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queen-bunnyears · 4 years

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Murder on your mind ~ Tom Holland

Pairing: DCI!Tom Holland x DI!reader

Summary: Inspired by my love for B99, and my guilty pleasures Silent Witness and Luther. What more can I say.

Wordcount: 5,4k+

Warnings: This is about a serial murder investigation, so it does discuss murder, violence, a chase, guns and shotwounds, a caraccident, unconciousness. They swear. Mentions of alcohol. A small kiss.

Okay if you need help understanding uk police ranks, (I did) I looked it up. So we have a chief inspector who in this case is the highest rank. Directly under him come the DCI’s (Detective Chief Inspector). Then a DI, (Detective inspector) and for today the only other rank I use is an officer, which is lower in rank than the others.

“And then the remaining time of today's briefing is for DCI Osterfield, he has a case he would like to discuss,” your boss says. Harrison stands up from his seat, and picks up the clicker for the screen.

“Thank you, Miss Carter. So, anyone who likes to take a guess about the crime?” he asks, and immediately hands fly up. “It was committed just an hour ago. Janssen?”

“Money laundering,” Janssens confident voice thunders through the room. He often wins these betting games, but mostly because nine out of ten times it is indeed money laundering. Harrison shakes his head.

“Too bad, it is definitely a big break in,” Claire says next to you. You shake your head. For a break in he would be talking with the uniform officers, he wouldn’t have needed to discuss it. Unless the stolen items are over a million, but then the news would surely have spread across the city already, and the new apps hadn’t put anything online yet.

“Hostage situation?” Jimmy shouts from the desk behind you. Jimmy always wants it to be hostages, because he is the only negotiator at the station. But hostages are way too uncommon, the chief would have told you about it. You know what it is the moment Harrison points at you.

“Too bad, you are all wrong. Y/n, like to take a last guess?”

“Murder,” you say, clicking your pen and closing your notebook. You cock your head to the side, “And it must be real nasty if you wanna discuss it,”

“Bingo! So we have a big ol’ murder on our hands,” Harrison says, clicking to the next powerpoint slide. A photograph of a bloody crime scene comes up. “And it is not just on our hands,” he clicks and points dramatically to the man who comes up on the screen, “This is Tom Holland, DCI in Southwest London. He is gonna be helping me because,” the next slide shows three almost identical scenes. “It’s a serial!”

“Ohh Tom is a handsome colleague. I would love to do a stake-out with him, if you know what I mean,” Jimmy bends over his desk and whispers to you. You shake your head laughing.

“Jimmy, you have a problem in need of fixing. Have you tried going on a date?” you whisper back. You don’t move quickly enough, and his playful slap hits you on the back of your head.

“For the record, you are way too excited about this,” Claire says, and DCI Osterfield blushes slightly.

“I just want to catch him, and not be a total mood ruiner while informing you,” he replies, clicking to the end of the slideshow.

“Does anyone recognise something from an old case? He works really neat, so Holland thinks it might be someone who has done it before,” The briefing room stays quiet as no one answers. You shrug your shoulders.

“Well please dig in your memory today, anything you remember might help. We have to solve this. I will need assistance, and chief told me detective Y/l/n has just closed her last case. Wanna help me?”

“Yeah sure,” you say, folding your hands underneath your head. The pictures look awful, and nothing like you have ever dealt with.

“Great, we leave for the crime scene after this,” Harrison says, and you nod at him, “Okay, that concludes the discussion. If press asks you about it, direct them to me or to the PR people, don’t tell them anything,” he walks back to his desk while Carter stands up.

“Good luck today, don’t forget to apply for the training day next week,”

“Okay so what is the deal Haz?” you ask. You sit in the car, on your way to the crime scene. He drives, and you drink from the Starbucks cup in your hand, trying to get them to warm up. Police cars are always terribly cold.

“There were three murders last week in Southwest, and tonight one on our area. As you saw in the pictures, it is all done almost precisely the same. So naturally we have to go there, because it’s our area, but the DCI from Southwest will be joining us as well, because he has worked this case for days now,”

“Do you know him?”

“Tom and I were together in high school, and at the Academy. We are good friends. He is an excellent detective,” Harrison tells you. Harrison was in the year above you at the academy, but you never really interacted with classes other than your own. You fall silent, not having much else to say. Your mind goes to the slide show of the victims. All the same position, almost the same place of impact. The photograph of this morning's victim flashes before your eyes.

“Any info on the victim already?”

“Sally Stars, 33, she is a tourist from the US,” you see the image of her again. Small woman wearing a yellow raincoat, lying on her back. Her shoes next to her body, no bag or anything. A big red spot on her chest where the bullet pierced her skin. One shot, quick kill.

“Where in the US?”

“Phoenix, Arizona,” That tells you precisely nothing. Although you don’t know what you hoped for.

“Other similarities between this case and the others, beside how they look?”

“All of them are tourists. It is a drama, working together with all the embassies,” he sounds bitter. The happy, teasing Harrison is gone now. At the station you can joke around, but as soon as you go out it becomes serious business. You hope this case can be solved quickly.

“DCI Holland, please let me through,” you hear a voice say. You look up to see the man from the photograph walking up to you. Removing your gloves you come up from your crouching position next to the victim.

“Goodmorning DCI Holland,” you extend your hand and he shakes it. You put your globes back on while you introduce yourself, “I am detective inspector Y/n Y/l/n. I will be helping you and DCI Osterfield with the case,”

“Great,” he says, before turning away to Harrison. “Please tell me there is anything different on this one,”

“Not as far as I can see Tom,” Harrison says, a thoughtful look in his eyes, “but you know more of the case, does anything seem different to you?” Tom takes his time inspecting the crime scene. He lifts things, ruffles through the bagged evidence and asks for some extra pictures. When he returns to Harrison and you his face looks almost angry.

“It seems like everything is the same,’ he says, suddenly he slams his hands down, “the fucker did it again. No fucking mistakes, how does he do it?”

“Something will come up,” Harrison says. You look around you, staring at the forensic experts who were bagging the evidence. The answer had to be here somewhere. Then you see a young man bag something a few metres from the body, at the edge of the scene.

“Hey, wait!” you scream, and you walk over to him, carefully stepping on the cleared ground. You almost smiled at what you saw, “Is that a,-”

“A phone,” DCI Holland says and he hurries over to where you are standing. You grab the bag from the stunned mans hands, and take out the phone. It feels icy cold through your gloves, and you see water drops on the side.

“It is soaked from dew and the rain this morning, I hope the lab can get something out of this,” you say, handing it over to Harrison, “It’s turned off, please keep it that way. If they dry it properly it might still work and that makes everything much easier.”

“This is new, the other bodies didn’t have a phone on them,”

“It’s his first mistake,” Harrisons says. You frown.

“Why do you think it is a man?”

“A wild guess, wanna bet on it?” he replies absently. Then he gives you the phone back, “what do you think of this? Does it tell you anything?”

“Old iphone, not a special model, Iphone 5. The case suggests that she is a big Harry Potter fan, that could explain why she was in Londen,” you take the case off the phone and grab the wet piece of paper that sits behind it, “And I wager she has a room in a hotel near Victoria's station. These are directions from there. To the right, past Victoria theatre, and so on. Call the station, they should be able to find the hotel,”

“That’s not right,” Tom says. His mouth is a thin stripe, and his forehead is wrinkled in a frown.

“Sorry what?”

“They already found her hotel room, near Covent Garden,”

“Then were would this lead to?” you wonder, inspecting the note closer.

“That is a very good question.” DCI Holland says, and he walks away. You stare at the piece of paper, as if it would start speaking if you look at it enough.

“Well, let’s go to this adress then,” Harrison says. You take a photograph of the paper and carefully put the phone back in the evidence bag. The ride is quiet, both you and Harrison deep in thoughts about the murder.

“Hello, I am detective inspector Y/l/n, and this is my colleague DCI Osterfield,” you show your badge to the man at the front desk. “We have some questions for you, regarding an ongoing case. Have you seen this woman?”

He inspects the photograph carefully and looks at Harrison. “Yes sir, I saw her yesterday. She came in to rent a safety box for a week. I can show you, although you need her permission to open it, or an official order.”

Harrison looks at you, and you shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Can we see the box please?” he asks, putting his badge back in his pocket.

“Of course sir, follow me.”

“Nothing interesting in the locker, nothing in her hotel room. The first conversations with her family shows nothing of interest. There is no connection between them. Just the tourist thing. So based on that we have to assume he is killing at random,” Harrison is on the phone. He has big blue circles underneath his eyes. Probably matching yours. The second day on a murdur case is always heavy, as most of the evidence is processed, and the first results from the lab come in. You hear some murmurs on the other side and Harrison ends the call. He looks at you.

“Tom is on his way to us. He will bring his map of evidence and everything he gathered with the old cases,” you nod absently, looking at the giant board filled with photos, and the map. Red dots and lines all over the place, but it doesn’t make sense yet.

“Tourists don’t know the city well, so he might be able to guide them somewhere under false pretenses,” you say, “So maybe a cabbie? Who else moves anonymously through the city like that? I wanna see the CCTV,”

“There was no CCTV in the other cases,” Harrison tells you while typing on his laptop, “But we are lucky, they just placed a new camera at the shop across from the entrance of the park. They might have something. The officer should have sent,-” his voice trails off when he opens his mail and sees the file. Behind Harrison you see the door open and DCI Holland walks into the room. Harrison looks up.

“Tom, great, we were just going to watch the CCTV I texted about,” he starts the recording. The street on the screen is empty. “This is 21:00. Forensics guess she died around midnight,”

The screen stays empty as the video goes on to 21:00. At 22:38 a man walks through the screen with his dog. The small clock in the corner ticks through, 23:00, 23:30, 00:00. Just as Harrison wants to stop it you see something move in the corner.

“There,” you point at the bicycle that comes into view. A man is riding it, and when he turns into the park you and Tom see it at the same time. You shoot up, pausing the screen. 01:04.

“That’s her,” Tom says. Limp, on the back of the bicycle sits a woman, “is she conscious?”

“I don't think so, see here, he hits a bump and she doesn’t react at all,” Harrison says, playing the shot again.

“Does he return later?” you watch the remainder of the video three times, but nothing appears.

“He is smart, uses another exit. Who knows what happened after this, we need more on him,” you say, noting the times and details in your book.

“First we need to know who he is. Did they run facial recognition already?” Tom asks, turning to look at Harrison, who shakes his head.

“No, we are the first to see this material. Get the boss, I want to run this man through the system immediately.”

“I know him,” Carter says. She sits up straight in her chair and starts the tape again. She pauses it right as the mans face is in view. “Jason Sanders, ex police officer. He used to work for me back in the 90’s. He has grown older, but I am like 99% sure it’s him.”

“If he is an ex copper his face should be in the system,” Tom says. You just nod, noting down the name, and opening your laptop to start a google search. Two clicks and you are on his facebook profile.

“Yes he is a perfect match. Look at these pictures,”

“Okay, I want Claire to run a background check,” Harrison says, pointing at her. “Names, friends, family, address, possible gun registration, workplace. I want to know everything you can find. First, run his face through the system, I want to be sure it's him,”

“Sure, that should take about an hour,” she immediately opens her laptop and starts typing. Tom clears his throat.

“So, two of us have to go to the lab and talk with the forensic experts. And one needs to go through the three cases, see if we can find a new link. I have stared at the cases for hours now so I think it’s best if one of you takes a fresh look.”

“I will do it,” Harrison replies just a second quicker than you, “Y/n can go with you to the lab. I believe Henry will do the post-mortem, so she is probably happy to go with you.”

“I will tell you one more time Haz, no funny business between me and Henry,” you say with a stern look on your face, but you smile afterwards. Harrison always jokes about the doctor at the lab who has a small crush on you. In return you tease him endlessly about the defense attorney who is just a bit too sweet and open to Harrison for it to be professional.

“Well if the two of you are done wasting time can we leave, Y/l/n?” Tom is at the door quickly walking outside, but his harsh look doesn’t go unnoticed by you and Harrison. Harrisons shrugs his shoulders and you follow Tom through the door.

“Can you tell us anything interesting?” you ask Henry who is standing in front of a big window that shows the postmortem room. You look inside, shivering at the sight of the body on the table with all it’s organs stashed neatly beside it.

“There are so many interesting things to tell,” he laughs at Tom’s annoyed face, “Let’s get to business,”

“Please,’ Tom sighs, causing you to roll your eyes at Henry behind his back. Henry points to the large body bag on a table in the far corner of the room.

“That’s her. Full postmortem will be done tomorrow, it’s busy, but here is what we already can confirm. Victim is female, nothing weird about her body or anything like that. He probably killed her with that one clean shot. She has been drugged, we found alcohol and ketamine in her blood,”

“Just like the others,” you add. Henry nods and walks through the lab to a screen. He clicks on some buttons. A file opens, and you see a tinder profile and some messages.

“But Jackie ran tests on her phone, and there was a damned good reason he kept the other two.” You look up interested at those words, nodding to Henry to continue, “She was on Tinder, trying to make friends to go out with during her stay. She has texts with a man whom she had a date with last night. He called himself James, and had a random model photo on his profile,”

“Did you run that profile through the computer? Anything?”

“We can’t track the phone that belongs to the profile. We are waiting for access to the profile so we can see his other messages, that should be here later this afternoon. There is a possibility this is the way he finds and contacts his victims,”

“Shit” you say. Tom looks at the text chain unmoving. “Holland, are you okay? This could be a breakthrough.”

“Yes, could be. But we know nothing yet. Nothing is sure,” he says curtly. He walks to the door. “You let us know when the rest of the data is in,” he opens the door, gesturing for you to come after him. You stretch slowly, and smile at Henry.

“Thank you so much for your hard work, this could really mean much for the case,” you say, sending a provoking look towards Tom, “And I am sure my colleague here is just as thankful, don’t mind him, he has a bad day.”

“No problem Y/n, see you later,” Henry replies, sending a broad smile your way. You nod one last time before following Tom outside.

“What was that?” the anger in his voice is apparent. You smile sweetly and pat him on the shoulder.

“That, DCI Holland,” you pause shortly and look him in the eye, “was common decency. Be kind to the lab, and they will be kind to you. That applies to more things actually,”

“Don’t tell me what to do,”

“Don’t be unkind then,” you say, smiling at him, ignoring the irritation that burns within you. Damn that man. But you have dealt with a lot of unkind, bitchy police officers in your days, you won’t let him bring you down. You walk towards the car, grabbing the key from Holland's hand. “I’ll drive,”

Stakeouts are your least favourite part of being a detective. Nothing is worse than sitting the entire day, hoping for something to happen. You always called it the most boring aspect of your job. Even paperwork was more exciting. Problem was, you were very good at stakeouts. You somehow always noticed the change in a pattern that pointed to whatever you were looking for.

You sit across Harrison, your teacups on the table between you. The cafe is extremely busy, but you barely hear the noise around you. Your head is in filter modus. Tinder hadn’t yet given access to the account, so you and Harrison went to the place “James” had met up with Sally. You have been sitting here all day, going over some paperwork to pass the time, and with every hour your hope of seeing the person who pretended to be “James” dies a bit.

“What do you think will happen if tinder James is not Jason?” you wonder, stirring in your tea. Harrison looks up at your words.

“Well I am sure it has to be him. All the clues point to him,” he says, taking a sip of his tea. “The CCTV, suspects report, psychology sketch, background. His clean kills, any good copper knows how to clean up after himself. And we can’t find him at his home, because his wife kicked him out,”

“Good for her,” you mumble. Harrison chuckles, chugs the remainder of his tea and puts his papers in his bag. “Wait where are you going?”

“To the office. Tom is here to do the rest of the day with you. It’s only two hours.” he says. He gets up and stands up. He walks away, then turns around. He puts his hand on your shoulder. “Try not to kill him please,”

“Ha ha. I will try,” you say,

The hours with Tom are absolutely boring. He doesn’t even really look at you, let alone talk to you. And again, no one shows up. When the cafe closes you and Tom pack up your stuff, and walk outside. Then you feel your phone buzz. The screen flashes; Henry.

“Hey Henry”

“Are you in a car?”

“Almost, why?”

“Get in there and drive to Borough Market,” you turn to Tom and start walking faster.

“Get in the car Tom!” you almost shout as you run towards the driver side. Your emergency senses kick in, adrenaline courses through your body.

“We got to his profile, he has a meeting there in less than 10 minutes. Seventeen year old Canadian girl,”

“Shit,” you curse, and you slam the car door behind you. Your fingers fumble to get the key in the lock, but when you have it you immediately drive away. Tom hasn’t even closed his door properly. You put Henry on speaker and push on the button you put your sirens on. In front of you the cars make way for you.

“We’re driving, tell me everything,”

“We just got access to his profile, and we saw the meeting. At Borough market, 6 PM by the fudge stand. Harrison is at the station, he won’t make it in time. Look for Jason, and the girl has blonde hair, blue eyes. Her Tinder says she is nineteen, but we looked her up and she is seventeen. Harrison told me you two are closer, so hopefully you’ll be on time. He is on his way. I have to go,” you hear the beep that signals Henry has ended the call, and you take a quick left.

“Do you need me to navigate?” Tom asks. He is checking his gun, and picks a weapon stick from the glove compartment. You start to shake your head, but then you nod.

“It’s rush hour, could you check the streets I need to avoid?” you are calm now, your initial surge of energy is slowly leaving your body, making room for your more rational side. Tom is looking through his maps, and reassures you that you’ll be fine with the usual route. No detours.

“Could you check my gun Tom?” you ask, and you lean forward so he can grab it from your belt. He hesitates. “Come on I ask you to. You won’t even touch me. Quickly now ‘cause we are almost there,” He grabs the gun and starts to check it. You see you are getting closer to your destination, so you switch off the sirens. No need to alert everyone you are coming. Two minutes later you see Borough Market appear.

“Okay we both get out and walk to the stand. Do you know where it is?” Tom shakes his head. You park the car, put your gun back in your belt and cover it with your coat. “Luckily I do. Follow me, stay close, we don’t want to attract attention.” You walk towards him and he wraps his arm around you so you are close to him. It is an old tactic, one you have done about a million times with Harrison. You look like an uninteresting couple, and your heads are close, so whispering is easy. Perfect cover. But you feel Tom’s arm burning through your coat. That never happens with Harrison.

“Okay, lead the way,” he says, you shake your head to get rid of your thoughts and you start walking towards the market. You see the fudge stand, but no one suspicious around there. It’s busy, the market is closing soon, and the sellers are trying to sell their last bits.

“Do you see anything?” Tom asks, and you shake your head. You see a plate with testers for fudge and you walk over there. With the fudge in your hand you seize the opportunity to stand still and observe the whole market. Then you feel Tom shake your shoulder.

“There, at six.” you slowly look to your six o’clock, and you see a young girl. “She matches the description. We ought to approach her,” Tom says. You nod and step towards the girl, but then you freeze. At the other side of the market, close to your car, you see a man. Jason. You are sure, and then you see him dragging another young girl with him.

“Tom it's not her, there he is,” you don’t realise you are running until you feel yourself push people out of the way. Jason and the girl are about 50 metres away from you, but there are many people between you. Jason pushes the young girl in the back seat of a car, and you hear yourself shouting.

“Stop! Stop!” You run as fast as you can, but you feel your gut sinking. You are too late. As you see Jason step into his car you memorise his number plate. You try to throw yourself before the car, but you are too late to stop him from driving away. You pull your gun out, but you realise it is of no use in this busy street. You could hit his tires, but then he might swerve and hit some bystanders. You curse loudly.

“In the car, now!” you hear Tom shout from behind you. You start to run again, and launch yourself into the driver's seat. Your sirens blare, your tires screech, but you have him in vision. As you are driving you recollect your breath, and next to you you see Tom fastening his seat belt.

He calls Harrison, who says he can already see your car. Without looking away from the road you ramble the number plate to Tom, who repeats it for Harrison. You hardly hear their conversation, but you do feel the blood pumping in your ears. The car before you is driving unsteady, as if Jason is not yet sure what he is going to do.

“Where is he going to go? It is rush hour, traffic is awful! And he drives towards the city centre,” it doesn’t make sense to you. Until you see him diving towards a bridge over the Thames. Then it clicks.

“Shit, he is going to drive off the bridge!” you shout. You look to your side, and in Tom's eyes you see the same conclusion you just came to. Your mind races, searching for a solution. You see the car before you change lanes. You push the gas harder, accelerating and you also turn to the left lane, “I am gonna block him!”

“Are you sure? We might get hurt,” Tom panics. His hands are gripping on the side of his seat, his eyes wide from the adrenaline. Or fear, you don't know. Before you the car goes to the left, heading straight towards the rather fragile looking railing of the bridge.

“He will hit the seat behind me, not us,” you say, changing lanes, “I am like 75% sure this won’t end up getting us hurt. Badly.”

“That is not very comforting, Won’t he push us off?”

“No I don’t think so, trust me Tom!” you are driving faster now, and his car is almost near the edge. The last seconds before the hit seem like ages. With a bang the car hits the side of yours, precisely in the backseat of the driver side, as you predicted. You moan in pain as you feel the impact.

“Get out Tom! Catch him.” you scream, trying to cover up the fact that you are in pain. Getting your own door open appears impossible, and you use your gun to smash the window to get out. You feel adrenaline rush through your body, your mind blank, nerves numb. Your moves are by instinct, and when you see Jason run towards you, you throw your body towards him, blocking his way and bringing him to the ground.

“Jason Sanders, you are arrested on the suspicion of triple murder and attempted murder. Anything you say now can be used later in court,” you say as Tom gets the handcuffs on him. Behind you the other police cars all stop, and you hear Harrisons voice as you shakily get up.

“What was that!?! Y/n that was not safe!” you ignore his worries. First you need to see the girl. You stand beside Jason's car opening his backdoor, and you try to lift the unconscious girl out. Another officer takes it from your hands. “Are you hurt?” Harrison continues as he comes to a halt next to you.

“No I normally leak blood out of my side,” your adrenaline rush slowly comes to an end, and you feel the pain now. Your head feels heavy. “Probably cut it when I climbed out of the window. Also, I might have a concussion from the hit,”

Ten minutes later you sit in the open back of the ambulance. The victim is in the bed inside, and you were relieved to hear she had only passed out from the shock, but furthermore she was fine. After they checked on her a medic found time to stitch the scratch on your side. After their close examination your injuries are deemed minor. A deep scratch that looks fine after it is nicely stitched up and wrapped in bandage. After careful inspection of your head, they conclude you don’t even have a concussion.

But after that, you catch some faint whispers about shock and mental damage as they sneakily look at you. A blanket is wrapped around your body, and a few moments later, you also receive a cup of tea. And another blanket. You are about to run away when Harrison walks up to you. He clears his throat when he sees you, and gives you a quick hug.

“I have a lot of things to say, but none of them matter now. Well done on getting him,”

“Harrison, they keep putting blankets on me, I don’t want the blankets,” you say, shrugging them off and giving them to him.

“You’re in shock” he says, putting the blanket back over your shoulders. You shrug it off again.

“Yeah, not really. And even if, that wouldn’t mean I need blankets, I need booze,”

“Booze and a concussion are a terrible combination,” Harrison shakes his head at your comment.

“I don’t even have a concussion or pain meds. Really, I am fine. Where is Tom? I probably have to say sorry for risking his life.”

“Only if I file a complaint with HR,” Tom's voice makes you sit up straight and look around you. He walks around the corner of the ambulance. “Something I won’t do,”

“Oh great. Well I am sorry anyways. It was way too risky.”

“You executed it perfectly,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face, “Now I believe you said something about a drink, didn't you?”

Harrison laughs with you, but then excuses himself.

“You two go have that drink, I need to fill in all the paperwork. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,”

“Your loss,” Tom says, before turning to you. “Let’s go?”

“Lets go.” You say, smiling as he offers his hand to help you up. You think of slapping it away, but then you feel the stitches pulling in your side and you decide to take up his offer. Just this once.

~ One year later ~

“I can’t believe you had to almost kill him before he dropped his bitchy act,” Claire says laughing as she gives you the paper back. You and Tom shine on the cover of The Guardian, a press photograph taken on the night of Sanders' arrest. “J. Sanders locked up, evidence overload in serial killer case” the headline says.

After the arrest things moved slowly, Sanders his lawyer was a very persistent man. But now, months later the court case was wrapped, Sanders' guilt proven, and the judge ruled for the maximum sentence.

“Yes, his resting bitch face was a pain during that investigation,” you chime in, taking a sip from your beer.

“I am glad I dropped it though,” Tom says next to you, his arm wrapped around you. You smile, pressing a kiss on his cheek. So much has changed.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield #my writing #queen-bunnyears

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solatude · 4 years

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ATLA Unpopular Opinions

I’ve had some thoughts about various aspects in Avatar: The Last Airbender. So, in order of least to most controversial, here we go:

Sokka looks better with his hair up. Sokka’s wolf tail is one of the more unique hairstyles in the show, at least for the guys. He looks so basic with his hair down. The wolf tail adds to his personality, his dramaticness, and humor. How can a water tribe warrior fight with hair in his face? Please also refer to his topknot in Book Three.

Sokka didn’t have as much pull as fans think he does. Pull, in this context, means to attract someone romantically/sexually. First of all, Toph is a child, so I’m not counting her because a 12 year-old crushing on a 15 year-old should be nothing more than that---a crush. Yue and Suki pulled him first, as he fell for them before they fell for him. Suki could care less for the sexist guy who insulted her on her own island; but teaching him the ways of the Kyoshi warriors, plus a kiss on the cheek had him blushing---HARD! He thankfully changed his mindset after that. Yue, while she barely had a choice, had accepted her role as princess and was prepared to dedicate her life to the values of her tribe in an arranged marriage. The amount of times she ran away from Sokka was both tragic and hilarious. But that only made Sokka want her more, she never chased him. To be honest though, he was probably the first guy who treated her normally, despite her status. I think she mainly wanted a friend, but was surprised to find a potential lover in Sokka. Plus he made her laugh. Ty Lee thought he was cute, but Ty Lee thinks everything is cute. That is all. If you wanna talk about pull, Aang had Zuko risking his life chasing him for three seasons (I’m joking, don’t think too deeply about that).

Azula and Katara are almost equal in power. I get that Azula is a firebending prodigy, but sometimes her skills are overestimated by fans and she’s made to seem as though she can overpower everyone. It makes perfect sense that she lost to Katara in almost every fight. Before meeting her, she’s only ever fought nonbenders, firebenders, and earthbenders. She never had experience fighting a trained waterbender, so her losing to Katara shows that even she has her limitations. Whenever she did win a fight against her, it was because she got help from her friends, brother, or subjects. Katara never hesitated to fight her, and being 14 years-old herself, allowed for an even exchange of combat. Let’s be honest, what bender would go up against Azula fearlessly except the one who’s element puts out fires?

Ursa was not a bad mother. Ursa was a victim of an abusive, arranged marriage. For context, Fire Lord Azulon wanted Ozai to marry Ursa because she was the granddaughter of Avatar Roku, and he felt that they would produce powerful heirs to the royal family. Ursa was forced to leave her village, family, and fiance behind for this marriage; because who would dare turn down the request of a Fire Lord? Ursa never really loved Ozai, but he never cared. He just wanted to increase his status and power. Ursa is often criticized for giving Zuko attention over Azula, while scolding Azula and not showing her any love. However, Azula was praised by Ozai, and as a result showed more of an obedience towards him. Ozai showed a great disdain for Zuko. Ursa was simply doing her best to show Zuko how much he mattered. He was living in his sister’s shadow, while being neglected by his father. I also really feel for Azula, because she was only valued for her firebending skills, and she probably had no emotional outlet that she trusted to help guide her. However, I do think Azula was too far along for her mother to really help her. Ursa encouraged Zuko to play with Azula; she genuinely wanted her children to get along like any other parent. I just don’t think there was anything she could say or do to encourage Azula to be less destructive and show remorse for her actions. She should have never called Azula a monster, but she was a woman filled with fear. She feared her abusive husband and the repercussions of speaking out against him, she feared the destructive tendencies of her daughter and the ways she hurt other people without caring for how they felt, and she feared for Zuko’s life for not living up to the impossible ideals of the royal family. Ursa was not a perfect mother, but she tried given the little power she had. Also, to be fair, we only see Ursa’s life from Zuko’s perspective in the show. Azula probably had many memories with Ursa but she most likely blocked them out to hold space for firebending forms and her father’s approval; one of which she never really secured.

Bloodbending is overrated and unnecessary. Some fans claim that Katara should have had a more positive reaction to becoming a bloodbender. However, it was never in her character to be so controlling, especially against another person’s will. Bloodbending is also not as useful as it’s made to seem. Since one can only bloodbend on a full moon, you would have to wait an entire month to even utilize the skill. That’s extremely inconvenient and because you have to wait until nighttime, it’s even less practical. How often does Team Avatar fight during the night compared to the day? They would be sleeping if anything. Also, when your team consists of an agile airbender, a master waterbender, a powerful earthbender, and a weapons strategist, plus Appa and Momo; why would anyone need to bloodbend? Most of the Gaang’s enemies never required that level of power in order to be defeated. Bloodbending is also VERY niche. If this is allowed, should bonebending be allowed since there are minerals in bones? Should soundbending be allowed since sound is produced from vibrations? I admit it’s a really cool ability, but it’s not that important in the grand scheme of things. Also, speaking of Katara...

Katara gets too much hate. I’m not sure if it’s the surge of new fans since the Netflix debut or the repressed thoughts of old fans but lately Katara’s character has been mercilessly criticized. It’s been said that she brings up her mother too often, and that she’s overly emotional and selfish. First of all, Katara was eight years-old (and Sokka nine) when her mother was murdered. During the run of the show, only six years have passed since then, as she’s 14 when she finds Aang. She lives with survivor’s guilt due to her mother lying about who the last waterbender was so that Katara wouldn’t be taken prisoner. Unfortunately, the firebender soldier Yon Rah wasn’t taking prisoners that day, implying that he was going to murder her. Katara mentions her mother only a handful of times, usually to relate to another character who lost someone close to them in an effort to empathize (Aang, Haru, Jet, Zuko). People forget that she saw her mother’s dead body after running to get help. It was definitely wrong for Katara to tell Sokka that he didn’t love their mother the way she did in the Southern Raiders episode, and she definitely should have apologized. But, she was right. Sokka was shown to be closer to his father. She was in extreme emotional pain and instead of being comforted, she was criticized by Aang and Sokka for wanting revenge. How many times has Katara sacrificed something for the sake of others? She barely had a childhood considering she took on a maternal role in her tribe after her mother’s death. She had to deal with Sokka’s sexist comments, she had to suppress her talent for waterbending, and she felt isolated and alone because the one parent that was alive left to fight in the war. When someone needed encouragement, Katara was always there to encourage them. When someone needed help, she never hesitated to assist them. She often put herself in harm’s way if it meant someone else didn’t get hurt. For a 14 year-old girl in a war torn world, she is immensely brave. How many times has Zuko gone on and on about his honor, or lashed out at his Uncle for a seemingly small reason? How many times has Sokka talked about meat? Or Azula and her speeches about controlling and manipulating people? Toph and her rebelliousness? Even Aang’s laid back attitude turned into carelessness every now and then. Every character has a crutch that they attach themselves to, but Katara isn’t given the grace that other characters have been given. Yes, Aang lost his entire nation, and Katara would never know what that felt like. However, Aang wouldn’t know how Katara felt either. Aang was in the presence of children his age and was able to travel around the world to make friends (i.e. Bumi from the Earth Kingdom and Kuzon from the Fire Nation). He was taught to be less detached, so his idea of family is very different from Katara’s. He never witnessed the dead bodies of his people firsthand, though he did see Gyatso’s skeleton later on. Katara grew up in a world ruined by war. She had little to no friends, and the one person she was closest to left her life very early. Her tribe was VERY small and I doubt she had a lot of people to talk to. She had never left the Southern Water Tribe before, so it’s very likely that she was going to stay there her entire life had she not met Aang. She’s been accused of not allowing Sokka to feel sad about their mother, but why should she? It’s not Katara’s job to burden the weight of Sokka’s emotions, especially about their mother. She cannot force Sokka to open up about his feelings, that is something he must do at his own free will. Sokka hides his pain behind his masculinity. He’s protective because he feels guilty about not being able to do anything to help his mother. He doesn’t even remember what she looks like, he could only picture Katara’s face in her place. He felt even worse when his father left and he, understandably, couldn’t go with him. Sokka is not upfront about how he feels, but Katara should not be blamed for that. Overall it may be said that Katara was a flawed character that has recently been more scrutinized for her flaws than acknowledged for her strengths. We can do both, but there’s been an imbalance. She successfully revolted to free Haru’s father as well as other prisoners of the Fire Nation. She guided her friends out of the Si Wong desert despite the obstacles that stood in their way. She healed Aang and Zuko when shot by lightning, ultimately saving their lives and the lives of many other people who have been physically hurt by someone. She even washed Sokka’s underwear and sewed his pants. We can cut the girl some slack if she wants to talk about her mother, can’t we? She’s the glue that holds everyone together. Katara’s emotions make her a stronger fighter. Her trauma has shaped her into someone determined to master waterbending and has allowed her to be more empathetic to those around her. But she shouldn’t have had to go through all of that. She was forced to mature faster in order to survive. Katara can sometimes be arrogant, misguided, oblivious, and doubtful, yes. But she is also resilient, brave, selfless, and generous. That is the duality of her character. She is NOT to be disrespected. After all, as she said to Sokka in The Painted Lady, “I will never, ever turn my back on people who need me!”. And she hasn’t.

Iroh should be banned from the Earth Kingdom. It’s not an unpopular opinion that Uncle Iroh is a war criminal, but I just don’t think he should be allowed anywhere near the Earth Kingdom; either temporarily or permanently. Yes he played an instrumental role in Zuko’s redemption, with tea in his left hand and wisdom in his right. However, that does not excuse his invasion of Ba Sing Se. He laid siege to the impenetrable city for 600 days. Surely hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent people died under his commands. He broke the lower ring, home of the poorest members of the Earth Kingdom. The only reason he stopped was because his son, Lu Ten, died in battle; not aware that many citizens also died as a result of his actions. How many children’s lives has his army taken away? How many sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, aunts, uncles, and grandparents have died under his siege? Not only does he get to establish a business and earn money, he is elevated to the upper ring of the city; meanwhile an entire population can barely afford food and stable jobs. I understand that is was for plot purposes, but It’s a slap in the face to allow him to thrive in the city after Aang defeated Ozai. His wanted poster should be everywhere, not just for supposedly betraying the Fire Nation, but also for crimes against the Earth Kingdom. The very least he could do was shut down his tea shop and hand the building over to a family who may need it, and establish a tea shop in the Fire Nation. I’m not saying Iroh couldn’t be redeemed for his war crimes, but it definitely would take more than what was seen in the show for him to be forgiven for them.

Anyways, let me know what you think. This took an ungodly amount of time to write.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #sokka #aang #katara #toph #zuko #iroh #ozai #ursa #azula #ba sing se #fire nation #water tribe #bloodbending

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imagineaworlds · 4 years

Text

I Love You (Part Forty-Three) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Kidnapping, death, torture, panic attack, PTSD-- everything Criminal Minds.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 20,827

Timeline: Season 6 Episode 17 + 18. Three months after part forty-two.

I was… miserable. I felt like this big bubble that was waddling and bumping into everything, and I was entirely useless when it came to cases. Since the Appalachian Trail case, Hotch and I had decided that I would stay out of the field once I started to show; but now that I was bubble-size pregnant, he told me that it was either I stayed in the office with Garcia or I went home and rested in bed. Those were my only two options. There was no getting on the jet with the team, no wandering to the grocery store on a random Sunday, no escaping to get lunch with someone. Nothing. If I didn’t have food in the office, Anderson had to go get it for me. Poor guy.

But, honestly, I wasn’t even fighting Hotch on it anymore. I knew that I wasn’t going to be any help out in the field considering my feet hurt if I was standing for too long. I couldn’t imagine the next three months—at least. JJ and I were talking one day, and she told me to save my strength, because the cliché nine months was more like ten months, if my doctors knew what they were doing. Ugh. I just wanted this part to be over with. I hated feeling stagnant and useless. I liked going out into the field, working on the profiles, chasing the Unsubs, saving the victims. That was my life. And now I had to put that all aside for about another three months or so. It was worth it, though. Every single day that I was miserable was still worth it because it meant that before we would know it, we would have our baby in our arms. I could live with being bored and sick all the time just for that.

Hotch pitied me somewhat, however, and he really sucked at hiding it. He knew that I wanted a child, and he knew that I was excited—just as he was—but he also knew that I was itching to get back to work. Our deal was for my own benefit, but it was probably going to kill me before anything else. I needed the field. So fucking bad. He knew it, Morgan knew it, Emily knew it— Everyone knew it.

So, Hotch and I decided to host a dinner party one Friday night. He liked cooking sometimes, and he hadn’t gotten the chance to do so in a very long time, so I was fine with the idea of having people over, though it was draining at times. I called Emily to see if she wanted to come over for the dinner with Morgan and Rossi, since they were the only ones available on the team. Spencer was headed to some Russian film showing, JJ was busy with Will and the kids, and Garcia had a date.

But when we invited Emily, she was almost hostile towards us. I mean, she never, ever brushed us off; but even then, this was so cold and offensive. I had never heard her like that before. When we called her, I greeted her warmly, but I was met with an inconsiderate: “Hi.” And that was it! As I explained that we were having a family dinner with our friends, she then said: “I really don’t have time for that shit, Y/N. I’ll see you at work.” And then she hung up on me. I scoffed while turning to Aaron, trying to decide if he had any answers or not. He didn’t.

At dinner, I brought it up to see if anyone else knew anything. There had to be a reason that Emily would snap at me like that, right? Come on, she would have never in a million years done that to me—or anyone else on the team. Even if she were busy, she would have been overwhelmingly kind and apologetic about not being able to come to dinner. Something was off.

“She was probably in the middle of something and just forgot to call back to apologize,” Morgan offered behind a mouthful of steak.

I shook my head. That wasn’t it. She specifically said she didn’t have time for my call and for dinner— or really any distraction. There was no hint to her calling back later. There was something else that we were missing, and if we didn’t figure it out soon, I was genuinely going to confront her about it. The thing with Emily Prentiss, however, was that she enjoyed her secrets, and she enjoyed playing her cards close to her chest. Prying hardly ever worked with her, but maybe if I tried just this one, and if it was really all that bad, she’d confide in me. I mean, back after New York when I was upset about JJ and Morgan doubting me and Hotch, Emily was the only person I could confide in, too. Maybe this one time I could be that for her.

“She has her bad days, too, Y/N; you can’t take it personally,” Rossi said.

But I was taking it personally. They hadn’t heard her voice, the way it was gruff, demanding, and angry. Yeah, it sounded like her mind was elsewhere, but that gave her no right to talk to me, her friend, like that. We weren’t the closest. I would be the first to admit that Emily Prentiss and I weren’t exactly sisters forever, but I still loved her dearly, and she loved me equally. We looked after each other. And ever since Hawai’i, when the team found out that I was pregnant, she was over the moon excited to meet my child. She couldn’t stop talking about it. All this time, I thought that Morgan and Garcia were going to be the aunt and uncle who would spoil them a ridiculous amount, but now I was starting to worry that it was actually going to be Emily doing all of the spoiling. That was concerning. But I still loved it. I loved that she was as excited as Hotch, Morgan, and I were. I was excited that I would get to see her, my friend, holding my baby.

“Give it a few days, baby,” Hotch said before downing a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “If she hasn’t cheered up by then, you could talk to her—or, if you want, I’ll talk to her, and make it seem like it’s in an official capacity so that she doesn’t feel attacked.”

I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t going to solve anything. She wasn’t snapping at Hotch, she was snapping at me. The more we discussed it, the more upset I got. I eventually pushed my plateful of food away from me and set my hands over my stomach as I reclined back. The boys didn’t notice how I had fallen silent as they finished up their meals, then Rossi offered to clean up the dishes while Hotch and Morgan worked together to plate up the brownies Hotch made that afternoon with some ice cream. Then, throughout dessert, they talked about sports. I shook my head and took my leave early to go lay down before it got too late.

----

In the morning, mine and Hotch’s alarms went off simultaneously. I groaned and rolled over to turn it off. As I struggled to push myself upright, I saw that Hotch was already awake and dressed, taking a few steps back over to his bedside table in order to turn off his alarm. Somewhat forgetting about what happened yesterday, I smiled at him. He smiled back shortly.

As I slid out from under the covers, Hotch hurried over to hold his arms out to make sure I wouldn’t fall over or hurt myself or something. I laughed at him while playfully shooing his hands away, then leaning up and in to kiss him delicately. He kissed me back until we couldn’t breathe.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” I whispered against his lips.

He tangled his fingers in my already messy hair. “Good morning, Agent Hotchner.” He kissed my jawline until I threw my head back to give him clearer access to my neck. It wasn’t a sexual act. I mean, normally it was, and it had a tendency to get us both riled up; but the way he was only barely leaving kissed against me compared to nibbling until he left a noticeable hickey was enough to just let me relax and fall in love with him again and again. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Kinda.”

“Good…” He ran his hands over my arms until my shoulders relaxed, then he hugged me so that he could rub my back until my spine relaxed, and then he lastly trailed back to my stomach until my whole body felt at ease, and the only thought I had was about how much I loved him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

After another minute or so, Hotch pulled away from me entirely so that he could kiss my lips one more time before heading back into the bathroom to gel back his hair. Feeling practically rejuvenated for the day, I wandered—or more like waddled—my way to our closet so that I could pick out my clothes. A whole new wardrobe was laid out in front of me. Some clothes, like the sweatshirt Elle bought for me years ago, were already so oversized that I could still fit into them. Everything else, however, had to be packed away in boxes for the time being in order to make room for my maternity clothes. I sighed. I missed my old work clothes. I missed hiding in Hotch’s college shirts. I missed debating what outfit looked professional enough for the office, but was also logistically smart if we had to go into the field with a snap of our fingers. Now, it was just a matter of what was comfortable.

Since Hotch pulled me out of the field a few months ago, the Bureau had officially benched me, too, because I was too much of a liability to be out and about, working on cases. I just wasn’t physically fit to go out chasing bad guys. So, six months pregnant me had to stay behind with Penelope Garcia in her lair of all things Smart. If I showed up in her office with even a single hint of black, she kicked me out until I went to go find something with color on it. She hated blandness. She hated that I liked blandness—especially right now since I just couldn’t fucking fit into anything else. But she was adamant about keeping her office a bright and lively place, so there was one weekend where she dragged me out to the mall to help me find more “Penelope-looking clothes”. However, the purpose of that day spiraled fairly fast. I had gone there for some clothes, meanwhile Garcia had gotten sidetracked and started buying every toy imaginable for the baby.

While I squinted a judgement at her in the checkout line, she got all defensive and said, “You and Hotch are just going to be too busy once my godchild pops out, you won’t have any time to go looking for toys. So, really, I’m doing you all a favor.”

No one had told her that we hadn’t decided on godparents yet. Honestly, I just didn’t know how, and I think Hotch was genuinely terrified of breaking that news to her. So, we decided to keep it on the downlow.

I grabbed the first thing I found in my closet, brought it back out to the bedroom, threw it on the bed, then started changing. Hotch came out of the bathroom to grab his gun from the safe in his bedside table. We had been working on baby proofing the house over the past couple of days. I mean, we always had safes in our drawers for our guns because we still had Jack, a six year old kid, running around. But now we had an extra lock on our bedroom door, we had those stupid plastic gates everywhere to make sure that the baby couldn’t go falling down the steps or something once they started crawling, and we put shitty child locks on the drawers. I really fucking hated it. It felt like we were turning our house into a baby prison. But Hotch insisted that it was the best thing to do, and it was inevitably going to keep the baby safe, so what did I know. At this point, my job was just to sit back and relax while Hotch panicked about everything because I simply did not have the time and energy to be as worried as he was. If it were up to me, I would have just put the crib in our room and called it a day. At least, until they were old enough to move into the nursery.

Still, I didn’t think all of these extra precautions were necessary when the plan was that I would be staying at home for at least three months after the baby was born—way longer than JJ stayed out of the office. Once I was back at work, Jessica offered to spend more time around the house since her job allowed her to do so; but we didn’t think that was necessarily fair to dump on her, so we were debating on whether or not to get a nanny. But that was so far in the future. The point was, our child was going to be watched like a hawk at all times. There wouldn’t be a single chance for anything bad to happen. However, I understood that Hotch was just trying to do what he did best, and that was protecting us. If he felt it was necessary—or even if it just put his mind at ease in a placebo-effect kind of way, I was willing to let him turn our house into a baby prison for the next few years.

Oh, gosh… The next few years…

“Baby,” Hotch spoke louder, like he had been trying to catch my attention before. I snapped out of my train of thought to look at him. “You okay?” he asked, furrowing his brows. I nodded. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I was just lost in thought.”

I moved faster to get dressed. When I was done, I grabbed my gun from my drawer, too, holstering it on my hip, then I went to the bathroom to do my hair, wash my face, and brush my teeth. By the time I was gone, Hotch had woken Jack up and gotten him half-way ready for school. All Jack did these days was wake up, change into new clothes—which Hotch practically had to force him to do—and, if we were lucky, he would brush his hair. The rest of it was just shrugging off our questions. I was starting to worry that it was him acting out because we were a little focused on the baby, when Jack was normally used to getting all of our attention. We knew that this was possible. Older kids who could comprehend that they weren’t going to be an only child now had a tendency to act out like this because they felt like their parents were neglecting them. But I would never do that to Jack. I was trying my damn hardest to spend time with him and make sure he knew that he was still loved and that having a baby brother or sister wasn’t going to change that. He didn’t seem to believe me, though.

“Hey, bud, come on—” Hotch pleaded down the hall. He groaned in annoyance. “Jack. Please. Work with me here.” I heard him slap his hands against his sides like he had thrown his arms up in surrender, then was choosing to walk away from the conversation while worked up and frustrated. I snuck into the hall to see Hotch storming out of Jack’s room. He looked at me as he headed for the stairs. “You can try.” He started stomping downstairs.

I cocked a brow and slowly tiptoed down to Jack’s room, peeking in to see him dressed, but he was cuddled up with Red, our favorite toy dinosaur, on his bed. He was turned towards the wall so that I couldn’t see his face, but I could still tell by his body language that he was sad… He was trying to make it seem like he was mad about something, but he was just… sad…

“Jack?” I cooed, stepping into his room.

“Go away.”

I stopped. “Do you really want me to?”

Sincerely, if he wanted me to go away, I would have. I knew that this was all hard for him, and I knew that letting him feel his emotions was valid—and teaching him that was important. I wouldn’t always leave him alone like that, but sometimes it was better not to pry. If I were really the problem, and if he really wanted me to leave, it would have done more harm than good if I had stayed.

“No,” he whispered regretfully.

I continued approaching him, making my way to the bed until I was sitting on the edge. “What’s going on, little man?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true. What happened with Dad?”

“I told him that I didn’t want to go to school, and he got mad.”

“Why don’t you want to go to school?” I asked. Jack didn’t respond. “Huh?” I egged him on while brushing his hair back with my fingers. “Do you want a hug first?”

He nodded, and within an instant, he spun around and sat up, catching my neck in a tight embrace. I wrapped my arms around his torso and held him close. “I just don’t want to go today,” he cried into my shoulder. “Just one day.” He squeezed me tighter until his little arms were straining. “Why did he have to get mad?”

“Because he just wants what’s best for you, bud. He knows that school is good for you. All your friends, your teachers you love, art class, which you love, too. Don’t you want to see Mr. Feechi and show him your cool, new drawing?”

Jack nodded against me.

“Yeah. See? He knows you love it. So, I think he just got confused as to why you don’t want to go. I’m confused why you don’t want to go. Sometimes it’s just hard for him to sit down and talk with people when he gets stressed about a whole bunch of things at once.” I petted his hair and kissed his cheek. “But he still loves you. And I’m sorry he yelled at you. I’ll talk to him about it. But do you want to talk to me about school? About what’s really bothering you?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know why…”

“That’s okay. But it’s not a good enough reason to not go to school.” It was valid if he was sick, or if he needed a mental health day, even. But not going just because he didn’t want to, and not going because he didn’t know why… That wasn’t enough to keep him at home, which would keep me at home, too. “I’m sorry, little man.”

He sniffled and pulled away from me. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll always love me, right?”

I pouted and let out a choked sob as I tried to smile and stay positive for him. How could he ask me something like that? There was nothing he could ever say or do that would make me stop loving him, and there was no way Hotch would ever let me stop loving him in the first place. I loved Jack like he was my own. No. He was my own. He was my son, and he always would be. For the last three years, I got the gift of watching him grow, and his birth parents were kind enough to let me help raise him, too. I’d be forever grateful for that. Since I met Jack all those years ago, he had been my little man. No matter how big he got, he would always be my little man, and that was just a fact and a part of loving him as fervently as I did. He was my son… He was one of the loves of my life.

“Jack,” I brushed his hair back, “I will never, ever stop loving you.” I poked Red’s side. “You and Red are the brightest parts of my day. Whenever I’m scared while off working with Dad, I think about you and Red, and I think about how much I love you, and I know that I’ll be okay. If I ever stopped loving you, I wouldn’t feel okay and safe anymore.”

He moved to hug me again, this time with enough force that sent me back somewhat, making me giggle while catching him. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

After staying like that for a few moments longer, I patted his side and lifted him up onto his feet on the floor so that he could grab his things for school before making our way downstairs. Jack scurried over to his desk without a word. He started shoving everything he needed into the biggest pocket, not at all concerned with organization. How he was mine and Hotch’s kid, I’d never understand. But it certainly brought a smile to my face.

Once we dropped Jack off at school, I fiddled with my fingers as we pulled out of the parking lot in order to head to work. I was beginning to wonder if I made a mistake sending him to school today. Maybe he really just needed the one day. No. One day would turn into two days, and then three, and so on. I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t’ve been fair to him or me.

“You can’t yell at him like that, Aaron,” I said. He nodded. “You’re going to have to apologize to him tonight.” He nodded again.

Funnily enough, he was never this quiet around me. Usually, Hotch was a very reserved person who didn’t like talking to people unless he had to—and he definitely never opened up to anyone. But I was the exception. He could always talk to me, and he always made sure to be open with me. Therefore, I knew something was off.

I grabbed his right hand from the steering wheel, brought it to my lips, and gently kissed his knuckles. “Baby…” He hummed a questioning tone back to me in response. “What’s going on?”

He sighed as the car slowed at a red light. “I’m worried about Emily, too. I just didn’t know how to tell anyone because it’s my job to worry about you guys, and it’s my responsibility to keep things professional and not pry too far into people’s—”

“Hotch,” I stopped him before he could keep rambling, “it’s okay to be worried about your friend. I’ll talk to her today to figure this all out once and for all.” I kissed his knuckles again. “She’s probably okay.” I turned his hand over and kissed his palm. “I love you.”

He curled his fingers until he was holding my chin. He squeezed as we both smiled. “I love you, too.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You’re silly sometimes,” he teased.

“Only for you, my love.” I kissed his palm roughly before releasing him and turning back to watch the world pass by as we kept driving.

----

When we arrived on the sixth floor of the Quantico building, I meandered over to my desk in the bullpen, slumping and sighing as I did so. There was a picture of Jack sitting prominently on my desk, one that I had kept there since I moved in with him and Aaron a couple years ago, and I updated the photo every so often whenever it would become outdated. Jack was growing so fast. A few months ago, even, he would have never asked me a question like he brought forward that morning. He used to know that I would love him endlessly and unconditionally. Where did I go wrong? This had to be about the baby, right? I mean, he was probably getting worried that Hotch and I might love him less or something like that because we were going to have a baby—and maybe he was old enough now to assume that I would just love our baby more because they would be my own flesh and blood. But that wasn’t true.

Morgan cocked a brow at me from his desk. “Peanut, you okay?”

I nodded and leaned forward to put my computer passcode in. As the system started up, I saw the picture of me, Jack, Hotch, and Jessica together at the park the day Hotch proposed to me. The night before, we promised Jack that we would go on a bike ride together. So, after Hotch proposed to me just after we woke up, and… other things happened… we got up, showered, called Jessica to ask if she wanted to come with us, and the four of us made our way to the park where we biked around for about an hour or so before Jack decided he wanted to play soccer with Hotch. Around lunch time, as Hotch fell onto his back on the grass, and Jack landed on top of him, both of them laughing, I told Jessica what happened. She immediately brightened. She got all giddy and said, “Finally!” before throwing her arms around me. Then, she insisted that we take a family photo. She waved down a random jogger and practically shoved her phone into his hands while she called for Hotch and Jack to come over. We posed, but it was still chaotic. Jack was jumping on his dad for a piggyback ride, and I was trying my best to make sure that neither of them got hurt in the process. It was cute. We were all smiling—laughing, in fact—and it was absolutely genuine. There was nothing forced about the love we all shared for each other. There was nothing fake. I didn’t hate Jack. That photo was a reminder to myself that no matter what he thought of me, or no matter how much he could grow to hate me for one reason or another, I would never stop loving him. As I promised.

“What’s wrong?” Morgan continued to pry.

“Nothing.”

“Mhm. Sure. Try again.”

I rolled my eyes at him since I knew that this meant that he wasn’t going to let it go now. “Jack was having a bad morning, and he asked me if I’ll always love him. It’s just thrown my whole day off balance.”

“I’m about to make it even worse,” JJ said while passing our desks with a stack of case files in her arms.

The entire bullpen—excluding Emily, who seemed to be running late—groaned as we pushed ourselves to our feet and started meandering over to the roundtable room. After last night, I was expecting to talk to Emily before this would happen. I wanted… I wanted to just sort out if I was the problem or not. If I was, I wanted to know how I could mend things between us; and if it wasn’t about me, then what was it about, and how could I help? But, no. She wasn’t there, which was also incredibly unlike her. All of us happened to be late at one point or another. It was inevitable. However, there wasn’t a single day where Emily Prentiss showed up late or called in sick. No matter what was going on in her life, she was always there. Always. So, I was starting to grow even more concerned about her, which I’m sure everyone noticed as we sat down, because I could feel the color draining from my face as I took the seat facing both doors and the windows, just so that I could see her whenever she would come in.

In the meantime, JJ started circling the table while handing out the case files to each of us. When she arrived in front of the monitor once more, she began explaining the case as we knew all of the details to be, while simultaneously clicking the remote in her hand to show the slideshow that had photos from the crime scene—or, in this case, crime scenes.

Late last night, while everyone in D.C. was asleep, two homes were set on fire, killing the families inside. The only connection was the time. The fires took place within the same hour, but that was all. The homes were nowhere near each other—in fact, they were on complete opposite sides of the city. The oddest part, as Morgan noted, was that no one was reporting on this story, which was concerning considering the news ate up and spit out family tragedies like these all the time as if it were fun for them. Two identical fires in one night should have been like chumming the water for them. But nope. That was what caught JJ’s attention in the first place.

First, a couple and their son were found dead in the master bedroom of their home, all three shot through the forehead by the gun that happened to belong to the father. But, then, how did the fire start? Why did the fire start? If it was a murder/suicide, the odds that a house fire would catch shortly after was, at the very least, odd.

Then, the second couple all the way across town, were found dead in their living room after the house exploded due to a suspected gas leak. Still odd. Gas leaks purposefully smell like rotten eggs. If the family was up and doing something with fire—likely cooking—then how did the gas leak go unnoticed? Why didn’t an alarm go off? The report from the fire department in front of me indicated that there was a burglary, fire, and gas alarm in the house. They would have been notified before they could even smell the rotten eggs.

“What are the connections?” I inquired after falling short of noticing one in the files.

JJ shrugged. “There’s only one, and it’s… Well, it’s loose.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the only connection between the families comes from the mothers—”

Just then, Emily came running into the boardroom in a rush. Her head was down, but I could see how frazzled she was. She started setting her things down frantically before pausing when she noticed how we were all watching her. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized while taking her seat.

“Are you okay?” Hotch interrogated.

She shrugged, entirely disregarding his worry. “Yeah. JJ, as you were.”

What the fuck? That wasn’t like her at all. First, she didn’t tease us as she came into the room; then, when asked if everything was alright considering she was late for the first time since joining the team; and then she was formal with JJ. What happened to the Emily Prentiss who cuddled with Jennifer Jareau on the bed at my bachelorette party? What happened to the Emily Prentiss who would try to hide what was really going on with her by teasing me or Morgan—or even Spencer, someone she saw as her little brother. It was all so strange. Her behavior was only making me worry more, and now I could see it on Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi’s faces. Hotch clasped our hands together under the table. That was how bad it was. We had never, ever touched during a roundtable meeting.

“Um…” JJ hesitated, eyeing Emily carefully just like the rest of us. “We were discussing the two crime scenes—”

“I’ll get caught up later. Just keep going.”

JJ scoffed. “Okay.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the screen. “The only connection comes from the mothers, both of whom were born and raised in Europe.”

“That’s the only connection?” Hotch questioned warily. “That’s not much.”

“It’s all there is.”

Hotch sighed. “Okay… Rossi and Reid, you’ll take the first house. Morgan and Prentiss, head to the second. The rest of us will stay here and start looking through the files again and the families’ histories to see if we can find any other connection. There has to be something.” He released my hand, picked up his things from the table, stood, then quickly and quietly left the room.

Everyone started following his lead. Garcia and JJ immediately scurried off to Garcia’s office. Rossi and Reid turned for the back door that led to the ramp next to the break room, while Morgan and Emily moved for the front door that led to the bullpen. Before she could escape, however, I stepped just in front of her path, and threw my hands up in surrender so that she couldn’t get mad at me. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Wow. Was I really that bad? Whatever it was that was clearly going on in her life, was it really so bad that she had to take it out on me, the one person who had enough love for her to straight up confront her about what was going on instead of hiding like Hotch and Rossi were in their offices.

“Em, what’s going on with you?” I questioned sincerely. She didn’t say or do anything. “Can we talk somewhere privately?”

“I’m busy. Maybe later.” She pushed past me, barely brushing my shoulder like she still had enough decency to not actually harm me.

Fucking ridiculous. This was all so out of character for her, and she wasn’t letting anyone in to help her. Honestly, it was beginning to get on my nerves. Whenever I was in her shoes, something was going wrong in my life and I was bottling it up and taking out my frustrations on everyone else, Emily was the one person who could knock some sense into me. At least, that was what she had done after JJ pissed me off in New York. She looked me in the eye and said, “Screw them, Y/N. You don’t need anyone’s opinion but your own and Hotch’s.” Where was that Emily? That was the very same Prentiss that I knew and loved, and was going to be— No. That thought was for another time.

Garcia and JJ came back in, this time carrying laptops and stacks of files almost as tall as them. I hated desk duty. Absolutely fucking despised it. Hotch knew that I didn’t like being benched, he knew that it was hard for me to just sit around and do nothing while the team was out there getting a good look at the crime scenes and risking their lives. I should have been out there with them. I should have been by Morgan’s side, ready to jump in front of him if I had to; or I should have been with Emily so that I could get a read on what was really wrong with her. Honestly, at that point, I was even willing to go with Rossi and Reid, the two people on the team I hardly worked with. But, no. I had to be holed up all day in the office, and it was draining.

I had to grin and bear it, however, by taking a stack of files for myself and start flipping through all of them. Normally, I would be out there in the field, giving Reid a chance to stay back to read a mile a minute. I wished that were the case still. Between the three of us, it was going to take until at least lunch time to get through all of this information. Reid would have finished all of them on his own in, like, ten minutes— maximum.

Everything about the two families involved with these incidents were just as the cops and JJ described: Ordinary. They were all healthy, fit, and happy. There was no financial stress. No therapy bills or doctors visits outside of yearly physical checkups. Even their schedules were ordinary. Both parents went to work while the children went to school. However, the children went to different schools—one private and one public—and one was succeeding while the other was practically failing.

Their lives were as perfect as could be, which was in fact the one thing that was most suspicious.

“Hold on…” Garcia mumbled under her breath as she started typing on her loud keyboard faster. “Woah, woah, woah.”

“What is it?” I asked.

She pushed her seat back, grabbed her chair, then started speed walking out of the room. JJ and I shared a curious look. After a moment, I decided to chase after her. She was headed straight towards Hotch’s office, but he was actually coming out in order to meet us in the boardroom to see if we had come up with anything.

“So, something happened,” Garcia began as we approached Hotch on the balcony. He kept walking, so we followed. “No one’s talking about this. Still. Except for one guy who I caught attempting to post the article, but then it was pulled almost immediately—not before I could catch it, though.” She sounded so proud of herself.

“What do you want from me, Garcia?” he asked.

“With your permission, sir, I would like to track him down to see why it was that he pulled the article as soon as he posted it. Something’s fishy about all of this. Someone should have reported on this by now. Actually, there should have been a whole media blow up—pardon the pun—by now. I think he might know something about why there’s been complete radio silence on this.”

“Do it.”

“I’ll go to help you question him,” I offered. Garcia was tech savvy and extremely snippy and sassy, but she didn’t know how to profile. She could give us our in with this guy, but I could actually get information out of him. Garcia seemed to agree. She nodded and looked to Hotch hopefully, as did I.

“You can track him down and question him yourself, Garcia,” he said, half paying attention as he unpacked his papers to set them out on the table.

“Hotch—” I tried arguing. “That’s not fair—”

“Here and the house. Remember? That was the deal. It could be just the house, if you’re not careful.”

The whole room fell silent. Tension hung in the air as Hotch and I stared each other down. Just a few months ago, I promised Hotch that when the time would come, I would pull myself out of the field, and I wouldn’t throw a fit about it. I did that. But it wouldn’t hurt to drive down to the local newspaper to ask a journalist a few questions. This was a little too much. The deal was that I could go to the office, as long as I didn’t go into the field. Staying in town wasn’t “going into the field”. He had to budge on this. Right?

“No,” he finally said sternly.

I sighed and sat down, keeping my eyes away from him as everyone cautiously started moving back towards conversing about the case. That was incredibly embarrassing. For years, Hotch and I didn’t show affection at work, we didn’t argue like an old married couple, and we certainly didn’t bring up our deals or agreements in front of everyone. We didn’t discuss the fact that we made rules to not touch in front of people, or say “I love you” when the others were around. We didn’t talk about how we promised to never lie to each other. And we certainly didn’t talk about how we made a deal that I would only stay at the house or at the office. No one knew that. Since that day at the Park Rangers’ office, that had been our secret deal, and I wanted it to fucking stay that way; yet Hotch had the audacity to bring it up in front of the entire team. Not only was I frustrated about the situation he had stuck me in, but I was also frustrated with my husband now.

“I, um,” Morgan cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I think I might have something here.” He handed the file he had been looking through over to Hotch. “Both of the mothers coached their sons’ soccer teams out on the Hill. They probably met that way.”

Reid shuffled from Gideon’s couch in the corner to the table we were all sitting around. “I found another connection, too. It’s in their phone records. Both moms, who happened to be from Europe and coached their sons’ soccer teams on the Hill, as Morgan mentioned, called the same number multiple times.”

“Give it to me,” Garcia said. After Reid read the phone number aloud, Garcia started digging through the identity of whoever it was that owned that number. “Byron Delaney—He’s British.” She stopped typing immediately.

Hotch looked at Morgan. “Go.”

Morgan got up and raced to the bullpen to tell Emily where they were headed and who it was they were visiting. Within the next minute or so, Hotch’s phone started ringing, causing him to sigh under his breath, collect his things again, and leave to take the call out in his office. The rest of us settled in our seats and started looking for a way to contact that reporter Garcia had talked about. I even decided to spend some time reaching out to newspapers as an “anonymous source” looking to give them an inside scoop on the story just to see if anyone would bite. Nothing. Everyone got back to me in the next thirty minutes or so just to tell me that the story wasn’t interesting enough for them to pursue. That was utter bullshit. Something was seriously wrong with this case, and the only one who could give us any answers was the reporter Garcia was hunting down.

“Where are Hotch and Rossi going?” JJ asked, looking through the windows of the roundtable room to see the two of them hauling ass out of the office.

We all shrugged.

Two minutes later, Hotch was calling Garcia to let her know what was going on. “Emily and Morgan were shot at by the Unsubs.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. How could he not tell us that immediately? “Are they alright?”

“They’re fine. They found Byron’s body. Dave and I are headed there now to case the scene with them. We’ll call with what we know later.” He hung up before I could argue with him, which he knew I would.

The worry was starting to fuck with my head and my body. A headache was brewing, meanwhile my stomach was starting to ache to the point I felt like I was going to throw up. At first, I tried ignoring it. I closed my eyes to stop the headache and to focus on my breathing, but that didn’t work. So, I tried rocking back and forth gently. However, it only seemed to get worse the longer we sat there in silence, worrying about Morgan and Emily.

“Fuck…” I cursed under my breath. “Not now, baby… Come on, just give me a few more hours.”

“Y/N?” Reid questioned me from across the table. I glanced up at him through my lashes to see that he was watching me hold my stomach, rocking back and forth lightly, trying to control my breathing. “What is it?”

“The baby’s just kicking. That’s all.”

He narrowed his eyes at me and closed the file in front of him. “You look like you’re in pain.”

I searched his eyes. There was no way in hell he was going to give this up, but if I told him the truth, he would tell Hotch, and then that would just cause more problems than was necessary. “I’m fine.” I saw that Garcia was also eyeing me suspiciously now. “Please, just don’t tell Hotch. I swear, it’s nothing. I’m just not feeling well.”

“We’re supposed to tell Hotch if anything—”

“No. Please.”

Garcia was slowly tapping on her keyboard, trying not to draw my attention. Her sloth-like pace was exactly what caught my eye, though. “Sorry…” she apologized quietly. “I had to.”

I sighed and threw my papers on the table. “I’ll get my things.”

“Why?” Reid asked.

“Hotch’s gonna make me go home.” I stood. “Fuck—” I grabbed onto the table for balance. “Shit…” My stomach ached like I was being stabbed. I let out a shaky breath. “Okay, fine… Someone get Anderson to drive me home.”

Reid stood and raced out of the boardroom to go find Anderson while I slowly made my way down to my desk to get my things. I collected my purse and threw my phone and badge in it. Within the next minute or so, Anderson approached, letting me know that Reid had tracked him down to take me home. I thanked him quickly. The stomach aches had passed, but I knew that they would inevitably return. If I was heading home, I wasn’t coming back. At least not today.

On our way out, I beckoned Garcia over quickly to tell her that even though I was going home, I wanted constant updates, and if there were any new developments, I wanted her to video call me with everything. She agreed. While she was practically pushing me towards the elevator, she said that she would put me on calls with the team, send me texts with small details, video call me for dozens of other things. Since I was going home because they let up the game to Hotch, it was the least they could do.

In the car, Anderson played the radio and we talked about his girlfriend. Her name was Angelica. They met shortly after the Fisher King case when he began attending group therapy to help him cope with the guilt he felt for what happened to Elle. I interrupted to tell him that none of it was his fault. While he sent me a short smile and thanked me for the personal reassurance, I could tell that he still wasn’t convinced; but it didn’t matter. Talking about Angelica made his whole face brighten. He was grinning ear to ear, his eyes sparkling in the sun as he focused on the road, and he was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat of the music. I smiled to myself. It was so odd that I had been working with people like him—people in the broader spectrum of the BAU—for years, and yet I hardly knew anything about them. Sometimes I would consider Anderson a friend, but it was just… It was different being friends with him compared to being friends with Morgan and Emily. I knew practically everything about Morgan, and I knew as much as Emily was willing to tell me, but I didn’t know much about Anderson. It felt wrong. Somehow, it irked me that I could be working in the same office as him for so long, and yet I never stopped to ask him how his day was going, or if he was seeing anyone, or if he was okay since everything happened with Elle.

“Do you ever wish you could see her again?” Anderson inquired. I didn’t understand what he was asking. “Elle.”

Oh. I couldn’t tell him that I had seen her somewhat recently, or that I didn’t care if I saw her again or not, as shitty as it sounded. Since she first left, all I wanted was to see her again and get answers from her. Only, when I did see her again, she felt like an entirely different person, and I didn’t get a single real answer out of her. So, no. I didn’t wish that I could ever see her again, but Anderson didn’t need to know that.

“Sometimes,” I answered, then I turned to stare out the window silently.

By the time he dropped me off at my house, my phone was ringing with a FaceTime from Garcia. Anderson was already driving around the corner down the block when I answered while simultaneously digging out my house keys. As I unlocked the door, I saw Penelope’s face on the screen.

“What do you have for me, lovely?” I asked.

“We have a name—a potential suspect,” Garcia said.

“What does that mean?”

“His name’s Ian Doyle, and we think that he might be operating on a list of people who took him down seven years ago.”

“Why?”

“Because all but three of the people on that list are dead.”

I stopped in my tracks as I entered the house. “Who are the other three?”

“We don’t know. The CIA and Interpol are giving Hotch a hard time confirming identities. They only just told us that our victims matched the team of profilers that had taken Doyle down. I don’t know when we’ll get the name of the other three agents.”

“Hotch will get the names. I know he will.” I set my things down and wandered to get a TUMS and Motrin for my stomach and headache. “Call me when you know more.”

“Of course, my love. Get some sleep. You look pale.” She kissed the pads of her index and middle fingers, then pressed them to her camera before hanging up on me.

I set my phone down on the counter so that I could pour out one pill from the TUMS bottle and the Motrin bottle. When I had them resting in my palm, I turned to grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water. When I was finished with the Motrin, I carried the water and my phone with me upstairs as I began chewing on the big TUMS pill that was slowly dissolving in my mouth. By the time I landed in bed, the pill was gone, and I was already falling asleep. Just a few minutes. I would wake up soon...

----

As my eyes fluttered open, I could see that the sun was setting over the houses in the neighborhood. I jolted upright and checked the time. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I slept for three hours. Fuck. I reached to grab my phone to see that there were no calls or texts from anyone on the team. I didn’t understand. I had been MIA for three hours. How had Garcia not checked up on me? How did Hotch not call to see if I was feeling alright? What the fuck was he really going on? I tried calling Hotch, but it went to voicemail. My face fell.

That was when I heard something clatter in the dining room. I jumped in my own skin, the sound echoing throughout the house sending me back to that day when I was taken in Hawai’i. Hotch wasn’t picking up the phone, and now it sounded like someone was in the house. Maybe it was just Hotch? Maybe he picked up Jack from soccer early, and they were downstairs setting up dinner? Yeah. Maybe. I could only know for sure by making my way downstairs slowly, holding onto the railing to make sure I didn’t lose my footing. My heat was still hurting, but the baby had calmed down, so my stomach wasn’t aching and cramping anymore. Thankfully.

I stumbled to a halt when I saw Jessica and Jack sitting at the dining room table, eating spaghetti and garlic bread. She had a glass of water and wine, meanwhile Jack was chugging down a large glass of chocolate milk that he ended up refilling with the jug next to him once he was out. I smiled. Chocolate milk was his “thing” right now. For the longest time, it was mac and cheese—and, of course, he would never pass up the chance to have a bowl of it, but it was “chocolate milk this” and “chocolate milk that” nowadays. Eventually, Hotch and I were going to have to trick him out of it. If it became an unhealthy obsession, I’d find one way or another to get him to start drinking iced tea or something like his dad.

Jessica looked up to see me standing in the doorway. “Hey! You’re up.” I smiled and nodded. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah…” I searched the table with my eyes, trying to piece together how long she had been with Jack. “How did you…” I chuckled to myself.

“Aaron called to tell me you weren’t feeling well, so I came over to watch Jack.” She picked up her glass of wine. “I would’ve warned you, but I saw that you were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s all good.” I walked over to the table before kissing the top of Jack’s head. “How was school, little man?”

“Boring,” he answered behind a full mouth of spaghetti noodles.

At least it wasn’t bad, and at least he wasn’t sending any signal that he didn’t want to go back tomorrow. If he would have still been as upset as he was that morning, I would have considered letting him stay home tomorrow. Tomorrow… I realized that I didn’t even know where I would be tomorrow given the fact that I had already missed so much of the case. I was feeling a thousand times better already, but Hotch probably wasn’t going to accept that, and I really wasn’t looking to pick a fight with him about it again, and I wasn’t willing to hear Morgan, Rossi, or Emily take his side on the matter.

“Did you show Mr. Feechi your art?”

“I forgot.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of his head again. Forgetting to show his art to his teacher probably meant that he was caught up in a million other things like schoolwork or friends, and either option was ideal to me, so I was content with that answer, truth be told. At least he looked and sounded better now. Compared to this morning, he was acting like my little man again as I knew him, the slurping spaghetti noodles really bringing the whole thing together. I smiled to myself.

“I’m gonna check in with the team,” I said to Jessica. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

She shrugged and nodded understandingly. “Take your time.”

As I headed back upstairs to the bedroom, I sighed and wiped my palms over my face in an attempt to wake myself up. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep earlier. Considering I gave Garcia so much shit earlier for snitching on me, and I begged her to stay in touch because of it, the least I could have done was stay awake in order to receive her calls. Then again, I was feeling much better now that I was well rested. Give and take, I suppose.

I grabbed my phone from my bedside table and dialed Garcia’s number. The call rang a worrisome amount of times before going to voicemail. That was unusual… I cocked a brow at my phone as I dialed Hotch’s number this time around. Garcia normally picked up because she was sitting at her desk—or at least she had one of her many phones on her to alert her that someone was calling. Why hadn’t she answered?

And then I heard Hotch pick up. I let out a relieved sigh and let my palm rest over my stomach. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he responded, sounding a little out of breath and extremely preoccupied.

“Is everything okay? Garcia didn’t—”

“We’re fine, baby. We’re just about to give the profile, so we’re all running around right now. Can I call you back later when we’re done?”

I hesitated. “Yeah…” I looked over my shoulder to glance at his side of the bed which was uncomfortably empty. “Are you coming home tonight?”

“Probably not.”

“Oh…”

Hotch stopped and sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry, baby. I know that this isn’t what you want. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just be safe. Call me after the profile and catch me up.”

“I will. I love you, Y/N.”

I smiled against my phone. “I love you, too.”

He hung up on me before anything else could be said.

----

Jack tried staying up with me as long as he could. After Jessica had left for the night, the two of us crashed on the couch to watch a movie, but he ended up spending more time focusing on my stomach than anything else. He found it fascinating. I mean, he was a kid, so he didn’t necessarily understand what was happening, but he knew that his baby brother or sister was in there. When I told him that the baby was kicking, Jack started freaking out. He thought I was dying. I laughed at him and told him that it was alright while placing his hand over my stomach so that he could feel it. “Ew,” was his response as he snatched his hand away. I chuckled again and explained that it was natural. “I still hate it,” he said, scurrying to the other side of the couch. At least his fascination with poking my stomach was gone now.

By the time the movie reached the credits, Jack was asleep and snoring. We had been waiting to see if Hotch would show up or call, but there was no word. So, I leaned over, and I combed Jack’s hair with my fingers while kissing his temple until he slowly stirred awake. I whispered that it was time to go to bed. Since I couldn’t carry him, tired, little Jack had to roll off the couch, then lazily stomp across the house in front of me as we ever so slowly made our way upstairs one step at a time. Jack crashed onto his bed and fell back to sleep immediately.

I smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Night, my little man.”

“Night…” he whispered, then rolled over to face the wall.

As I left his room, I closed the door quietly behind me to make sure that there weren’t any creaks, and that the sound of the doorknob wouldn’t wake him up. When the coast was clear, I let out a deep breath. That was when my phone started ringing. I jumped slightly at the sudden noise that shook the house, and probably woke Jack up.

I cursed under my breath while hurrying down to mine and Hotch’s room while answering the phone. The call was from Hotch. Finally. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” he responded with a hint of worry.

I froze and cocked a brow. What was wrong? Something was definitely fucking wrong, and he couldn’t lie his way out of it in order to make sure I wouldn’t come back in. Whatever it was, if it was bad enough, I would go back in. So, help me, if he wasn’t okay, I was going to race there, honking the horn at every goddamn car in my way.

“What is it?”

“Have you seen Emily?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted quickly. “I’ll call you back—”

“No. Aaron Christopher Hotchner, you tell me what’s going on right fucking now, or so help me.”

He sighed heavily. He was still reluctant to admit whatever it was, but I wasn’t going to back down. He promised that he would call after the profile, yet he didn’t, and now he was calling to ask if I knew where Emily was, which meant that the team didn’t, which meant that something horrible— “She’s the last person on Ian Doyle’s list.”

“What? And you let her out of your sight? Aaron!”

“It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t know, Y/N. We think she ran in order to protect all of us, because she thinks she can handle this on her own.”

“Of course she does. She’s always been like that. She’s been acting so fucking weird, Hotch,” I said, hiding my face in my hand, “we should’ve talked to her sooner. Fuck…”

“Y/N, please, if you start panicking, it could be bad for the baby—”

“I’m coming back in.” I knew that argument was going to come about. I knew the second I heard his voice that something was bad enough that he needed to call me, and if it got to that point, I should just come in.

Hotch sounded angry when saying, “No.”

“Emily’s our family. I’m coming in to help find her. And Doyle.”

“Y/N, no.”

“Yes. I’m already on my way, Hotch. I’ll be okay. I’ll bring medication, a go-bag, and I’ll sleep on the couch in your office if I need more rest. But I’m not abandoning Emily. She’s our family.”

“That’s exactly why she left in the first place. Y/N, she left a gift in the drawer of her desk with her phone and badge. It’s addressed to you.”

I stopped in my tracks. “What?”

“There’s a letter attached to it, too.”

“What does it say?”

“I haven’t opened either of them.”

“Open them,” I demanded. “They might be something important!”

“I need to have the bomb squad check it first,” he answered quietly, and almost regretfully. I cocked a brow. What the fuck did that mean? “Doyle’s getting desperate. It could be part of his plan. If I open it now, it might—”

“Okay. Fine. Just… I’ll do it when I get there…” I grabbed a go-bag from the closet and started shoving clothes, medication, toiletries, etc. in there without a single care in the world. “We have to bring her back, Aaron,” I whispered almost helplessly, almost as if the message wasn’t really for him but for me and my conscience. “We have to.”

“I know.” He sounded just as helpless as I was.

I stayed on the phone with him the entire time as I texted Jessica to let her know what was happening, and then I got in my car that was parked in the garage in case we ever needed it for situations like this. My hands were shaking against the wheel as I drove. How could Emily do this? How could she just run instead of staying with us and trusting that we could help her? I didn’t understand how she could possibly think that she was better off on her own than with her family. I didn’t understand why she felt like she couldn’t come to me. Ian Doyle was why she had been pushing me away. All this time, she knew that he was coming after her, and instead of utilizing us, she abandoned us. As angry as I wanted to be, I was just anxious. I was worried sick. If I hadn’t been concerned earlier about Morgan and Emily, I didn’t know what to call this. I hadn’t felt this way since Hotch was all alone as he went to go face off against Foyet and I had to count the seconds until we could get there to give him back up.

When I got to the office, Hotch was waiting at the front door for me, the phone pressed to his ear because he stayed on the call with me all the way until I was standing just in front of him. I crashed my face into his chest. I didn’t care that we had our rules about being intimate at work, or that Cody, the Director, was walking past us as I did so. I didn’t care. The only thing that could calm me down again was being in my husband’s arms, feeling the way his abs under his shirt flexed against my torso, and how his long arms could hold me close while his hot breath floated over the top of my head.

“I still haven’t opened them,” he whispered to me, “but the bomb squad cleared them, and a tox report on the envelope came back negative.

I took his hand in mine, letting him take my go-bag in his other hand so that I wouldn’t have to carry it. We walked together inside. Security was different at night. We usually knew the team working the front desk during the day since we would welcome them every morning when we would come in for work, but we hardly ever saw the night team. I mean, if we were still at the office at night, that meant that we were there until the sun came up, just as the morning security team was coming in. But not this time around. Everything felt so foreign with Emily gone in the wind, and the different, unwelcoming faces at the front desk and standing at the metal detectors didn’t help.

When we made it up to the sixth floor, I could see the team standing up in the roundtable room, working together to tape photos and maps up on the walls to organize all of their evidence and get a new perspective on everything. Hotch led me the opposite direction, though. He led me straight to his office where he dropped my go-bag on the couch, then walked over to his desk where the box and letter were sitting, just as he promised. He didn’t touch them. He just turned to face me while gesturing towards them.

“Do you want me to stay?” he inquired. I shook my head. If it was addressed to me, I wanted to see it all for myself first, and then I would take it to the team if need be. “Okay.” As he started walking out, he wrapped his right arm around my hips before kissing my cheek lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I croaked.

He left before anything else could be said or he could change his mind about leaving me alone for this part. His hand drifted off my waist, my fingers trying to tangle with his all the way until he was out of reach. My hand fell to my side. When it was just me in the room, I turned back to the box and the letter. I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to know what was in there. I didn’t want to know what it was that Emily could have possibly left for me now. I didn’t want this to be the last thing I would ever get from her.

I slowly moved to sit down in one of the chairs in front of Hotch’s desk. After staring at the packaging for a moment, I decided to take the box in my hands and start carefully tearing at the wrapping. As the box opened, I saw what it was that she had left for me. A choked back sob escaped me. I smiled as I lifted it out of the box and held it close to my chest. Emily’s favorite animal was a koala. We always joked that if we had left her in charge of putting together the nursery, she would have ended up decorating the whole place with koalas. Never in a million years, however, did I anticipate that she would do this.

I squeezed the stuffed animal koala bear against my chest as tight as I could, as if I were giving it a Superman hug. After everything, the last thing she wanted to do—the last thing she wanted to give us before leaving—was a goddamn stuffed koala bear. I was going to give her so much shit when I would see her again. She could have given us anything. Scotch for Hotch, cigars for Rossi, a book for Reid, something with butterflies for JJ, something small and adorable for Penelope’s desk; but, nope. She chose to leave this for me. Why?

I leaned forward to grab the letter and pull it out of the envelope. It was her handwriting, alright. Ian Doyle couldn’t have forged anything like it, that was for sure, though Reid would probably still want to verify it himself at some point.

“Y/N, if you’re reading this, then you know by now that I’ve left. You know that I had to run in order to protect all of you. You also know that I would never do this unless I thought it was absolutely crucial. Doyle is coming after me. He’s been threatening the team and your family for three months, and I couldn’t tell you because he was going to kill you, and I just can’t let anyone die because of me. I can’t let you lose your family because of me. I know that there’s a chance that I won’t make it… That Doyle will win, and I’ll never get a chance to meet your son or daughter. If that’s the case, then I want them to have this and to know that it came from me. I want them to know that I love them, even if I didn’t get to hold them in my arms. I want them to know that I left in order to save them, and to save their family because they deserve to grow up with a mom, a dad, a brother, and a group of aunts and uncles that love them more than anything. I want you to know that I love you. Joining this team was the greatest gift of my life, but getting to know you and work with you in the field every day is my greatest blessing. You’ve come so far. You’ve grown, learned, suffered, and succeeded. I don’t know anyone like you, and I doubt that I’ll ever meet anyone else like you. You’re special, Y/N. Your son or daughter is going to be special, too; I just know it. More than anything in the world, I wish I could be there to tell you that it’s all going to be alright, but I really don’t know if that’s true. I want to meet your child, and I’m so ready to see the amazing person they grow up to be because they have the most amazing parents. Things just don’t turn out how we expect sometimes. Life gets in the way. Love and suffering gets in the way. I know me asking you and the team to not come looking for me is futile, but I hope that you understand that if you do come looking for me, I can’t guarantee everyone’s safety, so for that very reason, I’m going to ask that none of you follow me. This is my battle to fight. On my own. No one else needs to get hurt because of things I did in my past. I love you, Y/N. I love Hotch. I love Jack. I love your baby. I’m sorry. Emily.”

I folded the paper slowly before setting it down on the desk in front of me. Just when my hands were free, I immediately hid my face in my palms as I started to sob. That wasn’t fair of her. She didn’t get to do this to me. She didn’t get to just run away and say goodbye, never giving me the chance to say goodbye, too.

The team was going to want answers.

So, I wiped as many tears away as I could manage while putting the stuffed koala back in the box and hiding it under Hotch’s desk before grabbing the letter then heading out of his office. As the door closed behind me, I let out a shaky breath. Anderson, Gina, and a few secretaries were mulling about in the bullpen, completely unaware of what was happening. The team was going to take it hard; I knew that. But the rest of them in the office were going to have a hard time with it, too. I didn’t want to have to tell any of them. I didn’t want to have to face the truth.

I took one brave step towards the roundtable room, trying my best not to draw attention to myself. And then I took another. Every time I let out a breath and moved one step closer, I felt the task become easier. I still dreaded it, but at least it was a mindless endeavor now as I moved across the balcony.

As I walked into the boardroom, I saw all of the pictures and maps that the team had been taping up as Hotch was leading me to his office only a few minutes ago. I was so naïve then. I didn’t know the contents of the box or the letter, and I didn’t know what it was that they had all been hanging up and inspecting for the sake of the case. There were photos of Emily everywhere, but she looked so different. Her hair was brown instead of black, it was curly instead of straight, and she had soft bangs instead of harsh and dramatic ones— and her hair was just… longer. She didn’t look like the Emily I had known for the past three years. Then again, I was slowly starting to learn that I didn’t know her at all, and that the Emily I knew and loved was simply a facade, just as she was in those pictures hanging on the wall. She was smiling in those pictures while holding Doyle’s hand. In others, she was smiling against his lips, their fingers tangled in each other’s hair. I shook my head. She was a stranger to us. All this time, we trusted and loved her, and yet we didn’t really know anything about her. She was going to have to explain a lot when she would get back.

I was broken out of my trance when I heard the team arguing about whether or not what Emily had done undercover was moral or not. She sold Doyle weapons. She slept with him. From the looks of it, she even fell in love with him. Was that a part of the plan, or was that who Emily really was?

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Reid insisted with a hint of a whine buried behind his words. “We’re her family. We could have helped her…”

I threw the letter on the table. “Doyle’s been killing families. She ran so that he wouldn’t come after us. She’s leading him away.” Everyone glanced over at me, their faces falling as they saw how red and teary eyes I was, and how I was melted down to sniffles and quiet sobs now.

Reid stretched across the table to pick up the letter. Boy genius could have read the letter in its entirety in less than two seconds, if my math was correct, yet he kept hesitating on every other word, forcing him to practically start over every time his eyes fogged up too far with tears or he lost his train of thought.

“She doesn’t want us to go after her…” he croaked. “How could she ask that of us?”

“Because it’s too dangerous,” Hotch said.

“Her messes are our messes, though. That’s part of being a family,” I whispered. I looked around at all of them. “We have to help her.” Morgan’s gaze fell to the ground. “Derek, please… You know we have to.”

“Morgan, in the morning, you and Rossi will head to Prentiss’ apartment to see if you can find anything to tell us where she went,” Hotch continued as calmly as he could. “In the meantime, let’s get Y/N caught up to speed.”

I sent him a quick look that asked if he was really going to let me pursue this, if he was actually going to let me into the field for this. He nodded. My whole body relaxed in response, a behavioral way to thank him for knowing what I needed and giving in without starting an argument.

Everyone sat down and settled. Hotch cleared his throat. “This is personal. And I know that we’re not supposed to ever let it get personal, so… If it’s ever too much for any of you, it’s okay to take a step back.” No one seemed to be listening to him. All of us just wanted to dive straight into it so that we could catch up to Emily as fast as possible. Hotch caught the hint. “Okay.” He gestured to JJ to give him the clicker for the TV, and once she did, he began speaking. “My friend from… Well, from higher places, gave me this information about Lauren Reynolds. She was apart of a secret group working under Interpole, the CIA, and a dozen other organizations where they profiled terrorists around the world. Their last target was Ian Doyle.” He put a picture of Doyle up on the board. It was the first time I had ever seen this man’s face straight on compared to just his cheek as he was hugging or kissing Emily in any one of the photos up on the walls. “Emily had gone undercover as an arms dealer named Lauren Reynolds. Her mission was to get close enough to Doyle in order to build a stronger profile. Her undercover work, along with the entire team’s profile is what finally took him down. Jeremy Wolff was Doyle’s first victim in this spree.” He pulled up a photo of Jeremy. “He was murdered while on a morning run. His fiancé, Tsia Mosely was the victim Morgan and Prentiss found last night.”

“That was Em’s trigger to leave,” Garcia gasped.

“Clyde Easter was the leader of the profiling task force. He had come to D.C. a couple of days ago with Tsia, but after her murder last night, he ran. My friends in those higher places have already put him on the TSA’s watch list.”

“How close did Prentiss and Doyle get, though?” Rossi scoffed while looking at one of the pictures of them kissing passionately.

I shook my head and looked down.

Hotch didn’t seem to want to talk about it either. So, he instead opted to say, “Doyle fell madly in love with her. That was how they ultimately took him down.”

“Does he know that?” JJ asked.

“I would assume so.”

“That’s why he’s leaving her for last…” I whispered while running my hands over my stomach to ignore the stomachache that was slowly but surely returning.

Morgan stormed out of the room, deciding that he didn’t want to sit around long enough to hear all of this while also doing nothing. If anything, he was probably headed to go to Emily’s apartment already. Rossi stood, too, just when he put the pieces together. We all sighed and fell quiet, considering just how bad things were getting, and the fact that they could get much worse soon if we weren’t faster.

----

After Morgan and Rossi came back, they met with us in the roundtable room to discuss what it was that they had found at Emily’s apartment. Yesterday, while I was at home resting and they found Tsia’s body, Emily threw up outside, then asked Morgan to drive her home so that she could change clothes. What Morgan failed to recognize at the time was that she was packing up a go-bag so that she could leave when the time was right. But she left her safe open. Not that it was a mistake or that she was being careless, but because she knew that we were going to try to follow after her, and she was only giving us what she wanted us to know. She had tried to flush the golden necklace in Rossi’s hand, but he had spotted it just before they decided to head back to the office.

It was a Gimmel ring— a Gaelic-made wedding ring where the husband and wife’s rings would be worn separately during the engagement, then, for the wedding, they would be molded together to represent their unity. The one hanging from the chain in Rossi’s hand was already molded together. He handed it to me so that I could inspect it further. Immediately, I took to the detail of the different Gaelic marking on both rings, and how they certainly meant something in Gaelic—something only Spencer Reid himself could translate, so I passed the necklace to him. He examined it closely, too. While he was busy, I crossed my arms over my chest, shrugged, and asked what this had to do with anything. Certainly, it was just her parents’ old wedding rings, or perhaps her grandparents’. Emily was never married prior. We would have known if she were ever married.

“Ian was—” Rossi began.

“Shit—” Reid threw the necklace on the table angrily before I could get an answer from someone. We all turned to face him. He gestured to the rings, “They have Ian and Emily’s names on them.”

“As I was saying,” Rossi continued cautiously, “Doyle was part of the Irish Mob… The running theory Morgan and I had on the way over here was that it belonged to Doyle. We didn’t know that Emily was… Well, we didn’t realize… I…” He chuckled to himself and how outrageous the situation was. Did we really not know anything about her?

“Doyle ran his operations out of Boston,” Morgan said quietly from the corner. He was sitting down, unlike the rest of us, and he was staring at the closed Ian Doyle file Hotch had gotten from his friends in “higher places”. When we all turned to him, that was his cue to continue. “That was where he and Emily met.” He looked at me. “It’s important to both of them. If he’s not in D.C. anymore, which I doubt he is, he probably scurried back to what he knows, which is Boston. And since Emily wasn’t going to let him bring the fight to us, she probably ran to take the fight to him.” He slid the file away from himself like he didn’t want to stare at it any longer.

“As usual, my slice of chocolate cake is correct,” Garcia said, turning into the boardroom with a laptop in her hands, racing over to the table as if she could hear what we were talking about from across the office. “TSA just got a hit on one of Clyde Easter’s covers. He’s on his way to Boston.”

My jaw fell slightly in shock. “He probably had the same thought we did. He knows Emily just as well as we do, but he knows Doyle better. He knew that they were likely in Boston.”

“It confirms Morgan’s theory,” Hotch agreed. “Garcia, have him detained the second he gets off that plane. We’ll interrogate him when we get there.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And, you’re coming with us.”

She looked up at him suddenly, uncertainty written all over her face. “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”

As she began contacting TSA again, we all headed to grab our go-bags and get ready to head for the jet. Hotch and I headed to his office. He had some extra clothes stored away in a drawer, so he carefully grabbed them to make sure they would stay folded, then slid them into his bag. I sat down at his desk to look at Emily’s gift again. The box was just staring at me. It was as if it were saying to me: “She’s already dead. You’re too late. There’s nothing you can do.” I sniffled and wiped my face clean with my palms. Hotch, from where he was standing opposite me, took notice of my behavior, yet he didn’t say anything, probably because he didn’t know what to say. If anything, he was just as panicked as I was, as frustrated as Morgan, as desperate as Reid and JJ; he just showed it differently.

On the jet, however, that was another story. Everyone sat down for takeoff, and Hotch held my hand the entire time. Even though I wasn’t scared of flying on the jet anymore, there were times when there were personal stakes involved when he needed to hold me and rub his thumb over my knuckles, and even kiss my cheek once. I melted into his touch. I turned to face him, both of us relaxing with our eyes closed, and I kissed him gently.

Once we were in the air, he tugged at my hand. “I have something to give you.” He pulled me to my feet and led me past the team, then, when there was some remnants of privacy, he handed me a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I inquired.

“A list of Emily’s phone numbers.”

I looked up at him. “Why?”

“Most of those are unlisted, and only a select few of us know about them, but I figure that if she’ll pick up for anyone right now, it might be you, considering she left the gift for you.”

“You want me to call all of these?” The list was probably nine to ten different phone numbers. How the hell did Emily have so many different phones?

Hotch nodded. “Just try.” He squeezed my shoulder reassuringly before leaving to take a seat with the team again.

I sighed and headed towards the back of the jet. “Whatever you say, boss.”

After stepping into the small bathroom, I turned and locked the door, then I slowly sat down on the toilet seat while turning the list over in my hands so that I could start dialing. The phone didn’t even ring once. There was an immediate dial tone, followed by a voice telling me that the phone number was disconnected by the owner. I sighed and began dialing the next number. Same thing. The first four were all disconnected lines, but by the fifth one, I finally got to her voicemail before a robotic voice told me that the inbox was full. I cursed under my breath. Was that how the next four numbers were going to be, too? There was probably no point to this in the first place. Emily didn’t want us to follow her, therefore she wasn’t going to let us contact her in any way, and I should have known better.

When I reached the last phone number, I entirely anticipated that it wouldn’t work. To my surprise, however, the voicemail came and ended, but there was no robotic voice. There was a single dial tone signaling me to start speaking, so I decided to just… go for it.

“Hey. It’s, um… It’s me. I don’t know if you’re safe, so I’ll keep it brief, but… Hotch said I should try calling all of your numbers to see if I happen to hear back from you. I don’t know why I’ve been sitting on the toilet in the jet for an hour doing all of this when I know you’re not going to pick up, but I just… I had to try. This is the only number that has room left for a voicemail. I don’t even know if you’ll ever hear this, but if you are… Emily… It’s time to come home. Please. I can’t do this without you—I don’t know how to do this without you. I read your letter, and I haven’t been able to stop crying and worrying about you since then. You’re not allowed to die, Emily Prentiss. Do you hear me? I don’t care what it takes, you’re not allowed to leave us. You’re not allowed to just write a goodbye letter and then make it seem like it’s okay that you might not get to meet my baby. You don’t get to say goodbye. Not like that. You don’t get to leave and make me regret not loving you and appreciating you more. Shit…” I sniffled. “I took your love and friendship for granted, Emily, and I’m so sorry. I had all the time in the world to look at you and tell you that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Hotch. You’re our family, Em. You always have been and you always will be. You’re one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had, and the worst part is that I couldn’t recognize or admit it until you were gone, and I can’t say it to your face. So, I just need you to come home. I need you to survive all of this bullshit. Because you deserve to meet my baby and give them the koala bear. They deserve to fall asleep in your arms. I deserve the chance to get to look at you and say: ‘I love you, Emily Prentiss. You’re one of my best friends. Thank you.’ Morgan, Reid, Garcia, Hotch, JJ, and Rossi… We’re all waiting to see you again. We love you.”

The call beeped, signaling that I had taken too long to record my message, so it was just sending what I had already said, and that was it. I sighed and turned off my phone.

When we landed in Boston, Hotch’s phone immediately started ringing. We were all stepping off the plane when Hotch answered and stopped in his tracks on the runway. We stopped, too, to gauge just how bad the news was. Then, he hung up. He looked at us and told us that Boston P.D. just responded to a call at a local bar where there was a shooting. They had confirmed that Emily was involved.

At the precinct, we were immediately set up with a monitor so that we could watch the video to confirm whether or not it was really our Emily Prentiss. The security camera outside of the bar was set up at an awkward angle, so all we could really see was a group of men climbing into two separate black SUVS. Out of nowhere, gunfire rained onto the side of the second car, and that was when we saw Emily stepping into the frame of the camera, a MAC-10 in her hands, and a flashbang being thrown into the broken window of the car. But when she approached the car, something seemed wrong.

Suddenly, Ian Doyle revealed himself from the shadows, his gun raised at her; and before Emily could do anything, he fired.

“Oh, my—” I jumped as the gunshots rang. I stumbled back and caught my footing on a nearby desk.

She was killing me with worry at this point. Every time something bad happened to our team, it built this knot in the pit of my stomach that made me want to puke or just completely fall to my knees and give up because worrying about them—my family—was sometimes too unbearable to handle. Worrying about Hotch, Morgan, and Emily specifically were the worst moments. When Hotch was in danger, it was like I couldn’t move or breathe. When Morgan was in danger—like when he stole the ambulance in New York, I felt like my legs would give out at any second and the only thing that could put me back together was knowing that he, my best friend in the entire world, was alright. And he was. Him and Hotch were always okay. No matter how much pain they put me through, at least I could say that they were okay and they were still with me. Hotch was still by my side. Morgan was still there to tease me every chance he got. Yet, this time, with Emily in the hot seat now, it felt like things weren’t going to be okay. That knot in my stomach was twisting in ways worse than ever before—and maybe it was because the stress was putting pressure on the baby, or maybe it was the fact that I never had to worry about her like this before… or maybe it was the fact that I didn’t realize that I cared for her this much until something terrible happened that I wasn’t sure was going to end with rainbows and unicorns. This didn’t feel right. There was something about my worry for her this time around that made me feel like something horrible was going to happen. And when I heard those gunshots echo through the security footage, I thought that was it. Before I saw Doyle pry open her shirt, I was convinced that it was over. I thought for sure as I jumped out of my own skin that I was never going to see her again.

“She’s alive,” JJ said, “that’s the good news.” She sighed heavily. “She’s alive.”

“Only because Doyle wants to toy with her,” Rossi said.

“Once he’s felt he’s made his point of revenge, he’ll kill her,” Hotch added.

“It gives us time to find her, though.” I turned back around to face the team. “We’re going to have to talk to Clyde Easter. He’s the only way we can stop hitting these walls in the case like complete fucking idiots.” Everyone seemed shocked at my anger. “Sorry,” I apologized quietly.

“You’re right.” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest and started drawing his thumb around his lips while thinking. “You want the honors of talking to him?” he asked me. I nodded eagerly. “Okay. Garcia, keep trying to track their path from the bar. See if you can narrow down where it is they took her. It’s probably somewhere remote. Definitely not in the center of the city.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because he’ll want to hear her scream,” Morgan answered blatantly.

No one said anything.

Before I could let his depressing words continue to seep into my mind and heart, I started walking towards the mirror room. Hotch silently followed me. When we reached the door, he skipped a few steps so that he could beat me to it and hold it open for me. I thanked him with a smile.

“I’ll go in first just to loosen him up a bit. Until then, you stay back here.” Hotch grabbed the doorhandle to the interrogation room, then stepped in.

Clyde immediately pushed himself to his seat. “What is this?! I demand to talk to the British Consulate!”

“Calm down.”

“You can’t keep me here. You would know that if you would let me speak with—”

“The British Consulate. Yeah, I know.” He turned the file in his hands over. “Clyde Easter, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—”

“Oh, my god,” Easter groaned. “What the hell are you doing in here with me, then?! Shouldn’t you be out there, looking for her?”

Hotch ignored him by opening up the file. “October of 2006. ‘In closing, I have never worked with an agent finer than Agent Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing and predicting terrorist behavior is unparalleled.’ Signed, name redacted.” Hotch threw the file on the table. “Do you want to know what it was that I read when I was given her file in October of 2006? I’ll never forget it because it was the best recommendation I had ever read. ‘In closing, I have never worked with an agent finger than Agent Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing data and predicting the behaviors of potential serial killers is unparalleled.’ Signed, name redacted. I never knew who it was that wrote that recommendation, and I never found out how it was that a small-time data analyst agent got moved from a desk job to being a profiler for the BAU. That was why it impressed me. I can remember staring at it for hours while asking myself, what was it that Cody and Strauss saw in this girl that was so different from the rest of my team that she got special permission to join the unit? I didn’t clear her. In fact, I was told that she was cleared to be on my team, and that was the end of it. But now I know how it happened. The recommendation came from you, it went to Interpol and the CIA, who then sent it to Cody as it was, and he saw an opportunity to steal away a brilliant agent from Europe and utilize her within his greatest unit at the Bureau, so he took it. You used all the right buzzwords with him, which was how Emily was transferred. But her work with your unit was confidential, so you had to write a second recommendation that used my buzzwords in order to get me off your scent.”

“Okay. And?”

“It takes a true sociopath to betray his team and the cause he held dear for self-preservation.”

“So, then, you don’t believe any of your team is capable of that kind of betrayal?”

“I know they aren’t.”

Easter chuckled. “Sure.”

“My point is, if you help us save Agent Prentiss, I might be willing to make a deal with you. Otherwise, you’ll end up in Guantanamo Bay. That’s not what you want. Is it?”

Easter didn’t say anything. Hotch had to know that his threat was entirely empty, right? I mean, we only suspected that Clyde Easter was the one who sold out his team to Doyle, but we had no way to prove it; and by the looks of it, Easter knew that. This tactic wasn’t going to work on him.

“She said you were the best,” Clyde finally said. “I’m unimpressed, however. As I’ve already said, I cannot help you.”

Hotch sighed and took his leave, reentering the mirror room to send me a look that told me that it was finally my turn. So, that was all apart of the plan. He knew that he wasn’t going to get in with Easter that way, but it would get him worked up enough that I could find a way in. I nodded and switched places with him, heading into the interrogation room.

“Hello, I’m Agent—”

“Great,” Easter threw his hands up, “another agent. Like I told the other guy, I won’t speak to any of you. I want to speak to the British Consulate first!”

I rolled my eyes and continued, “I’m Agent Hotchner.” That surely got his attention, as I knew it would. “We need your help saving Emily.”

“Like I told the other Agent Hotchner, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

I searched his eyes for a moment, reading the sparkle there that was pleading for answers and to know that Emily was safe. He cared for her just as much as we did. We were all panicked and racing around to rescue her from Doyle, yet Easter knew he couldn’t, and that was killing him slower than potentially anything Doyle had planned for him. I could use that. Unfortunately, it was my only way in with him; and by catching that slight bit of empathy hidden behind that thick skin of his, I could poke that button now to gain his favor.

So, I used the only thing I could think of. Even Hotch didn’t know this yet, but he was standing in the mirror room, so he was about to find out. “I never got the chance to tell her that she’s going to be the godmother of my child.” Easter’s attention snapped to me. “I need your help giving me that chance.”

Suddenly, as if on cue, Hotch burst into the room. “Did you know that Jeremy sold the list to Doyle?”

I cocked a brow while glancing between the two men in the room. “What?”

“I had my suspicions,” Easter answered. Any bit of rapport I had just built with him was washed away by Hotch’s interruption. Great.

“We need your team’s original profile of Ian Doyle so that we can save Emily’s life,” Hotch said.

“I can’t do that—”

“We need to know who he is as a terrorist in order to profile him as a torturer and serial killer.”

“I can’t do that,” he repeated, this time with his voice fluctuating to tell us that there was more to be said, “without making a deal first.” I rolled my eyes. “You have to kill Ian Doyle yourself. Even if it means killing him without cause.”

“No.”

“You must. If you don’t kill him, then he’s going to keep going after her.”

“I said, no. We don’t kill people without reason.”

“Then, you must do whatever it takes to keep Emily alive. If you think he’s a danger to her, then you must kill him. Protect her at all costs, Agent Hotchner.”

Hotch hesitated for a moment. “Okay.”

The door opened again. JJ was standing in the entryway, still holding onto the doorknob, leaning into the room as she said, “The British Consulate just arrived.”

“Tell them—” Hotch began.

Easter cut him off, “Tell them that their assistance is not required. I’m now consulting with the BAU on a case. That is… if Agent Hotchner agrees to the rest of my terms.” We all looked at him blankly. “Privately.”

The room was silent for a moment as we all stayed still, watching each other intently, waiting for someone to say something. There was no way Hotch was going to agree to that. Easter could ask for anything, and with how desperate we were, Hotch would probably give in, and we all knew it—Easter most of all. At least together we could become a voice of reason for one another. Alone, we were weak. Together, we were unbreakable and perfect. Working together every single day then being able to go home with a still healthy and loving relationship proved that much to everyone who ever doubted us, including JJ, who was still standing at the door.

“Go catch up with the team,” Hotch ordered me quietly.

“Hotch—”

“Go.”

“Aaron, this is a bad—”

“Go,” he ordered more demandingly, his eyes staring into mine with a look that Dominated me into submission. “Go.”

I looked away from him and headed out of the interrogation and mirror rooms with JJ, but I didn’t go to catch up with the team as Hotch had intended— hell, I didn’t even stick around JJ’s side long enough to let her see me kick a wall as hard as I could. I had him. I had Easter right where I fucking wanted, and as usual, Hotch came in to muck it up, thinking that he was saving the day; but now he was alone in there, making whatever deal it was with Easter instead of trusting me—his closest ally and coworker, and his wife. It was infuriating. I could have gotten Easter’s help without all of these extra steps and dramatics. Maybe Hotch was just mad that I brought up the fact that I wanted Emily to be our baby’s godmother. I hadn’t told him about that yet, and it was a rude way for me to let him know what I was thinking, I’d be the first to admit, but he had no right storming in there to break the sudden news that it was Jeremy who had sold out his own team. Fucking Jeremy. Did Tsia know? Clearly Emily and Clyde didn’t. But how could Jeremy possibly do that to his own team? It just begged the question that Easter had asked, were we so sure one of us wouldn’t do the same thing if we were desperate? I shook off the thought. There was no way in hell we would betray each other. We were family. We didn’t keep secrets—at least, none of us except for Emily…

“Sweetness,” Morgan cooed, carefully approaching me. I turned to him while huffing. He threw his hands up in surrender once he saw how red my face was from getting angry and taking it out on the defenseless wall. “You okay?”

“No,” I answered blatantly.

He lowered his hands. “Same.”

I sighed and rested my back against the wall. “I don’t hate her, I swear. I’m just…”

“Worried.”

I looked at him. “Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

“Hotch and Easter are making some kind of deal, I guess,” I said, changing subjects quickly because I felt like if I kept talking about her and the way I missed her, I would fall apart.

Morgan nodded. “They’re already done.” As I cocked a curious brow at him, he gestured behind him as if to say: “They’re waiting for us.” I still didn’t understand, though. “Easter’s presenting his team’s original profile to us.”

I immediately pushed myself off the wall, caught my footing, and stormed past Morgan to head to the boardroom where our team was set up. They were all waiting around patiently. Easter and Hotch were at the front of the room, both silent as they caught a glimpse of me and Morgan entering the room. I watched Hotch carefully while I circled the room and sat down in an empty chair. I was trying to get a read on the situation. What was it that he and Easter said to each other? Did he agree to any deal? Was the deal entirely outrageous? Was he ever going to tell me about the deal? Honestly, if it were important—or if he had taken the deal, he would tell me. Like I said a thousand times before, we didn’t keep secrets from each other. I trusted that he would tell me the truth in due time.

Easter cleared his throat as he began reciting the profile for us. Ian Doyle was a terrorist known under the name of Valhalla. Most of his work was spent in the U.S. smuggling weapons for the Irish Mob, but when he met Lauren Reynolds—or as we knew her, Emily Prentiss—he turned his attention towards building his own empire. His first attack was on his own uncle in Ireland. It was a calculated attack to gain power within the family, and it worked, however, it cost twenty-three innocent people their lives, too. After that, Doyle had to stay low while planning his next attack for power, which was going to be on a rival in Germany. That was when the clock started racing for Emily to complete the profile sooner. After a few months of staying undercover with Doyle in the farmlands of Italy, she reported back to her team with the following information: He was a power-assertive psychopath, who was highly controlling and precise, and if something ever went the slightest bit off plan, he lost his shit.

Sounded like someone I knew. I looked over at Hotch quickly.

“He had a son,” Easter continued. “I don’t know anything about him. Name, age, appearance, anything. Emily was very protective of him, claiming that we were there to profile Doyle, not ruin a child’s life. So, we never pried about it; though, in hindsight, perhaps we should have.”

“Doyle’s son isn’t listed in any of the information in these files,” Morgan said.

“His existence was Need-to-Know only. From what I can tell, Doyle didn’t even put his name on his own son’s birth certificate in order to protect him.”

“But he kept him close,” Hotch said, “so, someone had to raise him.”

“I’ll check employee records,” Garcia said, already typing away on her computer. “I got him!” Garcia cheered. “His name is Declan Jones. He settled in Boston eight years ago with his adopted guardian, Louise Jones, Doyle’s housekeeper.”

“Are they still alive?” Hotch interrogated.

“They went missing seven years ago— Oh, my god—” She looked away from her screen after pressing a single key that projected what she saw up on the monitor for the rest of us.

There were dozens of photos of Declan and Louise on the dirty floor of an abandoned warehouse, duct tape on the mouths, ropes on their wrists, tears streaming down their faces. And then there was a gun being pointed at their heads. I shook my head in denial. No. Please. The next few images were of them being executed one by one. I closed my eyes in disappointment, disgust, and distraught.

“Wait…” Reid whispered under his breath, taking a few steps closer to the screen. “Morgan, look at this.” I opened my eyes long enough to see them both squinting at the screen. “Look at the fingernails. Who do we know that chews on them to that extent?”

“Emily,” Morgan answered lightly, as if shock were settling in his stomach.

“I think I found the warehouse where these pictures were taken,” Garcia spoke up. Suddenly, all of our phones dinged with an address.

Hotch examined it for a moment. “Okay. We’ll give it a shot.”

The team scattered to go collect their gear. Meanwhile, Garcia and JJ stayed put. I, on the other hand, had something on my mind. So, I carefully snuck out of the boardroom and tracked down Hotch to a room where they had a stack of FBI bulletproof vests. I stopped around the corner, however, when I heard Hotch getting off the phone with Strauss. Why the hell was he calling Strauss? I didn’t understand.

Within the next few moments, Hotch was getting ahold of a SWAT team to meet them at the location. While I was eavesdropping, I heard him mention that it was a high-risk situation. My heart started racing in my chest, and I felt like I was going to cry or start panicking. It felt like I was going to lose everyone at once, and the worst part was that I couldn’t do anything about the situation to tilt fate one way or another. If it were me out there, I would have jumped in front of any bullet aimed at anyone on the team. But I wasn’t going out there with them. I was being forced to stay back with JJ and Garcia. How was I supposed to trust that Spencer would jump in front of Hotch? He wouldn’t. The scariest part was that, if I lost Hotch or Morgan, as well as Emily, I wouldn’t know what to do. My life felt like it was crumbling into dust in my hands, and every anxious idea I ever had in my life was consuming me in that moment.

“Y/N?” Hotch waved a hand in my face. I snapped out of my trance long enough to look up at him with foggy eyes. “Baby, it’s going to be okay…” he cooed, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me close, our foreheads pressed against each other. “I’m going to have a body cam on so that you can make sure I’m safe the whole time.”

“Please be careful out there,” I whispered.

His breath was hot on my nose as he said. “I will. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He kissed my lips quickly, yet still passionately, before pulling himself away from me and hurrying out of the room, trading spots with Morgan who needed to grab his vest. My eyes followed him. For a short moment, neither of us said anything, giving me a chance to read his body language. Everything about him was angry. Since we knew for sure that Emily was involved in all of this, Morgan had decided that he was going to be pissed off with her compared to just trying to be understanding and focus on finding her until we could ask her all of our questions.

“Are you going to be okay out there?” I questioned. He nodded while pulling the vest over his head. “Do me a favor, then?” He nodded again. “Watch his back for me since I can’t.”

Morgan looked up at me as he snapped the velcro straps together. “I’ll try.”

I flung my arms around him without warning. He stumbled back before catching me, his arms somewhat embracing me since he didn’t want to squeeze me too hard with my baby bump in the way. I hid my face against the hem of his v-neck. “Thank you.” I let out a sigh. “She’ll be okay.” I knew that had been weighing on his mind, and that was why he was incredibly upset with her. He just cared for her the same way he cared for me and Garcia, and he just couldn’t imagine losing any of us; so, he was taking that anxiety out on all of us using anger… He just needed to hear, “She’s going to be okay,” again, though, and it seemed to help somewhat.

----

Things spiraled quickly and without any warning. Just as SWAT kicked down the door, gunfire was exchanged, causing Hotch, Morgan, Rossi, and Reid to all scatter and find another way into the building. Reid and Morgan went together, but Hotch and Rossi went to the right. They were splitting up. No. Please. Morgan promised that he would watch Hotch’s back for me. I needed them to be together, to make sure that they were both okay, and that they were going to come back to me.

A man stepped out of the door Hotch and Rossi were headed towards. Just as the man raised his weapon at Hotch, I gasped, my hand flying up to cover my mouth in a panic. Rossi shot the man first, though. My shoulders relaxed and I let myself catch my breath. Garcia, on the other hand, had finally decided that enough was enough, and she turned away at the first sight of blood.

Finally, Rossi grabbed ahold of the door before it could slam shut, and Hotch ran in, careful to check every dark corner, every open room, and every locked door. This was the dangerous part. Anyone could have jumped out at any time, catching him off guard, taking him and the chance to say goodbye away from me. Yet, there was no one there. It was like a ghost town until they met up with SWAT again towards the exit of the building where all of the bodies of Doyle’s men were piled up from their failed attempt to fight back.

“We’ve cleared this area,” the SWAT leader told Hotch. “We’re clearing the rest of the building now.”

“We got the right—” Hotch began responding.

“Hotch!” Morgan shouted into the comms. “Prentiss is down!”

My face fell. What the fuck was he talking about? Where was Doyle? How had things spiraled so quickly? The team had only just infiltrated the building, and now there were no eyes on Ian Doyle, and Morgan was claiming that something was wrong with Emily. I refused to believe that she was dead. I didn’t care what he said. There was no way in hell I was going to lose her like this, and there was no way I was never going to see her again. It just wasn’t possible.

Hotch turned on his heels and started dashing in the opposite direction of the exit to go find Morgan in order to see what was really going on. I didn’t believe it. Emily was somewhat of a trickster, though she would never outright admit it. Her and Morgan were devious together, though. I could remember the way she and I used to pick on him for the smallest things, and then the next day, they would team up to prank me as payback. Emily was never the instigator or victim in those cases. She just went with the flow, and she always had the brightest smile on her face. So, I was sure that Hotch was about to turn that corner, and what we were going to see was Emily Prentiss with that bright, toothy grin lighting up her face and the entire room, and Morgan would be laughing behind her at our expense.

“Y/N,” JJ whispered to me, her eyes moving from the monitor to me. I didn’t look at her. “Y/N, you’re hypervent—”

“It’s not true,” I insisted quickly.

Honestly, I hadn’t even realized how lightheaded I was until JJ said something, but that wasn’t going to break my concentration. I was just waiting for Hotch to turn that corner. In just a few moments, all of my suspicions would be confirmed, and I would be able to calm down. I’d be able to breathe, sit down, maybe drink something cold to keep me from puking everywhere.

And then I saw her.

For the briefest moment, I saw her raven hair, and I smiled. For just a single millisecond, I thought that everything was alright, and that we were going to all go home tonight together, and I’d never let her go again. But then Hotch stepped closer. He was hesitant at first, almost like he couldn’t believe what he saw, yet as Morgan’s pleas for help got louder, Hotch ran over to her and grabbed her hand with Morgan. Once he was close enough, I could see the large wooden stake buried in her stomach, right where all of the most vital organs lived.

She was losing consciousness. Her eyes kept fluttering, as if she was fighting her very hardest to keep looking at them. Despite both Morgan and Hotch trying to convince her to keep her eyes open, however, Emily was ultimately starting to slowly close her eyes, her head tilting to the side. A sob left me without warning.

“Hotch…” Emily whispered. She could hardly move, breathe, or speak, yet she was still trying. She was so strong. She always was. She was the strongest person I knew. She could get through this. She could get through anything. “Hotch…”

“I’m right here,” he cooed.

She sighed weakly. “Tell… Tell Y/N I’m sorry… And… I… They didn’t take me for granted…”

“Stop it, Prentiss. You’re going to talk to them yourself,” Morgan insisted.

Her hand was starting to release his, though, and her head was falling back as her eyes couldn’t stay open any long. Hotch shook his head and leaned into her desperately. “Come on, Emily. Stay awake for us. The medics are almost here.” I saw a tear of his land on her collarbone. “Please.” But she wasn’t moving anymore. “Please…”

“No, no, no, no,” Morgan mumbled under his breath as Emily stopped breathing. “No. Emily—” He pressed his palms against her chest to begin performing CPR. “Where are the fucking medics?!”

Just then, as if they realized just how late they were running, a group of medics came storming into the room. Morgan kept pumping Emily’s lungs, but Hotch took a step back to leave the professionals room to help save Emily. I fell into the chair behind me. I couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not when I was entirely unable to help her or even say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that she had nothing to be sorry for, and that I was the stupid one who did take her for granted, but I loved her so much. I wanted to look at her and tell her that. I wanted it to be with her in that moment, holding her and telling her to keep breathing and blinking because she was going to be the godmother of my child. She had every reason to live now. If for some dumb fucking reason she thought it was okay to let go now in order to spare us some kind of pain, that wasn’t the truth! She had to know that she was going to be a real part of our family now. We needed her here. I needed her here.

Suddenly, she let out a gasp as she woke up. Morgan immediately stumbled back, falling onto his tailbone so that he could be out of the way, too. Within an instant, the medics were sliding her onto a stretcher, then working together to carry her outside, Hotch and Morgan following closely.

“What…” I cleared my throat. “What hospital…”

“St. Bernard’s!” Morgan answered while racing on his toes towards the SUV so that he could drive behind the ambulance.

I pushed myself up to my feet, inviting JJ and Garcia’s stretched out arms that were there to catch me in case I ended up collapsing, which honestly felt entirely possible now. But I tried my best to ignore it.

JJ drove while Garcia and I sat in the back together, holding hands in an attempt to help ease our nerves. We were both shaking like chihuahuas. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure how it was that JJ got us to the hospital safe and sound. If I were driving, I would have crashed before leaving the parking lot of the police station. By the time we were stepping out of the SUV, I thought I was going to pass out due to the nerves, yet JJ still seemed like an unwavering force in the face of disaster. She was set on the path of one thing and one thing only… Finding the team and seeing if Emily was alright. In fact, she seemed more determined than any of the rest of us.

When we found the waiting room, we discovered that the team was sitting around in silence. They had all taken their vests off and thrown them onto a single chair in the corner. Morgan was on his own, staring down at his bloody hands. Meanwhile, Reid and Rossi were together, staring at the wall, both of them entirely lost in thought. And then there was Hotch… He was sitting just ahead of me, his face buried in his hands as his knee bounced like crazy. He had taken off his tie, and the top button of his dress shirt was undone, just as his cufflinks had been undone, too. My face pouted. When he looked up at me, I saw just how distraught he was, and I knew that the only thing that could possibly help make things better was to hold each other close. He seemed to have the same thought because he pushed himself to his feet and held out his arms for me.

“Have you guys heard anything?” I asked as I flung my arms around Hotch.

“Nothing yet.”

“I’m going to talk to the doctors,” JJ said, already walking out of the room.

Hotch let go of me slightly, giving me a chance to turn around to see that Morgan still hadn’t looked up from his hands. I whispered to Hotch that he should sit down and wait for me to come back. He nodded and did as he was told. Without saying anything, I left the waiting room to find a nurse to see if she could give me a cloth and a water bottle in order to wipe all of the blood off of Morgan. When I had what I needed, I returned to the room to see that Garcia was trying to console him already, so I handed the materials to her then went to sit down next to Hotch.

Without hesitating, Hotch took my hand in his, and he hid his face against my bicep. “I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“It’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.

A few minutes later, as JJ returned from tracking down the doctors to get an update on how Emily was doing, we all sat up straight to hear the news. Though, nothing technically had to be said. Just from her posture, her puffy, red face, and the way her lip was quivering, I knew that it wasn’t good. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to come back to the FBI? Maybe she wouldn’t be able to walk again? No. I had to stop imaging the worst. JJ just had to tell us. So, we waited for her to gain the courage.

“She never made it off the table,” she finally admitted.

“No,” I shook my head in denial. “No, you’re lying.”

JJ just stared at all of us while blinking away the tears.

I kept shaking my head. “JJ, where is she?”

She didn’t move.

“JJ!” I exclaimed angrily, pushing myself to my feet.

Hotch tried to pull me down. I felt my breath shudder as a choked back sob slowly crept out of my chest. The whole world was crashing down on me. The pain I felt in New York was nothing compared to this. The pain of seeing Haley dead on our bedroom floor was lightyears away from this. This wasn’t real. I was dreaming. Emily wasn’t gone. She probably just got out of surgery and her first thought was to have JJ play some kind of a sick joke on us. Well, ha ha. I wanted to see her now.

Reid stood from his chair and tried to push past JJ, but she caught him in a hug. When I saw them both break down into tears, I finally realized that this was real. This was happening. My knees buckled and I wavered slightly. Hotch jumped up and wrapped his arms around me so that I wouldn’t fall over. I cried out and sobbed as hard as I could. She was supposed to come home. She was supposed to meet my baby.

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

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc @braty-angel

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine

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tamiettitami · 4 years

Text

INSPIRED BY @alamborghini

In the last week, I have spent a majority of my time on Archive of Our Own reading Twyla and Alexis fics. In lieu of that, I thought I would create a recommendation post of my favorites, eight of them to be exact. I've wanted to do fic recommendations for awhile, and this seemed like the perfect place to start! Because the community is small, as I mentioned previously, there will be some author repetition, but they're all incredibly talented writers who I encourage you to support.

Check out Justine's list, too, it's linked at the very beginning! Theirs is a bit more extensive considering they've been here for longer and I've just recently dipped my toe in, however, this was a lot of fun for me to put together and I hope you enjoy nonetheless <3

All word counts, ratings, tags, and descriptions are taken directly from the stories themselves. Credit goes to the original creators for the information provided. Also, I've colored the titles according to the length of the fic. Here is the system I've devised to help you easily find stories within a certain a range of words without having to read too much while also helping to separate the titles a bit: PURPLE >2,000 words, BLUE 2,500-5,000 words, and PINK >5,000 words.

Posts marked with * are also in Podfic format. If it isn't underlined, the Podfic is apart of the work hyperlinked in the story's title.

tuck you in, turn on your favorite nightlight by @alamborghini and @anniemurphys

WORD COUNT: 843

RATED G for GENERAL AUDIENCES

TAGGED with Future Fic, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Children, Children's Stories, (that aren't always appropriate for children), alexis and twyla have just Seen Things ok, Alexis Rose travels for business and pleasure

DESCRIPTION: Twyla and Alexis' daughter adopts her mother's' stories in the interest of elementary school coolness.

I Offer You My Heart by @landofsonlali and @sunlightsymphony *

WORD COUNT: 10,347

RATED G for GENERAL AUDIENCES

TAGGED with Alternative Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Slow Burn, Tea Leaf reading, Flirting Via Coffee and Pastries, Pining, you know it's an AU because of the seasons, Baked Goods, Podfic, Podfic Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Let Alexis Rose Eat, Twyla Sands' Freckles

DESCRIPTION: Twyla is the owner of a coffee shop in Schitt's Creek and Alexis is a frequent customer, featuring pining, flirtation, and a whole lot of baked goods.

never saw you coming, never be the same by @alamborghini, @anniemurphys, and @landofsonlali *

This is a MUST READ series for any Twylexis fans. I started my journey through the Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands tag with these ficlets and I recommend beginning here as well.

WORD COUNT: 1,938

RATED T for TEEN & UP AUDIENCES

TAGGED with Pride, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Twyla Sands' Freckles, Supportive Siblings, Pansexual Alexis Rose, Cuddling & Snuggling

DESCRIPTION: Three different perspectives of Twyla Sands and Alexis Rose's first Pride spent together as a couple.

i didn't know that i was starving (til i tasted you) by @turningtimeinthetardis

WORD COUNT: 12,885

RATED M for MATURE

TAGGED with Character Study: Twyla Sands, Character Study: Alexis Rose, Episode: s04e12 Singles Week, Singles Week Rewrite, Ted is great, But Twy and Alexis are meant to be each other's soft girlfriends, Fluff & Smut, Pining

DESCRIPTION: Twyla knows her natural penchant for kindness can sometimes be a problem. She knows it can sometimes be used against her by people who are more willing to chase their desires than she is.

Normally, she's at least a little ok with being naturally passive, with allowing her desires, her wants, to skate past her, untouched.

Maybe it's because she's gotten accustomed to serving customers at Cafè Tropical and taking unwarranted abuse with a fake smile. Maybe it's because she had grow up faster than any eight or nine year old should. Maybe it's because, well, secretly she's a multi-millionaire and, materially, she doesn't want for much of anything. And she'd be hard pressed for saying she wants anyone in Schitt's Creek.

But once she gets to know Alexis Rose?

Yeah, Twyla wants her.

to be your harbor by @doublel27

WORD COUNT: 4,007

RATED E for EXPLICIT

TAGGED with Post-Canon, Sugar Mama Twyla Sands, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Service Top Alexis Rose, Sweet/Hot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

DESCRIPTION: Twyla uses some of her money on things that are special to her. Alexis is special to Twyla. Luckily, Twyla is precious to Alexis.

your body's poetry (speak to me) by @anniemurphys

WORD COUNT: 19,599

NOT RATED

TAGGED with Alternative Universe - Ballet, adventures at youth america grand prix, baby ballerinas in the corps de ballet, oh my god they were roommates, Twyla Sands' Freckles

DESCRIPTION: Ballet has been at the center of Alexis’ life since she was three years old, the first time she saw New York City Ballet perform The Nutcracker. She pulled on her mother’s sleeve, much to Moira’s displeasure, pointed at the stage, and said, “Me!” It was the very first time she felt like her mother saw her. That feeling was intoxicating enough that she couldn’t help but chase it.

She’s seen some of the world's most celebrated ballerinas perform. But she’s never seen anyone dance like this girl, whose name she doesn’t know. The stage lights turn her auburn hair burning red. Her pirouettes are perfectly landed; there’s no struggle at all in the way her leg lifts behind her in attitude to tap against the tambourine she holds above her head. As she flits across the stage, her tambourine extended toward the judges like an irresistible invitation, there is something real in her smile, something seductive in her eyes.

Alexis forgets to breathe.

searching for a sound we hadn't heard before by @hullomoon

WORD COUNT: 867

RATED T for TEEN & UP AUDIENCES

TAGGED with New York City, Kissing, Coda, of sorts, Episode: s06e13 Start Spreading the News

DESCRIPTION: Twyla visits Alexis in New York.

Ladies Night Inn by yeah_alright

WORD COUNT: 15,848

RATED T for TEEN & UP AUDIENCES

TAGGED with Canon Compliant, Alternative Ending to The Canidate (season 2 episode 7), ladies night, Spa Night, slumber party, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, really more like, acquaintances to friends to potentially lovers, if we're being accurate, Teen rating is for makeouts and a few refrences to very specific and crucial body parts, No Smut, No Sex, Fluff and Humor

DESCRIPTION: What if Twyla had accepted Alexis' invitation to a ladies night at the motel after her breakup with Mutt?

If you happen to indulge in any of these, let me know you're thoughts as I'd love to chat about them and make some new Twylexis friends. Happy reading! (SOURCE)

#alexis rose #twyla sands #twyla and alexis #alexis x twyla #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #fic recommendations #fic recs #*lolficrecs

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blackstonesandtrapnest · 4 years

Note

Hello! I'm pretty sure I didn't send this in already (If I did I'm so sorry just ignore this one ^^') But I really really loved your Yugi relationship headcanons! Could we maybe get some of those for Yami/Atem too? SFW and NSFW if you're okay with that, if not that's fine! Thank you in advance, you're awesome! (also side note, I've never heard of the anime Nana before your blog but now I'm kinda interested in it haha)

No this is my first time getting the request ^_^ I was waiting for someone to request this honestly XD You should definitely watch Nana when you get a chance! I swear it’s amazing!

Also I’ll be doing these headcanons as if Atem got his own body to make it easier to do!

~~SFW~~

Unlike Yugi who’s more shy and lacks confidence, Atem is definitely more charming and confident in himself. Approaching a beautiful woman or man (he’s bisexual obviously) is no skin off his nose. Yes he’s helped Yugi get dates before. Such a good friend am I right?

Atem has a reputation for being a player and yes it’s true to some extent. He likes to play the field and just like Yugi, he gets bored easily. You gotta be a special person to keep his attention for long. Atem is a free-spirit and settling down isn’t exactly easy for him because of how hard it is to keep him interested. Atem especially values intelligence and if you’re a duelist, that’s even better. Traveling is also a requirement for being with Atem. He wants to get out and see the world and being with his S/O while doing so is a dream come true for him!

Atem is definitely more open to one-night stands and flings than Yugi is. But he isn’t one of those asshole players who uses people for sex and then ghosts them later. Atem is very upfront and honest about his intentions and wants for any potential suitors to do the same. He doesn’t get why people deceive and lure others to get sex or money from them. Why do that when you can just be honest?

Atem will definitely treat you like the King or Queen you are! Unlike Yugi who’s more frugal and down-to-earth, he’s much more lavish with his dates and gifts. Fancy restaurants, awesome clothes, the works! Atem may not be as rich as Kaiba but he’ll definitely spoil you the best he can! If you do the same in return, Atem will be so touched that he might actually cry. Awwww!

If you actually manage to keep Atem’s interest, congratulations. You’ve already found your way into his heart and you’re gonna stay there. He’s gonna chase you like a jack rabbit chases a carrot and he’s not gonna let you go. If he ever does, you must’ve done something unforgivable and he’s not taking you back. Please don’t take Atem for granted or it’ll be the biggest mistake of your life.

Atem has had his heart broken many times in his 5000+ years of existing and he’s been through pretty much any dating disaster you can imagine so don’t be too nervous and shy when you’re around him. His amount of heartbreaks have caused him to become more reserved and cautious so be patient if you want a long-term relationship with him. He’ll open up to you but you have to gain his trust first.

Pride is gonna be the biggest hurdle in your relationship honestly. Atem puts Vegeta to shame in terms of how prideful he is and ohhh boy are you in for one hell of a fight whenever you two get into an argument. Atem does NOT like to lose and admitting that he’s wrong is like a Kuriboh trying to defeat a Blue-Eyes White Dragon. He’ll argue with you all damn day and he will push your buttons like no man can. If you’re the headstrong type who doesn’t take any bullshit and won’t back down, that’s perfect for Atem because he needs someone like that to bring him down to Earth sometimes. He has thick skin so don’t worry about hurting his feelings. Atem actually gets turned on when you get mad and he likes it when you put him in his place. He’s never really dealt with that kind of person before so it intrigues him. He’s used to people just bowing down to him and honestly he’s tired of it. Sometimes Atem will start arguments for the hell of it. It’s great foreplay according to him.

Atem likes PDA but is subtle about it. Small things like holding hands or wrapping arms around each other’s waist is more of his style. He likes security and when you’re around him, having some kind of physical contact gives him that feeling. A hug here or a kiss there may happen too depending on the situation and how Atem feels.

If you’ve dated any of his friends (especially Yugi), Atem isn’t dating you point blank period. He doesn’t believe in dating his friends’ exes and he and Yugi actually wound up dating the same girl once! The outcome wasn’t pretty either. The player doesn’t like being played. Not. One. Bit.

Unfortunately Atem has had all the major issues that comes with being a player. Fatal attractions, paternity scandals, bitter exes, getting a taste of his own medicine, you name it, it’s happened to him at some point and he’s got stories for days. His past will eventually come back to haunt him and if you can’t handle it, he won’t stop you from leaving and he’ll definitely understand. Loving Atem isn’t easy and it’ll definitely test you in every way possible but he’s definitely worth fighting for and he will spend the next 5000+ years proving it to you if he has to. He’s not gonna lose you without a fight and his love for you is eternal no matter what happens between you two. You’ll always have a special place in Atem’s heart.

~~NSFW~~

Atem has lots of experience which is a given considering how old he is. He knows how to please his partners and he can adapt to his partner’s needs at the drop of a hat. Want slow and steady? You got it. Want rough and hard? Atem’s your guy. Want a threesome? Atem will happily oblige!

He doesn’t care if you’re short, tall, big, or small. Atem’s been with all kinds of people of various sizes so he’s not exactly picky. Does he have a specific type or preferences? Of course he does. But he doesn’t go out of his way to find what he wants physically in a partner as opposed to mentally. Atem knows better than anyone that looks don’t completely matter and that it’s what’s on the inside that truly matters.

Atem is a switch but mostly prefers to be the Dom. He definitely loves to roleplay and he always makes sure to have a safe word in place so no harm is done. Can you guess what his favorite kind of roleplay is? Remember he is a 5000 year old Pharaoh ;)

When Atem is dominating you, sexy doesn’t even begin to describe it! His voice is deep, his words are filthy, and his dick is hard. You’re gonna feel his hands all over your body and he’s definitely gonna make you beg. You’ll be a complete mess when he’s done with you and you can forget about going to work or school the next morning.

Atem’s aftercare is on point! He’ll praise you like no other, take a luxurious hot bath with you, make some delicious food for you (yes he can cook and quite well might I add), and top it all off with a glass of very fine wine. If you have any bruises or scratches, Atem is gonna make sure they’re taken care of so you’re not too sore.

Atem’s pride also extends to the bedroom. If he’s not your first lover, he’s gonna make damn sure that he’s one of the best you’ve ever had if not THE best. If he’s your first, then that’s even better. You’ll want no other man once he’s done with you trust me. You’ll need at least 5 guys to do what he does in bed!

He wants to know everything about you sexually. Your fantasies, your kinks, your dislikes, bad experiences, you name it. Atem likes to know what he’s getting himself into and what he’s up against. He wants to have an open dialogue about sex so if you’re shy or prudish, you’ll have a very rude awakening with Atem.

If you thought Yugi’s secret stash was something to shocked by, just wait until you see Atem’s. Hell he has a secret ROOM instead! Sex dungeon anyone? But he won’t reveal it to you until he’s opened up to you a bit and has settled in with you sexually. Atem doesn’t want to scare you away by revealing everything at once! He’s made that mistake a few times before.

Whenever Atem is the sub, he’s a bratty sub to the fullest! If you wanna dominate him, you’re gonna earn it damn it! He’ll egg you on, challenge you, defy you, the whole nine yards. I hope you have a lot of patience because you’re gonna need it with Atem if you’re the dominant type! But the right to dominate him is well worth fighting for! He’ll obey your every command and will be putty in your hands. You’ll feel on top of the world!

It should go without saying but Atem lives to please and he wants to make you happy both in and out of the bedroom! Not only because of his pride but because of how much he loves you. You see, Atem is simply one hell of a lover and he’ll make sure you don’t forget it either!

#Yu-Gi-Oh #yugioh headcanons #yugioh imagines #yami yugi #atem #bringing sexy back #anime headcanons #anime imagines

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captain-emmajones · 4 years

Text

Love, Emma (1/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <3)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They've always been -- until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn't know what. Until she does. He's fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they're kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title and lyrics are from Taylor Swift’s Mirrorball -- which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. Had it on loop while writing, so if you feel like it, do try to listen to it while reading!

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her precious thoughts <3

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 6 - CARDIGAN , Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 1 - MIRRORBALL.

Emma clutches Ingrid’s yellow irises against her chest – almost too strongly, she might be bruising the inside of her fingers.

As she stares at the Arrival Board in front of her, she couldn’t care less for her own skin. The beat of her heart is drumming in her ears, and she is pretty certain oxygen is having a very hard time reaching her lungs.

Her right eyelid twitches. She wasn’t able to get any sleep last night, inhabited by a very childlike enthusiasm at the thought of seeing her friend again.

A breath of relief escapes Emma’s throat as the light next to Portsmouth changes color.

“He has landed,” she whispers to herself, flowers still pressed to her chest.

She is too engulfed in her surroundings to notice she’s damaging the flowers. Ingrid is definitely going to kill her for butchering her favorite bush. She doesn’t care.

He should be here any time now. Her heart skips another beat and really, it’ll be a miracle if she is still standing on her feet by the time he reaches her.

Gazing all around her, she suddenly notices the large window in front of her that gives away a blurry reflection of her body. Emma frowns. One hand reluctantly gives up on the flowers to comb her hair.

You’re combing your hair for Killian, of all people, snorts her inner voice. But Emma is too happy to pay attention to her pride.

He’s been gone for nine months now, since last September. Has been going all around the world with the Navy, and she is proud of him. He did the right thing. (Even it meant leaving her behind.)

Emma has never known what it feels like to miss someone before she missed him. Being brought up as a foster kid, she hasn’t had anyone to miss for the longest time.

She’s bouncing up and down on her feet by now, anxiety shaking her legs.

Ingrid welcomed her in Storybrooke on her twelfth birthday. It was the best thing that ever happened to her. It allowed her to meet the brothers Jones – their orphan neighbors. Liam became Killian’s legal guardian when their father died.

The crowd of people around her brings Emma back to the present. More people gather together, and Emma understands they are all just as eager to see their loved ones as she is.

She cannot wait anymore. Her palm hurt around the cut flowers. Another few minutes go by, and time is painfully slow. She clenches her jaw. Unclenches it. Takes a look at the clock in front of her. Come on, relax, Emma.

And then, there he is.

“Killian!” The excited scream escapes her throat without her consent, a brutal wave of bliss sweeping her off her feet. She doesn’t hold it back.

He hasn’t changed one bit, or he isn’t the same at all. She doesn’t care. She only cares for the sweet hue of blue that meets her eyes and smiles in recognition.

“Emma!” He mirrors her happy scream.

Her heart beams as they run towards each other, and she throws herself intohis arms as soon as she reaches him. (By then, the flowers are to be respectfully buried and missed.)

She wraps her arms around his neck, and her senses are filled by him – his smell, a strong cologne she isn’t familiar with, his skin under her fingers, his tousled black hair that is suddenly very kept, the beginning of a scruff against her cheeks, the strength of his arms around her chest, and when did he get this tall?

“I missed you,” she exhales against his cheek, and holds him tighter. She is very unwilling to let him go now that she has him.

She hears a chuckle against her ear, and it is the most wonderful sound she has heard in those last pitiful nine months.

“I missed you, too, Swan.”

A tear rolls down her cheek at the nickname – it’s been so long and her world has been so bleak without him and she’s never known this kind of homesickness – and she realizes just how wet her eyes have become. She’s never cried from happiness before, but tears are rushing down her cheeks without her consent.

His grip becomes tighter around her waist, and then he slowly lets go. She does not expect him to let go first. She profoundly inhales to chase down a feeling of fear deep within her throat and backs away, her hands still around his neck.

Staring at him after all this time seems to stir something really odd within herself and her breath gets caught in her chest. She didn’t remember him this handsome. Did his nose always look this elegant, and have his lips always been this bright pink, and why are his eyes the color of the sea?

And then she remembers the flowers crushed between her clumsy hands.

One finger tracing the scar on his cheek, she shoves the bouquet against his chest. “That’s for you,” she smiles and her fingers cannot seem to let go of his face.

“Swan,” his eyes are so kind over her gift, she can tell he is really happy about them, although their lives were cut short in their prime, “thank you so much. They are my fav—”

“—favorite, I know! That’s why I got them for you.” And she smiles, harder, her cheeks hurt but she cannot bring herself to stop.

She ignores as well as she can the alarm ringing in her head. Why is he not touching her? What’s wrong? Did she get ugly while he was away? He was always touching her, before.

“Aye,” he grins, and then relief – his palm is over her cheeks and something incredibly tender and innocent blooms in her chest. She sighs, leans in his touch. She’s missed him so much. “Shall we go, Swan?”

She picks up the bag he let go of to hold her while he very gracefully carries the flowers. Surely he wouldn’t have damaged them. Killian is very careful not to damage anything ever.

“Sure thing. Welcome home, Killian,” and before her arm finds his, she’s bold enough to press her lips against his scruffy cheek.

She lingers there longer than intended, longer than what is reasonable and appropriate.

The glint she catches in his eyes when she backs away triggers something painful in her. She swallows it down. (Why did he look embarrassed? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. They are friends.)

But then, they are walking down the airport like old times, and surely she must be thinking too much – as per usual.

She is so glad to have him back, she ignores very meticulously all of the signs telling her Killian might not be as happy to be back. (To be with her.)

She’s holding a watering can while he delicately drops flowers – pink roses – on Liam’s tombstone. She watches him frown, fingers caressing the marble with care and something else – anger.

She swallows. This wound is still very fresh. It’s been a year.

She pours some water on the plant she brought last month – a gorgeous, bright pink bush of flowers, and she quickly puts it down on the grass to hold his hand.

His eyes flash in surprise and she offers him a smile – why is he surprised? Emma never liked to be touched before, before he touched her. She chases down the feeling once again and holds his fingers tighter in her hands. I am not letting you go.

The sun is shining. It’s such a bright summer day. The air is not too warm, just warm enough to feel comfortable wearing a t-shirt, and a gentle breeze that carries summer smells brushes their cheeks.

It was also a wonderful summer day – the day Liam died. Her brows furrow. Last summer had been the best weather they had had in Maine for years.

“He would be proud of you,” she whispers, desperate to make him feel better.

She is aware there is not much she can do to help him fight this darkness that swallowed him alive. She is still willing to try.

“Would he?” He echoes back, and she does not recognize the bitterness she hears in his voice.

For the first time since she has known Killian Jones, Emma feels like she’s missing something. A piece of the puzzle to understand him. She feels like perhaps she does not know him as well as she thinks.

She would have taken a step back with anyone else. But with him, she playfully bumps her shoulder against his, fighting back her inner instincts. He got tall, and bulkier – only in a good way.

“Of course. You joined the Navy to make him proud, didn’t you?”

For the first time in ages, she really is asking him a question.

He’s been back for a month now, and his scruff is prominent over his face. She likes it. He looks manly. She thinks he knows he looks manlier.

She still looks like a teenage girl, with her long blonde hair and her freckles and her frail body, and she still wears sneakers with her dresses (when she wears them). And he looks so much older.

“Aye, I guess so. Thank you, Swan,” he smiles at her, his hand brushing her cheek, but somehow he is miles away.

She presses her lips against each other, firmly. There are pebbles in her belly. He put them there.

“Anytime, Killian,” she smiles, and in a desperate attempt to bring him back to her, she presses another kiss to his cheek.

He steps away quicker than she expects him. A cold breath reaches her lips in spite of the agreeable weather.

Another smile. She’s suffocating.

“Okay, so then after dinner we could finally go to a club!” She’s standing in the middle of her room, arms swung up towards the ceiling of her childhood bedroom.

Killian is chewing on a strawberry bubblegum, lying on her bed. He hasn’t let go of his phone all afternoon.

“As you wish, Swan. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Can’t he look a bit more involved? A very childish anger burns her tongue as her hands find her hips in disapproval.

“Exactly! Which is why I’m going to ask you to look a little bit more enthusiastic, Killian Jones.”

She doesn’t mean to sound this harsh but she does anyway. At least, that gets him to look up from his phone, and she sees a glint of regret pass in his eyes. A smile finally cracks his face.

“You’re right, Swan. Forgive me. I’m just a bit concerned by something but don’t worry, I’m all ears now.”

She hates herself for how quickly she kneels in front of him, on her pink carpeted floor that she hates but Ingrid tried her best to make her feel at home.

Even more for the way she grabs his hands, pouring her soul into his eyes.

“I can tell you’re not really here, Killian.” She pauses, watches as he raises one eyebrow – it isn’t what she expected but it isn’t mean either, “And I want you to know there’s nothing you cannot tell me.”

She’s so naïve. She means every word.

He nods. Her eyes look down at his lips. She wants to kiss him. But she cannot – not when he’s still miles away from her, still stuck in Portsmouth.

“I know that, love,” something blooms in her chest. He hasn’t called her love in a year now, “Don’t worry, I’m quite alright.”

He lies. It’s the first time he’s lied to her about something important since she’s known him.

Fear captures her heart. It’s green, and viscous, and it drips on everything she holds dear.

He’s slipping between her fingers. She’s losing him. She cannot lose him.

She’s the one lying on his bed while he takes a shower when she sees her message. She doesn’t mean to, really. But his phone vibrates on his bedside table, and she only glances at it out of curiosity.

She sees it. M. Who is M?

She rolls on her belly, glances at the closed door of his bathroom, and reads the message, heart drumming in her ears.

“I know, baby. Rumple is driving me crazy too. But it will all be worth it, soon. I promise. Just hold on to our love.”

Something rings in her ears, it’s painful, it spreads from her liver and all the way up to her mouth, and she cannot see anymore, and her birthday is tomorrow and he is in love with someone else.

It takes her a lot of strength then, to roll back on her back, to try and make herself comfortable again between his pillows and his smell – in spite of the rigidity in her bones and this feeling of utter disgust in her mouth. She holds on to the silver bracelet around her wrist - the one Killian offered Emma for her eighteenth birthday, last year.

So many questions bounce in her mind, but one fact absolutely obliterates her. He doesn’t want to confide in her anymore. He is clearly struggling with this Rumple, and this M, and he doesn’t want her help.

The bathroom door swings open and steam invades his bedroom as he steps out, wet hair and big grin. She knows the grin will remain but will become a mere theatrical performance once he reads the message. She doesn’t want him to read it. She wants to keep him to herself.

“Ready for that ice-cream, Swan?” he attacks right away, all charms out. When did he get this charming? When did he become aware of his charms?

“Always ready for some rocky road,” she answers back, and she’s surprised to hear her own voice calm and collected.

Perhaps she is growing up, too. She used to be a terrible liar. But that’s what they do, now, apparently.

His smell fills her lungs, and it’s the one of her childhood – peppermint, and something muskier, and him.

“Emma, you won’t forget to take care of the garden –” exclaims Ingrid as they’re about to leave her ice-cream shop.

She squints her eyes. Fuck. Exactly what she wanted to avoid.

“Sure thing, Ingrid,” she mumbles, before taking Killian’s arm in her hers and guiding them both out of her shop.

Emma swallows a scream of injustice. That’s her punishment for stealing the flowers for Killian.

“Flowers are not meant to be picked. They’re meant to be cared for, admired, but not picked, Emma.”

Emma didn’t tell her what’s the use of having flowers if you cannot offer them to someone you love but she did stare at her with a lot of defiance.

Rocky Road has never tasted this wrong in her mouth, as they sit outside of Granny’s, on the warm concrete. It’s burning her naked thighs, but it still doesn’t suck as much as the way Killian stares at his phone – just like she expected him to. He’s waiting for M to answer him.

Emma wants to tell him he can confide in her but clearly he doesn’t want to. And it’s one of the strongest pain she’s ever felt – it’s a wicked, wicked pain that spreads from her heart to her pride and slays every inch of her good feelings.

She keeps licking her ice-cream, eyes locked to the road.

Her birthday is tomorrow. On the twenty-first, the first day of summer. She waits for summer all year, waits for the special moments she knows she’ll spend with Killian.

Only, this year, Killian doesn’t seem as happy to spend them with her.

Thankfully, Ingrid’s Rocky Road is still the best thing in town.

As she gets ready for her birthday party, Emma figures out she has nothing to lose. She decides to play all of her cards.

She’s staring at herself in the mirror while pop music plays in the background.

She hates her round cheeks and her slender body that refuses to give her the big chest boys seem to be so fond of. She’s frowning as she examines her features meticulously.

She usually doesn’t wear makeup, if not for a bit of mascara. It’s the only thing she’s comfortable with wearing on her face. As for her clothes, Emma is a jeans and sneakers kind of gal. Her only accessory is Killian's bracelet - and it doesn't count, because by now it is part of her.

She didn’t use to mind. It’s who she is. But since she’s seen M’s contact photo – she really didn’t mean to intrude, it just appeared when she tried to call him – Emma has become more self-conscious. (Terribly so).

M has long back curls and red lips, and she’s a woman. Not a girl like her. Her eyes are blue but they’re not timid, they shine sure and knowing and her smile is confident.

Emma hates her freckles. She looks like she’s twelve.

Tentatively, she brushes her blond eyebrows – just like she’s seen Ingrid do. It doesn’t make much of a difference and she muffles a dramatic sigh, frowning.

Killian will never find her pretty ever again.

That night, she also tip toes to Ingrid’s room to borrow some lady-like perfume. Emma only likes to use a very natural ginger fragrance – her smell but a bit better.

She winces. She hates the too-sweet, too-flowery smell that wraps itself around her body. Whatever. Killian must like that.

She’s nineteen tonight. The only teen year left of her life. She better make the most of it. (If Killian does not tell her about his mysterious girlfriend who’s far too beautiful for her to compete with, then she can’t really be doing something wrong, can she?)

She eyes the different dresses spread on the pink blanket of her bed. (Ingrid is very committed to pink.)

At her feet, the only pair of heels she could find in her wardrobe. They are small, black squared heels but really they’ll do the trick. They will have to at least.

Hands on her hips, she settles for the pink, light dress. It’s not her favorite color, but the fabric is very soft and fits her small waist like a glove. The lower part of the dress is flowy and ends well above her knees. Emma knows her legs are long and toned and she wants to show them off tonight.

To finish the look, she ties her hair in a high ponytail to get her hair off her face. Ingrid has always told her to.

As she eyes herself in her mirror, she thinks she looks pretty. She smiles at her reflection, her earrings glinting.

She glances at the big clock on her wall. 8:15. Killian should be here anytime, now.

Her heart beats faster, thinking of him.

She smiles, grabs her bag and goes down the stairs of Ingrid’s house. It already smells like dinner time, and it should comfort her, but it does not. She catches Ingrid’s surprised eyes in the kitchen.

“What do you think?” Emma asks, and it’s the first time she asks for Ingrid’s opinion on her appearance, but well –

Ingrid lets go of the tomato she is expertly cutting to stare at her. Her mouth slightly opens. And Emma swears she sees something very gentle sparkle in her green eyes.

“I think you look beautiful, Emma.” Ingrid’s smile is very tender over her figure, and something weird clenches Emma’s heart.

She simply smiles back. “Thanks, Ingrid. Don’t wait for me tonight, Killian and I are going to party!”

She almost runs to the door when she hears him knock. She tries to remain as composed and adult as possible, and instead calmly walk there. (Her feet are already killing her and her legs are stiff. This is going to be hell.)

She opens the door to discover him in a white shirt and black suit, and with a bouquet of yellow irises.

“Those ones I did not steal from Ingrid,” he smiles, his eyes glinting over her figure, and she could swear he likes what he sees, and her toes curl in her shoes and a very sweet heat invades her face, “Happy birthday, Emma,” he grins, and then she cannot hold herself back and wraps her arms around his neck.

She loves how her feet leave the floor for just a moment, as he spins her around, and she feels like they’re immortal.

“Thank you, Killian”, she murmurs against his cheek, presses a long kiss there, and intertwines their fingers together.

She thinks her crush is showing but really, as he glances at her body in her dress and climbs back to her face – a really lovely pink hue over his cheeks, and perhaps is pink not such a bad color – she doesn’t care.

She’s quick to put down the flowers on Ingrid’s kitchen counter, “Please take care of them!”, before disappearing in the night with her friend.

They pay all due respect to their Birthday tradition and go eat a grilled cheese at Granny’s. Granny’s give them a knowing look as they sit on the terrace outside. The old woman eyes Killian’s hand on the small of Emma’s back just as Emma feels it sending sparks up her spine.

They look like a couple, she’s sure of it, and the thought makes her feel giddy.

As they sit outside, by the lanterns and the Storybrooke sign, it feels like Killian never left.

“Remember when you were thirteen and I had to get you out of a bloody bin, Emma, just because you didn’t want to face Ingrid—”

“Hey!” Her scream isn’t really one and she’s waving an onion ring at him, “It’s my birthday, be nice to me.” And she rolls her eyes and he waggles his brows, and everything is right in the world.

His phone is still on the table, but face down. He is all eyes on her and she is very much pleased. (Even when it rings, once, twice, until Killian turns it off and she sighs in relief.)

“You’re very beautiful tonight, Swan,” he tells her as she finishes her grilled cheese.

And she hates him for saying so when her hands are wrapped around the greasy sandwich, and there’s probably cheese in the corners of her mouth, and strings of hair have fallen in front of her eyes – but she smiles.

“Thank you,” something warm and sunny blooms in her chest, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

She sees his eyes go wider, and she realizes he mustn’t have expected to say something back.

She keeps smiling. She feels an unfamiliar confidence take hold of her, straighten her spine and push her to grab his hand, on the table.

He glances at their knuckles but he doesn’t back away, and that must be good.

Finally, he waggles his brows and lets a small chuckle escape his lips. “Eat up, Swan. Before your favorite meal gets cold.”

She thinks then that she’s been touching him with her greasy fingers, and clearly that’s a mistake M wouldn’t have made, but… but he didn’t seem to mind. And his cheeks are red again. And that must be good, right?

They walk down to the only club in town – one down the beach. Storybrooke is a small town, but their fake IDs should be enough to get in.

Her feet are quite literally killing her, so when Killian offers that they walk in the sand instead, she happily complies. (She thinks he saw her suffering.)

It’s a full moon above them, and its reflection on the tender waves that come crashing at their feet is breathtaking. He is walking slightly ahead of her, but just now she doesn’t mind.

A sea breeze tangles her hair. She is happy.

“Hey, Swan,” he finally turns around to face her, and he is very handsome, and she realizes he has been carrying a plastic bottle in his bag. “Want some?” he asks her in a cheeky tone.

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. It’s not the first time Killian and she have gotten drunk together – and usually it ends with both of them asleep in one of their beds and a terrible headache the next morning.

(Killian’s always been her only true friend. Sure, she’s sympathized with Mary Margaret and Ruby at school – but they don’t get her like he does.)

“Hell yes,” she exclaims and stretches her hand to grab the bottle. “Cheaper to get drunk now than in the club.”

“Aye, that’s the spirit, Swan.”

She guesses he must have gotten drunk several times, this past year, without her. She figures he is grown up in all of the possible meanings of the word. It scares her, to think he’s going on without her. That’s he is already ahead of her, and she cannot quite catch up. She probably never will.

The bottle’s neck meets her lips, and it’s a pretty well done mix of vodka and fruit juice that she tastes against her tongue, and she wishes she were kissing him instead.

She takes several big gups, wincing as alcohol burns her throat and abandons a pleasing warmth in her chest.

“Careful, Swan. This isn’t only fruit juice.” She wipes her mouth as she hands him the bottle over.

“Oh come on, Killian. It’s my birthday, let me have some fun.”

She hates the concern she hears in his voice. He isn’t her big brother. She can take care of herself.

She watches as he drinks at his turn, watches as his Adam’s apple goes up and down. They used to be so similar, both of them all slender bodies, and now he is a man, and his shoulders are wide and his back strong, and she isn’t quite sure she is a woman yet.

She waits for him to put back the bottle in his bag and grabs his hand.

“Come on, let’s have some fun!”

And then she’s twirling around him, laughing brightly, and only stops when her body reminds her she just drank vodka and this will end badly if she keeps pushing her limits. Out of breath, she wraps her arms around his neck to settle herself, and his arms come to meet her waist.

The sea still whimpers behind them, but she only sees the soft waves in his eyes and the soft smile he dedicates to her.

There is a sparkle, in his gaze, a question at the tip of his tongue – but he will not ask it.

She wants him to.

Her fingers trace the shape of his jaw as she swallows, a small smile on her face.

“Dizzy, are we, Swan?” he asks her, and she realizes just how close their faces have gotten as his breath caresses her face.

She shakes her head. “Not dizzy at all. Happy.” She calmly exhales, licks her lips.

He will not kiss her. She wants him to. But he won’t. Because of her, she’s sure now. But, the night isn’t over.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and steps back to let go. She misses the heat of his body immediately, can’t fight back the frown that takes over her features.

“I’m glad, Swan.” Why does he sound so mature? She hates it.

A childish anger shakes her heart and she feels cold. He left childhood behind and he didn’t bother to tell her he was leaving. He didn’t bother. And now she’s stuck in this weird limbo, not a child anymore but not an adult either, not really, not like M, and he isn’t with her anymore.

She shakes her head to chase her thoughts away.

“Right, let’s get in.”

It’s still pretty early, and there aren’t a lot of people queuing in front of The Forbidden Fruit (the name never fails to make her cringe). This allows Killian and Emma to display their fake ID’s quite quickly.

Killian plays the part awfully well, although they’ve downed the entire bottle of vodka before stepping in. Emma is very focused on not looking completely hammered, as Killian would put it. Girls get in easier, it’s a known fact.

The bouncer clearly knows they are underage but the forgeries are good. Killian got them done during his Navy year. And he is savagely challenging the tall, sturdy guy to prove those are fakes, one eyebrow raised.

How can he look this sober? It’s unfair.

“Fine, get in, kids,” mumbles the bouncer, and Emma is sober enough to muffle a scream of joy inside her palm.

Killian takes her hand in his as they enter the club. They let go of their bags in one corner – I’m not about to pay two dollars to have my stuff kept by people I don’t bloody know.

When they turn towards the dance floor, neon lights seize their eyes as pop music shakes the walls.

Killian turns to face her, smiling brightly. “Ready to party, Swan?”

She nods vigorously, her heart beaming. “Hell yes!”

He takes her hand again and it’s so easy to forget everything as they make their way between the swarm of young adults dancing. They swirl together, spin, fly some more. They are both soon panting and sweating but it does not keep them from continuing to jump around.

Emma thinks this is it, the great, terrible happiness she’s heard about her entire life. It must be this beat in her heart, this strong pulse of life inside of her, as Killian holds her hands and swings with her.

They dance for what seems to be only a few minutes – except almost an hour goes by – and Killian glances urgently at the watch on his wrist before pulling her towards him.

“Let’s go on the rooftop before midnight,” he yells into her ear, and it sounds like he’s whispering.

She nods again, smiling brightly, and presses a napkin against her forehead. She tries to catch her breath, stuck in some liminal space, but Killian is still very energetic and drags her along with him towards the stairs.

She finds her legs trembling under her weight and to be quite honest, the room might only be spinning in her head. He must feel her struggle because he turns to face her on reaching the stairs, and his hold is very firm on her hand as he secures his grip around her waist. She thinks she smiles then, and they climb up together.

“Since when do you hold your alcohol so well?” she asks, boldly, and it really isn’t the kind of question she would have asked had she been sober.

Purely because it echoes the year they spent apart. And they haven’t talked about it, at all. And she’d be damned before she opened up to him when he hasn’t opened up to her.

“Well, you’ve got to, in the Navy, love.” It’s the second time he’s called her love since he’s been back. Her heart smiles.

The vibrant sea breeze that welcomes them outside nearly swipes Emma off her feet. Or perhaps it is the vodka. Either way, it’s a plausible excuse to grab him again.

From the corner of her blurry vision, she sees Killian set a timer to midnight on his phone. It’s funny, how the music from the club sounds like a very muffled sound and the only thing she hears now is her own heartbeat.

She’s still out of breath. She inhales deeply, and then bows down to him. “May I have this dance?” she asks him, eyes shining with mischief.

He chuckles, and it’s a wonderful sound. “Anything for you, Swan.”

There must be some synchronicity in the universe because then a much gentler song resonates, and it sounds like her teenage years and she cannot believe childhood is already over.

They swirl together, his warm palm in hers, and her arm is wrapped around his neck, and he still smells good after all their dancing and it’s unfair. She hopes she doesn’t stink.

Another swirl, another turn, and she’s back in his arms again, and nothing ever felt this right. She thinks he must feel it, how well their bodies fit together, how easy it is to be together.

Before she knows it, she’s staring at his lips and she thinks he’s staring at hers too, and no air suddenly reaches her lungs and the timer rings painfully.

A smile spreads across his face. “Happy birthday, Emma.” He murmurs, says it with a lot of caution and care and affection and that other word she’s scared of.

She grins, brightly, vividly.

And then, she stands up on her tip-toes, and before they are both aware of it, she kisses him. Melts into his mouth, muffles a whisper of contentment against his lips, eyes firmly closed, just in case he pushes her away.

He doesn’t.

He kisses her back, his arms wrapping tightly around her, and she swears in that moment something explodes inside of her. She never believed in butterflies. She does now. A swarm has invaded her belly.

Her hands are in his hair, while his roam back and forth between her waist and her shoulder blades, and she cannot help but notice how expert his movements are against her body when she is still shaking with emotions.

And then he pulls back, and he’s all disheveled hair and rosy cheeks, and then, and then – she falls.

To the ground.

A ray of sunshine falls on her closed eyelids. When she wakes up, her hand is spread over her face and her mouth wide open. She groans, whimpers, groans some more and finally opens very hesitant eyes.

What the hell.

A terrible headache says hello to her. It isn’t fair.

The first thing she notices is Killian’s hand around her waist. In spite of the pain, that does make her smile. The next is that she isn’t home but in Killian’s childhood home (the one Liam and he inherited when they lost their father).

She slowly, very carefully, turns her face towards the nightstand. Of course. He left paracetamol and water there and a small note: “For my dearest idiot. Love, Killian”. It is set next to a picture of her and Killian, from middle school. She leans forward, tries her best not to wake him up in the process, and grabs the bottle. She drinks avidly, trying to hydrate the desert that is now her body.

A small chuckle echoes behind her. “You alright, Swan?” mumbles a voice, still very full of sleep.

She turns to face him, an apologetic smile on her lips. “Except for a ferocious headache, pretty good, yeah.”

He’s smiling at her, eyes still puffy and there is a very clear pillow mark in the middle of his forehead that makes him look like a wizard, and she swears he’s never smiled at her this way before.

And then shame circles her throat as memories come back to her mind.

She really made a show of herself last night, didn’t she? She hopes he doesn’t hate her.

She hands him the water bottle, and straightens her back in the bed to get some composure.

“Hey Killian?”

“Mmm?”

“Let’s forget all about last night, ‘kay? I was drunk and I’m sure I was awful...”

She hears him gulp loudly beside her. Her eyes twitch. Oh, it must be worse than she thought. Guilt swallows her. What has she done?

“All… all about it?” he repeats, and she swears his cheeks have become redder.

Her hands come to the blanket over her body, hold it tighter against her to protect her.

“Yeah, everything. I mean, it would have never happened if we hadn’t downed that damn vodka just the two of us.”

She tries to shrug it off, rolls her eyes really hard to seal the deal, but really, she is so ashamed.

He swallows beside her, frowns. “Alright Swan, if that is your wish, then I—”

“—Oh yeah,” she cuts him, and she’s throwing her legs out of the bed, “—I’m really sorry Killian, it won’t happen again.”

As he stares at her with what she thinks is some sort of judgement, the thought that she might be forgetting something does slip her mind.

But only for a few seconds, and then it’s gone forever.

#cs ff #cs fanfics #captain swan #friends to lovers #mutual pining #love rosie au #so there it is #i hope you guys will like this #please leave me your thoughts!!#my stuff

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scoundrels-in-love · 4 years

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While I slip away (with you), There's nothing that I'd rather do

As Brienne settles in her wedded life on Tarth, one of her favorite discoveries is Jaime's new habit of what she deems cat naps. Together, they continue exploring what a life with quiet, warm moments lived just for sake of living and loving can be.

Also on AO3.

Part of Jaime x Brienne Week 2020 (Day 4 - Sloth | Diligence) Part of Tomorrow (with you) series. Gratuitous cat propaganda part 1.

It had been nine moons since Brienne had bade Lady Sansa one final farewell as her swornsword and almost five since she and her husband had been welcomed back to Tarth, to stay. Now that the initial commotion on the island and inside her heart had died down, she could see the details of her life with clarity and appreciate them for what they truly were.

For Brienne, one of the most exciting discoveries was Jaime's new habit of what she deemed cat naps. It was not exhilarating in the way facing a new opponent was, it was more like the quiet and content joy of finding what kind of sunset today will exhale in its goodbye.

(That, too, was a thing she had started to learn, now that the future in which she could watch them seemed both infinite and yet so very contained, compared to how she had seen it as a child.)

She liked trying to guess where she'll discover him napping next - so far it had been several places in the meadows and the Evenfall's gardens, on the bench by the training yard last week, a few times on the beach after swimming and sun had taken its toll on him, now and then by the lighthouse that he was so fond of (she was, too, more than ever since that bright midday they’d promised themselves to each other and he’d ignited a light in her, making her almost feel like the lighthouse he had compared her to), and once in the library even.

He had been sitting in the chair by the window, sunlight pouring the gold that years had taken back into his hair, a book on Tarth's taxations open in his lap - he must've been reading it to help her make sense of salted salmon import tax after she had complained about it the day before, even though she knew letters often danced for him. It hadn’t surprised her, exactly - back in Winterfell, he had always been restless and in need, eager even to do something, as small as it may be, and she thought he was learning to be at rest just as much as she was.

Her heart had swelled heavy and warm in her chest at these thoughts and she had stood there, drinking in the sight and the possibility of it like he seemed to drink in the sun every time he found a sunny spot to nap in - or the nap and sunshine found him, she was not sure.

Eventually, her shifting to lean against the desk had dragged Jaime back to the surface of consciousness, but watching him open his eyes slowly and smile at her instead of straightening with a start had been a special kind of pleasure on its own. "Ser Brienne," he had grinned at her, lazy and sharp like a glimpse of a cat's claws when it stretches, "it seems your island has tamed this lion."

Brienne had come forward to run hand down his bearded cheek then, biting back a smile. "I see no lion here, only a self -satisfied house cat." His eyes had flashed then and oh, she had known in an instant he'd not let this slide. The book had landed on the corner of the desk with a soft thump and a moment later, his arm wound around her waist.

"I may be old," Jaime had said, making her frown at him. There was less than a decade between them, but after so (too) many wars fought on battlefields and remnants of hearts, she couldn't help but think of men who had faded well before their time in the quiet aftermaths, every time he spoke of his age. He didn't let the thought settle cool between her shoulder blades, though, carrying on. "But not enough to not take offense."

And then he had pulled her into his lap (and later lifted her on the desk), proving his assertions with notable dedication and energy.

So, truly, finding Jaime's napping places was all sorts of exciting.

Today's spot seemed to be her lap. They were sitting in a large oak tree's shade, sunlight dancing dappled light across Jaime's relaxed features as she ran her fingers through his hair again and again. She could tell by his breathing that he wasn't quite asleep yet, but would be soon. He never slept as deeply or as calmly as in these naps - even in their bed, there was often tension in him as if he was ready to wake and grab his sword. (She knew, because she felt it, too.)

They soothed it away the best they could, with touches that were for comfort or for pleasure, and quiet conversations. There was so much they've never told anyone, because they thought it unneeded or because they had no one to tell it to, but the relief that came as these words melted along with shadows into the sunrise, said otherwise

Sometimes it was not enough and she rose with tension, wading through the feeling like she still needed to prove something to everyone, the servants and the fishermen and her father, to whom the War of Dawn was far and mythical and more a figment of imagination than something tangible, to whom her knighthood meant far less than her skill to secure enough food and goods to last through a harsh winter. It stung and drove her to pour over books and ledgers, and sit in meetings and ride from village to village, like the spurs of a determined rider chasing a horse onward. But time helped, as did having routine to her days, which was already worn to round corners through the months.

These gilded, warm days, finding Jaime's nap spots was part of it. It had started by accident, at first seeking him out to have lunch together when she had the mind to have some, only to find him fast asleep, face relaxed in a way that made her breath catch. Now, it was a well-known secret and servants would often tell her which direction Ser Jaime had went in when she passes them in the corridors, and even her father would inquire if it isn't time to see what sunny spot her husband has hunted down today, seemingly glad to have an excuse to give her a break.

Some quiet days like today, she ended up joining him to let an hour or two slip by buoyant and joyful like a paper boat on a sunlight's river.

Her Septa would call this laziness, deem her slothful, ungrateful child, just as she had when Brienne had run away to nap beneath this very tree, or clamber over rocks and chase the waves. But she was learning that taking time to be, to rest was a sort of diligence too, a kind of responsibility she held toward herself. If she drove herself to exhaustion beyond sense like she did the first months here, which made her sharp where she needed to listen and dull where she needed to be clever, how could she learn and how could she lead? There would be times for that, too, if a crisis struck. When she became the Evenstar. Brienne misliked to think of it.

In truth, she recalled her Septa's spiteful words less and less these days, enough that when they did echo with malice it took her by surprise. But her shield, crafted by soft whispers of love and quiet moments like these and the approving smile of her father, held strong and the ghosts of words beat themselves into exhaustion against it, retreating until another time. There were bruises on her hands, from holding onto it so strongly, but it was nothing compared to the wounds she used to bear after these confrontations. Jaime always seemed to sense these days and was quick to soothe them with his kisses and or to tease till her fond annoyance made her forget about the sting.

"Brienne," he interrupted her thoughts and she made a little, inquiring 'hm?' sound as she brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. He had cut it some, months ago, but now it was growing long again and she couldn't quite get enough excuses to feel soft strands trickling through her fingers.

"If I am a cat, then a stray that is finally learning the little pleasures of having a home."

It still took her by surprise, sometimes, the way he paid attention to her and thought of the things she said, for days. It used to bring unease to her, because she had always felt clumsy with her words and he never hesitated to peel and tear all that she said (and didn't) apart to dig teeth and claw in the exposed flesh beneath. Nowadays, Brienne marveled that he would look still, for no reason other than keeping it safe and gentle in his hands.

"You had a home before, Jaime," she told him, not chastising, but reminding that she had not been the start and end of him or the good that he's had, or has been.

He turned his head, nuzzling into her hand that was cupping his cheek: "I had houses and places I lived, before." Jaime looked up at her then and the silence sang the before you softer, yet more all-encompassing than the wind rustling leaves above. There were no words she knew the shape of to say in return, so she leaned down and pressed a soft and lingering kiss to his lips, then forehead.

After all, what is a home or a lighthouse without its cat, if not a building that doesn't quite know its soul?

With that thought, Brienne leaned against the bark and let the oak's solidity and Jaime's weight in her lap anchor her deeper in peace and then, into sleep.

#Jaime x Brienne #Jaime x Brienne week #Braime #my fic #rainy writes stuff #Tomorrow (with you)

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livesincerely · 4 years

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it’s so easy (too easy) to love you, ch. 2 (END)

Also on Ao3. Chapter 1 here.

00000

“Jack is such a dumbass.”

Davey blinks his way out of his stupor. Tony is staring towards where Jack disappeared out the front door, his expression a mix of exasperation, annoyance, and sheer bafflement.

“Like, I forget sometimes, but he’s actually just a complete fucking moron, isn’t he?” Tony says. “I can’t believe he’s what counts as responsible adult supervision.”

Charlie heaves a massive sigh, shoving his math textbook to the side. “Yeah, that wasn’t his best moment.”

“Not his best moment?” Tony asks, incredulous. “How many years has it been at this point? Seven? Eight?”

“Eight,” Charlie gloomily confirms, shaking his head.

“Eight years we’ve been tryin’ to convince him to pull his head outta his ass and make a move and this is the shit he pulls? Really? He’s lucky that Davey’s basically a sure thing because Jesus Christ—“

Davey’s never been so confused in his entire life. Tony gears up into a full-on rant, splotches of red creeping further and further across his face with each word; Charlie clearly commiserates, chiming in with his own grievances every now and then.

And Davey’s listening, he’s doing his best to follow along, but he must not be understanding correctly. He can’t be. Because it sounds like Tony is implying that Jack…

“—I mean, he’s been in love with him for ages, so he musta had a plan, right? Some sorta idea, even if he’s too chicken shit to do anything with it? Well, I guess somethin’s better than nothin,’ but come on, you’d think he could do better than plantin’ one on Davey by accident—“

Davey’s heart does a series of pirouettes around his chest. He croaks out, “Wait, what?”

“I said, Jack shoulda done better than kissing you, then takin’ off—“

“No, I mean—“ Davey pauses, swallowing around a sudden dryness in his throat. “Go back to the part where you said Jack’s in love with me.”

“Uh, okay, what about it?” Tony says, brow furrowed—like he doesn’t understand what Davey’s getting at.

Davey stares at him. “Jack isn’t in love with me.”

Tony and Charlie exchange a loaded glance.

“Yes, he is, Davey,” Charlie says cautiously. Davey thinks he’d be more irritated with the gentle handling if it weren’t for the fact that his world is tilting off its axis.

“Jack isn’t in love with me,” Davey repeats. The words feel numb as they leave his lips, but he says them anyway. To think otherwise seems unfathomable. “Jack isn’t— Jack can’t be in love with me. I’d know if he was.”

“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t ya?” Tony mutters.

“No, he is,” Charlie insists. “He’s, like, ridiculously in love with you.”

Davey doesn’t know where to even begin processing that statement. He leans back heavily in his chair and a small, distant part of his brain is grateful that he’s already sitting down, as this revelation would have sent him to the floor. The larger part of his brain is screaming.

“What makes you so sure?” he eventually asks, once he finds the words.

Tony throws him a look. “I have functional fucking eyes.”

“We’re sure, Davey,” Charlie cuts in patiently. “We are absolutely, definitely sure.”

The possibility rattles around Davey’s mind, then starts to take a more solid form. Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me.

“He never said anything,” Davey says.

“Yeah, no shit. If it was up to him he woulda taken that one to his grave,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “But you don’t really need him to say anything—you can just tell.”

“I can’t tell!” Davey disagrees, the tone of his voice edging towards shrill.

“But that’s just you,” Charlie says, like that explanation makes any kind of sense. “Trust us, it’s really obvious to everyone else. Like, painfully obvious.”

“You do realize that the two of you have basically been married for years, right?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “You’re, like, disgustingly domestic and you flirt with each other all the time. Like, all the time.”

Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me.

“Please get together already,” Charlie pleads. “I can’t take it anymore, and obviously Jack can’t be trusted to make good decisions—” Here he and Tony exchange a commiserating look; Davey can only imagine what they’ve been privy to when he isn't around. “—so it’s gonna hafta be you.”

“What do I do?” Davey asks, completely overwhelmed. “I mean, he ran away! Should I go after him?”

“What, are you gonna chase him down in the rain?” Tony says with a snort. “Just talk to him when he gets back.”

“Give him a chance to calm down,” Charlie advises. “And, uh, maybe you should calm down a bit too—you kinda look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Well, that was kind of a lot,” Davey retorts, but the words have no heat behind them.

“Besides, it’s not like Jack can hide from you forever,” Tony adds with a shrug. “You know where he sleeps.”

Davey can’t decided if he loves or hates how reassuring that is.

00000

The streams of sunlight that cut through the blinds wake Davey up the next morning. A glance at the clock tells him that it’s nearly nine; he’s surprised he slept through Charlie and Tony leaving for school, but after the emotional upheaval of last night, they must have made a point not to wake him.

He lays there for a long time, blinking up at the ceiling and watching the overhead fan spin in lazy circles. Jack had sent him a single text last night, warning him that his phone was about to die and he had to stay late at work; Davey had tried to wait up for him, but finally fell asleep a little after three am. There’s a flicker of worry at the thought of Jack—wondering if he was making up excuses to avoid him, wondering what to say when he sees him next—but the anxiety of last night has transformed into something hazy and distant.

Davey’s been in love with Jack for years; he’d long since resigned himself to living with that love quietly. The only thing that’s changed is there’s a possibility that Jack loves him back, so really, what’s there to worry about?

Eventually, he throws back the covers and hauls himself upright. He pulls a sweatshirt on over his pajamas, disregarding the way it makes his already tousled hair even more of a disaster, and shuffles slowly down the hall.

The growl of his stomach reminds him that it’s well past his usual breakfast time. Davey wanders into the kitchen and begins pulling supplies out of the cabinets by route, and before he knows it, he’s got the beginnings of a breakfast going.

Everything takes on a different aspect in the light of this new day—details that Davey’s always known, but has never been fully conscious of. The skillet he grabs is a hefty cast iron monstrosity that belonged to his Bubbie—it lives at Jack’s place because Davey’s dorm’s kitchen is the size of a shoebox and hasn’t been renovated in decades, and also because Davey’s never been in the habit of cooking for one.

The coffee maker is new: he and Jack had to get a new one last month after their old one finally crapped out. They’d spent the better part of an hour at the local Bed, Bath & Beyond, bickering back and forth about which one to get until a salesperson finally took pity on them and pointed them towards a sturdy model solidly in the middle of their price range. Davey grabs his favorite mug—a pale blue one with a chip on the handle from where Tony dropped it one time—and fills it with the first pour of a fresh brew. The coffee, of course, is from his favorite place around the corner, a blend that Jack always claims is too expensive, but keeps on buying for him.

It’s scattered all around him, the countless ways that his and Jack’s lives are intertwined. Davey almost can’t believe that it’s taken him this long to notice, but maybe that’s just it: this has been his normal for ages, so why would he notice it?

Davey hums softly to himself as he works, the quiet punctuated only by the buzz of the refrigerator and the hiss of the coffee maker, which is why it’s so surprising to glance up and notice Jack standing in the doorway, his expression a little pinched around the edges and still dressed in his clothes from yesterday, though noticeably rumpled.

“Jack!” Davey says, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in. When did you get— wait, did you spend the night at the office?”

Jack looks at him funny, like he was expecting Davey to say something else. “I missed the last subway and I didn't have money for a cab.”

“Maybe you should start keeping some things at work,” Davey says, frowning slightly. “Like, a pillow and a toothbrush and stuff like that. You’ve been having a lot of night shifts recently and that couch in your break room looks like it’s older than I am, so I know it can’t be comfortable to sleep on—“

“Are you making breakfast?” Jack interrupts, one hand braced against the doorframe. There’s something pointed about the question: accusing and disbelieving and conflicted all at the same time.

Davey looks at the assortment of ingredients gathered around him—milk, flour, butter, eggs, blueberries—then down at the bowl of pancake batter he’s in the middle of whisking. “Uh… yes?”

Jack barks out a laugh, but it’s tinged with a hint of hysteria. “I thought you’d be— But instead you’re— Why?”

“I always make breakfast on Fridays,” Davey says, because it’s true. He beckons Jack forward with a nod of his head. “Here, come help me with this, you’re better at flipping the pancakes than I am.”

Jack scrubs a hand over his mouth, then seems to rally himself.

“Okay,” he mutters, clearly not intending for Davey to hear him. “Okay… so it’s like that. Okay.” Then louder he says—with an incredibly lackluster attempt at his usual grin that wouldn’t fool anyone, let alone Davey—“Yeah, sure Dave, I gotcha.”

Davey lifts himself up to sit on the counter next to the stove while Jack steps up to the cooktop. He watches silently as Jack pours the batter into the skillet, nudging at the edges with his spatula until they start to firm up. It should be an easy, simple moment together—something they’ve done countless times before. Instead, the space between them is thick with unspoken tension.

Davey considers his options. He takes in the stiff line of Jack’s shoulders and remembers the look on Jack’s face yesterday—soft affection burnt away by panic. He waits for just the right moment, then says, “So, Tony and Charlie seem to think that you’re in love with me.”

The reaction is immediate. Jack jerks in surprise—a full-body flinch—and the pan slips out of his hands. It hits the burner with a clattering bang and the half-cooked batter goes flying halfway across the kitchen, then hits the floor with a splat.

“Yeah,” Davey comments mildly, taking in the mess with no small measure of satisfaction. “That’s about how I felt too.”

Jack makes a strangled noise: like he’s going to deny it, like he thinks he has to deny it, like it’s never occurred to him to do otherwise. And sure, Davey had never considered broaching the topic either, but Davey’s not the one that kissed and ran.

“No, don’t even start with that,” Davey begins before Jack can say anything. “You’re in love with me, I know you’re in love with me. The boys finally told me last night—apparently it’s obvious, but I never would’ve guessed if they hadn’t said something. And if you hadn’t kissed me.”

He gestures at the remnants of breakfast. “That’s for leaving me to freak out last night, by the way. Also, Tony told me to tell you that you’re the World’s Biggest Dumbass, and I can’t say I disagree with him.”

Jack’s eyes have gone very wide. An assortment of emotions flit across his face, but none remain long enough for Davey to identify them.

“Sorry about that,” Jack eventually says. The words come out slow and a little jagged, like he’s having trouble keeping his voice steady. “I shouldn’t have done that—I didn’t mean to kiss ya, it just kinda happened—but I understand if you’re mad at me or if ya need me to—“

“Oh my god,” Davey says, shaking his head even as a surge of affection rushes through him, “you really are a dumbass.” He jumps down off the counter and holds out a hand. “Jackie, come here.”

Jack stumbles forward, visibly unsure. Davey can’t imagine what he’s thinking is about to happen, can’t imagine how Jack can stand here with him in their kitchen in their home and not know that they’re in this together, just like they always are.

Davey threads their fingers together, tugging Jack those last few steps so that they’re standing chest to chest. He brings his other hand up to Jack’s face, dragging his fingers over his forehead until the furrow in Jack’s brow relaxes, until his expression begins to brighten with tentative hope, then down around the curve of his jaw to tilt Jack’s head that much closer to his own.

Jack moves easily, immediately, when Davey touches him—only the slight hitch in his breath indicates that this is unexplored territory—and it’s so simple for Davey to just lean up and kiss him.

Soft. Sweet. It feels brand new. It feels like they’ve done this hundreds of times.

“Just in case that wasn’t clear enough,” Davey murmurs as they part, impossibly happy and feeling like his heart might burst with it. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you.”

Jack’s answering smile seems to light him up from the inside out. “Oh yeah? Well, word on the street is, I’m in love with you too.”

#newsies #javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #*final cut #*the writing desk #the one where it's domestic #wow more self-indulgent romance #*editor's note

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

Broken arm

A/N: This was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think! Also this is like my worst fear, like that sounds dumb but breaking something sounds absolutely disgusting to me. In movies if they do like sound effects of bones breaking and I know it’s coming, I mute the sound.

summary: i was wondering if you could write a reddie x daughter where the losers club all go out and the daughter gets hurt (maybe breaks an arm) so they all freak out and take her to the hospital, and it’s just rlly cute at the end. i just feel like i could image richie and eddie just freaking out abt what to do and not actually doing anything so the rest of the losers have to step in

warnings: mentions of a broken arm and surgories (not graphic), mentions of throwing up (but also not graphic) and some curse words and your mom joke

At least once a month, all the losers have a reunion that usually either takes place in Ben and Bev’s lake house, or in their boat. The reason it does, is because Ben and Bev combined have enough money to restore any damages that may or may not occur during these times, more often than not Richie fault.

This time however, by some unlucky draw of the hat, everyone agrees to meet up in Richie and Eddie’s home, because their daughter Alexa isn’t feeling too great, and Richie not Eddie felt comfortable relocating with her for a few days.

She had nothing major, just a stomach bug that causes her to throw up from time to time, but Both Eddie and Richie were more than ready to postponed the losers’ meeting. Alexa insisted that all the plans continued on as normal despite her feeling unwell, since she loved spending time with her uncles and aunt any time she could, and when she showed signs of her health improving, nobody cancelled anything.

With the first knock on the door, Alexa jumps up, rushing to welcome whoever has made it to their house first, ignoring how her stomach was protesting the flash movement, and she’s greeted by the sight of her best-loved aunt, which happened to be Aunty Bev. Six months into the pregnancy made Bev look bloated and tired, but her eyes lit up as soon as Alexa opened the door, bending down as best as she could to hug her back twice as hard. She’s alone, Ben had had a meeting over in Portland, and agreed to meet Bev here.

‘How’s my favorite girl doing?’ Bev asks with a huge smile on her face, her hand resting on the top of her belly softly rubbing up and down.

‘I’m okay’, Alexa insists, even though her face still looks a little pale. Eddie, who had joined the two of them at the front door, rolled his eyes begrudgingly. Insisting that she’s fine even though she isn’t must be a trait she picked up from Richie.

Staying silent however, he brings Bev into an embrace, an; ‘hey Bev’ falling from his lips in the process.

‘Richie’s out back, come in, I’ll go get him.’ Before Eddie has the chance, the next guests arrive, in the form of Patty and Stan. Stan was holding a stuffed animal, a bunny in his hands, smirking as if he already knew that he was going to be the ‘chosen’ one today.

Eddie laughs out loud, watching as his daughter’s eyes grow bigger and wide, and she excitedly begins the bounce up and down, seemingly forgetting about the sickness for a little while. In his mind, Eddie is already praising Stan, for the few moments of rest this allows his daughter to have. Sleep is nothing something that has come in large doses to her in the last two days, every single waking minute of the day being consumed with sitting next to a toilet bowl, and brushing her teeth afterwards.

Eddie also praises Stan for basically knocking down the competition before the rest of them even have a chance.

At two years old, Alexa figured out how to play her family like the harp she later maintained she wanted to practice, giving up after only two lessons. She used to go around the room and beg her uncles and aunt to play a game with her, any kind, and when they relented, the first person who did would be her go to person for the rest of the evening.

Endearing everyone’s heart, but also resulting in a rivalry, where many presents were tossed around, and Alexa was in danger of becoming a bit spoiled. Now at twelve, she’s stopped crowning anyone as her winner, yet the losers still arranges bets on her, as if their daughter is something to bet on.

It’s all in good fun of course, and Richie himself joins in on the gamble from time to time, but for whatever reason he never guesses correctly, but Eddie has a burning suspicion it has something to do with manipulating Stan to lose. Not that his schemes work, Stan is much too smart for that.

In rapid succession, Ben follows Stan and Patty, and after him Mike emerges, and finally Bill and Audra appear from the end of the streets. A loud and ugly snort forces its way out of Eddie, when he sees the exact some bear clutched to Bill’s chests, the annoying, cocky smirk on his face he mirrored from Stan, the same one that vanishes as soon as he steps through the door, and lays his eyes upon Alexa, clasping Stan’s gift.

Richie, who had since joined the rest of the group, could not contain his laughter, finding in Bill the perfect victim to tease throughout the entire night.

Rice and chicken were on the menu tonight, a light meal that was decided in light of Alexa, but nobody complained. Despite popular belief, Richie was a very good cook, and when he prepared any meal, it was guaranteed that it would taste delicious.

Alexa ate a bit, more than she had eaten in the last few days, and Eddie sighed a breath of relief. Years of conditioning that any sickness was going to get him killed did not disappear off the bat, so he was immensely glad his daughter was starting to feel better, even if he knew her ailment was not that serious to begin with.

After dinner, the group resides to the living room, watching a movie that Alexa had her mind set on viewing, and secretive adult talk concealed in a child appropriate package so she wouldn’t notice, making a way across each other. A normal reunion like any other.

At nine pm, unsurprisingly, Alexa got up from her seat. ‘I’m going to bed dad,’ she explains, her hand stroking Bev’s baby bump one last time, and then waving at everyone. The spot next to Beverly, the one that Alexa had claimed, so she could discuss her new best friend as she lovingly called the new baby that was yet to be burn, remains achingly open. A weird feeling creeps up the back of Eddie’s neck, ridiculously.

The losers club just doesn’t seem complete without her, even if she has only been there for twelve years. Her bedtime was around eight, but when they go on a trip, she is allowed to stay up as long she want, the fact that she turns in for the night so early, is a testimony to how bad she suffers.

Richie started to make his way up from the sofa too, ready to tuck her in, as he did every night, but she shook her head. ‘I can go to bed alone, Pops, don’t worry.’

She gave him a kiss on his cheek, and then scampered off to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Bill chocked on his drink in laughter when he saw the fallen look on Richie’s face, disappointment coating his expressions in a grey attire.

When he dejectedly resumed his place next to Eddie, the latter patted him on the arm in sympathy. ‘It’s just because there are others here Rich. You know how ashamed she gets of you.’ The smirk cannot be contained when the words leave his mouth, even though he means nothing but lies with them.

‘And they say my jokes suck? Spaghetti, come up with new and innovated humor, like mine. Thank god she’s got some of my qualities-‘

‘she’s adopted.’

‘- don’t interrupt me Eds that’s just bad manners. I’m so sorry your mom was to busy teaching me the way around her body to teach you how to be polite but-‘

‘Beep beep asshole.’ A murmur of agreement rose up from the group, Richie flipping them the bird.

‘Whatever, you losers have no taste at all.’

Deciding to check up on her after about fifteen minutes, Eddie settles back in his seat, joining in on the conversation to his right, where Ben and Stan discuss the different plants they have in their garden, listing a bunch of flowers Eddie will never know the meaning off.

The movie clutters on in the background, almost like a lullaby, and Eddie yawns significantly. Richie’s hand presses in the small of his back, a grounding warm signal that he was safe, even though he doesn’t mean too, he zones out, not asleep, but also not as awake as he should be.

That happens to be a mistake when he hears something slam on the floor above them, the sound of the toilet being flushed a second after. He makes eye contact with Richie, both of them realizing that that is probably the result of Alexa throwing up again.

‘Dad, Pops’, and then a loud bang, proceeded by a few thuds that can be relocated to their stairs, and a pained yell.

Richie and Eddie scramble up faster than they have ever done before, even more hurried than when Pennywise was chasing them in Neibolt. Stan, Bill and Bev scurry alongside them, to the place of the accident, every single one of them in a panicked haze.

It only takes a second to get there, in their haste, and no other sounds emerge anymore, until They run into the hallway.

Alexa is spread out across the bottom of the stairs, her arm bend in a weird position, her legs propped up as she looks around the space dazedly, as if she’s not sure what just happened.

Her faces goes through a couple of emotions, intensifying when she takes a look at her arm, but not yet crying.

Eddie is the first to reach her, and when she sees him, her lips open slightly and a wail falls out. It proves to him that she is in real, and agonizing pain. Back when she learned how to ride her bike for the first time, she had fallen many times, as kids do, but if she cried, Eddie refused to indulge her. He wouldn’t let leave or abandon her, but he would tell her that everything was fine, and that it only stung a little, and there was no need to cry.

He mostly did this to stop himself from becoming like his mother, and to allow Alexa to discover her own boundaries and which one hurt enough to actually ask help for. He never shamed her for crying either, he just tried to teach her the difference between actual pain, and being shocked from a fall. Ever since, is she saw Eddie walk towards her, her tears stopped if it barely stung, or begin to cry if help was needed.

Now she sobs, heavy and with snot, hiccuping to catch her breaths. It only takes a look to tell Eddie everything he needs to know, she is suffering from an open fracture. The bone is not stuck outside the skin, but the bump is visible from the outside, in the same way that his bone was when he broke his arm.

All previous training flies out the window when it’s his daughter that is the one who is harmed, nothing of the medical terms he surrounded himself with in his childhood sticking, like liquid dropping from his head.

He stands there, blankly as he gazes upon his daughters still laying form, until he gets pushed back by Bill. Richie too stands frozen, trembling from head to toe, but Bev and Stan launch into action, dropping down next to Alexa, each on opposites sides.

‘What do we do, what do we do?’ Richie inquires frantically, pushing against Bills hands, to get to her, trusting Eddie for guidement. Eddie subconsciously reaches for his inhaler, and curses once he remembers that he threw his placebo away.

‘Fuck, fuck, Eddie should we snap the bone back in? It worked last time right?’ Richie reflects Eddie’s frantic, ignoring Bill’s pleas to calm down, the cries of Alexa deafening their ears, and making their heartstrings cave in.

‘What? What the fuck asshole no. That was a terrible thing to do, and you were lucky that my arm got back to normal, are you fucking kidding me you absolute moron?’

He doesn’t mean to snap at his husband the way he does, but the mantra of; this is your fault, she’s going to die, get her to a hospital now, more careful, you should force her to be more safe, in a voice that sounds an awful lot likes his mother hisses in his mind. The panic is very nearly all consuming.

‘What the fuck was I supposed to do then huh Eds? I was fucking twelve.’ Their panic-stricken words grow louder and louder, until even Alexa’s cries of agony sound quieter than theirs, they’re so consumed with worry, being oblivious to notice what Beverly and Stan are so desperately trying to convey.

‘I don’t know, not that. And you’re 43 years old, by now you should now better dickwad.’

‘Stop it’, Bill yells in the same determined leader voice that lured them into the house on Neibolt street, effectively silencing them and focusing their attention on him.

‘Your daughter needs you right now, so shut up, and do what we ask you too okay. Richie get her cloths, Eddie retrieve anything she has that helps calm her down. Alright? Okay go.’

Richie hurries to get the car as fast he can, but Eddie hesitates when he gapes at Alexa. He doesn’t want to leave her without her parents. ‘Hey’, Bill places on of his hands on Eddie shoulder, ‘we’ll take care of her for a minute okay?’

Her cries have turned into loud whimpers, her face hidden behind Stan’s body, which stops her from seeing Eddie anyway. Bev is calmly shushing her, on the phone with what must be the hospital, carefully checking her arm. Stan is trying to distract her, his cardigan being discarded towards Bev, who uses is to carefully cover the injured arm.

It looks painful, and Eddie can’t stand to think of her in pain, so he too complies with Bill’s demands, searching for the plush toy she got as a gift, and her soft blanket that she sleeps with during the winter.

When he comes back, he hears the blaring sirens of the ambulance stop outside their door, and his stomach falls when he realizes that a few hours ago, Alexa was standing in that exact spot, excited for the night.

Audra and Patty lead the paramedics into the home, apparently they had been waiting outside to help, Patty grabbing Eddie’s arm to steady herself, and maybe even Eddie, who is swaying dangerously from side to side.

He’s been through all of this before, in a way, but that seemed somehow less scary than it is now. Back then, Eddie had been glad none of his friends got hurt, so it didn’t matter that he did. Now, it’s different, but if he could somehow switch places with Alexa, he would do so in a heartbeat.

They insert an IV line and administer pain relief, Eddie assumes, since his ears seem like they’ve been stuffed full of cotton. He vaguely registers Richie’s hand in his own, all his attention pointed to watching Alexa’s face for any discomfort.

She’s placed upon a trauma board, Stan and Ben aiding to help her jolts as minimal as possible, before they carry her to the ambulance as fast as humanly possible. Eddie hopes to god, something he hasn’t believed in since he started dating Richie, that the medicine she has received knock her out, just so she’s painless the rest of the ride.

‘Dad, pops’, she wails, extending her uninjured arm to reach for the both of them. Next to him, Richie cries too.

Eddie speed walks to be by her side, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss to it. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re going to be fine.’ He can’t help the way his voice cracks as he tries to keep his own tears at bay.

Richie also hast himself to get to her, brushing away her tears as best he can, but new ones continue to leave wet rivers on her cheeks.

After consideration, Eddie says to Richie; ‘You need to go with her,’ his words lacking any really conviction.

Richie gazes up to him in surprise. ‘Eddie?’

‘I can’t be in there, in a hospital or ambulance, but I would feel so much better if you were with her.’ The trauma lingers around Eddie like a bad stench, and he hates himself for the fact that he can’t be with his daughter. He knows Richie will keep her safe though, so if he were to go with her, maybe the grip guilt has on him will loosen.

Richie says nothing and stares for just a split second, before one of the EMT’s says they need to hurry. Then he nods, climbing on board with Alexa, but pressing his lips against Eddie’s quickly before his does.

He’s trying to convey Eddie into believing everything will be okay, but Richie isn’t sure if he believes it himself.

They have to leave then, and Eddie stares as the ambulance disappears into the distance. When he can’t see it no longer, he allows himself five seconds, and he uses those five seconds to cry upon Mike’s sturdy statues the waterfalls flowing from his eyes like they’re a rives. He can sense the others coming closer, each laying a hand on a part of his body, their silent way of telling him they’re here for them.

He feels bad for making Richie having to be the one to hold it all together, since he can’t break down in front of Alexa, but Eddie honestly didn’t have any resolution left to sit in an ambulance.

When his five seconds are up, he begs someone to drive him to the hospital, ignoring his next door neighbor who comes to check up on the commotion that was happening.

He ends up driving with Stan and Patty, in the middle backseat, where he can feel their worried gazes on him. In his mind, he is trying to recall any information about what he had to go through with his arm, but all he really remembers is that he had to have surgery.

As predicted, that is the first thing Richie tells Eddie when he finally gets to the emergency room, Richie waiting near the entrance, his hands trembling when he reaches forward to pull Eddie against him in a tight hug.

‘She needs to have surgery Eds, you have to come quick. They’re about to put her under.’ Richie informs him when he pulls back, this time reaching for his hands and pulling him in the direction of the room Alexa is in. Eddie wants to say something to his friends, but he’s already whisked away, and he just figures he’ll tell them later.

Upon entering the room, Eddie can smell the disinfected in the room, the whole room is drenched in it, but he refuses to let it deter him, so he pulls through, pulling a chair to the side of the hospital bed, resting his hand on Alexa’s shoulder. Richie goes for her hand on her good arm, his thumb sweeping the back of her hand back and forth.

‘hey, honey, how are you?’

Alexa lets her head fall sideways, her eyes dropped with exhaustion, she hasn’t received any anesthetic, so Eddie assumes that it’s the adrenaline that has worked off.

‘I’m scared dad,’ she tells him truthfully, squeezing Richie’s hand tight while not looking him in the eyes.

‘It’s okay to be scared baby,’ Eddie soothes her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. ‘I had to same thing happen to me when I was little.’

Her lips tug upwards in a faint smile. ‘I know, pops told me.’

‘It wasn’t that scary anymore. Not when getting into the hospital. I just fell right asleep, and when I woke up, the pain was dulled.’

‘I’m not in so much pain right now though, can I not avoid the surgery?’ Eddie’s heart breaks once again, and he wishes so bad he could heed his daughter from this, but it has to happen, there’s no other option.

‘That’s cause you’re on a lot op pain medication kiddo, but as soon as they’re worn off, you’ll feel it again.’ Richie heavily admits, the lines on his face have turned more prominent, the night taking ten years of their lives away from them.

‘Like I said, you’ll just go to sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll be here.’ Eddie tries to convince her one last time, and with a heaved sigh, she relents.

Just in time, for the nurse sticks her head through the door, her smile apologetic.

‘Alexa Tozier-Kaspbrak? I’m sorry, but we really have to get her upstairs now.

‘You’ll be fine bucko, We won’t be fare okay?’

‘And remember we love you okay?’

‘I know dad, Pops, I love you too.’

When they wheel Alexa away in her hospital bag, the other losers wave at her from behind the glass door, sticking their thumbs up in good luck, while Alexa waves at them as best she can.

‘She’ll be okay’, Richie insists as he pulls Eddie close to him by the waist, pressing his nose in his hair to comfort himself.

‘I really hope so Rich, I’m scared.’

‘Don’t be Eds, she’s your kid, she’s so strong, this is just a minor setback. I love okay, we’ll get through this together.’

‘I love you too.’

Later, when Alexa is back in her room, falling asleep on her own this time, and Eddie watches Richie’s lanky from twist in half to rest his head on the bed, the rest of his body in an uncomfortable hospital chair just to be close to their daughter, he thanks whoever is listening that he got this family; He would never trade them for anything in the world.

He’s mumbling to the both of them, a stupid story about Richie and his childhood, because Alexa had once told him she slept best with some background noise. Twirling the same piece of hair over and over again, he presses another kiss to her head, thankful that’s okay.

He nearly thinks of his mother, and how much he would have loved to see her face if she ever saw him like this. Gay, married, with a child and in a hospital. But then he banishes her to the back of his mind. She is not worth any ounce of his thoughts.

Alexa shifts in her sleep, relaxing into the movements, and Eddie can’t do anything but mumble out in pure adoration; ‘I promise, I’ll never be like my mom, I love you and your pops too much for that.’

#reddie #reddie fluff #reddie with daughter #eddie with daughter #Richie with daughter #richie x daughter #reddie x daughter #My writing #it chapter two imagine #the loser club imagines

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6rookie-writer0110 · 5 years

Text

At night I’d sort my dreams

X-23 x Male Reader

Request- Can I request a X-23 x Male Reader? Have the R be the son of Jean Grey and Scott Summers and that Logan becomes the R guardian after Jean and Scott die. The R does not like Logan due to knowing the thing between him, Jean, and Scott but nonetheless Logan watches over the R throughout the years and also sees a lot of resemblance of Jean & Scott in the R like having Scott/Jean personality and abilities and R having Scott’s visors and having the Phoenix emblem on his suit

You are standing in front of your parent's tombstone. You have been crying all day and you hope it's a bad dream. You are nine years old and you felt the pain of losing your parents. Logan stands behind you, he doesn't say anything or ruins your moment. Everyone knew your parents, Jean Grey and Scott Summers. You have their powers and Scott’s shades. You don't like Logan, you know the history that he had with your parents.

Logan is your guardian until you're older enough to live on your own. He lits his cigar and it's only you two around.

”Let’s go kid. They are about the close the cemetery” Logan said.

You don't say anything but you walk towards his truck. He starts to follow you and you wait for him to unlock the door. The drive home is silent and you only look out the window.

”Y/N, I know you don't like me and I can sense that. I promised them I will take care of you and I will. Ever need to talk I'm here for you” Logan said.

You don't say anything and he doesn't say anything else.

Finally arrived at Logan’s house. It's small but cozy and he showed you, your new bedroom. It's simple just a bed and a tv, you sit on the bed.

”Dinner will be ready soon. Make yourself at home” Logan said.

He went towards the kitchen and tries to figure out what to cook. An hour later, you eat dinner with Logan and he tried to make something healthy and decent, but instead just ordered pizza.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Anything that Logan does you get annoyed by him. He isn't much of a cook but he tries his best to feed you a decent meal.

”Y/N, we have to train,” Logan said.

”What for, old man,” You said.

”You want to be an X-Men, you have to train hard. It won't be easy if you want to save people” Logan said.

”I don't want you to train not with you, old man,” You said.

”I’m not that old. You are just like your father Scott. The same attitude” Logan said.

”Whatever” You said.

All-day, you have been giving Logan a hard time. He did get annoyed by you calling him, old man.

”What is this?” You asked.

Logan tried to cook meatloaf but it's kinda burnt.

”Meatloaf, eat up,” Logan said.

”What did you use a blow torch?” You asked.

”Just eat it” Logan demand.

You mimic him and he rolled his eyes at you.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Throughout the years, you are still living with Logan. He can see that you resemblance like your parents when it comes to your personality. He does make you train every day and you still don't like him. There were you and Logan would argue on a lot of things. You have better control when it comes to your powers, thanks to him. You always call him old man and he calls you kid.

It's your birthday on your bed there is a gift. You open the card and it says, happy birthday kid. You open the gift and it's a suit an x-men suit and it has Phoenix emblem. You sigh and you touch the symbol. You look at the photo that's on your nightstand.

”I miss you, mom and dad” Your voice cracked.

Logan yelled from the living room.

”Kid!” Logan yelled again.

You go to the living room and see a girl standing next to him.

”Who the hell is this?” You asked.

”She is my daughter and her name is Laura and goes by the name X-23,” Logan said.

”X-23 is a stupid name,” You said.

Her claws come out.

”I will show you how stupid you will look when I'm done kicking your ass!” Laura spat out.

Your eyes start to glow red.

”I’m ready to fight” You growled at her.

Logan stands in the middle.

”No one will fight under my roof. You two knock it off it now!” Logan yelled.

Your eyes aren't glowing red and Laura put her claws away. She glares at you and Logan is remained of the type of relationship he had with Scott.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You and Laura are still frenemies. There were times you two got along, but brush it off as if it didn't happen. Logan is training you and Laura to be the Next Generation of the X-Men.

”Is that all you got?” Laura asked.

You and Laura trained on hitting fast targets and she did better than you.

”Shut up,” You said.

”What happened to all that crap you were talking about, how you will beat me?” Laura teased.

”I said shut up!” You yelled.

You went back to the house and you hear Logan calling your name.

”We are not done training, get back out there now” Logan yelled.

”Leave me alone!” You yelled at him.

Your anger took over and you hit him with your optic force blasts. Logan didn't want to hurt you badly, so he punched you and you passed out.

”Dad, why is he angry all the time?” Laura asked.

”Today is his parents’ anniversary since they passed away. He never liked living with me but we did have good moments. You and Y/N, do remind me when Scott and I were at each other throats all the time” Logan said.

”He will be okay?” Laura asked.

”Yeah,” Logan said.

Later you did wake up and your lip hurts. Laura brings you an ice pack and you put it on your lip.

”How are you feeling?” Laura asked.

”Like crap. Thanks for the ice. Where is the old man?” You said.

”Smoking his cigar. He told me about your parents” Laura said.

”I miss them,” You said.

She sits next to you and you still have the ice pack on your lip. Laura listened to you talk about your parents and living with Logan.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You and Laura are now adults. You and Laura sometimes get along but mostly act like frenemies. Logan sent you two on a mission, a first real mission. It's getting late, you and Laura set up camp and fire. Laura sits close to you and it's getting cold, you and Laura start to eat the food.

”I like you,” You said.

You stuffed your mouth with food.

”What?” Laura asked.

”I like you a lot Laura a lot. I always liked you but I just didn't want to show it” You said.

Laura placed her hand on your cheek and she kissed you. After the kiss, you smiled at her and she smiles at you.

”I like you too, Y/N,” You said.

”For a minute I thought you were going to reject me,” You said.

”Because we are frenemies? Y/N, I like you too a lot if I didn't I wouldn't have kissed you” Laura said.

”I’m glad you kissed me,” You said.

She let you kiss her.

”Are we going to tell my dad?” Laura asked.

”Not yet. Just hope, your old man won't kill me” You said.

”Why, you call him old man?” Laura asked.

”I just did and he never once told me to stop calling him that. It just stuck” You said.

”If anyone else called him old man, he would have kicked their ass,” Laura said.

You nod because you agree with her.

~Next Day~

You and Laura wake up at dawn went to the facility where they keep the mutants. They are being trafficked to somewhere else, you and Laura will stop them before it's too late.

”Are you ready?” You asked.

”Yeah, let's show them how we do it,” Laura said.

You and Laura went gun blazing. The guards start to run towards you and her.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Logan has been sick for a while now it's even worse. He is on his death bed, you and Laura are by his side.

”Laura, I know didn't say this often but I always been proud of you. I'm proud of the women you have become” Logan said.

Laura is holding his hand.

”Dad, thank you for everything. I just wish you had more time with us” Laura said and her voice cracked.

”You are strong don't ever forget that. Y/N and Laura take care of each other” Logan said.

You did start to cry and you wipe your tears away.

”I promise, I will take off her old man,” You said.

”I hate it when you call me that,” Logan said.

”No, you don't. You would have told me to stop calling you that a long time ago” You said.

”I know in the past, even tho we may not have always been buddies, I was glad to watch over you. And watch you grow and become the men that your parents would be proud of” Logan said.

”I’m grateful for everything you did. Thank you, old man” You said.

You cried more and Laura starts to rub your back. Logan passed away, you and Laura cried more.

”He will always be a legend,” You said.

You hold her and rubbed her back.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

~Time Skip~

You and Laura got married now you two have a daughter together. She has optic blast, telepathic and adamantium. You and Laura teach her how to get used to her powers.

”Do I have to were it?” She asked about the shades.

”Yes, you have to wear it” You said.

You picked up your five-year-old daughter. She points at the picture of you and Laura as kids and in the middle is Logan.

”Is that grandpa?” She asked.

”That is my father and he is your grandpa. That’s Y/N and me when we were kids. He would train us to be X-Men, so we can save people from bad guys” Laura said.

”Grandpa, has claw-like me?” She asked.

”He does, just like you and me. And your blasts you get it from your father” Laura said.

”When you're older enough you can be an X-Men” You said.

”Yay!” She cheers.

You and Laura play in the backyard with your daughter, moments like that you and Laura enjoy the most. You and Laura start to chase her around and she is just giggling and trying to get away from you and Laura.

#x 23 imagine #x 23 x male reader #x men imagine #xmen imagine #marvel imagine #x male reader #male!reader

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antipthy-blog · 5 years

Text

❝ i want to be good , life’s just not letting me ! ❞

one. ⤻ statistics.

full name: jess alex mariano.

nicknames, aliases: no notable ones. can’t get much out of jess.

age: twenty - one.

date of birth: february seveth.

place of birth: new york city, new york.

current place of residence: truman island.

occupation: writer, vagabond, pain in the ass.

nationality: american.

sexual & romantic identity: pansexual, panromantic.

gender identity: cis male, he/him.

hogwarts house: slytherin.

source material: gilmore girls.

two. ⤻ biography.

jess wasn’t always a problem child, wasn’t always a holden caulfield rip - off in torn denim and worn leather. jaded gaze hasn’t always thinly veiled hurt and anger --- - no, it used to be a sunny sparkle that lingered in warm brown, buoyant smile instead of soured smirk. funny, he thinks, doesn’t seem real.

jess alex mariano is born to liz danes and, at the time, an unnamed father. liz’s boyfriends don’t tend to stick round long, and his father is a prime example --- - ditched the minute the stick turned pink. when jess, only an infant, points at the bearded layabout liz has picked up this time and utters a babbled ‘dada !’, the current boyfriend flees too. it’s about this time that liz decides to separate her motherhood from her romantic life, stops letting anyone get too close. she tries, and for a few years, it’s good. until jess is about eight, it’s him and his mom, and everything feels right. she helps him with homework at the dinner table, cooks his favourite meals, presses a kiss to his forehead before he goes to sleep at night. he’s a well - adjusted kid in those years, polite and kind and dedicated to the ever - growing stack of books that keep his bedside company but life continually fails to be kind, and he’s barely past his ninth birthday when fate cracks its whip again.

liz brings around a new guy, one that sneers at jess but sucks up to liz and strokes her ego and really, it’s all he needed to do. years and years’ of work unravel right at her fingertips and suddenly she’s leaving a nine - year - old to cook himself dinner, clean their little brooklyn apartment, get himself up and off to school. the first stamp of hurt digs into those bright eyes, and it only deepens as time barrels on. it’s like she forgets that she has another life to take care of. she leaves rent money and grocery money every week, but he stops seeing her when he drags himself home from school.

fourteen, and virulence is not so much a new behaviour but one that has developed, metastasized over the past few years. he’s fourteen when he first drinks an entire bottle of wine liz has left in the cupboard ( finds out real fast that red wine tastes like shit ), followed by swigs and swigs of cheap vodka that leave his head buzzing and his eyes burning with tears that he blinks furiously back because she’s left him, she’s chosen a piece of ass over her own flesh and blood and that shit stings. it doesn’t take him much to get drunk that first night, and he wakes up with cheeks still tacky with tears and a pounding headache. liz doesn’t care, though. liz isn’t here.

he raises himself in these years, rents movies and spends most nights curled under a heap of blankets, hand perpetually stuck in over - buttered popcorn. he makes his way through all the works of his favourite directors, branches out into different genres that he didn’t think he’d like, racks up an impressive catalogue. it’s the same with books --- - he reads voraciously, a frequent at the local library. he’s never missed a due date, always gets his books and movies back on time so he can pick up more, delve into worlds simultaneously better and worse than his own. in the absence of someone showing him how to do it, he takes the cultural zeitgesit by the horns and makes it his own, like everything else in his life.

it’s saturday when it happens. he’s sixteen, absolutely shitfaced off a cheap bottle of scotch liz’s latest boyfriend has slipped him as some kind of fucked up means to keep him complacent and nonplussed about how infrequently his mother visits. said mother returns in the middle of a rewatch of the lost boys, sobbing about how she’s been broken up with and how broken her heart is and something snaps like nothing else. only five foot nine at the time, he grows into a seven foot monster when his volume picks up, voice trembling and catching as he unleashes years’ worth of neglect, swallowed hurt and acridity at liz, who only watches with wide eyes and pursed lips. he yells, he shakes, he asks the fuck did you think you were doing coming back here ? the fuck did you think i was gonna do, extend another olive branch, let you cry on me so i can pick up the pieces like nothing ever fucking happened ? fuck you liz, fuck you. you don’t deserve my sympathy, y’know that ? y’don’t deserve jack shit of my time, seein’ as i was never good enough for yours.

liz packs him up to stars hollow after that, a bundle of bad attitude and metallica shirts and careworn copy of beat poetry tucked into the oversized pocket of a jacket. he alternates between glaring out the window and flicking through on the road, but ends up asleep, head lolled back and throat exposed --- vulnerable, like he’s never been before but will continue to be long after stars hollow leaves its imprint on him. he arrives with a scowl and a flourish, and luke greets him with a sigh and a heavy, too - warm hand on the shoulder. tells him about the place on the two - minute walk back to the diner, and that’s all it takes for jess to realise that he’s in hell. in his first few days, he makes no attempt to become acquainted in any way with the place, and then luke’s whisking him off to a friend’s and he meets her and his entire life is thrown, because she’s the most angelic creature he’s ever met and he’s going to die if he doesn’t get to hear that silvery voice every day for the rest of his life. he steals her copy of howl, writes borderline love notes in the margins and hopes she doesn’t read too much into them.

he is gone before he’s even really there. chases her, breaks her arm, leaves her, dates her, ruins her. he doesn’t graduate. he loves luke but he can’t stomach the disappointment that burns in the back of those deep eyes, so he slips out as quietly as he came. he leaves stars hollow in his wake, nothing more than the faintest remainder of a chalk outline outside of doose’s to even murmur that he was there in the first place. he thinks about going back for the first few weeks, but once he’s settled, he doesn’t think back on it.

jess’ memories of his real life are fuzzy. his memories come in fits and starts --- he wakes up one night with the searing memory of a wedding, a kiss, a name, and forgets it the minute he closes his eyes. he remembers luke, of course --- - doesn’t think the old man would let him live it down if he did. he clings to whatever memories he can recover like they’re a cliff’s edge and he’s got sweaty palms and the water beneath is crocodile - infested ; sometimes he writes them down, even if they’re nothing but a name or a word. he’s got a journal dedicated just to that, to trying to decode the words and pictures that come to him in dreams like he’s some kind of prophet. he keeps it with him at all times.

as far as his false memories go, he’s been living in truman since he was thirteen, sent to live with an uncle of unclear description who’s going to ‘straighten him out’. he knows it’s luke, but whether luke knows it’s luke is an entirely different story.

i’ve already rambled too aggressively for one morning so yea jess is a sad little mess n it’s canon that he still is !!!!!!

three. ⤻ wanted connections.

a group of writer pals / oh, you’re my best friends. he’s developed quite the little group of friends in truman, other writers and creatives who get him and get what he’s trying to do with his own writing. it’s not entirely dissimilar to canon truncheon, if you get me ????? anyway please give him friends

all i can say is big yikes / i laugh like me again, she laughs like you. it’s canon that jess is always going to be in love with rory, idc what anyone says. anyways, he tries to date someone else and he ends up dating a carbon copy of her. and it’s fine, it’s all good, nothing’s wrong until he accidentally calls her rory and then, y’know. shitteth hitteth the faneth.

#━━ ˊ * ╰ 𝑟𝑒: 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 . ╱ ooc .#truman:intro #2/3.......... can u say killing it

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 6 years

Photo

OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER NINE (finale)

eremika soulmates through time modern au

(previous chapters/ff.net/ao3)

IKIGAI

JAPANESE; "A REASON FOR BEING", ‘A THING THAT YOU LIVE FOR” – THE THING THAT GETS YOU OUT OF BED EACH MORNING

I think we deserve

a soft epilogue, my love.

We are good people

and we’ve suffered enough.

SEVENTY YEARS OF SLEEP # 4. NIKKA URSULA

She’s a shy girl, but she’s also a quick learner and it doesn’t take her very long to pick up the games that kids play on the narrow streets of Shinganshina. It’s a completely different world here, such alien and strange for somebody who used to have daffodils and squirrels for friends before. The morning comes and all of the doors fly open as kids practically burst out of their homes to run around until their little legs get tired or the dinner is ready and their mothers usher them back to wash up dirt from their hands and faces.

Mikasa begins to participate in this ritual as well – Carla Jaeger never forgets to give her and Eren a piece of bread with honey and a kiss on the cheek before she waves to them as they disappear in the crowd. And while Eren and Armin usually prefer to do other things than play with neighbors’ kids, the three of them sometimes join one of the small bands scattered in the district and spend an afternoon with them - and that’s how Mikasa learns it all, this collection of games created when the lack of resources crashes with children’s boredom and creativity. There’s hide-and-seek and tag and hoola hop that requires a narrow, wooden ring that girls spin around their hips. One child chases others and taps their shoulders to turn into the chased one. Kids sit in circle, clap hands in intricate patterns and recite dirty rhymes; they use chalk and sticks to draw on the stones and dig in the soil; they jump on one leg and pretend that the ground is lava.

Sometimes smaller girls gawk at her eyes and nag her about her hair long enough that she lets them sit behind her cross-leggedand braid her black strands into an elaborate construction that ends up un-tangling halfway home. She would never admit that to Eren, but she likes this – likes feeling little, quick fingers on her scalp and listening to their excited chatter. Those girls are sweet and innocent and just the way she used to be, while she was living with her parents. And their dreams and wishes reflect that; they want to grow their hair long and beautiful, to have handsome husbands in the Military Police and big houses behind Wall Rose or even Sina, with crimson flowers blooming on the balcony and chubby, pink-cheeked babies.

And Mikasa can understand that.

Those girls (what are their names? Tina, Riza, Mirielle? Maritte? Marie? She can never remember) also teach her one more game, the one under “no boys allowed category” – the apple skin one.

Tina is sitting on an empty apple crate, a small knife looking wrong and weird in her plump hand. She keeps on cutting her fingers and cursing and when Mikasa asks her what she’s doing, the girl raises her round, brown eyes at her and blinks in surprise;

“You don’t know about the apple skin?”

She doesn’t and so they eagerly show her. They instruct her to peel the skin off an apple with a knife, but not to break the skin - as the peel has to be intact, long and spiral. Then they tell her to stand up and throw it behind her left shoulder, her left hand flat on her chest, above her heart.

“And why am I supposed to do that?” she asks them, skeptical about the whole thing. It really sounds silly and she doesn’t even wanna think about what Eren would say if he saw her standing on the street and throwing apple peels around.

And she does not want Eren to laugh at her. At all.

But the girls insist; they circle her like a swarm of little bees or chirping baby birds.

“You’ll see! The peel will make the shape of a letter-“ “And the letter that it shows is a name-“ “- It’s not a name stupid, it’s the first letter of a name-“

“- of your future husband!” they end in unison, the three of them looking up at her with such a brightness and honesty written on their round faces that she just can’t refuse them.

Not that it matters anyway – she doesn’t need to throw any peels to know what will be the first letter of her future husband’s name.

After all, she is also just a little girl, who also dreams of a husband, of a house, of flowers and of a green-eyed baby of her own.

“Yes.” Historia nods her head solemnly after Mikasa stops talking. “I remember that. We were there too. Paradise Island, before the Second Eldian Uprising. Around mid-800s, I think?” the blonde rests her chin on the hand and stares off the distance.

They are both sitting on the plastic chairs in Historia’s backyard, in the middle of the first “Summer Party” of the season, as Eren cryptically called those meetings when Mikasa asked him about them. The sprinklers have just turned on, making some guests shriek and scatter, trying to run away from the water – not an easy task, considering the place is packed with people. The smell of barbecue makes Mikasa salivate, Toto’s Africa is blasting through the portable speakers that somebody brought and some brave individuals decided to dip in the pool, even though it’s just May and not a particularly hot evening. She can hear Eren somewhere on her left side, playing a kind of rules-free version of soccer on the grass with his friends which seemingly involves a lot of screaming and, more often than not, multiple players ending up in a pile on the ground.

Historia sits on folded legs, with daisy chain on her head and loose strands of hair dancing around her face on the breeze like spider webs. So lost in her thoughts, she seems as dainty and fragile as possible. Mikasa tries hard to put together the fawn-like line of her neck and delicate collarbone with the nightmarish visions that would make her wake up covered in cold sweat more often than not lately; winged crests, flakes of gore spiraling in the air like gruesome cherry petals, cobblestones streets stinking of too much people. The world bathed in blood. Cruel. Unforgiving. Devoid of any beauty. And yet familiar, as odd as it is to find familiarity in something straight out of their high school history books.

Mikasa wonders how Historia made it through there. Was she as graceful and full of sweetness as she is now?

“This is where we first met.” The girl adds quietly after a minute or two of silence, her eyes locked on Ymir’s back as she is getting up from the grass. “ But I don’t like to think about it too much. To be honest, it was horrible. I never want to live so much longer than her again.”

That Mikasa understands. There is not a worse thing than existing when the other one is gone. It is a torment that she would not wish on anyone, ever, no matter the time or place.

“So weird, isn’t it? Us, talking about those times like it was last week. Feeling so ancient when we are so young.” The corners of Historia’s mouth go up slightly and she shakes her head. “Look at them, my god.”

Connie slipped on the wet grass and all the players lay toppled again, one big tangle of limbs and curses and laughter. Eren catches her eyes and sends her a blazing smile, trying fruitlessly to wiggle from underneath Berthold.

800s. So old. And yet Mikasa doesn’t think she has ever been younger than now, with her lips chapped and happiness bubbling inside her.

I’m hungry, I’m hungry for whatever comes next. – sings some guy through the speaker.

Historia giggles as Ymir keeps on tripping over Reiner’s legs.

Sprinklers spray Mikasa’s bare feet with cold water.

The sun colors the horizon pink and yellow and red and all of the brilliant shades in between.

Eren managed to stand up and lowers his hand down to help Sasha; there are sweat stains on his shirt and grass in his messy hair. If he was nearer, she could smell it all on him. The sweat and the grass and the happiness.

As far as she is, she doesn’t hear his exact thoughts - just feels contentment, stretching between them like a golden cord or a silk ribbon.

“Yeah.” She answers softly. “ It is really strange.”

***

What comes next? Mikasa remembers it used to plague her mind for some time, before she even met Eren. Supposed I have a soulmate, how life even looks like, with a bond like that?

She jumps higher, runs faster and spins tighter than ever, that’s what happens. Once she would curse her muscles and limbs for weighting her down and working against her will, but now she feels so light that she’s surprised she makes any sound walking at all. It suddenly feels so easy; the sequences of movements, soft and smooth, crisp with no hesitation in them. She diligently pins her now-short hair in place, chalks her hands and faces each obstacle with no fear whatsoever. The steady flow of medals that follow her improvement make it look like as if she turned into Midas, painting everything gold with her touch alone. And while it all brings her a lot of joy and while praises that she hears from her coach and teammates and fans are not unwelcomed either, she knows well what makes her soar so high.

She knows now how it feels to be up, so that the surface of the Earth looks like a glorious oriental rug painted with sunlight and spread down her feet.

It shows in her movements, this joy. Even when she’s walking, she goes through the motions as if she was dancing. She supposes that it’s even more evident, while she’s doing gymnastics. She used to think she was good, before, and there was a truth in that – she was born with a natural talent which was then honed with years and years of steel discipline and hard work. Before, she was flexible and strong and well-trained, but now, with her eyes wide opened and memories back, she is not just simply good – she is superb. She has this spark that shines so brightly in her, fueling each and every step. And the centuries past don’t lie, it’s evident now, clear as a day. She could never reach stars without Eren by her side. She was always at her best, when she was with him.

So she jumps higher, runs faster and spins tighter.

And it feels exactly like running on the roofs and jumping up and down, suspended in the air with steel lines of her 3DMG used to feel like.

“How many times did we lay just like that?” he asks her one night, his hot breath caressing the shell of her ear, his fingers idly tracing figures in between her shoulder blades, while she’s still shivering, oversensitive and satisfied.

Countless she thinks. Countless and more

But something painful blooms in her chest, like a thorny bush tearing her heart into shreds.

“ I don’t think we had many occasions to do that.” She answers honestly and he hums in agreement.

Not in the softly-lit room, not in a warm bed, not smelling like her peach-scented shower gel and each other. Not without scars spoiling their skins and with no mountains on their backs.

Never so calm. Never so sure, so careless.

He supposes that the funniest part is that he doesn’t feel like anything changed at all, for the most part. Armin is still his best friend just as he used to be for as long as he can remember and his mother still smiles when his visits her every Saturday and brings her flowers. He still trains in his favorite gym, listens to his favorite bands and fails in saying “no” to his dog.

He’s still the same person, basically.

Only suddenly everything is different. Only suddenly everything is easier and simpler and more bearable; only suddenly he’s calmer and faster and more focused than ever before. This mess in his head quiet now. The twitching of his leg gone. It’s like somebody took a sheet of sandpaper and dulled the sharp edges of the world so that they don’t hurt him anymore.

Mikasa came into his life, fitting neatly in as if she has never been a stranger, as if there has always existed an empty place ready for her. She brought a series of small changes with her, that’s true. But those changes feel more like a fresh, cool breeze from the fan during a humid afternoon than anything else. Like tiny snowflakes that just keep on falling until they cover everything in white and all he sees is her, her, her.

The Thursday game nights, Annie ruthless in Monopoly, Armin miles ahead all of them in Scrabble, Mikasa surprising everyone by her mad poker skills.

Sunday mornings, lazy and sweet; Mikasa in his arms from the dawn till dusk, making love until they both collapse curled around each other, sleepy and sated and so, so fucking happy.

Saturday afternoons, Mikasa and his mother working in the garden and laughing quietly, drinking lemonade and watching old movies with Audrey Hepburn on this ancient VHS player.

She came and reorganized pretty much everything and yet he cannot even imagine how his life looked like without her.

July comes strangely unexpected, like a cat creeping on soft, soundless paws.

He closes the doors of the apartment behind him, with a bag of groceries in his hands and a blissful perspective of three full days without work in his mind. Tomorrow they’re going to Levi and Petra’s daughter christening and then … well, he has keys to Mikasa’s parent’s summer house on the countryside in his pocket and a lot of great ideas how to spent all this time alone with her.

He doesn’t bother to say hello; Miki is not home, he knew it before he opened the door. She should be here, but she’s not – on the emotional level it feels like a very cold blow of AC right into his face and he tries to swallow this feeling before it overcomes him. She’s probably out jogging or something anyway.

Instead of dwelling on that, he focuses on the small things; packs fruits and vegetables into the fridge and hides Mikasa’s favorite, absolutely sinfully unhealthy chocolate cereal in the upper shelf, where she needs a stool to reach. She begged him to do that; she kept on insisting that sometimes, before she can climb on the chair she changes her mind about eating them.

He, personally, never witnessed it, but whatever makes her sleep better at night.

The flat is not as white as it used to be before he moved in; there are splashes of color here and there, scattered on the furniture in form of his flannel shirts and Bumblebee’s chewing toys. And the Bumblebee itself brings the element of destruction into this sea of serenity; right now, she may be snoring soundly on her pillow in the living room, but years and years of constant spoiling made Eren’s pug a very hard roommate indeed and he never realized it until moving to Mikasa. More often than not she would run around the flat with this stripped yellow-and-black bandana around her neck and wreak havoc in her wake… to the constant displeasure of Madeline.

“Well, these two are definitely not soulmates, that’s for sure” crosses Eren’s mind, as he flops down on the sofa. He decides to kill some time by watching this video from two weeks ago, of Bumblebee cashing Madeline around Mikasa’s ankles; his girl was holding a salad bowl in her hands and looked half-irritated and half-amused, as if she was torn between yelling and laughing.

He loves this video; everyone at work has already seen it at least three times and Petra even more. Besides Levi of course, who seemed hell-bent on pretending that Eren is not as prominent in his niece’s life as he is.

But as he is about to press play, the bell chimes loudly, waking Bee from her slumber. Narrowly avoiding stepping on his angry dog, Eren makes his way to the door, wondering silently who could be coming over at such weird hour without letting them know earlier. The only people he can think of are either his mom, which he highly doubts, or Armin and Annie, who are currently enjoying the cloudy English weather and the company of old books, and kindred nerdy, pale scholars during their trip to Oxford.

“Hello- Oh, hi Tori.” He can feel the frown on his face smooth out as he sees a familiar blond figure standing behind the door.

“Hi, Eren.” Chirps Historia Reiss, smiling like a little sunflower and raising up a foil clothing cover in her hands. “ Is Mikasa home? I finished her christening dress.”

“Nah. But come in, she should show up soon.” He takes the hanger from her hands and waves his hand in a welcoming manner.

Historia and Mikasa’s friendship is something nobody could predict or foresee, but when it clicked, it continued to work smoothly and without any glitches.

They found the connection in their respective relationships, Historia patiently guiding Mikasa by the hand through the uncharted territory, them sharing stories of their past lives and current connections, a tangle web of centuries of trauma that they had to work through and could never fully resolve with their respective partners.

Sometimes Eren wishes he remembered more – that he remembered as much as Miki at least, so that they could share this burden together. But for all her eagerness to give him all of her, this is the one part that Mikasa doesn’t let go of easily. Surely, she happily drags him along if she has something nice for him to see, but besides that, she keeps all that she sees and knows and suspects to herself. And he doesn’t want to pressure her to open up.

But sometimes Mikasa would go awfully quiet and so awfully sad. Tears pooling in her eyes she would bite on her lip hard enough to draw blood and shiver in his arms for hours, sweating with cold sweat and making him so, so scared. And still, she refuses to talk about, clams up when she asks.

“What’s in the past, stays in the pasts.” She simply says, not looking at him and biting on her nails absent-mindedly.

It’s not if it still haunts you. – he wants to scream, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. Maybe it’s the same with her; or maybe she just wants to protect her, in the only way she can.

Either way, he us beyond glad she has but somebody that can help her somehow compartmentalize it all.

Historia quietly pads into the apartment, bursting into laughter at the sight of agitated pug spinning nervous circles on the floor.

“Damn, your dog has some issues, Eren.”

“ You can only imagine.” He sighs heavily, picking Bee up to rub behind her ears. “ Hi girl, won’t you just-“

Just like that, everything goes quiet.

There is no sound.

No light, no movement, nothing.

Just coldness spreading through his body, chilling each and every cell of his body.

Just pain, so strong that it doesn’t even seem like a pain at all; it is incomparable to anything he has ever felt. Broken leg? Nothing. A concussion? A walk in the park. That time when he fell down the stairs and injured his spine? A nap on the feathery bed.

Pain exploding within him, taking his breath away, making his heart stop.

Mikasa,

Mikasa.

“Eren? Eren!” Historia on her knees next to him on the floor, Bee barking again, the coolness of the wood underneath his palms-

Red car speeding on red light, red pooling on the concrete, Mikasa’s red iPod Mini shattered into tiny, little pieces.

“Eren.” She whispers, eyes desperately opened, sun so bright above her. “Eren.”

He doesn’t believe in god. Never has, as far as he remembers.

“Take the sun away.” he whispers, lips brushing cool wood of his mother’s worn-out rosary. – “Take the sun and- and the moon and all of the stars, just- “

His voice breaks in half; ugly sob escaping from his mouth before he can stop it. It’s so, so cold.

“ Just bring her back to me.”

There is a lifeline that stretches between them, red and infinite and beyond a crowded waiting room on the Intensive Care; a lifeline that nobody else sitting on those ugly orange chairs can see. But he can. And he will hold onto it, as tightly as possible.

And pull her back.

There is a memory that keeps on coming back to her over and over again. Eren ahead of her on the mountainside; his right hand holding onto a metal chain and left one outstretched towards her. He doesn’t even have to turn away to see her slipping on the ice-covered stones. He somehow knows, even though the wind is too loud for him to hear her quiet gasp or the sound that the soles of her boots make.

His hand shots and catches her wrist before she can even begin to fall, before the line that ties their waists together even begins to tighten; he pulls her upright strongly, steading her on a slippery slope.

Wordless support, wordless trust.

Thank you. She thinks. Thank you.

The image of his hand outstretched. He has always looked ahead and trusted her to watch his back. But he has never abandoned her either, never forgot she was there behind him, even when she thought he did.

She has a lot of time to think, is this sea of whiteness where she floats. Without any weight to carry, her thoughts flow lazily, one image after another. Some of them would normally make her heart ache, or even cry. But now she is glad they’re there; even the bad, the ugly. She doesn’t know that she would still be there if it wasn’t for the anchor they form. Maybe she would wander off to far to even make it back.

But with this goddamn, piercing I have always hated you, Mikasa echoing in her ears on repeat, it is impossible to let go.

It doesn’t matter that he didn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter that it was thousands of years away. Some wounds remain open for forever and that is one of them, still open and bleeding all over everything. She would laugh if it could even when you’re hurting me, you’re saving me.

So, against all she latches onto all that pain and heartbreak and reaches out her hand; searches through the nothingness for hours and hours until her fingers find it – the string, taunt and so, so warm.

Mikasa grabs onto it and holds on for what simultaneously feels like a fragment of a second and forever. Blinded and deaf, she holds on until her senses come back, one by one; until she can feel warmth of the sun of her skin and biting stench of antiseptics. Until she opens her eyes and sees him again, silent and grief-stricken and sitting next to her hospital bed, holding her hand.

She blinks, once, twice; watches as big, fat tears fall down his cheeks as he presses his forehead to her hand, his whole body shaking with relief that washes over both of them. She is too weak to do anything else but look at him, to keep her eyes opened and blink. But maybe that’s enough.

“There you are, honey.” Coos Carla, leaning down and putting a cup of green tea in Mikasa’s shaky hands.

It might be hot outside, but surrounded by hospital walls Mikasa feels very cold and quite small, really, so she will take every comfort she can have. She wills the corners of her mouth to raise a little and takes a sip, hot liquid burning the roof of her mouth.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, darling.”

All those pet names, thrown on her like a blanket covering her useless legs. She wishes she could ask everyone to stop – Carla, her mom, her dad, her friends – to stop hovering over her, but it simply won’t do. They would listen and genuinely try to stop, but she still would see it in their eyes. All the worry.

For now, her only solace is Annie with her own brand of harsh love that involved passive-aggressive remarks like “Will you stand up finally?” which makes other people present gasp. But Mikasa indeed, wants to stand up very much.

After Carla leaves, Eren appears; his steps echoing in her ears long before the doors open and he enters her room.

With a sight, he plops down on her bed, but she refuses to look at him. Still sitting on a wheelchair, she stares out of the window; what a beautiful day, sunny, not a cloud of the sky. Her whole body itches; in irritation, she forcefully sets down the teacup on the table and spills some tea in process.

“Miki.”

From her position, she can almost see green grass of the lawn next to the parking. She would jog there sometimes, passing the hospital, the parking and the lawn, not stopping to rest for she hardly ever needed to. How weird it is, to miss the stretch of her muscles and sweat dripping down her back.

Warm hand closes over hers.

“Miki.”

Eren’s kneeling on the floor next to her, his eyes big and pleading.

“Why are you so angry?”

We should be out there, she thinks, desperately and against herself, on Historia’s summer party, in my parents’ country house. Not here.

So much was stolen from them already. All those times where they met only to be torn apart, all this tragedy following them wherever they went. She is just so done with it.

Damn, Mikasa. His voice in her head is so infinitely sweet, almost dripping in honey. He gently brushes hair away from her face and leans his forehead on hers. This? This is nothing compared to what we’ve been through. There will be other summers.

There will be other summers.

She closes her eyes, trying to forget about the sun spilling through the window and focus on his voice on the promise ringing in them.

Really?

He chuckles quietly.

Yeah, really.

Her memories are subjective, but they don’t lie. Presented with the choice wheatear or not to trust Eren, all the Mikasas would always choose the former, without fail.

***

Their days become very long now, with the seasons passing behind the windows of their apartment like in kaleidoscope; summer in full bloom and then autumn, radiant in golds and scarlets. And winter again, the two of them cozy in their little microcosm lit with sweet-smelling candles.

Mikasa learns how to sit again and then how to walk again. It’s an excruciating process, more often than not involving a meeting with the plush carpets that now cover the entirety of the floors in the flat. And although Eren would keep her from falling if she let him, she prefers to do it a hard way. By that, she can at least feel like in those old good times, as if she was covered in sweat and exhausted after a hard training and not after taking a few shaky steps.

But it all passes like seasons; soon enough she walks again and then jogs, faster and faster, Eren always glued to her side, his silent prescience so comforting that it somehow makes it up for all the lost dreams that she had to abandon. She thinks a lot about it, how it felt to fly; but at least she can still curl up in his arms and he can kiss her neck and it’s different but it’s good. So good.

Snow falls and then melts; spring comes again, brilliant and fresh. By that time, she is already working out with a jumping rope again, drops by the neighboring dance studio whenever she can. There is a white dress hidden somewhere at the back of her closet; one beautiful mess of silk and lace crafted with Historia’s meticulous hands. The dress is waiting for the right occasions, but Mikasa has stopped waiting a long time ago.

Life is good when doesn’t need crunches or Eren’s arms to stand up. Life is good when she can actually sneak up on him and put her cold hands underneath his shirt when he’s cooking, making him jump and scream jesus Mikasa, go wear a sweater or something. Life is good when he doesn’t have to pick her up from the wheelchair and carry her to bed. Life is good with her new job and old friends and Annie and Armin standing underneath flowery arch and smiling like dorks.

Even after she met Eren, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But know she knows for sure, that even when it drops – it is not gonna be the hardest thing she has ever been through, not even close. And that life will always be good, as long as he will hold onto her, as long as he will keep her centered.

***

“Soulmates… why didn’t you like the idea?”

“I don’t really know. It always seemed so limited to me, like, why am I supposed to just be with this one person because we used to be together a couple of times before in a span of centuries? I didn’t enjoy somebody dictating me how to live my life, I guess.”

“You’re are such a rebel, Miki.”

“Oh, shut up. Tell me about you. What made you okay with that?”

“ Well. You know, when people find their partners, they tend to look at certain things. Like money and race, and gender, and interests and all of that. We don’t really tend to pair up with people who are very different from us. But the notion of soulmates… it just shows that it’s all bullshit. It doesn’t matter at all. When you really love somebody, all of those things are just so insignificant. That always sounded kinda beautiful for me, that it’s your heart that chooses this person time and time again, not your head. “

Maybe he is right. She doesn’t know; she doesn’t care. All she knows is that everything before him seems now like a soft, slow build-up and being with him is a beautiful crescendo; a moment when the music drags you under, overwhelms you.

Give me all your love now, cause for all we know, we might be dead by tomorrow.

One headphone in his ear, one in hers; hands linked and eyes closed, they sit in an empty train, talking without barely opening their mouths.

Even if we’re dead tomorrow, I’ll find you again, Miki.

I’ll find you again and I’ll love you again, Eren.

Ugly and beautiful, all together. She doesn’t think that this crescendo will ever really end.

As if the heavy slope of my shoulders

doesn’t write a hundred paragraphs.

As if the way I look at you

doesn’t write the singular ending.

You are my epilogue,

my prologue,

and every chapter that exists in between.

Everybody, sit down.

I have a story to tell."

- Stories. Seventy Years of Sleep, nikka ursula (n.t)

#eremika #eremika fanfiction #snk #eren x mikasa #snk fanfiction #our future will be a bright one #aot fic

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