#as in getting dressed and using a face wipe and chewing gum and then zipping out the door ten minutes later than planned

[elibeeline]

In an attempt to crawl out of this depressive pit, im gonna wake up even earlier than i already do so i can actually do the things i need to do before i go to work

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[georgiedx]

Don’t blink

Summary - When Y/N, Jay’s partner is taken during an undercover op, what will the team have to do to get her back?

Read part 2 - https://georgiedx.tumblr.com/post/643582775508729857/summary-in-the-fallout-of-an-undercover-op-gone

Word count - 2k

Warnings - potential abuse and sexual assault

“What the hell just happened!” Voight shouted as he stormed up the bullpen stairs. His subordinates stared back at him, dumbfounded, as they too were processing the chaos that had just unfolded.

Kevin was the first to speak up, “Sarge, slow down…” He was interrupted but the harsh shouts of his sergeant. “Don’t tell me to calm down Kevin! One of my detectives was just abducted and not one person here can care to explain? Huh? Not even her partner. Halstead?”

Jay cast his eyes down to avoid the burn of Voight’s stare. He was ashamed. He was still processing. How had this all happened? Why didn’t he protect her?

“Sarge, I don’t know what to tell you, those guys, they just blew up, snapped. They pulled guns, put one to Y/N’s head, and dragged her into a truck that was waiting in the alley around the back. It must have been a setup, Sarge.” Jay replied, his voice laced with guilt.

“Ruzek, I thought you said your CI was solid?” Voight turned his anger to Adam. “He was...or at least I thought he was. Look, Sarge, I’m so sorr…”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. We just need to focus on getting Y/N back.” His sergeant snapped back. The rest of the unit mumbled in agreement, heads hanging low, all weighed down by the guilt of the parts they played in allowing Y/N, their partner and friend, to be thrown into the back of a truck by violent criminals.

...

The team all sat around the bullpen as their sergeant emerged from his office. “Right, talk to me, what do we have?”

Jay jumped to his feet and walked over to the board to stick up a photo. “This is Nicolas Heath. Vice has had him on their radar for years, he’s a known pimp, big in cross-state trafficking, and has priors for sexual assault, trafficking, and fraud.

Jay placed two more photos up underneath Heath’s. “These were the guys at the meet last night. They were the ones who took Y/N. They have similar priors to Heath but seem to be more like his lieutenants. We’ve got them on pods driving Y/N away in a black SUV Toyota. That was tracked to a house in Evanston where we think Y/N is being held.”

Ruzek walked up to the board next, reading a file in his hand. “That checks out, my CI is sitting in interrogation room 2 right now. The prick told me he’s been taking money from Heath over the last few weeks. In exchange, he invited girls to parties at clubs that Heath runs. My CI was getting nervous so reached out to me with fake info about Heath, he wanted us to take Heath down to save his own ass.” Ruzek then pinned up a few photos of a large, fortified, white house. “He tells me this is one of Heath’s places, it’s in Evanston so that checks with the footage of the SUV. But he also tells me it’s heavily secured with armed guards and it’s likely that if Heath has Y/N and we try to move on it, she’ll be dead before we get through the front door.”

The whole team sighed in frustration. They knew what type of guy Heath was and the longer they waited the worse things would potentially be for Y/N. Finally their superior spoke up. “Adam get your CI to reach out to Heath. We need to know if Y/N’s cover is still intact. If we can’t go in through the front door maybe we can set up a ‘buy’ and get our girl back.”

The team shook their heads in a mix of frustration and disgust at the thought of having to ‘buy’ back their teammate from that monster like she’s some object.

…

A few hours later and Jay was down in the roll-up, fixing a wire to the buttons of his shirt. A plan had been formulated; Halstead was going to meet a contact of Heath’s, posing as a pimp looking to move some ‘product’.

A quick, yet painful, phone call between Adam’s CI and Heath revealed he was still unaware Y/N was a cop. Jay had said on the phone he was looking for a specific type of ‘product’ and once he described a girl roughly matching Y/N’s description, Heath said he had someone for Jay. A meet was set at 9 pm by the docks.

The whole team was on edge. Some were scared of what Y/N was going through in the hands of the monster that is Nicolas Heath, most were nervous of the ‘buy’ that was soon to go down, but all were feeling guilty for allowing Y/N to be in this situation in the first place.

Once the wire was fixed and the van set, the team rolled out the back of district 21, with a thousand things racing through their minds.

They arrived at the predetermined meet point and waited. The surveillance van with Kevin, Adam, and Voight was hidden around the corner, whilst Jay waited in a UC truck parked out in the open. His jean-covered legs were bouncing up and down, but not from the cold. His partner, no, his best friend was out there somewhere in the hands of a rapist-pimp, alone and defenseless.

After 20 mins, a tattered grey van turned the corner and parked opposite Jay’s truck. Halstead sent a quick text to Voight notifying them of its arrival and then climbed out the truck. He looked on trying to see his partner beyond the blaring headlights of that grey van. When the white beams were cut he finally locked eyes with her.

When he saw her weak and bruised body with legs barely holding herself up, in a vice grip of two thugs, Jay’s instincts were to run to her, but he couldn’t. Thug 1 had a Glock 19 jammed into the side of her head and Thug 2 had one trained on him. He had to play this smart. The only way to get Y/N out of this was to play along with the ‘buy’, despite it making him sick to his stomach.

Jay casually walked around to the back of the truck and pulled out a black bag from the back. He checked his watch, stalled a bit to not seem too eager, put a stick of gum in his mouth, began to chew, stalled some more, and finally walked back towards Heath and his thugs.

“What you got for me then?” Jay questioned nonchalantly as he nodded towards his partner. “She what I asked for? Cuz I got a lotta cash here and I ain’t about to waste it.” Saying this was breaking him, but he had to play along.

“Yeh this one’ll be worth your trouble, she’s feisty, trust me.” Heath laughed back at his ‘buyer’. Jay’s heart sank. What had he meant by ‘trust me’? What had he done to her?

“Halstead keep your cool, flash him the money and get him to hand Y/N over” his sergeant’s voice spoke through his earpiece. Jay listened and opened to bag up to show Heath he meant business. “It’s all there. Hand her over, I wanna get a look before I hand this over.” Jay swallowed the sick in his mouth as he watched his partner shift uncomfortably between the two men.

When Y/N cast her eyes back up to look at Jay, he could see her tears in her eyes, despite the bruises there. His body kept playing the role but his eyes were calling out to her, he was internally begging she could see through his facade.

Thug 2 lowered his gun once Jay had flashed the money. Thug 1 kept his gun tight against Y/N’s head as he roughly pulled her towards Jay. He released her and she stumbled, on weak legs, the short distance to Jay.

Jay, careful not to grab at bruises, yanked on her arms and roughly pulled her towards the truck. He wanted to hug her, hold her and wipe her tears but he couldn’t. There were still 3 armed men 10 ft away who couldn’t know they were cops.

Y/N let out a small cry as the zip ties on her wrists dug deeper into the red, bleeding skin. “Quiet!” Jay demanded. “Move. Go on.” He pushed her around the back of the truck, attempting to shield her from any further potential dangers.

“Your money’s all there. Was a pleasure doing business with you.” Jay called out to Heath and his thugs.

“Pleasure’s all mine man, anytime. Enjoy that one” he nodded his head towards Y/N and stuck out a hand to Jay. Reluctantly Jay shook it and forced himself to say “Oh I will.”

The three men climbed back in their van with the money and reversed around the corner.

Shortly after, sirens and shouts of Chicago PD could be heard but Jay paid no attention. As soon as that van was out of sight Jay ran around the truck to Y/N.

Only now did he have a chance to fully take in her appearance. Her wrists were bleeding underneath zip ties. Arms were painted a horrible mix of blacks and blue. Blood was drying around her eyebrows and lip. Her left eye was swollen and purple and both were glistening with tears. She was in a short dress, ripped and filthy. But worst of all she was shaking violently, perhaps from the lack of layers and cold but more likely from the trauma of the last 24 hours. And that thought haunted Jay, he knew it always would.

When he finally reached her small and trembling body he cut the ties quickly and engulfed her in a hug. She sunk into his warm and then down to the floor. Jay went down with her, just holding her close as sobs shook through her body.

A hand came up to her face and he wiped her tears away and tucked her hair behind her ear. His strong arms held onto her so tight she thought she might crumble into a hundred pieces if he ever let go. So he didn’t.

“Shh. You’re okay. You’re okay Y/N/N. I got you. You’re safe.” He whispered into her ears. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry.” He began to choke up and the sound of her sobs. How had he let this happen?

Shortly after, the surveillance van and a few patrol cars arrived on scene. As Voight and the other officers climbed out their vehicles they were horrified at the scene before them.

Y/N looked like she’d been through hell. She was clinging to her partner desperately. Her shaking, although likely caused by a state of shock, prompted Adam to take off his coat and walk over to the partners on the floor.

He placed the coat on her shoulders and then squeezed one, trying to show his support and love and remorse through the action. Kevin walked over next with a blanket and knelt down with them.

“You’re okay Y/N. We’re here. You’re safe.” Jay kept repeating those words to his broken best friend, whom he held in his arms. Only when she heard the gruff voice of her sergeant did she take her head off Jay’s chest and lookup.

“I’m sorry Y/L/N. You’re gonna be okay kid.” Spoke Voight to his detective. The four men consoled their teammate, their family member, for a while longer. Their voices cracked and caught as they continued to whisper words of comfort until the ambulance arrived to take her to safety.

Read part 2 - https://georgiedx.tumblr.com/post/643582775508729857/summary-in-the-fallout-of-an-undercover-op-gone

I hope you guys liked it! Again I have no idea what I’m doing, this is just fun and a nice little escape for me.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Therapy

Set Me Free - Chapter 2 (Previous Chapter)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: (Sing 2016) Ash tries to ignore these strange feelings for Johnny as she delves deeper into her ex-boyfriend's betrayal and lies she begins to believe. But perhaps some encouragement and therapy is all she needs.

Fanfiction.net

A03

Ash thought she may throw up.

The sugary bubble gum she was chewing suddenly tasted of ashes in her mouth the very instant this strange feeling befell over her. Nothing she could have anticipated or expected just tidal waved through her delicate body and she was having none of it. Using the last shred of control Ash had, she utilized it to ignore them. Pretended she didn't hear those kind words, and she did not, I repeat, did NOT appreciate his gentle and somehow compassionate smile.

Pushed away any sort of indication of anything other than indifference; blaming these indiscretions on her own faltering emotional state. She hardly trusted anything right now; especially a nice smile and some encouraging words from an attractive guy (did she really just think that?). Besides - what did it matter? She'd already learned her lesson the hard way, thank you very much.

Ash dared not return his kind statement nor didn't bother looking at him anymore. She instead decided to turn her face away and valiantly try to ignore Johnny even as he made a rather amusing display of pushing the piano onto the stage; the egregious squeak accompanying made her fur and quills prickle and stand up on end.

Feeling more than a little annoyed at this point, she took a deep breath to try and calm her nerves. Reaching back into Rosita's bag to grab another small handful of butterscotch candies, she began unwrapping one when Johnny's playing and singing filtered through the bitter clouds of her crippling depression.

The song was "All of Me". She reluctantly admitted that the choice fit him perfectly. Soulful tones befitting of the ballad and she had to acknowledge that it was pleasant even if a sappy love song was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.

Halfway listening, she reluctantly appreciated those strong vocals, its deep raspy quality and his impressive vibrato yet as soulful and annoyingly pure as his voice was - his piano playing desperately needed work. (For all she knew, he could be doing great considering he was learning piano from a thousand year old lizard.) Ash listened and slightly flinched as he'd missed note after note on the ivory keys and his voice faltered with it at times in what had to be embarrassment or nerves. It was almost painful to listen to and whatever embarrassment she may have felt about her own performance were dulled but it didn't make it feel good to hear someone else screwing up…

Before she could even fathom that strange musing, Rosita reappeared through the thick burgundy curtains. Gunter was close behind; wearing a rather inappropriate, not to mention skintight, costume as he sauntered after her.

Ash's brows furrowed slightly; one ear subconsciously listening to Johnny and the other trying to figure just exactly what was wrong with Rosita. The two pigs were speaking back and forth and Rosita was rubbing at her reddened nose and seemed in distress. The side of Ash that wasn't mourning her own emotional status or trying to rationalize her strange thoughts was desperate to rise to her feet and return some of that comfort Rosita had provided earlier. Only problem was that her tongue wouldn't exactly work because frankly, what could she say?

"Rosita, you don't need za papers or learn da steps! Ya need to feel it! Feel zha fire un desire!" Gunter explained in a thick accent; sauntering his hips sensually and Ash's nausea returned with a vengeance.

"The fire went out a long time ago…" Rosita replied; a dejected sigh exiting her lips as she reached for the yellow tote that leaned on Ash's side. The female pig gave her a sad smile while pushing the straps up her shoulder.

Ash was more confused about what exactly happened; feeling suddenly terrible that she didn't even bother paying attention to Rosita's performance… Guilt was not a welcome emotion now but it plagued her regardless.

"I'm sorry. I-I gotta go." Rosita breathed and before Ash could squeak out a single word, the kind woman had disappeared around the corner.

Legs finally working, she bounded off the tall box and took a few steps toward the direction she left, but Rosita was already long gone.

"Rosita, wait." Ash breathed out fruitlessly when Meena made her presence known.

"I-Is she alright?" the soft-spoken elephant asked Gunter whom let out a dramatic sigh while zipping up his golden jacket.

"Yah," the pig said with a dismissive flourishing hand, "Jus needs ta feel da rhythm is all! Do not worry! She'll ze back." with those words, Gunter suddenly disappeared the way Rosita came but neither Ash nor Meena felt compelled to stop or follow him.

Ash stared after the pigs for a few seconds and when she turned her attention back to where Meena was once standing, the elephant was gone as well. Now with literally nothing left to hold her attention, Ash relocated back to her seat upon the music equipment box.

Truthfully, she wasn't even sure why she was still here. Her only chance of the day already exploded in her face and there was really no reason to prolong her suffering. Letting a sigh inch its way from her throat, she stared down at her lap. Hands cradling a few remaining candies and the guilt began eating away at her stomach. Wishing she'd said more to comfort Rosita in whatever occurred but at this point, what did it matter? What did any of this?

Chewing at her gum again to ignore how her stomach flip-flopped in her stomach, she popped a bubble and a voice she thought she'd blocked out began echoing into the now silent backstage. Ash was just as surprised as anyone that Johnny was indeed still singing. It'd felt a lifetime since he disappeared behind the mahogany curtains and it had been less than three minutes. Starting the final bridge of the song, his voice remained strong and powerful; Ash reluctantly had to hand it to him - as amateurish of a pianist he was, he still wasn't giving up. Vocals stronger as he tried to overpower the off-key notes or at some points went almost completely acapella; at some points it worked…kinda…not really.

But hell, at least he was trying. It beat blubbering and sobbing like she'd done.

A sudden tidal wave of embarrassment washed over and filtered through her body; own lingering doubts began their hostile takeover. What if it happened again? She could hardly trust herself to keep it together for a single damn song and her own emotional status was deteriorating by the second… There were so much uncertainty and inklings as to everything that could and probably would go wrong the next time around. Figuring out how to get over this breakup and write a new song?! It all seemed far too impossible; too great a hurdle to overcome in her delicate state…

Maybe Lance was right…maybe she couldn't do this…

Continence falling, she felt her eyes getting blurry again but she quickly wiped the moisture away. She'd cried enough for one day. Perhaps she should be truthful with Buster. Perhaps he was wrong to even pick her let alone let her get this far. She's already did a hell of a job proving how unfit she could be; allowing her emotions to ruin her performance and Lance's harsh words to control her. Perhaps she didn't deserve another chance let alone at $100,000…perhaps she should just…

Suddenly, like a bat outta hell, Johnny barreled through the curtains. At a full sprint, he passed her and almost tripped up the stairs as he burst through the backstage entrance. As the door slowly had yet to close behind the gorilla, she heard the primal roar of an engine and the harsh squeal of tires before a deafening silence befell the entire area. Before she even could breathe yet alone figure out what happened or had gotten into Johnny, Buster's frustrated voice broke out.

"Johnny? Johnny?! …ugh... Where did that boy go now?"

The slight confusion on her part faltered when Buster continued a second later.

"Oh well. Anyway, is that all, Ms. Crawley? Did those raccoon's ever leave?"

"I believe they're still practicing in the backrooms. I'll remove them now, Mr. Moon." she replied in that slow stuttering tone and you could hear her tail dragging as she moved slowly toward that direction.

"No, no, no, I just…" Buster dramatically sighed out his obvious frustration and Ash figured there was no time like the present.

Smoothing out the wrinkles on the silver dress and spitting her gum in an extra candy wrapper, she jumped from the box, pushed through the curtains, and exited to the stage. The bright lights were not at all appreciated; hating how it distorted her vision as she made her way to the orchestra pit.

There in his normal seat was busy-body Buster Moon; the koala distracted, organizing his many sheets of paper work to notice her appearance.

"Mr. Moon?" Ash asked respectfully, loathing how her voice was so nasally and cracked; she harshly cleared her throat to remedy the problem.

"Oh." wide blue eyes lifted to meet hers, "Yes. Ash? Um…M-May I help you? I thought I sent you home. You are dismissed."

"Yeah, Um, listen, I don't think I can do this. I really screwed up today and -" Ash started; the confidence she once prided herself in was almost completely vanquished.

"Mr. Moon, Judith from the bank is on line two again!" Ms. Crawley interrupted from another room and it was hard not to notice how his fur prickled at the voice. Whether it was from the voice itself or its contents, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it was both. All she knew was it must have bothered him enough to rush up to the stage and stand next to her.

"Thank you, Ms. Crawley, just tell her I'm with a client and I'll call her back later…tomorrow!" Buster called back.

"But you said -"

"Thank you, Ms. Crawley!" he shouted this time between gritted teeth, his hands shook and if Ash wasn't uncomfortable before, she was a flat-out awkward duck now.

"Look, if this is a bad time -" Ash started.

"No, no, no! Listen, Ash. We all have bad days. Believe me." he emphasized by folding his hands and lifting himself higher on his toes for a moment. Eyes majority staying on her but tended to flick toward other areas as if planning an escape. If she wasn't so lost in her own problems, perhaps it would have been a bit more suspicious.

"I-I don't -"

"Ash, it's okay." his voice was quick and movements even more so as he placed a small hand on her shoulder, "Everyone struggled today. It happens! Oh, Lord knows it does, but hey, that's show business for you! The point is - there's bound to be a bad performance here and there. What's important is you come back to prove yourself!"

Ash desperately wanted to refute his confident nature but he spoke it so genuinely that it couldn't be ignored. Her tongue remained silent.

"I know you have a ton of potential and it's about time you put it to work! Alright? Is that all you needed?"

"...uh…Y-Yeah…" she sighed.

"Great! You're excused. Now, run along. I'll see you on Friday morning. Alright? Perhaps with a different song, m'kay?" Buster's words were quickly spoken with dismissive hand gestures, but they hit home. Icy blue eyes and mouth hanging wide open as the koala smiled nervously and waved her off before he quickly escaped with short quick steps into the backstage area. A very nervous Meena, who apparently had been standing there the entire time, gave her a small wave before following after him.

Ash just stood there as if frozen in time. Her heart more or less battered and weak as it beat against her pained rib-cage. The hurt was hard to ignore; a constant ache she was certain wouldn't dissipate felt…lighter somehow.

For someone else to speak those words seemed to make it more graspable reality. It wasn't over even if her heart pitter-pattered painfully in her chest; the bleeding organ screaming and flopping pathetically in her chest. While Lance's betrayal was just so fresh leaving her little time to think of anything else, there was some truth to it.

This wasn't over.

Buster didn't throw her out or reject her even though frankly, she kinda deserved to be. As small as a chance there was of her picking herself up and performing for him again - there was still a chance!

A flicker; a light she was afraid had went out permanently sparked inside her chest. There was a sudden underlining anger to her grief; a desperate desire to prove Lance wrong. And it sure wouldn't be found in any of those lame songs Buster kept choosing for her. Ash needed more sustenance; more fuel for the fire that came to life and began to rage deep inside her gut. Before she realized what happened, she felt more alive; more determined than ever to prove Lance wrong. To prove she didn't need him and never did.

…and she was more determined than ever to make sure he KNEW it…

With trembling fists, Ash smirked and ran backstage to change and head back home.

As confidence steadily leaked back, it still wasn't easy to be back in thei-her apartment.

A strange feeling fell over her just to enter the space. It was so obvious now just how utterly loud Lance had been. The television, radio, or his amps always blaring and to come home to it dark and empty was almost soul-crushing.

Silence.

Nothing but utter silence enveloped her much like the inky darkness surrounding.

Flicking on the light switch, she was greeted with his belongings. His CD's, DVD's, and sheet music all scattered around the floor, band posters littering the walls, mike and guitar stands propped up in the corners. Further looking upon it as if for the first time, she took in the tattered remains of what used to be their life. Picture frames littered around on their coffee table and walls; some of the frames old and hung crooked, but neither cared at the time.

Ash placed down her guitar gently as she tried to ignore the bile that rose to her throat.

A familiar pain greeted her much like an old friend; this withered sensation washed over every fiber of her being as she walked through her house. The rooms filled with stuff they'd bought during their time together. Mismatched plates, bowls, and cups in the cabinets and some piled in the sink. Junk food and soda well-stocked in the cabinets and fridge. It was as if it had been a fragment of time; wall cracks scattered throughout; peeling paint in neglected areas, and perhaps one too many stains in the carpeting. Lance always had a bad habit of spilling food or drink and when she wasn't home, it would leave it time to set. He never even bothered to try cleaning it up himself…Shaking her head subconsciously as a few of those fights flashed through her mind as she made her way to the bedroom.

Light pouring in from the flick of a switch, she quietly took it in. The sheets and comforter of the bed wrinkled and unmade from her previous night alone in it. Clean laundry haphazardly folded at the foot of thei-her bed. Her books on her night table and Lance's wrinkled and rolled-up magazines littered his side. Always recalled how she had to clean up after him; pick up his food scraps, dirty laundry, balled-up sheet music, and random trash scattered everywhere. At the time, it seemed almost normal but now it had her stomach sinking when she recalled the very few, if any, times he said "thank you" for all her hard work.

Scarcely could remember the last time he said a kind word; not dismissive or borderline cruel - just anything encouraging! …and she couldn't…

A sudden anger flared to life in her chest.

This - their life had really meant nothing to him! Sure, it wasn't perfect in any sense of the word, but it had been their life. A life he threw away as if it meant nothing to him; as if she were worthless to him.

Five years in which she believed in his many lies. Fallen so deeply in love with a deceiver; one that would toss her aside like a dirty tissue without another thought. How meaningless this all felt. To think just days ago he was here and she couldn't be more content with life. Those mornings before the audition where they were so utterly excited for the chance to become superstars and win a bunch of money. The world had felt so vast and full of opportunity; she had her boyfriend of five years beside her, holding her hand in a tight grasp. Together, they were going to make it happen…

It took just days to bring the ship crashing down in an epic explosion.

Ash didn't even bother fathom that night again; didn't care to remember tossing and turning in the sheets that still smelt like him as she tried fruitlessly to fall asleep. A hellish night filled with crying and weeping with scarcely stopping for breath. She felt like she was dying inside; as if her other half was physically ripped out through her still beating heart…

To think she'd really loved him…when he likely didn't even know what that word meant…

Paws shaking precariously, her eyes met the picture she kept on her nightstand. The one of many 'selfies' they'd taken over the years. How innocent the world seemed to that girl in the photo; the one never knowing what he'd do later on…

If only she'd knew then what she knew now…

Yet instead of crying like she desperately wanted to; Ash grabbed the frame. Moved throughout the house to collect every single picture of them she could find and loaded them into a pile in front of the couch. Careful not to destroy the frames, she took out every single photograph and tossed them to one side of the room while she placed the now empty frames back where they belonged.

Feet dragging slightly on the rough carpet as she returned to the living room. Staring down at the evidence of their five years together; picture after picture of them through various dates and locations. If she was a stranger looking in, she would say they looked like a happy couple. The cute boy wearing his normal lazy smirk and this pretty girl looking so damn naive and stupid to ever believe a single word he said…

"You can't write your own songs…" his taunting voice invaded her subconscious.

Yet, instead of allowing it to damage her further like he intended, more voices spoke up on her behalf.

"It sounds to me like you're better off without him. That -that -." Rosita's kind voice echoed through her head.

"-that total super jerk dinkle-shplat!" Gunter's voice came in and she couldn't stop that half-smile that rose on her face.

"I know you have a ton of potential and it's about time you put it to work!" Buster weighed in.

"Good luck, Ash. I know you'll do great next time." Johnny's voice suddenly filtered into her subconscious and her heart skipped a beat.

Swallowing thickly and pushing those notions aside, she stared at the picture in her hand. That one time she believed she would be with Lance forever, that he was everything she needed and wanted and just how foolish that sounded now. Lance wasn't worth this pain; wasn't worth this torment he caused her battered heart. She didn't need his approval and never did…She was going to write her own song, dammit, and she was going to do it all without him!

With a agile flick of her wrist, Ash ripped the picture in half with a satisfying tearing noise - in that very moment, she'd never felt so free…

[ayecaptnswan-blog]

When You Need Me, I’ll Be There

Soooo it’s been a while but I have a fic.

PROMPT: Emma goes to a high school reunion with Killian where he finds out Emma had been bullied quite severely so they go to face it together.

The link is https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923549 if you would like to read it on AO3 and I’ll post it just under this.

I don't own anything, I do not own the cast, characters and/ or the plot of the show, that all belongs to ABC and Adam and Eddie; I am just a faithful watcher. I was also deeply saddened to hear of Emilie, Jen, Josh, Ginny, Jared and Bex's departures from the show, but I think they're going to create something great and I do love Colin so much so I'm very glad he's staying. I also adore Andrew West; ever since he was on The Walking Dead I have loved him so I'm very excited to see how he and little Alison will do.

But, as always Captain Swan will always be remembered for me and I hope that the show lets them keep their very deserved happy ending.

When you need me I'll be there

3rd Person

Emma huffs softly at the sight of herself in the hotel mirror.

The knee length black dress that she had brought for the occasion she was going to clung to her in all the wrong ways, and the heels she wore to match made her feet ache in ways she couldn't have imagined. However, this wasn't about her-

(Okay, maybe it was just a little bit.)

-This was about changing opinions, making everyone see her as she is now.

Killian is lying on their hotel bed, playing with his phone, his hook in his overnight bag while his fake hand is in its place. He doesn't enjoy being in New York, not since his last journey's there. However, two months ago when his wife had approached him with puppy dog eyes and the promise that she'd finally clean the storage cupboard with him was too impossible to deny.

Apparently, she has one of those 'school reunion' things or so she said and despite the fact that everything about her demeanor at the time had screamed that she didn't want to go to it, she'd begged him to. That's something he didn't understand.

However, after a quick chat with his mother and father in law, he was informed that his lovely wife wanted to show off. He knew that Emma didn't have much as a child, so he didn't mention the fact he knew she wanted everyone to be jealous of her now quite-spiffing life.

Hearing Emma groan again makes him sit up, quirking an eyebrow at the sight of her. She looks beautiful, as she always has and always will to him, but she also looks very uncomfortable and quite put out. "You alright, love?" He queries softly.

Emma glares a little at him, crossing her arms. "You." She bites out, before gesturing at her abdomen, where the dress clung to her tiny bump, evidence of their true love sitting proudly inside her. "Did this, do you see?"

"That you're pregnant, yes, Swan, I do see." He stands, walking to her slowly like a hunter who doesn't want to spook a deer. "Is that bad?"

Emma pouts, laying her hand on her slightly protruding stomach, turning so that he can see that the zip of her dress is half way up. "My dress doesn't fit anymore, my feet hurt and I couldn't be any more obviously pregnant." She states simply and Killian pulls her into his arms gently.

"I think you look beautiful and there are quite literally seven dresses for you to choose from, love. Two of them being maternity dresses." He reminds her and Emma pouts.

His wife is reluctant to making the switch to maternity clothing as she claims it means she'll be officially in the 'whale stage' of her pregnancy and she doesn't want that, although their little one seems to have different ideas as she's only three months along and her bump was bigger than usual.

"But this one makes me look good." Emma shrugs, glancing into his eyes. "Get the stupid red one." She sighs and he grabs it for her, passing it to his wife gently. "It's not as sexy, but I suppose it'll do."

He kisses her gently, stroking her jaw. "Oi, you're very sexy, besides, you're my wife, and I don't think I want to fight those men for you." He jokes, pressing a kiss to her cheek before sauntering off back to the bed.

"Just pull out your hook, that'll scare them off." She smiles softly before getting changed.

Emma had ended up choosing the red dress, mainly because it was one of the only ones that fit and it didn't make her look like she was wearing a bin bag like she thought the gray one did. Since the pain in her feet became quickly unbearable within ten minutes, she was now in a pair of flats, so she was in quite the sour mood when they walked into her old school building.

At first, she had pointed out her old locker, noticing it still had the tiny E she had carved with a penknife as a grumpy teen, then her old gym room where she'd constantly truant lessons and watch them from a hidden corner while laughing.

However, as lovely as it was that she was telling him these stories, Killian never heard a friends name in them, not one. "Swan, as much as I love this, what did you and your friends do around here?" He asks curiously and Emma just looks ahead of her.

With a shrug, Emma chews her bottom lip. "Nothing much, messed around, stupid stuff as friends do, but anyway, I used to hang out of that window and climb down onto the roof and then I could break out of school." She explains and Killian stops, leaning on a locker with a small but knowing frown.

"You didn't have any, did you, love?" He asks softly and she shakes her head, looking away. "You hate this place… yet you're telling me stories and it doesn't sound awful-"

"It is when you have to break out of school just because of people bullying you." She states harshly, going to sit on a bench nearby, glancing at the hall in which they're supposed to be in. "I was the new, weird, kid with glasses who was too skinny."

With a sigh, Killian goes to sit next to her. "Swan…I'm sorry." He whispers. "I know what it's like to get picked on."

She nods slowly, he's told her about how the kids at school would beat him up just for the hell of it until his father took them away and sold them into slavery where he was bullied every day no matter what, having no safe haven.

"It just sucks being back here," Emma states, biting her lip. "I came here and joined all these clubs, I made the hockey team and I did cross country, I was a really big athlete." She sighs. "But then kids picked on me for my hand me down clothes at cross country so I quit, and when I made Captain in hockey they all hated me, one girl even hit me in the eye with a puck, so I quit that." Emma looks away. "I was the kid that loved English, I loved learning, and I even liked Science."

"What made you stop?" He asks curiously.

"The boys picked on me, called me names, the girls were just as bad, if not worse. One of them even pretended to be my friend, learned all my secrets, but one night we had a sleepover and she put gum in my hair so I had to have it cut off, which meant I was then made fun of even more." Emma tells him, looking away with a sigh.

"That's not it though…" Killian whispers, he knows her, something else happened.

"She then told the entire school my secrets, including this guy I had a crush on, who then told me he liked me, but it was all just a ruse because he got me to send…photos that I shouldn't have."

Killian's eyes widen a little. "Oh…"

"He then showed them to everyone but said he didn't mean to and I was so stupid I believed him, but then he lifted up my skirt in the hall and everyone called me a slut, whore, anything you can think of really." Emma blinks away tears, sniffling as he pulls her close, wanting to kill whoever did that to her.

"Swan…I can't believe someone would do that to you." He whispers, hiding the anger from his tone as he strokes her back slowly, letting her cry into his chest a little. "Why the hell would you come back here?"

She buries her face into his chest a little before sighing and looking up at him, letting him wipe away her tears with his thumb. "To show them I'm not that girl anymore." She admits, stroking his chest, relieved (not for the first time) that his chest hair pokes out from his shirt and ever-so-gentleman-looking waistcoat.

"Of course you're not that girl, you never were, and you're not any of the things those idiots said to you, Swan. Nor will you ever be."

She hesitates, just like every time, calling herself Jones as she knows she'll always stay being his Swan. "I just want them to see that I'm a completely different Emma. I'm married to the love of my life, we have our Henry and I know my parents and I'm pregnant. I want them to know I do have it all. I have the house and the family, the children. "

The small smile he offers is enough to make her swoon but she continues.

"I have the perfect husband, the perfect son, perfect home, we even have the freaking dog and white picket fence!"

With a chuckle, Killian nods, kissing her gently, nuzzling her nose before pulling away. "Then lets us go show them, love. I'm more than happy to show off Emma Jones and kick that man's arse." He states, before thinking. "But is he a big guy cause it's been a few years and I might need my hook?" He jokes.

"Shut up." She giggles, kissing him again.

Walking into the hall, hand in hand like usual, Emma feels slightly lighter after sharing her secrets with him, as she always does. They walk up to the table with all the name tags on it, searching for hers quickly but can't find it so she asks one of the ladies at the table. "Hi, sorry but I can't seem to find my name, I did say I was coming."

The women, who Emma recognizes immediately, quickly look at her. "And you are?" They ask, so Emma sighs.

"Emma Jones, but I used to be Emma Swan." She explains, keeping her calm, despite being offended they don't remember her. "I remember emailing back, but apparently it must not have sent or whatever but-"

"Oh my god, wait! Emma Swan?" One of them asks, smirking softly, leaning back in her chair. "You actually came?" When Emma nods, she laughs chirpily. "Wow…now that does surprise me considering how you used to be, very flighty, I wouldn't have expected you'd come back to, what was it you said to me once, the armpit of the US?"

With a cough, Emma leans on her husband's side gently. "Well, uh, I'm here, so…do I have a nametag or not?" She offers her a smile and the woman takes a nametag with Emma Swan written on it.

"Sorry, forgot you were married." She states, smirking softly as she passes it to the blonde, who just steals her pen and crosses out Swan to write Jones instead.

"Sorry." She points at the woman's ringless finger. "Forgot you were still single." She throws her pen back at her before taking Killian's hand and walking around the hall, breathing slowly. "God I hated her in high school, although it's nice to see she's had no changes."

"Except for the bleach blonde hair?" Killian glances at the woman and Emma nods, giggling softly. "Looks rather like a rats den, if you ask me."

With a hum, Emma links her arm with her husbands just as someone knocks into her, making her free hand fly to her small bump carefully. "Hey, watch-" She pauses when she looks up to see the man who crashed into her. "It." She finishes, glaring.

In front of her stood the reason she always ran away, the reason she skipped school and didn't get the grades she wanted since she was never there. "Chris Myers," Emma mumbled, her grip on her husband tightening a little.

To his credit, the man actually remembers who she is without looking at the name tag. "Emma Swan, uh, hi?" He offers her a hand but she just glares at him so he takes it back, wrinkling his nose. "Well, you're just as I remember, well… not exactly as I remember." He gives her a wink that makes her skin crawl.

Killian's jaw clenches on its own as he stares at the man. "It's Emma Jones and she's my wife." He states, guessing that this was the man that upset his Swan so much as a teen, hating him on sight. "I've heard quite the story about you…although I'm having trouble remembering your name, mate, was it uh…ah yes! Cock womble, that was it!" He exclaims gleefully, making Emma hide her smirk at the look on Chris' face. "See you later, cock womble."

With a smirk, Killian leads her away from the man who quite obviously was embarrassed.

After nearly an hour there, Emma has had several awful encounters and she's only reminded of how much she hated this place, how much they all made her hate herself.

It's not until she goes to the bathroom since she's suddenly needing it every five minutes because of their tiny, yet lovely and wonderful, the baby inside her that has decided to be an asshole today, that she hears the worst of it.

She's closed in a stall, just pulling down her dress when she hears the voices of some of her past school enemies speaking, which normally wouldn't bother her except for the fact they were speaking about her, about Killian in fact.

The girls are people she remembers as Missy James, Olivia Spencer and her old bully, the main one, the worst, Karen Clarkson. All were tall, beautiful, and slim and always had the boys all over them in high school, or from what Emma can remember before she ran away with Neal.

Missy was the nicest of the three, Emma thinks, she was never outright rude to her and even once helped her clean up her books, but the other two were the spawn of Satan, which is only confirmed by what Emma hears.

"Have you seen Emma Swan here yet?" Karen asks, looking at herself in the mirror. "She's just as…Emma as I remember, plain, irritatingly skinny, although I did notice she's got a bit of a belly on her-"

"She's pregnant," Missy states simply, shrugging. "Hardly a belly, it's nice."

"Nice?" Karen scoffs, fixing her hair. "Another Emma in the world, God help us all. I mean…what did she even expect out of this reunion? That we'd all see her pregnant and feel bad for what we did? We didn't even do anything wrong! It was just fun!" She laughs to herself.

"You locked her in a storage room until she had a panic attack." Missy points out, frowning. "You're lucky she didn't report you!"

Karen scoffs while Olivia just smirks, both of them fussing with their hair or makeup. "Yeah, yeah, shut up. But! Did you all see who-"

"Whom," Emma whispers under her breath so they can't hear.

"-She's here with? Her husband, I know, shocking that she's married, but have you seen how hot he is?" Karen asks them with a smirk. "The brunette, kind of tall, smolder on point, blue eyes, gorgeous smile, and beard?" The other two nod.

Olivia hums. "He's hot, what does he even see in Emma? He's…him and she's, well she's her you know? He's out of this world gorgeous, could date anyone he wants, but he chose her? The school whore?"

Missy frowns but doesn't say anything as Karen laughs softly. "I know why." She states like she knows everything. "He's got a fake hand." She points out, making Emma frown.

"Why does that matter?" Missy asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, he's broken." Karen shrugs. "He's got one hand, meaning he's pretty much an invalid, who would love a guy whose only half?" She laughs softly. "I'll bet he's got some pretty ugly scars with it too, I mean only Emma would fall for that. And then he's so desperate for someone to love him that he'd take any whore."

"Karen!" Missy scolds, frowning. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why can't you just accept that Emma may have actually passed her teens? That she fell in love with someone and they're happy? I mean, if they're happy together then it doesn't matter whether he's got one hand, which I didn't even notice! No one did!" Missy yells, making Emma feel a pang of admiration for the fact she finally stood up for her.

With a scoff, Karen pushes past her with Olivia and leaves, smirking. "Whatever."

As soon as they leave, Emma unlocks her door and steps out, wiping away her tears, and Missy looks shocked that she's there. "Hi," Emma whispers, walking to the sink to wash her hands, sniffling. "Thanks. It meant a lot that you stood up for me and Killian." She bites her lip, drying her hands.

"I'm sorry," Missy states softly, chewing her lip gently. "About what Karen said, she's just bitter because someone loves you and she's getting divorced. But she was having sex with Chris Myers so…I kind of don't blame her husband." She offers Emma her hand. "Truce?"

Emma smiles softly and takes her hand, shaking it once. "Truce. Now, what do you say we go back to my husband, whose probably pacing outside the door with worry." She lays her hand on her bump gently. "He's really protective over bean and me."

Missy laughs softly, nodding. "I can tell, I've seen his hands on your waist or the baby practically since you've been here, he looks at you like you hang the moon."

Emma blushes, nodding. "He does, I'm very lucky."

"So is he, because you look at him in the exact same way." Missy points out. "Now come on, let me meet your lovely baby daddy?"

With a giggle, Emma leads her out.

It's not until a few days later, when Emma is cuddled up into Killian on their couch, listing out baby names, that she realizes how lucky she actually is.

Karen was a bitch yes, but she did make a valid point. Killian could have anyone in the world, anyone he wants, and yet he fought for her and has stuck by her and loves her with everything in him. And it's not because they were always destined to, their love has been hard and they've fought so hard to get to where they are now, it's just because of one simple fact.

He loves her. And that's all that matters.

It doesn't matter to her that Karen said those things or that she was bullied or that she was known as the school whore, because they were just stupid teens (and now adults) who haven't taken the time to know her, didn't speak to her, didn't care about her.

But Killian does, and so it doesn't matter what they think or who they are to her or what they did to her or what they're saying behind her back or whether or not she has awful memories from it.

It doesn't matter because most of them are single and alone or divorced and are unhappy, clinging onto their status as cool in high school and not caring about others, however, Emma has Killian, she has her family.

She's not a little-lost-girl anymore because she has him, so there is something she can bring from that school reunion, something she'll remember forever and cherish the fact she knows it now.

Fuck the past.