn't realise he said it himself and almost thinks he didn't but megumi's wide eyes prove that he actually did.

“m…mama?” megumi says hesitantly and toji nods this time. “yes, your mama”.

“potty potty!” megumi points to the bathroom and giggles, toji follows suit. the man crouches to his son's eye level and pats his head.

“you love your mama, kid?” toji sees megumi's eyes sparkle as the boy nods enthusiastically “very very much!!”

“yeah? i love your mama too.”

toji smiles to himself, he can't wait to tell that to you.

the next time toji got his pay, he finds himself hesitating. instead of heading towards the race tracks, his feet takes him to a jewellery store.

instead of picking out a slot and testing his luck, he picks out a ring. it's not fancy by any means but he thinks it would be the most beautiful band of metal to exist if it slides into your ring finger.

the tiny ring carries all the heavy feelings he has for you.

──

it was one particular evening when you saw an old man lingering by the front gate. its particular because the warm sunset and the soft cool breeze contrasted the ground breaking truth you find out.

“can i help you?” you ask the old man who looks at you up and down, not making an attempt to hide his distaste of your sight.

“is this where toji zenin lives?” he stares down at you with his scrutinising gaze; it makes you feel small.

“zenin?” you ask, confused. is he referring to toji? but his last name is fushiguro is it not?

“yes toji zenin. i heard he has a son as well. you're not the mother are you?”

is it that obvious? you wonder how the old man figured it out. regardless, you're not about to give him his answers so you stood your ground.

“i’m sorry i don't know what you're talking about.” you turn around, about to head inside when his words make you stop short.

“are you fushiguro?”

that's toji’s last name isn't it? not zenin or whatever he called it. so why is he asking you that? is he implying that you're married to toji?

“no. you have the wrong person.”

“why? did he say not to get involved with anyone from his clan?” the old man draws closer, chucking to himself. you're just there unmoving, trying to comprehend the situation and the words coming from his mouth.

“or did he not tell you that either? did he tell you anything at all?” he stands tall in front of you, tearing away bits of yourself with every word he says.

“when he returns, tell him the clan wants to propose him an offer. you can do that much at least won't you?”

…

and when toji comes home that night with the ring cluched tightly in his fist and inside the pocket of his white pants, the world stills.

he finds you in a state he has never seen you before. you look completely and utterly defeated.

“hey, what's wrong?” his hands come to caress your face so effortlessly, the ring and prior nervousness long forgotten.

“talk to me what's going on?” he looks around and the house seems emptier than usual. your laundry that were usually hanging with his were gone.

your small trinkets you placed around the house to “make it more lively” were nowhere to be found.

and there's a bag in the corner of the room which toji prays and hopes he isn't what he thinks it is.

your hands push away his own that were cupping your face. you're not even looking at him.

“say something damn it!”

you flinch and toji takes a step back. he recalls the last time you trembled in fear — when he got mad megumi called you his mom. he punishes himself for it.

“im sorry. please talk to me.” he isn't touching you now but he wants to. he wants to reach out and pull you close, as he always had done. but now there's an unbearable silence and the small distance between you both felt like lightyears away.

“who's zenin” your voice was meek, barely a whisper but toji's eyes widen. how did you find out about that?

no fuck that, he was supposed to be the one telling you. in his own time.

“i can explain” was all that came out of him. he's nervous, he doesn't know where to start. there's a lot of information to unpack and he's not sure how to do it without hurting you too much.

when he doesn't elaborate, you ask another “who's fushiguro then?” your voice falters a bit and toji curses himself for it.

but he's done running away and keeping things from you. “my… my late wife” he says wryly.

your eyes close and a shaky breath leaves your body, as if he just confirmed your worst suspicions. damn life is so funny isn't it? everything you thought you knew apparently wasn't what it seemed to be after all.

opening them again, your vision blurs and you realise tears were escaping your eyes. fuck you didn't want to cry now of all times but they won't stop.

and the way toji was looking at you, it makes you want to throw up.

“i must've been so stupid to you” you let out a humourless chuckle. “did you pretend im her?”

your gaze was sharp and so were your words. maybe all your bottled up feelings were resurfacing. it doesn't make you feel better about it but that doesn't stop you though.

“answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and when you're holding me, was she the one on your mind??” your voice was loud now. you should be afraid of waking up megumi who you cradled to sleep just a few hours ago but no, your thoughts are too clouded right now.

toji sighs. he has no excuse.

“i used to” he actually looks ashamed as if he wasn't the one who did it purely out of his will.

your scoff makes him wince “but not anymore.”

his words fall on deaf ears “you know… i knew you did. but i stayed regardless because i thought there would be a chance that maybe one day, you could open up your heart to me. im not even asking for all of it, just a little… i thought you'd let me in.”

you're blabbering and honestly, so distraught.

“but not a moment was there when it was me isn't it? it was always her in the first place.”

now toji should have said something, anything but he stays there planted in place. and maybe that was your breaking point.

you turn around, grabbing your bag and brushing past him towards the door. instead of holding onto you and stopping you, toji clutches the small box containing the ring — your ring in his pocket, almost crushing it in the process, as he hears the door slam.

you think it's funny how toji did not reach out after what happened. it's poetic even. very fitting of him, till the very end, he did not give two shits about you.

so then, why were you back here?

it's been four long years since the trajectory of your life changed. you still don't know if it was for the better or for the worse.

saying it has been hard would be an understatement. it took you a long time just to get back onto your own feet but you did it regardless. however, you left a part of you here long ago and now, you're here to take it back.

that and you missed megumi dearly. perhaps it was an excuse too because you won't deny a part of you still missed toji, despite everything that happened.

standing a few feet away from the place you used to call home, you hesitate.

maybe this was a bad idea. oh this was definitely a bad idea. you'll see them, and then what? what comes after that?

closure? don't make yourself laugh. you’ll just be reminded of how you couldn't be that person for toji— how you'll always come second. and what if they moved?? there's no reason they'd still be here right?

forget this, you don't need to do this. why must you still be the one who put effort? to reach out? four long years passed and still no news means they clearly moved on... right?

you were convinced enough and was about to go back when you saw little megumi carrying a backpack on his back, seemingly coming home from school.

your feet wouldn't move and your eyes wouldn't blink. he grew up so well.

the world pauses as your gaze follows the kid you used to consider your own, now as good as a stranger.

“do you know that kid?” a voice at your back makes you whip your head around. life really is full of surprises and this time, the surprise was in the form of a tall man, no a tall kid with white hair, looking at you curiously through his round tinted glasses.

“... no i don't” well you weren't exactly lying. you don't know the megumi you see now. perhaps if he asked whether you raised him since he was a baby till he was two, then your answer would've been different.

“oh okay” the boy shrugs. “poor guy though”

“why? whats up with him?” you turn to look at megumi again who was minding his business walking home and your heart aches a little.

“I'm here to recruit him. his dad died you see so he's–”

“wait what was that??”

“his dad. he's dead” the amused boy in front of you chuckles and you stare at him, horrified.

“what happened to him?” your voice was shaky and doesn't sound like your own. he leans down to meet your eye level and smirks “why? i thought you don't know that kid. why does that matter to you?”

your stomach churns as you stare at him, not even knowing what to say— the smug expression on his face only widens.

“so you do know him.”

'know' would be a weak word to use when it comes to toji. you knew of his habits, the simple things he does and also of the more complex ones — like the exact place his scar decorated his lips and how it felt to kiss it.

then again, you don't really know anything about him and maybe you never will.

and maybe that's really, the closure you needed.

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land Part 3

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

You can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here!

25.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: mentions of blood, mentions of guns/shootings/gunshot wounds, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, CPR, mentions of jack's injury and losing his foot, anxiety about partner's safety, angst (kind of), very emotional, probably incorrect description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, reader wears Jack’s clothes, self-hate, Robby has been to therapy, fighting/arguing (no raised voices), unprotected PIV sex (BC implied with their committed relationship), allusions to sex and oral sex, discussion of end of life wishes, descriptions of nightmares, discussion of someone dying in front of reader, panic attacks, vomiting (very brief, not reader), discussion of scars/wounds, grief, mention of UTI, myrna, reader likes candles, Jack is the best, I had this idea and started drafting before we knew Jack was a widow so in this world he has never been married, no use of y/n or related, not really proofread.

Summary: Healing is hard. Emotions abound. Somehow life goes on. [Author continues to suck at summaries.]

AN: I am so sorry this took so long 😅 The vignettes have a bit of a different feel here because the way we are moving through time is much different and on a larger scale. But each vignette 'happened' before the scene it precedes. Part 4 is already like 75% of the way done so it will not be as long of a wait, I promise 😭 I know some wanted it all at once and I'm sorry it isn't, but I can offer as an apology the fact that because we're getting another part we're getting more content both in Part 3 and in Part 4!! Also I promise Quiet Part 2 is next up after Part 4. Thank you all so much for your patience and support and for reading!! Your replies and likes and reblogs mean so so much to me and I know we're all busy so I really appreciate you taking the time to read whatever it is I do here ♥️

After the housewarming party, life is good. You and Jack are still home together while you recover, in love and soaking each other in and planning France and dreaming out loud about your wedding. And healing. Individually and together. 

Things get harder though.

You’re both in therapy, yes, but you’ve been through a lot in the last month and a bit, and an hour a week only does so much. You’re both struggling, struggling a little harder now that the kind of honeymoon period of you getting home from the hospital has passed. 

You and Jack talk about it sometimes, about how things feel harder in a way all of the sudden now that you’re not focusing on being home finally and getting your place painted and all moved into. You think it’s just because you have lost some of that distraction. The reality of what happened starts to sink in deeper. Especially because things are ostensibly returning to normal but not really. 

Because normal isn’t being at home together while you’re recovering. You’re back to that hospital feeling of waiting. Waiting for you to recover enough for the next step to get taken. Jack going back to work. You going back to work. The return of your true new normal. 

So things get a little harder, emotions more intense. Some days it feels like you guys are taking more steps backward than forward. But you’re taking those steps in whatever direction together and you have each other and are in love and that’s all either of you need at the end of the day. Each other and your love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s day four. 

Four days now you’ve been in a coma. Four days with no signs of waking up soon, even after they weaned you off the meds that had been keeping you under to help you heal. No twitch of your fingers or toes, no flutter of your eyelashes, no little grunt, no breathing over the vent. Nothing. Just you laying there in a hospital bed. Technically still alive and with him, but are you really?

Jack stretches out. He hasn’t left the hospital since you got shot. Literally has not set foot out of the building, hasn’t gone to the roof or out into the ambulance bay or gone through the main doors to stand on the street. 

Dana brought him in clothes and toiletries. She brought some for you too, telling Jack that you’d want them as soon as you were awake. Half of Jack wanted to scream at her for tempting fate like that, now that she brought them there would be no use for them because you’d never wake up. 

And half of him wanted to just sob into her because he knows that as much as she did bring them for you, she brought them for him. To give him the option of smelling like you, or just smelling your shampoo to smell you for a second. To give him a shirt of yours to keep near his head when he tries to get an hour of sleep. It helped once. He was actually able to grab a couple of hours. 

It’s not the same though, because those products haven’t mixed with your body chemistry to become the unique scent that is you. But it’s better than nothing. Because until Dana had brought it in for him he’d forgotten what you smelled like. 

He’d forgotten what you sounded like too. The sound of your voice, the way you say his name. The way you say you love him. Your laugh. He just couldn’t hear it in his head. He cracked on day three and listened to a voicemail you left him, watched a video of the two of you that you’d taken one day. It was comforting to be able to remember what you sound like and what you look like when you smile, to have those little pieces of you back in his mind. But it was also a devastating reminder of what he might lose. 

Your things, the voicemails you’ve left him and the videos and photos you’ve taken together might be all he really has left of you at the end of this. The realization had made him dry heave a little.

Robby walks in as Jack is stretching, hands him a coffee and a brown bag. Breakfast. “You have to eat if you want the coffee or else it’s just going to shoot up your heart rate and give you more anxiety.”

Jack looks at him almost blankly as he sits down in the chair on the other side of your bed across from Jack. “I’m still a doctor, you know?” The words hit Jack. “A fucking shitty one apparently. I can’t even fix her. This shit is what I do and I’ve saved so many people but the one fucking person who actually matters.” Jack shakes his head. “And nothing.” 

Robby cocks his head at him. “No doctor could fix this Jack. She’s in a coma. You’re making sure she gets the best care possible. That’s all anyone could do for her right now, doctor or not.” 

Jack waves Robby off, takes a sip of the coffee but makes no move for the bag. It earns him a look from Robby that he ignores. They sit in silence for a bit. It’s hard to come up with things to say. But Robby knows Jack needs to start thinking about it. It’s still very far down the line but it’ll be better for him to start thinking and coming to terms with it now, Robby thinks.  

“Jack.” Jack pulls his eyes off you and over to Robby. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

Deep down Jack knows exactly what Robby’s question means. But he doesn’t let himself go there. He can’t. Robby will have to spell it out for him. “What I’m going to do about what?”

“What you’re going to do if down the line she heals physically but doesn’t wake up?” Robby says quietly, as though saying it lower will make it somehow less painful, pull less of a reaction from Jack. 

“What the fuck is that? Why the fuck would you even bring that up?” Jack snaps at him. While you were awake after surgery you’d signed a healthcare proxy giving Jack the authority to make treatment and end of life decisions for you. It had been just in case. Better to have it because then you would never need it right? Wrong. “We’re so the fuck far away from that. She’s not even healed. You and Dana are the ones that keep saying ‘it’s only been four days Jack give her time’ and now you’re coming at me with this bullshit?”

“I’m not coming at you with anything. Just asking a question because maybe it’s better to start preparing now for something you’ll never have to do than to be unprepared.” Robby shrugs. 

Jack doesn’t say anything, just looks back at you. He scoots his chair closer so that he can hold your hand. You’re just so goddamn still. It’s unnatural. Even the way you breathe is, it’s mechanical. Chest rising and falling in time with the clicks of the vent. 

“I know that I don’t really know her, Jack, and certainly don’t know her well. But just from the little bit of time I have been able to get to know her I don’t think she’d want this Jack. Not indefinitely. I don’t think she’d want machines keeping her alive.” Robby watches Jack carefully as Jack takes in his words. Devastation is quickly covered by anger. 

“I don’t fucking care. She should wake the fuck up then and not leave this to me. Not make me fucking kill her.” Jack knows his anger at you is misplaced and a cover for how much this conversation is hurting him. Anger is just easier to deal with than heartbreak and grief right now. He sees Robby go to speak. “Just fucking don’t Robby. Don’t. You’re right. You don’t fucking know her. And I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if she wouldn’t want it because I need her. And having her here with me like this is better than not having her at all.” Jack knows how selfish he sounds, how selfish he’s being.

Robby doesn’t say anything, waits until Jack glances over at him, tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, asking him ‘really?’ without a word. 

Jack sighs and looks back over at you shaking his head. “No,” he whispers. “She would hate it. We fucking talked about it once, way before this when it was on some show or movie we were watching. It would be cowardly and selfish of me to keep her here like this forever, just so that I wouldn’t have to deal with completely losing her and could live in a perpetual delusion that she’ll wake up tomorrow.” Jack gives a short and hollow laugh through his nose. “Right before I left to go down to the ED and help, we… argued isn’t the right word, but I don’t know what is. She mentioned it, her dying. That if she had already died, in the OR or at the courthouse then I could be properly grieving, and I cut her off but she was going to say that I could be working towards moving on.”

Jack feels guilty for getting angry at you, for being selfish. He knows you’d understand and wouldn’t care and wouldn’t want him to feel guilty but it doesn’t help. He swallows thickly and then takes in a deep breath, squeezing your hand, praying you’ll squeeze it back, even just a little. 

“But there’s no moving on from her.” Jack shakes his head as he looks down at you. “The problem is that I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to do it. To sign the damn papers,” Jack admits, voice wet with the tears lining his eyes. 

Robby nods slowly. “You are now and you will be then, if that then does ever come. You will because it’s for her. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen two humans love each other as much as you do, the way you do. She would do anything for you. And I know you’d do anything for her, no matter how much it killed you inside. So I know that if that day ever comes you’ll be strong enough to sign for her, to do that for her.”

Jack’s silent for a minute, trying not to give into the urge to grab your shoulders and shake you awake. “I don’t know Robby. I don’t know how to talk to her like this. I try, but I just never know what to say other than I love her and please come back to me and please don’t leave me alone. And I hate it. She deserves more. For it to not be about me,” he whispers, stands and runs the back of his bent index finger over your face like he’s trying to memorize you. As if he hasn’t already. He’s teary, voice small and raw from all the tears he’s already shed. “So how do I let her be taken from me? How do I give her up, give up on her, tell her it’s okay to let go? How do I stand there and fight all my training and every instinct and just watch her die and know it’s my fault?”

Robby has to take a minute to compose himself because his heart aches for Jack. It’s hard to see your best friend, your brother, contemplating losing the love of his life. Even though all of Jack’s questions are rhetorical he answers the last one. 

“You don’t,” he says simply. “You get in bed with her and you hold her and find it within you to talk to her. Tell her all of your favorite memories together. Tell her what she means to you. Tell her you love her. And you stay there in bed holding her until she’s gone.” 

Jack takes in a shuddering breath as he sits back down in his chair. “Hope seems so worthless and useless right now even though it’s all I feel like I have left.” Jack grabs your hand again, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “I hope I never have to sign those papers.” 

Robby sniffles a little, not crying, just emotional. “That makes two of us, brother.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think you should consider leaving your engagement ring here.” You and Jack are planning more for your trip to France, making packing lists. Well, you’re on the computer planning and making lists and Jack is chopping up ingredients for dinner. 

It’s been four days since the housewarming party. You feel like Jack has been more stressed lately, more on edge. Looking at you like he’s terrified of losing you again, like he did at times in the hospital and the first two days you were home.

“Why?” You pout at him from the stool you’re sitting on at the kitchen island. “I want to wear it and show it off and take photos with it on while we’re in France!”

“I know,” Jack hums lowly, his eyebrows raising a little as he focuses on chopping. “I worry about it getting stolen, you getting assaulted for it or something, especially in Paris.”

“But walking around with it on in Pittsburgh is okay?”

He sighs at you. He kind of hates that you said that because now it’s all he can think about. Whether he has put your life in danger for a third time by getting you a nice engagement ring. Because he’s already done it twice. When he didn’t check you over in the trauma room before letting you go and going to help Robby, and when he left to go down to the ED and wasn’t there to notice you going septic and throwing a PE. 

You’re the only one who would notice him stiffen the way he does, it’s so slight. You feel bad. You know he’s been struggling more the closer he gets to going back to work and having to leave you alone. Even starting with half shifts. And you know he’s struggling to talk about it with you because he doesn’t want to burden you with it or make you feel any guiltier. You’ve both fallen into that habit a little bit. 

“I really don’t think anyone is going to try to steal it off me or assault me to get it when I’m walking around with you.” You raise your eyebrows at him and give him a knowing smile, wait for him to lift his head to look at you once he’s finished chopping. He does. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He points the knife at you teasingly and holds your gaze for a moment before grabbing something else to chop and getting back to it.

“But I don’t want to leave it here Peter!” you almost whine. It makes Jack chuckle to himself a little. “I don’t want to argue about it, but I really want to take it. I like showing it off, like everyone knowing I’m yours.” That makes him look up at you again and you smile at him and nod encouragingly. You can see the possessive look in his eyes, the way he breathes a little bit faster thinking about it. But he just clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth at you and shakes his head as he looks back down. “Okay, how about a compromise?”

“A compromise?” Jack echoes.

“Yes. A compromise.” 

There’s a beat where neither of you talk, only the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. Jack pauses his cutting and looks up at you. “Are you gonna tell me what the compromise is?” 

“I’m thinking of one,” you grumble, knowing how satisfied he’s going to be. 

“Oh,” he draws the word out teasingly, “she suggests a compromise before she even has one!” 

“I’ll come up with one, just give me a minute,” you huff. Jack hums at you again, keeps chopping. “Okay, yes! I have one. What if while we’re in Paris or whatever bigger cities or places you’d prefer I wasn’t wearing it on my finger you wear the ring around a chain on your neck? Even on the same one as your dog tags if you’re bringing them. People are much less likely to try to snatch it from your neck and run, plus it’ll always be covered by your shirt unless you’re going to start wearing deep v-necks, which I doubt.” You smirk. 

You watch Jack’s eyes slide from you to the wall behind you and glaze over. It’s clear he’s going back somewhere, you just don’t know where or why or what happened. The smirk slides from your face as it twists into concern.

He goes to say something but stops as your words fully process. Wear the ring around a chain on his neck. Like he did at your funeral. 

Jack drops the knife, it falls out of his hand and clatters a bit as it hits the counter. “Jack?” you whisper, your heart rate picking up. 

The nightmare plays on fast forward in Jack’s head, every emotion he felt when having it slamming into him all at once and making his head spin. With the massive flood of epinephrine, norepinephrine and cortisol all those emotions cause his body to release, Jack’s turning and leaning over the sink to be sick. 

It’s all too much. 

“Jack!” You’re off the stool and over by him in a second, rubbing his back. “Hey,” you murmur, “it’s okay, you’re okay.” You have no idea what’s going on with him, but have a feeling.

Jack shakes his head at you as he dry heaves a few more times, trembling like nothing you’ve seen from him before. “I’ve got you.” Your hand keeps rubbing circles on his back soothingly and it’s simultaneously comforting him and burning him, because it’s all too much. There are too many emotions. 

You were dead. He was at your funeral. It was so real. 

Tears start to stream down his face silently as he rinses the sink and his mouth. “We can get you to bed, okay? I’ll make you some broth if you feel up to it.” 

He can hear the anxiety in your voice, the worry for him, your love for him. He loves it, he does, truly, but it almost makes it worse because you were dead. And if you were dead, if you had really died, he wouldn’t have this. He wouldn’t be in sweatpants and an old shirt at home chopping things to make dinner for the two of you while you sit in the kitchen to be with him and plan your trip. You wouldn’t be rubbing his back and so worried about him. You wouldn’t be taking care of him and offering to make him broth. 

You simply wouldn’t be. 

Jack shakes his head and sniffles. He turns to you and your eyes widen when you see him crying, pain and a heartbreaking and agonizing sorrow etched into his face that threatens to bring you to tears. You immediately know what this is about. He doesn’t need to say anything. He’s not ill. But you’re not sure how to support him, what to say, what exactly is wrong. “Jack what’s-”

You’re cut off by him crumbling in front of you, grabbing at your forearms to pull you closer as he slides down the base cabinets to the floor, bringing you down with him. “I,” he tries to choke out, “I, I…” He shakes his head again. 

He can’t speak right now, and you know it. “Okay, it’s okay,” you tell him as you reach for him and pull him close to you as you press your back against the cabinet, letting him almost lay on you. 

Jack buries his head in your chest, careful not to press into your still healing sternum too hard, and clings to you, both arms wrapped tightly around you, one diagonal up your back, hand clinging to your shoulder for just a second before it slides over to your neck, two fingers pushing down. 

He’s looking for your pulse. 

“Oh, Jack,” you whisper, your own voice thick with tears now. “I’m here. I’ve got you baby.” You hold him just as tight, let one hand find his hair and run your fingers through it, scratch at his scalp at times, kiss the top of his head and nuzzle your nose into him in hopes of soothing him. Sometimes you rock a little, but you’re not sure if that’s more to comfort him or yourself. 

And you whisper little words of reassurance and, you hope, comfort to him. “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” You hold him and let him weep into you. Let him keep his fingers pressed into your pulse point. Let him cling to you like you’re the only thing left in the world, because to him you are. You’re his whole world. 

It kills you, seeing him like this, hurting this badly. This deeply. You know it has to do with what happened, know that it’s been building up in him for a long time. That he hasn’t said anything about it, not because he was trying to hide it but because he just couldn’t. And you understand that. A whole lot.

“Here baby,” you murmur at one point, try to move his head a little which just makes him sob harder and hold you closer. “Shh, I’m not going anywhere, just trust me, okay? I think this will help.” You try again and this time he lets you move his head, lets you turn it to the side and move it over and then pull him back to your chest, keep your hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. He’s confused until he hears it. 

The rhythmic beating of your heart in your chest. 

It makes him tremble against you harder, clutch at you tighter. But you don’t care. You wouldn’t care if he held you so hard it hurt. You’d take on all the physical pain out there without a second thought and genuinely smile about it if it would take away Jack’s pain.  

It starts to pass the longer Jack is in your arms, ear to your chest listening to your heart beating, fingers pressing into your skin feeling your heart beating. It calms him. He quiets, reduced to only sniffles and hiccuped in breaths and swollen eyes and an ache so deep in his chest he’s not sure it can be fixed. But you’re with him, still holding him on the kitchen floor and brushing at his cheekbone and scratching at the nape of his neck and kissing his curls and whispering soft words of reassurance to him.  

You’re here. You’re in your shared apartment. You’re alive. 

You have to be, right? The sound of your heart beating and the warmth of your chest and your voice whispering quiet words to him has to be real. It would make sense for you to come up with the idea of him wearing your engagement ring on a chain around his neck all on your own as a compromise. It doesn’t mean he’s still in that nightmare and just starting to realize it. It means the two of you just think alike. Right?

You aren’t sure how long you end up sitting there on the floor together, his head pressed against your chest. It doesn’t really matter. You know he’s really starting to come down when his fingers no longer press into your neck to feel for your pulse. “I’m here if and when you want to talk,” you whisper. You don’t expect anything back from him and aren’t hurt when he remains quiet.

Eventually Jack pulls his head from your chest and looks up at you. After a few seconds of eye contact he pushes himself up and sits with his back against the base cabinet next to you. He wipes off his face with his hands and once he’s done, one of your hands immediately finds one of his and squeezes. He needs it. Little things like a hand squeeze from you to remind him that you’re still here with him. Eventually he lets his head tilt and rest on your shoulder. You turn your head, give him a lingering kiss to the temple and then rest yours on top of his. 

And then you just sit like that. For as long as he needs. Even when your ass goes numb and back stiffens a bit. You stay just like that with him. 

Jack loves the way you don’t press him. You don’t ask if he’s okay, or if he wants to talk about it, or tell him gently to talk to you. You just let him be as he comes back to himself fully. And he knows it’s not because you don’t want to talk about it or don’t want him to talk to you about it but because you understand that sometimes there is simultaneously too much and nothing to be said. So you let him be. 

After a while Jack takes a big breath in and slowly lets it out. You feel him pull his head a little so you lift yours up and look over at him as he looks at you. 

He looks wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. Eyes red and swollen, lips a bit swollen too. Mouth set and lips pulled just the slightest bit down, hair fluffier and more askew than normal because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. His shirt is wrinkled, part of the neckline darker than the rest of the shirt from his tears. He looks haunted. 

But mostly it’s the way he’s looking at you that really shows how wrecked he is. You’ve seen Jack look at you a lot of ways, with a lot of different expressions, especially recently with everything that has happened. Happy, sad, like he’s amazed and can’t believe you’re alive, like looking at you hurts him a little because it reminds him of what he almost lost and who he couldn’t protect.

But you’ve never seen Jack look at you like this. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re alive, but not in an incredulous, happy sense. Jack’s looking at you like he truly cannot believe you’re alive, is scared to believe it even for a second. Like he doesn’t trust the world that you are in fact alive, doesn’t trust himself and his ability to know whether you’re alive. Like you’re a hallucination or a mirage, or a ghost who has been living with him and he’s just realizing it. Like you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from. 

“I…” Jack tries to start, voice raw, as unsure and questioning and wrecked as he looks. He just keeps looking at you like he’s about to come back to reality and you’re about to disappear right in front of his eyes, just cease to exist. 

He shifts and leans off the cabinet, gets closer to you and takes your face in his hands. Jack holds your gaze how he loves to do, lets his eyes burn into yours as though they’ll give him the answer to whatever question it is he can’t speak. 

You lean your head into one of his hands a little and then Jack’s kissing you, pressing against your lips hard at first like he was bracing to just move through air and never actually find your lips. It’s short, his head pulling back from yours for a second to look you in the eyes again before his eyes drop to your lips. 

Glassy eyes look back up at you, questioning. You nod slightly, because of course he can kiss you. And he does. 

Jack pulls your head back towards his as he leans in, both of your mouths opening just slightly. He takes the opportunity, licks into your mouth and starts devouring you, his head moving slightly with each kiss and slip of his tongue back into your mouth. 

It’s greedy the way he kisses you, nose smushing into your face as you both start to breathe hard, the sound almost lost in between the noises of pleasure you pull from each other and the pops of your lips with each pass. Jack kisses you like he doesn’t believe you’re real. Like each kiss might be the last one he’s ever able to give you, like it’ll never be enough, like he’ll never have enough of you. It’s not something you’ve ever felt from him before. You can tell he’s scared in a way but you aren’t sure about what exactly. 

He keeps kissing you but his hands drop from your face to grab at the hem of your shirt, start sliding it up your body, stopping to pop the clasp of your bra as he works the shirt up and eventually over your head, helps you shrug your bra off. You expect his lips to return to yours immediately but they don’t. 

Jack stands as he tosses your shirt and bra to the side, hands reaching down for you and helping to get you up on your feet. Before you can say anything his hands are on your hips and his lips are back on yours. He walks you backwards to the kitchen table until your ass bumps into the edge of it. Without breaking the kiss he moves his from your hips and blindly wipes off the table, sending some mail and books and whatever else happened to be there clattering to the floor.

He finally breaks the kiss to give you a chance to breathe and so he can check there’s nothing on the table. “Jack,” you breathe out with some surprise. He grabs your hips and helps you sit on the edge of the table before stooping to bring his face back close to yours. 

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, “please. Please, I need this.” He pushes his lips to yours once again, licking into your mouth once again. “I need to feel you.” He feels your hands at the hem of his shirt and moves apart just enough for him to get it off and throw it to the floor. “I need you.” It’s pleaded, desperate and needy, but not erotically so. 

“Of course, always.” You let him support you as he leans over you and guides you down until your back rests against the table. “You have me, you always have me.”

It’s quick then, the way he tears off your bottoms and then his. You wrap your legs around him as he leans back over you, chest to chest and kisses you again, like he can’t get enough, like each kiss is a surprise he wasn’t expecting to actually get. He grinds himself into you as he does and you respond in kind, tightening your legs around him and letting your hips buck as much as they can against him to search out more friction. His hands roam your body, pressing into you to feel as much as he can, groping at your breasts and squeezing your hips as his lips stay on yours.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, hand sliding between the two of you to feel how wet you are for him. “Can you take me like this?”

“Yeah,” you pant softly, “yeah, please Jack.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hands tangling in salt and pepper curls you adore.

He shivers at the way you say his name, his lips leaving yours so he can look down at you as his fingers run through you and then over his cock to slick himself up as much as he can. “I need to know you’re real and still here. I need to be close to you.”

Jack notches himself in you and then moves to rest on his forearms with his hands holding your face, forehead resting against yours before he finally pushes himself into you slowly. His voice cracks with emotion part way through the needy and relieved groan he draws out as he pushes in. 

“Oh Jack,” you moan as you take a breath in and feel it catch in your throat. 

Once he bottoms out Jack stills, the two of you panting against each other’s lips until Jack’s are claiming yours once again. He stays still, lets himself relish in the way you taste and how you feel around him, so tight and warm and fluttering as you adjust to taking him with no real preparation. 

Jack finally draws his hips back slowly and steadily pushes himself back in with a grunt. “You okay?” Even with as out of his mind for you as he is, how desperate and needy and frantic he is to have you he’s still checking in on you. Would rather die than hurt you, especially like this. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, Jack please. Need you.” Hearing that you need him has Jack pulling his hips back again, faster this time before snapping back in.

From there it’s all feral need and grunts and groans as Jack tries to be closer to you, to consume you, to be one with you. His strokes are hard as he tries to get as deep inside of you as he possibly can. His pace varies, keeps you on your toes, but it’s not deliberate this time. It’s Jack chasing what he needs from you however his body tells him, however feels right at that second. At some point one of his arms slides under your back, his hand wrapping over the opposite shoulder so that you tilt to the side just a little and he can pull you down onto him as he fucks you so hard your last clear thought is of concern he might break the table. 

Your hands tug at his hair, nails draw up his back when he starts mouthing at your neck, kissing and sucking, lips passing over the scar from your central line again and again. He rests his cheek against yours leaving his mouth near your ear allowing you to hear every little noise your body pulls from him. Jack is fucking you with pure need but it’s not an erotic need like it is sometimes when you tease him or he’s been thinking about you all day. It’s intimate. Jack needs you. He needs you. All of you.

Only you.

You’re so lost in the haze of pleasure that it takes you a moment to realize your cheek is wet where your and Jack’s touch. You realize he’s crying. “Jack?” You moan his name so sweetly for him, lace it with all the concern and worry and need you have for him. 

It makes him let out the smallest sob and breathe in hard through his teeth, shake his head a little against yours. He pulls his head from yours and looks down at you, hips slowing but not stopping. “Tell me you’re here,” a fresh wave of tears roll down his face and hit your cheeks. He’s unfairly beautiful when he cries. “Tell me this is real. That you’re real.” A few of your own tears slip out the corner of your eyes and roll down towards your ear. “Please,” his voice cracks, more of his tears joining your own on your face, “please be real. Please tell me you’re here and real and with me.”

You do. Over and over and over until his lips are back on yours and consuming you in a different way now. More confident, more convinced you’re real and here with him and letting him fuck you on your kitchen table to soothe himself and fix something inside of him he didn’t realize was broken. 

Letting him take solace from every part of you.

One hand slips between your bodies and with how well he knows you it’s not long before Jack has you soundless with pleasure for a moment as your orgasm crashes over you, voice coming back to moan out little whispers of his name, veiled pleas for him to take anything and everything he could ever need from you. 

And so Jack does. Lets himself give in and lose himself all the way in you, your name groaned with a relieved intensity you’ve never heard from him before, lower and more gravelly than usual right at your ear.

Jack works himself through it before stilling and resting his forehead back against yours, the two of you panting softly as you come down, bodies hot and sweat sheened and sticking together. “I love you,” Jack whispers, eyes opening and finding yours before kissing you, chaste but lingering. Just to feel you. 

“I love you too,” you murmur against his lips when you’re able, hand running through his hair and scratching at his scalp. Jack kisses your lips again and then your chin, down your neck and to your central line scar, lingering there before kissing down to the highest part of your thoracotomy scar. “Bed?”

Jack nods, lifts himself off of you and pulls out gently. He steps back and helps you up and off the table. “I should take care of all this.” He nods to the kitchen.

You shake your head and grab his hand. “The carrots and potatoes can live there overnight and it’ll be fine. We can order something from bed.” You squeeze his hand and pull him gently so he starts walking with you. 

Jack pulls back on your hand before you can get in bed, flicks his chin towards the bathroom. “Go,” it’s not an order, just a reminder. “We don’t want my… whatever that was to be the reason you get a UTI. You really don’t need that right now.” 

You smile at him gently and nod. Even after all the emotional turmoil he just went through, still is a little bit from what you can see in his eyes, he’s still thinking about you and your well being and keeping you healthy and safe. “You’ll get in bed?” 

He nods and drops your hand, sits on the edge and takes his prosthetic off as you go pee. He’s leaning against the headboard and staring into space when you get into bed. You slide up next to him so that your legs touch and lean back against the headboard, let your hand rest on his thigh and give it a little squeeze so he knows you’re here for whatever he might need.

“When you were in a coma,” Jack starts, voice strained and raw, “I started having nightmares.” He rests his hand on top of yours. You close your eyes and bow your head a little, heart sinking. “Some weren’t completely awful. But the one I got the most…” he trails off and shakes his head, grows quiet again. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you remind him softly, lean your head over and kiss his bare shoulder. 

“I know, but I want to. At least enough to explain what that was.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Jack.”

“I know but I want to tell you.” He pauses for a second. “The worst, and of course most frequent, one was where you died in the OR. And I had to hold your lifeless body and somehow force myself to walk away from you. In the nightmare I’m thinking back on that while I’m sitting at your funeral.” You blink away tears because you can’t even imagine the level of pain that must have caused him. Multiple times. “The details, I… They don’t really matter, right now. In the nightmare I wore your engagement ring, the one that never got to go on your finger because I never go to ask, I wore it on a chain around my neck.”

“Oh fuck Jack,” you cringe, closing your eyes and squeezing his thigh tight and hating yourself. “I am so fucking sorry.”

Jack finally turns his head to look over at you. “Don’t be. Seriously. You had no way of knowing.” You appreciate him saying it but it doesn’t stop the guilt that builds inside of you. You were the reason he had the nightmare in the first place and now you’re the reason he had to go right back there. “So when you, when it got brought up, it just made it all hit me again, all the emotions from that nightmare and it made me panic almost. That this wasn’t real, that you weren’t. And I lost it a bit and so I did whatever that was and then needed to be as close to you as possible.” He shrugs a little. “I needed to know you were real.” 

Jack’s hand slides under yours and picks it up, laces your fingers together and squeezes. You feel vaguely lightheaded by his admission and then berate yourself and feel guiltier for thinking about yourself when this is about Jack and him still needing you. “I,” you try to find words to say, “I’m sorry,” Jack shakes his head but you continue, “I can’t even begin to imagine how painful that must have been.” You pause and have to look away from him for a moment, can feel his eyes remain on you. “Or maybe I can, to some extent at least, and that’s why I’m sorry and wish I could take it all away from you, make sure it never happens again.”

“That one has only happened once since you’ve been home. The first night.” You feel a little relief at that, are able to look back up at him. “They’ve kind of changed though, honestly. It’s not holding your dead body in an OR anymore, it’s walking in the door from work or the store or wherever and finding your dead body on the floor or in bed or wherever. Complications. Something else random. Freak home deaths I’ve seen roll through work before.” He lets go of your hand to bring his hand to your face again. “I wake up and have to convince myself you’re here. I’ve gotten quite good at the art of taking your pulse on your wrist without you waking up.” He gives a little laugh through his nose, trying to infuse a little lightness. It doesn’t work. If anything your lips pull down a bit. “Sometimes I just lay awake for a while watching you breathe. Sometimes I cuddle up to you a bit closer to feel your chest rise and fall against mine. Sometimes I fall asleep counting the beats of your heart while I feel your pulse.”

You take in a shuddery breath, trying so hard to focus on him and helping him and being here for him and not on the way this is all your fault. “Do you want to talk or for me to just listen?” You don’t want to force him to truly discuss this with you if he’s not in the headspace right now and it won’t surprise you if he’s not.

Jack thinks about it for a second. “Listen, please.”

“Okay.” You nod at him. “I’m not saying this to start a conversation when you just told me you wanted listening but I just need to make sure you know. You can do whatever you need to do Jack. When you wake up from one. Wake me up. We can talk, we can just sit together, whatever you need, okay?”

He nods, pulls his hand from your face to wipe away the couple of tears that have fallen down his own during this conversation. “Actually when you shifted us earlier, in the kitchen. Pulled my head to your chest so I could listen to your heart. It helped a lot. I just didn’t want to hurt you, before. With your chest healing.” He tries to laugh softly at himself. 

You give him the best smile you can manage with all the guilt and self-hate swirling inside you. “You can roll me into whatever position you want so you can listen anytime.” You know he’s trying to keep the conversation light because he knows how hard hearing it is for you. But that’s not fair. You should be the one trying to keep it light for him, should be taking care of him. “We could get you another stethoscope to keep on your nightstand,” you offer. “Then you could really listen whenever you wanted.”

He gives you a little more of a laugh at that and it makes your small smile become a little more genuine. “Could, yeah. But I like having my head on your chest, feeling you. I think it probably helps ground me in its own way.”

“Makes sense.” You rest your left hand on his chest, push down a little extra hard with your ring finger so he can feel the band that lives there now. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy and that you didn’t have to. And I want to do whatever I can to help you because I don’t want you to suffer.” You stop yourself from adding the because of me that you want to so badly. 

Jack picks up your hand, brings it to his lips palm first and kisses the band of your engagement ring before flipping your hand and kissing to the side of it the best he can with the setting. He brings your hand to the side of his face and covers it with his as he leans into it. “You always help. Even when you’re just laying there asleep and don’t know it.” 

You give him a little smile and laugh through your nose, try your best to take his words to heart because you know how much he means them. Jack knows you’re struggling, he can read you like a book. But he senses that you don’t want to acknowledge it so he doesn’t bring it up. 

His stomach growls then which makes you laugh a little more and he huffs. “Ruined our moment.” 

“Nah,” you shake your head and pull your hand away and rub his stomach, push off the headboard to sit up more. “What do you feel like? Can’t have my man going hungry.” The smile you give him is genuine, all the way to your eyes this time and it makes him mirror you, that smile of his you love so much pulling onto his face. 

He widens his eyes at you for a second and raises his eyebrows and you already know what he’s about to say. “You.”

“Yeah, I walked into that one,” you click your tongue at yourself. Jack gives you a smirk. “I don’t think I’m going to be filling enough for that-”

“I could go for seconds. Thirds, even.” 

“Mm, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no.” You boop his nose and the way he scrunches his nose at it is so cute you could bite him. “Real food first. Me later, if you’re good.” He raises his eyebrows at you with a little smile. “What would you like? I’ll order.”

“Feisty. I’ll take it. Be so good for you so I can have dessert.” He nods all saccharine and put-on grin that makes you roll your eyes at him playfully. He thinks for a moment and then says the name of your favorite restaurant. 

You tsk at him and give him a really? look, but you’re smiling still, grinning, in fact. Like an idiot. It’s so sweet and so Jack, just one of those little casual ways he shows he loves you. 

“Whattt? I can’t want that?” 

“You can, but I don’t think it’s really your first choice, right now.” You shake your head a little as you speak. You start to slide out of bed and Jack whines, grabs at one of your arms. 

“Where are you going?” he pouts at you. 

“Gotta go get my phone so we can order, baby.” 

His pout lessens fractionally. “Alright, but hurry back.” 

“You’re very cute when you’re clingy,” you giggle at him as you get out of bed. He goes to make a smart comment back that he isn’t clingy but stops. He is right now and he doesn’t fucking care. He’s allowed to be. 

Jack has a favorite restaurant, just like you. Several, actually but you know the one that really tops the list. But you’ve also deduced that Jack has a favorite comfort restaurant that’s different from his favorite favorite. And you know what his favorite comfort meal from that restaurant is. So you add it, pick something for yourself and order it to be delivered before walking back into the bedroom with your phone. 

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you come into view. “What were you doing?”

“Ordering.” You toss your phone at him as you slide in and he unlocks it, reads it over. 

He swallows thickly and looks at you with glassy eyes. You make him feel more loved than he could ever possibly deserve, knowing him that well without him having ever said a word about it and doing it for him without asking. You give him a soft smile when you turn to look at him. “Okay?” 

“More than,” he whispers. “Thank you.” He pulls you closer to him so that you’re cuddling chest to chest, gives you the sweetest, simplest kiss. It’s everything. “You know,” he hums, starting to push you on your back. “I think you’re my appetizer and dessert.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How about the day we met? We consider that our first date, it’s our anniversary,” Jack suggests. 

You and Jack are lounging on the couch together, half watching your show and half discussing wedding things. You’re not making any real plans, just thinking and dreaming out loud with each other. 

You can’t help but tease him. “Is that because you only want to have to remember one date?”

He shoots you a look. “No.” He wags his head at you as he says it. “I just thought it was kind of sweet. That’s our day, you know? And it falls on a Saturday that year.” He waves his phone that’s open to the calendar app at you. 

You grin at him. “You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot.” You’re crawling into his lap as you sing it, running your hands up his chest to hold his face so you can cover it in kisses.

“So you’ve said.” Jack moves his head and chases your lips with his trying to get a kiss on the lips. “Multiple times.”

“Because it’s true,” you mumble against his lips as he kisses you, running your hands through his curls.  

“Yeah, yeah.” He playfully waves you off as you settle on his lap perpendicular to him, one of his arms resting against your legs, hand spread over the thigh closest to him. His other hand rubs up and down your back absentmindedly. “You thought about where?”

“Mm,” you hum, look down at your engagement ring, “not so much. You?”

“Yeah,” he nods, squeezes your thigh. “I was thinking the bookstore.”

Your eyes come up from your ring and look at the wall in front of you for a second before looking at Jack. He can’t be serious. You open your mouth to say something, but close it as you struggle to find the words. 

“I didn’t expect speechless but I knew you’d love the idea.” Jack smiles. He uses the hand rubbing at your back to gently grab the back of your neck and bring your face close to his as if he’s going to kiss you. He drops his voice and lets a breath of hot air fan over your lips. “I’m fucking with you,” he murmurs before pulling his face away a bit and releasing you, letting his hand come down to your back again, a huge self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Jack!” He laughs at the shrill tone of your voice and the way you swat his chest playfully. 

“I really had you there for a minute,” he laughs as you fake pout at him. “But something I love about you is the way you were thinking so hard of a way to let me down without hurting me.”

“You did!” You huff at him. “I was sitting here thinking how am I going to explain to him that while I love our bookstore it doesn’t say wedding venue, nor do I want our wedding to be a near recreation of our first date with a bunch of extra people with us!”

Jack chuckles a little more. “I haven’t really thought about where either. Hard to think of where before you have a date to know the season.” You nod and hum, he makes a good point. “I only have one wedding requirement. And it’s not even really the wedding.” 

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at him in intrigue. “What’s that?”

“I plan the honeymoon.” Both of your eyebrows raise at that and you cock your head at him. You don’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t planning the honeymoon apparently. “And you don’t get to know where we’re going until we’re at the gate about to board.”

“How will I pack?” You look slightly stricken. “Jack, I love you and I trust you with my life, truly, but packing-”

“I’m going to give you,” Jack cuts you off with an oddly reassuring smirk, “two packing lists. You’ll make two piles. Once you’ve left to go get ready I’ll put one of the piles into a suitcase. That way I get my surprise and you’ve packed for yourself.”

You blink at him for a moment. “Jack,” you whisper, swallow hard and will away the tears you can feel forming. “You have this all planned out just to surprise me?”

“I thought you might like the idea, but it’s okay if you don’t.” He nods to emphasize that part. “But if we do decide to do it this way we’ll still talk about places of course, it’s not like I don’t want any input from you. I’ll just be the final decision maker.” 

“No, I love it.” The laugh you give him is breathless. “It makes me feel so loved and taken care of. It’s hard to wrap my head around.” You lean into him to give him a deep kiss. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“I think the general idea came to me a couple weeks after I knew I wanted to marry you.”

You beam up at him. “That long?” Jack nods. “Wow.” 

“Did you have a moment?” Jack asks you. You furrow your brows at him and shake your head slightly to ask him to explain. “A moment when you knew you wanted to marry me. That you knew you’d say yes if I asked. It’s okay if you don’t, honestly.”

“Of course I do!” You click your tongue at him. You let out a short laugh. “It actually wasn’t long after yours. Like two-ish weeks later, maybe? Things had been adding up, there were lots of things. This was just the first moment where I really consciously thought it.” You smile at him, wrap one arm around his neck so your fingers can scratch at the back of his scalp and nape of his neck how he likes. 

“You had just worked I think five nights in a row helping cover shifts. We hadn’t spoken on the phone that day, but exchanged some texts in the morning before you got home and went to sleep. And I could tell just from them that you were so beyond exhausted. My day, well. It was probably the worst and hardest day I had ever had at work and I felt so selfish but once I was able to leave I just went straight to your place. Without asking. So I knock and wait, get ready to leave because I know you’re asleep but then you open the door in your pajama pants, you’d clearly just woken up. And you give me this little ‘Hey Doll, come in’ as you open the door. I was frozen by that point. You took one look at me, grabbed my hand, pulled me inside and sat me on your couch and then disappeared. At some point you came back and gave me a tight hug, kissed my forehead and said ‘I’ve got you.’ And the next thing I know you’re stripping me and getting me into the bath you’d apparently drawn. You sat on the floor next to the tub with me. I still hadn’t said a single word to you at this point. Not even hi. And then you start talking to me. Just talking. I don’t remember about what. But you knew just from looking at me that I needed help getting out of my head. And as I listened I finally found my voice and was able to say I was sorry. You asked why and I said something along the lines of I was being selfish and knew you were exhausted and shouldn’t have come and made you do all this just because I had a bad day. And then you said, ‘Don’t apologize for needing me. Ever. For anything or for any reason. The day will never come where you need me and I am too tired for you.’ It wasn’t a big deal or a huge declaration. Just a casual fact you were stating. You knew what I needed just by looking at me. You didn’t care that I didn’t say a word to you while you did all this stuff for me. You didn’t ask what was wrong or for me to talk to you. You just met me where I was. And as you were helping me out of the bath and drying me off with a towel I just had the thought. I want to marry him.”

You wipe a few tears from your eyes. “Sorry, that was probably way more of a story than it needed to be to answer your question.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Jack murmurs. His eyes are glassy just like yours, a bit red. He gives a soft laugh. “I just feel kind of bad now that I didn’t give that much detail.” 

“Don’t.” You shake your head at him. “I promise, if I had been down on one knee on this floor that story would have been a whole lot fucking shorter.” 

That makes Jack laugh properly which makes you laugh properly. You turn a little and slide your arms around his neck to hug him, his arms sliding around you in return and holding you close. 

You nuzzle into his neck and then pull back for a kiss, let Jack deepen it as he begins moving to get you on your back on the couch, propping himself up on his elbows on top of you to keep too much weight off your chest and abdomen. You have to break apart for air but Jack goes straight to your neck, kissing and sucking and pulling all those pretty little sounds from you that he loves. 

“We have a date,” you whisper, hands tugging at his curls a little. 

Jack pulls back from your neck to look down at you, both of you grinning at each other. “We have a date.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jack walk into the Pitt together. He needed to grab some stuff and sign a few things and was going to have Robby drop it all off so he didn’t have to leave you. You haven’t been outside much since the shooting. But you convinced him that you guys should go together, that it would be good for him to see people. As long as he would drive you guys, which he would of course. 

Jack was weary at the idea. You seemed to be struggling a bit harder lately and he worried something about being in the Pitt specifically might be too triggering for you. He knows that you have a lot of unresolved anxiety and guilt about what happened still. And that, while you’ve spoken generally about feeling guilty for putting him through all of this, you, like him, struggle to talk about it with him because you see it as burdening him or guilting him.

But you reassured him that it would be fine. You’d been back to the hospital since everything for follow up appointments. Not to the Pitt, but if the hospital didn’t completely trigger you why would the Pitt? 

You feel a little twinge of something as you walk through the ambulance bay doors, the ones you’d come through that day. Jack can tell and he squeezes your hand, stops and pulls to the side. “You sure about this? We can leave, right now.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m sure. It’ll be good for me. I’m okay, really. It was just a little second of something.” 

He eyes you for a second but nods and starts walking you further in. It’s busy, nobody notices either of you as he leads you over to the break room. “You want to wait here? Shouldn’t take long. You can check the fridge. Anything with Robby’s name on it you can steal.” 

That makes you laugh, helps you relax. “I’ll wait here, yeah. Go do your thing, Dr. Abbot.” You wink at him. 

Jack lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head. “Don’t even start with me, Doll.” It makes you giggle as he leans down to kiss you. “I won’t be long, okay?” You nod at him, take a seat as he walks out. 

You scroll on your phone for a few minutes before your curiosity gets the better of you. You walk over and peek out the window of the door. It’s constant movement right now, people barely acknowledging each other as they rush to get somewhere else. You open the door and step out, just to look around. 

Before you’re even really aware of it you’re standing in front of one of the trauma rooms. That trauma room. The parts you can remember play in your head. Hugging Jack, Robby calling him over, you realizing what had happened and calling to Jack. And then nothing. Standing here you can only imagine what it must have been like for Jack, for him to have seen where you were shot and then watch you collapse. And then you made him live in the hospital with you for weeks. And now you’re making him stay home with you. Sometimes your guilt makes you feel like his jailer. 

Jack chats with Robby at the desk while he fills out one of the papers, gives whatever info it is HR so desperately needed to process all his leave correctly. Robby’s mid sentence when Jack spots you just in the corner of his eye, turns to see you standing in front of the trauma room. Jack leaves without a word to Robby and strides to you. 

“Hey,” he calls out as he gets close so that he won’t scare you when he steps in front of you and puts his hands on your arms. He sees that your eyes are a little glazed over when he gets a good look at you. “Why don’t you come over to the desk with me, yeah?” He’s not going to ask you why you were there like you’re a child who needs to explain yourself to him. He’s just going to redirect. “Yeah?” He asks again as he cups your face with one hand. 

“I just wanted to see. I, I got… curious. Just wanted to watch.” You explain anyway. “And then I was here.”

“That’s okay, Doll. You can sit at the desk with me, yeah?” 

You look around. There’s a chair against the wall a bit down, not facing the trauma room. “I’ll sit there. If that’s okay. Then I can watch.”

Jack glances over. “Yeah, that’s fine, that’s okay.” He walks you over to it, squeezes your hand. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

Being away from the room and back in Jack’s space snaps you back a little. “Okay, Peter.” You smile at him before he walks away. 

After a few minutes sitting there by yourself a woman rolls her wheelchair up to you. “And who are you that they’ve got sitting in time out?”

You glance around for a second to see if anyone’s coming after her and when nobody does you figure fuck it, and answer. “I’m Jack, um, Dr. Abbot’s fiancée.”

“Oh you lucky girl,” the woman smirks at you. “I’m Myrna.”

“Oh!” You smile widely at her. “Yes! I’ve heard a lot about you from Robby!”

“Have you now? Fruitcake’s talkin’ about me outside of this shithole. I knew I had that cocksucker wrapped around my finger.”

“Fruitcake?” You laugh. “That’s what you call Robby? Fruitcake?” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “He loves it.” Myrna gives you a conspiratorial wink. “He pretends it doesn’t, but I know it makes him feel things.” 

At the desk Robby looks up, sees you and Myrna talking and you laughing. “Oh that’s not good.” 

“Hm?” Jack raises his brows and then looks up. He smirks. “Not for you, but I think it’s going to be pretty funny for me.” Jack signs the last form and they both walk over to you. You and Myrna quiet as they get closer. 

“Myrna, are you harassing Jack’s fiancée?” Robby asks sternly, crossing his arms. 

“Not at all Fruitcake!” You answer for her. “We were just having a little chat.” 

Robby lets out a big sigh as Jack laughs. “See man, I told you. Not good for you, funny for me.” 

“Actually, we were talking and Myrna is free, Robby. She can be your plus one to the wedding! You said yesterday you were still looking!”

“That sounds perfect!” Jack smirks, clapping Robby on the shoulder. “I’ll let you see my vagina again for free Fruitcake,” Myrna offers, raising her eyebrows at Robby. 

Robby lets out another sigh and hangs his head. “The roof doth beckon.” 

You and Jack laugh while Myrna swats at him. “Ready Doll?”

“Yeah.” You look at Myrna. “It was lovely meeting you Myrna, I look forward to seeing you again.” You turn your attention to Robby, disguising your smirk with a warm smile quite well. “Bye Fruitcake!” You lean up and give Robby a quick kiss on the cheek as Jack snorts a laugh and holds his hand out for you. 

As the two of you walk away you hear Myrna giving Robby more shit.

“How come she’s allowed to kiss you on the cheek, cocksucker, but when I try you threaten to call the cops?” You and Jack laugh with each other as you walk out the ambulance bay doors to go back home. 

That night Jack thinks it’s a little strange, how long the shower has been running. And how it doesn’t sound like you’re in it. There’s no pause to the water raining down on the tiled shower floor, no slaps of water hitting against the floor suddenly when you step to rinse your hair or body, no muffled rain sound when you let yourself stand under the stream and soak. Only the uninterrupted sound of water raining from the shower head onto the tile. 

He glances at the alarm clock on his nightstand. You have to have been in there for at least thirty minutes. Jack looks back over at the bathroom door. It’s unnerving. Something is wrong. 

He gets off the bed, shirtless and just in his sweatpants. You guys had been winding down for the night before you decided to shower. He tries the handle. It’s unlocked. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you can enter without asking if the door is unlocked. 

“Doll?” Jack calls to you softly as he opens the door. 

It’s like you don’t even hear him. Jack finds you in only your underwear staring in the mirror at your scars, one hand hovering over the bottom of the long laparotomy scar running up your stomach, another over your mouth, tears streaming down your face. Being at the Pitt today pushed you over some edge you didn’t realize you were so close to.

He knows now that you were using the sound of the shower to hide your muffled sobs. 

His eyes run over each of your scars, starting with the one up near your neck from your central line, that one fading quicker with how small it is, especially in comparison to the others. From there his eyes move down until he hits the scar from your thoracotomy. He traces the line with his eyes before he finds the laparotomy scar and lets his eyes drag along it. And then his eyes move over to the more circular scar. The bullet hole. 

“Doll, sweetheart,” Jack keeps his voice low as he walks into the bathroom. He steps over to the shower first and turns it off. Even that hardly seems to get through to you. He sees your eyes leave yourself in the mirror and flick to him for just a second. The tears start to fall harder. 

Jack walks up behind you so that his warm, bare chest presses against your back, his hands resting on your hips and lips kissing at your neck. Not teasing, just loving, soft and sweet and trying to soothe you when he knows words are only going to go so far. 

“What if you can never look at me the same way again?” You finally whisper, moving your hand from your mouth. 

You can see his brows furrow and a look of confusion fall over his face. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve kissed all of them, that you did the first time we had sex again after what happened. But I see you looking at them all, all the scars, whenever one is visible. And so what if you can never look at me the same way again, especially when they’re visible. What if my body is just always a reminder of one of the worst days of your life? A visual reminder that sends you right back there, that just, that just tortures you!” You let out a quiet sob. “What if that’s all you can ever see when you look at me?”

Jack takes in a deep breath and you can feel his chest press into you a little more as he does. He catches your eye contact in the mirror. “Doll,” he murmurs, “I think that you misunderstand why I look at your scars whenever one is visible.” Jack slides his hands from your hips around your front in a kind of backwards hug, pulls you back closer to him a bit. 

Your chin trembles a little. “Oh?”

He nods. “Will you turn for me? Sit on the counter?” Jack tilts his head a little so that it rests against yours. “You can say no and I’ll still tell you of course. You know I just like my eye contact.” He says it with just a hint of a smile and self-teasing tone to try and get you to smile. 

And it’s small, but it works. Your lips pull up just slightly for a second. You chew on the inside of your cheek for a second before you turn around and let him help you get you up to sit on the edge of the counter. 

“Thank you.” Jack steps between your legs and leans down to kiss your forehead. “You want me to grab your shirt?” He’s cognizant of the conversation you’re having and the fact that you’re topless, scars on display. You give him a little nod and he grabs it from the pile of your clothes you made to the side of the door. “I say your shirt, but I really mean my shirt, don’t I?” 

You’d been wearing one of his old shirts that’s a bit oversized on him, soft and worn in and smelling like him. You stay quiet and nod. Jack’s heart almost throbs in his chest at how much he hates seeing you like this, this upset. Your tears have stopped now though. Little victories. Once it’s on he rests his hands on the tops of your thighs, rubs his thumbs in what he hopes are soothing circles. 

“Your scars don’t remind me of one of the worst days of my life. Looking at them doesn’t send me back to the hospital or torture me. Pretty much the exact opposite.” This time it’s your brows that furrow. “They’re a reminder of what happened, sure. Of what I almost lost. But it’s that part that’s important. What I almost lost.” 

“You know what you didn’t have in any of my nightmares?” Your eyes widen a little because you know what he means, what he’s going to say. “Scars. You only had wounds, fresh, stitches still in them. No scars.” Jack squeezes at your hands. “When I was in that operating room holding your dead body, you didn’t have any scars. So your scars, looking at them, when I look at them, they don’t torture me or send me back to one of the worst days of my life. They tell me that you’re alive. They remind me how hard you fought to stay here with me. They remind me how strong you are. They remind me that you’re here with me, healing and living.” 

Jack moves his hands from your legs and sets them on the outside of each of your thighs on the counter, hunches over a bit and leans on them as he moves forward to kiss your forehead again. You bring your arms up and set them on either side of his neck, fingers playing in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Your scars are proof that you’re alive. And so your scars will never be anything less than one of the most beautiful and important and comforting things I could ever look at.” He says it so seriously, so firm and settled, looks you straight in the eye as he says it. It makes a few tears slide down your cheeks again. “Second only to your face and you in general, okay?” He nods as he says it. 

He brings a hand up to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “Can I give you a kiss?”

You nod as a couple more tears fall. Jack takes your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up so he can kiss you. It’s gentle, soft and sweet and lingering as he just holds you there. He pulls back but then goes back for another quick one. 

Both you and Jack are surprised you haven’t started fully bawling into him, but there’s something in your chest that stops it from coming out like it needs to. You couldn’t describe it if you tried. 

“Bed? Or you wanna shower?”

It takes you a moment to answer. Not to decide. Just to answer. “Just bed, please.”

“Of course, Doll.” Jack steps back from between your legs and helps you get off the counter safely before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bed. You both slide in and Jack takes his prosthetic off and gets an arm around you, pulls you into him as he leans up against the headboard. 

You let him, let your head rest on his chest and let his arms wrap around you and let him hold you close as you think about everything he said. You believe him, you do. You know he would never lie to you and when you think about it all it makes sense. You just wish it were the same for you. Wish you could look at them and feel something, anything other than crushing guilt. 

Because for you they’re a reminder of a traumatic event but more than that they’re a reminder of what you put Jack through. What you continue to put him through now as you try to heal physically and mentally. 

Sometimes, maybe a lot of the time recently, you go back to that place. That place where you just wish it would stop, be over for the both of you. Wish you hadn’t made it out of the OR or the courthouse. That place where your brain tells you that Jack would be better off without you, that it’s unfair of you to ask him to do this all with you, that he’s only here with you still because he feels some sort of weird responsibility for what happened to you, that even if he doesn’t think he could, he would survive losing you and he would properly grieve and he would move on and find someone else. Someone who’s less work, less of a burden. Someone who’s better. That it wouldn’t even be that hard. 

The rational part of you knows that those thoughts aren’t true. That Jack is here because he loves you, more than anything, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. That he would not survive losing you or properly grieve or move on. That if he knew he would tell you that you’re not work at all, not a burden, that he could never do better. That he had an entire nightmare about having to bury you and it hurt so bad that even weeks later when he thought about it he was physically sick and broke down in the kitchen. 

Jack doesn’t push you, just like you never push him. He does get worried though. He hates to see you cry but this silence is somehow worse. 

“You wanna go to the bookstore tomorrow?” He asks it just to ask. Just to fill the silence and help distract you and maybe keep you out of your head. Or from getting further into it. 

You can feel the vibration of him speaking as your head rests on his chest. “Hm?”  

He kisses the top of your head. “Bookstore tomorrow?”

“Maybe, yeah.” It’s an odd answer from you. “I don’t know.” 

Jack nods slowly. “It’s okay to not know. And I’m here if you want to talk or have me listen. Whatever you need.”

You hum at his words. “I don’t know anything anymore Jack,” you admit. 

You feel his arms hold you a little tighter. He doesn’t understand and something about the way you say it scares him a little. “What do you mean?”

The something in your chest that was blocking everything from coming out starts to crack. “I don’t know,” you whisper, high pitched and cracking. “I don’t know how to do this.” You pull away from him and move so that you’re sitting next to him with your legs crossed so that you can face him. 

“I know I’m in therapy. And I know it helps. And I hate to think about what I’d be like without my therapist.” You shrug, chin trembling and tears lining your eyes as you look at him. You look so sad and it kills him. 

“But I still don’t know how to do this Jack. How to heal, how to grieve. I don’t know how to heal the tremendous guilt I feel. And everyone says to let myself grieve and what the fuck am I grieving? I don’t have anything to grieve. I didn’t lose anything! Not like you. It’s not the same as what you went through. You lost a piece of yourself. I happened to get shot and spent time in the hospital and yes I almost died but I didn’t lose a piece of me. And so I don’t know what I’m grieving and I don’t know how to grieve or what I’m grieving or how to heal from this… this amorphous concept. This thing, that just happened to me. This event. And I shouldn’t need to! I shouldn’t need to grieve or heal. There’s nothing there. I don’t have anything to grieve or heal from, and I shouldn’t be like this! And I’m not trying to throw what happened in your face Jack, I’m not, I promise, and I’m not for a second saying you somehow had it easier because there was a more tangible thing to grieve, if anything it’s the opposite, you lost a piece of yourself and I lost nothing. You had so much to grieve and heal from, you needing to grieve and heal and struggling that makes sense. I lost nothing. I don’t even know what I have to grieve. I don’t know.” 

All the tears in your eyes spill over at once. You bring your shoulders up to your ears in a held shrug. “I don’t know, Jack.” He’s never heard you sound so small. Not even that ‘okay’ you gave him in the hospital was like this. The guilt and shame and embarrassment all flood you, make it hard to look at him. “I didn’t say anything even though I’ve been struggling because-” 

You shake your head, try to wipe some of the tears off your face, look down at your hands in your lap. “I just don’t know how to do this, whatever this is. And it’s like recently I’ve lost all the words to even try and begin to explain how I feel or felt. I lost all the words.” You force yourself to look back up at him because when you admit this and apologize you need to be looking at him. “I lost all the words and my head got so fucked up that I didn’t know how to ask for help, from anyone.” 

Jack catches the change in tense. You had said you don’t know but now you’re saying you didn’t, like somewhere along the way in this conversation, this admission, this time with him, you found the words again. 

You shake your head a little as more tears slip down your cheeks. You whisper now, voice thicker than he’s ever heard with emotion. “Not even you. I didn’t know how to ask you for help Jack.” You try to hold back a small sob through your teeth. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t know, I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” You’re cut off by the wracking sob that you’re finally able to let out as that something in your chest shatters.

“Okay, shh.” Jack shushes you softly as he reaches for you while you let yourself fall forward into his chest, rolling on your side slightly to get your legs stretched out as he pulls you on top of him and cradles you against his bare chest. He isn’t shushing you to get you to stop, only for the comfort of it.

Jack hates this. He hates seeing you suffer so thoroughly. He hates the way he can’t hug you and put you back together, the way he can’t fix this for you, can’t take away your pain. Can’t take on all of the pain for you. Jack believes you when you say you didn’t know how to ask, knows that you weren’t trying to hide it from him, just like he wasn’t trying to hide his shit from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He repeats it as he continues to hold you, rocks with you at times like you did with him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “I’ve got you.” “I’m here.” “You’re okay.” “I love you.” One arm keeps you close, his other hand rubbing your back in circles. He knows there’s very little he can do right now except hold you through it. 

With time, you run out of tears, exhaust yourself out of crying and just sniffle and hiccup into Jack. He keeps holding you, doesn’t push for more from you. 

“It’s just so hard.” Your whisper breaks the silence after a good five or so minutes. 

You can feel Jack nod. “Talk or listen?” he whispers. 

You try to think about it. You’re not really sure what you want. “I don’t know,” you admit, “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” You try to stop yourself from getting worked up again, the reality of one more thing you don’t know hitting you hard. 

“Shh,” Jack soothes you, “it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize and you don’t need to know. It’s okay. I promise.” His hands rub up and down your back and he kisses the top of your head. With how escalated you are right now he thinks eye contact will be too much so he just holds you tight as you are. “I’m going to talk. And if you want me to stop, just say so, okay?”

You nod. Jack takes a breath in as he tries to think of how to start and how he wants to say what he has to say. “You don’t ever need to apologize for struggling and not knowing how to ask for help.” There’s a pause as Jack realizes how guilty he feels about that. He knows he can’t focus on himself right now. You need him. “I think maybe we need to try and find something that you could do, that both of us could do honestly, that doesn’t require words but would let the other know we needed help. So then we don’t need words and can still get help.”

“Probably, would be good, yeah,” you mumble against him.

“Good. We’ll figure something out, promise.” He’s quiet for a moment to give you the chance to say you’ve talked enough for the night, but you don’t. “As for the other part, I know and understand and hear you when you say that you don’t know what you’re grieving and that you don’t have anything to grieve. But Doll, you do. You have so much to grieve, so much you are grieving even if it’s hard for you to see or understand right now. There doesn’t have to be some tangible loss like a foot or a person for you to have something to grieve. I hate it, and I wish that I could make it different and better for you, but you did lose a piece of yourself.” Jack feels new tears wet his chest but you don’t ask him to stop or make a noise so he continues. He knows he’s not what’s making you cry. That it’s just hard to hear and realize. “You lost a piece of yourself the moment that gun went off, and the moment you watched someone die in front of you,” he addresses the one thing you don’t talk a lot about because you’re not ready yet. It took a while for you to even be able to tell him. “And the moment,” he has to take a breath to steady himself because it’s still so hard to say, “the moment that bullet hit you, and when you almost died and over weeks in the hospital. All of those things take something from you, even if it’s not something tangible. You’ve lost a piece of yourself. And you’re grieving the person you were before you lost it. You’re grieving the you who didn’t know this type of violence, the you who didn’t know what it felt like to be shot, or what it felt like to be drowning in your own blood, or what it felt like to be septic or what it does to you to watch someone die in front of you or how it feels to see reminders of what you went through permanently on your skin. You’re grieving the person you were. And you’re grieving other things that I don’t know because I’m not in your brain. But those ones I said, those are ones I can see you grieving and struggling with and I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m being condescending or trying to define your grief for you, because I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you what I see in the hopes that it’ll help you be able to see, or give you a starting point.”

You shake your head against his chest. You know he’s not doing any of that, he didn’t even need to say it but you find it sweet that he did. “I know,” you sniffle. “I do. And it does help and somewhere deep down I know what I’m grieving, all of those things. Some things I probably can’t articulate. I just feel like I don’t know how to grieve. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to grieve obviously but I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s all the guilt making me feel like I don’t deserve to grieve or heal and should be stuck in this weird limbo forever or what. I just don’t know how.”

You both sit with your words for a minute. “I wish I had answers,” Jack finally murmurs. “But I’m not sure if anybody really knows how to grieve.” He tries to think of more to say that might be comforting or helpful. Before he can you speak.

“I got you all wet and snotty, I’m sorry.” You lean off his chest a little and put your hand under your shirt and bring it up to try and wipe him off. Jack understands you. You’ve talked enough for the night. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay,” Jack laughs softly, grabbing at your hand to get you to stop. “Two of the most benign bodily fluids I’ve had on me, and they’re yours. Plus, I think I’ve done the same to you recently.”

“That’s different.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shakes his head, gives you a little tap on the ass. 

“It’s true!” you protest. “I was wearing a shirt. You’re not. That’s different.”

“Still.” He knows you’re technically correct. “I did the same to you. And I’m pretty sure I cried tears onto your face while we were, you know… at the table.”

You burst out laughing. “While we were at the table? That’s what we’re calling it?”

“It’s not incorrect.” He shrugs, beaming just from hearing you laugh and being the one to pull it from you. 

“Well, actually, I think it was more you were at the table. I was on the table,” you point out. 

Jack shakes his head and smiles at you. “Prepositions are overrated.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jack don’t argue often. But you’re humans. Humans who went through a major trauma together. And humans aren’t perfect. Individually or as a couple. 

Neither of you even remember how it started. And you’ve somehow moved far, far away from what you were initially discussing and starting to bicker about. But you’re here now and things are escalating into a kind of argument. Even with the escalation you never raise your voices at each other, never yell. Still. It’s neither your nor Jack’s finest moment. 

Jack has never pressured you into going outside. He knows it’s still hard for you, knows how much it scares you. But he also knows that you really need to and that it’s never going to get less scary. He knows that he needs to go outside but doesn’t want to leave you, feels like he can’t leave you or something will happen like when he left you that time in the hospital. And you know that you need to go outside. It’s just so scary. You were shot. You’ve put Jack through so much, and when you think about outside you think about what if something else happened, when will it be too much for him, you can’t keep asking him to do this.

Jack isn’t pressuring you to go outside but he does ask. Again. In the space of minutes.

“I don’t want to, Jack.” Your tone has a snappy edge to it. You’re getting frustrated. At yourself more than Jack. 

“You’re going to have to go outside eventually, Doll. For more than me driving you to a doctor or therapy or the bookstore.” Jack tries to keep his tone even. He’s getting frustrated too, also more at himself than you. Something about his words stings when you know he doesn’t mean them to, know it’s because you’re escalated and more sensitive in a way. The way he says it makes it seem like he’s not doing those things with you, just driving you somewhere. Chauffeuring you. Like he doesn’t want to be doing it. “Around the block, please. Nothing major. I’ll be with you the whole time, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You shake your head from where you’re sitting on the couch, knees coming up to your chest. “I don’t want to. Asking me eight more times isn’t going to change my answer.” 

“I’m worried about you!” Jack stands across the living from you in jeans and a shirt. Actually dressed compared to you in lounge clothes that are effectively pajamas. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” you can’t help the little face you make at that, “I’m really not, I promise. I’m just worried. You need to go outside. Get some fresh air. You’re holding yourself hostage here. You’re holding me-”

Jack stops as soon as he realizes what he was about to say. But he knows from the look on your face that it’s too late. And he’s right. It hits you like a slap to the face, far worse than he even realizes or could imagine. Because you’ve never really explicitly or in any detail told Jack about the guilt you have from effectively asking him to do all of this with and for you, about how guilty you feel that his entire life has been turned upside down and that he was confined to the hospital and is now confined to home because of you, because you’re scared to go outside. About the guilt of feeling like his jailer. Or hostage-keeper, apparently.

It’s a silent type of panic. One that pulls a band around your chest and stomach making it hard to breathe and sends adrenaline through your veins to chill your fingers and toes and has tears hitting your eyes. 

“Doll, I didn’t-”

“No, Jack, finish the goddamn sentence.” Your voice is eerily calm now. Jack takes in and lets out a breath, tilts his head and goes to speak. “No Jack. Finish the fucking sentence.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know that. I wasn’t thinking when I said it, phrased it like that.” Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Phrased it like what? Like you resent me? Like you’re getting tired of me? Of having to take care of me?” You’re pushing some of his buttons now, a little more deliberately than he had initially pushed yours. 

Jack clenches his jaw and tries to breathe through his hurt and rising frustration. “I don’t resent you, nor am I getting tired of you or having to take care of you.”

“You just feel like I’m keeping you hostage in your own home?” It’s cold, the way you say it. Icy. The guilt eats away at you. You hate yourself for what you’ve put him through. 

“You won’t even try, Doll! I know you know I need out of this house and you won’t even try!” A push back at your buttons. Jack knows that it’s not a matter of trying. He knows it’s not that simple. Just like you know he isn’t growing tired of you or caring for you. 

“You won’t try leaving me alone,” you fire back. “I got fucking shot and I don’t want to go outside. So why don’t you try just leaving me here alone if you want to go outside that badly?” That one really hits a nerve, harder than you realize because Jack hasn’t directly expressed just how guilty he feels about what happened when he left to go down to the ED that time in the hospital. How fucking responsible he feels for what ended up happening, for you almost dying. How he thinks it’s completely his fault and could have been prevented, easily. 

“Because the last time I left you alone you ended up coding in front of me and coming a centimeter and a half away from dying!” Jack takes a quick breath. He hates himself for what he let happen to you. “You don’t even know what you don’t fucking know! I watched my best fucking friend intubate you and do CPR on you and shock you. I watched them crack your chest. I have seen your literal fucking heart.” That’s all new information to you and it makes you hate yourself a little bit more even though you know that wasn’t Jack’s intention. “I have sat by you while you were in a coma for five fucking days, all because I-” 

You cut him off before he can finish his sentence. All because I left you and so I wasn’t there to notice you getting sicker and to feel your fever before you went septic and threw a PE. 

“Oh well I am so sorry Jack, that I went to work and got shot and almost died-”

“Don’t.” The way he says it is almost dark, low and deadly serious, face set and eyes piercing the thick tension between you. That’s the line for him. The almost flippancy in your tone. 

Jack holds his hands up. “I need air.” You don’t say anything as he walks over to the entryway and puts on his shoes. “I love you.” He puts his hand on the door handle and pauses.

“I love you too.” The door opens, Jack walks out and it shuts, key turning the deadbolt to lock a few seconds later. 

The sudden quiet of your apartment is what seems to bring you back down. You take a gasping breath in as everything you said to him sinks in. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, tears wetting the back of it. You’re pretty sure you’ve never hated yourself more. 

You stay there on the couch, are stuck there really, unable to bring yourself to move. All you can do is cry and think about how to apologize to Jack. You start ruminating and edging toward panic thinking about whether he’ll be able to forgive you, whether you guys will be able to work through this. You know it’s panic and that you guys will be able to. That both of you said things you didn’t mean and that were designed as jabs at the other. But yours feel so much worse than anything he said to you. Even when Jack forgives you, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself. 

Jack takes a couple of steps away from your apartment door but stops. He can’t. He can’t go any further. He knows he needed air and was right to step out and get some and help diffuse things between the two of you because that conversation was not going anywhere. But his fear is still there. So he walks back and slides down the wall right to the side of your door, convinces himself that this way he’ll hear you fall, if something happens. He’ll know. 

Sitting in the quiet brings Jack back down too, gives everything he said to you the chance to sink in. He runs his hands over his face and through his hair before bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing in. He’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself more. He gets panicky too, it gets hard for him to imagine how you could ever accept his apologies, how he could ever make this right. He knows that you’ll forgive him, and that you’ll work this out. He just doesn’t know how he’ll forgive himself.

Neither of you even cares what the other said to you. Not really. Both of you can hardly even remember what the other said to you now, in part because it doesn’t matter. It was said out of frustration and hurt and a deep grief, none of it was meant. Things just boiled over. And in part because all you can remember is the terrible things you said to the other. 

Jack doesn’t sit there long. It can’t be more than twenty minutes. You’re on your feet the second you hear the door start to unlock, walking closer to it and trying to wipe the tears from your face quickly. Jack pushes it open and looks at you, looks just as devastated as you feel and you hate it. He walks in and closes and locks the door. 

“I’m so sorry.” You both say it at the same time and it makes you smile a little at each other. You’re both moving then, walking towards one another until you meet and pull each other into the tightest hug. 

“I was so out of line Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.” Jack can feel your tears wet his neck and it makes him squeeze you a little tighter. 

“I was too. Way out of line. I didn’t mean it either. I’m so sorry, Doll.” Jack kisses the top of your head. 

The anxiety hits you a little harder being in Jack’s arms for some reason and you start to tremble. “I feel so awful, and I promise the tears aren’t manipulative or for guilt or to distract, I’m just so sorry and I hate myself for what I said and I don’t want to lose you.”

Jack frowns to himself. He’d like to have a strong word with whoever made you feel like you have to explain your tears. “I promise you that I never, for even a second, thought that. Now or any time in the past. I don’t want you to hate yourself, but I get it because I hate myself too right now. I don’t want to lose you either.” 

A few tears of Jack’s own slip down his face as he says it at the thought. “You’re not going to lose me,” you whisper.

“And you’re not going to lose me,” he whispers back. “Let’s go to bed.”

You pull away from him a little. “We can go out, if you just give me a couple of minutes to change-”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t want to go out right now, I just want to be in bed with you, holding you close.” Jack brings a hand to your face and cups it, brushes some of the tears away. “I’m just as insecure as you are right now. Just as shaken. And not by anything you said. By myself, for what I said.”

You lean into his hand. “How do you always manage to do that?” Jack raises his eyebrows to seek clarification. “Read me so well. Know how I’m really feeling.”

He shrugs, like it’s simple and obvious. “You’re my favorite book. I’ve got you so well memorized you’re an easy read.” You give him a sad nod and look down at his chest. “Hey,” he guides your head back to look at him when you don’t resist. “That was so cheesy and deserved at least a pity laugh.” 

You give him the smallest one through your nose. You love this about him, it’s one of the ways he takes care of you when you’re upset, tries to make you laugh a little when appropriate to help distract your mind. Usually it works. You’re just a little too shaken yourself for it to right now. 

“I,” you try to find the words. “I’m not upset or shaken by anything you said either. I just want to make sure you know that.” 

“I do.” Jack nods. “Honestly Doll, I barely remember what you said to me. All I can hear in my head right now are the things I said to you.”

You give a slightly bigger laugh through your nose. “Same. I can only hear myself, only remember my words.” You know you’re preventing him from getting you in bed where he wants to be, but you have one last thing to say. “I don’t want that to ever happen again Jack, I don’t ever want to hurt you like that again, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, and I don’t want to hurt you or say things like that to you ever again. But right now, I think we hurt ourselves more than we hurt each other.” He leans down and you share a kiss, three actually, each one lingering, an apology, forgiveness given and declaration of love from both of you to the other. “We’re going to figure it out, okay? I promise.”

Jack’s promise is how the two of you found yourselves here. Couples therapy. 

It wasn’t one person’s suggestion. After the argument the two of you had been talking in bed, trying to work some of what you each said out. You both talked about your own therapy and it just kind of dawned on you both at the same time and you both agreed, easily, even laughing together when you said it at nearly the same time. 

You stand outside the office with Jack. You hate the term, feel like it implies something. But nothing is wrong between the two of you. Just the opposite. After your argument you both knew you needed guidance on navigating your guilt and healing as a couple, not just as individuals. Both of your therapists had recommended the same couples therapist when asked, one who specializes in helping couples who have gone through an acute traumatic experience together.  

Nothing changed after the argument. You were both clingy the rest of that day and for a few days after. If anything in some ways it made you guys feel stronger as a couple. But at the same time neither of you ever want it to happen again. 

So here you are. You know it won’t make you as individuals or partners or your relationship perfect because that’s impossible. And you both know you’ll hurt each other again as you heal from this and move through life together because you’re human. Neither of you expect perfection.

Jack squeezes your hand as you stand there. You squeeze back, hard as you let out a big breath.

“Preventive medicine,” Jack reminds you. You’d admitted to him one day how much the term couples therapy freaked you out and how you knew it was stupid and nothing was wrong with you guys or between you guys but it still freaked you out. Jack had suggested calling it preventive medicine, asked if that might help. You weren’t sure you were sold but knew you’d pick apart any potential name for it and preventive medicine was better than couple’s therapy to you for some reason.

“Nothing is wrong?” Sometimes you just need reassurance from him. He’s always happy to give it. 

“Absolutely nothing. I’m not mad or upset with you. I’m not hurt. I don’t resent you. I love you. More than I did yesterday, less than I will tomorrow, whatever the fucking saying is. We’re okay. I promise. And if we’re ever not, if we ever even get remotely near being on the same planet as not being okay I will tell you.” Jack kisses your forehead. “This is a good thing. It’s smart. They tell people to do this before they get married even when one of them hasn’t just been shot and almost died.”

You smile at him, soft and a touch somber, but a smile nonetheless. “I know. And thank you. I’m sorry, I know I’ve been so insecure and worried lately and asking for so much reassurance.”

“I’ve been the same,” Jack reminds you. You hum and shake your head as if to question him. “I have been, at least a little bit. And you give me reassurance. You don’t mind. You say you’ll give it to me as much as I need it, never take it personally because you understand. The same is true for me. I will give you however much and whatever type of reassurance you need as much as you need whenever you need and I will never take it personally. I understand too. I’d rather you ask than live with worry that could be soothed by asking, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You lean into Jack for a second and take in a deep breath. “Alright. I’m ready. I don’t know why I even had to stand here and become ready, but whatever.” Jack smiles to himself because he loves when you do that kind of self-commentary. “You ready?”

“I’m always ready for anything with you Doll.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack is obviously the first of you to return to work. It’s not something either of you are looking forward to really. In a sense you both are because it checks off another box on the return to normalcy. But you’re not looking forward to being alone and Jack isn’t looking forward to leaving you.

The two of you talk and decide he’ll start with half shifts, give you both some time to adjust back into things. He had been working days but he thought maybe nights would be better until you were back to work, you’d be asleep when he was gone that way. You were fine with it and so that’s what he worked out with Robby. 

It’s strange sitting on the bed watching him pull on black scrubs that have been folded so long they’re a little creased. It’s been a long time since you last saw him in scrubs. It makes you smile because it reminds you of life before the shooting. And he still looks incredibly, incredibly fucking hot in them. 

“What?” He smirks as he looks at you after pulling his scrub top on over his undershirt. 

“I didn’t say anything!” You give him a look of mock offense. You really are doing your best to temper your anxiety about tonight. 

He narrows his eyes at you a little and walks to stand in front of where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t have to say it. I could just feel it.”

You lean your head forward onto his tummy and rest your forehead there for a moment before looking up at him. “That so?” He gives you another smirk and nods. “I’m not allowed to appreciate how good you look in scrubs anymore, Dr. Abbot?”

Jack steps back and takes your hands to pull you off the bed. “Of course you are. Doesn’t mean I won’t tease you about it.” He uses one hand to hold your face before leaning in and kissing you, hard, a little bit of tongue. Just because he can. He pulls back just far enough so you can see each other and gives you another smirked smile before kissing your forehead and releasing you. 

The two of you walk back into the front room together, and you sit on the couch and fidget with your fingers while Jack looks through his backpack to make sure he has everything he needs. You grab your phone, try to distract yourself with it so he doesn’t feel you staring at him the entire time. You don’t want to make this any harder for him. Both of you know the other is just as anxious. 

Jack glances down at his watch. He needs to leave. The urge to pull out his phone and call Robby to say he can’t make it in is immense. But he, and you, know that this day has to come eventually. He walks over and sits next to you on the couch. “You gonna be okay?” He grabs one of your hands in his to help ground you, get you to focus on him. 

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.” You try to give him a brave smile but you’re not sure how well it lands. 

“I want you to call me or text me if you need anything, okay? I mean anything. If I have to leave early then I have to leave early.” His eyes flit around your face trying to make sure he’s reading every little bit of you. “And if for some reason I don’t answer the phone, call the hospital, yeah?”

“I know Peter,” you murmur, bring his hand up to your face and lean your cheek against the back of his hand. “I’ll be okay though. Really. It might be hard at first but I’ll probably just end up falling asleep and then you’ll slip into bed beside me before I even know it.”

“I really hope so, Doll.” Jack leans in and kisses your forehead, lingers for a moment before he pulls back and looks back down at you. His brows are creased, mouth just slightly pulled down, eyes a little wider than normal. He’s concerned, worried about you. You hate seeing him like this. You know part of it goes back to his nightmares about coming home and finding you dead.

“It’ll all be okay in the end. You’re coming home to me.” You manage to give him a real smile, as small as it is, and it visibly helps him relax. 

He’s able to return it. “Yes I am. Always.” He stands up and you follow, walk him over to the door. 

“Text me when you get there, yeah?”

“Course. And you text me during the night if you need, okay?” You nod at him, give him another little smile as he pulls his backpack over one shoulder. He pulls you close to him in a tight hug, kisses the top of your head before letting you pull back and kissing you. “I love you. So fucking much.”

“I love you more,” you murmur before stealing another kiss. Normally he’d argue with you, but tonight he lets you have it. 

Jack opens the door and steps out and you close it behind him. You both know that if he turned and looked at you he probably wouldn’t end up going in. He waits to hear the deadlock before he takes a few steps away. He has to stop though and just breathe for a minute before finally setting off. 

You lock the deadbolt and then rest your forehead against the door, one palm flat on it. Tears hit your eyes and you feel so fucking ridiculous about it. Like some clingy, codependent fiancée who can’t stand to be away from her man for more than ten minutes. You try and remind yourself that this is okay, you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling and you being upset isn’t because you’re clingy or codependent. It’s because you went through a major trauma and are healing and it’s your first time truly being on your own since you were shot. You know this won’t last, that it won’t always be like this, but in this moment it feels like it will and it overwhelms you.

Your hand itches to undo the deadbolt and dart out after him, beg him not to leave you. But you can’t do that. This is something that has to happen. So you pull yourself from the door and head back to the couch for a second before getting back up to go do the dishes from dinner. You thought it might be a good distraction. Instead it just reminds you that he’s not here doing them with you. 

Your phone dings as you finish loading the dishwasher and washing the pan that can’t go in it. It’s Jack letting you know he got to work. He keeps typing, and you chew on your lip as you wait to see what he’s going to say. 

J - I just want to let you know that it’s slammed here tonight so I’ll probably be busy and not around a ton. But I’ll check my phone often even if I can’t always reply. So text me if you need to, or call me or the ED. I love you. 

Your heart falls at his words and some part of you feels selfish for it. It’s good. It’s good for him to be there and be busy and have that distraction and get back to normal. It just sucks you won’t have him to talk to much. You had tried to prepare yourself for this, tried to operate under the assumption that he wouldn’t be around much but a part of you, apparently a big part, still held onto the hope he would. 

There’s also the unspoken meaning of the Pitt being slammed. The chances he’ll get off on time are probably slim to none unless some miracle happens. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You’re going to be asleep anyway. But will you really?

Jack is anxious to get a text back from you, glancing at his phone nonstop while Robby goes over the board with him. This was exactly what he did not want to happen. He didn’t want it to be slammed. Busy, fine. He appreciates the distraction it brings. He’d still be able to respond to you more even if not as frequently as he’d like. And slammed means the chances of him getting off in six hours are a fraction above non-existent. He knows you know that too. 

He also knows that he’s the lucky one out of the two of you. He can’t afford to be distracted here. So he has to do some kind of compartmentalization. It doesn’t mean he won’t miss or worry about you constantly. He will. He just has to force himself to stay present where he’s at. His inability to be distracted here is itself a distraction from his anxiety and missing you. 

It feels selfish. He knows that you don’t have the same luxury at home, if anything it’s the opposite. You have to try and find things to distract yourself so that you don’t end up getting too into your head. He knows that sometimes you struggle to come up with ways to do that, or that you think of ways but can’t convince yourself to do them. He gets it. He’s been there himself. And up until now he’d been there to distract you when you couldn’t do it for yourself. But now he’s not. 

So he’s anxious as he waits for a response. He knows you’re just staring at your phone trying to think of what to say. He’s trying not to think about the likelihood of teardrops hitting the screen of your phone and magnifying whatever they fall on. He’s trying not to think about what you look like when you cry like that, completely silent with the tears slipping down your face. 

You’re looking down at your phone enough that the first tear to roll off your face hits the screen. You shake your head at yourself. You need to get a grip. It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jack will be fine. 

You - I’m glad you made it there safely. Thanks for letting me know, I hope the night isn’t awful. Let me know when you’re on your way home. I love you

Jack feels better for about half a second when your name finally flashes on his screen. But then he reads your message. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a second before looking back down at his phone. He can feel your dejection through the phone. For his part Robby gives Jack space, doesn’t comment on it, intercepts a couple of people who want to welcome Jack back. It takes Jack a moment to decide on what to reply. He knows that it doesn’t matter what his reply is, it’s not going to make anything better. 

J - Of course. Don’t forget you have a couple new books on the kitchen table and all of wedding pinterest and the knot to explore. I love you more

His message does manage to pull a little laugh from you. He’s so sweet, your Jack. Reminding you of things you could do to keep yourself occupied and distracted. You look around the kitchen and take in a deep breath, try to hype yourself up. 

It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do this and be fine and Jack will be so proud of you. You can do this. You grab your laptop and settle on the couch, put a show you like on and start looking through pinterest like Jack said. It goes well at first. Until you see something you really like and go to turn your computer and look over at Jack to show him. The realization hits you then that you’ve only ever done this with him. 

Fine. That’s okay. You have books. You turn the TV off and go look through the stack, pick one out and curl back up on the couch. Reading also goes well at first until it finally hits you that you’ve been staring at the same page for quite a while now because it’s hard to see through your tears. You set the book down and feel so defeated. You want to be okay so badly, for Jack and for yourself. But it seems the more you try to be the more you aren’t. 

You check your phone. 7:47. Nothing from Jack, not that you expected anything, especially since effectively no time has passed since his last message. You don’t know why you can’t do this, why it’s so hard. And that just makes you more upset. 

You get up once you start sniffling from the tears and just take yourself to bed, curl up in a ball on it with a box of tissues and let yourself cry. You grab your phone several times, have to fight the urge to call him and plead for him to come home. You have to fight the urge to get up and grab an uber and show up at the ED. The only good thing about crying is that it’s exhausting, and the swelling of your eyes makes you feel even more tired. And so you slip under without even realizing it. 

When Jack finally gets a second to check in and look at his phone sometime around 10:00 he’s a little surprised to see nothing from you. It’s unlike you. Normally you’ll text him often throughout your day, even if he can’t reply. Just little things. What you’re doing. Something funny that happened or that you saw. A photo of something that made you think of him. A moment on a show he doesn’t watch but that you want him to see. But then he realizes the problem with his thinking. Normally. 

Normal at this point is synonymous with ‘before you were shot.’ Because nothing has been remotely normal since then. It’s all been temporary. The hospital was temporary. Him being at home with you was temporary. Even his half shifts are temporary. And you both want normal back. But it’s not. And even when it is you both know it’ll be different, and that’s okay. A new normal is okay. But you’re not there yet and so, Jack realizes, thinking about what you’d normally do is futile and deceptive. He is surprised he hasn’t gotten anything wedding related though. He thought you’d take him up on that suggestion, go on pinterest, send him things you find and like. 

J - Finally have a second. You doing okay?

Before he can even start to wait for your reply Parker is grabbing him for help with a patient and his phone is back in his pocket. He tells himself he’s just been moving a lot and so that’s why he hasn’t felt his phone vibrate with your message. But when he pulls his phone out at 12:23 and there’s nothing from you he can’t help the pit of dread that starts to form in his stomach. 

Flashbacks of nightmares play in his head. You dead on the kitchen floor. You dead in your bed. You dead on the couch. He stops himself. You must be asleep. You just fell asleep early. Hell, maybe you took some sleeping meds just to make it easier for yourself and were asleep before his last text. That has to be it. Even though he’s sure you won’t see it, because you’re sleeping, he sends another one with the news you both saw coming. 

J - Hope you’re sleeping well. I’m going to be stuck here past 1. I’m hoping for 3/3:30, at most 4. I promise as soon as I can get out I will. I’m sorry. Love you

You wake with a start, covered in cold sweat, heart racing, chest heaving. It takes you a minute to fully come to. You had a nightmare. You were back in that courtroom with gunshots deafening you as you tried to hide. And then that body collapsed in front of you just like it did that day but this time you do recognize the person when their face rolls towards you as they bleed out, eyes fluttering closed. 

Jack.

You think you woke up before you even got shot, though you’re not sure. You’ve never been able to remember exactly when it happened. All you know is you saw Jack’s face and Jack’s blood and then mercifully woke the fuck up. You take a second to try and come down, look over at your phone and see it’s just after 2:00 and Jack’s messages. Your heart is crushed a little by the disappointment of him being home late even though you expected it. If he had gotten off on time he’d have been here, might have woken you getting into bed, might have stopped you from having that nightmare and that image of him seared in your brain. You know it’s not fair to put that on him and you aren’t, you don’t blame him. You just can’t help but think it. 

It’s what makes you burst into tears, again. Your disgust at yourself for even coming close to thinking about blaming him. And then you’re crying about all of it. Tears of anger at yourself, tears of frustration with yourself, tears of despondency about getting better, tears of panic from seeing Jack in your nightmare, tears of sorrow that he’s not home, tears of disappointment with yourself that you couldn’t do this one night, tears of confliction about being alive. You wear yourself out again. 

But this time you don’t go back to sleep. Instead you get up and take a shower to rid yourself of the sticky cold sweat that covers you. You hold some ice to your face once you’re out, hope it’ll help with the swelling of your eyes and lips enough that Jack won’t notice, especially in the dark. You toss the copious tear soaked tissues in the bathroom garbage and put the tissue box back where it was so that Jack won't see anything amiss and crawl back into bed. The exhaustion of crying pulls you under again. 

Jack’s out at 3:13. He hates it. He’s still on edge because still nothing from you even though he didn’t expect anything. He lets you know he's on his way home anyway. He cannot be home and have eyes on you soon enough. The drive is at least short at this time of night. There’s no lights on when he opens the door. Part of him is relieved because that would make sense if you were sleeping. But part of him is just put more on edge by the darkness. He doesn’t let himself think about it much, drops his backpack and gets his shoes off quickly and then is heading for your room. 

As much as he wants to, he doesn’t turn the overhead light on. He can make out your form on the bed so he steps over to the bathroom and reaches in to flick the light on, leaves the door open to give him just enough light in the bedroom to look at you. Normally the sight would turn him on, immensely. It still does, he can feel it. But tonight that’s overshadowed by the way it breaks his heart because he knows what it means. 

You’re curled up on his side of the bed, head on his pillow, wearing one of his shirts and holding another close to you, clutching it to your chest really. He lets out a slow breath through his nose as he takes you in. His brows furrow a little. He’s not sure if it’s the lighting or if your eyes and lips are really a little swollen. He makes himself let go of the thought for the moment so that he can grab a pair of pajama pants and just get in bed with you. 

When he walks in the bathroom properly it hits him. It’s a bit warmer than your bedroom, a bit more humid. And the smell. It smells like he just showered. Which means you showered recently and used all of his products so that you’d smell like him. It’s so sweet but it hurts, that he wasn’t here when you so clearly needed him. He tries to set that aside and not feel guilty, think about and apply what you guys have learned in couple’s therapy but it’s hard. And it gets harder when the pile of white catches his eye and he sees all of the tissues in the trash can. It wasn’t the lighting. The swelling is real. You cried. A lot. 

You’re not sure what wakes you but when you force your eyes open you realize the bathroom light is on which means Jack is home. It’s the first time you’ve smiled since he left. “Peter?” you call softly as you get out of bed to walk to the bathroom. Jack’s out of his scrubs in just his pajama bottoms.

“Hey, I’m sorry Doll, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You shake your head at him, meeting him at the doorway to the bathroom. 

“I’m just glad you’re home.” You push your lips out for a kiss he happily gives you. “Missed you. Were you okay?” 

“I was yeah. Being slammed was good at keeping me distracted." He frowns for a second because he knows how not the case that was for you. He leans in for another kiss. "I missed you more,” he murmurs against your lips, hands finding your waist. 

You hum back against his lips as he kisses you again. “I’m going to let you have that only because I was passed out most of the night.” 

Jack nods at you. But you can tell from the speed of it that he knows. You just give him a little shrug to tell him you know he knows. 

“Why didn’t you call?” It’s soft. He’s not angry at you or upset with you in any way. Just curious. You look away from his eyes down at his bare chest and give another little shrug. “Did you need me?”

“I was okay… eventually,” you admit. One of his hands finds your chin, gently pushes it up to see if you’ll move your head up to look at him. You don’t resist so he tilts your chin up. 

Jack gives you a small smile and keeps his voice low and gentle and he hopes comforting. “That doesn’t answer my question.” The hand still on your waist gives it a small squeeze. “You can be okay and still need me, or trying to convince yourself you’re okay and still need me, or trying to be okay and still need me.” He raises his eyebrows a little at you. 

You look at him for a beat and then let out a big sigh, lean forward and into him a bit so that your forehead rests against his chest. “I hate it when you do that,” you grumble against him. 

“What’s that?” He leans down and kisses the top of your head. 

You move your forehead off his chest but plant a kiss there before looking back up at him. “See right through me,” you murmur through a watery smile. “I don’t know how you’re so damn good at it.”

“Well,” Jack nods slowly, “in your fourth year of med school they pull a couple of students aside, obviously the ones they think are the best since I was one of them, and they teach us x-ray vision.” 

You let out a huffed laugh but smile at him. “I really thought I was about to learn something about med school.”  

“Are you saying you don’t believe me?!” He gives you his best surprised face. 

You roll your eyes at him and laugh a little with him but it quickly turns into trembling lips and you shaking your head. 

“Okay baby, come here,” Jack whispers, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, one hand finding the back of your head and holding your face against his chest. 

“It was so bad Jack, it was so bad,” you choke out through a strangled sob. “And I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to cry into you tonight or this morning or whatever the fuck it is. I just want to get in bed and be with you.” You sniffle and try to pull yourself together. 

“I know.” He rocks you just a little, presses his lips to the top of your head and lets them linger. “But we can be in bed together and you can be crying if that’s what you need.” As he speaks he flicks the light off and settles one hand on your hip and slowly begins walking you backwards toward the bed. 

“I’m tired of it being what I need,” you mumble. At least you’ve managed to stop the tears. You turn once your knees hit the back of the bed so that you can slide in, Jack following you once he has his prosthetic off. “I just…I had a nightmare.”

Jack cringes as he settles and holds his arms open for you. “I’m so sorry.” He knows all too well how much they can rattle you and fuck you up for days. How long it can take to get them to a point of only happening a few times a year. How much therapy and EMDR he’s had to do to help with his over the years. ���Do you want to talk about it?”

You sigh as you curl into his side and drape your top leg over his, rest your head against the crook of his shoulder. The hand of Jack’s arm that’s now behind you starts rubbing your back up and down. “I was back there. In that courtroom on that day. And it was all the same and as much as that sucked it was fine. But then I got to the part where that woman collapsed in front of me and died but,” you have to pause and try and get yourself closer to Jack. “But it wasn’t her. It was you.” Jack’s shifting onto his side a bit more at that and pulling you closer into him, pressing the front of his body against yours. He positions you so that you can rest your ear up against his chest. “And unlike her you rolled your head to look at me as you were bleeding out and then I woke up.” 

You hear the click of Jack’s jaw as he opens it to say something. But it never comes, instead you just feel his head shake a little. You let yourself focus on the beat of his heart underneath your ear, the warmth of his skin. “I’m so sorry,” he finally whispers. “I know it’s not my fault but I am so sorry that you had to experience that Doll.”

You shrug a little. Apparently you’re all out of tears for the night. You’re too tired for them. And here in Jack’s arms with his heart beating under your ear it’s not so scary. There’s an odd sense of calm that fills both of you. You feel kind of bad, like you've taken this for yourself, haven't talked about how he did at work. But you know there's time. “Don’t be,” you whisper, turn your face a bit to nuzzle into his chest. “At least I didn’t have to live through your funeral. I’ve got that goin’ for me. More than you can say.”

He can feel your lips turn up in a smile against his chest. And he has to let out a laugh at it too. Because you’ve hit a point where you can start to make small jokes about what’s happened, what you’ve both been through. Because it’s all so miserable and horrific that if you guys don’t laugh you’ll cry. After a second you pull your head from his chest and look up at him. He looks so amused with his wide closed lip smile, shaking his head at you slightly that you have to bite your lip to stop from laughing. But that makes him crack and start properly laughing and so you do too. 

You guys laugh until it hurts, until the smallest tears slide out the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, that was probably so insensitive of me-”

“No,” Jack keeps laughing, “no. No, Doll that was so fucking needed, fuck me. The laughing feels just as cathartic as crying right now.”

“I agree,” you giggle as you both start to wind down. You lean in to kiss him and Jack keeps you there, nipping at your bottom lip and tugging at it a little when you try to pull away. “Needy,” you murmur teasingly.

“For you? Always.” You lay there and kiss. Kiss and make out in bed pressed against each other simply because you want to feel close and because you can. It’s not leading anywhere as good as it feels and as wired as it makes both of you. You can feel him growing hard against you and yourself growing wetter for him but you’re both content to stay like you are. 

Eventually the kisses slow. You’re both sleepy, and between snuggling with each other and all the kissing it’s quick to catch up with you. Just as you both start to nod off you think of something. “Hey Jack? Maybe no more night shifts.” It’s all sleep slurred and in that drowsy tone you get that he finds particularly adorable.

He laughs a little through his nose. “No more night shifts,” he agrees, just as groggy.

When you wake up the next day Jack is able to get in touch with Robby and switch things back so that he’s on days again. Something about the daylight makes it a little easier for you, and you don’t seem to have any nightmares when you sleep snuggled into Jack. The next time he goes to work for half a day shift sucks still, but significantly less than that first half a night shift. Each time it gets a little bit easier, even when Jack is finally back to regular twelve hour shifts. 

And then eventually it’s your turn to go back to work. It’s not just going back to work, it’s going back to the place you were shot. Both of you are on edge. Jack hates the thought of you having to go back there, it sends his anxiety through the roof even though he knows logically it’s probably the safest courthouse in the entire country right now with all the heightened security. 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Jack asks you for probably the tenth time this morning alone. 

“I’m sure,” you call to him from the bathroom as you finish getting ready. Jack appears in the mirror behind you, stopping at the doorway of the bathroom. You look at him in the mirror. “It’s okay, I’m ready. I can do this.” 

You sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself than you are Jack. “You can call me. If you need anything.” 

“I know,” you nod, “I promise I know and that if I need you I’ll call.” You turn to look at Jack and start walking towards him. Half of you feels ready for this, is craving the normalcy that being at work will bring. The other half knows you’re probably not quite ready. You haven’t even been by the building to expose yourself to it.

You pick at the breakfast Jack made you, stomach churning too much to feel hungry and making it hard to swallow anything down. He doesn’t comment on it as he sits at the table across from you working on today’s crossword, isn’t going to pressure you into eating more or potentially make you feel bad by calling you out on it. He gets it. He didn’t eat much dinner the night he went back to work for that one half a night shift. 

It’s going to put your shoes on where you really start to let yourself realize how not ready you are for this. You stare down at them for what feels like ten or so seconds but is in reality close to a full minute. Jack knows because he glances at his watch after the first few seconds pass and you don’t move to put them on. 

Finally you force yourself to and grab your bag. You take in and let out a deep breath and ignore how shaky it is as Jack walks over to you. He doesn’t want to smother you in reassurance and reminders you can call him or end up letting an ask for you to stay home slip out. “Have a good day Doll. Call if you need and I’ll be here waiting for you when you get home. I love you.” 

Jack leans down and kisses you, one that lingers followed by a bunch of softer pecks. “I will,” you nod. “I’ll see you tonight.” You put your hand on the door handle and open it a little. “I love you more,” you smile up at him. He lets you have it this morning. 

As you walk out the door and close it you know immediately you’re not ready. Jack knows you aren’t ready. But you try anyway and he doesn’t try to stop you because this is something you need to do for yourself. 

It doesn’t take too long to get there, the commute is generally fairly easy even though it’s busy. You walk up to the courtyard of the courthouse and stare at the entrance. It feels like you can’t breathe and you’re aware of how badly your hands shake. Your heart races as you try and tell yourself you just need a minute and then you’ll go in. 

But everything just gets worse. All you can hear is screaming and gunshots, taste that metallic flavor of adrenaline, and smell sulphur and smoke. You can’t do this. You so cannot fucking do this.

You get yourself back enough so a trembling hand can get your phone out of your bag, unlock it and hit Jack’s name. He answers on the first ring. “I’m not ready Jack, I can’t do this, I, I, I’m stuck outside and I need you, please come, I’m sor-”

“Doll,” Jack interrupts you. “Turn around.”

You do and standing at the edge of the courtyard is Jack. 

He hangs up his phone as he starts moving to you, shoving past a couple people with a distracted excuse me because he just needs to get to you. He knows that you don’t want to fully lose it here, not with the potential for people you know or work with every day to see. And Jack doesn’t want it for you either. He knows you hate crying in front of people, that it took a while for you to be able to cry in front of him. 

“I’m here,” he’s saying as he gets to you, arms reaching out before he’s even all the way there to start pulling you into him. “I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” Your hands slide around his waist and clutch at the back of his shirt as you close your eyes and press the side of your head to his chest. 

You breathe him in, smell your laundry detergent and his body wash and him. You focus and let his heart beating become the only thing you can hear. The metallic taste in your mouth starts to fade.

“Ready to walk?” Jack whispers as he feels you start to calm down. You nod against him and so he lets go of you. A hand finds your lower back and starts directing you over to a bench outside of the courtyard facing away from the courthouse.

You both sit and he pulls you as close as possible, wraps the arm closest to you around your waist to keep you close as you rest a hand on his knee. Jack brings his other hand across his body and rests it on top of your hand, laces your fingers together from above. 

Jack doesn’t pressure you, doesn’t ask you for details or if you want to talk or what exactly happened. He just sits there with you holding you close. You tilt your head and let it fall onto his shoulder. He tilts his head and his lips press against you where they can reach before he lets his head rest on yours lightly. 

“I feel so ridiculous,” you murmur after a while. 

Jack squeezes your hand. “Why?”

“I knew the entire morning I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to be so bad so I didn’t listen to myself.” 

“I know. I knew,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t make you ridiculous. Just human.”

“You knew?” you whisper, pull away to look at him. “How?”

“You told me as much with your eyes and the way you hesitated before you did anything related to getting ready this morning.” He squeezes your hand. “Before picking up your hairbrush and putting your bra on and picking up your mascara, that type of stuff. Your hand hesitated for just a second or two before you grabbed whatever it was. And then when it took you as long as it did to get your shoes on I just had an intuition or gut feeling or whatever you want to call it that I should be here.” 

“You didn’t try to stop me?” 

“No,” he shakes his head and gives you a small smile. “It was obvious that you needed to do this. Come here. Try. Get yourself back in front of this building. You needed to do it for yourself and I wasn’t going to interfere with that, no matter how badly I wanted to stop you so you wouldn’t hurt. You needed to do this. My role is to support you and help you with your healing. Not to dictate how you do it.”

You take in and hold a long breath before letting it out through your nose and shaking your head a little. “You’re way too fucking good for me.”

Jack gives you a look. “Not even gracing that bullshit with a reply,” he parrots the phrase you love to use back at you.

You give him a little eye roll and a smile. “I just should be better, Jack. I should be able to go back and get back to normal. But then I got here and it’s like it was yesterday.”

He nods slowly. “I think it was yesterday in a sense, Doll. This is your first time even being in front of the courthouse since it happened. That’s one. Two,” he pauses to take a breath and look down and away from you for a second. “A very, very smart woman,” he looks back up at you with a small smile, “once told me that should is a stupid word. Nothing should or shouldn’t be. Things just are. And it’s okay for them to be as they are. It’s okay for this to be as it is.” 

You’re quiet for a few seconds before you let out a huffed laugh through your nose. “I can’t believe you just used my own words against me twice in a row.” 

Jack clicks his tongue and shrugs. “I can be a real dick sometimes can’t I?”

You roll your eyes at him again and lean back into him. “Maybe. But you’re my dick, so it’s okay, I’ll allow it.” 

That makes him roll his eyes at you and chuckle. “Yeah, I’m your dick, alright. I’m glad to hear you’ll allow it,” he teases. 

“I’m actually quite impressed that you remember that entire little speech I gave you,” you admit after a few minutes. 

“Repeated it to myself a lot. Still do. Well, really in my head you’re saying it to me and I hear it in your voice. So I guess I have you repeating it to me a lot.” He pauses. “It’s important to remember.”

“I suppose it is.” You pull away again to look up at him. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Always, Doll.” The kiss he gives you is quick yet ardent. “I love you too.” 

There’s a lull as the two of you just sit on the bench and exist together, soak in the sun.

“You wanna go to bath and body works?” Jack breaks the silence. An amused smirk pulls on your face as you pull away to look up at him. “Candles are on sale. $12.95. And they just released a bunch of new scents.” 

You know he’s offering and that he keeps tabs on when they’re on sale and when new scents come out because he knows how much you enjoy candles and the fun of smelling them. You bite your lip and look up at him all dreamy. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head and stands up, offers you his hand and helps you off the bench so you can head to the store. “Just in love.”

You take a bit more time for yourself before you try going back again, go and sit outside the courthouse with Jack and alone. And the next time you go back to work Jack goes with you, holds your hand all the way up to the employee entrance. He gives you a kiss goodbye and holds the door open for you, watches you for a second before he lets the door close. He waits outside on a bench for a bit, just in case you decide you’re not ready again and need him. But you don’t. And so Jack smiles to himself as he gets up and heads back home. 

Normal. Things are finally starting to get back to normal.

But, as it turns out, normalcy is a fragile thing. And so things are finally starting to get back to normal.

Until they aren’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so so much for reading, I hope it was okay!

Part 4 is out now!

Part 4 will be out soon!! This weekend for sure! And then we're straight into Quiet 2 which I am so fucking excited for! I have many many plans! How many exclamation points can I use in a row!!!!!

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[reidrum]

darwinism

A/N: being really brave and posting this bc i wasn’t sure about it but i hope u like it! a reminder to show love to ur favorite writers/creators :) scheduling this post while im omw to halsey’s opening show tonight BUT we hit 3k and that’s so insane to me that people want to read my silly little stories thank you thank you thank you

summary: the you that broke up with spencer to follow your dreams in london isn’t the same you that returns a year later

cw: spoiler content warning at the end of this post! angst, hurt/comfort, bau!reader, ex!spencer, implications of past trauma, descriptions of torture, medical jargon, cm typical violence, throwing up, spencer is kinda mean but he loves you i promise

wc: 6k

The familiarity strikes you like a knife as you walk through the doors of the BAU. Over a year since you’ve been here and it seems nothing has changed—Hotch still surveills from his office atop the landing, Emily and Derek sit opposite each other. Even your desk has remained untouched and the way you left it, still next to the desk you’d begged to be next to.

A year since you left it all behind in pursuit of furthering your career, a shiny new position across the pond at Interpol. A year since you left behind the only family you had in D.C., the BAU. A year since you left Spencer, the love of your life.

Before you left, Spencer thought everything was going great between you both. You seemed happy, content with his company and love. Falling in love with a colleague, especially in his line of work, has its risks but he’s found that having you will always outweigh any consequence or worst scenario his mind can think of.

Spencer would never tell you they actually offered the job to him first, but he turned it down so he could stay with you. He still remembers the fight you had the night before you left, how he couldn’t understand why you would risk throwing away what you had. You knew he never would, with his multiple degrees and high caliber of success he didn’t need that extra validation. To be a mere mortal in the presence of such excellence is humbling and harrowing.

So you left.

You love him, you really did—still do. Nothing about where you were in the world would ever change that. Making the decision to leave was the hardest but you knew it would be better for your career. Spencer might never comprehend how easily you made that decision to take the job in London when it seemed like the hardest thing for him. How could he, when everything he encountered with his Midas’ touch of knowledge only served to expand his beautiful brain. When you left and parted ways, it was for good.

The thing is though, you’re back.

No one actually knew you were coming back until a week ago, when Hotch announced your return to the team as soon as you landed. The job offer was a permanent one and the details are unclear as to why you did come back so early. Bunch of sealed, redacted documents. All Spencer knows is that you are home and back here with him. Maybe not with him, but you were here and that counts for something. 

The desk next to yours is empty but clearly occupied, the satchel slouched over on the ground with a cardigan haphazardly thrown over the back of the chair. You walk up to yours and see it practically untouched, up kept even. You sling your bag off the shoulder and take inventory of your desk, your name plate and tchotchkes aligned. 

You don’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you.

“Hey.”

You still at the voice and turn slowly, “Hi, Spencer.”

He takes a good look at you, the first one he’s gotten to have of you in over a year. You look the same more or less. Your hair is longer, you’ve lost weight, you stopped wearing makeup. There’s something else surrounding you unspoken, he can’t place his finger on it.

“It’s um, it’s good to see you.” he nods awkwardly, trying not to cringe inwardly as he attempts normality.

“Likewise.” you hum.

Hotch calls your name from the landing, “Welcome back. I need everyone in the conference room in two minutes.”

You both nod, each secretly glad your interaction was cut short. 

Derek rounds your desk and opens his arms, “Good to see you, pretty girl. It’s been too quiet without you.” You try not to let your heart squeeze over the term of endearment, a stem of his nickname for Spencer coined specially for you after Derek had figured you both out.

You squeeze him back, “Missed you too, Morgan.” 

Emily loops her arm through yours as you pull back from Derek, slowly starting the walk up to the conference room. “How was London? Was the apartment okay?” Former Interpol agent perks, Emily had her own flat in London she so graciously lent to you.

“All good, Em,” you say softly, slowly trudging up the steps, “I’ll show you pictures later.”

Emily continues talking as you both get further out of earshot from Spencer, whose eyes follow until you disappear into the room. There really is something different about you that he can’t quite figure out yet, no way of even proving that something is wrong–just a sheer feeling of knowing you from the way you’ve imprinted on him. He decides it’s probably just jet lag.

“You alright, kid?” Derek nudges him, “Must be a lot for you,”

He forgot he was even still down here, “Yeah, fine. We should go,”

—

The first time Spencer noticed he didn’t think anything of it.

It’s paperwork week after a long few weeks of traveling, to everyone’s delight. In desperate need for caffeination you grab your mug from your desk and trudge to the break room to make yourself a coffee. You place a pod into the slot and press start, the machine whirring to life as it prepares to brew your lifesaving coffee. 

You’re about to bend down to the cupboard under the table when you hear footsteps. 

Spencer slows as he walks in, not wanting to startle you, “We moved the sugar by the way, it’s above the sink now.”

“Oh, thanks.” you mumble. You reach a hand up to open the cupboard, hiding a wince as you stretch up.

He clocks the change in your face immediately, “Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen as you come back down and school your face back to normal, “Yeah, why?”

“You look like you’re in pain. Did you get hurt or something?” he prods, eyes looking questionably between your face and your waist. Your shirt raises slightly and he can see the tail end of what looks like a nasty scar. He attempts to walk closer but with hypervigilance on your side and great timing by the coffee machine you grab your coffee and side step him towards the door.

“Oh did I? Must’ve stretched weird this morning.” you say from the door.

“You stretch now?” he humorlessly chuckles.

“It’s important to stay limber,” Your hand subconsciously rests over your abdomen, unnaturally to the side as if you’re covering something. “Got to go, bye.”

He watches you duck out of the room, “Um, bye?”

Weird, he thinks. You didn’t even end up taking the sugar, the evidence of it still scattered on the counter. You were so quick to leave but Spencer lets himself entertain the idea that you wanted to leave so fast not to get away from him, but because he noticed a crack in your facade.

He tries to school his own face back to normal as he returns to his desk and drops two sugar packets on yours.

–

The second time he notices, it nearly breaks his heart.

It’s a hot day in the Houston precinct where you and Spencer tackle the geographical profile while the rest of the team works out the victim’s details and witnesses. It was a no brainer to pair you two together, you’d been doing geographical profiles since way before you ever got together. It’s how you both fell in love, actually. Countless hours hunched over a map, late night conversations getting weirdly philosophical, something about the way you worked together just clicked. Like you completed something he didn’t know he didn’t have, something he didn’t know he craved so subconsciously.

You made sense to him, you always do.

Things are little different post your breakup, your skill sets are still above par for crafting the geographical profile, and therefore it only served to make sense to pair you both again. He knows it’s for the better, you’ll always make sense to him—even in times like this.

You’re more defensive than he remembers, more meticulous and stubborn than his darling girl who left him. You were always stubborn, but here you were finding faults in everything. The attack sites are too scattered for an accurate comfort zone, you’d argue. The victimology doesn’t add up, you’d jab.

Since you left Spencer’s patience has diminished dramatically, even for you now as he’s about to discover. Normally he’d welcome your counterpoints with respectful criticism and counters while you both talk it out. But right now you’re arguing like you simply want to be right, like you need to be right.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Spencer sighs, “The unsub clearly is frequenting these places for a reason, and it matches the victimology perfectly. How can you not see it?”

“It doesn’t add up!” you jab, “He’s kidnapping high risk victims in a high risk environment, that goes against what we think he’s even killing for.”

His voice raises, “What he’s killing for doesn’t even matter if we can’t predict where he’s going to strike next! The next body could surface tonight, we don’t have time to be childish like this.”

“Childish? Suddenly my analysis is childish? Fuck you, Spencer.”

“Okay, look I didn’t mean—“ He reaches his hand above your figure to grab the marker atop the white board.

A normal motion for him.

But you flinch, hard.

Spencer rarely if ever yelled at you when you were together, he certainly and definitively would never lay his hands on you. Any argument you had with him was resolved civilly, safely. Even when you get disciplined at work by Hotch or Strauss they go easy on you, a stern warning and a passing Be Better.

What you did now is stitched from his nightmares. The sharp yelp you let out will ring in his ears for who knows how long. He can’t figure it out, he’s not sure if he wants to. You’re part of a team of profilers, trained to analyze micro expressions and behaviors to predict what happened. Spencer knows what it means for the way you reacted, his training clearly outlines it.

Previous trauma suffered. Reflex response. Learned.

Wherever you learned that response, it cannot be from him—it’s impossible. It’s offensive. It makes him sick to even think it could come from him, even sicker to think about where it did come from. This wasn’t you, not the you that Spencer knew and loved. 

Yet you flinched, and to his horror you’re now shaking.

He says your name like broken glass, “I…I wasn’t going to hurt you. You’re shaking, I…” He tries to move closer again, like he did in the break room, and instead of ducking out you back up and bump into the whiteboard, startling yourself further.

“N—Nothing, I’m fine. It’s fine. I…need to go get some air.” you stutter, the jitters clearly consuming you.

You run out of the precinct before he can say anything else, evading Emily’s calls and JJ’s brush of your arm as you leave.

Spencer lingers on the ghost of your figure as it haunts the door, and turns to the rest of the team sporting matching confusion. “You all saw that right?”

Morgan nods slowly, “Something’s up with her.”

“I know,” he rasps, “I’ve never seen her look so scared.” The look on your face will surely haunt him every time he blinks.

JJ speaks, “Do you think something happened in London?”

It had to, Spencer thinks. You were not like this before you left. Not skittish, not hypervigilant of your surroundings—fearing a familiar hand. 

The team looks to Hotch, knowing if someone knew it would be him. “Her records are sealed,” he mumbles, feigning professionalism yet unable to hide his concern for you, “Interpol informed me it was a need to know basis, and we were not cleared for that.”

“But she’s not okay, Hotch.” Spencer protests.

Hotch gives him a stern look, but his eyes soften in understanding, “I know, we can figure this out when we get back. For now, let her cool off and let’s focus on the case.”

Everyone exchanges uneasy looks and begrudgingly returns to their tasks.

When you return the team offers you the grace of pretending what happened didn’t even exist. You’re inwardly grateful, you know it doesn’t show on the outside. Spencer keeps an eye on you but maintains his distance lest you get triggered at his hands again. He wouldn’t survive watching you react to him so viscerally, in a way that couldn’t be further from the love he showered you in.

It’s in this moment Spencer realizes he misses you. When you left he obviously missed you, but in a way in which he knew you would return home eventually. You broke his heart by leaving, but he knew you would come back to the BAU, where you belonged. A you he honestly believes he took for granted, because it looks like that you didn’t make it home to him. Right now, he’s missing that you. The you before London. 

—

The third time he realizes, he acts on his own–you didn’t even have to do anything.

He knows something happened in London. He just can’t figure out what it is, but he’s going to.

Spencer should feel bad asking Penelope to hack into your medical records. He can’t find himself to actually care though after seeing that stab wound on your hip, and how quick you were to brush it off like it was nothing. It was massive, and by the position of it had to have required some medical intervention. When he got shot in the knee all they needed to do was stabilize his leg from the outside with a brace, yours looked dangerously close to a lung.

“Is there a reason we’re violating her privacy like this? She’s my friend, I feel icky.”

“Garcia, please.” his tone holding something deeper.

She glances at him and returns back to typing, breaking down the many firewalls of the bureau medical records.

“And…done.” a flurry of documents floods her screens, Spencer leans in closer to read them but she whispers under her breath, “Oh my god, my sweet girl.”

“What is it?”

Garcia pulls up your medical record from London, and makes the sheet bigger. The glaring title reading Emergency Room Admit. He reads the preliminary injuries of stab wounds, bruises, mild concussion.

Emergency services were called to a warehouse where you were unconscious and bleeding out. You still weren’t conscious when you were admitted, and they had to resuscitate you after you’d coded in the ambulance en route. They took you to emergency surgery, your broken ribs causing major arterial damage in your abdomen. Line after line listed another injury, another note where they performed a life saving measure on you. He couldn’t believe it, how had all of this happened and no one knew about it? How he didn’t know about it?

“She was attacked.” he mumbles in disbelief, poison hanging on the tip of his words.

Penelope says through watery tears, “How could they not tell us? This says it was nearly nine months ago.”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out shakily, “but something still feels off.”

Everything he was thinking and felt becomes obsolete as he scrolls further down to see a note that takes the final blow for him.

Miscarriage due to sustained injuries. Pt suffered stab wounds to the lower left quadrant of the abdomen, fetus not viable upon admission.

No.

No, that can’t be right.

The nausea builds in the back of his throat as he processes. He looks at the dates of the report again and anxiously does the math in his head. If your assault happened only three months after you left then—No.

All the questions begin to swirl in Spencer’s mind. Did you know you were pregnant? You didn’t tell anyone it seems, and then you chose to still stay in london for another nine months even after the incident. It made no sense, an event as traumatic as what he read you went through should have sent you right back home. Right back to him.

The nausea catches up to him and takes over his body, hurling into the nearest trash can he can find. Penelope, through sniffled sobs, attempts to rub her friend’s back as soothingly as she can. 

He wipes his mouth, “I need to talk to her. Is she still at the same address?”

“Spencer, I don’t think—“

“I don’t care what you think, Garcia. Tell me where she is.” he snaps.

Penelope widens her eyes in shock at his outburst, knowing she can’t blame him for how he’s reacting. “Y—Yeah, same address.”

He speeds out of the room, stopping by the bathroom to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. His hands rub harshly down the sides of his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. All the color is drained from his face, nowhere in sight of returning. He doesn’t know what to feel–let alone what to think. He’s angry, hurt, confused. He’s not expecting to feel scared, yet he’s not sure what he’s scared of.

In Spencer’s life his role has always been the protector, the parentified child that had to grow up too fast to care for their sick mother. He wouldn’t have it any other way, some help would have been nice, but his 187 IQ served him better than others would in his position. Perfection, as his mother fondly called him. All he’s ever known is to protect, joining the FBI helps him continue to actualize this ability he’s honed. Meeting you gave him purpose to protect–a conscious choice he could make that wasn’t a result of his circumstance. A choice to protect you, because he loves you.

Yet his choice to let you go, to not follow you, has led him to face this awful consequence at the cost of your safety. Right now, he feels like anything but a protector.

Spencer gets in his car and drives to your apartment complex, parking in the same vacant spot he always did when he came over each time. He climbs the stairs fast and knocks harshly on your door, hearing you shuffle a minute later and opening it. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” he says urgently, moving past you to get inside.

You furrow your brows at his intrusion and mumble, moving aside passively, “No please, come in.”

You lock the door and walk towards your living room, where Spencer is pacing back and forth running his hand stressfully through his hair. He makes no effort to speak first, still in his head about everything.

“So, are you going to tell me why you showed up here?”

“I know what happened.”

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

“In London. I know what happened to you.”

Your face drops instantly and suddenly the world stops. All your windows are closed but a sharp and brisk chill runs up your spine, goosebumps erupting all over you as a pathetic defense against what feels like a vocal attack. Trapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say under your breath.

He stops pacing and faces you, “No?” he steps closer, “That’s why all your medical records are sealed shut?”

“You looked at my medical records?”

“I had to, you weren’t telling me anything.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want you to know.” you yell, “Those are private documents.”

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice it at first—you were in pain reaching for the sugar in the cupboard, suddenly you don’t wear anything shorter than pants and a long sleeve. The big scar on your torso.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—“

“You flinched. The other day.”

You falter, “What?”

“We all pretended it didn’t happen when you came back, but you know what happened. I raised my hand for something and you flinched.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you repeat less convincing this time.

He steps closer, trying to hide his hurt when you take a step back as well, “I think you know exactly what it means, and it scares you that I know now too.”

“You’re not supposed to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one’s supposed to know! I had them sealed for a reason.”

“So you were just not going to tell any of us you were attacked?”

Your face contorts, “I had to do what was safe for me. You may not understand my choices but I was counseled into believing this was the best option for me.”

“Counseled,” he laughs humorlessly, stepping towards you and staring you down, “Did this counsel inform you that notifying the father of your miscarriage wasn’t necessary?”

The bile rises in your throat, the room unhinges upon its axis as it begins to spin. “N—No, that’s not—“

“Did you tell anyone?” another step, “Were you ever going to tell me it was mine?”

“Spencer you don’t understand.”

He flails his arms in anger, “No, I fucking don’t! First you leave me behind like I meant nothing to you, but then you were pregnant with my child. You didn’t even care to tell me! I wanted a life with you, I loved you. And you just left.”

You stare at him in silence, unable to think of anything to say.

“How could you not tell me?” he whispers brokenly, “I thought you trusted me.”

“I couldn’t tell you, you have to know that.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” he pricks.

The tears well up in your eyes, “That’s not fair.”

“No? You don’t think so?” He knows he’s being mean, he can’t help it—he was supposed to protect you, even if you wouldn’t let him. His guilt is rearing its head in an ugly manner. “Was the baby even mine? Or is there something else you’re also not telling me?”

The hurt splays on your face clear as day, “Why are you being like this?” you mumble.

“I just want answers,” he exasperates, carding a stressed hand through his hair, “I want to know why you felt like you couldn’t tell me, or any of us, that you almost died nine months ago and kept living in London until now.”

Your mouth is entirely dried up, your eyes burning deeply. How long you’d been running and carrying this weight alone on your shoulders starts to reveal itself when your exhaustion finally catches up to you, begging you to wave the white flag and surrender.

You take a deep and shaky breath, “My records were sealed because it was an Interpol agent that attacked me.”

Spencer is stunned into silence. Interpol agent? 

Someone turned on the bureau—turned on you, and decided you would be the scapegoat for the brass’ wrongdoings. Someone you trusted laid their hands on you, and caused you such irreparable damage you felt compelled to carry it alone if the agencies had anything to do with it.

He’s nearly shaking with anger, “We need to report it.”

“I can’t.”

“He hurt you!”, he looks at you with disbelief, “We have to make sure they’re held responsible for it.”

“Spencer,”

“I don’t know why you’re so against it, you should know how important it is to make sure people like him don’t get away with this—“

“Spencer,” you plead.

He stops, finally meeting your eyes and faltering when he sees the tears welling and red rims forming. He takes a sharp breath, “You did report it…didn’t you?”

You can’t help the way your face drops, “I did, yeah.”

Spencer couldn’t believe it. Actually he could, he knows very well the statistics of women getting justice for assault crimes against them and how the odds are rarely stacked in their favor. Still, he feels appalled to think that the same system that he works to uphold—the same one you work for—has failed you so terribly.

If you reported it, then that means you knew your attacker.

“They didn’t know Mark was working both sides until he took me.” you whisper shakily.

Mark, the one who’d been your mentor when you were offered the job. Spencer remembers conversing with him when he was still in talks for the job too,

Spencer knows it should’ve been him instead of you. If he had just taken the job, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If he didn’t love you as much as he did to not leave you, maybe you’d be here—safe—while he worried about you from over there. The light that guides him home every night would still be shining in your eyes, and he wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of the dark ocean wondering what you would look like with the swell of his child.

How you looked, with the swell of his child.

At first Spencer is angry—at himself, at you, at the bureau for letting this happen. Then he’s just sad, over what could’ve been, what might be. Spencer would always joke that your stubbornness would lead to your downfall if he couldn’t help it. But you shut him out entirely, left him in the dark wondering if you even still loved him. Repetitively thinking about how easy it was for you to leave him alone back in Quantico. You were always too independent for your own good. It’s then another cold guttural realization stuns him—you were all alone when this happened.

“Oh, angel.” his voice cracks.

At this point, you’re just trying hard to keep it together. You weren’t expecting to have to reopen this wound again, although you should be considered a fool for thinking you could hide it from the very person you sealed it up for. You’re stubborn to a fault, constantly desperate for complete and total control over your life. Paining yourself is a valiant effort you invoke to protect others from the torturous reality you’ve spun for yourself. It seemed like the best option.

After all, a self inflicted wound is enough control for you–if you’ve already hurt yourself another cut can’t cause worse damage. Most people would show mercy at some point, not willing to cross the lines of depravity to wound you so badly. 

But you? Crossing the line leads you right back to yourself, a circle even. Boundless to the restraints of humanity and unfiltered to the consequences of shame and guilt. 

It’s why not telling Spencer was doable. Keeping it from him hurt you more than anyone could ever begin to comprehend. 

If nothing in this world can be created or destroyed then the pain you feel must be arbitrary, a remanifestation of your own being returning back to where it came from. Angry to be disturbed in the first place, entitled to return home.

Everything will always go back to the way it was. 

Even Spencer. 

Even you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” you sniffle, sitting down on the couch “I really wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

You whisper, “I was so embarrassed.”

He dares to step closer, “Why embarrassed?”

“I—I know they offered you the position before me,” his eyes widen as you continue, “I was so mad at you at first because you didn’t tell me, and then I realized why you didn’t take it and I felt so shitty about it. But I needed it, you know? It was supposed to be good for my career! I don’t have fancy degrees and publications and the reputation you have. You know how hard I’ve worked to get to this point? But I kept feeling like I couldn’t measure up, wouldn’t measure up no matter how hard I tried.”

“Measure up to what, baby?”

“You!” you wail, “I wanted to prove that I could do it, on my own.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone. You never did, you know that.” he says tearfully, finally taking a spot next to you.

You sniffle, “Well, I didn’t think I could. I felt so out of my element when I got there, Spence. But then Mark started watching me, helping me out where he could. He told me he saw potential in me, and made himself my mentor while I was there.”

His blood boils at the mention of Mark but lets you continue. “I…I trusted him. He said he wanted to help me, that he understood what it was like coming fresh from the States.”

“But then,” your face crumples, Spencer’s hands itch at his side to reach out for you, “I was walking to my car one night. I stayed late, because I was finishing a case study. Next thing I knew, there was a bag over my head and I couldn’t breathe.”

Spencer subconsciously inches closer, his hand ghosting the expanse of your body. “Then what happened?”

“When I woke up I was in a warehouse, they tied my hands to the chair I was sitting in. And I waited for someone to come in. Then I saw Mark.” you whisper.

His hand moves to bravely rests on yours, knowing you need all the courage you can get right now. “Was Mark the one who hurt you?”

You nod erratically, “He thought I knew something about the Silk Road, that trafficking network.”

Spencer remembers investigating the Silk Road affairs, they were slowly but surely getting every single person involved in it. You were a big help when you were here, able to pinpoint when and where these people might be hiding.

“I was telling him the truth, there wasn’t anything I knew about active Silk Road members,” you strain, “He didn’t believe me, and it wasn’t what he wanted from me anyway.”

His other hand rests on the couch ledge behind you, “What did he want, baby?”

You let out a soft whine, “I had a contact in London who knew the password to the Silk Road database. I met with him before my first day, and he told me.”

His fingers ghost your shoulder and you don’t move to his relief, letting his touch be more intentional. “But Mark knew you met him.”

You nod, “He knew I knew the password. That’s what he wanted. I—I wouldn’t give it to him, it was too dangerous to let him have it.” A sob breaks through your voice, “Everytime I said no, he’d hurt me.”

You gently pull your shirt up to reveal the scar he saw in the break room that day, but you pull it further up to reveal a few more scars and bruising that still hadn’t faded.

His breath catches like a fish on a hook. “Oh my god,” Each scar is meticulously placed, intentional. The scars have mostly healed, but the remnants of the marks are so expansive it physically pains him to think about what you suffered when they were inflicted. This wasn’t supposed to happen to you.

The guilt settles in him like a rock when he thinks about how strong you had to be to survive this. All alone in a new country with no one you could trust anymore. You’ve always been a different breed of strength, something he marveled at about you. But you’re still in the fight or flight mode of standing strong in your surroundings. A prey who knows the predator routine all too well, knowing the second you falter is when they strike.

He tucks your head into the crevice of his neck—you don’t need to be strong anymore, he’s here now.

“It looks worse than it feels, I swear.” you tug your shirt back down, “I really didn’t know I was pregnant until I woke up in the hospital, Spencer. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey no,” he shushes, closing the distance between you to gather you in his arms, “don’t even think about that okay, I’m not mad.”

“I should’ve told you.” you cry.

“I know why you didn’t, it’s okay. You were just trying to protect yourself.” Spencer hushes, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” you lament, “I shut you out.”

His hand gently runs up and down your spine, “I’m not mad at you, angel.”

“You should be.”

Another question burns his tongue, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“I wanted to, but…when I tried to report it they acted like they already knew. And I told them what happened to me, what he did, and all they said was that they’d look into it. I saw him at work the next day. I transferred to a different building the day after.” you recount, “I think there’s more Interpol agents working both sides, Spencer.”

“Does Mark still work there?”

“Yeah, I think so…What are you doing?”

He grabs his phone and opens his message thread with Penelope, drafting a text about calling the team and booking flights, “I’m telling Garcia to find flights to London.”

Your eyes widen, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m going to kill him.”

“Spencer,” you chide.

“And once the rest of the team finds out what happened I’m sure they’ll be on board with it too.”

“Please don’t do anything. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. It was nearly a year ago now, it’s okay. ” you mutter.

He pauses typing and sets his phone back down, scooching back to you and holding your face to his, unable to break eye contact with him, “No it’s not,” he says sternly, “what happened to you was not okay. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“No. You can’t do that. You won’t. This isn’t some sort of inconvenience we move past. You were taken advantage of, and someone hurt you. You did not deserve that at all.”

You pause and look at him, the tears spilling over down your cheeks. You’d spent the last year in solitude convincing yourself that it was all your fault. Your ambition was too strong, you were too eager, you should’ve been tougher. You lived a truth in which you were the problem. Spencer wasn’t there to remind you otherwise, but he’s ready to spend forever making up for lost time. “I…I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes soften and his thumbs move under your eyes, swiping gently, “No, you didn’t.” A few more quiet sobs leave you, “So why did it happen to me?” you ask meekly.

“I don’t know, angel. I really don’t.” he smooths your hair back, “I’m going to make it better, though. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

You nod and hug him tighter, letting a few more tears fall and stain his shirt. “I should be the one to tell the team, I know they’re probably wondering too.”

“They were really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry for worryin—“

“Shh,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “No more sorrys, okay?”

“Okay.” you curl into him.

“For the record,” he hesitates before he speaks, “I’ll always worry about you. Even if we’re not together, in different universes, or whatever. I’ll always take care of you, and I’ll always love you.”

“I thought you hated me.” you whisper.

“Impossible.” he kisses another part of your face he can reach.

“I love you too, thank you.”

For being here. For saving me. For still loving me.

“He’s going to pay for this, I promise.” You open your mouth to protest and Spencer continues, “He will get what’s coming to him. We’re going to make sure of it.”

You nod softly and listen to his heartbeat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, baby.”

“You know I did die in the ambulance for a few seconds.” you whisper quietly.

He swallows, “I saw that in the report. I’m so sorry, sweet girl, that must have been so scary. I know what that feels like.”

“Did you…see anything, when you died?”

From when he almost succumbed to the hands of Tobias Hankel and his father. “I saw a light, it felt warm. Enveloping. Why, did you see something?”

“Yeah,” you tuck in closer to his chest, “I saw you.”

spoiler cw: pregnancy, miscarriage, reader is tortured, reader sustains injuries

[itsnesss]

hihi!! could you please do a younger driver (like ollie or kimi) and a piece on missing the reader’s graduation bc of a race?

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫 | oliver bearman × fem!reader

summary | you graduate, but ollie misses it because of a race. you give your speech, heart heavy, thinking of him

warnings | fluff, soft romance, mild angst, long-distance struggles, emotional vulnerability, comfort

word count | 1.5 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

Your dress has been hanging in the closet for days, protected by a garment bag. It’s the same one you picked out with your mom, the one Ollie said made you look like a movie star.

Less than 24 hours to your graduation, and as you place the cap on the bed, you check your phone one more time. Nothing. No new messages. No calls. No news from Ollie.

You knew. You knew there was a chance. A high chance, to be honest, that he wouldn’t make it. But you had made so many plans… He himself promised he would try everything to be there.

“What if I get there just at the end, and I give you a hug when you finish your speech?” he had said excitedly, days before.

You practiced that speech with him. Several times. On video calls from hotels all around the world. He corrected you, laughed when you made a bad joke, asked you to say it slower when you rushed.

And you did it hoping that, when you walked on stage and read the final words, his eyes would be waiting for you in the audience.

But now, less than a day away, everything points to him not being there.

You sit on the bed and dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the disappointment. He loves you. You know that. But sometimes loving someone who also loves their dream is… lonely.

You want to scream. Not at him. At the world.

Then, your phone vibrates.

A voice message from Ollie.

“Hey... love. I’m sure you probably already know what I’m about to say. I tried, really. But I’m not going to make it. I’m stuck here because of the rankings. They won’t let me move anything. I’m so sorry. So sorry. I thought if I didn’t tell you earlier, there might still be a tiny chance. But there isn’t…”

Pause.

“It hurts more than I can explain not to be there tomorrow. I know how much it means to you. To both of us. But even if I can’t see you walk across that stage, I’ll be watching you from wherever I am. And when you finish, when you have your diploma in your hands… call me. Please. Because even if I can’t hug you, I promise I’ll be with you in everything that comes after.”

A tear escapes.

Tomorrow is still ahead.

The sun falls perfectly over campus when you leave the house with your cap in hand and your eyes still swollen from crying the night before. You look in the rearview mirror of your dad’s car and smile automatically. You’ve waited for this day for years. You imagined it again and again. But in all those versions… Ollie was there.

When you get out of the car, everyone seems to be shining. Your classmates take selfies, some rush to meet their families, others joke about not tripping going up the stage. You just look for a face you already know you won’t find.

The ceremony begins. Your name is on the program. You’re going to give a speech. One you practiced with him. One you read over and over so he could hear it between training, interviews, and flights.

“Now, please welcome our graduating class’s guest speaker…”

You’re asked to go up.

The lights blind you a little. The auditorium is huge. It feels bigger without him.

“Good afternoon. I want to start with something very simple… thank you.”

Your voice is steady. No one notices how tightly you grip the edge of the podium, or how your eyes wander over the rows, hoping to see him somewhere. Hoping you could trick fate and make him appear.

“Thank you to my teachers, my parents, my friends… and to someone who isn’t here today. Though he was in every rehearsal, in every word of this speech. This person… believed in me when I didn’t. He listened, encouraged me, interrupted me with bad jokes so I wouldn’t take everything so seriously. And even though he’s not sitting here today… he’s with me. I’m sorry. Because that’s what the people we love do: they’re there, even when they can’t be.”

There’s a long silence. Some people applaud. Others smile, not fully understanding who you meant.

But you know. And that’s enough.

When you step down from the stage, your chest burns a little. Pride, sadness, a warm hollow that carries his name.

You go through the ceremony like a spectator of your own movie. You receive your diploma. You get hugs. Your parents congratulate you. Friends take pictures with you.

And you smile. Because you made it this far.

But something is missing. And no matter how much you deny it, you feel it.

Later, when you’re at home, the dress already wrinkled and the cap on the table, your phone vibrates.

Ollie: Can I call you?

You answer with a simple “Yes.”

Seconds later, his name appears on the screen. You pick up.

“Hi,” you say, barely a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” he says without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“I watched the whole stream. I had an interview at the same time, but I snuck away. I saw you give the speech. You have no idea how hard it was not to cry like an idiot at the part about ‘the people we love are there, even when they can’t be’…”

You bite your lip. There’s a huge knot in your throat.

“I really wanted you to be there.”

“Me too. Every second. Every damn second. Can I send you something?”

Before you can answer, a notification arrives.

An attached file. A video.

You open it.

It’s Ollie, in his hotel room, still wearing his team suit, holding a small homemade sign that says “Congrats, love. You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s cheesy,” he laughs from the phone. “But I made it while watching the ceremony. Just in case… you couldn’t see me, so at least you’d know I was with you. In my way.”

And you… you break down crying. Silently. With the full weight of having wanted that moment so badly with him.

“Thank you, Ollie.”

“I’m going to make it up to you. All of it. I promise.”

“No need. Just… thank you for not making me feel alone, even though you were so far away.”

Silence. Warmth.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, steady.

Your heart stops for a second.

“I love you too.”

And at that moment, even though you’re miles apart, even though you haven’t seen each other, even though there’s no photo of you both at your graduation… you know this day will live in your memory as one of the most beautiful ever.

Only three days have passed since your graduation, but it feels like an eternity. After the call with Ollie, everything was bittersweet: you knew he loved you, you knew he tried, but not being able to hug him that day hurt more than you thought.

And you accepted it. You learned to let go of the idea of “the perfect moment.”

Today is Sunday, and you’re at home, in pajamas, watching a documentary you’re barely listening to. Your family is out. You have the house to yourself. Your phone is silent. You don’t even know what country Ollie is in now.

Someone rings the doorbell.

You frown. A package? A neighbor? You get up dragging your feet, expecting anything but what you see when you open the door.

“Hi, love.”

And there he is.

With his suitcase at his side, a cap crooked on his head, hair messy like he just ran out of the airport. His eyes lock onto yours like he can’t believe he’s really seeing you. Like he’s afraid you’re part of a jet-lagged dream.

And you… you’re frozen in shock.

“Ollie,” you whisper.

“I didn’t want to miss another important thing. I took the first flight after the GP. I just arrived. I couldn’t tell you. My battery died, I lost signal, then I got lost in the airport… but… I’m here. And I don’t care how I look now, or that I don’t have a gift, or that I’m sweating like crazy. I just needed to see that you were okay.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

And then you run.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You just hug him like your body finally remembers what breathing well means. Like he fits with your chest, your arms, your story.

He laughs into your neck, his hands firm on your back.

“It was so hard not to cry earlier,” he murmurs. “But this… this is a miracle.”

You pull him tighter.

“It’s not a miracle. It’s that you love me.”

He pulls back a little just to look at you. His fingers brush a strand of hair from your face.

“So much.”

“Want to come in?” you ask with a teary smile.

“Only if you give me coffee and a tour of a brilliant graduate.”

“I’ll give you anything. But the tour starts with you hugging me for another half hour.”

“Deal.”

You close the door. He puts down his suitcase. And without another word, you hug again in the hallway, as if the world has finally aligned.

[tangents-within-tangents]

Ooh! Okay, I love all of that! Thank you for sharing lol you just gave me some epiphanies!

I hadn't quite been able to figure out the significance of Crosshair killing Nolan, like that action specifically, and I think what you said makes a lot of sense! Because it totally wouldn't have worked (narratively or like for the character) if he had just quietly defected after the fact.

Crosshair is really complicated, and since I was focusing more on the comparisons to Emerie I didn't get into all the aspects of his full arc (but at this point why not make the post even longer lolll). But I also noticed how often Crosshair identifies himself as a soldier, I actually originally had this exchange in my analysis:

Rampart: All that time, left for dead and yet you still came back. Why? Crosshair: I’m a soldier of the Empire. Rampart: I see. Your loyalty and determination are commendable.

(which side note, I realize that further shows the difference between those two! Crosshair is there to be a soldier whereas Rampart is just there for himself, like he can't even fathom Crosshair's loyalty after being abandoned like that)

Those recurring ideas of loyalty and purpose are directly tied to Crosshair's identity as a soldier, like that is where he finds his purpose and that's why this is what changes his mind:

Nolan: He served his purpose as a soldier of the Empire.

So the idea that killing Nolan isn't a desperate act of vengeance but Crosshair deliberately giving up his identity as a soldier just really clicks for me and makes that arc feel more complete in a way.

If it was purely self-preservation he could have just defected and run away. That would have been just cutting his losses and leaving the Empire solely because it no longer serves him. But unlike with Cody it's not enough for him to just stop serving the Empire. Instead by killing Nolan he actively rejects the Empire and "seals it in blood" by choosing treason and its consequences. It's like in that act he is 'killing' the soldier that he was for the Empire. (And if we bring the context of Mayday into it, it means that he would rather die defying the Empire than die for them.)

This also ties to my other favorite bit of the vulture symbolism! Which is this moment:

When Crosshair collapses and the stormtroopers close in to take him away, what would appear as his lowest point, the vulture soars upward. To me it shows that even in this dire moment Crosshair truly is finally free. It ensures that this is an internal triumph even if it looks like an external defeat. (And after this turning point he never does go back, even when he could have saved himself by giving Hemlock what he wanted in Tantiss)

So yeah thanks, I didn't quite realize that in killing Nolan he was choosing to be imprisoned or killed as traitor. I think that's a death 'redemption' I could get behind! Because it's not a sudden single sacrifice that supposedly absolves them of all wrongs without ever facing the repercussions (look at that you drew the rant for another time out of me lol), it's him 'killing' the version of himself that did those wrongs, rejecting that identity. It's not 'redeemed' through heroic death, it's like by the death itself (if that makes sense). And since he didn't actually die like he thought he would, he still has to live with the aftermath and implications of that change. Viewing it like that, it makes way more sense that the after-arc in S3 is about rebuilding his identity and finding new purpose with his family: "Omega needs all of us". (which also fits with the hand tremors thing (losing his identifying skill), and more possible parallels with the CX troopers since their "identities were erased" (though that plotline was pretty rushed so I don't even know) but I really like what you said about Ventress and Omega helping him realize things!)

But! He's still only facing the aftermath implications for himself, not for those he hurt with his actions, which is why to me his arc still isn't a 'redemption' in that sense. And @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog (sorry I don't want to keep reblogging my own beast of post lol) yeah it is 100% a valid arc/ change, I guess it depends on your definition of redemption, because to me the amends/accountability part is really important (something this posts (@antianakin) touches on, though I clearly disagree with the purpose of those characters' arcs). And to clarify, I'm not talking about the character himself, or what he's been through or deserves or whatever, it's about how it's written and what the story we are actually given is saying. That's what I'm critiquing.

With the above context I see how the change itself is really vital. I can get what you're saying that it "convinced Howzer that Crosshair had changed for the better, and that was good enough for him." And it is in-character honestly (Crosshair's not much for words) and it works for what it is.

What bothers me with those episodes (I guess we can do this rant now too lol might as well) is how the show/writing treats Howzer. Because it really feels like they are saying Howzer is in the wrong for not immediately accepting Crosshair, even though he has completely legitimate reasons to dislike and distrust Crosshair because of his actions. Even Hunter calls Howzer out when in the last episode he was just as rightfully distrusting of Crosshair's change until they talked it out. Crosshair doesn't show any remorse in those episodes, he comes off as pretty smug and dismissive instead, but Howzer still has to accept it anyway, mostly on his own by just observing Crosshair's behavior.

Like I said, Crosshair has changed and that's great, but he still did those things. The show had the perfect opportunity for him to face that here! To show that he regrets his past actions instead of just telling Hunter, and to act on those regrets by making amends with someone who was affected.

Like I think of this scene from Atla for comparison:

Suki: You kinda burned down my village. Zuko: Oh… sorry about that.

It's simple, it doesn't undo the wrong (reparations) but it still does the bare minimum of amends (and more is done with his reconciliation with the main characters). Yeah Suki can see that Zuko has changed by his actions (and he is actively fighting against the Fire Nation to help others) but they don't expect her to just accept that in and of itself, Zuko still shows and expresses remorse, and doesn't shame Suki for being upset about what happened. But with a very similar scene of 'changed person is confronted by a past wrong' we instead get this:

Howzer: Most of my squad from Ryloth is dead because of you! Crosshair: *blinks* Rex: Easy, Howzer!

Crosshair is confronted with someone who he directly harmed, but instead of exploring his accountability in the aftermath of his change they made it about his victim's acceptance and unearned forgiveness.

Crosshair's arc as it is (described at length above) works for me, but this does not. Like if they had done just this differently I think I honestly would be fine if everything else stays the same and Crosshair never actively goes against the Empire. Because it's not even about screen time, the opportunity was right there to tip the scales into an better-written actual redemption but they just didn't use it!

And I think that is why TBB as a whole has been frustrating me lately lol. The writing was honestly so good at times, so I can never dismiss it out right. But there are also so many ways it could have been SO MUCH better. And it was really close too which almost makes it worse! Because then we see these glimpses of what the show could have been to compare it to. The potential was there they just missed it, or often times actively avoided it. (But that truly is a discussion of another time, I've got a LOT of draft posts in the works lol)

Hot take:

Crosshair does not have the Imperial disillusionment and redemption arc of The Bad Batch

Emerie does.

Crosshair has an arc for sure yes but it's not that.

I was thinking about this scene:

and how it got right what this scene kinda didn't:

(It was so close but then bad writing decided to undercut the moment with a joke rip)

And I think it's really interesting that these characters who were more or less raised into the Empire/First Order and chose to leave it are all directly asked why.

But take a look at Crosshair's answers in comparison:

Different context for the asking, yes, but still, compare that to clones like Howzer, Cody, Slip and Cade who left or turned against the Empire because they knew what the Empire is doing is wrong and they weren't just going to blindly follow orders:

Crosshair - Loyalty, Purpose, and Survival

Crosshair didn't choose to join the Empire (though the show isn't very clear or consistent about how much control the inhibitor chips have) but he did, for whatever reason, choose to stay. By the end of S1 we know his chip has been removed and as he definitively says "This is who I am." There were likely still other influences on his decision, but listen to how he talks about the Empire in the S1 finale:

Hunter: Crosshair, I've seen what the Empire is doing. Occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right. Crosshair: You still don’t see the bigger picture, but you will. Hunter: Can't you see they're using you?

Crosshair: We’re not like the regs, we never have been. We’re superior. The Empire can’t protect the galaxy without strength, this is what we were made for. Think of all we could do, together!

Crosshair: You all are meant for more than drifting through the galaxy. It’s time to stop running. Join the Empire, and you will have purpose again.

Hunter: They destroyed an entire city! Crosshair: They did what needed to be done. Kamino, regs, the Republic, that time is over. The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it. Hunter: Don't fool yourself. All you'll ever be to them is a number.

He undeniably knows what the Empire is doing, but he does not care. In fact it sure sounds like he actually supports it and finds self-meaning in it. Hunter spends those episodes trying to convince him it's wrong, he doesn't change his mind. In the end they offer him an out and he doesn't take it.

Wrecker: You coming with us? Crosshair: None of this changes anything. Hunter: You offered us a chance, Crosshair. This is yours. Crosshair: I made my decision.

The next we see Crosshair in "The Solitary Clone" (S2:E3) he follows orders and shoots the Desix governor, right after Cody heartbreakingly tries to do what's right and find a peaceful solution.

Cody: Tell me something, Crosshair. This new Empire, are we making the galaxy better? Crosshair: We’re soldiers, we do what needs to be done. Cody: You know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own decisions, our own choices. And we have to live with them too.

After this (glorious!) conversation, Crosshair stays. Maybe this began to seed some doubts, but he actually smiles a few scenes later when Rampart assigns him another mission. It seems like for him it truly is as he said in S1:E1 (chip not enhanced yet but still influencing him enough for his brothers to notice he's acting strange):

Crosshair: Republic, Empire... what's the difference.

Crosshair: Orders are orders.

This unethical mission that finally pushed Cody over the edge does not change Crosshair's mind about the Empire, at least not enough for him to take action.

But what does?

Mayday: And here we are, the survivors. Combat troopers stuck babysitting cargo shipments. Crosshair: Mission’s a mission. Mayday: Yeah, I used to say the same thing.

Mayday: After all the clones have done, all we’ve sacrificed. We’re good soldiers, we followed orders. And for what?

This mission has nothing to do with how the fascist Empire treats the galaxy, it's about how they treat their soldiers. It's about how Mayday loyally fought and served his whole life and Lieutenant Nolan let him die

Lt Nolan: He served his purpose as a soldier of the Empire. Crosshair: You could have saved him! Lt Nolan: Perhaps you didn’t hear me, he is expendable, as are you.

Crosshair thought he could find purpose within the Empire, and Nolan shows him exactly what that will be.

His turning point is accompanied with this powerful visual of the ice vulture, a symbol (and threat) of death, and also set up within the episode a symbol of survival:

Mayday: Vicious creatures, but you have to admire ‘em. They find a way to survive.

This critical moment (that gives me chills, oof this episode is a masterpiece!) comes right after Nolan calls him expendable and directly threatens him:

Lt Nolan: And if you speak to me again with such disrespect I'll see to it you meet a similar fate, clone.

then Crosshair sees the vulture's shadow and turns to Mayday's dead body (ahh visual storytelling my beloved) then makes his decision:

Crosshair turns against the Empire not because he believes Hunter was right about this:

Hunter: I've seen what the Empire is doing ... You know it's not right.

but because he was right about this:

Hunter: All you'll ever be to them is a number.

Redemption (both in fiction and irl in my humble opinion) comes with making amends and reparations (which is why death 'redemptions' bother me so much but that's a rant for another time). Unlike Emerie, Crosshair never explicitly denounces the Empire or his own actions within it. He never says anything to specifically show if and how his views have changed from what he said on Kamino. He makes amends with his family (sending the warning message, helping Omega escape, making up with Hunter) but that's about it. The most we get in terms of acknowledgement is this:

Crosshair: I thought I knew what I was getting into with the Empire. I thought I was being a good soldier. Hunter: Nobody really understood what was happening back then. Crosshair: I’ve... done things. I’ve made mistakes. Hunter: I have regrets too, Crosshair. All we can do is keep trying to be better, and who knows there just might be hope for us yet.

Which is nice and all but it's more about them making up as brothers so it's way too excusing tbh ("no one knew what was happening back then" ummm? "The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it" remember? And even if at first Crosshair was being controlled by the chip, the fact that he chose to stay after it was removed* means he condones and is therefore still accountable for those actions).

There's also a bit of self-destructive guilt:

Crosshair: Omega, don't risk anything for me. I belong in here.

Crosshair: Omega needs you both. So I’m doing this alone, it’s what I deserve. Hunter: Don’t even think about plan 99, Crosshair. Omega needs all of us.

(which thank you Hunter for pushing back on the death redemption bs and oh look is that a wrap up for the purpose thing?)

But there's no action taken on his part to make up for what he's done or to stand against the Empire (aside from the bare minimum of help with Tantiss, only after it became personally relevant, which like yeah he had trauma to deal with but still).

While I do think the implications/follow-up of Crosshair's turn should have been handled better in S3 (like rip Howzer! he deserved an apology, but that's a rant for another time), I don't necessarily** think this arc is a bad writing choice. It's just saying different things than we expect:

Maybe Crosshair's story is not about standing up against an unjust system, like we see with many other characters (who deserved more screen time but that's a rant for another timeeee). Maybe his story is about how even those who are loyal to the Empire, who actually believe in it, still suffer under and within it's rule. Not to garner sympathy, but to show that there is no winning.

Crosshair has another 'so what changed' convo in S3:E14 with Rampart, in which they draw parallels to each other:

Rampart: You used to believe good soldiers followed orders. Crosshair: Depends on who's giving them. The Empire betrayed us both. Rampart: And you think you can fight them? That's not you. You're like me, loyal to no one but yourself. Crosshair: I've changed.

(note how he says who's giving the orders, not what the orders are)

"Loyal to no one but yourself" describes Rampart much more than Crosshair, since we often saw Crosshair pride himself as a loyal soldier of the Empire whereas we saw Rampart abuse power to be self-serving within the Empire (like when he killed Wilco to save face). But they were both betrayed either way. Vice Admiral Rampart, snively Imperial opportunist through-and-through, shouts "I was following orders!" as he is arrested for the Empire's purposes.

Even Hemlock, the final boss immoral Imperial scientist, who has to be benefiting the most from this system, echoes the expendability idea:

Hemlock: What I am working on is beyond your understanding. Something so vital to the Empire it makes me indispensable.

Then there's CX-2, also set up as a parallel/foil to Crosshair (fight me), who in the end is discarded as no more than a weapon, a tool that served it's purpose, showing us what would have become of Crosshair if he had stayed.

There is no winning in the Empire. Loyalty is not rewarded, it "doesn't go both ways." Everyone has to fight for their value. Even high ranking individuals** who for a time benefit from the injustice, in the end are just pawns to be used up and cast aside at a whim for the Emperor's gain. Even people who are motivated by self-interest alone cannot survive within this system, the only viable option in this galaxy is to fight the Empire and dismantle that system. (unless you conveniently find a magically safe island to hide away on but that's a rAnT fOr AnOtHeR tImE)

Which brings us back to...

Emerie - Cooperation, Compassion, and Choice

(Okay this post has already gotten away from me but I still want to talk about her to show the contrasts.)

Emerie may not have been given a lot of screen time to really flesh out her development, but there is a lot that is pretty clearly implied with her:

Crosshair: They’ll never turn her [Omega] over. Hemlock: They don’t have a choice. She is a clone, and therefore Imperial property. *Camera cuts to an angle more centered on Emerie’s face*

Crosshair: Give me your access card! Emerie: It won’t get you outside!

Emerie: I tried to warn him what would happen if he did not cooperate with the Doctor.

Emerie: Prisoner? Omega, you are no such thing. It will take time to adjust, but you will acclimate. It is far safer in here than out there.

Emerie: You should go back to your room. Crosshair: You mean her cell?

Emerie: Why children? Hemlock: Children are easier to attain and more agreeable to the subjugations. They are unaware of why they are here and what they possess.

Emerie: They're children. Like I was... Was your plan to discard them too? Nala Se: The Empire will keep them in order to control them.

We don't know a lot about Emerie's background, but it's clear that she had a lot less choice than Crosshair and less opportunity or ability to leave. Unlike Crosshair, we never directly hear Emerie's views of the Empire (and she was most likely 'taken under Hemlock's wing' before the Empire even came to power), but lets look at how she talks about the Tantiss:

"Remain calm. Cooperate and you might survive."

"Don't make this worse, Crosshair! There is no escape!"

"All of us serve a purpose here."

"The Doctor will inform me, if it's necessary."

"It's best not to ask questions."

"Escape is not possible, Omega. This is for your own good."

She honestly does the best she can within the system she is also trapped in. She tries to help Crosshair, Omega, and the vault kids in the only way she knows how (warns Crosshair about the hounds and security, tries to protect Omega from Hemlock, tells Scorch his "actions were extreme" with Jax, insists on overseeing Bayrn's retrieval, double checks his m-count (to give him an out), and tries to find out where he came from). When she gives Omega, and later Eva, the doll, I think it shows just how little she really is able to do here (and it's kinda heartbreaking imo).

The framing of this shot especially (after Jax's escape attempt) visually shows how Emerie herself is trapped/imprisoned:

Despite the fact that very little of this is Emerie's fault, she has very little power and she is doing all she can, the narrative does not excuse her role in the Empire:

Nala Se: What will you do, Emerie? Emerie: There is nothing I can do. I don't have that kind of power. Nala Se: Don't you?

Emerie: I- I was doing my job. Echo: Yeah, I’ve heard that before. You’re a clone. How can you be part of this?

These fighting-the-Bystander-Effect conversations parallel these exchanges:

Hunter: We made a choice, and so did you. Crosshair: Soldiers follow orders. Hunter: Blind allegiance makes you a pawn.

Crosshair: We’re soldiers, we do what needs to be done. Cody: You know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own decisions, our own choices. And we have to live with them too.

which did not change Crosshair's mind. And honestly, all respect to Echo's disappointed mom glare™ but I think it's clear Emerie had already made her decision, she just needed help to actually be able to do anything about it. When she stopped Echo, with her voice wavering on the verge of tears (ahhh v good voice acting), she clearly had no intention of turning him in. She's on her own in the Empire's most secure facility with very little resources, if she had tried anything on her own she most likely would have failed and been killed

Omega: Emerie, you don't have to do this. Emerie: (sigh) I’m sorry, but I do.

but as soon as she is enabled by an ally, she immediately turns around to help: giving information and getting Echo through security, helping the kids escape, and giving Omega the tablet that allows them to free the other clone prisoners.

Where Crosshair's turn is accompanied by the symbolic imagery of the ice vulture, Emerie's is the removal of her (literally rose-tinted!) glasses:

Symbolizing how she has shed her previous views/indoctrination that altered her perception of the Empire and blinded her to it's wrongs. It's disillusionment.

Emerie's story shows us that even those who are raised and indoctrinated into this system can, should, and will escape (with needed help). Even those who did not choose to be apart of the Empire and are not making the decisions still have the responsibility and ability to act on what they know is right.

Emerie, whose name means 'Home strength' 'Brave' and 'Powerful', and "reflects the importance of leadership and authority in the workplace".***

While Emerie is only in one more scene after her turn, so the wrap up is a bit rushed, she still very simply does what Crosshair does not:

Emerie: Because I was wrong about this place. And I'm trying to do the right thing.

Echo: I’m sure Senator Chuchi would find what you have to say very helpful for our cause. Emerie: I have a lot to make up for. I’d like to help out however I can.

She admits wrong, takes accountability, commits to making amends, and leaves with Echo to go take on the Empire (which hopefully we will get to actually see more of some day).

So, in short, she's showing us how redemption is done right!

---

Notes:

*Whether this writing choice was good/logical/in-character or not is another discussion entirely, but I'm going off of what we were given, what the show is presenting in the canon text and (reasonably inferred/intentional) subtext. Crosshair is pretty multifaceted and I could only touch on so much here. There's a lot of ways to interpret his character/choices, but I tried to avoid the realm of speculation or fanon explanations (even if they sometimes make more sense lol).

**History and political theory are not my area of expertise at all, so I have NO idea how well this aligns with real-world fascism stuff and therefore what implications this storytelling choice could have. I think the message of like 'if you think you could survive or gain power by doing what the Empire/fascist system wants you are wrong' could be good (like how everyone is actually harmed by the patriarchy type of a thing), but I hesitate bc maybe there are those who would benefit, since it's a hierarchal system, right? If anyone more knowledgeable than me has incite to share, by all means

Either way, I do think it works in-story and in-universe though. It's just in the execution. The main problem (even from a strictly theme/character arc stand point) is the lacking follow-up/consequences for Crosshair in S3. Like you gave your character accountability by removing the chip and I think that's great setup for an arc but you gotta follow through with that and actually hold him accountable!

***I'm always curious when clones have 'normal' names, like why did they chose the name Emerie of all things? So I looked it up. Idk how reliable sources are for name meanings so take it with a grain of salt but it's still fun. Fits pretty well, and clones names have definitely had significant meanings in the past (like how Rex and Jesse both mean 'king') so I'm pretty sure it was intentional.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[puck-luck]

trevor would overhear you call him your friend and then when fucking you hed make you say he’s just your friend

warnings: part two of this blurb from my 1k celly (CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE!!), fwb relationship, hockey player x employee of the team, former grudges from boston university mentioned, banter (flirting by bullying), oral m!receiving, talk about porn and references to filming, talk about fem!masturbation and using toys, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, lack of aftercare bc… well. it’s TZ. love him, but that boy isn’t an aftercare machine.

pairing: trevor zegras x fem!reader

wc: 4,150

Trevor is going home for the second week of the break in February, but you’re not. You have some work to do for the Ducks during the break, since you’re not one of the players. You still have to do your job instead of getting two weeks off, which Trevor didn’t seem to realize at first. 

You’ve been hooking up for weeks now, always in secret, and that’s how you like it. Trevor likes how your relationship is too, but he’d asked you to come over to his apartment and stay with him before he left for break. He’d incentivized you by saying “It’ll be like a fuckfest, we’ll have sex, eat, sleep, have sex some more… doesn’t that sound fun?”

Trevor wasn’t wrong; his statement had sounded fun. Regrettably, you could not accept his invitation. When you’d explained that it was because of work, Trevor had pouted but accepted it. You’d instead made plans to meet up on Friday night to hook up before he left on Saturday.

It’s not a surprise, then, when Trevor lets himself into your apartment after you unlock it for him. You’re on the phone with a friend right now, so you give him little more than a wave when he crosses the threshold. You’re just catching up with the girl on the other end of the call, so it’s nothing pressing. You wait for a break in the conversation, then bid her goodbye. 

“I gotta go, my friend just got here,” you tell her. “We’ll talk soon. Mhm. G’bye.” You hang up and set the phone down.

Trevor has a coy smile on his face when you turn to say hello to him. “You think we’re friends now?”

“I like that friend, but not enough to tell her that I’m hanging up on her because my fuckbuddy is here,” you sass him. “That’s strictly a conversation for my bestie.”

Trevor’s smile widens. “Aww, your best friend knows about us?”

You scoff. “What, yours doesn’t?”

Trevor’s silence strikes a chord within you.

“Really? You haven’t told anyone about this,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest and tapping your foot impatiently. Trevor doesn’t seem like the type to keep a secret, not when it comes to his conquests. He’s very confident with his ability in bed, bordering on bragging whenever you two talk about the past. He’s got no shame when he talks to you about how he once make a girl come on his fingers in less than two minutes, then swore he could do the same to you. 

Trevor guffaws. “Do you think I want people knowing that I’m fucking you?”

Your jaw drops. Was that really necessary?

“I mean, you work for the team,” Trevor continues. “I don’t think it would be great if that got out. Do you?”

So he’s not being a complete dick. He’s still not being nice, though. He’s rather condescending, actually. You’re more than willing to tell him so.

“We don’t have to talk if you’re going to be an ass, Trevor,” you tell him. “Why don’t you just do what you’re here to do, and then you can leave?”

“You don’t want to hang out with your friend?” Trevor goads. He’s already pulling at the neckline of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head. “Are you using me for my body?”

You make a face at him. “Yes. You know that.”

Trevor laughs breathily and tosses his shirt at you, bringing his arms up and flexing, showing off his biceps and his muscular torso. He turns his head to the side so you can see his profile. 

You roll your eyes, throwing his shirt back at his chest. “Don’t get cocky. You’re using me for my body too, after all.”

Trevor presses a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded that you would say that. Do you think so little of me?”

“You wanted this week to be a sexathon,” you deadpan. You are not deluded enough to think that Trevor’s heart lives in his penis.

“I believe I said fuckfest,” Trevor corrects. 

Another eye roll from you. “Trevor, it’s okay that you’re using me for my body,” you try to convince him, nodding in an exaggerated way. You make your eyes look big and innocent, pouting your bottom lip out. “I have no interest in doing more with you.”

Trevor returns your pout. “So you lied when you said we were friends?”

He’s clearly not going to let this go anytime soon. “Drop it,” you admonish anyway. You step towards him, getting your hand on the rolled waistband of his sweats.  “Let’s fuck.”

He smiles. Trevor ducks his head to plant a kiss on your mouth. “I want to watch you touch yourself,” he says. “I was thinking about that the other day.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask him. You start to walk backwards, taking careful step after careful step towards your bedroom. You’re bringing Trevor with you– when you step back with your left, he steps forward with his right, and vice versa. It’s a fun little dance and Trevor’s looking down at you with that smug light in his eyes. “When? The other night when I wouldn’t come over because I had that 9 A.M. meeting?”

“Nah, I was watching porn that night,” Trevor drawls, his smile growing crooked. 

“Gross,” you reply. “I bet if you weren’t in hockey, you’d tear that industry up.”

“You think I’d be good on camera?” he teases. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Trevor reaches behind you and opens the door to your bedroom, swinging it open so you can continue your trek backwards.

“No way,” you say. Your knees hit the back of your bed and you fall backwards, pulling Trevor down on top of you. “You don’t want this getting out and neither do I.”

Without giving Trevor a chance to reply, you find his lips and kiss him. Trevor lets out a soft moan as his crotch comes into contact with the dip between your legs and you take advantage of the way his mouth has opened, licking over his lips and into his mouth.

“You gonna put on a show for me?” Trevor mumbles against your lips between kisses. “What if you fucked yourself with that vibrator I got you?”

“It’s dead,” you tell him.

Trevor pushes your shirt up and pulls it over your head. “Doesn’t mean you can’t fuck yourself with it, ‘nd touch your clit with those pretty fingers at the same time.” He fits his face between your breasts and leaves soft kisses over the swell of one boob, then the other. Trevor is digging his hands beneath your back to tug at the clasp of your bra, determined to undress you quickly.

“What are you going to do? Sit and stare? I don’t think so,” you say, shaking your head. You scratch down his back with the tips of your fingernails, tapping your fingers pointedly between the dimples on Trevor’s lower back. “I can fuck myself with that vibrator anytime, Z. I won’t get your cock for a whole week.”

He unclasps your bra and whips it off, tossing it across the room. Trevor starts to leave bite marks over your tits, his teeth digging into your flesh. “You’ll miss your friend, huh?”

“I’ll miss your dick,” you concede. “You have a very high sex drive and it’s spoiling me.” You say it so Trevor can’t tell if you mean that he’s spoiling you like lavishing you in gifts… or if he’s spoiling you like your sex drive is deteriorating into something akin to his.

“New plan, then.” Trevor smirks. He pushes up from the bed and drops his sweatpants, then shucks his underwear to the corner of the room where your bra lays. “If you’re going to miss my cock so much, then you’ve gotta suck him before I fuck you.”

“Him?” you repeat, laughing. You prop yourself up on your elbows and raise an eyebrow at Trevor. “Are you one of those people that has a name for your penis?”

Trevor shrugs, just to annoy you. It’s pretty clear that he does from his reaction, but he doesn’t tell you yes or no. 

“You don’t even want to get me naked first?” you ask. You’re still wearing your jeans and panties, while Trevor is fully unclothed and completely unabashed about it. 

“Do you need to be naked to use your mouth?” Trevor always has a comeback like this. When you started working for the Ducks, you thought it was because he didn’t like you and that he was still holding his grudge against you after that meaningless incident at Boston University. Now, you realize it’s just because he’s a talker. He loves to say the things that come to mind, no matter what they are.

This time, you don’t deign him with a reply. You glare up at him through your eyelashes and slink off the bed, coming to your knees on the carpet. You sit back on your heels and keep your back straight– 2025 is the year of good posture, according to your New Year’s Resolution– then wrap your hand around his base. You straighten your index finger and brush the smattering of curls that grow on his pelvis. “You need a trim,” you inform him, just to get the last word, before you fit your lips around his tip.

Trevor, always the charmer and never content to let you win, cups your cheek and runs the pad of his thumb above your upper lip. “So do you.”

You narrow your eyes and scrape your bottom teeth along the underside of his cock, purposefully dragging them against his sensitive skin. 

Trevor hisses and grimaces, but the smirk remains on his lips and the light never leaves his eyes. He watches your every movement and, if you didn’t know Trevor so well, you might mistake his gaze for admiration.

You swallow him down, taking inch after inch of Trevor’s cock and allowing your spit to slide from your mouth and wet his shaft. The saliva allows your hand an easier glide as you pump the remainder of his length. You could fit it into your mouth, but you just don’t want to choke and gag and get dizzy on his cock today. It’s a sexathon, not a sprint.

Regardless, you give Trevor’s cock plenty of attention. You enjoy sucking him off. You like stroking the skin on Trevor’s length with your hand, feeling it move underneath your palm. You like the noises Trevor makes as you slurp and bob your head and look up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. You love when he twitches in your mouth and flexes his abdomen because he’s feeling so good.

He pets through your hair and nudges your head down. “You know you can take more,” Trevor tells you softly, relatively subdued compared to his earlier banter. He’s not forcing or pushing you, just stating it.

You hum and nod, patting his hip. You pull off. “Can,” you repeat, emphasizing the key word. “I’m pacing myself.”

“Mm, you’re savoring it,” Trevor says, putting the words in your mouth. That’s absolutely not what you said, but whatever helps him sleep at night. 

You exhale a laugh from your nose, kissing the side of his base and continuing up his shaft, all the way until you reach his tip. You smile at Trevor sweetly before you swirl your tongue around his slit, then stretch your lips over your teeth and take him down. 

“That’s it,” Trevor murmurs. His eyes are hooded when you look up at him, the green there diluted by lust. “You look so pretty like this. We should do it more often.”

You nuzzle the tip of your nose against the hair you’d pointed out to him before. Upon drawing back, you start to strip his cock with your hand. “But don’t you like it more when you get my wet, tight pussy against the closet door before games?”

“Oh, love it,” Trevor chirps. “But I’d love to mess up your pretty gameday lipstick once in a while.”

You shake your head at him, pumping him even faster. You twist your hand around his tip and thumb over his slit, spreading the precum over the blushing skin. “I think the wrinkles in my work clothes are enough of a trophy for you, Z.”

Trevor shrugs, but his chest is moving deeply, showing that he’s actually pretty darn affected by your touch. 

You continue to speak. “You know what I like?” you ask.

Trevor hums and rolls his hips into your clutch.

“I like when we’re at our apartments,” you muse. You let his tip drag over your bottom lip, then to your chin so that he can see how your lip pops back into place, into a pout. “Because then, you don’t have to use a condom.”

Trevor groans, long and wanting. “That’s it, get on the bed,” he decides.

You break into a smile and relinquish your hold on his cock immediately, letting it bob in front of your face freely as you dig your nails into Trevor’s thighs and pull yourself up to a standing position. You wrap your arms around Trevor’s neck and brush your nose against his. “You have to take my pants off before you get inside me, you know.” You peck his lips and chuckle when his fingertips fly to the button of your jeans and make quick work of the zipper. 

“You’re so–” Trevor cuts himself off with a ‘hmph’ as he pushes your jeans and panties down. He pulls you close by your waist, blanketing your body with his when you fall back onto the mattress. Trevor grinds against your hip, bringing his hand to your core.

You pull back. “Don’t need that,” you tell him. “Fingered myself before you got here.”

“On the phone?” Trevor asks, drawing his eyebrows together.

You laugh. “No. Before that. Gross, Trevor.”

“Can you blame me for asking?” Trevor teases as he shifts between your legs, standing right at the edge of the bed. His thighs press into the mattress, but he’s still right above you. He hooks his hands under your knees and lifts, removing your clothing from where it had collected in a pile at your ankles. He circles his fingers around your ankles after tossing your jeans and panties to the side and spreads your legs, playing around to decide what position he wants today. He decides on pushing your right leg to your chest and hooking your left calf over his shoulder. Trevor leans down far enough that you’re stretching but not straining and plants a kiss on your lips. “You’re quite the exhibitionist.”

His acknowledgement of your gameday activities brings a smirk to your face. He’s just as bad as you are, even if he’s trying to shift the blame onto you.

Any retort evaporates from your tongue when Trevor starts to tap his cockhead against your entrance. It makes a hollow sound when he hits it in the perfect place the first time, so he does it a few extra times to see if he can emulate the sound again.

“Get in me,” you command, very serious and bossy now that he’s so close. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Trevor touts sarcastically, shifting to grip your hips with his strong hands. 

If you turn your ankle just right, you might be able to kick him in the head. You’re just about to test your luck when Trevor thrusts into you, hard, and your body goes boneless. He knocks a sigh from your lungs as he buries into you.

“So tight,” he grunts through his teeth. The corners of his lips turn up into a smirk. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

The way you’re clenching down on him and trying to adjust to his length should be a sign that you weren’t expecting him to start fucking into you right away. 

Trevor doesn’t slow down at all, snapping his hips forward and relishing in your reaction. He leans forward, cementing a hand next to your head. His chest pushes your folded leg further into your body and stretches the hamstring of the leg over his shoulder. His cock reaches a deeper point inside of you.

Your stomach jumps when Trevor’s tip contacts your sweet spot. The gasp that leaves your mouth earns you a smile and a peck, before Trevor hovers an inch above your face and directs a wad of his spit into your open mouth. You swallow it down and moan, a hand digging into Trevor’s chest to keep yourself grounded.

“I know what else you like,” Trevor murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning down to kiss the side of your face.

You choke out a “What?”, hoping that you sound like you’re challenging him and holding onto your sanity instead of easily falling apart on his length like a cockdrunk slut.

“You like it when I use you.” Trevor’s whisper is sultry and much more of a statement than a question. His lips align with your ear and he nibbles on the lobe. “That’s why you talk about it all the time. You like it when I fold your knees up to your chest so you’ll suck my cock in like my little toy. You like it when I leave you sore and your joints lock up because I’ve fucked you like this for too long.” He kisses a line down your neck, ignoring the blithering babbles that come from your lips. “You like it when I take care of you after, too, rubbing your hips and smoothing out the knots in your back. You like it when I treat you like nothing more than a body for me to use, baby, because you know I always take care of my things, hm? Is that it?”

You keen in the back of your throat, eyes prickling and stinging with spirals of pleasure.

“Go on and make a mess over my cock, babe,” Trevor encourages in a syrupy sweet tone that seeps into your mind like a weed growing between sidewalk cracks. “Prove me right.”

Still whining, you rock your hips up without a consistent rhythm. You’re trying to catch him in the exact right way, but you’re too impatient to think about your movements and how they might be hindering you instead of helping you.

Trevor smiles down at you, his expression condescending. His tattooed arm leaves your waist and comes up to your face, spindly digits wrapping around your throat and fingertips pressing into the soft skin on the sides of your neck. He steals the breath from your lungs again with a harsh thrust, a loud clap of skin against skin, and prevents you from bringing a new breath in with his heavy hand. 

Your vision dances with black spots and your chest shudders. Trevor’s grin is one of the only things you can see beyond the spots– they shroud his face and give you tunnel vision. Then, with a final jab of Trevor’s tip to the depths of your inner walls, you shudder all over and feel your body release its hold on your orgasm.

“Oh, beautiful,” Trevor praises smugly. He fucks you while you come, loving how your bedsheets grow damp beneath you after such a strong climax. “Knew you could do it. Squirting all over my cock and I didn’t even have to touch your clit.” He drops to his elbow, beside your head, and kisses your lips. He loosens his grip on your throat, but still rests his hand along the column of your neck. “I’ll make you even messier if you ask me to, baby. That’s what you want, right? For me to come inside of you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, lacing your fingers through the hair at the nape of Trevor’s neck and tugging him back to your lips. “Fuck, Trevor, come inside me.”

“Yeah?” Trevor asks again, pumping his hips. His pace has slowed, enough that the overstimulation is setting in for you. Trevor can probably feel your pussy quivering around him, trying to muster up that same pleasure from before. “You want it?”

“Please.” You arch your back, feeling your tits press against his chest. You’re sure Trevor can feel it too, and enjoys it.

Trevor slides his hand from your neck to behind your lower back, keeping your hips lifted. To counterbalance, your shoulders sink into the mattress. Trevor’s lips are hard against yours, moving clumsily as his thrusts become choppy. The sounds between your bodies are loud and wet. “Oh,” he groans. His forehead meets yours and his breath washes over your lips. You know this noise well– he makes an exaggerated version of it whenever he eats something in front of you, moaning out loud to see if he can make you glare and cross your legs, clenching your thighs together like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’

And even though you know his game, you return his moan with a breathy sigh. You make a soft noise in your throat, almost inquisitive, tipping your chin up to capture his lips again. You catch the corner of his mouth, pursing your lips just right of where you want. 

Trevor turns his head and rectifies that, sliding his tongue into your mouth and groaning. The noise reverberates through your body. You move in tandem until you feel it– the subtle throb and twitch of Trevor’s cock inside of you as he reaches the brink of orgasm. 

You clench down on Trevor, reveling in the way he seems to falter in the middle of a kiss. He pauses for a split second, then spills into you and resumes his pace. There wasn’t a visible hesitation in his movements, but you know it was there. You could feel it in the tie between your bodies. 

Trevor floods your cunt with his cum, letting a long-drawn out moan fill your mouth similarly. “Fuck,” he drawls under his breath. His kisses grow shorter and shallower as his cock softens inside of you. “God, you feel good.” Trevor moves his mouth down your neck, through the valley of your breasts, and as far south as your stomach. His hands gently lower your legs to the bed and he squeezes your hips, but you shake your head. They don’t hurt this time– probably because you were on a bed rather than in a closet.

You can feel him starting to leak out of you onto the bedsheets. His cum, milky and white, joins the clear stain of your own. “You have to throw my laundry in the wash before you leave,” you tell Trevor. Now that you’ve been fucked into a state of pure bliss, you’re able to sink back into the dynamic that you and Trevor normally have– the biting banter that you both enjoy so much.

“Baby, I barely do my own laundry, why do you think I’m going to do yours?” Trevor replies. He pulls his cock from your entrance and reaches for the tissues on your bedside table, cleaning himself before going to find his pants.

He never does real aftercare with you, not even when you’re at your respective homes. That’s what this relationship is about– you’re not friends, really, even though it’s convenient to explain Trevor in that way to your actual friends. You fuck, always fast and to satisfy the urge, and then he leaves. You’re remarkably good at taking care of yourself after the fact.

Trevor bounces a little bit on his heels once he gets his boxers and sweats on, sticking his hand down the front to adjust his soft cock. He bites his bottom lip and flashes a shit-eating grin at you. 

You throw your arms above your head and stretch, humming as you feel your lower back pop. Your body becomes a fluid line, curves rippling and folding over or elongating with your movements. One of your hands comes to your ribcage after you stretch and you brush your underboob with your thumb.

Trevor crosses the room and plants a kiss on your lips, a quick one. He pinches your cheek and scrunches his nose when he pulls away. “I’ll be back the 20th,” Trevor tells you. “See you then?”

“That’s a Thursday,” you reply. “I have to be up early on Friday.”

“I won’t keep you up too late,” Trevor vows with a wink. “Why don’t you come over after work? I’ll fuck you on the kitchen counter and then I’ll send you off with a doggie bag.”

You snort out a laugh. “It better be something good.”

Trevor swats your hip and goes to the bedroom door. “You’ll have to wait and see. I’ll text you. Or, if I forget, you’ll text me.” He waves his fingers. “Toodles, babe. Have fun with your laundry.”

notes: hope y'all enjoyed! beaquinn baby name reveals are coming next, in four separate parts. after that, we will have the nicojack threesome. after that... maybe stg12. i haven't planned that far ahead yet. ttyl!

[ssapphosviolets]

No One Tried

To Read My Eyes

(No One But You)

Sevika x gf!reader

If there's one thing about Sevika, it's that she notices everything.

or; How Sevika shows support for her partner. Softie Sevika bc she's a lovergirl you can't convince me otherwise

(lowk hella bipolar reader coded (cuz im literally the author) but also like probably common mental health struggles tbh so have fun here's some comfort )

Something that didn't take long for Sevika to pick up on, was your inconsistency. Not you as a partner, you were nothing but stability to Sevika, and your love was secure. But your habits, those were inconsistent.

She remembered using the bathroom at your home for the first time, and taking note of how organized and neat your bathroom counter was. Cluttered, sure, but at least neat, with plenty of plants to liven up the space. So next time she came over, it didn't slip past her how different it was this time.

The counter was messy, with unorderly bottles and hair ties scattered everywhere. Your plants looked wilted, but not quite dead yet. She figured maybe this was just you becoming more comfortable with her, feeling that she's more than a house guest you need to clean for.

As your relationship progressed though, eventually furthering to moving in together, she noticed a lot of other odd inconsistency's. How some weeks you would sneak out of bed when you thought she was asleep, and start off your morning with only a mere couple hours of sleep. And yet, you seemed energized as ever.

Then the next week, you would sleep like a dead person, going to bed at 8pm and managing 10 or even 12 hours of sleep, only to wake up looking like you didn't sleep at all. It was during these weeks that Sevika would hold you closer during the night, hoping maybe her warm embrace would help you feel rested. It was a lost cause, she knew that, but what else could she do?

"Don't go yet. I'm still awake." Sevika's gravely, but soft voice rings out from behind you. Her arm tightens around your waist, her forehead pressing into your back. She tiredly scoots up further onto the pillows to tuck your head under her chin, hoping that engulfing you will be enough to convince you to stay in bed. And you'd be lying if you said it didn't work.

"Sorry babe, I thought you were asleep." She hums softly, and you feel her chest moving against your back. "Why would that matter either way. Why you gotta get up this late?" She seems to be slowly becoming more conscious and coherent, her voice traveling from confused to more clear and intentioned.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the weight of Sevika's chest on them as you do. "I dunno, I just can't settle down. Besides, there's tons of other things I could do. And it feels like there's a bunch of tiny ants in my skin right now so I kinda wanna take a shower."

She sighs and lays a kiss just behind your ear. "Okay, let's go then." She sits up from behind you. You stay where you are though, looking up at her in confusion as she blinks her eyes awake. "What do you mean?" You ask her.

"Let's go take a shower." She grabs your hand and pulls you up, her grip around your arm being a gentle firmness you've only ever experienced with her. "You don't have to, Sev-" She cuts you off with a shake of her head, strands of her messy dark hair falling as she does, and she leans in to press her lips to yours. "I want to." She mumbles as she pulls away.

It's when you're in the shower together, your head resting on her chest as you both share the stream of hot water pummeling down onto both of you, that she finally brings up what has been on her mind.

"You know, I notice everything, right?" She asks you. If you didn't know her so well, your stomach might have dropped with uncertainty and dread. But you did know her, and you know that right now, naked and intertwined, she views you with nothing but care and concern right now. And not just now in this setting, but always and anywhere, as long as it's you.

You don't say anything in response, not knowing what to even say. She fills the silence that you left open. "You always get really itchy when you don't sleep." You close your eyes and take a deep breath, taking in her words. She still holds you close to her, her comforting embrace mixed with her compassionate tone is enough to make you feel safe.

Even as your deepest vulnerabilities are laid out right in front of you, by the woman you love and respect the most in your life, you can't help but feel safe.

"What else do you notice?" You ask her quietly. She thinks for a moment before replying. "Those weeks that you don't really sleep, you're always lighting incense. You say the house smells weird and metallic, but I never notice a difference. You're always responding to the cats when you hear them scratch at the doors to be let in, but they weren't even at the door. They're asleep on the couch. You get paranoid about bugs, thinking there's one flying around the house or on your skin."

Your breath hitches as she lists everything too closely, too accurately. If she notices, she doesn't say anything. "Then after your sleepless week or two is up, you go another sleeping non-stop. It's cute, don't get me wrong, but can be worrying sometimes." She strokes back your damp hair and lays her head on top of yours.

Your fingers nervously fidget against her back, brushing the scars and lightly scratching your nails against her bare skin. "You don't seem to feel as much when you're in your tired weeks. But you seem to feel everything the other weeks. It's nice, seeing you so happy. You're always so optimistic and sunshiney. I know you always are, but especially so during certain weeks. But you also get stressed out easier, you can be more irritable, and overwhelmed. A lot more sensitive."

Her voice is steady and thoughtful. You're sure she's had these thoughts pent up for ages, but the way her words are spoken doesn't make it sound like it. Her words are carefully chosen and considered.

"And I don't think I need to really say much about your impulsiveness." Your face burns at the mention, her tone light and teasing. "You know that's why I love you though. What else would entertain me, if not you coming home with 3 new piercings on a random Wednesday?" You crack a smile at her words.

"And obviously there's your in betweens, where you're just the same old gorgeous girl that I love, but there's definitely a pattern. For as inconsistent as you are hun, you definitely have a pattern." Her hand circles your back as she finally peels her body away from yours. Her hand moves to rest on your shoulder, just shy of your neck. She gazes into your eyes, water droplets falling down her forehead and onto her nose.

"Just know that I notice it, but I don't mind. I love you, and that means all of you. I notice that you've never let me in on the times that it's been much worse than this. And you don't have to, but just know I'm here. Whether it's sleeping all day, everyday, or breakdowns with tears and emotions that you've never let me experience with you, or your highest weeks where everything feels euphoric- whenever you want me, just let me know."

[slashercult]

pick an image to find out how your future spouse is with you

reminder that not all of the messages in this reading may apply to everyone. so with that i urge you to take what resonates and leave the rest. don't force anything if it does not fit. this reading is mainly just for fun. don't forget to follow or reblog if you want to see me do more readings like this.

pile one

this person is obsessed w you, like they are in LOVE love. & i dont mean in like a creepy "they are never going to leave you alone" type of obsessed, more like you are their favorite person ever and they love hanging out w you all the time. some drake lyrics were coming thru while doing this reading: "everybody has an addiction, mine happens to be you." i feel like very rarely will this person ever not get excited to just be in your presence during your whole marriage. like i can still picture them looking at you the same way they did on your wedding day even when you're both old n grey. they also happen to be a huge romantic so it makes a lot of sense. whenever they have good news they rush to tell you bc they want you to be the first person to share their happiness with. they're overall very sweet, i don't see them being the jealous type - i think they trust you enough to be scared of you going off with some other person. and you'll never even think about anyone else when you're with them because they treat you so well.

pile two

this person's love language is deff physical touch and it'll show when you're around them. they love hugging you and being intimate and doing all that sort of stuff. they honestly do not care where you both are because nothing is going to stop them from giving you forehead kisses or hugs. they love the way that you smell, it reminds them of walks in nature and pieces from their childhood. they love teasing you as well, they're very affectionate w you. they're incredibly supportive and also humble. i see you both being on a ton of trips, particularly road trips, but normal traveling is also coming through. i feel this person may not be as outspoken ab how much they love you, like they won't outright say "i think you're the most beautiful person i know" to you but don't worry bc they definitely think that you are. they have a very unique way of showing their love and i feel that you are someone who tends to pay more attention to details than others which makes you perfect for this person because while others may overlook or misinterpret them, you see them for who they are.

pile three

this person is super fun to be around, like they have the best energy ever. & i dont mean in a "they're always the life of the party" way, more like they make even the smallest moments feel special. i feel like whenever you're having a bad day, this person knows exactly how to cheer you up without even trying. they're the kind of person who surprises you with little thingamabobs and trinkets all the time just to see you smile. like they'll randomly bring you food that you like without you even asking them. they also happen to have a great sense of humor (that's kind of subtle but you like it) so you'll always be laughing a lot together. they’re overall very supportive of you, i don’t see them being the type to criticize your dreams. you'll always feel appreciated bc they will never take you for granted. though his laid-back and relaxed personality are behaviors you see often, you know your future spouse better than anyone. they're very inspiring and honestly i feel like you both will work on a project together bc you share similar dreams (i'm seeing some sort of art form, probably like writing or smth along those lines)

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed or resonated please heart and reblog so i can do more of these readings.

[7s3ven]

NOBODY’S SON, NOBODY’S DAUGHTER. luke (pjo) pt. 2

PART 1 > PART 2 > PART 3 > PART 4 (last pt)

( masterlist )

IN WHICH… Y/N is finally claimed by her father, who turns out to be Zeus. Now, she’s stuck in an empty cabin as the only forbidden child of Zeus. Luke, on the other hand, is thrilled to be playing her knight in shining armour and getting her through each lonely day.

“I’m in the wind, you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.”

( follows the show - kind of just a oneshot bc i’m bored )

Warnings : a little bit of jealousy, arguing, Y/N being indecisive and confused (real), not proof-read

—

TAG LIST : @hottiewifeyyyy @kamiliora @be-bap @finnickodaddy @th0tblckgrl @shoyofroyoyoyo @csifandom @uniquely-her @imafrkinsimp @syraxesrevenge @ahh-chickens @dracoslovergirl @midnightstar-90 @8812-342 @liv1104 @krkiiz @arialikestea @ch16rles @lizziesliz @maryclx01 @jennapancake @lukecastellandefender @yuminako @coryoskywalker @julielightwood @crybabysbakery @jsbaby @liviessun @p3pperm1nttea @angie-esc @purplerose291 @prettylilsimp @10ava01 @froggiesstalks @happy-jj @czennieszn @gisellesprettylies @loveyava @kkrenae

I really hope this part is good enough 🙏

—

Being claimed was perhaps worse than staying in the Hermes cabin. The Zeus cabin was completely empty, much to Y/N’s dismay. Percy was unlucky enough to be a forbidden child too. Looks like neither of them would be having any half-siblings.

“I always knew she was destined for greatness.” Clarisse would say as if the life of a forbidden child wasn’t lonely and utterly isolated.

“Knock, knock.”

But there was one person who could light up the dim Zeus cabin.

“Hope you don’t mind that I brought strawberries. I picked ‘em myself. It was not easy work, let me tell you.” Luke chuckled as he walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Nice place.” He sarcastically said, staring at the cobwebs that littered the walls.

Y/N stared at him, unimpressed and unamused. “Being claimed was supposed to feel great. But I’m just back at square one again.” She huffed and took a strawberry Luke offered her. He sat beside Y/N, gesturing her to continue.

“You know, at least the Hermes cabin had another people. I’m stuck in this deserted cabin because my father finally decided that he wanted to see me! All I’m wondering is why it took so long. Why bother claiming me now?! Percy got claimed in under five days. I know people who have been claimed in one. Why did it take me ten years?! At least I know why I always attract trouble now. It’s because Zeus, that utter man whore, is my dad!”

Luke’s eyebrows silently raised at her words. “You’re welcome in the Hermes cabin any time, Y/N. Don’t forget that. I don’t think your dad was ignoring you… he was probably just waiting.”

“Yeah. Waiting until I finally proved myself to him. Because a child of Zeus should be a prodigy. No normal feat is allowed. It has to be impressive to gain his attention. How dumb.” Y/N scoffed.

“I was fine without him. I’ve gone my entire life never hearing from him and after ten years of being at camp, suddenly he wants to play daddy? He should’ve left me alone. But hey, at least you guys have more room in the Hermes cabin. I heard Chiron was going to move me.”

“What? But you’re practically part of the family. I mean, not exactly. It’d be weird if we were related because… you know… we’re friends and being such good friends with siblings seems weird.” Luke spoke so fast that Y/N couldn’t understand him.

She silently stared at him. “… You’re weird. Chiron just wanted to make more room for the newcomers. And, you know, I had been there for so long that I wasn’t considered new.”

“You okay, though? Your cuts aren’t still hurting? You don’t feel sick, right?” Luke carefully inspected her face and bruised arms, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“Luke, I’m fine.” She reassured him, laughing. “Nothing hurts anymore.”

“Guess I’ve got to let you win the next game now.” He sighed. “I can’t believe you guessed Poseidon and got it right.”

“I took a wild guess. I wasn’t expecting it to be correct.”

Luke shrugged and stood up. “I need to go check up on some kids. A new group just arrived. Will you be alright by yourself? I can always go get Clarisse.”

Y/N stared up at him and a part of Luke wished she would ask him to stay. To stay in the stuffy cabin and just… talk.

“I think I need some alone time right now.” She softly smiled, resisting the urge to ask him not to walk out, to keep her company. “I just need to process all the shit that went down.”

Luke chuckled, ruffling her hair. “That’s my girl.” He began to walk away before he turned around last minute. “Hey, Y/N… thanks for staying by my side.”

“No problem. Thanks for being my friend, Luke.”

With a wounded heart and the embarrassment of being friend-zoned hanging high over his head, Luke walked out of the Zeus cabin.

Y/N didn’t see Luke again until a few days later. He was always so busy with the new kids but he still had time to leave a small box of strawberries on her porch.

It was dinner when Y/N could finally speak to Luke. She smiled at him and subtly waved and he grinned back. He had been talking with Chris about a boring topic but his eyes lit up when he saw Y/N. Luke stood up to sit with her before he was quickly intercepted.

“Luke.” One of the new girls said, staring up at him with her big doe eyes. She was claimed the moment she stepped into camp by Aphrodite. She seemed to already be her mother’s favourite. “Are you free to sit with me and my friends? We want to ask you a few questions.”

Luke was pulled away by the girl, leaving Y/N to watch him sheepishly grin. Y/N’s smile faltered. “I think he’s avoiding me.” She muttered to Percy, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. She felt a twisted knot of jealousy well up as a girl giggled and grabbed Luke’s arm. And he let her.

The younger boy looked up in confusion. “Who? Luke? I don’t think so. Girls just seem to really like him.”

Y/N frowned but didn’t say anything else. She could only stare again as the girls around Luke laughed as he uttered something with a bashful smile.

“I’m turning in early.” Y/N said, standing up. She pushed her plate of dessert towards Percy, who slowly took it.

“You good?” He asked.

“Yeah. I’m not feeling well so I think I’m going to sleep early. Good night, Percy.” She deeply inhaled as she walked away, catching Luke’s attention.

“Excuse me, ladies. I’ll be back. I need to talk to someone.” He hurriedly got up, racing after Y/N. Percy, who was eating his second serving of cake, muffled a laugh. Luke was so whipped.

“Y/N.” The brunette boy finally caught up to her. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around. “Why are you leaving early? We haven’t talked for weeks so I thought we could use today to catch up.”

Y/N stared at him in confusion before she turned her head and quietly laughed. She covered her mouth to conceal the noise. “Luke… it’s only been three days.”

His face dropped and he cleared his throat. “I know… I was testing you. That’s all.” Yet his eyes looked at everything but Y/N. “So, how has your cabin been?”

“Lonely. It doesn’t feel the same without Chris ranting about Clarisse.” Y/N sighed, lightly biting the inside of her cheek.

“I’m not sure if I can rant about Clarisse like Chris but I could try keeping you company.” Luke offered, gazing at Y/N with eyes that begged her to agree.

She merely shrugged, not stopping Luke from strutting into her cabin and lying down on her bed. He outstretched his arms, confusing Y/N. “Hug.” Was all he said.

Y/N was never much of an affectionate person but Luke certainly was. His gestures ranged from secretly fiddling with her fingers to picking her up and swinging her around in the middle of the battle arena.

Begrudgingly, Y/N closed the distance between them. Luke grinned, pulling her closer. A few moments later, Y/N attempted to pull away. Luke prevented her from doing so. “Five more minutes.” He whispered in her ear.

But those promised five minutes turned into an hour.

And a peaceful hour turned into all night.

And all night turned into the sun rising and Clarisse waking the pair up.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, Luke.” The Ares girl snickered, folding her arms over her chest. “Your siblings are wondering where you went. I assume by the lack of clothes on the floor that you two did nothing. How surprising for you, Luke.”

“Clarisse.” Y/N warned, sitting up.

“Okay, okay. I’m going. See you at breakfast, Y/N.” Clarisse sent her friend a teasing wink before she slithered off, laughing to herself.

“Sorry. I fell asleep.” Luke muttered, stretching. He not-so-subtly placed an arm around Y/N and when she didn’t shove him away, he smiled.

“It’s fine. I’ve already prepared myself for whatever gossip is about to spread around camp.” Y/N leaned back, shaking her head, while Luke chuckled.

“Nothing we haven’t dealt with before.” Luke retorted.

Camp Half-Blood seemed obsessed with the little thing going on between Y/N and Luke. Friendship, romance, confusing situationship. The campers called it many things.

“I’m so tired.” Y/N muttered, rubbing her tired eyes. Luke took that as his chance to gaze at her. His eyes traced over the bridge of her nose and the curve of her Cupid’s bow.

He smiled to himself, pressing his face deeper into the crook of Y/N’s neck.

“Luke. We need to get up.” As if suddenly uncomfortable with his close proximity, Y/N stood up.

“Oh. Yeah. I know how you can’t miss breakfast because you get cranky without it.” Luke chuckled while Y/N shoved him.

“Get out, Luke!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing a pillow at him. He bellowed out a laugh as he ran towards the exit.

“See you at breakfast, sweetheart!”

Y/N, with flushed cheeks and a racing mind, barged into the Ares cabin. “Clarisse.” She said, holding onto the doorframe for support. “I need your help.”

“What do you need?” Clarisse questioned as they walked side by side. Y/N sighed.

“Well, for starters, Luke is acting weird. I mean, he was always kind of weird but it’s gotten… more extreme. He’s getting so close and… calling me these pet names. What am I supposed to do? And why does it make me feel shy? Clarisse, help me!”

Y/N gripped her friend’s shoulders tightly. Clarisse lightly snorted. “Y/N, he’s just in love. Let the boy be.”

“In… love? W-With… me? In love with me?!” Y/N’s mind was spinning by now and it looked like this was her mid-life crisis. “He’s not… he can’t be… no… no… No! I have to go, Clarisse!”

Clarisse watched as Y/N sprinted off with the speed of a lightning bolt. “Haha. It’s so fun messing with them.”

“Hey, Clarisse. What’d you say to Y/N?” Luke immediately filled in Y/N’s spot. He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at Y/N.

“I just told her how in love you are with her.” Clarisse winked and laughed at Luke’s appalled face.

“You… did what?” He questioned, panicking. “Why… why would you do that?! Clarisse! Shit!”

Luke, just like Y/N, rushed off. Clarisse smiled again. “So fun.”

Y/N hid within the comforts of her own cabin. She was supposed to teach some of the newbies archery but she was sure Clarisse could fill in for her.

“Luke… in love with me… no way.” She shook her head and deeply sighed, clutching onto her blanket. “He likes that Aphrodite girl.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Speak of the devil. Luke opened the door, grinning at her. “Sorry I’m late. I tried meditating but I ended up falling asleep.” Classic him. “I brought you some food. I gotta teach some kids sword-fighting soon but I thought I’d just leave this here.”

Luke had one leg out of the door before Y/N stopped him. “Luke, can you maybe, I don’t know… stay over tonight? Again? It feels less lonely with you.” Y/N spoke slowly, as if testing the waters.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure. I’d be happy to keep you company. You can count on me, Sparky.”

Y/N scoffed, staring at Luke with her lips parted. “Sparky? No way are you calling me that.”

“Too bad. See ya, Sparky!” Luke managed to close the door before the pillow Y/N tossed his way hit him. She scoffed, looking around yet no words came out of her mouth.

“Sparky… Sparky?!” Y/N exclaimed in disbelief. “What sort of nickname is that?!”

Luke, who stood outside the door and heard Y/N, chuckled. He ran his tongue over his teeth, “Cute.”

A quiet knock on the door interrupted Y/N’s half-conscious nap. She stumbled to the entrance, slowly twisting the knob. “Hey.” She mumbled to Luke, who was holding an armful of snacks.

“Hey, Sparky.” He greeted her with his usual boyish smile. “Did I wake you?”

“I was just taking a small nap. You can always let yourself in, by the way.” Y/N muttered, yawning.

“I didn’t wanna be rude.” Luke replied as he stepped inside, brushing past Y/N. “Hey. I have an idea.” He suddenly said, spinning around. Y/N raised her eyebrows, gesturing him to continue. “I know you don’t like hanging out in this cabin so what do you say we check out the lake?”

“That’s breaking the rules.” Y/N said, shaking her head.

“Come on, I wanna go on a walk. And I’m already breaking rules being here. A few more can’t hurt.”

Y/N wanted to say no but how could she when Luke was looking at her like that?

“Fine.” She softly agreed. Luke dropped the snacks onto Y/N’s bed before dragging her out of her cabin. She didn’t even have time to grab a jacket.

Luke placed a finger over his lips, telling Y/N to be quiet. The two carefully creeped through the words, quietly giggling as they shoved each other.

“It’s prettier at night.” Y/N whispered, staring at the lake that sparkled in the moonlight. Luke smiled, nodding his head.

“Yeah.” He replied, but he wasn’t looking at the glittering water. He was looking at Y/N. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Y/N turned her head, faltering when she saw that Luke was already gazing at her. His lips curved into a bright smile.

“So, so… beautiful.” He repeated, staring into her eyes.

“Luke.” She muttered, thickly gulping. Butterflies swirled around in her stomach. After years of pushing down her growing feelings for Luke, they were coming back.

“Y/N.” He chuckled, adjusting his stance. But he slipped and fell into the lake. Y/N gasped, staring into the murky darkness.

“Luke?” She called out. “Luke!” He resurfaced, spitting out a mouthful of water. A few moments passed before Y/N burst into laughter. She stepped forward but tripped over a stray tree root. She hit the water with a loud slap, shocking Luke. He gasped, quickly swimming over. “Sparky, you good?” Luke questioned, holding her tightly.

She coughed. “It hurt a little but I’m good. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. Thanks for asking, Sparky.” He twirled a strand of Y/N’s wet hair around his finger, his gaze flickering to her lips. “Don’t kill me for this, Y/N.” He whispered, leaning forward.

His lips pressed against Y/N’s, who froze in shock. The kiss only lasted a moment before Luke pulled away, holding back the animalistic urge to do it again.

“I won’t kill you… if you don’t kill me.” Y/N quietly responded, grabbing Luke by the front of his shirt and tugging him forward.

The second kiss was less controlled, more wild. Luke held Y/N tightly, scared she would slip away if he lowered his guard. In this moment, Luke didn’t care about his drenched t-shirt or his soaking hair. All he cared about, and had cared about for the last few years, was the girl in front of him

“You kissed?!” Clarisse screamed, tugging on the ends of her curled hair.

“Hey! I don’t want everybody to know!” Y/N hurriedly shushed the girl. They were hanging around in the arena for some extra sword training and Y/N clumsily mentioned last night.

“Okay, but seriously. Reel back. You guys kissed? Not once, but twice? Oh, man, Y/N. You are so whipped for Luke!”

“I am not! Besides,” Y/N fidgeted with her fingers as she spoke, “I heard one of the new Aphrodite girls is interested in Luke.”

“What? And you’re just gonna let her have him? You’ve been crushing on Luke since you first saw him.”

“I wouldn’t call it that! It was admiration.” Y/N quickly snapped to defend herself. Clarisse mockingly raised an eyebrow.

“You couldn’t stop gushing over how he pushed you out of harm’s way when you got claimed.” The Ares kid pointed out.

Y/N huffed. “I mean, I’m a feminist, obviously. But… I wouldn’t really mind him saving me. I’m not entirely opposed… to the idea. I’m just torn, okay?!”

“What are you confused about? Luke obliviously has the hots for you too.”

“Luke and I have been good friends for ages! I’ve known him for ages too! If we start dating and it goes up in flames… I don’t only lose a partner but I also lose a friend! There’s so many factors to consider. So many things that could go wrong.”

“You already kissed. Sooner or later, he’s gonna confront you.” Clarisse’s eyes flickered to a figure behind Y/N, “And looks like he chose now. You wanna talk to him or do you want me to make a distraction?”

“Distraction, please. I’m not ready. I need to understand my own feelings before dealing with his.” Y/N practically begged Clarisse. Being such a good friend, the daughter of Ares nodded.

“I got your back, girl.” She walked past Y/N, blocking Luke’s path. “Yo, Luke, you interested in having a little spar?”

“Uh, actually, I need to talk to Y/N.” Luke uttered, glancing over at the H/C-haired girl.

“Y/N needs to check on someone. One of the Ares kids got badly injured. You go ahead, Y/N. I’ll be with you soon.” Clarisse waved her off. Y/N silently hurried off, avoiding all eye contact with Luke.

She wasn’t ready to face him just yet. I mean, what do you say to a friend you kissed? More like made out with. And passionately, might I add. Beside a lake at night.

Y/N knew Luke would go looking for her an hour before curfew, so that’s exactly why she sought refuge in the Ares cabin.

“This feels stupid.” She murmured as she rolled under one of the bed, shooing the dust away.

“He’s obviously going to try and ask Clarisse about your whereabouts. You only have to hide under there until he leaves.” Erin, a girl who was a year younger than Y/N, spoke. As predicted, Luke knocked at the door.

“Hey.” He said when Erin swung it open. “Is Y/N or Clarisse here? I need to talk to ether of them but Y/N would be preferred.”

Erin shook her head. “No. Clarisse is showering right now. Maybe check Apollo’s cabin for Y/N. She might be helping out with the injured. She does that sometimes.”

The second Luke disappeared, Y/N crawled out from under the bed. She combed away the dust in her hair. “I know what you’re thinking.” She grumbled, looking up at Erin. “Why am I going through all this trouble? It’s complicated. I’m not ready to face him… yet.”

Erin hummed as she stepped towards Y/N. “None of us will be helpful with advice but if you really want help, visit the Aphrodite cabin.”

That’s how Y/N found herself standing on a porch decorated with pink and hearts and shining pearls. She sighed to herself before she hesitatingly knocked. A short blond girl answered the door immediately.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” She said while Y/N stared at her in discomfort. “Not in a creepy way, though. I swear. We knew you’d need help with you-know-who so we kind of planned it already. Come in.”

The girl warmly guided Y/N inside, beaming. “Our head counsellor isn’t here at the moment but Mai should be plenty of help!” The blond girl pointed over to a brunette who sat on her bed, reading a book. She was dressed in black shorts and a pink crop top. But when Mai looked up, Y/N was sure she was judging her.

“On second thought,” Y/N nervously said, “Maybe I should come back another time. Maybe in the afternoon?”

“The time you come doesn’t matter.” Mai piped up, closing her book. She gazed at Y/N curiously. “You’re afraid of expressing your feelings, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t know this was a therapy session.” Y/N lightly joked.

“Y/N, it’s obvious to everybody that you harbour some feelings towards Luke.” Mai said, pressing her pink-tinted lips into a thin line. “You guys are like the dynamic duo. I understand that dating someone who’s also a friend is scary but sometimes you’ve got to take the risk.”

“If you’re scared about going back to your cabin and running into Luke, you can crash here for the night.” The blonde girl from before offered. Nobody else seemed to have any problems with that so Y/N agreed.

She ended up on the bunk next to Mai, her unlicensed love therapist. Y/N tossed and turned but she still couldn’t fall asleep. She quietly groaned, rubbing her eyes.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Mai piped up, pursing her lips.

“No. I can’t help but worry.”

“Let me ask you one question, Y/N. Do you like him?”

“Luke?”

“I didn’t say a name.”

Y/N groaned again. “Fine. You got me. Yes. I guess I like him. I like his smile and how he’s always giving me food and how he barges in when I’m feeling lonely. I think his curled hair is adorable and there’s no other guy better-looking than him to me. But… I’m scared that I just like his platonically. Or what if we do date and I end up losing him?”

Mai smiled. “Don’t stress over it too much. You’re the daughter of Zeus, after all.”

“Yeah, thanks. Good night, Mai.”

“Night, Y/N.”

Luke approached Y/N the next day at breakfast. He let out a subtle sigh of relief when she didn’t run away. “Hey,” He whispered to her, tapping her shoulder and interrupting her conversation with Erin and Clarisse. “Can we talk? Alone?”

“Uh, yeah.” Y/N exchanged looks with both of the girls, who nodded and mouthed good luck. “What did you want to talk about?” Y/N asked when they were in the safety of her cabin and away from all the prying eyes. She played with the hem of her bright orange shirt.

“Forgive me for how blunt I’m going to be but what are we, Y/N?” Luke asked, not beating around the bush.

“We’re friends.” Y/N choked out, her conversation with Mai last night going down the drain. Perhaps it was selfish but a part of her wanted to remain friends because at least that way, neither of them would get hurt.

“No.” Luke wildly shook his head, “Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t spend the night in the other’s cabin. Friends don’t look at each other like we do. Friends don’t sneak out in the middle of the night to go to a lake and end up making out! And now you’re ignoring me!”

His voice increased in volume the more he spoke.

“That was a mistake, Luke! I-I didn’t meant to! It just happened! I’m not ignoring you! What makes you think that?!”

“Well, what am I supposed to think, Y/N? You’re always running off and our conversations are up and down now. Sometimes we don’t talk for days! Sometimes you seem obsessed with me! I don’t know what to think!”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “If you’re not with Chris then you’re with that Aphrodite girl! You practically ignore me when you’re with her!” Y/N harshly poked his chest.

“I do not! And back to the previous conversation, was it really a mistake? Was hugging me a mistake? Was staring so adoringly at me a mistake? Was kissing me a mistake?! Maybe it was a mistake to you, but it wasn’t to me.” Luke caressed her face, holding it tightly. “Kissing you… will never be a mistake to me. Never, ever.”

Y/N gulped, practically shaking in Luke’s embrace. His lips lightly brushed her’s and she flinched.

“Sparky- Princess- Y/N,” He finally decided on what to call her in the heated moment. “I have feelings for you. And I have for a long time. So if you don’t like me back… just tell me. Because I can’t spend the rest of my life chasing after you. I get that you might be in denial but once I walk through those doors, I’m giving up.”

“Luke…”

“Do you like me or not?”

“Luke… please…” Y/N didn’t really know what she was begging for. Tears welled up in her eyes as he took a small step towards the door.

“Do you like me or not?” He repeated in a firmer tone.

Y/N silently stared at the ground, her hands clenched into fists.

“I guess I was wrong about you returning my feelings… I’m sorry for bothering you. I’ll leave now.”

Y/N’s body moved on its own as she reached out to grab his arm and harshly pull him back. Her voice was supposed to be gentle but hanging out with Clarisse seemed to have an impact on her.

“Of course I like you, Luke! How could I not? But I’m afraid and confused and I don’t know what to do. I see the way other girls look at you. They like you. And I’m scared that I don’t stand a chance against them. And what if we mess up, Luke? If we date then break up, we won’t be able to be friends again. I can’t handle that!”

“I don’t think I can be just friends with you right now, Y/N.” Luke softly replied, taking Y/N’s hand in his and pressing a light kiss to it. Y/N stared at him with flushed cheeks. “I don’t care about any of those other girls. The only person I care about is you. We don’t have to rush into a relationship but I just need to hear you say that you like me. That’s all I need for now. Can you do that for me?”

Y/N shakily inhaled. “I…” She hesitated. “I like you, Luke.”

Luke pulled her into a hug, smiling as he inhaled the sweet scent of Y/N’s perfume. “That’s all I needed to hear, Sparky.”

[wolfiesmoon]

But... there's only one bed! (WB edition)

umemiya, sakura, suo, kaji x gn!reader

you're on vacation with him, but uh oh, looks like your bedroom only has ONE bed, you know what that means😘 (barely proofread btw)

look at me reusing fic concepts because i'm a lazy btch (and proud), also don't expect this to be the last time you see this fic concept (let's just say i'm cooking some things up) also i do have a longer less silly wind breaker fic in the works dont u worry guys💋

ALSO I COULD HAVE SWORN UMEMIYAS SURNAME WAS SPELT LIKE UNEMIYA WHAT???? i got hit by the mandela effect

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Umemiya Hajime

he's, like, a little too casual about it tbh

"Oh, looks like we'll be sharing a bed. Don't worry, I don't snore!" he smiles at you like an innocent child

you're not even sure if he views this the same way you do, is it kinda like sleeping with a sibling to him?

kinda bums you out since he's your crush and all...🤕

he keeps on wondering why you look kind of down for the rest of the day but you assure him it's nothing

(he makes sure to get you ice cream as a cheer-up gift anyways)

DONT WORRY THO, when it actually comes time to sleep he gets cold feet

in a "oh my god i'm suddenly rethinking this entire up until now platonic relationship" kind of way

"What's wrong? You don't snore, so what's the hold-up?" you decided to tease him using his own words, resting your cheek in your hand and smirking at him

(on the inside you're freaking out at your boldness)

you might as well have hit him with a brick because he "suddenly remembers he forgot something in the bathroom" and has to leave for a few minutes to cool down

you do end up sleeping on the same bed but neither of you can really fall asleep, you know 😁

the friendship never feels the same after that, but that's a good thing, right?

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Suo Hayato

"Oh, that's quite the surprise." he says with that signature smile of his, not looking bothered at all

and honestly, you wish you could say the same for yourself

you're sure that you probably look flustered in one way or another right now

(and suo being suo can definitely tell)

"Would you like to talk to the hotel staff and request another room?" he asks innocently as if he's not enjoying himself

you'd like to say you don't get flustered as often as Sakura but when Suo's involved all that kinda goes out the window because you like like him

"No, it's fine... But it's just because I don't want to trouble the staff, though." you're lying so hard rn btw

you just want to have your main character moment and sleep on the same bed as your crush and who could blame you???

"I see, you're as considerate as ever." he says calmly

WAAAY later, when the lights are already off and both of you are lying on the bed, facing away from eachother bc you're too embarrased to even breathe in the same direction as him rn😥

"You just wanted to sleep on the same bed as me, didn't you?" he asks all of a sudden and it makes you jump

you pretend to be asleep tho bc there's NO WAY you're actually answering that

"You're easy to read. It would be a bad thing in a fight, but I still like that about you."

you're glad the lights are off because you're probably making the silliest embarrased face rn

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Kaji Ren

he nearly splits his lollipop stick in half when he sees a singular bed

initially you'd be inclined to think he's really REALLY mad considering his red face and all, but you get the feeling that he isn't all that mad after all

he turns to you and curtly says he's getting another room but before he can leave you grab his arm and drag him inside the room

"This room is completely fine, what's wrong with it?" you smile at him innocently, knowing damn well there's nothing innocent behind your words

you're getting him to sleep next to you no matter what muehehehe😈

he wants to say something back to you and you can tell he does but he just puts his headphones on and clicks his tongue instead, his way of begrudgingly agreeing to stay

mission accomplished

later, when it's time for bed, he tries to make you sleep on the bed and sleep on the floor himself but again, you're not gonna let him

he gives up surprisingly quick and falls asleep facing away from you (can't reveal the fact he's blushing hehe)

OH AND ALSO, you'd better not bring up the fact he woke up with his arms around you or you're really gonna get it😡

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Sakura Haruka

faints and gets taken to hospital bc his head hit the floor a little too hard

ok no i'm sorry, let's be a little less silly for a just a moment🤕

he nearly faints but manages to not do that in front of you (he must stay strong!!!)

however, that doesn't mean he's faring well by any means

bro looks like steamed lobster 🦞

"Sakura?" you wave a hand in front of his face but he kinda seems unresponsive rn

he attempts to speak but all that comes out is a weird gurgling sound

and BAM now his nose is bleeding, and he didn't even need to get into a fight to get it that way

you really have that power on him💪

"S...Sakura? Seriously, are you okay?" you try to place a hand on his shoulder but he flinches away to the other side of the room

"I'LL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR." it comes out a lot less natural and a lot more choked out than he intended

you oblige his request for his own sanity and giggle to yourself about how cute he is when he's embarrased throughout the entire day

when bedtime arrives, you ask him if he's really fine with sleeping on the floor and he nods so hard you're worried his head's gonna fall off

so you begrudgingly let him ☹️

you should really be more than friends, though you're not sure if he can handle a confession considering he almost overheated just from the thought of sleeping on the same bed as you

[cowboycherry]

🍒 :; slim pickins

summary!

bf! rafe x chubby! reader. you’ve been seeing the ‘slim pickins’ trend going around, and you beg your boyfriend to do it with you.

inclusions/warnings!

fluffy, fluffy, fluffy!! reading through it, i think it’s a bit rushed?? rafe is a cutie and loves his girlfriend. reader is referred to as ‘baby’ and ‘mama’. slightly suggestive at the end. reader is chubby and NOT insecure bc we love self confidence round in these parts. just a little itty bitty blurb bc i’ve been seeing so many people do this trend and it makes me want rafe to do it w me

word count!

400+

ˏ`୭̥*ೃ author’s note! :; dropping this before i finish editing a request for a sebastian stan fic! super excited for that, but have this fluffy rafe blurb for meantime. (also, i’m making a tag list since i’m going to start writing more, so if you want to be added to that lmk! you can request to only be added to certain fics and such, just lmk what you want, angels.)

i love you, and thank you for being here ♡

“raaafe,” you pout at your boyfriend, tugging on his bicep in a poor attempt to make him stand in front of your propped up phone. “it’s easy! already explained it t’you— you just gotta pick me up and, like, sit me on your shoulder.”

rafe glances down at your hands tugging his arm, an amused smile on his face even though he doesn’t want it to be there. he just can’t help it. “yeah, baby, and i told you that i don’t wanna be in any of your lil tiktoks,” he snorts, but he allows you to pull him in front of your phone.

“but it’s a couple’s trend! well, for the most part,” you hum to yourself, eagerly stepping away to get the timer ready. “okay, the lyrics are ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’ and you’re just s’posed to lift me somewhere while she’s singing that,” you explain animatedly, definitely rambling more than is necessary.

“uh huh. got it,” rafe nods once, and even though he looks much less enthusiastic than you are, he’s still happy that he’s making you happy.

you start the timer, quickly padding back across the hardwood floor to him and standing in front of him. “three, two…” you count down quietly, more for yourself, and then mouth the lyrics along to sabrina carpenter’s voice.

you’re unable to stop the squeal that escapes you when rafe effortlessly grips your hips, hoisting you up and perching you onto his shoulder like it’s nothing. his hand moves to comfortably rest on your thigh, gently squeezing the flesh there.

the tiktok is done filming, the video playing back on a loop as giggles bubble past your lips- both from being a little flustered by your very attractive boyfriend and from awe that he didn’t seem strained in the slightest. “i didn’t expect for you to do that so easily,” you admit softly, your hand resting on top of his.

rafe scoffs, “the fuck does that mean?” he asks you, but you can hear the playfulness, the teasing in his tone. “think i’m weak or somethin’, mama?” he grips your hips again, but instead of planting your feet back onto the ground, he drops you onto the couch.

“rafe?” you murmur in confusion before shrieking when his fingers start to dance over your ribs.

“can’t believe it. my baby doesn’t think i can fuckin’ lift her,” rafe tsks in mock disappointment. “guess i need to start showin’ you better, huh?” he grins mischievously down at you, leaning in and starting to press kisses from your face down your neck, and you know you’re in for a long afternoon.

© cowboycherry 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize my content. all work is my own, and until further notice, will be proofread by only myself.

[itsnesss]

Howdy! I saw requests are open and was wondering if you could do JJ maybank x gf!reader? And if you don’t want to or don’t have time, by all means, absolutely no hard feelings and I completely understand!

I was thinking along the lines of gf!reader being a pogue but instead of joining in on all the treasure hunts, she holds down the fort back home and always welcomes JJ back with welcoming and loving arms. Until poguelandia happened and she was worried sick that entire time without word from JJ, so whenever they come back and get settled again she decides she’s fed up with all the treasure hunting and him being gone and being in danger. So whenever the blue crown comes along, she gives him an ultimatum of her or treasure hunting, and he, thinking she’s bluffing, chooses to go with the other pogues. Comes back (bc I refuse to believe he just d!es in szn4) to find that she blocked his number and moved all his things he had kept at her house out and back at the poguelandia 2.0?

(Sorry I know that’s a whole lot and I’m not sure if it even makes sense. Again, feel free to ignore if you’d like! I just love your works!)

𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | jj maybank × fem!reader

summary | after poguelandia, you reach your breaking point, tired of waiting and worrying while jj chases danger. you give him an ultimatum—you or treasure hunting. thinking you’re bluffing, he chooses adventure. when he returns, he finds you’ve blocked him and erased every trace of him from your life

warnings | angst, heartbreak, emotional turmoil, themes of abandonment, breakup, and implied moving on. no physical violence, but heavy emotional tension

word count | 1.05 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The silence in the house was deafening.

You had spent the past few months consumed by uncertainty, fear eating away at your bones every time you closed your eyes. During all that time, your phone had become an extension of your hand, waiting for a call, a message, any sign of life. But nothing. Poguelandia had taken JJ away, and all you could do was cling to the hope that he would come back.

And in the end, he did.

The moment you saw him again after all that time, relief hit your chest with an intensity that nearly made you cry. You ran to him without thinking, feeling your heart pound so hard it hurt. His arms wrapped around you like always, his scent of salt and sun seeping into every fiber of your being. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Only that he was alive.

"You’re here," you whispered against his chest, closing your eyes and gripping his shirt as if you were afraid he would disappear again.

"Of course, baby. I always come back to you."

You wanted to believe him.

But the euphoria of the reunion didn’t last long.

The first few days felt like nothing had changed. He was back, lying in your bed as if it was still his safe place, telling you with excitement about everything that had happened—the craziness they went through, how close they were to dying, and how incredible it was. You listened in silence, feeling every word stab into your chest like a knife.

You loved him, but every story only reinforced the fear you had felt in his absence. The agony of not knowing if he was still alive, if he would come back, or if that would be the last time you ever saw him.

You tried talking to him, tried to make him understand what you had been through. But every time you mentioned how worried you had been, he would just smile, kiss your forehead, and tell you everything was fine. That he was fine.

As if that made it easier.

As if it wouldn’t happen again.

And then, the Blue Crown came along.

Another adventure, another danger, another reason to leave.

And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t take it anymore.

"JJ, we need to talk."

Your voice was firm, even though your legs were shaking inside.

He was in your room, lying on your bed with his arms behind his head, relaxed as if the world wasn’t about to fall apart.

"About what, baby?" he replied distractedly.

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

"About this. About us."

That got his attention. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, frowning slightly.

"What’s wrong?"

You crossed your arms, trying to hold onto your determination.

"I can’t keep living like this, JJ. I can’t keep waiting for you, worrying every time you leave, not knowing if you’ll come back."

He sighed and stood up, walking towards you with a frown.

"Come on, you know I always come back."

"Always?" You let out a bitter laugh, stepping back before he could touch you. Because you knew that if he did, you would break.

JJ ran a hand through his blonde hair, frustrated.

"What are you trying to say?"

You looked him in the eyes, feeling the air grow heavy.

"Choose."

His expression tensed.

"Choose what?"

You took a breath, trying to ignore the way your heart was shattering in your chest.

"Me or the treasure."

The silence between you was like a punch to the stomach. JJ blinked, as if your words didn’t make sense. Then, a dry laugh escaped his lips.

"You’re not serious."

"I’m more serious than I’ve ever been in my life."

You watched him shake his head, sighing as he looked at you like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

"You can’t ask me that."

"Yes, I can. And I did."

The room felt smaller, colder. JJ ran a hand over his jaw, searching for the right words, but in the end, he did what he always did—he chose the adrenaline, the adventure, the impossible dream.

"Sorry, but I can’t leave the Pogues."

You nodded slowly, letting his answer sink deep into your chest like a blade.

"Okay."

There were no screams, no fights, no begging. Just a quiet goodbye wrapped in those two words.

And just like he had chosen his path, you chose yours.

The next few days were a blur of emotions. You didn’t cry. Or at least, not in front of anyone. You kept yourself together as you packed up his things—every piece of clothing, every object he had ever left in your house, every trace of him that still lingered in your space.

You didn’t call him. You didn’t answer his messages. You didn’t want to know what he was doing or who he was with.

The wound was there, burning with every heartbeat, but you refused to open it further.

When JJ showed up days later, his bike came to a stop in front of your house like nothing had changed. Like he was still welcome.

He knocked on the door. You didn’t open it.

He knocked again, louder this time.

"Come on! I know you’re in there."

You didn’t respond.

You picked up your phone, blocked his number, and walked away from the window, ignoring the weight of his presence on the other side of the door.

When JJ circled around the house, looking for a way in through the window—like he always did when you tried to ignore him—what he found instead was his clothes, his things, everything he had ever left behind… waiting for him outside, packed up, as if he had never been a part of your life.

"What is this?" His voice broke slightly.

But you didn’t come out to answer him. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you hesitate, of seeing you hurt.

Because this time, there was no going back.

You heard him curse, kicking the ground in frustration. Then, the roar of his bike faded into the distance.

You didn’t watch him leave.

You didn’t call him back.

You just closed the door, realizing that for the first time in a long time, you weren’t waiting for him to return.

[louisisalarrie]

I have a question. How does this work as far as PR if they are both not even trying to make it look legit? What is the point? How does this benefit either of them, especially since so few are buying it?!? I feel like this is way less believable than any other one he has done and I am not sure what the motivation is behind it at all considering both seem so damn reluctant to be doing it in the first place! Any insight?!?

ok so this wasn’t gonna be a welcome to the show bc it’s less educational and more so me venting about it but here ya go anon. welcome to the show!

I agree that it’s the least believable so far, from their individual public image, to their awkward and cringy actions around each other, to the fact that she seemingly appeared out of nowhere in his life and there was barely any soft launch. It’s like whoever is in charge of it learnt nothing from the years of the 1d stunts, and have reverted so far back in a day and age where things need to look far more legit now than they used to, due to social media, solo careers etc.

Anyway, because we’re in the thick of it, it seems a lot more clear to us that it’s fake. It has been interesting though, the comments on the articles from GP, Deuxm*i’s latest little comment that I just posted about, already a “trouble in paradise” article that we usually wouldn’t receive until farther down the line… so much flailing and scrambling. However, even with more suspicion from the GP than usual, most of them are gonna read the headline and move on, or click the article and not look at the GP’s comments. It still technically does what it’s meant to do, but they’ve just…. Fucked it up a lot earlier than usual.

Interestingly enough though, like you mentioned, it doesn’t even look like she is trying either. Usually with these stunts we’ll at least get the girl trying to make it look legit, but she’s clearly got no interest in this either… which leads me to believe it is for a reason other than album promo due to it being such a hard launch straight from the bat, no slow burn or organic elements at all, and some of the worst chemistry I’ve ever seen in a stunt pairing.

Apart from the handful of weird solos/antis who are obsessed with them and trying so hard to love it, the general consensus this time around just isn’t that believable for everyone. From the paps magically being able to drive down past a gate onto private property the exact moment they’re saying goodbye and getting those PDA pics, to the walk around the parking lot “a few days before” when Louis was in the same clothes, it’s just.. soooo sloppy. And surely his team can’t be THIS bad at their job… because it doesn’t just come down to how Louis and her act with each other, but also the way the information is presented to us and the GP and it’s been entirely fumbled.

I don’t think this is gonna be long lasting, I don’t think she’s gonna be the inspo for his album (although a little bit of het encouragement doesn’t hurt I suppose), and I think (and hope) there’s something more to this than PR for her merch and SoccerAid promo.

I mean the whole thing about it even potentially being for the sole purpose of SoccerAid doesn’t make sense to me. We are gonna watch Louis regardless - he has an absolute cult of a fandom. We’re not sitting on the edge of our seats going “ooohhhh better watch SoccerAid now!! I wasn’t planning to but now there could be tension between him and her ex boyf!! I wanna see the drama!!” or “ohh they’re so cute she’s gonna be there cheering him on, let’s watch!!” because that’s just not how his fandom works. And it’s not gonna convince the GP to watch for those reasons either. And if that is in fact the sole reason for this all, well… his PR team know absolutely nothing about us and have been slacking hard when it comes to understanding the relationship the fandom has with Louis. Including all the relationship lore over the past 15 years, both with stunts and Harry.

Like… not the “body language expert” analysing the photos to try and convince people they are in fact together and soooooo in love because even the media knows no one is gonna believe this shit with the quality of the pictures we’re getting from them. It’s just so embarrassing.

If it is in fact to end another stunt or kickstart the friendship narrative between H&L, then that would be great. Maybe they’re having to rush it all for some reason. But for any other reason to have it this rushed and awkward… it just doesn’t make sense to me.