#and the coat stays on (just like the kevlar vest)

[milla984]

Thomas Gibson as Aaron Hotchner Criminal Minds S10E13 🎁 @criminalskies 🎁

@spookydrreid, @redwithjoon, @reidsbookclub, @hotchsdharma, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @will-grahams-eyes, @rousethemouse, @hotchs-big-hands, @padawancat97, @itty-bitty-baby-face, @alexander-arcturus-black-lupin, @samsgoddess, @dontemilyyyyme

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[ssa-daddyhotchner]

Can you write something where when the reader sees Aaron for the first time in the fbi vest she can’t take her eyes off of him. When he confronts her about it, she denies it so he decides to send her filthy texts the whole flight home. When they land he tells the reader to get in his car. When they get to his place to go at it, she asks if he’ll wear the vest. He does. DomHotch!!! 😚 xoxo

You'll have to wait

(Request by anonymous)

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warning - (NSFW 18+)

Word Count - 2.3k

Material list

______________________

“Alright Reid and JJ stay here, look over anything else we might have missed. Coronate the media and send back up.” My eyes snapped over to Aaron. 

“Sir what about me.” 

“You’re coming with, your vest is in the car. Everybody lets go.” 

I was confused at the request but I followed the order. 

I never went into the field, I had experience from my previous job before the BAU. But Aaron never let me go with him to make an arrest which I never minded. I’d much rather work from the precinct or do an interrogation

I had my gun with me at all times but have I ever used it in an actual situation... With the BAU never once but with my other job yes. When Aaron and I got together he never changed a thing about how he acted towards me. It was always business but he did still worry about me. 

Going after regular criminals is definitely less nerve racking than serial killers. 

“Hotch sir”, I stopped him before he left the room. “Are you about me going with you? I can stay here, It’s not a problem.” 

“Y/n you’ll be fine. Strauss called earlier about how you never do anything, how I ‘benched you’. She wanted to see what you could do.” 

“But--” I tried to speak but JJ and Reid left the room and we needed to move over. “Look y/n we need to go.. come on.” He lightly tugged on my arm to follow him. I followed him as the rest of the team left the building. 

We climbed into the SUVs. The whole way there Hotch gave the orders that the ubsub was in the house, he didn’t plan on coming out alive. Morgan, Hotch, and I got into one car while Emily and Rossi went into the other. 

Aaron and Morgan could feel the nervousness radiating off of my body. Morgan turned around in the passenger seat, “Baby you gotta calm down.” 

I scoffed a dry laugh, “Easy for you to say, you guys do this all the time.” 

Aaron kept his hands on the wheel and focused on the road. “You’ve done this before nothings different.” 

“Yeah it is, I worked with those people in the field before and I trusted them. That's not me saying I don't trust you guys because I do... It’s just different.” 

“Just follow us you’ll be okay.” Aaron spoke and turned the corner on the street and my view revealed lines of cop cars and flashing lights. Hotch pulled over and we all got out of the car, I walked behind him and go to the back. 

He opens the trunk and pulls out three vests. I froze a little, being intimidated. I watched as Morgan and Aaron put on their vests. My eyes drifted over to Aaron, it fit his body perfectly. The navy blues kevlar fibers and white letters splayed across his chest. 

“Sweetheart, my eyes are up here.” He said teasingly after Derek had walked away. “Sorry”, he just smirked and helped me tighten my vest before we made our way over to the officers. 

“Are you ready?” Aaron and I walked over the house. 

“Totally.” I wasn’t ready, being too distracted.

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

On the jet Aaron sat in the back with his face buried in the files that scattered the table. I was with Emily and Derek on the opposite end. They were talking about Reid and teasing him while he was sitting in the seat next to us. 

While they were cracking jokes I couldn’t stop thinking about how Aaron looked in that fucking vest. He was already built but with the extra padding he just sparked that part of me.

My eyes drifted over to him working, he pen glided across the paper and his hands--

Zoning out I didn’t realize that he had noticed. Then my phone vibrated on the table. 

Aaron - Are you okay there

Me - Yeah I'm fine... why

Aaron - You’re staring

Me - No I wasn’t just thinking about you

Aaron - Me? You know what I think

Aaron - I think you couldn’t stop thinking about how I looked earlier. Your mouth was practically water at the sight of me. I bet you just wanted to get on your knees right there in front of everyone

I glanced up in surprise at Aaron and his files were closed and he was looking at me with a smug grin. 

Aaron - You’re imagining it now aren’t you

I was honestly, the things I’d do for that man. I clenched my thighs together and hoped no one noticed. 

I didn’t want to react but he was already getting a rise out of me. 

Aaron - You want to be on your back and have me over you with my cock buried so far, just wait baby

My eyes widened a bit and I put my phone back down. There was no hiding how flush my face was. “Who keeps blowing up your phone.” 

“Don’t worry about it”, i said too quickly and Emily reached over the table to grab my phone. I lunged over and snatched it back before she had the opportunity to search through it. 

“Okay...” JJ said after being included in the conversation. Aaron saw how I had excused myself from the table and went to the bathroom. 

When the plane landed we all exited and headed back to the office for the remainder of our things. 

After everyone left I joined them, going into my car from the garage, I heard a car behind me. Aaron pulled up and rolled down the window, “My place, now.” 

He didn’t say much after that, I climbed into the car and he reached a hand over to my thigh. His finger rubbed my thigh before the tipped of his fingers brushing, dangerously close to my core. 

I just glanced over at him, he was still in his suit. His shirt was so tight over his chest you could see the definition. 

We crossed the threshold of his house and not a second went by before my back was slammed against the wall.  

“Aaron”, he shook his head slightly. “I didn’t say you could speak.” 

“Please, I just-- I wanna ask you something.” 

“You get one question before I have my way with you”, his hand traveled down my neck and to hip, keeping me on the wall. “Wear it.” He raised his eyebrows. 

“The vest.” 

“I knew you couldn’t stop those thoughts from going into your pretty little head, you want me to wear a government issued bulletproof vest so you can have your fantasy.” I whimpered, I really wanted it. 

“I want you stripped and on the bed when I come back.” He released me and stepped away going out to the car. I went up stairs and in the bedroom shedding my clothes on the way. I kneeled on the bed and just waited and waited. 

When he didn’t return the arousal between my leg was already dripping down onto the bed, slipping a hand down I made slow circles on my clit. 

I was too focused on the sensation that I didn’t hear his heavy footsteps approaching the room. He watched with a smirk on his lips as I arched my back on the duvet. I got closer and closer to finishing and he could tell. 

My eyes snapped open and he was hovering over me, “I tell you when to cum... understand.” his voice was dark and coated with lust. I didn’t expect him, I thought I’d be able to hear.

I nervously nodded my head. “Tsk, are you going to be a good girl for me.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“I don’t think you are, needy little sluts always say whatever they need to get their way. That sounds like you doesn’t it?” He put a finger under my chin and lifted my gaze to match his. 

“No sir I promise.” 

“We’ll see won’t we, step off and get on your knees.” He pushed himself off the bed and I got the full view of him. It was like I saw him for the first time again, he looked so fucking good. 

I didn’t take a second thought before getting low in front of him, patiently waiting for him. Aaron was going to either take his time or be indescribably rough to get the message through. 

His hands went to his belt and took it off moving around me and buckling my hands together behind my back. 

Stepping in front of me he unzipped his pants and pulled them down enough to pull himself out. “Open”, he ordered before my jaw slacked as he slid his cock into my mouth. 

He looked down at me and my eyes met his. A groan escaped his lips before he took the motion. Sliding a hand behind my head and into my hair, he gripped a portion.

Tilting my head up a bit more so he could thrust in and out easier. “This is what you wanted right-- fuck little girl you’re doing that so well.” He gritted out using my mouth as a tool for his own pleasure. 

He was right, this is what I wanted, just the feeling of him inside my mouth was enough to make me cum. I wished he’d let me touch him, to just get a better grip and grab his thighs to stable myself. 

“I might actually let you finish tonight if you keep this up.” With the limited motion I had I flattened my tongue along his shaft and took him in as deep as I could before it was too much. 

I gagged around him, no matter how far we were into the scene he still cared about how I was feeling. Aaron pulled out and loosened my hair in his fingers, “You gotta breathe.” 

There was a string of saliva moving down my face as I swallowed and collected myself. "Are you okay?", I nodded softly.

"Do you want to keep going?" He gave me an out, he didn't want me to feel obligated to keep going just because of him. Aaron wanted me to feel comfortable.

"Yes", he resumed what he wanted. Opening my mouth back up. 

His cock moved slower to give me extra time to get okay again. When I moaned around him he got the message.

Pushing his hips into my face again and I got that feeling of my jaw being stretched. 

He groaned and his dick twitched and I knew he was close, I wanted him to finish but he pulled back. 

When he got a hold of my waist he tossed me on the bed. Flipping me over roughly my face pressed into the pillows below me. Aaron manhandled me like I was a ragdoll. “Well would you look at that, you really do get off when you act like the whore you are” There a small wet spot on the floor. 

My face was flushed and I caught my breath. Feeling the bed dip he adjusted my hips into the air. “Fuck”, I muttered my breath. 

“What was that.” I didn’t answer and he didn’t like that. 

His hand traveled over my curve of my spine and Aaron placed a slap onto my ass. Recovering he slammed himself into me and I jerked forwards. Letting out an embarrassingly loud moan I bit my lip and tried to hold them in.

“Now don’t do that now, I wanna. hear. you.” He every word he pumped in. I whimpered, getting the relief that had been building a few hours earlier. He grazed my g-spot deliciously and snaked a hand to my clit. 

“Oh god... fuck.” Leaning onto me his other hand wrapped around my neck and lifted me flush against his chest. I felt the kevlar on my back and it scratched my sensitive skin. 

His fingers tightened around my throat and squeezed. My vision went hazed and I rested my head back onto his shoulder. My back arched and I got every sensation I could. 

We locked eyes and he captured my lips in his, he slid his tongue over mine and claimed dominance. 

“Does the little bitch deserve to cum tonight.” He quickened his thrusts and I jolted. “Daddy please.” I clenched around him and I watched as he tossed his head back. I was already so close, and he knew it. 

“Sir can I cum.” 

“Not yet.” I could barely hold it, his pace on my clit was too much to handle. I choked out, “Aaron please.” 

“Go ahead baby.” Releasing the tension that was building was like breaking a dam. I came around him and I felt him pulse. My orgasm brought him over the edge and he spilled inside of me. 

I fell limp and he let me go, my pulse calmed as I came back to reality. He undid my restraints and I automatically pulled him on me, my lips met his.

“Come here”, he whispered against my lips and he helped me stand as my knees buckled. I couldn’t walk or stand on my own, “Fuck Aaron.” I chuckled and he brought me to the bathroom, cleaning up. 

I watched as he shed his clothes, to lazy to actually put them in the hamper they laid on the floor. “It was hot in that.” He said when he felt the cool air on his skin. 

I smirked and kissed him again, “and it was so fucking worth it.” 

“Glad you enjoyed it."

Getting up I made my way back into the bedroom and settled under the thin sheet. I laid my head down, Aaron had gone into the kitchen to get me some water.

When he came back he smiled at the sight, I was already sleeping so he placed the glass next to me on the table.

He got into bed, curling up with me. My sleeping body flipped over and automatically clung on to him. Putting my head on his chest, his arm moved around me and his hand rested on my hip.

Aaron kissed my temple and he fell asleep soundly.

[angelicsentinel]

Feel free to ignore this I you don't want to write it, but I would love to see some KaiAo where Aoko is the one finding out about kaito being kid and confronting him about it? Normally I see fics where she finds out by mistake or he tells her and I feel like she's so much more

I’m in a sappy KaiAo mood so have my three favorite MK cliches; rooftops, cape cuddling, and ID reveal.

-

Choices

“Kaito…Kid,” Aoko said, taking a step forward. The wind whipped her hair and uniform skirt. She crossed her arms, huddled in on herself, cold.

“Nakamori-san,” Kaito said, fighting not to show his inward panic.

They had appeared. It was dangerous for her to have followed him to the roof, and strange that she was the only one who had.

“I’d hoped I was wrong,” she said to him, but it was almost as if she’d said it to herself. “But I knew I wasn’t, even at the beginning.”

He had to get her off this rooftop. She could hate him later, so long as she was alive.

He stepped forward, edge of his cape in hand, and whisked it around her, enveloping her with his cape, pulling her close and blocking the likely shot with his body. They’d aim for center mass and hopefully the distance plus the Kevlar would stop it long before it’d hit her.

“Following me was a very foolish thing to do, Nakamori-san,” Kaito chided, voice low.

Aoko looked up at him, eyes wide, blushing at his proximity. Her lips were pink and parted, breath casting clouds in the air.

Her arms came up, and Kaito flinched back, but they only wrapped around him as her head thudded against his chest. “Bakaito,” she said, fingers digging into his suit coat. “Baka, baka, Bakaito.” Each utterance grew louder and more forceful.

Heart racing at her closeness, blush rising to his face, Kaito murmured, “Nakamori-san?”

“I know it’s you,” she said, and her grip tightened. She pulled back and hit his chest softly with her fist. “Jerkaito.”

Kaito swallowed. Plausible deniability. “It’s dangerous to be up here alone with a thief, Nakamori-san.”

She tilted her head. “I’m safe.” She touched his stomach, the thick padding there. “But Kaito is wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“The daughter of the leader of the task force in the arms of the Kaitō Kid?” Kaito tried again. “What will people think?”

Her eyes widened, and it was too late, and Kaito threw a handful of smoke bombs, disappearing into the aether with Aoko tucked at his side as a crack of a powerful rifle cut through the smoke. He pressed the button and sent the dummy off with another explosion of smoke, and a second shot went off, cutting through the glider and sending the dummy into a tailspin.

When the smoke cleared, Kaito and Aoko had made it clear to the other side of the roof, tucked behind the helipad and out of the line of sight—that is, out of the line of sight from the buildings that made good sniper perches.

He still covered her bodily just to be safe, still kept her wrapped in his cape. “Are you all right?” he asked as he checked her for injuries.

“Idiot Kaito,” Aoko said again, and surged into him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Dealing with this all alone, all this time.”

“Nakamori-san,” Kaito began, and then trailed off.

“’M not stupid,” she said to his shoulder.

“…I never said you were, Ahoko,” he said, saying just that.

She giggled, and then she sniffed. “Bakaito’s nicer to me as Kaitō Kid. Maybe I like Kid better now.”

“Hey,” Kaito said without any heat.

“I just wish you’d told me,” Aoko said.

“What, so you could go directly to Inspector Nakamori?” Kaito said, unable to hide the tension in his voice.

“No, so Aoko could help,” she said. “You’ve changed, Kaito. The difference isn’t hard to see for someone who has known you as long as I have.”

She grabbed his hand, turned it over in her own, tracing his life line with a finger. Her gentle touch sent shivers through him. “But even in this, Kaito had to protect me. I wanted to help and I caused more trouble for you instead.”

“Since when have you cared about causing trouble for me?” Kaito asked with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes, and said, “Since it meant bullets. What Kaito is into is dangerous. I don’t want to lose anyone else I care about.”

Kaito’s heart lurched. “You care about me?” he teased to hide the rapid beating of his heart.  “My, my.”

Aoko glared at him, grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled him into a kiss.

Kaito let out a strangled noise, startled at first, but then he relaxed into it, a gloved hand tentatively reaching up to cup her cheek.

She only pulled away when neither of them could breathe, crossing her arms with a grumpy look on her face. “Of course I care! But Kaito always teases me.”

“You kissed me,” he said. 

“I did,” she replied.

Kaito grinned like a maniac. “You like me. Like ‘like’ like.”

Aoko blushed to the roots of her hair. “S-so what if I do?”

“Dangerous,” Kaito purred.

“Still teasing me,” she said, pouting, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

Kaito fluttered his eyes. “Because you think I’m cute?”

“And I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said. Score! Aoko thought he was cute!

Kaito leaned in, and Aoko shivered, and Kaito stopped. “Are you cold?” Kaito asked, concerned.

“A little bit,” Aoko admitted. 

So Kaito wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her flush against his side so she’d absorb his body heat, making sure his cape covered her fully. Aoko shivered again. “Better?” Kaito asked.

“Yes,” Aoko said. 

“We’ll have to stay here for a bit,” Kaito said, apologetic. “At least until we know for sure they’re gone.”

“I don’t mind,” Aoko said, resting her head against his shoulder. Kaito didn’t mind, either. Aoko liked him and had kissed him and was leaning against him and he’d wrapped his arm tightly around her waist and she didn’t mind at all. 

Oh, but there was one thing that Kaito needed to take care of. He reached into his waistcoat where he’d stashed the large pear-cut diamond, and held it up to the moon while Aoko inhaled sharply. 

Nothing.

Kaito sighed, then grabbed Aoko’s hand. He placed the diamond in her palm, and then closed her fingers over it. “Here. You can give it back to your dad. It’s not the one I want.”

Aoko tilted her head again, her gaze measured. “Will you tell me why someday?”

“Yeah. Someday.”

“…Kaito should steal me some jewelry to wear, I always wanted to look fancy,” Aoko said. “The kind with huge gems.”

Kaito’s jaw dropped. “You know I return things, right?”

“I know.” Aoko laughed, because apparently joking about this was something they did now, and then she said, “I only want to wear them for a little bit, I just wanted to see your face. It was great.”

“Now who’s teasing,” Kaito grumbled, and Aoko laughed again. “Hey Aoko?” Kaito asked. 

“Hmm?”

“When did you figure it out?”

“I’ve always known, really.” She tapped her heart. “I know your magic. I know your body language and your pranks, I know Kaito,” she pressed. “But I only just decided to stop ignoring it and face it head on.”

“I see,” he said.

“Hey Kaito,” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t shut me out anymore.”

“Okay,” Kaito said. “I won’t.”

[gabby297]

Saudade - Chapter 1.

||Prologue||

Summary: "Saudade" - A nostalgic longing for a person or thing that was loved once, but is now lost.

Helmut Zemo's life was forever changed when the Avengers picked his country as a personal playground to fight their own creations. He would never regain the pieces of his life where he was a husband and a father of two. But the existence of new Super Soldiers might just bring him closer to that life he once had than he ever thought was possible. Madripoor holds secrets that even Baron Zemo does not know about.

Word Count: 6.2k

Helmut led them deeper into the garage where his personal collection was stored. Flicking the lights on, he was met with a couple of rows of his favourite antique cars. Just like he left them years ago. It wasn't all of his collection, the remaining couple of dozen were hidden away in other parts of the world. He made a mental note to thank to whoever kept the place cleaned and the cars taken care of. From an initial glance, all of them were spotless, just how he liked them.

"So our first move is grand theft auto?" Sam asked, crossing his arms the moment the light came on.

"These are mine. Collected by the family over the generations." Helmut explained as he pulled open the lid of the trunk. Some of the cars dated back all the way to pre-WW2. He could still remember his father showing him the collection when he was a young man himself. It was a tradition of a sort, in their family. A tradition that he carried on with Nic and was planning to do with Carl once he was older. Years down the line, the same cars, amongst others, were going to be split and passed down equally between them. Now, they would forever be in his collection. He supposed the traditions along with the family name would end with him.

Helmut glanced down at the trunk of the 1946 Packard Clipper that was filled with weapons, knives, and ammunition. He scanned through them all, considering what to take. Some of it will be useful, especially the ones that he could conceal easily. Hearing the doors of other cars being opened, he tilted his head towards Sam and James but refrained from making a comment. Sam chuckled from somewhere behind Helmut, making him turn to him. Sam pulled back from the 1934 Packard Twelve Series 1106 that he was checking out.

"Hey Zemo," He called out, grinning at whatever he was holding in his hand. "Have been secretly a fan-boy all along and were pissed we didn't invite you to hang out?"

"May I?" Helmut asked as he extended his hand. He had a suspicion of what it was already but wanted to see it himself.

"You should keep it. Really brings out your good side." Sam bit out sarcastically and lightly threw it across the couple of feet that were between them.

Helmut caught it easily and opened his palm to see a scratched-up keychain of Iron-Man's helmet. It was light, made of cheap metal, with nearly reflective orange and red paint.

"Huh," he muttered lowly, turning it around a couple of times. The key chain was an old, cheap trinket. He couldn't even remember where Carl picked it up. Their city wasn't exactly in support of Iron man even before the Ultron mess so he doubted it was in Novi Grad. "It belonged to my son. My eldest stole it from him, she liked to do that when they were fighting. I imagine there was another fight over the fact that she lost it."

"Put it away before you lose it," Helmut told her the moment he noticed it dangling from her pocket. "What is it with you and stealing Carl's things?"

"I'm not going to lose it." Nic rolled her eyes and grabbed it. Throwing it to the holder inside the car door she turned to him. "See?"

"Hold up," Sam cut in, pulling Helmut's attention back to him. "You have kids?"

"Had, until your friends showed up. Why does this surprise you? I had a life outside of work." Helmut asked as he ran his thumb across the keychain before putting it into his pocket. It held no value or use, just a small sentimental trinket, he should throw it out.

"Don't get sassy with me, man. If you drop a bomb on us like this, I'm gonna have questions." Sam rolled his eyes, shutting the door harder than it was necessary. Rude.

"As we all do I imagine. Curiosity is wired into our genes after all-"

"Not the time." James interrupted their conversation.

"Right, as I was saying," Helmut cleared his throat and went over to the yellow 1934 SS1 Jaguar where he knew he stored his coat. It was a nice coat. Warm, great quality leather with soft fur around the neck. Ivana loved to steal it and drop it over her shoulders the moment he looked away even for a second. No matter how many times he offered to get her one as well, she would just roll her eyes at him and stick her arms inside it as if to prove the point that it was already hers. It was funny how much it would engulf her, he wouldn't be able to protest for too long even if it ended up in him freezing his ass off at times. He blinked. "I spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the serum. Because once it's out there, someone can create an army of people… like the Avengers."

Helmut placed the coat on top of the car, making sure it wouldn't fall to the dirty ground. Trying to keep his expression neutral as a wave of bitterness washed over him, he bent down to retrieve a bag from the inside. Once the coat was removed, on the green leather of the car seat, his old, purple mask stared back at him. He paused, having forgotten that he threw it here the last time he drove the car.

Nic made a face as she lifted the mask up and took a look at it. He had stored it away in the compartment box but Nic made her way inside it to snoop around.

"You don't like it?" He raised his eyebrow, pulling out of the garage and into the traffic. He promised to bring her to the Zoo couple of days prior and they were meant to return back home the next day. So begrudgingly, he found a couple of hours in the day when he could bring her, even though they went there not even half a year ago for her thirteenth birthday.

"It's…um…very purple."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Why is it so purple?"

"I think you just don't appreciate fashion." He accused her teasingly.

"You call this fashion?" She shot back.

" I let you sit in the front of the car with me and this is what I get in return?" Helmut feigned the hurt in his voice. "Being bullied by my own daughter."

Nic snorted and pulled it over her head. She pulled down the sun visor to see how she looked before turning to him. He wasn't surprised in the least to see that it was way too big for her. The holes for the eyes and mouth were too low and covered her vision instead.

"You're going to be grounded if I find any makeup stains inside it." He threatened and moved his hand from the gearbox to pull the mask off her head. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why she was already putting it on her face. Throwing it behind him to the back, he ruffled her hair even more, causing her to cry out and swat his hand away.

Swallowing, Helmut reached for the mask. His hand lingered on the soft material for a moment. Clicking his tongue, he grasped it tighter and pushed it inside the bag. It will be useful if they ran into trouble and he needed to stay out of the public eye. Nothing else. They really needed to get a move on. The familiarity of the place was making all the memories that he had no time or energy for to come back.

"I ended the Winter Soldier program once before. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished." Helmut asserted, taking the coat and dropping it over his forearm. With the bag in hand, he walked back to the 1946 Packard Clipper.

"To do this, we'll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes." He explained as he filled up the bag with a couple of knives, handguns, and few boxes of rounds.

"Well, join the party. We've already started." Sam remarked from behind him. He was the jokester amongst them, Helmut thought but ignored his comment.

"First stop is a woman named Selby. Mid-level fence I still have a line on. From there, we climb." He added.

Once he was by the door, Helmut placed the bag on the floor and turned back to his 'team-mates'.

"Stay here." He ordered them, not particularly wanting them to go around and explore the rest of the building.

"Where are you going?" Sam demanded to know, ready to leap into a fight.

"To change, Sam," Helmut smirked and made a point to look down at his police uniform. "I would offer you to join, but I must say I was a married man and I don't break my vows."

"Just hurry up," Sam grunted disgusted at the image Helmut must have created in his brain.

Helmut did not hurry up. In fact, he took his sweet time in choosing his outfit. The upper level of the garage was converted into a somewhat livable space if it ever came to that. Ignoring the spare bedroom, he went straight to the room that acted as a walk-in wardrobe. After going through the options, he ended up settling on a pair of black slacks and a dark purple turtle neck that was loose enough to conceal the Kevlar bulletproof vest underneath.

"My, my." Ivana grinned, coming into their bathroom and leaning against the door frame while he was buttoning up his shirt. "Don't you look charming tonight?"

"Are you sure your opinion is not swayed by the fact that you got me the shirt?" Helmut raised his eyebrow as he watched her through the mirror.

"Of course not, Helmut," She rolled her eyes playfully, coming in further and wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. "But I gotta say, purple is your colour."

He hummed and tilted his head against her cheek as he finished the buttons, leaving the top two unbuttoned. She leaned in and placed her lips on his earlobe, nibbling it lightly.

"Brings out your eyes," She breathed into his ear, making him shiver.

"Honey," He grinned and turned around to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer until she was pressed firmly against his chest. He leaned in, pressing their lips together for the briefest moment. "If you keep this up, we won't leave this bathroom."

"Doesn't sound half bad to me," She quipped and grabbed his shirt to tug him back, deepening the kiss.

"Daddy!" Carl called out all the way from the bottom of the stairs, interrupting them. At the age of five, he possessed the power to scream down the house when he wanted something. "The TV stopped!"

"Duty calls," he half groaned out and stole another quick kiss, not wanting to leave just yet. "You nearly ready?"

"More ready than you."

Helmut blinked the memory away as he put the razor back in its place and looked at himself in the mirror. With a clean shaved face and back in his regular clothes, he looked half decent. Almost like he didn't spend years rotting away in a cell with nothing but books. Almost like he was presentable enough to go home. Except there was no one to greet him there now. Sighing, he grabbed his gloves from the sink counter and shut the light off on his way.

"Really? You couldn't have taken any longer?" James asked exasperated the moment he reappeared. To his surprise, they seemed to have listened and stayed where he ordered them to.

"I certainly could have, but unfortunately we have a plane to catch." Grabbing his bag and coat, he opened the door and threw them into the back.

"How you plan to get all this through the security? Not to mention that you're a runaway criminal?" Sam quizzed as he side-stepped quicker than usual to get to the front seat.

"I have my ways, you'll see," Helmut responded and pressed the button to open the garage door. Sitting down behind the wheel felt nice. He had to admit, he missed driving.

Once on the road, the car fell into silence for a few moments with the radio playing quietly, before Sam ruined it by opening his mouth.

"So what? You took your kids on your little killing sprees?"

"Killing sprees, as you call it, involve a great amount of waiting around. We went sightseeing, mostly. Sometimes shopping." Helmut entertained his idiotic question as he sped up, darting in between the traffic. He smiled smugly catching James' eye-roll in the back mirror.

From their expressions, Helmut gathered that both Sam and James did not expect him to bring them into a small airport forty minutes outside the city and waltz through it like he owned it. The workers that noticed them simply nodded their heads in greeting and minded their business.

"So all this time you've been rich?" Sam asked, surprise evident in his voice as the three of them made their way towards a private jet that was parked on the runway.

"I'm a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country." Helmut explained as they walked past the plane's wing.

Oeznik was waiting for them by the stairs. Helmut smiled, genuinely happy to see his most loyal friend. The man was in his life as long as he could remember and he was there by his side when Nic and Carl were born, watching them over while he was away. Helmut owed him a debt that he could never repay.

"Hello, Oeznik." Helmut greeted him in Russian the moment he was close enough to be heard over the engine. Oeznik was the one who sat him through hours of Russian lessons many years ago. It was only fair that he would greet him in it.

"Welcome, gentlemen." Oeznik greeted them back in Russian, causing Helmut to grin wider. While James knew Russian better than anyone, Helmut wasn't sure if Sam did.

"Old friend." Helmut embraced him and kissed both of his cheeks. It had been too long. Nodding to him, Helmut turned to James and Sam. Partly to get them on the plane, and partially because he couldn't look at the man for too long, not when he was looking at him with such adoration. Like he was truly happy to see him. It felt wrong. Undeserving. It made his skin crawl.

"Please." Helmut invited them in and boarded the plane. It was one of the smaller jet's that belonged to him; a six-seater with a small gallery. Perfect for quick travel.

While Sam and Bucky got comfortable in their seats, Helmut took a moment to go through the gallery in hopes of finding something that would pass the time between taking off and reaching the optimal altitude. He wasn't a fan of how rocky the first part of the journey tended to be. Helmut could already hear them going back and forth between each other. Finding a book, he pulled out a small red notebook from his coat's pocket. He nicked it, mostly out of curiosity, from James when he wasn't paying attention. He was sure it would also help to understand where the soldier's mind was at currently. After having his memory scrambled for decades, he was bound to be desperate to write down anything important, in fears of forgetting it. It was only logical.

Putting it in the middle of the book, he returned to the cabin and picked a seat near Sam, so that he could have a viewpoint advantage to watch James. He took a look at him for a moment before opening the book and feigning his interest in it. The former Winter soldier had no idea that he lost something. Perhaps James was trying to suppress anything that had to do with the Winter Soldier, including his heightened senses.

Once they were airborne, Oeznik returned with a glass of champagne for him. Helmut chuckled softly and reached out for it, crossing his legs as he leaned back into his chair.

"Apologies if that's a little warm, the fridge is out. But I will see if there is some good food in the galley."

"If it doesn't pass the smell test… give it to them," Helmut suggested in Sokovian, tilting his head towards them, to give just enough suspicion that he was saying something about them. It was fun, getting under their skin. Besides, it wasn't likely that they would tell a difference even if they took the offer of food which he doubted they would. Probably would believe that he was trying to poison them.

"It's good to have you back, sir." Oeznik chuckled with affection in his voice and returned back to the gallery. Helmut tilted his glass before taking a sip, hoping to wash away the heaviness in his stomach that formed. He could think of a couple of things that would be better than him to have back.

"You don't know what it's like to be locked in a cell. Oh. That's right. You do." He couldn't help but deliver the dig, even at the expense of setting their 'friendship' a step backward. He wanted to acknowledge Sam's time in the RAFT, of the time that he was a prisoner just like himself. That they had something in common, not just an enemy. Also to hint that he kept up with the news, that he knew of their actions and steps, even all the way from a prison cell.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?" For what it's worth, Helmut had to give a point to Sam for not falling for the most basic bait.

Helmut instead of answering picked up his book and flicked through the notebook, settling on a list. He paused for a second. He was familiar with the names on it. After spending over a year learning everything there was about James' time as the Winter Soldier, he had Black widow to thank for making his job easier, he understood the meaning behind them. What took him by surprise was to see his own name amongst them.

"I'm sorry. I was just fascinated by this." Helmut changed the subject, concentrating on one name that he didn't recognize. Nakajima was circled a couple of times, most likely the most important name on the list. However, he never came across of a Nakajima in James' files. "I don't know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?"

James jumped from his seat and within a second, had the vibranium arm around his throat. The suddenness did catch him off guard, causing him to exhale sharply but he wasn't scared. The grip was tight, in a way that was meant to send a message, not to actually cause harm. Besides, why would you be scared of a thing you craved in the dead of night? Death wasn't something that could be used against him, not when he welcomed it years ago.

Helmut maintained eye contact, almost daring him to go further. To prove his point. That was what the serum did to people. Edged them towards extremes, and James Barnes was as extreme as one could get. A man-made killing machine.

"If you touch that again, I'll kill you." James declared, with a calmness in his voice that only people who had their hands dirty could muster. Touchy subject then. He yanked the notebook out of his hands and only then released his grip.

"I'm sorry," Helmut apologized, his voice sounding hoarser from the strain it just experienced. "I understand that list of names. People you've wronged as the Winter Soldier."'But why is my name important enough to you for you to write it down in your amends?' was left unasked.

"Don't push it." James bit out, becoming guarded once again, just like when he came to his cell. He reminded Helmut of a dog he used to see back home. Desperate for help, but too long on the streets to trust anyone.

"I've seen that book. It was Steve's when he came out of the ice." Sam noted with fondness in his voice. "I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What'd you think?"

"I like '40s music, so…" James replied, clenching his jaw.

"You didn't like it?"

"I liked it."

"It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience." Helmut joined in the conversation.

"He's out of line, but he's right. It's great. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye."

"I like Marvin Gaye."

"Steve adored Marvin Gaye."

"You must have really looked up to Steve. But I realized something when I met him. The danger with people like him, America's Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals."

"Watch your step, Zemo." Sam warned him but he ignored it.

"They become symbols. Icons. And then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly, innocent people die. Movements are formed, wars are fought. You remember that, right? As a young soldier sent to Germany to stop a mad icon. Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull? No. That is why we're going to Madripoor."

"What's up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it's Skull Island." Sam asked, glancing between him and James.

"It's an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s." James was the one to answer him. That was a light way of putting it.

"It's kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone."'But we both know that's not quite true don't we?' Helmut left unsaid.

The flight from Germany to Madripoor took roughly fourteen hours. For the first couple of hours, they sat in relative silence. Helmut drowned himself into the book while James looked out the window and Sam had his AirPods in, drumming his fingers against the armrest to the beat of a song.

Helmut shifted in his seat, closing the book. Sighing, he placed it on the chair opposite of him and stood up needing to stretch his legs. The jet didn't have that much space to walk so he chose to cross the gallery to refill his glass. With the drink in hand, he wandered down into the cockpit where Oeznik and another pilot were sitting.

"Sir." The pilot greeted him in Russian the moment he noticed him leaning against the door frame.

"Excellent flying, Dabrowski." Helmut smiled, crossing his arms. "haven't felt any turbulence."

"Thank you sir."

The cockpit fell into silence, not that Helmut minded. He was too used to it to find it uncomfortable. He watched the clouds pass them by, sipping the champagne. Feeling eyes on him, he turned to Oeznik.

"Did they treat you alright, Helmut? Truly?" Oeznik asked, switching to Sokovian while looking at him with such adoration and worry that Helmut had to look away yet again. He cleared his throat and plastered a smile on his face. Even to himself it felt forced.

"Of course Oeznik, you worry too much." He chided him gently. The man always fussed about him. He always fretted over Ivana as well, concerned if she ate enough throughout the day. Never went a day without secretly giving Nic and Carl a piece of candy even if Carl never was able to keep it a secret.

"Well it has been my job for over forty years and you tend to find trouble around every corner." The older man chuckled fondly.

"Nonsense, I'm always on my best behavior. How have you been? I imagine you enjoyed the much-needed vacation days." Helmut changed the subject easily. He didn't want to linger on what once was.

"If I knew your drastic ways of making me take the vacation days off, I would have taken them sooner," Oeznik joked before his smile fell away. "Things have been quiet. It a strange thing to get used to. Even after all these years, I expect to hear Nic and Car, to just pop out around any corner that I turn. I make sure they always have fresh flowers, especially Ivana. She was hellbent on having fresh flowers around the house."

His voice broke, thick with emotion. Helmut had to bite down the inside of his cheek to keep himself composed. The metallic taste filled his mouth and as he ran his tongue over the spot, it sent a small jolt of pain.

It had been so long since he saw their graves. He only went there once, to watch their caskets be lowered into a deep hole. As if that somehow could have brought him some sort of closure, as if it would have granted him the ability to say goodbye. The thought of returning, of stepping a foot in that damned graveyard, of looking at three tombstones, side by side, washed him over with such coldness that even if he jumped into antarctic water he would have been warmer. Shame flooded him. What kind of a man did not visit his own family? What kind of a husband, a father, would let them rot alone.

"Thank you, Oeznik. I'll…" Helmut swallowed, trying to find the words that seemed determined to be stuck in his throat and left unsaid. "I'll make sure to pay them a visit. Later."

Helmut did what he did best; he lied. You told her they would be safe. Look how that turned out.

Made another useless promise, knowing full well he couldn't walk down that path, not without putting a bullet in himself and joining them.

Madripoor was just as vivid and bright as he remembered. The lights of the High Town shone from miles away. They stopped by Helmut's safe house, where James and Sam reluctantly changed into a set of clothes that wouldn't instantly attract attention to them. Especially for the roles that they would have to play if they wanted to get information. Unsurprisingly, it took longer to convince Sam to dress up than it did James.

"We have to fix this. I'm the only one who looks like a pimp." Sam groaned out, looking at his apparel for the tenth time in disgust.

"Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp." Helmut sighed as he dug out his phone and split his attention between looking at the road in front of them and through the gallery to find a picture of Conrad Mack. "You look exactly like the man you're supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger."

"He even has a bad nickname." Sam took a glance at the picture. "he does look like me, though."

Sam passed the phone back to him. The closer they walked to the city, the sharper the distinct stench became.

"You smell this?" Helmut asked keeping his attention upfront. A car was arranged to collect them at any moment now, but anything could happen between now and then. He rather not have surprises popping up at them in a place like this. Even he didn't know the city that well and he doubted many people would be willing to help out.

"Yeah, what is that? Acid?"

More like a combined mixture of the fumes from the buildings, production of drugs, all the imported animals and God knows what else. Helmut had no doubt that the water surrounding the city was toxic and could kill someone if they fell into it.

"Madripoor."

A bright beam of headlights flashed them as a car came to a stop a short distance away from them.

"No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error." Helmut explained calmly, barely moving his lips just in case the driver felt particularly nosy. They could trust no one.

"High Town's that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town's the other way." He added, opening the passenger door.

"Let me guess. We don't have any friends in High Town." Sam said as he walked around the car.

Helmut gave him a smile and sat down in the front. The destination, Brass Monkey, was already agreed during the call so Helmut only needed to forward the payment before the car moved in the direction of Low Town.

It did not take long until several motorcycles surrounded their car. Someone already knew of their arrival before they even took a step inside Low Town. Helmut's money was on the Power Broker, which was not the best news for them. He watched Sam turn around and look behind him through the rear-view mirror.

Once the car stopped, Helmut nodded to the driver and exited the car. Wordlessly, he led James and Sam through the streets, passing armed guards, dealers, and hookers until they arrived at Brass Monkey.

"Here we are. Remember your roles no matter what happens." He reminded them again, giving a hard look to Sam. He knew once James got into the role of the Winter Soldier again, there would be very little that could affect him enough to give up their act. It was Sam who made him nervous. His seemingly constant need to check up and staring at James might be the thing that gets them caught. The last thing they needed was for the whole city-state to put a bounty on their head.

The inside was packed with all sorts of lowlifes.

"Ready to comply… Winter Soldier?" Helmut asked James in Russian, loud enough for people to hear and for whispering to begin. He needed the whispers to travel to the right people. Not only would it get them to Selby faster, but it would also buy him security. Winter Soldier's reputation around these parts was well known, not many would want to dive headfirst at them.

Helmut lead them to the bar and took a quick glance around. For the most part, there was no one that stood out or seemed out of place. He noticed that to their right a couple of feet away, two women stood together, but only one of them kept her eyes trained on them. It was the insistent staring that caught his attention. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell much about them, the taller one wore a hood and the one that was watching them had a mask that covered half of her face. The mask reminded him of what the Winter Soldier used to wear. The Bar's security perhaps. Or maybe an interested party.

"Hello, gentlemen. Wasn't expecting you, Smiling Tiger." The barman approached them, distracting him from the two women. He took a look at Sam but didn't appear to be suspicious over his appearance.

"His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby." Helmut answered instead. They had agreed that he would do all the talking and they would simply need to nod along and look pretty.

"The usual?"

There came their test. Seeing the barman take a cobra out of a glass container and drag a knife across it, Helmut sighed dramatically, expressing his feigned happiness at receiving Sam's 'favourite' drink. It was made out Gin, Triple Sec, Cobra heart, and finger lim.

"Smiling Tiger, your favorite." He emphasized with a smile on his face. Helmut had to admit, it was going to be fun.

The barman placed their drinks on the table.

"I love these," Sam spoke up and looked at him, holding the shot as far away as he could from himself.

"Cheers, Conrad." Helmut clinked their glasses and knocked back the shot. It burned his throat as it went down, the heart adding that extra kick of spice to the mix. It wouldn't be his first choice of drink, but it wasn't the worst that he tasted.

"Mmm. Mmm."

While Sam tried to force himself to drink the shot before it became too obvious, Helmut glanced to the corner of the table again. The woman with the hood was gone but the second one was interested in watching Sam with the drink. They definitely had an audience. Not so good.

Hearing someone approach from behind, Helmut turned in time to see the Power Broker's henchman coming up.

"I got word from on high. You ain't welcome here."

Helmut considered his words carefully. They needed to prove that James was under his control. These types of talks often needed a bargaining chip and what was better than a Winter Soldier?

"I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…" he responded and gestured to James who was stiffly standing beside him.

"New haircut?"

"Or bring Selby for a chat."

After a glance at James, the henchman left them alone. Hopefully to get Selby. Licking his lips, Helmut turned back to the bar.

"A Power Broker? Really?" James muttered out lowly, unimpressed with the name. Not that Helmut could blame him, the name was a little bit cliché.

"Every kingdom needs its king. Let's just pray we stay under his radar." Helmut shrugged. The one time that he indirectly dealt with the Power Broker was back in '08, when the EKO Scorpion needed to obtain a particular nerve agent for one of their missions. Even back then, you did not want to get on the wrong side of the Power Broker. He didn't even want to imagine how big his empire was now.

"Do you know him?" Sam whispered, glancing around the bar.

"Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is the judge, jury, and executioner." Helmut elaborated and tilted his head to their watcher. "And has eyes and ears everywhere. She hasn't stopped watching us ever since we stepped a foot near the bar."

Sam's eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise and he glanced in her direction. Helmut didn't have much time to say anything else. More of the Power Broker's men were making their way towards them.

"Winter Soldier." Helmut looked at James dead in the eye. "Attack."

He ordered in Russian just as a hand gripped his shoulder. James did not hesitate, ripping the man's arm off him and bending it backward. Dragging him towards the centre of the room, he broke the man's arm in half and threw a punch in his face using the prosthetic arm, rendering the man useless on the floor.

Helmut smiled. He was right after all. No matter how much James denied, the Winter Soldier was right there, still inside him. The bystanders took out their phones, filming as the Winter Soldier single-handedly took out anyone that came at him.

Helmut stood back and apart from pushing a couple of them into Winter Soldier's path, he watched the scene unfold. James was lethal, just like he was all the way back when they first met and Helmut uttered the words of his programming. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the woman leaning her body over the counter as she said something to the barman who promptly left with a phone pressed to his ear.

"Didn't take much for him to fall back into form." Helmut chuckled, shrugging his shoulders at Sam who seemed a little bit pale. He barely paid any attention to Helmut, his eyes only watching James.

The Winter Soldier grabbed someone by the throat and lifted him in the air before throwing him over the counter. The sound of multiple guns cocking behind them made Helmut's heart skip a single beat. Glancing around, it seemed like every single person was arming themselves. Sam gripped James' forearm causing Helmut to hiss out:

"Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us."

The Flying Tiger certainly would not be touching James' without wishing a swift death sentence. James' not reacting to a threat, allowing a touch on himself would blow their cover to pieces. Sam let go.

"Well done, soldier." Helmut praised James, replacing Sam's hand on him with his own. He needed to take control of the situation and fast.

The barman returned and nodded to the woman.

"Selby will see you now. Follow me, gentlemen." She spoke out for the first time, rising from her seat. The honeyed voice twinged with a familiar accent ripped the breath right out of Helmut's lungs. Even muffled by the mask, it was distinguishable in all the ways that it couldn't have been possible. It halted him to the spot, unable so much as to inhale the air that his lungs started to scream for. He did not see James let go of the man or Sam cast him a confused look when he made no move to follow.

This was not possible.

I 'll try to update the fic once a week to keep somewhat consistent schedule :)

Please let me know what you think and I can't wait to bring you more content soon x

[multiharlot]

swat / spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: y/n captain of the fbi swat team that leads the bau team into a high-risk arrest / counter-terrorist attack and gets hurt protecting her team, sending her loving boyfriend into a crazed panic.

warnings: blood, violence, slight gore, guns, bombs, and shooting. (hello it’s criminal minds)

masterlist

y/n’s pov

“spen, don’t worry. i’ll be okay. this is what i do. just stay behind me, got it?” you say, giving your worried boyfriend a stern gaze as you strapped on the rest of your gear. 

“is this on tight enough? i don’t think it is. here, i got it.” he says, completely ignoring your order and pushing your hands away.

 he tightens the straps on your kevlar vest and you groan as he pulls the velcro tightly, slapping it into place.

“there. much better.” he says, letting out a short breath. 

you roll your eyes, readjusting the slightly suffocating vest and clicking the helmet into place. 

“spencer reid. i am going to be just fine. i’m not captain for no reason. you just stay behind me, and let me and my team do our job. and we’ll let you do yours, alright?” you sigh and you place your hands on his shoulder, looking at him through your protective goggles. 

“okay...okay i can do that. yeah.”

“good, now let’s go.” you nod, ruffling his hair slightly as loading the magazine into your gun. 

you push open the van doors and you and your team head up to the entrance, leaning against the wall beside the warehouse door. you reach down, clicking the coms button on the radio attached to your shoulder.

“operator to HQ. TRT going for dynamic entry, weapons hot, preparing for immediate contact.”

you wait for headquarters to respond, giving you the go ahead.

“HQ to operator, you’re green.”

you turn your head back towards your team, and nodding softly as your gaze met spencers. 

“move!” you shout, kicking down the front door and immediately being met with a downpour of bullets. 

your team crowds around spencer, jj, and alvez as they lead them to take cover down the hall. 

“agents take the tail and give me a status check!” you shout into your radio, pulling the trigger and letting your automatic weapon exchange casualties with the the terrorist group.

“we’re good, cap.” 

“green”

“good to go, y/l/n.”

the responses from your team pour in a you feel a slight relaxation cloud your senses. you continue moving through the first floor of the building and you nod your head. 

“alright, let’s move.” you sigh, gesturing your team through the now calm floor and heading up the stairs of the building. 

you move slowly, your boots clunking slightly against the metal stairs. you see the other half of your team moving through the other end of the corridor with matt, rossi, and emily on the parallel end of the building. 

“TRT 2, status check.” you mumbled into your radio, and your lieutenant, corey o’malley, turns, looking your way before leaning into his shoulder.

“we’re smooth, operator. north end corridor is clear.”

“say smooth operator again and i’ll demote you....and watch each other’s sixes, it’s too quiet for my liking.” you sigh, and your lieutenant sends you a quick thumbs up before heading into another room. 

you turn to the team, nodding your head and making your way down the corridor, inspecting the first open room and then stopping in front of the second. this one had a door, oddly enough. your eyebrows furrow as you slowly approach the door, you tighten your grip around your rifle, reaching for the handle and sliding open the metal sheet door. as soon as the door opens, your eyes widen as you catch sight of the men with c4 strapped to their chests and automatic rifles in their hands.

“bomb! fall back!” you shout, and your teams begins running out before the men open fire. 

you cry out as bullets make their way through your shoulder, abdomen, and upper thigh. you fall to the ground, attempting to quickly push yourself back up.

“cap!” your sergeant, jessie mack, yells out, catching everyone’s attention. 

she runs back pulling you up from the ground and helping you run out the building. just as you two make it out of the doorway, the explosions go off and smoke fills your lungs. you both fall to the floor, gasping for breath and your vision starts to go in and out as you feel your blood soaking through your uniform and spread underneath the kevlar. 

“this is sierra one to HQ, we need medics on the scene.” corey says frantically into his radio as he kneels next to you, practically ripping off your layers of protective gear to get to your injuries.

“what’re the chances those sons of bitches managed to hit me in the tiny sliver of skin that wasn’t covered?” you chuckled, coughing slightly as the metallic taste of blood filled your lips. 

mack and corey chuckle sadly as they place pressure on the wounds. you could hear spencer calling out to you and your eyes wander, blinking slowly as you felt the drowsiness blanket over you. you want to yell out for him, but you hear jj and alvez shouting for him to calm down and let my team handle it.

“where are those fucking medics!?” mack shouts frustratingly. 

“tourney her thigh, mack.” corey instructs, ripping off the bottom end of my shirt.

“hey now, o’malley. i have a boyfriend.” you scold sarcastically, making him smile. 

“how is it that you’re bleeding out and you’re still making time to be a pain in my ass, huh?” he chuckles sadly, wiping his tears of frustration.

“w-well...someone’s gotta do it.” you cough, the blood beginning to pour from your lips. 

“exactly, so you better live. you better keep yourself alive and always be my pain in the ass captain, you hear me?”

“mack...mack get spence.” you slur, and she sniffles nodding her head and calling out to spencer. 

in probably less than a millisecond, spencer is sliding onto the ground next to you, looking over your blood ridden body. he pushes corey’s hand away from my shoulder and he presses firmly into your wound, making you groan loudly.

“sorry but no. you’re not dying. you’re gonna live and i’m gonna keep getting angry at you for leaving your pants all over the place and you’re gonna keep yelling at me for leaving case files on the floor which makes you trip all the time. and we’re going to keep arguing over what color we should paint the house and how you’re always so sarcastic even when you shouldn’t be. okay?”

“i love you, spen. i need you to know that.” you say weakly, your eyes beginning to flutter shut. 

“hey no. keep your eyes open, look at me baby. look at me.” he pleads, and you force your eyes open, screaming to whatever higher power is out there in your head that if you die, you’ll kill them for letting that happen. 

“i’m not gonna die. i’m too stubborn for that.” you smile softly, and you finally hear the sirens and the screeching of tires. 

you weren’t sure what really happened next because you were fading in and out of consciousness, but you remembered spencer’s pleas and words of reassurance, and you remembered telling the ambulance driver to turn up the radio because your favorite song was playing. you never were one to be all that serious, even when you should be. it just wasn’t how you worked. but for just a moment, you prayed, to whoever was out there, that they’d let you continue being not so serious. 

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

third person pov

both teams waited anxiously in the waiting room, y/n’s blood still staining corey’s fingernails, and mack stared blankly at her hands. all she could picture was y/n’s blood coating her hands and wrists and she could still hear your blood splattering coughs. spencer paced nervously as the bau attempted to get him to sit down. 

“come on, spencer. she’s going to be just fine. just calm down-”

“no, luke. i can’t calm down. i’m not sure if you knew this, but i don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships. and i finally- finally think that i get to have what everyone else has, and it’s about to be ripped away from me. again. so please forgive me for not being able to sit down and wait patiently.” spencer says, making everyone look up at stare sadly at him. 

he shakes his head, running his hands over his face before muttering a small apology. 

“sorry...i’m sorry. i just can’t lose her.” spencer whimpers, causing the teams hearts to clench in their chests. 

“we know, spence. we know. we don’t want to lose her either.” jj quickly reassures, taking her best friend into her arms. 

garcia sat quietly next to luke, reaching over and grabbing his hand. 

“she’s gonna be okay.” she nods, and luke gives her a tight smile, squeezing her hand in his. 

“she’s gonna be okay.” he recites. 

a short silence fills the room until one of her teammates lets out a snort. 

“do...do you guys remember when she told the brass the from now on they could only refer to SWAT as Sexy Without Actually Trying?” he smiles, making her team erupt in soft laughter. 

the bau smiles, nodding their heads. that definitely sounded like her. 

“or when she started the ‘Bureau’s Best Butts Contest’?” mack laughs, making emily snort. 

“she did what?” she smiles. 

“oh yeah. this was before she ever met any of you, before she even met spencer. she was just brought on as captain and as our team bonding exercise, she started a contest between the team on who had the best butt...usually private jeffords wins every year” mack smiles, and corey nods his head. 

“and i’m damn proud.” private jeffords says, straightening out his jacket.

“or remember what she said to strauss when strauss tried to give her some talk about following protocol?” private murphy speaks out, standing up against the wall.

“oh yeah! she said, ‘the only protocol i’m meant to follow is to create orderly chaos and save lives. so call me captain i don’t give a shit, because i really don’t.” corey says, imitating his best y/n voice. 

the team laughs and spencer smiles sadly. 

“she really loves you guys, you know?” he says, his bottom lip wavering. 

the laughter ceases and mack stands up, taking his hands into hers. 

“it’s nothing compared to how much she loves you.”

he lets out a short breath and more tears stream down his stick cheeks. he opens his mouth to respond when the doctor walks into the waiting room. 

“i’m assuming you’re all here for y/n y/l/n?” he asks, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

spencer pushes his way through everyone, making his way to the front of the small crowd. 

“i’m her boyfriend. her family lives on the west coast and won’t be here until tomorrow.”

the doctor nods his head before taking in a deep breath. 

“it was...touch and go for a while. she flatlined once she reached the table, but we were able to resuscitate her and stop the bleeding. she was given a blood transfusion and she’s alright now, but she’s going to need a lot of rest. you can see her now if you’d like.” he says, smiling softly. 

mack giggles excitedly as everyone felt as though they could finally breath. 

“what room is she in?” spencer asks, about ready to run down the halls. 

“524″ the doctor says, nodding his head and walking off. 

spencer then runs out of the waiting room area and down the halls, nearly pushing over the dozens of nurses in the hall and almost breaking the down the door to her room. he stops as soon as he sees her laying on the bed, her eyes closed softly and the ekg machine echoing through the room. he lets out short gasps as he tries to regain control of his breathing and he takes a seat next to her bed, taking her hand in his. 

“i love you so much.” he mumbles as he places a kiss on her knuckles. 

spencer sat at her bedside all night. he sat through everyone’s visits and everyone’s gifts. he sat there, with her left hand in his right hand, and his head on his left. y/n’s eyes flutter open and she grips his hand tightly. 

“i told you i wasn’t gonna die.” she croaks out. 

his head snaps up and he sniffles, a tight smile on his lips. 

“you almost did, though. you flatlined. i could’ve lost you.” he whimpers. 

“but you didn’t. i’m okay. death tried to knock at my door, but death learned it’s lesson. he ain’t coming back anytime soon, baby. for me or for you. i made sure i gave him a big ol’ fuck you.”she reassures, making him scoff and roll his eyes. 

“can you stop being sarcastic for like ten seconds?”

“well, i did make a promise to stay alive so we can argue about it some more.”

he smiles as he rubs his thumb softly over her knuckles. he’d never tell her this because she’d never shut up about it, but her never-ending humor and sarcasm made his days better. her way of processing made it easier for him to cope. she took the weight of the world off his shoulders. 

“and we can argue about it for the rest of our lives.” he smiles, pressing a gentle kiss on her hand.

she smiles, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. 

“the rest of our lives...i like the sound of that.”

“me too, y/n. me too.”

“speaking of.....jello?”

“you’re my soulmate.”

“i know.”

taglist:

@dreatine​ @slytherinintj13​ @mileven-reddie​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @haileymorelikestupid

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 20: 3rd Life (S3E12)

Warnings: murder of teens, graphic injuries, swearing

Ch 19 | Ch 21

~ ~ ~

“Have you ID’d the body?” Hotch asked as they got out of their SUVs and onto the scene.

Two teenage girls, Katie and Lindsey, had gone missing from Chula Vista, California almost a day ago and the police had just called them in after a body was uncovered during a search party. It’d been there for 5 hours and supposedly was extremely gruesome.

“It’s a girl,” the detective confirmed.

“One of the missing girls?” Hotch specified.

“All I can tell you, is it’s a girl.”

“Did you draw up a list of those involved in the search?” Morgan inquired.

The team had to dodge police cars, officers, and bystanders to reach the yellow tape and see the grave they had uncovered.

“You’re gonna find the parents of those girls on that list.”

“Please tell me they didn’t discover the body,” Emily huffed.

“No. As soon as our dogs caught her scent, we kept them away from the scene.”

They all stepped over the edge of the pit, looking down on the body. It was positioned awkwardly, as if thrown down there. Any exposed skin was coated in a layer of blood, followed by a layer of dirt. And the face wasn't just covered, it was completely gone.

Lydia’s stomach churned at the sight, but she swallowed it down, stepping carefully into the grave and closer to the body, her gloves coming out instinctually.

She took her time to examine the body, finally speaking up when Emily and Spencer broke away from the team to look with her.

“The bruises had time to develop,” she explained, pointing to the discoloration on the skin they could see. “Her hands and face were cut up in layers. And from the indentations on her neck, she was strangled to death with a belt.”

“The bindings cut deep into her flesh,” Spencer noted.

“But why destroy her hands and face?” the detective asked from behind Emily.

“It indicates she knew the attacker,” she told him. “They think if we’re able to identify her, we’ll be closer to catching them.”

“Do you think the other girl’s still alive?”

“Until we find her body,” Rossi said, “we should assume she is.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia sighed, stepping into an abandoned house. The carpet was littered with blood stains, beer bottles and cans, cigarettes, money, shoes. The amount of evidence their unsubs left behind was astounding.

Throughout the day, they’d come to two discoveries. The first was that the body uncovered belonged to Katie Owen. And the second was that their other kidnapped girl, Lindsey Vaughan, wasn’t actually named Lindsey Vaughan.

Her and her father, Jack, were in witness protection after he’d been caught as part of the Boston mob. And if someone had figured them out, Lindsey was in much more trouble than they thought.

“Katie’s cell phone,” Emily said as she lifted up a small, pink object.

“Two different sets of footprints,” Morgan noted. “So, two unsubs.”

“Jack said there’d be two of them,” the detective offered.

“Hotch,” Lydia called. “We’re gonna need to pack up all of this. There’s DNA all over this scene.”

“For professionals, this is incredibly sloppy,” Emily stated and Lydia nodded.

“There’s no way. The mob does their job and moves on. They’ve been hanging out here, drinking… whoever’s doing this, they’re doing it for fun, not work.”

Emily picked up a belt. “This could have been the belt used to strangle Katie.”

“If they’re sending a message, why obliterate the ID and hide the body?” Rossi asked.

“So this has nothing to do with the mob?” The detective looked between them, baffled.

“Hey, guys,” Morgan called. “This blood trail goes all the way out the back here. Must have run out this way.”

The team followed them into the backyard and out of a broken section in the fence.

“Whoever it was,” Emily began, “they lost a lot of blood.”

“It’s getting thinner,” Lydia noticed. “It’s an arterial bleed. This person couldn’t have made it far on their own.”

Eventually, the trail disappeared, with no body nearby. “Okay,” Hotch said. “Spread out. Search the grounds and every house.”

The team had their guns out a moment later, splitting off. The whole area was under construction, meaning they could walk freely in and out of the houses, but at the same time, so could their unsubs. An entire house to themselves is a lot of cover.

Lydia followed Hotch, knowing that searching for suspects alone wasn’t in her job description. And the FBI was one of the only jobs where doing more than you were asked is frowned upon. She’d been told that more than once.

As they walked, she pulled at her vest, frustratedly, with one hand, the other still on her weapon.

“You haven’t told the team of your relationship yet,” he mumbled back to her.

“Spencer wants it to come up naturally one day. Too bad he doesn’t really do fluid conversation. I decided a long time ago that that’s his business,” she admitted. “He knows the team better. If he wants them to know, he should tell them.”

“I understand that, but don’t give up your free will to please him. Reid will understand.”

She chuckled. “I know. I promise though, I don’t mind either way.”

They went silent after that, Hotch approaching the closest house. Lydia held her gun at the ready, checking behind them constantly her eyes bouncing from door to door. The two of them made their way upstairs and stopped dead in their tracks to find a small puddle of blood. Hotch indicated she should wait in the hallway, before kicking his way into the room.

He stopped, standing in the door and just looking at whatever was before him, then said into his com, “Guys, the last house on the left house, second floor. I’ve got something.”

As soon as he lowered his gun, Lydia put hers away and walked into the room to find a body on the floor. It belonged to a boy, likely no older than their missing girls were.

“You know that I’m not a forensic anthropologist, right?” Lydia grumbled as she knelt down to examine whoever this poor kid was.

“Lydia, you’re the closest thing we’ve got,” he argued.

“My PhD is in chemistry,” she continued, ignoring him.

There was blood all the way down the front of his body: shirt, pants, dripping from his mouth, etc. He had three stab wounds in his chest. His eyes were already foggy and distant. Across his face and arms were scratch marks. And there was a bite mark on his right hand.

Next to him was an open cell phone, which she reached for after throwing on a glove, but it was dead.

Lydia stood up and showed it to Hotch. “You think this is one of our unsubs?” she asked knowingly.

“He’s got defensive wounds. They have to be from Katie or Lindsey.”

“Well…” She glanced at the boy. “He’s not part of the mob.”

“We’re well past that,” Hotch murmured.

Rossi was the first to arrive on the scene and they explained their findings.

“At some point for him, things got out of hand and he wanted out,” Rossi reasoned. “He makes a run for it and gets stabbed in the process. It’s dark. They can’t find him.”

“They think he’s gone to the police and they have to think fast, so they take Katie and they dump her across town.”

“And to maintain some amount of control, they take Lindsey.”

Lydia looked between the two older men. “So… where did his friends run off to?”

~ ~ ~

The station was in a panic as news broke out that Jack Vaughan had escaped his protective custody agent and was on the hunt for the boys who took his daughter.

Garcia had identified their dead kid as Doug Silverman, a student at the same high school as Katie and Lindsey. Jack had claimed he’d never seen the boy before, but his sudden disappearance seemed to suggest otherwise.

The whole team was on the streets, trying to find Jack, except for Lydia and Spencer. Spencer was marking up his map, frustratedly, trying to determine where the boys might have taken Lindsey.

The only lead they had was a boy named Ryan Phillips. They were pretty sure he was the leader of the group they were looking for. But there was no way he would have taken Lindsey to his house, so it meant very little that they knew his name.

“You’ve got to find him, fast,” the witness protection agent insisted.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Spencer hissed.

“Coloring in a map!”

Lydia got between them immediately, so that Spencer could work in peace. “We’ve got people all over town looking for your witness when we should be focused on saving Lindsey. You’re clearly much more helpful when you’re sitting on your ass doing nothing.���

“What the hell is your problem?!” he shot back, but they were both interrupted by an officer walking in, letting them know that there had been reports of shots being fired on Jackson St.

The agent left with him, anxious to find Jack.

“Got it!” Spencer cried, pulling out his phone and dialing up Hotch before Lydia could ask what he’d found. “After inputting all the sites, I’ve come up with a two-dimensional probability service overlay map that indicates the offenders’ operating area… I know it sounds crazy, but I think he’s taken her to the Mayford High School two blocks from here… Thanks.”

He was off a moment later, throwing on his kevlar vest and Lydia quickly doing the same.

“What are you doing?” he insisted. “You don’t go on raids.”

“The rest of the team’s too far away,” she replied. “You need backup.”

“Lydia, I’ll be fine.”

“Then, what’s the harm of me going?” She didn’t let him answer that. “Hotch gave me this gun specifically because he knew that one day I was going to follow someone into danger with or without it. I’m more prepared than I have been on cases before.”

“Stay behind me,” he told her, the two of them running outside and hopping into a police vehicle.

The car that Jack Vaughan had taken when he fled was abandoned by the side of the school. Spencer pulled up beside it and the two of them rushed to catch up with him, guns at the ready. If Jack really did have a gun and Ryan Phillips was inside, things were going to end badly.

They ran into a nearby hallway, Lydia checking the doors on the right, Spencer doing the same on the left. She stopped in her tracks, hearing muffled yells from inside a nearby bathroom.

“Kill him, Daddy! Kill him!”

Lydia nodded for Spencer to join her and on the count of three, she threw open the door and he rushed into the bathroom.

“Put the gun down!”

Lydia went around him and also trained her gun on Jack Vaughan. At some point, he’d acquired a shotgun, which he now had facing an older boy on the floor of the bathroom, with a split lip, who could only be presumed to be Ryan Phillips. Jack’s daughter, Lindsey, upon seeing them, stepped up next to her father, blocking their shot. Her hands were tied behind her back and there was dried blood around her mouth, but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

“Help me, please!” Ryan sobbed. “Please help me!”

“Jack, put down the gun!”

Lindsey glared at Reid before turning back to her father. "She begged him to stop and he laughed at her! He laughed at her!”

“I didn’t laugh at her! Honestly, I would change this if I could!”

“Lindsey,” Lydia tried to reason, “what good is killing him? Trust me, his sentence will be punishment enough, we’ll make sure of it.”

“Please,” Ryan kept pleading. “Don’t kill me.”

Spencer sounded exhausted, taking in a deep breath. “Jack, you swore to your wife that you’d protect Lindsey. Listen to her, Jack. Listen to what she wants. She’s-- She’s begging you to kill somebody right in front of her. What do you think your wife wanted you to protect her from?”

Lydia decided to try and plead with the girl again. “Lindsey, I know it may feel like killing him is the only just option. And I know it feels like that’s just how things work in your family. Being exposed to things like violence and murder at a young age can make them seem more understandable or natural than they are. But your father’s history doesn’t affect yours. If you tell your dad to shoot him, that will be your first kill. Do you really want a murder on your hands?”

“Jack, your life has been… It’s been about violence, and if… you do this, Lindsey’s will be, too. Do you want that?”

“Lindsey, your father hasn’t killed anyone in a long, long time. He’s proved to the government that he can be a good person. Do you want to take that away from him?” The girl wouldn’t even look at her. She was angry. Her mind was too clouded by her need for revenge. If they were going to stop Jack from pulling that trigger, it was up to Spencer now.

“When does it end, Jack?”

“Put down the gun,” Ryan cried and they could hear sirens approaching outside the school.

“Kill him,” Lindsey whispered.

“When does it stop?” Spencer continued.

Jack looked at Spencer, then Lydia, then his daughter. Finally, he turned back to the pleading boy in front of him. “Tomorrow,” he growled and shot Ryan straight through the head.

Spencer’s face froze into one of pure shock, his gun falling to his side.

Neither Jack nor Lindsey said anything as Jack untied her arms and guided her out of the bathroom. As they passed though, Lydia could see the regret in both faces. They would never be the same after this.

Once they were out of the room, Lydia stepped in front of Spencer, blocking his view of the boy’s body.

“This is not your fault,” she said, firmly. “Ryan Phillips may not have deserved to die, but in the end, we did our jobs. We saved Lindsey.”

“I thought I could-”

She shushed him. “This is not on you,” she repeated. After a minute, Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi were rushing in, only to find Ryan Phillips’s brains all over the walls.

“You okay, Reid?” Morgan asked, seeing his friend’s distress.

Lydia looked up at Morgan. “I’m going to take him outside.” Then, she wrapped an arm around his waist and gently guided him out of the high school and onto a bench outside, pulling him into a hug for several minutes.

~ ~ ~

Spencer didn’t talk much on the trip back to headquarters, but stayed attached to Lydia’s side. After a while, he’d seemed to calm down a bit and reassured her that he would be fine. And then, asked that when they got back, they’d tell the team about their relationship.

After watching the two of them practically falling on top of one another for the whole flight back to DC, Lydia was pretty sure they already knew, but agreed quickly.

“Now or never,” Spencer whispered to her as they walked arm and arm into the bullpen, repeating her phrase from the day they’d told Hotch.

“Hey guys?” Lydia called to the team. “May we speak in the conference room real fast? Before everyone goes home?”

A couple of odd glances were shared between the agents, but they all nodded and shuffled onto the catwalk.

When Lydia and Spencer entered behind the group, the two were holding hands and no one had to say anything to know what the announcement would be.

“Spencer and I have been dating,” Lydia said, trying to save her boyfriend the embarrassment. But, Spencer smiled at the varying faces around the table.

Morgan looked absolutely appalled. Emily, JJ, and Rossi were pleased. And Hotch seemed relieved this conversation was finally out of the way.

So, Lydia continued, “This has been okayed by Hotch, but we avoided telling you guys for some time, because the Bureau obviously isn’t thrilled with the idea.”

JJ and Emily were quick to give their congratulations, the rest of the room silent.

“So… how long, then?” Morgan asked, as Spencer sat down at the round table.

“Have we been dating?” Lydia clarified.

“Yes… Come on,” he teased, seeing the two of them exchange an unsure look. “I know pretty boy’s got it memorized.”

“596 days,” Spencer snapped, clearly already fed up with the meddling. Too bad he was too frustrated to realize where he went wrong.

“Spence-!” Lydia squealed, both amused and nervous as Hotch’s head shot up. “Two weeks!”

It had been over two months since they’d told Hotch, but at that time, they’d promised him that they’d only been dating for two weeks, so that no one involved would get in trouble. Lydia could see the embarrassment flood Spencer’s face and he was sputtering to take it back.

“I knew it!” she cried, slamming her hands down on the conference room table in front of him. “I knew you’d be the one to break in the end! Mr. ‘I’m-such-a-great-liar’!” She laughed, mocking him as she sauntered around the room. “‘Let’s keep it a secret, Lydia!’ ‘They’ll never profile me, Lydia!’ ‘Sure, half the team already thinks I’m in love with you, but if you even talk to me at work, you’re gonna give us away! Be careful, Lydia!’”

“I didn’t-”

“You totally did!”

The whole team watched their playful argument around the round table room, never seeing such a side from either one of them. They were so comfortable with one another, not to mention genuinely happy.

“That’s not fair!” Spencer was saying. “Garcia only teased me about it the one time and I never admitted anything! So the only person on the team who thought I was crushing is Emily!”

“Emily knew?” Morgan turned on the dark-haired woman.

“How could you not!” she giggled. “Spencer is so pathetically romantic when it comes to Lydia.”

“I am not!”

“Guys,” Hotch said, sternly, catching the attention of the whole team. “Ambers and Reid have promised that their relationship would not affect anyone in the office and I expect the same from you. They’re a couple. That doesn’t change anything.”

“What?!” Morgan cried. “Doesn’t change anything?!? This is crazy! Does no one else find this crazy?!”

“Morgan,” Hotch tried again. “Please.”

There was silence, everyone’s eyes surveying the room, most amused at the situation. Finally, Morgan nodded.

“Good. Back to your desks. Ambers and Reid, my office.”

Spencer dropped his head onto the table dramatically.

~ ~ ~

Tags: @kris-stuff, @wooya1224, @arthurmorrgans, @anotherr-fine-mess, @eddysocs

[overheardatthecontinental]

John Wick Gift Exchange

I had: @meetmeinthematinee​

There’s something about coming home to someone. It feels warm and good and right and, totally and completely, unfamiliar.

The sun has already long since set when John pulls into his garage. A by-product of December. A time of year that has, in all honesty, never made much sense to John. Truly, it doesn’t affect him much. There’s always someone to kill, no matter what month it is.

All December means for John is the nights are longer, so it’s easier to kill. Idly, he recognizes that there are decorations fucking everywhere. Even the Continental bought in with a giant tree in the lobby that had Charon fretting over getting pine needles everywhere. But that was it. 

He’d never really celebrated any holidays before Helen.

Thanksgiving had been… terrifying. Between Helen’s mother finding out he’d never celebrated Thanksgiving and deciding that John needed a crash course and Helen’s sixteen year old niece who kept making eyes at him for an entire weekend… well, holidays are definitely not his thing. 

Thank fuck she had promised no family for Christmas. He would have gone if she had asked, wouldn’t have even put up a fight. Her mercy is the greatest gift of all.

She still wanted to celebrate, but this time, it would only be them.

She'd taken time off work, too. The days leading up to the holiday as well as the week between Christmas and New Years. It was easy enough for him to turn down any contracts during that time.

Ten days with nowhere to be, with nothing to think about except Helen.

Still weeks away and he could barely stand the thrill of just being with her.

He was excited.

Excited was new, a feeling he hadn’t fully learned to process.

Like when Helen got home from work early or when she texted him that she missed him during the day. 

John parks his car next to Helen's SUV and revels in how good it feels to come home to her.

It's barely six when he walks into the house. Her baking makes his house smell like cookies.

And John has never been one for sweets but nothing smells better than coming home to Helen establishing herself in his kitchen.

He slips his suit jacket off as well as the Kevlar, draping both over the couch, and tossing his keys to the bowl in the hall as he walks by. 

John stops in the doorway of the kitchen, taking in the sight before him.

Her dark hair was braided back and out of her face and, somehow, still dusted with flour. She wears a dark green apron, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up past her elbows as she rolls out dough on his counter.

“It smells great in here.” 

She shoots a glance over her shoulder, taking in the sight of him.

His suit is a bit rumpled and his target’s blood stain is bright against the white of his shirt. Thank fuck that the rest of it blends in with his suit. He’s certain there’s blood on his face and in his hair but he and Helen are past the point of John rushing to shower and hiding his clothes; past the point of Helen pretending not to notice.

She shakes her head, turning back to where she was rolling out “You better not be getting any blood in my kitchen, John Wick!”

He has to remember to breathe at the way she claims it as hers.

“Your kitchen, huh?” He says, ignoring her, stalking around the counter.

“Learn to bake and I’ll consider sharing.” She tells him, stepping back from the cookie dough and towards the counter behind her. “I mean it, John. No blood near my foo--”

He backs her against the stone countertop and catches her face between his hands, bending down to quiet her with a kiss.

Her lips are soft and sweet, the taste of sugar cookies lingering on tongue. She hums against him. He nibbles on her lip as he pulls away.

Opening her eyes, Helen shoots him a harmless glare, “OSHA did not certify that!”

He snorts, a hand falling from her face and trailing down her arm until he entwines their fingers together.

"I'm not going to apologize."

Her lips twitch and then she smiles, reaching up and pushing back a lock of hair out of his face.

"Not your blood?"

He shakes his head and Helen nods.

“Injuries?”

“None.”

Aside from various Continental doctors, no one had ever really assessed him before. And while Doc was phenomenal, he didn’t exactly show the love and adoration that Helen did. 

She nods again, “Good.” Her hand comes up and idly plays with the edge of his vest, “I was thinking, maybe tonight we could get a Christmas tree?”

She looks up at him, almost like she expects him to say no or put up a fight. Silly girl, he thinks. There’s not a thing he can deny her.

“Alright.”

Helen beams at him. On tiptoes, she reaches up and kisses his bearded cheek. “Go wash up. I’ll have cookies ready for you when you come downstairs. I left you something on the bed to wear.”

He steals one last kiss before leaving her in peace.

A Christmas tree. 

He’s still not entirely sure of its purpose other than a place to leave presents.

And, fuck, that was another thing.

Presents.

Not that Helen wasn’t exceedingly easy to buy for, but this was important to her. She was changing decades of tradition to spend Christmas with him, and only him. Everything had to be perfect.

He strips down and showers, quickly.

He can only imagine what she has planned for them. 

The outfit, like she had said, is laid out on the bed.

The jeans and the plain t-shirt are fine. It’s what he tends to wear when he’s not going out to kill. But the grey sweater, with white reindeer on the front, surrounded by patterns of holly branches and snowflakes was ridiculous.

Fuck.

He dresses, in everything else, but forgos the sweater, carrying it downstairs over his arm rather than putting it on.

“Hels!” He calls as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and swings into the kitchen. “What the hell is this?”

He raises the sweater up for inspection as he walks into the kitchen.

She looks up from where she is lifting the shapes she had cut into the dough and placing them on a baking tray. “That’s an ugly Christmas sweater.”

John nods once, “Okay. So you know it’s ugly?”

She shoots him a look, “It’s a thing!”

“Ugly sweaters are a thing?” He asks skeptically.

“Mhmm. I have a box of them under my bed. Which reminds me, we’re going to need to stop at my place so I can pick up my holiday decorations.”

He tries not to wince as she says my place.

John likes it better when the ownership in her language refers to what he thinks of now as their home.

Before Helen, relationships hadn’t really been a thing. He’d never considered bringing another person into his house, his space. Hell, half the people he considered friends had never seen his house. Or knew its address.

“When are we leaving?”

She slips the tray into the oven. “Twelve minutes.”

John walks over to the rack of cookies cooling and takes one. 

He’s never been one for such treats. Too sweet for his palate but he still found himself trying everything that she baked.

“Good?” she asks, wiping off the counter.

“Perfect.” John holds up the sweater, “So, do I really have to wear this?” 

“You don’t have to do anything.” Helen tells him, “But I think you’d look very sexy in a sweater.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Mhmm. Might even have to suck you off.”

John nearly chokes on the cookies, “Are you serious?”

Helen smirks at him, undoing the tie of her apron and pulling it off. “Put on the sweater and find out.”

He swallows what’s left of the cookie and wastes no time in slipping the sweater over his head. It’s ridiculous, he thinks again, noting the rows of holly and snowflakes that wrap around each of his arms. 

Helen steps over, setting her now folded apron on the counter behind him.

She inclines her head, standing on tiptoes. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she kisses him. Softly, gently.

She hums, “You taste sweet.”

Her hands run down his chest, the flat of his stomach, reaching for his belt.

Helen holds his eyes in hers, undoing the latch of his belt with a small smirk. She opens it before snapping the button, her fingers making quick work of the zipper as she drops to her knees.

She slips her hand into his pants, her fingers wrapping along his hardening length as she pulls him out. Helen leans forward, her tongue tracing the underside of his cock.

John takes a sharp breath as her tongue swirls around his tip.

Her wet mouth runs along him, coating him in her spit all around. Her hand, at the base of his cock, moves in tandem with her mouth.

 She circles his tip again before sucking him into her mouth.

He grips the counter behind him as she moans against him, the vibrations making him impossibly harder.

Helen angles her head and pushes her mouth up, taking him as far as she can before dragging her mouth slowly back down his length. Her tongue, all the while, teasing him. 

“Fuck!” He swears, a hand flying to her head of it’s own accord. His fingers entwine in her dark hair, pulling her closer. She whimpers on his cock, bobbing up and down under his new guidance.

Her hands wrap around his thighs, using him as leverage to take him, swallowing him down and into her throat.

The noise that leaves him isn’t entirely human and it propels her. Her throat seems to close around him as she quickens her pace, looking up at him all the while. Her large brown eyes watering as he starts to tense.

He forces his eyes to stay open as he reaches the height of pleasure, cumming down her throat as she swallows him down.

When he has released, she slowly sucks her way down his length.

She comes off his cock with a slight pop, licking her lips as she does.

John tugs her hair as she slips back to her feet and he leans down, kissing her. He can taste his own salty flavor on her tongue, mixed with the sweetness of her Christmas cookies.

His free hand slides down her body, towards her core, but Helen breaks the kiss, stepping away playfully.

“Uh-uh.” She tells him, slipping just out of his reach.

“I can’t touch you?” He asks, stepping closer.

“That depends.” She teases, “We have a lot to do tonight. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get a present later tonight.”

“Is the present your pussy?”

Helen smiles, “You’d have to be a very good boy.”

“I can be good.”

On tiptoes, Helen reaches up and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I know you can. Be a dear and go grab my purse. The cookies are almost done.”

…

They take her SUV. There’s far more space in her car than in his and, though John doesn’t say it, he didn’t want to explain to Aurelio that he got scratches on the roof of his car from a pine tree.

It doesn’t take long at Helen’s apartment to grab her Christmas decorations. Conveniently, they’re already packed in boxes from the previous years. 

She changes into a Christmas sweater. It has a kitten playing with an ornament and says “Meowy Christmas” in gold letters.

Ridiculous, John thinks, but adorable.

Miracle of miracles, she doesn't insist on cutting their own tree at the tree farm. Instead, she picks one that is already cut and conveniently packaged for travel.

It’s a bizarre tradition, John thinks, but says nothing. It’s worth it for the way she bounces excitedly as they strap it to the roof of her car. 

She plays Christmas music on the radio and her hand rests on his thigh as they drive.

When they get home, she transfers the music to his TV and giggles when John realizes that there are a trail of pine needles leading from the door to the living room.

“You do this every year?” John asks in disbelief.

Helen nods, closing the space between them. Her arms wind around his neck and she smiles softly, “If you hate the live tree, I promise next year we can get an artificial one. They don’t smell as good, but it won’t make a mess.”

John tries not to react at the implication that there will be a next year.

He is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to become too much for her. For someone better to come along.

She rises to give him a kiss before she releases him, opening the boxes of ornaments on his couch and removing a layer of newspaper padding.

“First thing is first,” she instructs him, taking several bound packs of lights. “You need to test each of these strands by plugging them in. If a few aren’t lit, that’s fine. But if more than a few don’t work, they can just be trashed.”

John nods and takes them over to and outlet. One by one, he tests the strands as Helen opens the other boxes of decorations. He sees the flash of tinsel being unpacked as he plugs in another strand, watching them all turn bright.

He unplugs and tests the next set and he can hear her humming along to the tune.

When all the strands are tested, he stands back up, taking the bundles to Helen.

“Next, we start stringing them on the tree.”

“All six?”

“No, I want to save at least two for the banister and another for the courtyard.” She takes the other strands over to the tree and begins fussing over the branches, fluffing them out before plugging in the first set of lights.

“Stand on that side of the tree, love.”

John follows her instructions, pushing up the sleeves on his sweater. Helen begins to weave the lights through the evergreen and hands him the string.

“And now I do what?”

“Wrap it around the tree, in the branches if you can.”

"What if it catches fire?" He asks, eyeing what she had done and trying to mirror it.

"It won't. The lights are made for this. And the wires are coated."

She takes the strand and wraps it around on her side before passing it back.

John hums, taking it and examining it anew.

"You're thinking how easy it would be to strangle someone with it, aren't you?" 

"Or hang them. You'd be shocked how many people want their relatives killed in the holiday itself."

"You already said you'd take the day off." She reprimands.

"And I will.” He promises, “I'm looking forward to having you all to myself for a little while."

A bit of pink stains her cheeks. “Good.” She tells him, connecting the next strand of lights to the first as they make their way up the tree with them. 

The song changes and John finds himself blinking at the familiarity of it. He knew Christmas songs. Even when he avoided the holiday, the music was everywhere. Each shop he entered, even if only for groceries, the train stations. Even walking down the street he often heard the carols played over a loudspeaker.

But this song he knew far more intimately.

"I know this one." He says softly.

"Know what?" Helen asks, handing John the new bundle of lights to begin stringing.

"The song. Tchaikovsky. The Nutcracker Suite."

She listens for a moment to the melody and then nods, "it's a popular one."

John hesitates, his heart contracting at the idea of sharing this particular memory. It wasn't a good one but it wasn't the worst, by far.

"You asked me a few weeks ago if I had any memories of Christmas."

Helen nods, "You said you didn't."

"And I don't, in the traditional sense. But I do remember this." He gestures vaguely to the TV, where the music plays from.

Helen sets the bundle that they have been passing in between the branches and comes around to John’s side of the tree. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." She reminds him.

"It's not bad," John admits, "But it is a little embarrassing."

That makes her smile, "Oh? Do tell."

He's not getting out of it now so he begins to explain, "When I came to America, I went to the school for assassins."

She nods, having heard him reference it in passing.

"The Ruska Roma used a theater as a cover for the entire operation. So while we were all trained in killing, we also had to learn ballet.”

Her eyes widen and John can literally see her make a conscious effort not to react to that new piece of information. It’s almost amusing to watch her try to school her face but he takes pity on her, after all, it is nearly Christmas.

“Go ahead.” He says softly.

“You took ballet!” She nearly shouts at the new revelation.

John nods, “Yes. The skills between ballet and killing people are highly transferable and--”

“Nope. Sorry, stuck on the ballet thing. I need a minute.”

Helen leans against the wall, nodding to herself. She’s still trying to contain a huge smile and a small giggle slips out as she asks, “Did you have to wear a leotard?”

Yeah, he definitely is going to regret this.

“Yes.”

But he can’t bring himself to at the delight etched on her face.

“And you performed? In front of people?”

Again, John nods.

“Who did you play?” her voice breaks slightly at the question and John rolls his eyes.

“It depended on the year. When I was younger, I usually played one of the mice or Clara’s younger brother. My final year, before I ran away, I may have had to play the role of the Nutcracker Prince.”

A sound escapes her and Helen covers her mouth. 

“You’re getting a lot of joy out of this.”

“Is there video footage?”

“No.”

There’s a flash of disappointment in her eyes but it vanishes quickly enough with all the new information she has just garnered.

“This is the best moment of my life.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.”

“Nope. This right here.” She tells him walking back over to the tree and stringing the lights, “My sweet Nutcracker.”

John rolls his eyes, “I already regret telling you.” 

“Nah, you don’t.” 

He hates how she’s right. And he loves how she’s right as she hands him the end of the string. They pass it back and forth, tangling the tree in a faint white glow.

He still doesn’t understand the reasoning for decorating a tree with lights, only to take them off and pack them away for eleven months. But he keeps going, eventually taking over when the strand goes above her head, out of her reach.

“You’re kinda handy.” She tells him and John circles the tree, placing them along the spots which she cannot reach.

“Guess you’ll have to keep me.”

“I mean, I could replace you with a step-ladder.” She jokes, “But I suppose you have your other uses.”

“And what are those?” John asks as he tucks the end of the strand into the branches and out of sight.

“You keep the bed warm, which is nice. And you know how I like my coffee.” She takes a step backward as John begins stalking toward her, “You’re pretty handsy-- sorry, handy, in the shower, too.”

John catches her, wrapping an arm around Helen’s waist and pulling her towards him.

“Plus, there’s the fact that I’m kind of in love with you.” Her voice softens as he strokes her face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

John leans down and kisses her gently.

“I love you, too.” He tells her, noting how she shines under the subtle glow of the Christmas lights.

“Then I guess you’ll have to keep me.”

“Forever.” John promises because if she’ll have him, that’s how long he will hold her.

She bows her head, touching her face to his chest, breathing him in for a long moment before she slips out of his arms. She takes his hand and leads him back over to the couch and the boxes of ornaments. 

“This box first.” She tells him, showing him a handful of stacks of orbs in red, and blue, and silver, and gold. “I tend to tuck these further into the tree and save the outer branches for the more personal ornaments.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smacks his ass playfully, “Go decorate the damn tree.”

John grins, taking a handful of the ornaments over with him. Helen shows him how to use the plain ornaments to make the tree look fuller.

And then they move on to the second box, filled with much more personable ornaments.

She has about six ornaments that take on some various form of coffee cup or mug and she tells him exactly where she got it or whom she got it from. She shows him a tiny book ornament that actually has the story written inside.

“What about this one?” He asks, holding up a small gingerbread man clearly decorated by a child.

“Hannah made that for me a few years ago for Christmas.” She says, referencing her niece. 

“And this one?” He holds up a glass jellyfish, decorated with ribbons and beads.

“Spring break in college. My roommate got it for me to comemorate the day I was stung by one.”

John smirks, hanging it from a high branch so that the tendrils fell down into the tree.

He goes over, snagging a few more from the box. There’s a key, engraved with her first address and the year she bought her first home. An ornament that serves as a picture frame with Helen holding her newborn nephew, claiming World’s Best Aunt. Another mug of coffee and a small grand piano with a year etched into it. He did the math. She would have been six.

“What about this one?” He holds up the piano.

She looks up and smiles at the sight, “My grandmother got that for me after my first recital.”

“I didn’t know you played.”

“I haven’t in years.” She admits, walking over and hanging a tiny wine glass on the tree next to him. “I started taking lessons in kindergarten.. My grandmother had a grand piano in her living room. I used to go there every day to practice. Played all the way through high school.”

“And then?”

She shrugs, “I left home. Went to college. Played a bit in the music practice rooms but those were mostly reserved for students actually studying music. My grandmother passed not long after I graduated. My parents offered me the piano but I didn’t have any place to keep it.” She shrugs, “Think they sold it.”

She hangs a ceramic bee that makes a branch droop. 

“Where’d that one come from?”

“Steve.” She says, referencing her brother, “He used to call me honeybee when I was little.”

It continues to blow his mind that she has an answer for nearly every single ornament.

The frosted-glass Christmas tree once belonged to her grandmother.

The golden retriever was an homage to her first dog, Lucy.

Another picture frame ornament that had a picture of Helen and her siblings, far younger and bundled up in winter clothes standing outside with rosy cheeks.

A soccer ball from her dad.

A globe from her grandfather that had an x over New Jersey and another over where Helen had studied abroad.

There’s another of just Helen, this time as a baby, engraved with Baby’s First Christmas.

Helen sees it and her eyes spark up, “Oh! I almost forgot! I’ll be right back!”

She turns on her heel and runs back up the stairs leaving a bewildered John standing at the tree. He shakes his head and resumes going through her ornament collection.

She doesn’t take long and her footsteps soon echo off the stairs as he hurries back down. There’s a bag in her hand as she reaches him and a smile on her face.

“I picked up a few new ornaments when I went shopping earlier.”

.”Oh?”

She nods, eagerly and reaches into the bag. She pulls out a small glass bottle, the bottom painted in an amber to give the illusion of liquid. It’s labeled bourbon and John laughs as he takes it.

“Where’d you find this?”

“There was a kiosk in the mall.” She reaches into the bag, “Where I also found…” She pulls out another ornament. There was a picture of John inside of it that he recognized from a few days before, when he was making her coffee, still in his pajamas.

Etched on the edge of the frame is Baby’s First Christmas: 2009.

He shoots her a look and she just giggles. 

“Really?” He asks, not offended in the slightest, more amused than anything.

“Yeah,” she flashes a wide grin, “You’re my baby and it’s your first Christmas.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“You think I’m cute.” She corrects, stepping over to him, and resting her head against his chest. “I just want this year to be special for you.”

“It already is.” He says, and by fuck does he mean it.

…………

Usually, almost always, John wakes up first.

His internal clock tells him to wake up with the sun while Helen prefers to sleep until six-thirty on the weekdays and eight on the weekends. It works well for him. He doesn’t need as much sleep as she does and he would much rather spend his mornings watching the woman in his arms. 

Christmas morning, he finds, is the exception. Helen is up before the sun has peaked over the horizon. He feels the bed bounce, jolting him out of his restful slumber and suddenly Helen is crawling on top of him.

A welcome occurrence, he thinks, but he doubts this will go where his first thought trails…

“It’s Christmas!” Helen says, bouncing on her knees, further jostling him.

John smirks, still not opening his eyes, and says, “So it is,” his voice still rough from sleep.

“Get up!”

He hums, “Is this what the phrase kid on Christmas refers to?”

She playfully smacks his chest, “Come on!”

John opens his eyes and glances over at the clock. “It’s not even six.”

“So?”

“So all this from the woman who once threatened to castrate me if I ever woke her up before six without a coffee in hand?”

“Its Christmas!” Helen says, like it’s an answer.

John grabs her hips and flips her to her back before she can even recognize what is happening. Rolling on top of her, John slips a hand under her shirt.

"Is it time for me to unwrap my present?"

She laughs and fuck. Everything seems surreal and he can't quite believe that this is his life.

Helen lying under him, her dark curls still mussed from sleep. An excited countenance that is almost contagious as she wakes him up to celebrate a holiday.

He half expects himself to wake up and find out it was all just a wonderful dream.

Good things don’t happen to him, but there she is.

Helen reaches up and places a hand on his cheek. She strokes it lovingly, “Stockings first. Then we can talk about unwrapping your presents.”

John slips off her and takes her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Pajamas stay on?”

She snorts, “You’re not opening presents in a three-piece.”

He kisses her head, “Yes, ma’am.”

Helen grabs him by the hand and practically drags him from the room.

His heart races in his chest. He hoped he had done good enough. Marcus seemed convinced that he had when John had consulted with the other assassin. Marcus assured him that his gifts for Helen were perfect, that she’d be thrilled, but doubt gnawed at him.

He’d never done this before, never had cause to buy another presents. And Google was helpful but he still wasn’t entirely sure if he’d managed to do a stocking right. 

John almost wants to slow her down. Her biggest present waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Too complicated to wrap, he got a novelty gigantic bow from Aurelio that usually went on cars to stick atop the gift.

There would be no missing it, he thinks, as Helen drags him down the stairs and stops.

He hears the hitch in her breath and her head swings back up to look at him, her mouth open.

Better or worse, he’s stunned her into silence.

Her eyes shift back to the grand piano sitting just under the balcony, the red bow’s ribbons flowing down the sides.

“I-- John!”

Her hand goes up to cover her mouth and he’s not quite sure what that means. If he should offer to return it and just forget about the whole thing but then she’s turning, her arms thrown around him and his heart just fucking stops.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He’s not sure what the feeling inside of him is. It’s warm and expanding. It almost hurts with the intensity that fills him at her reaction. And fuck, but what he wouldn’t give to make her feel that way again.

“How?” Helen asks, slipping her arms from around him, wiping a watery eye.

“French doors come off their hinges.” John says, “Marcus, Aurelio, and I moved it in late last night.”

“And I slept through the three of you trying to move a piano?”

John smirks, still reveling in the foreign emotions overwhelming him, “Why do you think I kept refilling your wine last night? You were out like a light before ten.”

She wacks his arm, her face aglow with a smile, and yeah, he thinks he gets it.

He thinks he understands why people run ragged each year over finding the perfect gift. He understands that there is something beyond the blind materialism, something intricate and beautiful and special about taking care in finding something for the person you love.

Something perfect about watching Helen reach down to brush her fingers along the keys, noting the way her fingers arch to familiar forms as she tests the instrument.

A soft melody fills his usually quiet house.

Lights from the tree brighten his usually dark house.

And Helen fills his usually empty home.

He never wants this to end.

He never wants her to leave.

He’ll make her so happy that she never wants to leave, he decides. He will do whatever it takes to bring her the kind of peace that she brings to him. He’ll spend the rest of his life adoring her, loving her. Making it all worth it for her.

She looks up, smiling at him and fuck.

I’m going to marry her, John thinks.

He steps forward, closing in the space around her and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head on hers. He closes his eyes and lets the song she is playing wash over him.

“Merry Christmas.” He whispers.

[mulderist]

Madness

Rating: PG-13

Summary: A short final act addition from Pusher that I was kicking around.

Also found on AO3

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wake up, it's not real life

It's not living, it's not living proof

How do I, do I justify staying in between the lines?

There's just no good excuse

-- “Madness” by Lucius

The buzz in Mulder’s head was deafening.  Pressure mounted in the temples and he felt like being pulled deeper and deeper underwater with his pulse pounding in his ears.  Tunnel vision formed with sparks of black creeping into the corner of his eyes as he tried to stay afloat.  His mouth was dry and his breathing became sharp and ragged as he held the revolver.  He could feel Modell push further into his mind, twisted words and sinister intentions violated the most sacred space.  

 Mulder’s warning grip held Scully at the edge of the table.  She had made an attempt to get the weapon from him but he quickly stopped her.  She pressed her lips together and could see him struggle to have the upper hand in Modell’s game. Scully felt Mulder’s fingers press into the tender part of her forearm as he stiffly moved his arm in her direction like a tangled marionette. Now she was forced to stare at him down the barrel of a gun.  Scully swallowed hard as a tear fell down her cheek.

“You don’t have to do this Mulder. Fight him!”

“I’m gonna kill you Modell!” Mulder exclaimed as he unwillingly focused the revolver on his target.

“Yeah, pull the trigger Mulder then you’ll get a crack at me!”  Modell growled from across the table.

Scully didn’t struggle against Mulder’s hand but knew her time was running out to break his trance. She scanned the room for any signs of assistance and saw the reflection of the fire alarm on the wall behind her.  Scully felt his fingers loosen from around her wrist giving her a moment to slip away.

“S-scully, run!”

Her name escaped his lips in a terrified exhale. His trigger finger twitched as he heard Modell’s voice echo in his head:

“One...pull….one...pull...one...pull.”  

Each word flowed like the beat of a metronome keeping time in a macabre dance. “One pull to end it.  One pull…”  Mulder felt his window of control rapidly closing until Scully darted to the wall and pulled the fire alarm.  A ripple of clarity washed over him and he swiftly turned the barrel on his opponent.  There was an audible gasp from Modell as Mulder finally pulled the trigger. One bullet was all it took to knock him to the floor but there weren’t enough rounds to finish the job, each squeeze clicked into an empty chamber. Mulder flipped the table on its side and kept firing imaginary rounds into Modell’s chest.   

Scully pressed against the wall as the SWAT team rushed into the room and swarmed Modell.   She slowly approached as Mulder reached out a hand to relinquish the weapon. He then eased into a chair feeling dizzy and nauseous, the officers chatter around him blended into a low hum. He could taste the sickly aroma of fear as he covered his face with his hands, trying to decrease the sensory overload.  Scully touched Mulder’s shoulder and he jumped from his seat then headed for the door on unsteady legs.  She undid her kevlar vest, tossed it to floor and followed after him.

Mulder desperately needed air, he felt inebriated as he walked the hallway searching for an exit.   A voice from behind him called his name but he shook it off and kept moving.

“Mulder!  Mulder stop, please!”

Scully reached him as his legs buckled and he caught himself on the wall.  Dr. Scully knew he was in a state of shock and needed medical attention but Dana had the urgent need to comfort her partner.  

“Here, let me help you,” Scully said softly as she placed his arm around her shoulders, he was drenched in sweat and the skin on his arm felt clammy as it made contact with the back of her neck.  She adjusted her balance as a hand rested on his chest.  “Let’s get you out of here.”  Scully led them outside and found the surveillance van still parked in the lot, she opened the large metal doors and helped Mulder inside.  He collapsed into a chair and leaned forward onto his knees trying to breathe evenly, but every inhale caused bile to rise in his throat.  He swallowed hard, allowing tears to collect in the corners of his eyes, his pressed back into the chair clasping his hands together.    

“It’s too much.  I wasn’t strong enough,” Mulder said to himself, shaking his head.

Scully knelt by his side and rested her hand on his cheek then his forehead, he felt cold and his stare was distant.  She bit her lip and moved closer.

“Mulder?...Mulder?”  She turned his face towards hers and stroked his tear-stained cheek with her thumb.  Her composure faltered as he looked through her.  “Come back to me.  Fox, come back to me,” Scully pleaded.  He blinked and she could see the focus slowly return to his hazel eyes.  Mulder instinctively reached for her cheek, he needed to touch something real to prove he was back in his own head.

“I - I almost shot...you,” he muttered through a raspy breath, fingers brushed a soft tendril of hair from her temple.

“That was not you.  That wasn’t you,”  she said in a hushed tone though no one was around to hear them.  Her hand linked with his and she tightened her grasp.

“He was so deep in my head, Scully.  I couldn’t stop myself.  I had no control, no control.  If you hadn’t pulled that alarm,” he rambled as he slid his exhausted frame off the chair onto his knees, “Scully…I almost...I couldn’t...” Mulder cried as his arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer.  He failed to stifle a sob allowing it to escape into her chest.      

Scully held him tight looking skyward for a brief moment as she tried to maintain her own level of control.  Her fingers massaged the back of his neck as tremors raked his body.

“I’m here.  It’s okay, I’m here,” she whispered into his hair.

Minutes crept by and Scully was able to coax him back to the here and now.  His breathing slowed and he finally pulled away from her. He got to his feet and searched for his previously discarded dress shirt and tie.

“Scully, I --” Mulder began after a deep breath.

“Don’t,” Scully said quietly as she adjusted his tie, smoothing it against his chest,  “You don’t have to say anything right now.”  He gave a silent nod and slipped into his suit jacket then grabbed his coat and exited the van.  Scully followed and was surprised that Mulder walked back towards the hospital.  She questioned his intent and he told her that he needed to confront Pusher with a clear head.  No more mind games. Scully reluctantly agreed and decided to investigate Modell from a doctor’s perspective as Mulder went on his fool’s errand.  She stayed at the nurses station and requested to review a copy of Modell’s neurology scan, a nurse told her that a surgery report was also available.  Scully raised an eyebrow when she saw that Mulder’s well-placed bullet managed to put Modell in a coma.    

The ambient noise in Modell’s hospital room hummed with the rhythmic beep of his heart rate monitor, a sterile soundtrack for a patient who shouldn’t be alive.  Mulder stood firm at the bedside with arms folded tightly across his chest.  He was grateful the officers let him in but surprised he wasn’t being watched like a hawk. Mulder closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away an area of tension.  

I almost shot her.  You almost made me kill my partner.  I came so close.  Jesus.  Too damn close.

He exhaled and shook his head then turned his attention back to Modell.  Watching the automatic rise and fall of his chest, Mulder tried to push Modell’s voice out of his head but a faint echo remained.   Too long alone with his thoughts was a dangerous place to be. He didn't want to revisit that feeling; the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of shame, the feeling of not knowing what he would do if Scully was harmed.  Mulder felt his jaw tense as he stared at the shell of a man in the hospital bed.  Almost on cue Scully softly entered the room, helping to break Mulder out of a downward spiral.  She relayed her findings and informed him that Modell would never regain consciousness. Mulder countered with his discovery that Modell was refusing treatment for his brain tumor.          

“It’s like you said.  He was always such a little man.  Maybe this was finally something that made him feel big.”  Mulder said with a waver to his voice. He then felt delicate fingers slip around his and squeeze;  pulling him out of the dark. Scully bit her lower lip and gave one last glance at Modell lying bandaged and comatose.

“I say we don’t let him take up another minute of our time.”

[sailorjupitersworld]

Coffee and Confessions (Pt. 2)

Spencer Reid x Reader

Plot/Summary: No matter where you were, whether you were working a case or just at the BAU, Spencer always brings you your coffee in the morning. Ever since the team called you two out, it’s been a little awkward. That doesn’t stop your morning ritual though.

Warnings: Some swearing, graphic description of gore and stuff.

a/n- SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. I FEEL BAD SO IF YOU HATE ME I UNDERSTAND. :p

---

You pulled your jacket tighter as your feet sunk through the 4-foot layer of snow. You’d packed your warmest clothes but even those weren’t warm enough.  It was at least 25 degrees and it didn’t seem to be getting any warmer.

The crime scene you were currently attending with Prentiss and Morgan looked like a massacre had taken place. Far out in the woods in a secluded area. It was probably a miracle it had even been found.

Dark red seeped through the innocent white that lay upon the ground. The imprint of each body still fresh. The bodies had been moved long ago and

This unsub was taking people in groups holding them for a week before taking them into the forest and slitting their throats. Multiple stab wounds and defensive wounds had riddled the bodies.

“Six bodies. How can our unsub abduct so many people in a town with such a low population, abduct six people?” Morgan thought aloud.

You shook your head and let out a breath, “Well, according to what the deputy just told us, four of these people were never even seen before.” 

“Out of all the stuff we’ve seen, I think this has to be the worst. We need to catch this guy before he strikes again.” Prentiss stated bitterly.

“Well let’s get back and see what the others have figured out.” Morgan made his way to the SUV, Emily and you following not too far behind.

“I just can’t wait to get inside. It���s so cold I think the icicles are growing icicles.” You deadpanned.

“I’d believe it.” Emily chuckled.

----

You left the diner with three boxes of food in your hand and quickly headed to the station. When you arrived, you handed Hotch and Spencer a box each.

“I didn’t order anything, but thanks?” Hotch said furrowing his brow.

“Yeah, but Spence said you were here, so I just figured.” You shrugged. Spencer handed you the coffee and thanked you for the meal.

Derek had made everything between Spencer and you more awkward than it needed to be. You were still confused by what everyone had meant and when you attempted to ask, there’d just be a chuckle and the shake of a head.

The most you got out of anyone was Rossi. All he said was, “I may have been divorced three times, but I can tell when it’s in the air.”

You were quick to fill in the blank, but you couldn’t believe it. Did Spencer like you? How could he? There was no way. You were just some kid from (h/t) who worked for the FBI. He’s an absolute genius with a brain that could probably compete with Sherlock Holmes. It was probably just some stupid joke.

Shaking your head, you all sat there eating in silence as you looked back over the newest information you’d received. There were two more victims abducted and killed within 48 hours of the team’s arrival and now three more people were missing. This guy was incredibly fast and if the team didn’t find him soon, there’ll be a lot more casualties.

Within twenty minutes, everybody else filed in.

Morgan was on the phone, “Alright mama, you’re on speaker. Tell everybody what you just found.” He said and placed it on the table.

“Jack Owens, 35 lives alone, yet lives a seemingly normal life. Here’s where it gets sad, his parents were murdered in front of him during a home invasion. Mom’s throat slit dad was stabbed to death. 3 attempted suicides in the past two years.”

“Where is he now?” Hotch asked, rising from his seats. Everyone took that as a clue to get up as well.

“I’ve got a home and work address, sending it to you right now.”

“Garcia, I love you.” You said happily. “Let’s go get this son of a bitch.”

“We need to be careful, this man is extremely unstable. There’s no telling what he’ll do. Morgan, (L/n), Reid and I will take the home address. The rest of you take the work.” Hotch explained before making his way out of the station.

------

You pulled your Kevlar vest on as you exited the car. This meant you’d have to take off your coat and freeze, but if you could save these people it was worth it.

Quickly you ran up the drive way, following behind Hotch and Morgan with Spencer standing close by next to you. Policemen and paramedics were standing outside, waiting to be told what to do.

“Jack Owens! FBI open up!” Morgan shouted, waiting for a second to see if there’d be a response. When there wasn’t one, he kicked the door down swiftly.

You headed up the stairs cautiously as Hotch took the living room, Morgan the kitchen, and Spencer the two rooms downstairs. “Clear!” being shouted from each space.

Opening the door to one of the bedrooms, your eyes widened at the sight before you. There before you sat the two captives both beaten, bloody and unconscious. “I got them! I need a medic!” You exclaimed, relieved as you found a pulse on both.

You stepped out of the room to check the next room before you were tackled. The banister that was supposed to keep people from falling didn’t do you much good. It was now broken and the coffee table you had fallen upon splintered beneath you. The glass vase shattering under the weight of your back.

The breath swiftly knocked out of your lungs caused a hitch in your throat and a groan of pain left your lips. A fist connecting with your face brought you out of the minor haze that had come across your brain.

Throwing a punch back before throwing a swift kick to his nuts, you gained the upper-hand and pushed the rather large man off you. Yelping as you rolled to get away, the glass shifting deeper into your back, falling to your knees after a sharp pain radiated through your ankle.

Spencer ran to your aid and Morgan was quick to grab the man and cuff him.

“I need a medic!” Exclaimed Spencer as he attempted to shift you.

You cried out and shook your head, “N-no Spence. Those two need medical attention more than I do. I-I can walk.”

“No, you can’t (Y/n). You need stay here.”

“Spencer, just help me walk to one of the ambulances.”

Hotch was quick to come to your side, moving your arm around his shoulder carefully as Spencer did the same. Wincing, you attempted to stay off your ankle as much as possible. “You think I broke it?” You asked.

“I’m not that kind of doctor (N/n).” Spencer joked.

Chuckling, you shook your head as the two men led you out of the house.

-----

You sat on the jet, tired and sore. Your back still throbbing and ankle wrapped. It was sprained and extremely painful. Reaching into your go bag, you pulled out a bottle of aspirin and knocked back two.

Spencer slid into the seat across from you and tossed you (favorite candy).

“Thanks Spence.” You smiled.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked.

“Like I got hit with a bus.” You sighed. “But I’ll be alright.”

Spencer nodded, “When we get back, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out? We could order a pizza and marathon whatever show you want?” He asked, his hazel eyes looking at you with hope.

A soft smile crossed your features, “Oh Spence, I think I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time you had said these words to each other, but red found it’s way onto both of your faces. “I-I mean… Oof. You know what I meant.” You said, hiding your face in your hands.

Spencer cleared his throat, “I think… I think I love you too.” He said nervously.

Your head snapped up in disbelief, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do.” Smiling at you hesitantly.

“Finally!” Rossi exclaimed from the other group of seats.

“Took you guys long enough!” Laughed JJ.

Prentiss pulled out a twenty from her back pocket before handing it to Hotch, everyone else doing the same.

“Did you guys bet on us!?” Spencer exclaimed.

“Sure did. Jack has a field trip on Friday. He’ll love having 80 dollars to buy knick-knacks.”

“I honestly can’t even be mad at you, I just feel mad respect right now.” You shrugged.

A laugh escaped everyone’s lips.

Turning back to Spencer you just smiled, “Ready for Netflix and pizza?” The jet was coming close to landing.

He smiled back sweetly, “It’s a date.”

[lalunaunita]

Lucky Shot - a Shieldshock fan fic

It’s FANDOM FRIDAY! 

You know what that means.

Here’s something I’ve been working on for a while. This is my first Shieldshock fic, so please read and comment. More chapters are on the way!

Read on Ao3.

Rated Teen for bad language. Marvel Cinematic Universe, Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, Shieldshock

Many thanks to @livvynicklaus for betaing this chapter!

Chapter 1: Missing the Mark

The punch connected just as Steve stepped out of the elevator, a ringing in his ears replacing the polite chime of the compartment. Instinct took over and he leaned back, dodging the next swing his opponent threw at him. He blinked, his brain catching up to the danger his body already recognized.

The guy who’d hit Steve was enormous. In full tactical gear, a helmet and mask concealed his entire face. He hulked menacingly just outside the elevator doors, crowding the small exit. Steve crouched and came up under the man’s guard. He launched a strike of his own, pivoting his hips as he aimed for the man’s kevlar vest. The force of his punch pushed his assailant back from the elevator. As the man staggered, Steve slipped past into the broad, brightly lit hallway of the third floor research department at the New Avengers Facility. The man growled and turned to face Steve, rubbing his chest. Just then, the fire alarm went off. Its shrieking siren and blinking red lights gave the man pause, but Steve didn’t look away as he set his feet and raised his fists.

“You wanna keep going, big guy?” he challenged.

The man responded by launching himself at Steve, driving him back toward the wall of windows at the end of the hallway. Steve felt the air leave his lungs as he hit the windows with a loud smack. He interlaced his fingers and brought them down on top of the man’s head, but the helmet blunted the impact. Steve heard a tell-tale scritch of cracking glass behind him. God, this guy was huge.

“Hey, asswipe!” shouted an unfamiliar voice.

A red fire extinguisher clouted Steve’s assailant over the ear, knocking him sideways. The glass let go at the same moment with a tinkling crash that exploded outward. Steve hovered dubiously in the open air, his toes curling in his shoes as he felt his balance slip. Then a hand gripped the center of his t-shirt and pulled him back to the safety of the third floor.

“You alright, Cap?” asked Darcy Lewis, Dr. Foster’s research assistant. She still held the heavy extinguisher with one hand, apparently ready to dish out more blunt force trauma.

“I am now,” Steve replied. “Thanks for the save, Miss Lewis.”

A mischievous grin split Darcy’s bright red lips. “Let’s get one thing straight, Cap. I am not, nor will I ever be, Miss Lewis. Just call me Darcy. And can you tell me what the hell’s going on out here?”

Steve followed the track of her waving hand, focusing on a stairwell door at the other end of the hall as it disgorged two more men in black. They were outfitted exactly like his first opponent. The pair caught sight of Darcy and Steve standing over their compatriot.

“Oh, shit,” Darcy said, eyes wide.

Steve heard the crackle of their radios as one leaned his head to the side.

“Target sighted,” the man reported softly. They came forward cautiously on silent feet and slowly raised their weapons. Steve glanced to the left, where Darcy’s victim lay on the ground, still dazed. Beyond him, a stairwell.

“Darcy, run,” Steve urged, his voice low.

She didn’t need to be told twice. Dropping the extinguisher on top of the first man, she turned and took off. Steve was right on her heels, crossing the six feet of space faster than the two men could pull their triggers. He pulled the door open, covering Darcy with his broad back as the pair of them spilled onto a narrow concrete landing. Steve heard the patter of bullets impacting the walls behind them and they ducked as the door latched shut. Steve grabbed Darcy’s hand when she descended the first step.

“We’ve got to go up. I need my shield,” Steve told her. Darcy shook her head furiously.

“Up is where they go in horror movies, Cap. Never go up,” she protested.

“No time to argue,” Steve responded.

He yanked her by one arm and tossed her over his shoulder, then climbed onto the waist-high metal railing.

“Cap… Cap, what are you do-ahhh!” Darcy screamed as Steve leapt from one landing to the next, turned, then sprang up one more, holding her tightly around the waist as he did so. Darcy kicked her feet and pounded tiny fists into Steve’s back as he came down from the railing onto the fifth floor landing.

“Not cool, Cap. Not cool!”

They could hear the door burst open two floors below. Shouts echoed around the concrete walls. Steve fumbled for his ID card and pressed it to a reader for the fifth floor and they were in the hall before their pursuers could glimpse them. He deposited Darcy on shaky legs as the door clicked shut.

Darcy punched Steve on the bicep, then muttered as she gripped her own fist and shook it out. “Ow. What the fuck, Cap? You gotta warn a girl first.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologized, taking her hand again and starting off down the hall. “That should hold them for a minute. The door’s reinforced and they can’t get in without a code.”

“Well, how’d they get onto the third floor, then?”

Steve frowned and picked up his pace, Darcy trailing after him.

“They’re after me, so you’ll be safe in my room once I get my shield and get in touch with Maria, or Nat.”

Darcy grimaced as she looked up at him. “They want you, but I’ll be safe at your place?”

“I’ll make it real obvious I’m not there.”

Steve swiped the card once more and let them into his apartment. He glanced around briefly, then flipped up several light switches. Darcy followed, curious.

“Sooo… do you keep it in like, a special china cabinet, or a coat closet, or…” Darcy stopped at the edge of the entry tile and watched as Steve lifted the bottom edge of an overlarge plasma TV he rarely used. It swung upward to reveal a square safe about three feet wide set into the wall.

“Yeah, that makes a lot more sense,” Darcy nodded as Steve tapped in his code and placed his eye to an optical scanner.

The safe opened with a hiss. Steve gripped the edge of his disc-shaped vibranium shield with one hand and took out an earwig with the other. He settled the earwig in his ear and opened a secure channel.

“Anyone out there? Maria? Vision?”

“Mondays, am I right?” replied Sam Wilson, the Falcon. “You okay, Cap?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, fine. Engaged three hostiles on the third floor. Had some help incapacitating one of them.”

He grinned at Darcy, who gave a thumbs up and a ‘tell him it was me!’ gesture.

“What’s the angle?”

“I’m not completely sure. They’re targeting me for some reason. I was thinking of finding out why. Hang on a minute.” Steve secured his shield on his arm and turned back to Darcy. “You can make yourself at home. Take a breath. You’re a civilian, so I need to you shelter in place until the Avengers give the all clear. Do you understand?”

“Cool. Can I raid your fridge?” Darcy’s flippant answer as she flounced over to his couch and kicked off her shoes made him blink.

“Uh, yeah. Not much on offer, but whatever’s in there is yours. You sure you’re alright?”

He closed the safe and lowered the TV, eyes on the young woman who was now pulling her feet up under her legs and searching for his remote control.

“Look, Cap, this isn’t my first rodeo. Jane may have been under the impression that this was a quiet place to do research, but I had money on an invasion by aliens or terrorists within the first two weeks.” Darcy frowned, pulling at her bottom lip. “I was wrong, though. It’s been a whole five months since we moved in.”

Steve grinned again and shook his head. Darcy Lewis wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, Miss Lewis, but I need to go clean up the latest invasion. I’ll check back with you after. Please don’t leave until I come get you, okay?”

“Oh my God, Cap, it’s Darcy.”

“In that case, quit calling me Cap. Steve is fine.”

Steve walked over to his windows as Darcy turned on the TV. He pushed the blinds aside with two fingers and looked down. He had a grand view of the front parking lot from his apartment; Tony’s idea of a joke, but Steve didn’t mind. He stared thoughtfully at an unfamiliar black van, about the size of a surveillance vehicle, parked surreptitiously at the edge of the lot. He pressed his earwig.

“Sam, you got time for a pick up? Fifth floor, my apartment.”

“Sure,” came the reply. “I’ll be there in thirty seconds.”

“I’m gonna go now,” Steve said to Darcy, sliding the window open. He seated himself easily on the thick ledge, swung his legs over and stood. A light breeze ruffled his hair as he watched for Sam.

Darcy barely looked up from the television. “Later, strange superhuman man who doesn’t use doors…” her voice trailed off in the distance as Steve jumped neatly off the window ledge.

A rush of air filled his ears and Sam gripped Steve’s outstretched arm firmly, wings straining to lift them both.

“Where we going?” he shouted over the buffeting wind that pressed against both men.

Steve pointed his shield at the black van. “Drop me there!”

Sam brought them in at an angle, using their shared momentum to propel Steve feet first through the passenger side window. His booted feet shattered the glass and drove right into the jaw of a very surprised driver. The man slumped, unconscious. Steve righted himself, holding the edge of the busted windowpane, then crouched and glanced around. No one came running from outside; no one came forward from the rear of the truck.

“I think this might be a pretty small outfit, whoever they are. They only left one guy to guard the getaway,” Steve reported into his comm.

“Tiny, but fierce. Got a couple of hostiles over by the Quinjet that have me pinned down,” replied Natasha Romanov.

“Need help?” Sam replied.

“I wouldn’t say no. I’ll lead them outside.”

Steve let their voices fade into the background as he stood back up and yanked open the locked door that separated the cabin from the rear of the truck. As he’d suspected, there was unmanned surveillance equipment set into one side and gear and gun cages on the other. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he saw a figure lying in the center aisle.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Darcy - how did you-”

Steve knelt next to her, but paused when he took in her unresponsive glassy eyes, the way her hands lay still at her side. He sat back and ran a hand through his hair.

“LMD,” he said aloud, relieved.

It hadn’t been activated yet. How had this team managed to procure proprietary S.H.I.E.L.D. technology? He gave the Life Model Decoy a critical once over. It had a bruised eye and convincing scrapes on its knuckles and arms. Chestnut waves identical to the real Darcy’s hair were tousled into a rat’s nest of tangles. One shoe was missing - but he noticed it was wearing the same t-shirt, skirt and tights ensemble the real Darcy had on that day. A sick feeling bubbled up in Steve’s stomach.

“Rhodey! Maria! Sam! Nat!” he barked. “I was wrong about the target! Someone pick up!”

“A little busy here, Steve,” James Rhodes, the War Machine, shouted. Steve could hear the pops of repeated gunshots in the background.

“Nat, can you get to the fifth floor for an extraction?” Steve pressed.

“No, I can’t get clear,” she replied.

“Me neither,” Sam answered before Steve could ask.

“I’m in,” reported Maria Hill. “Oh, wait, I take it ba-” her response was overwhelmed by the sound of gunfire as she defended her position, wherever it was.

Steve stepped past the LMD and pushed open the back doors of the van. Daylight streamed in over the LMD’s pale skin. It looked utterly convincing. Steve stared up and up at the far off fifth floor of the New Avengers Facility and sighed.

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

Stay tuned for Chapter 2! I’d love to know what you think of this beginning.

~luna’s tip jar~

[my-dear-hammy]

Basking in Firelight-Jamilton Sequel-Part Twenty One

Masterlist

Part Twenty-One: Puzzle Pieces

AN

SQUEEEEEEEEEE

----

Warnings below

----

The book fell from Hamilton's hands and thudded to the floor as he gazed at the ethereal image before him. It couldn't be. But it was. Was he dreaming? Was this all a dream, would that person go to turn around and vanish like they always did?

Except it wasn't a blurred figure, Hamilton knew exactly who he was. He rose slowly to his feet, approaching from behind as if it would disappear if he made the slightest sound. Hamilton reached out and laid his hand hesitantly on Jefferson's shoulder. The music stopped, Jefferson lowered the violin to his side as he turned to face Hamilton a large grin plastered on his face, but it faltered when he saw Hamilton's expression.

"It's real," Hamilton whispered, not tearing his gaze from Jefferson's.

"What?" Jefferson asked, concern growing. "Hamilton, are you okay?"

Hamilton moved his hand from Jefferson's shoulder to his cheek, holding his face like precious china. Jefferson gazed at him questioningly. "You're real," Hamilton whispered to himself.

"Of course I'm real," Jefferson said, confused, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Look at me, Thomas," Hamilton said, "Do you know me?"

"Of course I know you, we've been fighting together for years now," Jefferson said, unsure of what was happening.

"Decades, centuries. Thomas, we've been together for centuries."

"What're on about? You're not making any sense," Jefferson said, not sure whether or not he should pull away. Hamilton's touch felt so good and he'd been aching for it ever since he met the guy, but right now he seemed a little out of it. Jefferson was concerned, Hamilton seemed to have finally broken.

"Don't you get it? The dreams! The song! This place! We've done it all before!"

"Hamilton, calm down. What are you trying to say?"

Hamilton stepped away, "You don't have them?" he asked, his heart shrinking in his chest.

"Have what?"

"The dreams."

"Of course I have them, we both have them. We've talked about them before."

"No, not the nightmares. The others ones." Jefferson stopped. The other ones. The ones he shared with no one. The ones where he had someone so important, so special, that waking up without them in his arms killed him every day. "Think about it, Thomas," Hamilton practically begged him to remember. Jefferson was thinking about it. He was always thinking about it. He didn't think there was ever a time he wasn't thinking about it.

"How do you know about those dreams?" Jefferson asked quietly.

Hamilton had just about given up when Jefferson uttered those words. Instead of explaining, Hamilton did the only thing he could think of, he quoted a dream. "I learned to play the cello, I can play that song you played that night in the library. We can play it together."

"The Impossible Duet. Our life story it seems," Jefferson replied, everything clicking into place. Jefferson stepped forward, reaching for Hamilton who practically threw himself into Jefferson's arms, clinging to his chest. Jefferson wrapped his arms tightly around Hamilton, tears streaming down his face, "Alexander..."

"Thomas, I can't believe after all this time-" Hamilton said, choking back sobs.

"Oh, Alexander, I could never forget you. Not even after two hundred years," Jefferson said, still holding Hamilton to him like he might disappear at any second.

Hamilton pulled suddenly away from his arms and punched him the face. "Shit! Alexander!" Jefferson swore, holding his face, he wasn't bleeding or on the floor like he usually was when Hamilton punched him. "What was that for?"

"Don't you ever die on me like that again!" Hamilton shouted, "Don't you ever go stepping front of bullets for me again!"

Jefferson chuckled slightly, dropping his hand from his face. "Don't go and get yourself into situations where I have to save your ass."

"I'm serious, Thomas. Promise me."

"I can't do that, Alexander," Jefferson said, stepping toward him and brushing Hamilton's hair out of his face. "My life is meaningless when it comes to saving yours."

"Have thought about how it felt? How it felt to live without you? To walk through these halls thinking you could be around any corner but knowing that you weren't and never would be? To see your violin gathering dust and never being touched by your hands again?"

"At least my cello didn't go unused," Jefferson joked. He didn't want to talk about his death. he didn't want Hamilton to have to feel that pain anymore. He was there now. He could hold him again, kiss him again, be there for him. That's all that mattered.

"Do really think I ever touched that thing again?" Hamilton asked.

"Yes, yes I do."

"Fuck you," Hamilton growled.

"If you must," Jefferson shrugged, grinning. Hamilton scooped up and book, "Oh shit-" Jefferson's grin disappeared as he dove for cover right as the book went sailing through the air, right where he'd been standing.

Jefferson stood back up laughing, Hamilton standing in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest, Jefferson went over and embraced him again, burrowing his head into Hamilton's neck. Hamilton finally relented, arms circling around Jefferson as they stood there and just held each other.

"How are we even here, Thomas?" Hamilton asked.

"Does it matter?" Jefferson asked looking into Hamilton's eyes, those eyes that he thought he would never see again centuries ago. Hamilton saw Jefferson's eyes darken lustfully, his own gaze flicking to Jefferson's lips as Jefferson said, "We're here now." Jefferson's lips hovered just over Hamilton's, Hamilton could feel his breath on his skin, why was he hesitating?

Hamilton entwined his hands in Jefferson's hair and pulled him down, crashing their lips together, Hamilton moaned, it had been so long, so long since he felt Jefferson against him, his hands, his lips, his hair, his skin. Hamilton wanted it all. There were too many layers between them, Kevlar, bullet-proof vests, weapons, cloth. Before Hamilton could set to work on removing any of it, Jefferson hefted Hamilton up, guiding his legs around his body so that he was straddling him while Jefferson carried him from the room. Hamilton was suddenly much taller than Thomas, he grinned at his new advantage.

He circled his arms around Jefferson's neck and dipped down, kissing Jefferson passionately, prodding his lips open with his tongue. Hamilton lightly nipped Jefferson's lip. Jefferson moaned, "Shit, Alexander, you're going to make me trip," he said, mounting the stairs. Hamilton knew that wasn't true, they'd done this countless times when they were at Monticello together. Jefferson knew this place by the back of his hand. Jefferson seemed to know what Hamilton was thinking, "That was over two hundred years ago," he said between kisses, "There's bound to be some lapse in my memory."

Hamilton didn't care. He didn't care about anything except the clothes that were separating the two. He kissed Jefferson harder, pressing his advantage while he could, making the kiss more desperate, tugging on Jefferson's hair.

Fuck, Hamilton knew what that did to Jefferson's self-control, Jefferson moaned and opened his mouth up wholly to Hamilton's. His tongue slipped in and stroked gently. Shit. "Alexander," Jefferson pushed a door open and toppled onto his old bed. Luckily for them, since it was a museum, it was well kept and still made. The soldiers seemed to have had the decency to stay in Monticello's guest rooms and not disturb a founding father's resting place.

Jefferson grinned down at Hamilton, who was now pinned beneath him. "No more of that for you, you wicked thing," Jefferson purred. Oh, when Hamilton got a couple inches on Jefferson, he liked to extort everything he could out of it. "Now it's my turn,"

Hamilton smirked slyly up at him like he knew something Jefferson didn't. Before Jefferson could figure out what, Hamilton pulled him down, distracting him with his lips and tongue. A moment later, he felt his heavy coat slid off, thudding to the floor as the weapons struck the wood. So that's what he'd been up to. Jefferson's own hand went to work, undoing the buttons of Hamilton's like he'd done it a million times before.

Because he had.

Hamilton's coat disappeared, sailing across the room, Jefferson immediately went to work on Hamilton's vest. "Shit," Hamilton swore, he had forgotten how fast Jefferson was at that, he was only halfway down Jefferson's vest. He was going to have to pick up his game. He prayed that Jefferson's hand would work quicker, his pants were extremely uncomfortable and tight. Both their vests were gone, leaving them in the loose, billowy shirts that were underneath. Hamilton was already sliding Jefferson's off, but Jefferson's hands slowed down, Hamilton protested but stopped when Jefferson bit his lip and trailed kisses down his jaw, Jefferson's hand slipping underneath his shirt and tracing circles up Hamilton's abdomen. Electricity seemed to shoot from Jefferson's fingertips as they grazed over his skin, reaching to every part of his body. Hamilton moaned, fisting a hand in Jefferson's hair and trailing the other along his spine. Jefferson nipped his ear and slid the shirt from Hamilton's body, trailing kisses down his neck and along his collarbone before returning to Hamilton's lips. In all their time together, this was as far as they'd ever gotten, mostly because not long after they had finally gotten together, Jefferson was pulled away by his work, leaving for the presidential manor and soon after, from Hamilton's life altogether.

Jefferson's hand trailed down Hamilton's stomach as he kissed Hamilton deeply trying to distract Hamilton from his wandering hand and failing. All of Hamilton's attention was focused on that hand as it slipped beneath the hem of his pants, stopping just short of where Hamilton yearned for him to go. He stroked Hamilton's skin but not going any further.

Hamilton groaned, shifting, trying to get Jefferson to travel that last inch, but to no avail. Jefferson's other arm wrapped underneath Hamilton's waist, rolling them over onto their sides, kissing him for a moment longer before breaking apart. Jefferson smiled, his gaze never leaving Hamilton's as he pushed the hair out of Hamilton's face, "I've missed you so much, Alexander," he said softly, "I'll never leave you again."

Eventually, they fell asleep, legs entangled, foreheads touching, arms around each other, both of them afraid they would wake up and it would have been a dream.

----

Warnings: JAMILTON IS BACK BABY YEAH- also some book throwing, and some sexual stuff.

[thatfragilecapricorn30]

All Things Begin to Appear: Chapter 10

What happens when Scully starts having visions while her and Mulder are hunting a serial killer?

season 5 case file | 30k words | tw: some depictions of violence

Read the beginning of the story

“After all, the true seeing is within.”    - George Eliot

Scully paced around the back of the stage, the paper in her hands slightly trembling. She didn't usually mind speaking in front of people - she had even testified in front of Congress for chrissakes - but today she felt uncharacteristically nervous. Scully didn't know if it was the fact that there was a big auditorium filled with people or the fact that there were several media outlets that were going to film and record her or the fact that she was trying to draw out a dangerous serial killer. Either way, the combination of the three was making her palms sweat and her heart race. The press conference was also taking place at a local high school and that distinct "school" smell was giving her flashbacks of her teenage self and how that person did not like speaking in front of class so much.

Luckily before Scully could send herself into a full blown panic attack, Mulder approached her, having to skirt around some technicians on ladders fixing the lights. All the other law enforcement officers present for the press conference, including Agent Callahan, the chief of police and a few detectives, were in the green room, drinking coffee, probably not nervous at all because all they had to do was stand there for the cameras. At least that was what Scully assumed.

"Are you ready?" Mulder asked, once he finally navigated successfully to her side. He must have noticed her stricken expression because his face softened and he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and then smoothed a hand down her right arm.

She could only nod, afraid to open her mouth.

"You're going to do a great job," he said earnestly but then changed to a more serious tone to say, "But I really don't like that you're doing this. If you change your mind, I can still get up there and make the report, Scully."

"No," she replied, suddenly a little bit more confident. "It makes so much more sense for me to be the bait. Plus, we need to keep you out of harm's way."

He stared at her and she stared right back, probably a little too intensely. Mulder let out a sigh and looked away.

"Alright," he conceded, most likely only because he knew he wasn't going to win this argument. "You know what to say?"

"Yes, Mulder," she droned, shaking the paper in front of her face. The two of them had went over Mulder's notes for hours, trying to make sure Scully understood everything about the case, or at least enough to be able to answer questions from the curious media. Tonight was the night that they were going to reveal their suspect. Normally this wasn't how investigations were conducted (outing the suspect before he has been arrested), but based on his profile Mulder was certain that this type of exposure would embolden Stanton instead of sending him running for the hills.

At that point the other officers and agents who were hanging out in a classroom-turned-green room started filing in behind the curtain where the partners were standing, ready to take their place on the stage. Scully checked her watch; only about five minutes until the eight o'clock start time. Mulder squeezed her shoulder quickly and then left to take his seat in the front row of the audience. Scully and Agent Callahan both agreed that he should stay out of view of the cameras and Mulder only argued a little bit against that request. Funnily, Agent Callahan strolled over, not looking anxious at all, just like Scully suspected.

"How ya feeling?" he asked, sounding sympathetic to her plight. He had been very reluctant to let any of his agents or the local officers participate in this kind of trap but went along with it after the Cleveland police chief liked the idea. The city residents were getting restless without any break in the case which is why they were going through with his potentially dangerous mission.

"I'm okay," she said, taking a deep breath. She needed to be relaxed on stage so that Stanton didn't get suspicious. This is just like any other press conference, she thought to herself. 

"Hey, don't sweat it. This," he gestured around, "is a piece of cake. The hard part comes later. You know, looking for Stanton. But we're going to mic you so you'll always been in contact with the team that's tailing you."

He paused, and then continued. "That location you scouted? Are you sure that's where he'll show up?"

Scully hesitated. It was tough working with another FBI agent and to figure out how much to disclose. Most of the time her and Mulder worked alone and sometimes with the local police who usually deferred to their authority, which was helpful because they encountered so much unbelievable phenomena that it would be near impossible to have someone else in the loop with them. When Scully found the alleyway that her vision occurred, Mulder just relayed to Stanton that it was based off his profile and it was in the vicinity of the murders. The last part was true, at least. 

"Well, it is just a hunch," she hedged. "But Mulder is very good at figuring out this kind of thing. You know that he caught Monty Props right?" she hoped that bringing up the old case (Mulder's crowning achievement, at least according to the FBI) would alleviate some of Callahan's concerns and prevent him from analyzing things too much.

It seemed to have worked because Callahan smiled and responded with, "Yes of course, of course. Well, if you're sure then we'll go along with your plan."

The lights in the backstage area dimmed and everyone quieted down so Agent Callahan smiled again and stepped away. The police chief was going to speak first and announce the suspect. Then Scully was going to describe their profile, call Cleveland to action and answer questions from reporters.

The curtains opened to reveal the stage to the crowded auditorium. The flash of cameras made Scully blink a few times. She didn't understand how celebrities could tolerate all those flashing lights. The set-up was simple: a lectern in the middle with the American and Ohio state flags book-ending the stage. The police chief, Robert Harley, stood behind it with Scully at his right hand. Agent Callahan was to his left and the other detectives who were assigned to the case stood around them. The mayor of Cleveland was also in attendance and he was going to speak afterwards. 

Just act natural, Scully thought to herself, trying to arrange her features into a neutral expression for the cameras. If only it were that easy. She caught Mulder’s eye in the audience and he smiled. Here we go…

After the press conference, Scully felt an immense sense of relief, even though, as Callahan had mentioned, the hard part hadn't even happened yet. As far as she could tell, she did a good job. She answered the reporters' questions (luckily none of them were too hard) and didn't even have to look too much at the notes in front of her. The media and the public in the audience seemed appreciative of the effort put into the case so far and no angry townsfolk with pitchforks had disrupted the event. 

She didn't get a chance to talk to Mulder afterwards, which was technically their plan but Scully was going to renege on that part. She wanted some type of reassurance from him before putting herself up as bait for Stanton. But luckily (or unluckily) Mulder ignored her as per their agreement. The cameras might still be rolling or Stanton could even be in attendance, which is why they agreed to avoid each other in the first place. He did give her a subtle wink on his way out, though, but Scully figured she would talk to him tonight afterwards. Hopefully it would be at the station once Stanton was captured. 

So after she shook hands with the mayor and gave a short interview to a local radio station, Scully left for the police precinct. It was there, under Agent Callahan's scrutiny, that she was mic’ed and given a Kevlar vest to wear under her jacket. Luckily it was cold out or Scully would be sweating with the lead vest and a winter coat to hide it. Her visit was quick (in case Stanton was observing) and she left the station with a file folder, so it looked like she had a reason for the trip. 

Mulder had relinquished the rights to the rental car for the night, so that was how Scully was going to get to the location. She turned on the car and had to blast the hot air because of the cold, the heat from her recent drive completely dissipated. She glanced in the rear view mirror, where she could see a nondescript white van idling. She knew it was her tail, the officers who were listening to her on the mic and that she could hear their chatter in her ear. They were the ones who would apprehend Stanton if he appeared.

She drove around the city a little. She wanted to make it seem like she naturally stumbled upon the location. She stopped at the drug store and picked up some more hairspray. She didn't actually need it yet but she would eventually so she didn't charge it to the FBI expense credit card. Then she moved on to the gas station. It was parallel to the alley that the vision occurred in. She put the nozzle in her gas tank and tried to act like she was bored, like it was no big deal for a woman to wander around the alley next to the station. She stood around, ostensibly reading a notice about NO PARKING but really listening intently and using her peripheral vision to scope out any guests. Nothing. She went back to her car, got in and decided to wait. Come and get me asshole.

Scully waited two hours. That's when she started to get antsy. She could hear the two other agents through her earpiece. They at least were having fun - listening to the recap of a basketball game. After three hours, Scully decided to give up. She clearly had not drawn the killer out. 

She decided to call Callahan and see if she could get the okay to leave. But when he picked up the phone, he started talking before Scully even opened her mouth.

"Have you talked to Agent Mulder recently?" he demanded.

Scully was caught off guard. "No - no," she stammered. "Why would I? I wasn't expecting to."

"Well I've been calling him for the past two hours and then I went to your hotel and he's not there."

Scully didn't understand why he was so worked up. "Agent Callahan, I have something to tell you about my partner. He's not always the most responsible. His phone is probably dead and he most likely went out for a run."

"Does he usually leave the hotel door open too and the key card on the floor?"

Scully was surprised. "What? No! Okay, I'm leaving right now and should be there shortly." She ended the call and then put the car into drive. Luckily the hotel wasn't too far away and there would be no traffic since it was so late.

Scully didn't know what to think about that interaction. On the one hand, the situation Callahan just described was normal Mulder behavior (except maybe the door and missing key). But on the other hand, this case was so wacky that there could be something more sinister at play. Not for the first time this case, Scully cursed the visions she was having. Why couldn't she have seen this coming? she thought. Though, she DID see this coming. Scully had the feeling that she had been terribly, terribly wrong but she wasn't quite sure why.

Callahan was pacing around the parking lot when Scully pulled up. 

"What are you doing?" she called to him after she turned the key out of the ignition and locked the door.

"I'm waiting for the manager to pull the outside security footage. Right now I'm looking for clues," he stated.

"What do you expect to find?" she asked. Scully still wasn't sure Mulder was actually in trouble but seeing Callahan so agitated was making her nervous.

"I don't know, I just have a bad feeling about all of this. We set that trap for Stanton but what if he was one step ahead of us the whole time. What if he knew we were so focused on you that Agent Mulder would be vulnerable?"

"And how would he know that?" she asked coldly. This was getting into Scully's psychic vision territory she was starting to feel defensive for no good reason.

"No idea," Callahan said, pausing to look at his phone screen. "That's the manager calling. Let's go in."

Scully was glad to be out of the cold when they entered the lobby and Callahan showed her to the security room. There were a lot of television screens with feeds to all areas of the hotel. The manager was standing in the back while one of the security guards started the tape for them. There wasn't a camera in their hallway but rather one right by the elevator. At 9:22 Mulder gets off the elevator. A bellhop pushing a laundry cart follows him out. Scully squinted her eyes. The view was so grainy but she could swear he looked familiar. At 9:24 the bellhop returns to the elevator and goes down with the laundry cart again. She glanced at Callahan who was grimacing. She turned back to the monitor. They were watching the bellhop wait for the elevator to return. There was no sound, but he doubled over coughing, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. The screen was black and white but after he wiped his mouth, the handkerchief was covered in a dark substance.

Scully's heart stopped.

"That's him," she said, her voice low.

"It is?" Callahan asked. She pointed to the screen. "This man is ill. Look at the blood he wipes away from his mouth. It has to be him."

They locked eyes and Callahan let out a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get this bastard."

Read Chapter Eleven and the Epilogue

[someonestole15]

Not as silent

On approach, they think their training will save them.

Moving what little pieces of loose furniture we could, the Javelin squad built up a barrier near the door. Their plan involved holding the communications post until reinforcements would arrive. Let them stay, we’ll locate the source of the problem. Three shells, twenty rounds and a couple of flashbangs, an appetizer of things to come, I racked the bolt on the rifle and took position next to the door, the detonator for the jammer hanging steadily from my vest.

Contact on my radar, I braced the rifle against my shoulder and grabbed a flashbang into my left hand, placing the pin over my thumb. The footsteps drawing closer, Javelin was ready as Valkyrie placed her hand on the door panel.

The door slid open; I stepped through as the flashlights lined up over my chassis. Their gear matched the corporation special ops, red accents on jet-black base, no patches and a helmet to cover anything that could be used to identify them. Leave no witnesses and deny they even exist…

“Now.” A single word, plenty of uses for it. Three flashbangs flew by me as I pulled the pin from mine and threw it towards the black ops team. Hand before my optics, the flash lit up my vision as I opened fire. A step to the side as the first soldier fell back from the hits, his vitals still active as his squad dragged him back to cover. Heavy armor, it would take most of my magazine to get through it.

Taking cover, Javelin opened fire as Valkyrie pushed up under their covering fire. Across from me, she braced her rifle against the wall and dropped one of the soldiers with a clean hit to the helmet, a splatter of blood covering the wall besides him. A bullet struck her shoulder; she fell back as she attempted to get her aim back on point to no avail as the shot had disabled her left hand. Getting myself up, I rolled across the corridor and handed her my rifle. She braced it against my shoulder as I worked on fixing her hand.

“Empty.”

She dropped the magazine down as I loaded a new one and released the bolt. Gun ready, Javelin started pushing forward as I finished up the final connections within her shoulder.

“There, see if that works.”

All fingers working fine, her hand was back to working order.

“Cheers.” I grabbed the SMG from her sling and turned around, tapping one of the Javelin soldiers on the shoulder to signify I was up and ready to go.

“Everyone up?” The Commander asked, most of the casualties had been on the hostile side, the rest had ran off to regroup and acquire backup. One of the Javelin was down from a hit to the stomach but the medic was working on getting him back on his feet, Valkyries arm was working on the makeshift repairs I had made, locating repair syringes would be a side objective to clearing the invasion. My coat had taken a brunt of several bullets; I felt them rattle against the floor as I adjusted the coat over my shoulders.

Rifle rounds, capable of passing through my coat but not the armor underneath after the layer of Kevlar. No EMP rounds, they were likely prepped for normal human combatants. Sorting around the weaponry, Valkyrie took over the weapons I had carried, the rifle was easier to load and fire with her arm still glitching up, I loaded up the SMG as my primary, keeping the shotgun on my belt as the closer quarters solution.

Javelin would hold down the fort in the communications hub, attempting to reach the capital for more troops. Jammer backpack back on my shoulders, I kept the detonator at a hands reach, a sudden pulse of silence would certainly help.

Close to the top of the mountain, the Javelin commander shared a map of the facility with us, guiding us to the location where the signal had originally been sent from, just outside the facility. The markers on the map also showed where the main armory was and where most exits were.

The heavy armor of the enemy makes me want to arm up as much as I can, the armory might be a good place to stop at on the way out.

Going to need an upgrade to the 9mm.