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girlgenius1111 · 3 months

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crumbling under pressure

part 4 of adrenaline junkie

barça x reader

r continues to struggle in Alexia's absence. Alexia worries over how she's going to get r to realize she needs, and deserves, help.

-----

You don't sleep a wink that night. Even though Lucy sleeps downstairs on the couch, and even though you sneak into Alexia's empty bed halfway through the night, you can't get yourself to fall asleep. Every time you get close, your body jerks back awake, terrified of what horrors await it once your eyes shut. You don't feel safe enough to fall asleep, and there isn't much you can do about that. You aren't really even that upset, because Alexia would be back the next day, and really, was having another nightmare while she was gone something you really wanted to deal with?

You weren't stupid, and you knew that this wasn't sustainable. Something would have to change, likely once Alexia returned home, and although you were pretty sure it would be something you didn't want, like therapy or sleeping pills, the relief that someone would just fix it for you was hard to ignore.

And then, the next day, Lucy looked at you, when you came down the stairs, slowly, as your ribs were extra sore from yesterdays incident, with a strange expression on her face. Lucy only looked like that when something was wrong. She'd looked at you like that when she'd needed knee surgery last year, when Keira had gone down at the world cup. It was the look you saw on her face in the hospital when you woke.

It made your heart fall out of your chest, that look. You hated it, and you hated whatever Lucy was about to say.

"What?" You asked, voice already shaking.

"It's not that big of a deal," Lucy prefaced. It didn't make you feel much better. "There's some snow storm in Sweden, so the team can't get back until tomorrow."

Lucy assumed you would relax. It wasn't that big of a deal, really. No one was hurt, or dead. She hadn't considered just how much you'd been relying on Alexia the past few days, though, not until you visibly crumpled at her words. It made sense; Alexia was providing you stability in a time where your whole life felt like it had turned upside down. Stability was never something you'd had much of in your life, and Lucy hadn't realized how much you'd needed it until this moment. Being injured was never easy, but pair that with a near death experience? It was a miracle you'd let Alexia leave the country in the first place.

"Oh. Okay. That's cool." You said lamely, although your body language told an entirely different story.

"Alexia says she's really sorry, and that you can call her whenever you want. And I'll stay, of course."

"No, Luce, you have to go home." You frowned, shaking your head.

"No, I don't." Lucy said stubbornly.

"Have you forgotten the existence of Narla and Coco?"

"They're both away for training. They've been having some... behavioral issues."

"What did Narla do?" You smirk.

"Nothing! The fight wasn't her fault. Coco is always getting her all riled up. And don't change the subject! I'm staying here until Alexia gets back, whether you like it or not."

"I don't like it. I'm fine."

"If you say that one more time, I'm going to poke you in the rib really hard, and see how fine you are then!" Lucy said, stepping menacingly towards you.

Your eyes widened and you threw your good arm up in the air in surrender. "Damn, Lucy. When did you get so strict?"

"Stop deflecting! You're upset, and I'm staying. That's final."

"You sound like Leah," you mumble, but turn and retreat back to your room without further argument. What was another night with no sleep?

-----

Stupid Sweden. Stupid snow. You're going on 48 hours with no sleep, and it's clearly catching up with you. Alexia should be back from the airport in the next few minutes, finally. You feel like you're going crazy, like your brain isn't functioning correctly.

The dogs had returned from their little vacation, and you'd convinced Lucy to go home, even though she'd wanted to wait until Alexia got back. You weren't eager for them to talk, and for Lucy to tell Alexia just how poorly you'd been doing, so you were glad when Lucy begrudgingly left a few hours before your captain was due back.

What you didn't know, though, was that Lucy had clued Alexia in to the problem at hand earlier when she'd insisted you take a walk around the block and get some fresh air.

-----

"Hola Capi," Lucy said, hearing her teammates chattering in the background. They were at the airport, waiting to board their plane.

"Hi Lucia. How is she?" Alexia asked. She'd been feeling horrifically guilty that she'd had to be gone another night, as had the rest of the team. They'd all wanted to check up on you, having barely seen you since the accident. You didn't not want to see them, per say , it just seemed overwhelming, and Alexia had been limiting your visitors.

"She's... okay." Lucy said, not really sure that she wanted to worry the midfielder when she was already going to be home as soon as she could.

"That was not reassuring, Lucia. What have you done to my kid?" Alexia said, elbowing Mapi next to her when the defender laughed at the way Alexia was referring to you.

"I haven't done anything!" Lucy said indignantly. Alexia was silent, and Lucy could picture the look on her face, brows furrowed slightly, waiting for Lucy to just get out with it. "I don't think she slept last night. Or the night before." She admitted.

"At all?" Alexia frowned. This was completely unlike you; you loved to sleep. A lot. So much that it was almost an issue. She knew you'd been having nightmares, but she didn't think they'd impede your ability to sleep completely.

"I don't think so. I checked on her, and she acted like she was asleep, but she's practically catatonic today, and she looks exhausted. I don't think she's going to sleep until you're back, honestly."

"Fuck. Okay. Thank you for staying with her, Luce, I appreciate it."

"Anytime. She was England's kid first." Lucy reminded her, prompting a laugh from the Spaniard.

"Well, you can have the most stubborn girl in the world back anytime."

"I don't think she'll be interested, she's pretty attached to you." Alexia felt a wave of guilt wash over her at her teammates words. She shouldn't have left you. Your whole life, no one had bothered to stick around long enough to make sure you were okay, and she'd basically done that to you. She hung up with Lucy, spending the rest of the trip back silently worrying about you.

-----

You were trying to fold laundry when Alexia arrived home, sat on the couch, doing your best to keep things neat with one arm in a sling. The door banged open, in the way it always did when Alexia arrived home with a suitcase. You watched her walk in, eyes immediately scanning the room for you. You rose, tossing aside the t-shirt of hers you'd been [trying] to fold.

"Pequeña," she said, dropping her bag to pull you into a gentle hug.

"Hi Ale," you said, words muffled against her sweatshirt. She pulled back after a moment, tilting your chin up to look at your face.

"You look awful."

"Thank you. I'm so glad you're home, you always know just what to say." You said sarcastically.

Alexia rolled her eyes. "Seriously, you look like you haven't slept since I've been gone." She accused, doing her best not to sound upset; worry had the tendency to do that to her, making her sound frustrated when really, she was only concerned.

You shrugged, pulling away to allow her to walk fully into the house.

"Lucy told me you didn't sleep, so don't even try to pretend. And why are you folding laundry? You're supposed to be resting." Alexia scolded, and your face grew tense.

"I slept fine," you snapped, pissed at Lucy for telling, at Alexia for leaving, and at yourself, for being so pathetic that you couldn't sleep without Alexia there to make you feel safe. "Sorry I folded, I was just trying to be helpful. I'll stop doing that from now on, and just lay, motionless, for the rest of my fucking life."

Your voice had raised into a shout, and Alexia froze, blinking at you in surprise. Not really at your anger, because you were... rather known for your outbursts; it was expected, you were still growing. No, she was surprised at the pure hatred in your voice, seemingly directed towards yourself.

"Go upstairs, go lay down. I'll be there after I shower." Alexia said gently, not acknowledging the shouting at all. This only seemed to make you more upset.

"I'm fine. I don't need to lay down," you scowled, the words hurled viciously at the woman in front of you.

"Go lay down." Alexia repeated, still pretending that you weren't shouting at her. With a loud huff, you stormed off towards the stairs, taking the time to shove over a pile of clothes you'd folded. You stomped up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door impressively loudly behind you.

You were exhausted, she could tell. And, very obviously, having a hard time. A harder time than even she had thought, and certainly one harder than you'd ever admit. You needed help, the thought was only reinforced in her head.

She pulled out her phone, texting Mapi quickly, asking her for the name of the psychologist she saw. Mapi loved the woman, and had off handedly suggested that Alexia get you an appointment with her. The blonde appreciated the gesture, knowing that Mapi would divulge such personal information only to help you, really.

Alexia decided to let you cool down, bringing her bag to her room and getting ready to shower. She saw the sheets on the bed crumpled, in a way she hadn't left them, and realized you must have tried to sleep here at some point. Her heart felt like it was cracking in two at the realization.

-----

You'd calmed down significantly since storming out of the room, now sitting on your bed, watching a movie on the TV on the dresser. Your concussion was much improved, and you were allowed more screen time now, so you weren't completely bored.

You were so tired, deep in the core of your being, just completely and entirely exhausted, but your eyes wouldn't shut, even with Alexia back in the house. You were beginning to think you might never sleep again when there was a soft knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" Alexia called from the hallway.

"Yeah."

She opened the door, and entered the room. You kept your eyes on the screen, feeling more than a little embarrassed about your outburst before. You were supposed to be an adult.

Alexia was undeterred, though, sliding onto the bed next to you. You were only under a throw blanket, and she tugged on the side of it, until you lifted the edge allowing her to scoot under. You both leaned back up against the cushy headboard, watching an episode of Love Island in silence.

"Sorry for yelling." You said finally, eyes still trained on the screen, even as you felt Alexia turn to look down at you.

"It's alright, pequeña. I'm more worried about you not sleeping."

You don't deny it this time. Alexia takes the remote from where you'd discarded it on the bed, turning the TV off. Only then do you bring your eyes up to meet hers.

"What's going on?" Alexia prompted you.

"I don't know. I had that nightmare, and I called you. And I tried to sleep after that, but I couldn't, my body wouldn't let me fall asleep."

Alexia studied you, and you knew what she was looking at; bloodshot eyes, dark bags under your eyes, slightly groggy expression on your face.

"How can I get you to sleep?" She asks finally.

You look away from her, and she knows you have an answer, but you're too embarrassed to say it. She nudges you with her leg, poking your shin with her foot until you look at her, slightly annoyed.

"Can you stay?" You ask her, eyes fixed on your hands fidgeting with each other.

"Of course I can." Alexia says, relieved that you've finally stated what will help. You don't detect any annoyance or hesitancy in her face so you scoot closer, until the side of you is pressed up against her, and only then do feel your eyes finally sliding shut.

You fall asleep insanely quickly, breathing evening out before Alexia had time to grab her phone and look at the text she got back from Mapi. It contained a name, and an offer, one that Alexia felt she was likely to take.

-----

Mapi hadn't wanted to start therapy, not at all. But, like most positive changes that had occurred in her life, Ingrid had talked her into it. Now, she wasn't sure she would have made it through the past year without it. Alexia had, much to her mother's annoyance, never really considered therapy as an option. It wasn't the healthiest choice, but it was a choice she'd made. And this was precisely why she figured Mapi would be better to talk to you about going than she was.

It was clear you needed it, desperately. Though you'd slept for almost 14 hours uninterrupted the day she'd arrived home from Sweden, you weren't really doing any better.

You knew Alexia was up to something when she announced she was going to get coffee, and didn't try to force you to come. Your suspicion was only reinforced when she casually mentioned that Mapi might stop by while she was gone. You had no choice but to sit, and wait for whatever ghastly intervention was headed your way.

You were surprised, though, when you opened the door to both Mapi and Ingrid standing on the front porch. You hadn't been expecting the Norwegian, and it wasn't that you were upset, it was just... not what you expected. She held out the iced coffee in her hands as a peace offering, though, which you accepted gratefully, gesturing them inside.

"So, where's your prison guard?" Mapi joked. Alexia had been weird about you leaving the house since the accident; you're sure it's mostly because she wants your rather battered body to recover, and only partly because she can keep a close eye on you when you're at home.

"Oh, give it up, Mapi. I know whatever is happening here was planned by both of you. And possibly you." You say, nodding towards Ingrid. Mapi had the decency to look slightly guilty, but Ingrid's face was unreadable, as usual.

They took seats in the matching armchairs, while you sat on the couch, looking at them expectantly.

"Ale is really worried about you," Mapi started.

"No, really?!" You gasped sarcastically. Mapi didn't look like she appreciated it, but you thought you saw the hint of a smile on Ingrid's lips.

"You don't seem to be doing too well, pequeña. And that's completely understandable. It would make sense if you needed some help."

"I'm fine. I just need everything to heal, and once I get back in training and back on the pitch, I'll be good." Though the change in your routine wasn't really making you feel great, your problems went much deeper than that, and your older teammates knew it.

"You and I both know that isn't the problem, elskling." Ingrid said seriously.

"What do you think the problem is then, Ingrid. Please, tell me, because I have no idea what everyone thinks-"

"Stop lashing out at everyone that is trying to help you," Ingrid interrupted. "The problem is that you can't sleep without Alexia here, you're have horrible nightmares, Alexia said you've been avoiding going in the car at all costs, and you told Leah you never want to ride a bike again, which is so unlike you, y/n. You're too stubborn to stop doing something because the people around you think it's too dangerous. You're terrified, all the time, and you don't have to be. You deserve help, you deserve to move on from this, instead of pushing everything and everyone away when. Forcing yourself not to feel it isn't going to help. It's just going to make things worse when it all catches up to you, which it will."

No one had dared to speak to you so bluntly since the accident, afraid you would crumble under the slightest amount of pressure. And for a minute, Ingrid was worried you would. She and Mapi watched as several different emotions played across your face. Anger was there, first, but it was fleeting. You looked defensive, then, opening up your mouth to presumably tell Ingrid she was wrong. Nothing came out though, and suddenly you just looked... sad. Defeated.

You slouched back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. You looked so upset, both of them would have done anything to fix it, to take away the sling, and the bandages encasing your arm. The way you held your upper body so carefully, always conscious of your ribs. The way you could only wear shorts, leaving the large scrape on the side of your leg exposed for everyone to see, which they knew you hated. All of it, any of it, they just wanted to help, wanted you to let them help.

"I don't know what to do," you said finally, voice breaking on the last word. "I'm so scared. All the time. I've never felt like this before, and I just want it to stop, I don't understand why it won't stop."

"You don't have to try to fix it yourself, pequeña," Mapi said softly. Your head snapped up to look at her, a desperate look on your face.

"I do. I can't ask any more of Alexia, of you guys, of anyone. It's all already too much. I have to fix this myself, I have to." You insisted.

"I think Alexia would sell her Ballon d'Or if it meant you would feel okay. There isn't a limit to how much we want to help you, pequeña. You don't need to hide your feelings away because you don't want to be too much. There's no such thing as too much, not for us. Not when it's you. You're worth it all, kid."

"Why?" You asked, so quietly both girls almost missed it.

"Why? Why what?" Mapi repeated, confused.

"Why do you guys care so much?" You looked between her and Ingrid, wanting to cry at the way they looked at you, as if they were baffled that you didn't know why, that you didn't understand. You didn't though, and you were worried you might not ever get it, might never think you were worth all this.

Mapi looked to Ingrid, not sure herself what to say, but imagining that Ingrid could probably come up with something better.

"Because it's you. We care about you, we love you. You're an incredible footballer, but you aren't cocky. You know how to make everyone laugh, but you also always know when someone has a bad day, and needs something different. You're protective over your teammates, even though you're younger and shorter than most of them. You give good hugs, and you make the best chocolate chip cookies. You round out the team so perfectly."

Ingrid paused, watching to see if what she's saying is really getting through. She thinks it is, because suddenly, you're looking everywhere but at her, chewing hard on your bottom lip.

"You're a good person. Of course we care about you. How could we not?" Ingrid finishes. If her goal was to make you cry, it was working. You hid your face in your one good hand, shoulders shaking lightly. You hadn't really realized how much attention everyone paid to you. How much your presence on the team was noticed. You were so used to being invisible, no matter what you did, pushed to the side, that you often forgot; that didn't happen here. Your teammates had never, and would never, treat you like that.

Ingrid and Mapi moved forward on instinct, sitting on either side of you, and squishing you in between them. The front door opened just as they did so, and they looked up at each other, over your trembling body, exchanging a look of slight terror. Alexia was home, you were crying, and she was probably going to kill them. Once she made sure you were okay, of course.

"What did you DO?" The blonde hissed, putting her coffee down in the entryway, not even bothering to take her shoes off as she rushed forward, flicking Mapi and Ingrid each on the side of the head, before crouching down in front of you.

"Pequeña?" She asked gently, in the tone that she reserved only for you. You didn't respond, only shaking your head slightly. "You broke her," Alexia accused, glaring at the girls on either side of you.

"We did not!" Mapi yelped. "We're fixing her, this is part of the process." Now it was Ingrid's turn to flick Mapi, looking quite exasperated with her girlfriend. You mumbled something, but it was too muffled for anyone to understand.

"Say that again?" Ingrid asked, her hand resting comfortingly on your back.

"I don't know what to do, can you tell me what to do?" You finally emerged from where you'd hidden behind your hand, eyes red and swollen. "I don't want to feel like this anymore."

Alexia was somewhat lost, but Ingrid and Mapi were pretty sure that you were asking for help, finally asking for help. You didn't want to be scared anymore, and you were ready to let them try to help you fix it.

"Here's what you're going to do," Mapi said, suddenly serious and determined. "You're going to go to therapy. And it might be hard at first, but it's going to help, I promise. You're going to do your injury rehab program with the club, and get back on the pitch. You're going to drive again, and not be scared. And you're going to get another damn motorcycle, if thats what you want, because they're really cool, and the accident had nothing to do with you being on there."

Alexia had started off agreeing with Mapi, and quickly found herself frantically shaking her head at the other girl.

"Yes, Ale, she's going to get another motorcycle if she wants. She's an adult. It's time you treated her like one. If she's going to be able to trust herself, and feel safe again, she has to feel like you trust her to. Do you?" Mapi was never this stern, never this assertive. What she was saying made sense though, and all eyes were on Alexia now.

"Of course I trust you. I've never not trusted you, nena. I worry, yes, but I trust you." She held your gaze, and you nodded after a minute.

"Therapy. Rehab with the club. Get back on the pitch. Drive. Motorcycle?" You asked, greatly simplifying the process.

Alexia took a deep breath. "Yes, if you want. If you give therapy your best shot, then I won't throw a tantrum over the motorcycle."

"It's very mature of you to realize it's a tantrum, Ale." You said, cracking the first smile they'd seen from you in a while.

"If y/n can get another motorcycle-" Mapi began hopefully.

"No. I'll break up with you." Ingrid cut in, and her girlfriend scowled.

"You'll let me ride your new one, won't you?" She asked, nudging your knee with hers.

"I don't know if I can get on one. Ever again. I don't think that's something therapy will be able to fix." You replied, and the mood of the room turned serious once again.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? You're only going to do what you're comfortable with." Alexia said reassuringly, very obviously relieved.

"You think it will help? Therapy?" You asked, turning to Mapi.

"I do. I really do." She promised.

"Fine. I'll try." You said finally.

The girls were all smiles, and the conversation turned to easier, more fun things after that. It was easy with them, comfortable to fall back into jokes and laughter, even after such a heavy conversation. It was what you imagined it must be like for people to be able to depend on their families. Going to them with anything, no matter what the problem was, easily slipping back and forth between light and fun, and heavy and serious. You wondered briefly when you'd started to think of your team as your family.

The when didn't really matter very much, you decided. You had a family, had a support system. If they were there, you were sure you could figure everything out. Even if it was hard. It didn't seem like they were going anywhere.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader

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wileys-russo · 4 months

Note

would you be willing to write reader getting her wisdom teeth out and being all loopy and out of it while leah takes care of her (their relationship is relatively fresh) and she asks leah if she wants to know everything reader loves about her and leah agrees, thinking it is mostly going to be like sexual stuff or about her body but reader lists almost exclusively her personality and stuff like leah being super eloquent and hardworking etc and leah is just very positively surprised and swooning at it

it’s just fluff basically but a bit cheesy lol

happy gas II l.williamson

leah spun her keys around on her fingers as she returned to the dental clinic, jogging up the stairs and shoving her keys in her pocket as she stepped inside, a slight shiver going down her spine as the air conditioning pumped down onto her.

"hi, i'm here to collect my girlfriend? y/l/n, i was told to come back around two." leah smiled politely, resting her arms on the counter as the receptionist nodded, stepping out to check with the doctor.

"she's just waking up a little from the anesthesia love, take a seat and you'll be able to see her shortly the nurse will come and fetch you..." she trailed off expectantly with a raised eyebrow. "leah." the blonde smiled, thanking her and moving to sit down in the waiting room.

shifting around in the hard plastic chair the footballer busied herself watching a the big quiz re-run playing on the small telly above her. "leah? leah? leah!" she'd become so engrossed in the show, even mumbling along answers that she almost missed her name called out.

shooting out of her seat she sent the nurse an apologetic smile and hurried after her, making small talk as she was lead toward the recovery room. "is that-" leah started with a frown hearing a familiar laughter echo through the halls.

"sure is. your girlfriend is up there with one of the worst behaved but most amusing patients we've had!" the nurse chuckled and opened the door, leah stepping in after her.

"lee lee! you didn't leave me." you beamed happily, spitting the gauze out as the nurse hurried over to replace it with some fresh ones. "no i didn't, i told you i'd be back right after your surgery sweets i just went to get something to eat to pass the time." leah smiled with a shake of her head.

"she's certainly a character." the doctor chuckled with a shake of his head. "oh yes she is." leah agreed, the two of you were a relatively fresh pairing, having gone on several dates and a prolonged talking phase you'd only been dating for around three months now.

"is that normal practice? my little brother had his wisdoms out a couple years ago and never needed that." leah frowned as she noticed your hands had been restrained to the arms of the chair with velcro.

"no its not, however your girlfriend seems determined to pull out her gauze and if she doesn't keep it in her mouth long enough to stem the bleeding she's in for a world of pain." the doctor explained as leah nodded along.

"if she's not pulling it out she's screaming, singing or yelling causing it to fall out." the nurse sighed as you rolled your eyes and leah moved to be by your side.

"love can you please be quiet for a little bit? if you don't keep the gauze in your mouth to stop the bleeding they'll need to remove all your teeth." leah warned as your eyes widened in fear at the lie and you were instantly silenced.

"well thats one way to do it." the doctor laughed as leah smiled smugly and ran a hand affectionately through your hair. "so! aftercare." with that the older man ran leah through everything she would need to do as your primary carer for the next forty eight hours.

your hands now freed and helped into a wheel chair as the anesthetic meant your limbs weren't quite strong enough to hold you up leah wheeled you out of the clinic, shaking her head as you blew kisses to all of the nurses.

"stop that! save some for me." leah teased flicking your ear, some sort of gibberish mumbled from your mouth which was still stuffed with gauze. another nurse helping leah get you from the wheel chair into the car you happily waved her off as she returned with the chair toward the clinic, leah slipping into the drivers seat.

"why am i in the back!" you huffed, words a little muffled from the gauze but with the drowsiness wearing off they were less slurred.

"because you got voted one of the worst behaved patients at that clinic and i wouldn't put it past you to grab or push something you dont need to up here." leah smiled in amusement as you scoffed.

"thats so mean! they really voted me that." you seemed genuinely heartbroken as leah pulled out of the carpark. "love are you crying?" leah bit down on her lip to stop her smile as she glanced to you in her rear view mirror.

"yeah! thats really mean of them, i was so nice." you sobbed and leah couldn't help but cover her laughter with a cough knowing this was only the side affects of the anesthesia. "baby girl you both threatened and tried to bite the poor doctor multiple times, thats not very nice." leah reminded, corners of her mouth curling upward.

"cause he wouldn't keep his dirty glove covered hand out of my mouth!" you huffed with a scowl, head thumping against the back seat. "thats because he needed to remove your wisdom teeth you muppet, which are in your mouth." leah chuckled with a playful roll of her eyes.

"lee lee i am starving, get me some food please." you demanded, kicking the back of her chair like an annoyed child. "you're not allowed to eat for another four hours my love, sorry." leah apologized, your protests falling on deaf ears as she continued to drive home.

placating your whinging and trying her best to keep you quiet so the guaze stayed in your mouth leah felt a sense of relief wash over her when finally she pulled into the driveway of her apartment where you’d be staying the next few days so she could keep an eye on you.

she scrambled out of the car and hurried to your door, opening it before you could and helping you out, your legs a little stronger now some more time had passed.

successfully getting you up and out of the car and into the house she helped you onto the sofa, dashing off to change clothes so she was more comfortable, changing in lightning speed given she didn't want to leave you unattended for a moment longer than needed.

finally after a half hour of squirming and wiggling and fighting leah at every turn to take the gazue from your mouth or get up and move about you'd settled, an ice pack resting on your jaw to help the swelling as your back pressed into leahs front.

"leah." you spoke up, tilting your head back and shuffling a little so it rested on your shoulder and she hummed. "do you wanna know everything i love about you?" you smiled tiredly as your girlfriend chuckled, already quite sure what would be next out of your mouth as she gestured for you to continue.

but to her surprise it wasn't anything of the sort that she'd expected, no cheesy pick up lines or suggestive comments, no cheeky remarks about her body or your time spent together in the bedroom. in fact, it was the complete opposite of what leah expected.

"mm well i love that you're so passionate. about football, the arsenal foundation, your friends, your studies, your hobbies, a very very passionate woman." you started, a slight slur returning to your voice as the pain medication you'd just taken started to kick in.

"i love that you make me feel loved, and safe, and accepted, and happy, and comfortable. you love me for me and you have never asked or expected me to change." you continued, leah stunned into silence as you affectionately patted her leg.

"i love that you're so well spoken, and you always know what to say. but sometimes you know what to say and you don't say it because you want to annoy me and it works! because you know too well how to annoy me." you rolled your eyes as leahs smile grew.

"i love how much you love your family, its so special to watch the bond you all have. i love how much you love football, as a player and a fan and a spectator and sometimes an unintentional gaffer!" you grinned lopsidedly, your eyes closed now as leah pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, hugging you tightly.

"i love how good you are with my neices, and how much my mum loves you, even if the two of you gang up on me now!" you cracked open one eye tiredly to glare up at her causing her to chuckle and run a hand through your hair.

you paused as you let out a long yawn, again shuffling back so you were laid down a little more and comfortable once again between leahs outstretched legs. the girl assumed you were finished, her heart well and truly melting at your sweet confessions.

"i love that you are unapologetically yourself and you stand up and speak out on what you believe in. i love that even though you can't cook to save your life you order me pizza and let me pick the movies we watch." leah was grateful the two of you were alone now as she was sure if any of her friends and family saw just how in love she looked with you right now she would have the mick taken out of her forever.

"i love how strong you are and how you bounce back from everything, and you always try to find a silver lining or a different way to look at things. i love that you're so honest and open about how you're feeling and what you need when you need it. i love that-" your last few words were barely understandable as you inhaled and exhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut again as leah waited a moment before confirming you had indeed finally fallen asleep.

she could have cried at everything you said, and to be honest she was shocked she hadn't given she was basically a puddle of a human being, a pile of sap and heart strings and lovesick puppy eyes for you.

"oh my pretty girl, my best girl, if only you knew just how much i love and adore you. but i promise to spend each and every day showing you so, forever and always."

#woso x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso community #engwnt #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso

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digitaldiarystuff · 4 months

Text

For Better, For Worse

summary: Pablo was having possibly the worst week of his life, first he broke up with his girlfriend to focus on his career and then he got injured during a spain game possibly needing a surgery. What do you do when you find out?

pairing: Pablo Gavi x Y/N

genre: angst/ fluff

warnings: mentions of injury and surgery

————

When your phone started ringing at this late hour, you knew this couldn’t be good. It was 2 a.m. and your heart sunk as you read the name ‘Aurora’ on it.

“Hey.” you said concerned.

“Hi Y/N were you asleep?” she asked and her voice was pretty upset.

“No it’s okay.” you lied. “Is everything okay?”

“I know this is selfish and I’m sorry but-“ she trailed off. “It’s Pablo, he’s injured and not in good shape. I know you guys broke up but I don’t know what I can do to make this better for him he’s been crying for hours now and they say he may need a surgery as soon as possible.” she started crying which would’ve broke your heart but your mind went blank as soon as you heard Pablo’s injury. You knew spain had a game against georgia today but didn’t watch it knowing it would only upset you more.

Pablo broke up with you the week prior to focus on his career and you were in complete shock ever since, your schedules were hard to keep up with but you were willing to work on it, he wasn’t and now learning he was going to need surgery broke your heart so much.

“Are you guys at his place? I’m on my way.” you said and she thanked you over and over again.

Although you were pretty upset with him, there was no way you’d leave him in this state. You knew Pablo wouldn’t probably want to talk to anyone but you needed to be there for him at his worst. You still loved him so much. You didn’t realize you had tears falling from your eyes in the taxi, worried sick. You opened twitter and saw all the videos of him being escorted out of the pitch with pain written all over his face. It was incredibly painful to watch and you couldn’t even imagine what he’s going through.

As soon as you paid the driver you got out and practically ran to the gate of his house, calling Aurora to tell her you’re there. It was pretty late you didn’t want to bother if anyone’s sleeping though it’s highly unlikely.

She came to the door with puffy eyes and hugged you tight.

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course” you said. “Where’s he?”

“He’s in his room but won’t open the door.” she answered and you ran up the stairs not even bothering taking your jacket off.

You knocked a couple of times before he replied.

“Go away I don’t want anyone.”

You knocked again but he didn’t respond this time.

“Pablo, it’s me.” you said slowly hoping this would work.

You heard wheels inside the room and he finally unlocked it allowing you to see him in a wheelchair.

Your eyes immediately watered seeing his state and it’s obvious he was also crying for hours. You kneeled down and looked up at him, he looked like a baby right now with bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. You held his hands and hugged him avoiding his legs and he held you tight, crying into your hair. He didn’t even ask you anything just enjoyed your touch and affection.

He finally wheeled himself into the room and you followed after. Pablo carefully sat on the bed while you sat on the armchair next to it. You asked him what happened and he explained everything down to the possibility of the surgery and not playing for the season. You tried your best to console him and after an hour, his tears dried and he calmed down a little.

“So, did Aurora call you?” he asked

“Yes, I hope that’s okay.” you said

“Okay? That’s the only thing that could calm me tonight. I owe her a thank you.” he chuckled and this was a first for tonight. Your heart fluttered seeing his smile and suddenly realized you were supposed to be broken up even though it doesn’t feel like it.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way” you said “Of course if you’ll let me.”

“I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot to do this to you and here you are.”

“Don’t say that”

“But I am.” he said defeated.

“You kind of are.” you said earning yourself another chuckle.

“I missed your laugh.” he confessed.

“So did I. But you need to rest now.”

“Will you stay with me?” he asked like a child and you knew there isn’t anything in the whole world you wouldn’t do for him.

“If you want me to.” you said “I can sleep on the couch.” you said.

“No.” he pouted “I need to hold you.”

“Pablo there’s no way I’m getting in a bed with you, I could hurt your leg.” you said and he thought for a moment.

“Just till I fall asleep” he bargained and you didn’t protest. You needed him as much as he needed you. You sat against the headboard as his face was on your neck, you held him with your arms, he looked so sleepy.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked groggily.

“I’ll always be here, for better or worse.” you answered as his eyes closed.

Pablo fell asleep like that in your arms as you watched his face. He looked like an angel from this angle. You smiled to yourself, tried to put his head on a pillow and wiggle out of the bed without waking him up making yourself comfortable on the couch. You soon felt sleepy as your eyes closed.

After you fell asleep Aurora wanted to check in on you guys and opened the door slowly finding you both asleep, smiling to herself she left the room.

#football #football imagine #football x reader #football x y/n #football oneshot #football x you #fc barcelona #football angst #football blurb #football one shot #pablo gavi oneshot #pablo gavi one shot #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi blurb #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi

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hihomeghere · 6 months

Text

Unspoken thing | Five Hargreeves / Reader

Word count : 1.7k Summary : Part 2 of One Bed, after that fateful night in the hotel room. Five has been avoiding you and now you're called into the Handler's office to take responsibility for the delay in exterminating the target. After a minor injury caused by the Handler, Five patches you up. You can no longer take the tension of the unspoken thing between the two of you. ( I do not own The Umbrella Academy or any of it's characters) Warnings / Tags : Allusions to smut, cursing, mentions of blood and surgery equipment, tension, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested. Part one here

“Impressive work, Y/n.” The handler said with a sickly sweet tone. She flipped through your completed files. You watched as she licked her finger before turning a page. You swallowed, fighting the urge to cower before her. “I see here that you suffered from a headache during your mission, is that correct?” She asked, cocking her head in false concern. It wasn’t just a headache.

“Yes.” You answered, not daring to say anything more. Anything you said could and most likely would be held against you. She read the paper, her eyes flying from left to right.

“Hmm, yes it seems that this delayed your extermination of the target?” She phrased the statement as more of a question. Treating you as a child instead of an employee. She clicked her tongue leaning forward, clasping her hands. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“No.” You tried to keep your voice steady, with no discernible tone. She raised her eyebrows, her fake smile falling.

What delayed the job was unforeseen circumstances, Five was looking for you instead of the target. You had split up, and he couldn’t find his way back to you. Which had then led to a very interesting night in a hotel room.

You should have known that you would get called in for this instead of Five. Even though it had been both of your responsibilities to eliminate the target. But Five was one of the handlers favorites.

“Hm.” She hummed, clicking her tongue, “You know Y/n if you let any of our trained scientists here poke around in that little brain of yours. We could figure out why you’re getting those headaches.” She pointed to your head with a well manicured red nail. You froze, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. You were transported back to that lab. The sounds of drilling, cold sterile instruments, the excruciating pain. Your screams echoing off the walls. The scientists with bloody gloves and masks.

“No. No one is going to ‘poke’ around anywhere.” You said quickly, shaking your head, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. The handler smiled, pleased by your reaction. You sighed looking down at your lap. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.

“Well, the offer remains if you change your mind.” She said standing up, you stood up as well. Glad this interrogation was over. “Although if you wish to stay Number Five’s partner, you’ll need to start pushing through your headaches to complete the mission.” She said false encouragement in her voice. Her hand gripped your shoulder as she led you out of her office, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You winced, pulling away from her. She cocked her head as though she was surprised by your reaction.

“You won’t have to worry about finding him a new partner.” You said through gritted teeth, “We’ll manage just fine.” You turned on your heel, striding towards the stairs. Once you were sure you were out of her view you let out a shaky breath. In for 4, hold for 7- Tears started to prick your eyes. You took in a shuddery breath, your hand coming to your heart. You rushed down the stairs, a stabilizing hand on the railing. Your other hand moved from your heart to cover your shoulder. You started breathing rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears. You turned down an empty hallway, leaning up against the wall. A cool hand wrapped around your wrist, Five blinked you both into his office. You would never get used to that, like someone was injecting ice into your veins.

He led you to one of his office chairs, the same one you had sat in when you first met him. He squatted in front of you, inspecting you for any injuries. His cold fingertips landed on your shoulder, he stopped, his eyes meeting yours.

“Who did this to you?” He asked his jaw clenching, you lowered your gaze. He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was deadly, calculated, ready to strike whoever did this to you.

“The handler.” You whispered, biting your lip. Five clicked his tongue, a scowl on his face.

“Of course, I assume this after the mission debrief?” He stood up walking around to the other side of his desk, rifling through his drawers.

“Yes, Five it’s fine-” You said, picking at the skin on your hands.

“Fine? That bitch dug her claws into you.” He scoffed, shaking his head behind his desk. He stalked around his desk to kneel in front of you again. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his forearms bare except for the umbrella tattoo. Part of you wanted to trace the veins on his arms, to touch him in any way. You thought that being with him physically would have scratched the itch, instead it only fed the fire inside you. You missed his touch, most of all you missed him. You could count on your hands the number of words he had said to you since that night. He opened up his first aid kit, pulling out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He carefully poured a small bit onto a cotton ball gently dabbing it against the bleeding crescent marks in your shoulder. You flinched but prided yourself on keeping quiet as he pressed the cotton ball onto the wound. You felt the prick of new tears in your eyes, you raised your gaze to the ceiling. Your vision clouding with unshed tears, you sniffled as quietly as you could. Although every sound seemed amplified in the tiny office.

You watched Five work, this wasn’t some gaping wound he had to patch up by himself. It was a scratch, but you could tell he had a system, doing this many times before. His jaw was set with an unreadable expression. He moved like a machine, programmed only to do this task. He opened up a bandaid, covering the wound on your shoulder.

“Done.” He said, rising to his feet.

“Thank you.” You said slowly getting to your feet. He walked back to his desk, opening the drawer and setting the first aid kit back in its normal spot. Now to leave, he had only done his duty as your partner. Nothing more. He had made it clear he didn’t love you, and made it clear that you were only partners. You were ready to go home, curl up in your bed with a good book. You walked to the door, your hand settling on the door knob.

“Leaving so soon?” He questioned, you looked back at him. He was pulling out a bottle of scotch, two glasses balanced in his hands.

“What?” You asked, your brows pinching together.

“Can I not ask my partner to share a nightcap?” He asked, recoiling, a teasing smile tugging on his lips. Your heart thumped in your ears, you longed to be close to him again. Longed to be back in his corner where you belonged.

But he wasn’t yours.

“No.” You bit your cheek, avoiding his gaze as you looked away from him. Unspoken things always seemed so romantic, full of tension, the will-they-won't-they of it all. It didn’t feel romantic right now, full of tension yes. This tension that made you want to tear your skin off, instead of your clothes.

“No?” He raised his brows, setting down the glasses on this desk before loosening his tie.

“Is that what I am to you? Just your partner?” The words slipped out before you could think to bite your tongue. You clench your fists, grounding yourself with the dull pain in your palms. He scoffed, pouring the golden liquid into his glass.

“You should know what you mean to me.” He turned his eyebrows pinched together, “I’m not some womanizer.” He knocked back the glass, hissing as the alcohol ran down his throat. Your face burned, shame creeping up your neck.

“Well I don’t know, so what am I to you?” You asked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, he hung his head bracing himself on his desk.

“Fine.” He said standing to his full height, “You want to know what you are to me?” his lip twitched as he waited for your response. You nodded, crossing your arms. “You’re my everything.” It was like someone had dumped a bucket of water over you. He walked around the desk, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights. He stalked towards you, “I can’t think when you’re around- you-” he huffed clenching and unclenching his fists. “You drive me crazy.” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours.

“I-” You began when the door opened, pushing you forward into Five’s arms.

“Oh! So sorry Y/n!” Herb squeaked, pulling the case file close to his chest. You looked up, directly into Five’s face. His jaw was clenched, his stern gaze turned on Herb now.

“No worries.” You breathed, holding onto Five’s arms for balance as you got back on your feet. Once you were able to support yourself again, Five reached out and snatched the file from Herb’s hands. He began to thumb through it, “You’ll be leaving immediately.” Herb clasped his hands together, “Handler’s orders.” You internally groaned, what a fucking cock block.

“Thank you Herb.” You said walking up beside Five, “We’ll take it from here.” You said with a reassuring smile. He nodded before closing the door behind him. Once Herb had walked down the hallway you put your hand on Five’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes full of emotion. “Let’s get the job done, and once we are back we can pick up where we left off.” You smiled softly, moving to stand in front of him. You reached up and straightened his tie, he relaxed under your touch.

“Alright, tesoro.” He smiled, the corner of his lip pulling up. You pulled him forward by his tie, softly kissing his cheek. You’d have to thank the Handler for her hand in all of this, maybe an edible arrangement? You chuckled to yourself as you walked toward the briefcase department, Five’s hand resting on your lower back.

#the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #alison hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreaves x reader #number five #the handler #hihomeghere

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runnning-outof-time · 10 months

Text

I’m Not Gonna Leave You | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @rangerelik

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N)'s still having trouble with getting past her husband's injuries. Tommy assures his wife that he's not planning on leaving any time soon.

Warnings: nightmare, Tommy’s season 3 injury

Word Count: 1872

A/N: bit of a shorter one here….it was fun trying to work the prompts into the story - I hope it all makes sense. The prompts are italicized. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) threw the door to the townhome open, her heart beating so loudly that it was all that she could hear. "Ada!" she called out as she began looking in the front rooms, "Ada where are you?" her panic increased with each second as she wondered if the ambulance had come already. She wasn't sure if she wanted it to have or not.

She got her answer when she walked further into the main hallway and found her husband and sister-in-law sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Ada was trying to keep Tommy engaged while Tommy was trying with all he could not to let his head lull back and his eyes shut. "Oh no," she gasped, rushing over to where they were. "Tommy...Tommy, what's happened?" she frantically searched for his hand, wanting to hold onto it.

"I don't know what happened, (Y/N). He came here like this," Ada answered, her voice shaky, "he...he said that he had a fractured skull, a concussion and internal bleeding, and that he couldn't see," she then rattled off what Tommy had told her when he'd asked her to drive him to the hospital. She decided to call him an ambulance instead.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy stumbled over his wife's name as he tried to get it out with what little energy he had left.

"Tommy? What, what is it?" she quickly turned her attention to him, holding onto his hand tighter.

"I...I love you. You and the children...they, they mean so mu...so..." he stammered out, squeezing his eyes together and opening them again in hopes that he'd see her beautiful face, but everything was still black.

"No, no...you're not doing this. You're not saying goodbye," (Y/N) began choking on her cries once she realized what he was doing.

"I need to...I need to sleep," he panted out before he finally let his head drop, his body losing its tension as his grip on her hand went limp.

"No!," (Y/N) screamed, a wail leaving her body as she grabbed onto her husband's jacket, trying anything she could to get him to come back to her.

"(Y/N)..." Ada's voice came from her side, calmer than she should have been at that moment, "(Y/N)..."

"No, he's..he's..." she choked on her words, still trying desperately to get Tommy to stay with her.

"Wake up, (Y/N)," she heard before she was shaken awake. She noticed that she was in her dark bedroom as she sat up, gasping for breaths while trying to figure out fact from fiction.

"Tommy," she panted, looking over at him as she tried to calm her breathing, "you're...you're here."

"I am, love...I'm here," he nodded, speaking in a calming voice as his eyes searched over her face, "come 'ere," he said to her then, opening his arms so that she could fall into them.

She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent and repeatedly telling herself that he was still alive. Her hand traveled up from his shoulder to the top of his head, feeling the scar that was left over from his surgery. Feeling it made her heart hurt, but it reminded her that he'd survived...that what had happened in her nightmare wasn't how things went down in real life.

"Another nightmare?" Tommy asked her after she seemed to have calmed down.

"Yeah," she whispered, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She finally felt like she could hold herself again. The shaking had calmed down and her mind wasn't running at a mile a minute.

She let go of him, sitting up straight in bed so that she could look at him. She studied his face for a few moments, as if she was committing it to memory, before she looked down at her lap.

"You ok?" Tommy broke the silence, watching her intently.

"I, uh..." (Y/N) trailed off, brushing her hair out of her face as she looked up again, "I'm going to go for a moment," she said then, moving the covers off of her body so that she could leave the bed. She was able to leave the room without being asked any questions, and that was something she was thankful for.

She found herself on the chaise lounge in her private study after checking to make sure that her children were still sleeping soundly. She stared at the ceiling as she laid back on the lounge, trying to focus on the sound of the crackling fire that one of the maids had just made for her. Trying to think of anything other than what she'd just gone through.

These nightmares had been playing out ever since Tommy's incident and subsequent surgery happened four months ago. He was home now, taking it slow and trying to work his way back to the level he was at before, but (Y/N) still worried that the effects of his injuries would persist and return. The doctors hadn't said that there wasn't a chance of that happening. No matter how many times he assured her that she was ok, she still worried for him. He would always tell her that he was ok, right? But yet the scene that she walked into at Ada's townhome that evening was still burned into her mind.

Thankfully the ambulance did show up in real life...and that they were able to get Tommy to the hospital and to the help he needed before he died on the steps. But the worst always happened in her nightmares, and that was something that she kept to herself; no matter how realistic they seemed. She didn't want to burden others with the horror of them.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in there before there was a knock on the door. It opened shortly after and Tommy stepped into the room, sleep prevalent in his mannerisms from across the room. His hair was disheveled and his trousers were haphazardly pulled up over his legs, the henley shirt that he usually wore to bed half tucked in and half let out. (Y/N) couldn't stop her heart from squeezing at the sight. Some days it was still a mystery; how she'd managed to find herself a man like him.

"You've been away for a while," he said to her once he was standing in front of the lounge.

"I lost track of time," she replied, glancing up at him before she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged onto her legs while staring out at the fire in front of her. Tommy watched her do this, silently feeling out the climate; trying to decide if he should stick around or leave her be.

He made his decision by sitting down on the now empty spot of the lounge. Him doing so blocked the fire from (Y/N)'s line of view, making her look at him instead. "What are your nightmares about?" he decided to jump right to the question, "they may not be so bad if you talk about them."

"I don't want to burden you with it," she answered him, resting her chin on her kneecaps as a frown formed on her face.

"You wouldn't be, love," he shook his head slightly, "you know about mine...it's only fair you tell me yours. You don't need to worry about scaring me off. I'm not going anywhere, and you can try as hard as you want, but there's nothing you can say that's going to make me love you any less," he assured her then, his eyes soft as he spoke.

(Y/N) sucked in a deep breath after hearing Tommy's statement. She thought about all of the times throughout their relationship where he'd been the one needing to be woken up due to his nightmares. (Y/N) would sit up with him after each and every time; talking through what he'd experienced so that he'd get some clarity from the terrors he'd just gone through.

"They're always of the night that I found you at Ada's house...but you never make it long enough for the ambulance to arrive," she detailed the events of her nightmares, starting to get choked up just from thinking about them. Tommy furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to what she had to say. It was obvious that he was thinking over what she was telling him; putting the pieces together in his mind so that he'd have a thought out response for her when she was finished talking. She continued after taking another deep breath, "they make me think about the worst case scenario...about how things could have been had I lost you that night. And they make me think of how things could be if anything comes up as a result of your injuries."

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, (Y/N)," he assured her, his eyes locked onto hers as he spoke, "I'm not gonna leave you."

"We don't know that for certain. The doctor's said they couldn't rule out the possibility of there being lasting effects from these injuries...or the possibility of something happening to you after the fact," she rattled off her biggest fears, her mind being transported to that harrowing conversation they had with his team of doctors before he was discharged from the hospital.

"I'm going to try my damnedest not to let it happen," he told her, speaking with the utmost confidence. (Y/N) offered him a shaky smile in response. She wanted so bad to take his promise and let it override all of her worries, but no matter how hard she tried, that nagging voice in the back of her mind kept telling her to think the worst. "Hey...come 'ere," he said to her, realizing that she was at war with herself inside her mind again.

(Y/N) listened to him, scooting over on the lounge so that she could fall into his arms for the second time that night. She exhaled the breath she'd been holding as she allowed him to hold her tightly against him. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of her chest now.

"I'm not gonna leave you, (Y/N), ok?" he mumbled into her hair after some time had passed. (Y/N) finally lifted her head from his chest so that she could look at him again. Their eyes met and she instantly felt like all of her fears and worries were miles away. The slightest smile formed on her face as she nodded her head, showing him that she'd heard what he said and that she was going to hold onto that statement with all she could.

Tommy smiled softly at her, happy that she seemed more relaxed now than she did when they'd both been woken up by her nightmare. He leaned in and kissed her then, feeling her smile grow the second his lips met hers.

Tomorrow surely had another set of challenges coming with it, but (Y/N) wasn't going to worry about that now because, at least for tonight, things were ok.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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starlost97 · 9 months

Text

— stubbornness.

summary: You just got home from the hospital, and are still learning how to walk properly again. You knew at the moment that you woke up from the surgery that Buck wouldn’t leave you alone. And you were right. He only went back to work when he couldn’t take any more days off, even though you insisted that he shouldn’t worry about you. The thing is, you are very stubborn, and it became even more obvious when you couldn’t do things on your own, but still wanted to.

keywords: fluff, recovery, stubbornness, worried Evan Buckley, f!reader.

characters: Evan Buckley, Maddie Buckley.

warnings: allergic reaction, swearing, author’s medical knowledge is very very bad.

a/n: I got this idea after watching an episode of 911: Lone Star (no spoilers here, though), also searching epi-pen and paramedics aesthetic wasn't on my bingo card this year lol.

word count: 1,438.

requested?: no!

Once more, you opened your eyes and felt a sharp pain when trying to move. You always forgot about your legs.

“Oh, fuck.” You murmured, trying to be as quiet as possible. You didn’t want to alarm Buck even more on his first day back to work. “Buck?” You called, hearing noises of things being stumbled on and quick steps on the stairs soon after.

“Honey, hi!” He said, almost falling on the ground when rushing to the bedroom. “Here, let me help you.” Buck grabbed your waist and carefully got you out of bed. “Are you sure that’s ok for me to go back to work?”

“I promise, babe, it’s fine. I can take care of myself while you work.” You said, caressing his hair and cupping his face with your free hand. His blue eyes finding yours. You could tell that he was worried, but you knew how much he wanted to go back to work.

“You can call me anytime, ok? If I don’t pick up, someone will.” He hugged you and kissed your cheek, making you laugh.

“You’re going to be late, Buck.” You said as he trailed kisses down your neck.

“I love you, ok? See you tomorrow.” He said, kissing your lips and leaving the bedroom.

“Love you too!” You said, catching a glimpse of his smile as he went down the stairs. You waited until you heard the front door closing to start getting ready.

People always talked about how Buck was a workaholic, but they didn’t notice how you were just as bad as him. In the last weeks, you didn’t have the chance to leave the house and go to work, since Buck wouldn’t leave your side. But now, with your boyfriend going on a 24 hour shift, you had plenty of time.

You got ready as fast as you could and left the house, driving to the Los Angeles Service Center.

As soon as you arrived, you received a message from Buck asking if everything was ok. You smiled at your phone and answered, saying that there’s no need to worry.

You got to your floor, using a walking stick to get to your desk, which was right beside Maddie’s, so you knew she would see you there soon. But you were prepared to argue why she shouldn’t tell Buck you were there.

As soon as you sat down, you heard a familiar voice calling you by your full name, which would have startled you if you weren’t expecting it

“Maddie! You look so pretty today, you know that?” You said, smiling at her.

“You are unbelievable. Does Buck know you’re here?” She asked, crossing her arms.

“... No, and you’re not going to tell him.” Maddie opened her mouth to answer, but you were faster. “And you own me one, remember? I didn’t tell Chimney that you came in sick when he had specifically told you not to.”

“Well, it’s different. You are recovering from a surgery, when I was just a little constipated.” She said, putting her hands on her hips.

“You still said that you owned me one, so I’m claiming that favor now.”

Maddie looked at you up and down, trying to decide if you were being serious or not. Usually, you would hold onto a favor for dear life until you wanted something nearly impossible. Getting back to work was something that would happen eventually, so all you had to do was wait.

But you couldn’t wait anymore. At home, everytime you heard your phone ringing you got excited because it reminded you of work. It was pathetic. Before becoming a dispatcher, you always judged Buck for being so obsessed with being a firefighter. Being a nurse was good, and you loved helping people, but you got too overwhelmed at the end of the shifts with all those people around you.

“Look, I will be careful. It’s not like I will be moving much, right?” You could see Maddie holding her laugh.

“You do have a point.” She said as she sat right beside you, preparing for the first call of the shift.

Time passed, and you tried very hard to not talk on the radio when the 118 was attending the calls. Sometimes you heard Buck speaking and smiled, trying not to talk to him as you always did. You got used to having conversations while he did things that didn’t really require his full attention, and he loved doing that too. It was something that helped him a lot when he needed to relax.

As the day went by, you got more relaxed. You and Maddie shared lunch, and she helped you change your bandages.

“Everything looks great, honey.” She said as she finished, making sure that the medical tape was well put on your back. “Buck is doing a great job taking care of you.” You smiled at the comment.

“You know, the moment I woke up from the surgery, I knew that he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“He was so scared, honey. He wouldn’t leave your side.” She said as she started to walk back to her desk with you.

“He is a sweetheart, Maddie.” You said, sitting on your chair. “Even though I missed working, he made sure to make those weeks enjoyab-” Before you could finish your sentence, you heard a loud bang, followed by screams. You looked around and found one of the new dispatchers unconscious on the floor.

You and Maddie went as quick as possible — considering you were using a walking stick — to the girl, who looked like was having an allergic reaction. You asked someone to bring the medical kit, hoping to find an epi-pen.

“Nothing here.” Maddie said, looking at you, worried.

“Look at her bag! She might have brought it with her.”

You soon started to hear sirens, but you didn't think anything about it. Your focus was on the girl.

“She's here!” You heard Sue say, hearing footsteps coming in your direction.

“We think it's an allergic reaction, but we don't have any epi-pen.” Maddie said, making space for the paramedics.

“You are right. Chimney, give her some epi.” Hen said, measuring her heart rate.

You got up, standing right beside Maddie and putting your hand on her shoulder for support. You both were worried about the girl. It took you a minute until you realized that Buck was in the same room as you.

You waited until the girl woke up, which didn't take long. Hen and Chimney explained to her what happened, and she agreed to go to the hospital to get checked. This was the perfect moment to try to hide from your boyfriend, but you weren't fast enough.

“Y/N?!” You heard your boyfriend say, just as you were trying to get away.

“Hi, Buck.” You said, turning to his direction. “How's your day going?”

“What the hell are you doing here? You should be at home!” He said, looking worriedly at you, holding your hands.

“I was just getting some things with Maddie!” You lied, looking at your friend, who agreed with her head.

“Why are you in uniform, then?” He asked, crossing his arms, staring at you. You could see Chimney and Eddie looking at Hen, who had a smug smile on her face.

“Pay up.” She said, looking as both of the firefighters picked up their wallets.

“Buck, I’m fine! I swear. And there’s lots of well trained people here to take care of me if something goes wrong. Maddie even helped me change my bandages!” You said, and your boyfriend looked at his sister, who gave him an awkward smile.

Buck looked at you hesitantly before tilting his head and biting the inside of his cheek.

“I guess I can’t make you go home, huh?” He said, smiling slightly and caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Look, please be careful, ok? Promise me that you will take any pain seriously. I don't want you getting any worse.” He smiled at you, kissing your lips.

“I promise, Buck.”

“And now that I know you're here, I want to hear your voice through the radio, ok?” You smiled, confirming with your head.

“I miss doing that.”

“Me too.”

“Ok, lovebirds, let's go. And I'm talking to you too, Chimney.” Hen said, startling Maddie and the firefighter.

“I gotta go, bae. I'll see you home.” Buck said, quickly kissing you before running through the door with the 118. “Love you!”

“Love you too!”

And just like that you spend the rest of your shift talking with your boyfriend through the radio.

Sometimes being stubborn pays off.

#evan buckley x reader #buck buckley #evan buckley x you #evan buckley/reader #evan buck buckley #evan buckley x female reader #evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley #911 evan buckley #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley 911 #evan buck buckely #911 x reader #buck 911 #911onfox #911 on fox

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moonstruckme · 1 month

Note

Hey luv!! Saw your requests open and was curious if could do modern au w poly!marauders and nonbinary!reader who wants and gets top surgery. If not thats okay, just ignore!! 💋

Hi! As always with these, I have limited knowledge so please lmk if there's any inaccuracies or insensitivities! I'd be happy to fix them :) And thank you for requesting sweetheart <33

cw: reader is recovering from major surgery, vaguely suggestive (but barely)

poly!marauders x nb!reader ♡ 864 words

James hops over the back of the couch as soon as you and Remus get in the door, instantly assailing you with tenderness.

“How’d the appointment go?” he asks, providing a hand you don’t really need to go sit down on the couch.

“Good,” you say honestly. You can hear Sirius coming down the stairs a second before he appears, giving you a quick up-down to assess your state before grinning at you.

“Feeling good?”

You laugh. “Yeah,” you reiterate, “it went well.”

Remus chuckles, passing a sympathetic hand over your head as he rounds the couch to sag into the armchair. Your boyfriends are infinitely sweet in their attentions, but they’ve been treating your first post-op appointment like it’s Christmas.

“So, is it off?” Sirius asks eagerly.

You smile, nodding. “The vest is off, but I’ve still got the bandages until probably next week.”

James’ knee immediately sets to bouncing as he takes a seat beside you. “Can we see?”

“I’ve already seen,” Remus says smugly.

James’ excitement fizzes in the air around you, and Sirius stalks toward you with purpose. A familiar tingle of apprehension skips over your skin as he leaps upon you, planting a knee on either side of your hips to keep from actually putting any of his weight on your lap. The couch springs groan in protest. Remus echoes them.

“If you break our furniture, you’re buying the new stuff,” he warns.

Sirius ignores him, fingering the button at the collar of your shirt. “May I?”

“Only if you quit flirting with me,” you say.

“Christ,” James’ head lolls back on the couch cushion, “with those terms, we’ll never get to see.”

But Sirius is already undoing your top, slender figures making quick work of the buttons before he’s opening it up. You let the sleeves fall down your shoulders, unable to tamp down your own smile at the sight of your torso.

“Fuck, baby,” Sirius breathes, running his thumb along the skin just underneath the bandages. Even though he’d seen your chest back at the doctor’s office, Remus leans forward in his chair to peek around James. “You look so good.”

“I said no flirting,” you try to joke, but his eyes are earnest when they meet yours.

“I mean it,” he says.

Your face heats, a pleasant warmth blooming behind the bandages.

“You really do,” James agrees. He’s looking from your chest to your face like he’s matching them up in his head. “You’re so perfect like this, angel.”

You smile at him. “You’ve always said that, Jamie.”

“I have,” he admits. “I mean, you’ve always been perfect, but you’re so you now, it’s like…” His smile unfurls, beatific, and your face scrunches up in apprehension a second before his smacking kiss lands on your cheek. “You’re perfecter than perfect.”

“Cheesy,” you diagnose, the warmth of your skin increasing. “But thank you, sweetheart.”

“Mm, you don’t look like you think it’s cheesy,” Sirius says, cupping the back of your neck and grinning at the heat he finds there. “You look quite pleased, actually.”

“I can be both,” you counter.

“I like seeing you this pleased.” James presses another, gentler, kiss to your temple. “You’ve seemed so happy since the surgery. I feel like I didn’t realize what we were missing out on before.”

You tilt your head back against the cushions, looking at him. “Have I really?” You’ve certainly felt happier, but most of the time since your surgery has been spent in bed, alternately asking your boyfriends for help and complaining about how much help you need.

James looks surprised you’d even ask, and Remus says, “Of course, dove. You carry yourself so differently, you thought we wouldn’t notice?”

You feel your lips quirk, imagining yourself hobbling around during the walks James had forced you to go on because the doctor recommended it. “You mean like an elderly person?”

“He means like a sure person,” Sirius says, and his gaze could melt you to the bone as it rakes from your chest up to your face. “You seem more at home in yourself.” He grins crookedly. “It’s hot.”

“Easy.” James gives Sirius’ shoulder a little nudge. “They’re still not cleared for any of your depravities.”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Sirius murmurs, bending to smear a kiss over the corner of your mouth. “Also, they haven’t said that yet. What did they say during your appointment, baby?”

“I doubt that would fall under the list of sanctioned activities.” You’re unable to keep the tinge of giddiness from your voice, and your dastardly boyfriend grins at hearing it. “I’m still not allowed to do much. I thought I’d be able to shower this week, but no.”

Sirius lights up at the last bit, and you narrow your eyes. Remus groans.

“What?” you ask.

“Now you’ve done it,” Remus says, managing to sound completely exasperated despite the humor in his eyes.

“What?” you repeat, alarm increasing as Sirius’ grin spreads.

James pats your shoulder consolingly, seeming to have also caught onto whatever’s made your boyfriend so happy.

“I’ve found the perfect solution to our problem, sweetpea,” Sirius says, tone already wheedling. “I’ll just give you sponge baths.”

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confused-pyramid · 3 months

Text

There Is More When You Let Go | s2

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 18.8k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, kidnapping, torture, drug use, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 2x01, 2x05, 2x06, 2x13, 2x14, 2x15, 2x16, 2x18, 2x23

a/n: here's season 2 of the anchor series! I had a lot of fun writing this one (hence why it got so long lmao), and I included a lot more direct show content in this part, so I hope you like it. Also more flashbacks:) Title is from Benediction by Luke Sital-Singh

series masterlist

A gunshot. That's the last thing you hear before Elle's front door flies open, almost throwing you back onto the stairs. The shock of seeing the Fisher King standing right in front of you almost makes you miss the puddle of blood that has started seeping across the floor to your feet.

"Elle," you gasp, your moment of distraction enough time for the man to push you behind him and make a break for it. You fall forward with the force of his shove, but he's much slower than you are. If you ran after him now, you could almost certainly catch up to him, but the sight of Elle bleeding out in front of you makes you immobile.

Making the split second decision to abandon the chase, you throw yourself forward and press your hands against her wound to control the blood flow.

"You're gonna be okay," you tell her, even as her blood trickles out from below your palm. "I need to call for help."

Pressing one hand down harder, you try to ignore the sounds of her gasping in pain as you reach behind you for her house phone. After dialing 911, you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder and bring your hand back to apply more pressure.

The paramedics arrive within five minutes, and they pry you off of her as they pull out a defibrillator. You had been so focused on stopping her from bleeding out that you hadn't even noticed she had stopped breathing. How could you have missed that?

"Charging to 200."

You lean back against her couch as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

"Clear!"

***

"They took her into surgery," you say when Hotch meets you at the hospital. Your eyes keep darting around, like you're looking for something, but you don't know what.

"What happened?" he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders to regain your focus. The pressure calms you down.

"I think he was waiting for her," you whisper, your throat tightening. "He had to have been. It all happened so fast."

His eyes stay on yours, as though trying to predict your next movement. "I'm glad you're okay."

More agents filter into the hospital and he begins to turn away to talk to them, but then you stiffen under his hands. "I had him, Hotch."

"What?" he frowns, looking at you again. "What are you talking about?"

You lift your hands to your face to brush away a strand of hair, barely noticing the stains all over your skin. "He was right there. The unsub. I could've grabbed him...but I didn't."

Anderson walks over with a question, but Hotch doesn't take his eyes off you. "You went to Elle. It's okay, you made the right choice."

"But the girl he took," you protest, shaking his hands off, "this could have lead us to her, but she's still-"

"You did the right thing," he cuts you off, waving Anderson away to speak with someone else. "It's not your fault."

You grit your teeth, your voice still tinged with guilt. "How do you know?"

"Because," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, "it's mine. I sent her home."

You open your mouth to tell him how unfair that is, but he cuts you off with an order to go wash up before he leaves to explain the situation to the other agents.

The only bathroom on that floor of the hospital is at the end of the patient ward, so you trudge down the hallway and into the single family restroom, trying to avoid the worried glances from all around.

You haven't seen your reflection since before leaving with Elle, and you know it can't be a pretty sight, but the face staring back at you in the mirror is still a shock.

The bottom of your shirt is matted to your skin, and your hands are covered in now-dried blood that looks flaky and dark. When you look up, you see a streak of blood smeared over your nose from when you swiped at your face earlier.

Grabbing a fistful of paper towels, you run them under the faucet before scrubbing at your face and peeling your button down off to rid them of any trace of Elle's blood. When you're sure there isn't anything left, you turn the faucet back on and stretch your hands forward, watching the warm water turn a muddy red color as it swirls around the drain.

Eventually, the water runs clear, but you can still see the blood in your mind. You are suddenly ambushed by a memory you thought you had pushed down long ago. Red blood, cold skin.

How was there so much blood in the human body?

Your department-mandated therapist told you at the time that you would be in denial for the first few weeks, but you weren't denying anything. You had seen his body, seen the blood pooling around him as the coroner snapped photographs for the crime scene report. You knew he was dead. You just couldn't get that question out of your mind.

The memory shifts and suddenly you're seventeen again. You're seventeen and you are reaching for your first aid kit for the second time this month as Hotch sits on your bed with what feels like a permanent wince fused to his lips.

"Hold still," you whisper as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and press it into the cut on his hand. There's also blood under his nose and in his teeth, but he doesn't seem to notice.

He hisses as the alcohol makes contact, but he doesn't pull away. He's used to this routine now. You both are.

"I'm sorry I came by so late," he whispers through gritted teeth as he watches your fingers peel open a bandage. You want to berate him for apologizing, for feeling so much guilt all the time, but it's fruitless. It's like he was born with it inside of him, always clawing its way out at the slightest inconvenience.

"Don't be." You shoot him a look that he knows to mean 'be quiet and let me finish this'. He heeds your unspoken order, but after a few minutes, it's you who breaks it. "How did this one happen?"

He looks down and you immediately want to take it back. "You don't have to answer."

He's quiet for a beat. "He was drunk and I cleared his bottle away before he was finished with it."

Your lips thin and you press your hand to his knee, desperately needing to connect yourself to him in some manner.

"I tried to keep him in the kitchen, so Sean wouldn't hear, but I guess the noise woke him up." He takes a deep breath, and you can almost feel the determination entering his body as he sits up straighter. "I couldn't let him get to Sean, so I finally did it. I fought back."

He looks down at his bandaged hand then, and you can see pride accompanying the blood etched into the lines of his face. "I finally fought back."

Your eyes refocus and when you look at yourself in the mirror again, there's no trace of Elle's blood on your body anymore.

***

When Elle is discharged from the hospital, you spend the rest of the break helping her move out of her house and into a new apartment. When you drove her back home, the blood had been cleaned off of her floors, but you could see in her expression that it wasn't enough. This place would always be a reminder of what had happened to her.

The apartment search was quick, only a week between finding a place she liked and signing the new lease, but she saved the actual move out for the last few days of your break, instead hopping between sleeping in your guest room and a motel in town.

That's why you find yourself in Elle's old bedroom on the final Saturday before you're due back at work, packing some of her clothes into a suitcase while she works on clearing her bathroom. She tossed out almost everything she didn't absolutely need, only packing up her basic clothing and a few other sentimental keepsakes from her past.

"What about these?" you ask, holding up a pair of dark wash jeans that you remember her wearing to the bars with you a few months ago. God, has it really only been a few months?

She peeks out of the bathroom for barely a second. "I told you, I don't care. Keep it, toss it, your choice."

You don't know how you feel about being in charge of her future wardrobe, especially since you tend to live in loose jeans and old tee shirts when you're not at work, but you can understand where she's coming from. The instinct to hand off every decision to someone else.

You remember how hard it was for you to even decide what to eat for dinner after Jeff died. You also remember Hotch slipping pre-packed meals into your fridge whenever he came over to keep you company.

It takes you a couple of hours to clear out her house, and another hour to drop her and her stuff off at the new place, with promises to visit whenever you can over the next months of her leave.

You don't realize how exhausted you are until your front door shuts behind you and you collapse onto your couch, still in your dirty clothes. The summer sun is completely below the horizon as you lean back into your throw pillows and grab the tv remote. You haven't used your tv in months, and you figure that a vacation from work is the perfect opportunity to dust it off.

The screen comes to life on a local news channel, where a young reporter with teased-up hair is announcing a recall on a vacuum cleaner brand you've never heard of. She finishes her spiel before handing the mic off to an older woman who starts reporting the details of a car accident that took place in a neighborhood a few miles from yours.

These reports don't usually get under your skin - you have seen enough to know that it happens everyday - but suddenly, you can't stand to look at the crime scene tape flashing on your screen. You don't wait long enough to see what caused the accident. Whether it was a simple mistake, or if it was a drunk dri-

Grabbing the remote, you turn the television off and stand up, shaking your limbs out in an effort to rid yourself of the anxious feeling that's been growing inside of you.

You make yourself a quick microwave dinner and wolf it down in a few minutes, before trudging upstairs and hopping in the shower. You take your time washing the dust off of your body, and only emerge when the hot water runs out.

Even after cleaning yourself off and climbing into a fresh set of sheets, sleep doesn't come easily. The minutes tick by slowly as you stare at the ceiling, and before you can overthink it, you grab your phone off your nightstand and hit the first number on your speed dial.

It rings twice before the line connects. "Is everything okay?"

"What happened to 'hello'?" you ask, huffing out a laugh as you sit up in your bed.

Hotch grunts quietly. "Hello." You can hear the tiredness in his voice, but he sounds alert. You didn't wake him up. "What can I do for you?"

"So I have to need something to call you?"

"Y/N."

"Sorry for wanting to talk to my friend-"

He sighs so loudly, you can practically see his eyes rolling. "Are you going to tell me why you called or not."

"I helped Elle move out today."

That gets his attention. "How is she doing?"

You shrug, even though he can't see you. "As good as can be expected. We threw out almost all of her stuff, you know. She ended up with just a suitcase and three boxes at the end."

"That's just her way of coping, I guess."

"When we got to her house, it was..." You pause for a beat. You don't know the correct way to bring this up. "Well, it was clean. The blood was gone."

He doesn't say anything, and you know you were right. "Hotch, it was you, wasn't it."

He exhales quietly, as though he's trying to control his volume. Shit, maybe Haley's sleeping next to him. This is why you don't call someone after midnight.

"She didn't need to see a crime scene in her own home."

You wonder if he knows how he sounds right now. How caring and compassionate he can be when he doesn't try to tamp down that side of himself.

"You're a good unit chief," you say, leaning your head back against your wooden headboard. "I don't know why you keep things like this hidden."

You do know why, but that isn't what's important right now. There's a small creaking sound over the receiver and you imagine he's getting out of bed and crossing the room. Then the click of a door closing. "All that matters is that it's done."

You can't control the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. "Who are you trying to kid, Hotch? This is me you're talking to. I know how you worry that you aren't setting a good example for the team, but it's things like this that go a long way. It really wouldn't hurt for the team to see you showing some emotion."

"That's what they have you for," he says, his voice tightening the slightest bit. "They don't need that from me. When my emotions get in the way, I can't do my job properly."

You scoff. "And what job is that, exactly?"

"Keeping you safe."

He doesn't need to raise his voice to make you feel his anger. "If I had kept my emotion out of it, I wouldn't have sent her home. I wouldn't have let you accompany her, and I wouldn't have put both of you in danger."

Your hand comes up, rubbing circles into the skin above your chest. "Aaron...that wasn't on you." You can sense his protests coming, so you try a different tactic. "It wasn't on me either. No one but Garner deserves any blame for what happened."

The line is silent for a few moments, and you take the little victory. "I'm sorry I called you so late."

"Oh, it's alright," he chuckles. "You know I was up anyway."

***

She came back too quickly. You can't get the thought out of your head as you watch Elle restlessly tap her foot on the ground as she waits for the final word on whether she will be acting as bait for the serial rapist.

You don't think she's ready, and you've made your opinion known to the team, but Gideon made up his mind quickly.

"You think Elle's ready for it?"

"We'll be there for her."

You watch her vigilantly from Hotch's SUV as she enters the house and drops her keys on the table by the window. She's wired, which is a small relief, but Gideon's instruction not to have her gun on her has you more anxious than you'd like.

"Why isn't she leaving?" Hotch says from next to you, echoing your thoughts.

A car driven by a man fitting the profile pulls up on the opposite side of the street and you hear Morgan dialing Garcia. After a few seconds, he's back on the line. "William Lee. It's him."

"Bingo," Gideon's voice exclaims through your earpiece. "She's on the move."

You turn away from the car and see Elle exiting the front of the house. She glances at the man on her way to her car in the driveway, and it's only then that you notice the gun stuffed in her waistband.

"Her gun's out," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "What's she doing?"

"She's panicking."

"We've got no reason to bring him in."

"Don't blow it, don't blow it."

A chorus of yells echo through your earpiece as Elle stomps down the drive and points her gun at the unsub. "FBI, put your hands where I can see them!"

You throw open the car door and run over to apprehend the man as he fervently denies all of her accusations. "I was just stopping to look at my map."

The police put him into an interrogation room back at the station, where Hotch and Gideon try to get him to confess by showing empathy for this motive. It seems to be going well until his lawyer shows up, putting an end to the conversation.

She's been tense all day, so you're not surprised when Elle blows up. "You're letting him walk?"

Gideon is the first to step in. "Back off, Elle."

"You don't know what he's done," she yells, as though trying to reason with the police. The pain in her voice is palpable, but you can't deny the truth, even if you aren't able to voice it to her.

Hotch doesn't face the same issue. "The only reason he's walking is because you panicked."

"I'm supposed to believe that you've got my back?" she fires back, her anger redirecting to fly in his direction.

"What are you saying to me?"

"The last time you sent me home, Hotch, it got me shot."

All of the air leaves the room. You grab Elle's arm and pull her back, expecting more resistance than you get. "Walk with me."

She follows you across the hall and into a little meeting room that's scattered with evidence bags and files from the case. You let the door click shut behind her before you start speaking. "You need to take a breath. I know you, Elle. I know exactly what you're capable of. You just need to give yourself time to heal."

The fury in her eyes hasn't abated since you apprehended Lee a few hours earlier. You're not sure it will in this environment. "Take a walk. Get some air, and then come back."

She doesn't meet your eye as she pushes past you and storms out of the station.

***

"There's no reason for us to stick around anymore, is there?"

Gideon shakes his head and you purse your lips, glancing at the doors behind you. You haven't been able to shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen, but you suppose that's a common notion on this team.

"Wheels up at noon tomorrow."

You're walking out to the parking lot with the team when the feeling hits you again. The last time you felt this level of dread was right before you got the call from organized crime just over two years ago.

Your fears are confirmed when Hotch's phone rings with a call from the local PD that they have Elle at Lee's address. The drive over is silent, and even though you're always the first to call Hotch out on his guilt spirals, you can't get the thought out of your head that this is all your fault. You knew she had come back too quickly. Never mind that it wasn't your call. You should've fought it harder.

Lee's bullet-riddled body is like a beacon of your guilt as Elle insists it was cut-and-dry self defense. "I was having a conversation with him and he drew his weapon and I fired."

The police don't let any of you talk to her as they load her into the back of their cruiser, but you know what you have to do if you want to be able to sleep tonight.

"I'm going to the station," you tell Hotch before flagging down another one of the officers on the scene. He moves to stop you, but you sidestep him and level him with a glare that high school you would have been proud of. "I have to do this."

The station doesn't finish processing her until halfway through the night, but you couldn't fall asleep even if you wanted to. When they finally remove her cuffs and bring her out, you stand up from the plastic chair you spent the last four hours in and stretch out your legs.

She doesn't spot you immediately, but when she does, her body almost deflates. "I'm fine, L/N. You didn't have to come here."

She stops in front of you, her jacket hanging over her arm as she stuffs her badge back into her pocket. If you didn't know her so well, you would be surprised by how relaxed she looks. You wouldn't recognize the front she has had up since she stepped off the plane.

"What happened, Elle?"

That catches her attention, and you watch as the mask slips by a hair. "You don't believe me?"

You don't want to accuse her of something you have no evidence of, but you also can't ignore all of the signs in front of you. "Can you really look me in the eye and say you didn't go there hoping Lee would provoke you?"

She just looks at you, and you watch in real time as the mask slides back into place. Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the station.

***

The next case doesn't come until a few days later. Elle gets cleared by the bureau's internal investigation, but you can't imagine Hotch won't tack on a psych eval just to be safe.

"Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly 13 hours ago."

JJ clicks her remote and the screen in the conference room changes, displaying the crime scene photos.

"God," you curse, averting your eyes for a moment. "He's just a child."

"Blunt force trauma to the head," she continues with a forlorn sigh. "He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last 2 months. Local hunter found his body in the woods."

Morgan looks down at the case file. "First victim's name: Robbie Davis. Are these boys connected somehow?"

JJ shrugs. "Ozona's population's roughly 2, 500. Everyone has some kind of connection."

"Well if they weren't linked before, they most certainly are now."

Hotch and Gideon's absences from the conference room don't escape your notice, so you keep an eye out for them upon leaving the briefing.

You spot them discussing something in hushed whispers by the coffee station, and you wait for them to finish before you approach Hotch.

"You missed the briefing."

His eyes pinch, and you notice that the lines in his forehead are more prominent than usual. "What is it?"

"Elle missed her evaluation."

Your breath releases like a sigh. "I can check her apartment."

"No," he says matter-of-factly, with a shake of his head. "Gideon wants all of you in Texas for this one. I'll go look for her."

You would normally argue, but the horrific images from the briefing are still imprinted on the backs of your eyelids. "Okay. I'll see you soon."

He leaves you with a nod, and you grab your go-bag before following the rest of the team to the jet.

"You guys see Elle's cleared?" Reid pipes up as soon as the plane takes off.

Derek nods, his lips thinning. "Self defense."

"So it was a good shot."

"She hit what she was aiming for."

Reid frowns. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

"If they cleared her how come she's not here with us?" You glance up and realize Reid is looking at you. "Or Hotch?"

You don't want to reveal more than is necessary, especially when the situation is this precarious and personal, but you're saved from responding when Gideon turns around and yells, "Focus on the case!"

JJ turns the conversation back to the unsub's motivations, and you all discuss a possible profile until a new female victim emerges that strays from the previous victimology.

Gideon doesn't waste any time delegating tasks. "When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the new crime scene. The little girl."

He turns to you. "We'll look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."

The murder site is so far into the woods, that you can't help but imagine what it would've been like to be the little boy who was brought all the way out here with no hope of return. You can't believe that a young child would come this far out of their way unless they trusted the person they were following. "I think the victims knew their killer."

Gideon seems to be on the same train of thought. "They followed him to this spot."

"What makes you think that?" the local officer asks.

Gideon looks at you expectantly, and you take the invitation with a grateful nod. "Well I guess they went this deep into the woods because they trusted him. He probably stashed his weapon here beforehand. This means we're looking for someone intelligent, methodical."

The police officer accompanying you doesn't look sure of your assessment. "He bashed the kid's head in, it looks like a moment of rage to me!"

"I agree," Gideon muses, turning away and looking further into the woods. "It doesn't make any sense."

After informing the town's parents of the five PM curfew, and the children of the new buddy system in place, you excuse yourself to go call Hotch for an update.

"Anything new?" you ask when he answers the phone.

"I went to her appartment to talk to her," he explains, "but she was leaving with an overnight bag."

Your heart collapses in your chest. "She's running."

"I don't know, I hope not." He pauses for a beat. "I'm following her."

"All right," you sigh, wishing there was more you could do from here, "I really hope I'm wrong about this."

He's silent for a second, and you realize your slip up. "I just mean, I don't want to- I mean, fuck."

"I know," Hotch whispers. You can hear his car starting in the background. "But Gideon's right. She's innocent until proven guilty."

He ends the call with a promise to keep you updated, and you head back to the station, where another child has been reported missing. The missing boy's little brother draws your attention to a local legend that leads you to a Mr. Fennigan's so-called "haunted" house up in the hills.

***

"Garcia," you say into your phone before putting it on speaker and setting it down at the table you're sitting at. After establishing that Finnegan's house was empty, you and team have been searching the property for any indications that he's the unsub. "You got anything for me?"

"Only that Fennigan's house on the hill is like the Bates Motel of Ozona, Texas."

You roll your eyes, even though she can't see you. "We heard the legend from that counselor, Charles I think."

"Be careful, though," she says, her voice going lower as though she's telling a campfire story. "People that go into that house supposedly never come out."

"Garcia."

"But then there is that matter of his missing wife."

Deciding to humor her, you clear your throat and whisper, "Do you think she's still on the premises?"

"I got two words for you, my friend: 'rear window'. That guy probably chopped that lady up into delicious bitesize pieces."

You suppress a laugh. "Pen, do you really think that's gonna scare me?"

She huffs and you grin, tugging open one of the drawers next to you and peeking inside.

"You're no fun. Reid was scared shitless."

"He's just afraid of the dark," you smile, before your eyes catch on something bright under the table beside you. "Garcia, I gotta go. And cut Reid some slack."

"No promises, Mama."

You tuck your phone away and reach below the table, where you find a small pink backpack with the last victim's name scrawled on top in Sharpie. "Guys! I found something."

The clues from Finnegan's house lead you back to Charles, the town's guidance counselor, and then to his son, who the police are able to catch in the act of luring away Tracey Belle, another young girl. You don't relax until she's back with her parents, and even then, there's still a tension in your shoulders.

Cases involving children never get easier, but you can't help the kinship you feel to little Tracey Belle, who had the same look in her eyes that you recognized in yourself when you were ten years old. You don't remember your mom's funeral much, mostly because you were so young, but also because the whole day was a blur. The few flashes that come back here and there are your father's eyes, red from crying, and the cold gray of the headstone that you visited with him every year on the anniversary until you graduated.

The plane ride back is morose, and no one looks up from their reading material until it's time to disembark. Hotch isn't at the office when you drop off your case file, so you rub the exhaustion from your eyes and drive home.

There's a figure sitting on your porch when you pull into your driveway, and you're a moment from panicking when her face comes into the light.

"I turned in my badge," Elle says after you lock your car and walk up the steps.

Something twists in your gut, but the one emotion you aren't feeling is surprise. "Do you want to come inside? How long have you been waiting?"

She shakes her head, and you give her some time to formulate her thoughts. After a minute, she meets your eye again. "You were kind to me."

You don't know what to say, but you can see the change in her since just last week. She already looks lighter, and you can't help but think about how heavy the job can be. It's a weight on each of your lives that never seems to let up, and while you're going to be sad to see her go, you understand. It's the right choice.

Elle presses her lips together before curving them into a small smile. "You supported me after...after Garner. I'm gonna miss you."

You smile at her, even as your heart fills with sadness. "i'm going to miss you too."

Her body shifts like she's making to leave but then she turns back one last time. "You're too good for him, you know."

You get the sense that you know what she's referring to, but it's not something you can acknowledge without sending a flare shooting up your spine. She nods once, like that's all she wanted to say, and turns away into the night. You blink your eyes closed, squeezing them tightly as though it will somehow make the last few months a nightmare you can wake up from. But that's not how this works.

You give yourself a minute to pretend, but when you open your eyes again, she's gone.

***

The case that takes you to Golconda, Nevada feels almost unique to Gideon, as he takes each of the unsub's decisions personally in a way you haven't seen before.

Once you give the profile to the local police, the sheriff, Georgia Davis, leads you to a woman with a story to match the previous victimology.

"Jane," she says softly as she walks into the holding area at the back of the station. "These people are from the FBI. I'd like you to tell them your story."

Her story takes you through a tale of alien abductions and young love, but the kernel of truth underneath sounds awfully similar to the unsub's M.O. Her eyes still shine with a childlike tenacity that you don't usually see in other victims of such prolific and disturbing killers.

"Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien," Gideon sighs after Sheriff George sends you all out of the room to let Jane rest. "She didn't show him the fear he wanted, so he let her go."

When it becomes clear that he is still in town, you disperse around the local R.V. park in search of his vehicle.

Hotch pairs you with Emily Prentiss, the new agent who joined the team after Elle left, and you welcome the opportunity to speak with her more than you've gotten the chance to since she arrived.

"How have you been settling in?" you ask her as you both stroll along the edge of the R.V. park.

"The team has been very welcoming," she says as she continues to scan the vehicles around you. "I'm just glad to be joining such an accomplished unit."

"That's kind of you," you smile, noting the extreme focus in her eyes. Her intelligence and intense concentration on each of the cases you've worked made much more sense when you learned about her history. Her background must have sparked more than a few nepotism claims over the years, so you don't mind letting her overcompensate, if it means she will prove to herself that she deserves to be here. "Everyone seems to like having you around. I certainly don't mind."

She shoots you a smile that you return by patting her forearm comfortingly. You were worried it would be hard for another agent to settle into the space Elle left on the team, but Prentiss has made easy work of it. She has the same humor as Derek and Penelope, and you've seen how well she gets along with you and JJ. Even Reid has welcomed her with open arms.

"This team is kind of famous," she says after a moment, piquing your interest.

"Oh?"

She shrugs, turning into another row of vehicles. "You've all been through so much, but it just seems to have made you more of a family."

When you first joined the team, that was all you wanted. You were by yourself, completely alone, and the team had become your family in the blink of an eye. It was exactly what you needed. These days, you're not so sure anymore. More family just means more people to lose.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You look at her with a nod. "Yeah, of course."

"It's about Agent Hotchner."

You should've figured. Every new agent tries to vie for his approval, until they realize it's not something you can force. "Yeah?"

She sighs, and you can tell this isn't something she wants to be talking about. "I don't know if I understand him. You're the only person who seems to have his ear. I guess I'm just wondering how I can do the same."

"I got his attention and respect through decades of friendship," you say, watching her eyes widen as you speak. "But he's not the enigma you may think he is. Showing off won't help your cause, but working hard and doing your job well is all you can really do."

She nods, taking in your words. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

You smile, bumping her shoulder to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about him. He knows your worth, I can tell."

Prentiss leans against you for a moment before shaking out her legs and turning back to the lot. "I don't think the unsub is here. We should meet up with the rest of the team."

Once Gideon puts it together that the unsub is hiding out somewhere in town, Hotch suggests that you all turn in for the night, but the older man doesn't want to listen.

"We could wait till first light, Gideon," he stresses, turning his body to stand between him and the officers. "It's gonna be dark soon."

"Do what you like," Jason grunts, shoving past him. "I'm gonna find him."

Hotch starts to go after him, but you step forward and put your hand on his shoulder. "Let him go. Maybe the walk back to the station will help clear his head."

He sighs heavily, and you know it's all the agreement you're going to get right now. "Let's head over there too. He needs our help if he wants to crack this before morning."

The stress lines on his forehead are almost as noticeable as they were the day Elle left the bureau, and you grab his wrist as he tries to turn away. You raise your eyebrows, knowing he'll be able to read the question written in the ridges of your face. How are you holding up?

Hotch rolls his neck to the side, stretching it out after what has been a very long day. When he looks back at you, you wait for a nod that comes after a moment. Alright. Been better, but alright.

Back at the station, the work is slow going, and you don't feel like anyone is helping with how uptight Gideon is acting. The air inside the small building has started to feel suffocating, and you finally get your chance to escape when Sheriff George grabs her car keys.

"I'm gonna take Jane home," she tells you when you approach her at her desk. "It's been a long night, and she needs to sleep in her own bed."

"You need to rest too," you say, noticing the droop of her eyes from sheer exhaustion. "Go home, Sheriff. I'll take her back. I remember her address from earlier."

She doesn't look convinced, so you lean in with a smile. "It's getting really stuffy in here. I need some air too."

That's all it takes to satisfy her, and she pats your arm with a nod before handing you the keys to the cruiser and walking to the exit.

You only see Morgan as you pick Jane up from the holding area, so you tell him you'll be back in a half hour and head out to the back lot.

"How long have you been living in this town?" you ask Jane as you make the short drive to her house.

"Since I was a teenager," she says dreamily, her eyes gazing out the window.

"You never wanted to live anywhere else?"

She shakes her head profusely. "Why would I? This is where I can be found."

You frown at her words, but it's not the oddest thing she has said today. When you arrive at her house, you park the cruiser out front and lead her up the porch steps, where she slowly unlocks the front door. "Do you want to come inside?"

You figure it wouldn't hurt to scope out the place, so you accept her invitation and follow her inside. "This is a beautiful home, Jane." Trinkets are scattered everywhere, and rudimentary sketches cover the walls.

"Thank you," she responds from another room. "You're very nice." You follow the sound of her voice to her kitchen, where she is struggling to lift a pitcher of juice from her fridge.

"Here, let me help you," you say, taking it from her and setting it down on the little breakfast table in front of her stove. "Do you have any cups?"

She walks over to a cupboard across from you, and you unclip your side-holster and set it on the table until the sound of a footstep behind you makes you spin on your heels.

You're assaulted by the sight of a tall, white man, who you immediately recognize from Gideon's profile earlier that day.

"Jane!" you yell, inching toward the table where your gun is. "I need you to run."

"Come with me, Jane," the man says, ignoring you completely. You use the moment of distraction to reach for your gun, but he's quicker than you. A sharp pinprick of pain shoots down your neck as your hand knocks over the pitcher of juice and your limbs suddenly feel like they weigh a million pounds.

"Jane, he's a murderer," you yell, hoping your voice doesn't sound as quiet as it does in your head. Your vision is already blurry, and you wish Reid was here to distract you by spouting off a list of fast-acting drugs from memory. "Jane, run!"

The last thing you hear before you black out is the sound of hurried footsteps receding into the background.

***

None of this makes sense. As each minute ticks by, he can't shake the feeling that they are missing something that's right under their noses.

"JJ just called," Morgan says, walking back into the station with his phone waving in his hand. "Apparently an anonymous caller called the tip line and claimed they saw an R.V. driven by a man who fits the description we gave to the media."

Hotch frowns. "Claimed?"

"Well, not a single R.V. or trailer has passed through any of the roadblocks."

Morgan's words click in his brain, and he instinctively glances beside him as an idea forms, but you aren't there. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't seen you in over an hour.

"Who does the number belong to?" he asks, shifting his focus back.

Morgan is about to respond when Deputy Silo runs into the office, shoving past the other cops in his way. "We got a call from outside Jane's house. I think it was from the unsub."

Hotch stands up immediately, grabbing his jacket and gun, but next to him, Morgan stills, his face going slack.

"We need to head over there now," Hotch says, listing off a few instructions to the deputies nearby. Where are you?

"Hotch."

"And have some of your guys check in town," he continues, "in case he took her with him."

"Hotch."

He turns around. "What is it?"

"L/N drove Jane home."

His heart drops.

***

Just stay for a few more minutes, Jeff implores, his fingers dancing over your arm as you try to sit up.

You laugh as he tries to pull you back into the bed. I can't, I have to go into work.

Just five minutes, I promise. He pouts as you slide your legs out from under the covers. Three. One. One minute, please. I miss you.

I miss you too, you sigh, pressing a kiss to his lips. I'll see you tonight.

His hands reach up to caress your face, like he always does in the mornings. Cupping your cheek with his palm and running his fingers through your hair.

You settle into the feeling, wishing you had more time to just lay in bed with him. But you don't. Because Jeff's not here anymore.

Your eyes snap open right as the unsub tapes your mouth closed.

***

His hands grip the steering wheel as his SUV barrels up the small country road leading to Jane's house. He can't seem to press the gas pedal hard enough, and Reid's incessant foot-tapping in the backseat is driving him crazy, even though he understands the anxiety coursing through his body.

He beats Deputy Silo to the house, and flies out of the car without waiting for the other agents to open their doors. He's not sure what he's expecting to see inside as he pulls his gun from his waist holster, but he doesn't give himself a chance to think about it before kicking the door in.

"What the hell are you doing?" Morgan yells from behind him as he checks around the door and makes his way through the small hallway. The house is silent, aside from the footsteps of the agents behind him, but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears is almost deafening.

"Clear," he shouts after checking each room up to the kitchen. When he steps inside, there's juice all over the floor, and he spots the pitcher on its side beside the fridge. Juice, not blood.

His eyes flash to the table and his breath catches in his throat. He would recognize your holster anywhere, especially since he was with you when you bought it.

What do you think? It's not too bold, is it?

I definitely wouldn't mess with you.

"Why didn't she reach for her gun?" he wonders out loud.

"Because she couldn't." He turns around to see Reid holding up a large, empty syringe he found under the table.

He can't take his eyes off the juice on the floor, splattered everywhere as though someone had knocked it off the counter. The image of Elle's blood spilled all over her living room is still fresh in his mind, and he can't get over how easily the dark red cranberry juice seeping into the floorboards could have been yours.

Growing up, it was a common occurrence for you to patch him up and wash the blood off his skin, but there was only one time when he had to return the favor.

He still remembers the proud glint in your eyes after you had literally head-butted a man who had grabbed you in a college bar by Georgetown. Already a year into law school, he would've thought you'd have more forethought than to injure yourself in the hopes of getting back at the jackass, but once he saw your bloody grin, his annoyance had fizzled away.

"What on earth were you thinking?" he had asked as you stuck a scrap of napkin up your nostrils to control the flow after the head-butt broke a few blood vessels in your nose. He hadn't seen you much throughout undergrad, but he was glad that you hadn't changed too much, even if it meant you were just as wild as before. "I'm getting you ice."

A few minutes of angry haggling later, he returned to your side with a small bag of ice that he held to the bridge of your nose. Nothing he said could have ruined your mood that night, especially since the man had been kicked out of the bar and banned for life.

"Did you see the look on his face?" you had asked, your eyes twinkling behind the quickly melting ice.

"I did," he sighs, before breaking into a grin. "I'm just glad that your future law degree will give you another method of retaliation against scumbags like him."

You had laughed then, causing a few drops of blood to spray out of your nose, but all he could think about as he jerked back to avoid the mess was how happy he was that you were back in his life again.

Hotch flies back to the conversation happening around him, his brain refusing to let him imagine the worst case scenario.

"Those footprints," Morgan is saying as he starts listening again, "they got to be Jane's."

Reid nods, following along. "They go to the back."

"She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine's gonna wear off, so he's got to act."

"No," one of the deputies says. "He hasn't got what he came here for."

His voice returns to him all at once. "So he took Y/N for leverage."

"He thinks we have Jane. Which means he wants a trade."

"Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and your agent fast."

His agent. He feels sick at the thought of whatever that man is doing to you. "Garcia can track the phone number from the anonymous caller. You go to town, we'll find Jane."

***

Your eyes are blurry as you try to clear the fogginess in your head from whatever he injected you with. You can see the shape of the unsub moving around the room, and you squint your eyes to get a better look at the anatomical posters and drawings on the walls.

When your vision begins to focus again, the man comes toward you with a smile. "You're awake." He reaches forward to check the tape on your wrists and you try to jerk away from him, but your body is still flowing with the drug. You can't move as he brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles down at you, a sinister lack of emotion in his eyes. You stop trying to move, realizing it's no use. He's been doing this for years. Mutilating women. Cutting them to pieces.

You can feel your heart rate increasing, and you try not to look at the knives and saws littering the tables around you in an effort to keep yourself calm. Your team is looking for you. Derek knows where you went.

When he grabs your arms and starts lifting you off the makeshift operating table you were lying on, you try to scream, but the tape just pulls at your lips, tearing at the thin skin underneath.

Your eyes widen as he drops you into a metal coffin-like box, but he just looks at you with a shake of his head. "No need for that," he tsks before closing the lid over you, enveloping you in eery darkness.

***

Reid and Prentiss help him inspect Jane's house further for clues as to where the unsub could've taken you. The wind chimes of rib bone blowing in the breeze on the front porch catch his attention almost immediately.

His chest feels tight and he clears his throat. "He's obviously been here before and left these gifts for her."

"How romantic," Prentiss grimaces.

"Well, his version of romance."

Prentiss frowns. "What, are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he's in love with her?"

"That's impossible," Reid interjects. "A sexual sadist can't feel love."

"Well," he says, "define love." He doesn't know if he can. He knows he loves Haley and Jack. He likes to think he always wants to be with them, but when a particularly excruciating case arrives on his desk, his desire to catch the bad guy trumps everything else in his mind. He knows he will always try to protect them from anyone or anything that wants to do them harm, but is that love?

It must be, because he feels the same instinct to protect you, but it manifests in him differently.

"Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin."

Of course that would be Reid's answer.

He continues rattling off a list of foods that contain these chemicals, and Hotch tunes him out, turning back to the house. They're missing something, they have to be. It's not until they spot a small trailer out back that it clicks.

***

You don't know how much time passes until the effects of the drug finally wear off enough for you to rub your wrists together to loosen the tape around them. The noises outside the coffin stopped a while ago, and you assume the man has left, likely to resume his search for Jane.

When the tape finally breaks, you let out a relieved gasp and let your arms rest for a few moments, before you begin slamming your fists into the bottom of the lid. It doesn't budge, no matter how hard you pound at it, so you change tactics, instead clawing your fingers at the seams in search of a hinge or screw you can loosen.

You're still trying to pry open the lid when you hear a muffled voice speaking outside the coffin. Despite your determination to stay calm, your heart squeezes in your chest as you bring your hands up to fight back in case he opens the lid. You feel someone slide your box across the floor, before opening the top and flooding your eyes with light.

When you adjust to the brightness, you see the familiar faces of Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss standing above you, and you almost cry with relief. Hotch reaches down with a small "thank god" and pulls you up and out of the coffin. Prentiss carefully peels the tape off your mouth, wincing as some of the skin of your lips comes away with it.

When you're standing up again, your legs give out as the fear leaves you, and you collapse into Hotch.

He catches you easily, holding you against him tightly as you shake from the sheer relief of being found before something irreversible happened. You're acutely aware of your teammates watching you hang onto your unit chief as though your life depends on it, but you can't bring yourself to let go.

It's only after your hands stop shaking that he finally pulls away.

***

When you return from Texas, most of the team heads straight home, but Gideon hangs back, calling you into his office.

"How are you doing after today?" he asks as you shut the door behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Fine," you say simply, looking him straight in the eye. You're not sure exactly what you're feeling, but it definitely isn't fine. The few times your eyes fell closed on the flight back, you could still feel Frank's fingers pressing the tape onto your face.

Gideon scrutinizes you for a moment, his brow crinkling as he waits for you to elaborate. You can appreciate his intention, but you really don't feel like talking about it right now. Not when the memory of the cold metal on your skin is still fresh.

"Okay," he concedes after a minute of silence. It's not really a concession - you can already hear him recommending you for a psych evaluation - but it's enough for the moment. "You don't have to do it right away, but you need to eventually fill out an incident report. I can get you the paperwork now, but I mean it, take your time."

He reaches into his accordion file folder and pulls out a sheet of paper that's mostly blank, except for a few lines at the top. "Just hand it in to me or Hotch when you're done."

You accept the paper and leave his office, with a promise to head home soon. You heard his suggestion to finish it in your own time, but you can't imagine coming back to this at a later date.

Dropping into your chair, you lay the paper down on your desk and read over the form. The first section is the same as every other form you've had to fill out at the bureau: name, date, badge number.

The second half is just one line of instruction before a vast sea of white space. Describe the incident in detail.

Images from Frank's workshop flash in your mind. A roll of silver duct tape. A bloody washcloth. A rusted scalpel. Nothing you can effectively put onto paper.

The words don't come, even as the lights in the hallway automatically turn off, and the hushed voices from the nearby offices go silent. You eventually stand up to shake out your legs and get another coffee, not because you need it to stay awake, but because it feels like the normal thing to do. The idea of sleeping just takes you back to the darkness of the coffin, and a shudder runs through you as you pour yourself a cup and dump the muddy remains of the pot in the sink.

You're about to head back to your desk to fruitlessly stare at the form for a little while longer, when your eye catches on a small lamplight from Hotch's office at the top of the stairs. Gulping back a mouthful of stale coffee, you toss the rest in the trash and grab your report before hiking up the stairs.

"You're still here?" he asks when you knock on his door and push it open. "I thought you left hours ago."

The same question Gideon asked you earlier is etched into his face, but you know he won't voice it just yet. He was always good about knowing your boundaries (and when to push them).

"I could ask you the same thing," you smile with a shrug, before flopping down into the chair by his desk. "You really need to replace this chair, by the way. It's horribly uncomfortable."

He snorts quietly. "It's a perfectly fine chair."

You laugh, the sound quickly turning into a yawn.

"Go home," he stresses, dropping his pen and fixing you with a pointed stare.

"You first."

"I have work to do."

"So do I."

He looks down at the paper in your hands. "Gideon gave you the form already? I was going to give it you in a few days."

"I'm glad he gave it to me today," you say, before dropping your eyes with a sigh. "I've just been having some trouble finding the words to describe what happened."

"You don't have to do it now..." he starts, but you cut him off.

"I do. I don't want to come back to this later. I need to finish it now, while I still can."

"Okay," he accepts after a moment. "Then take your time. I'll be here."

You fall into a comfortable silence as you bring your pen back down and start writing.

***

He doesn't finish his own paperwork until well after midnight. When he looks up from his reports, you're asleep, your head resting on your crossed arms over his desk.

He would normally wake you and tell you to head home, but you look so peaceful for the first time in too long. Haley and Jack would have gone to bed hours ago, so he figures it won't hurt to stay with you for at least a little while as you get some much needed rest. He can't imagine that sleep has been coming easy - he saw you shaking yourself awake each time you closed your eyes on the plane - so he lets you slumber.

He still hasn't gotten the image of you with your hands and mouth taped out of his head, and he doesn't know if he ever will. When your legs had given out, his arms had instinctively shot forward to grab you before his brain could catch up. He can barely look at the bandages on your wrist now, where the tape rubbed your skin raw.

Standing up from his chair, he slides his suit jacket down his arms and steps around his desk. Being extra careful not to wake you, he drapes it over your shoulders and lets you sleep.

***

Hotch gives you the next week off, but the quiet solitude of your house is too much to bear with all of the memories swirling through your brain. You know he would have called you if there was a case out of town, so a few evenings later, you find yourself in your car, driving over to the Virginia field office.

When you walk into the bullpen, it's empty aside from Reid at his desk and Prentiss at the coffee station. It's late, and you assume Reid is just taking some notes down from the last case, but you aren't sure why Emily is still here.

"Hey," she says when she sees you sit at your desk. "Don't you have the week off?"

She looks exhausted, but you understand where she's coming from. The urge to overcompensate for being new. For not being the agent you're replacing. You felt it with Gideon when you were transferred here. She likely feels it with Elle.

"I needed to get out of the house," you explain, adjusting your seat and settling back.

"I hear that," she says, before putting a lid on her coffee cup and grabbing her bag. "I should actually go home for once, but I'll see you in a few days."

Spencer doesn't look up from his notepad until the sound of the door closing behind Emily jerks him from his stupor.

"You're here," he states, as though he's not sure if he is supposed to be asking a question or not. "What are you doing here?"

You shrug, smiling at him. For a genius, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. "I wanted to see you guys."

"Oh," he says, placing his pen on his desk, "well, it's just me here."

You grin. "Works for me."

That makes him smile slightly, but it falls in an instant. "I'm glad you're okay."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "Thanks, Spence, me too."

You expect him to return to his notes, but he just looks down and back up again. "Are you? Okay?"

You frown, more out of a lack of understanding, but he starts backtracking immediately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't press-"

"It's fine," you reassure, pressing your lips together. "It's what everyone's thinking anyway."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, so you continue to fill the silence. "You just can't let the stares get to you."

"How, though?" he says after a beat. You're not sure what he's asking, but the confusion you're feeling must be mirrored in your expression, because he elaborates. "Ever since my mom came here for the Garner case, I feel like everyone has been looking at me, with all this...pity."

Your chest squeezes as you think about all of the lingering stares that followed him around in the week after Garner killed himself. Even Morgan couldn't hide his shock when Mrs. Reid showed up at the field office. "Have I?"

He shakes his head, and your chest relaxes with relief. Spencer glances up at you, and he looks so young for a second. "You're one of the few who hasn't."

"I guess I just understand the stares better than anyone," you sigh, feeling the familiar ache as your memories return to you in flashes.

You hear him suck in a breath as the realization dawns on him. "Agent Adler..."

You nod and Reid gives you a second to take a breath before he continues. "He was my instructor once, you know. At the academy."

You smile as your eyes shine with unshed tears. "Yeah, I know."

There's this kid in my hand-to-hand combat seminar.

Kid?

He can't be more than 20, maybe 21 years old. But the kid has guts.

You remember those nights before Jeff joined organized crime so fondly these days. The calm before the storm.

"He never treated me differently."

You look up with a sad smile, the memory receding as Spencer shares his own. "Hotch made me take a few physical training classes at the academy after I joined. All the other instructors acted like I was a joke, or a prank being pulled on them...but he never did."

That doesn't surprise you. Jeff was so nurturing and kind, much better than you ever were before you met him.

"I really miss him sometimes," he whispers softly.

You reach forward and press your hand on top of his. He doesn't pull back. "Me too, kid."

***

You can't remember the last time the team went out together. There was one night, what feels like years ago, when you all got dinner together after an especially cut-and-dry case that ended within the first day you arrived on scene. When the cases are long and hard-fought, it's not the same; everyone bolts the minute the jet hits the tarmac.

Tonight, something feels different. There hasn't been a new case in a couple of weeks, and everyone seems lighter.

"I'm back," Haley smiles, carefully setting two drinks down on the little high top table you are crowded around. "Spicy marg for Emily, and mojito for me."

You're still nursing the old fashioned you ordered a half hour ago, and Hotch is only halfway through his pint of Guinness.

"How are they treating you at the BAU, Emily?" Haley asks, before putting the straw in her mouth and taking a large sip.

"She means is he being nice to you," you grin, cocking your head at Hotch as he shoots you a look of mock-offense. You know I'm right.

He flashes his eyes. And?

"Everyone has been incredibly nice," she says with a smile as a waitress approaches you with a drink in her hand.

She sets it on the table in front of you and glances behind her. "That man over there bought this for you."

Haley starts hooting before the waitress has a chance to leave the vicinity. She's definitely starting to feel her mojito, but you would never judge her on her one night away from the baby.

"That was weird," you say, hoping you don't look as awkward as you feel.

Haley leans forward and grabs your hand, an earnest smile on her face. "You should go talk to him! Only if you want to, of course."

"Yeah, it's your night off," Emily agrees, shooting you a smirk over the rim of her margarita.

"I don't know, guys," you say, sliding the drink to the center of the table.

You can tell Haley isn't done encouraging you to have a wild night, so you brace yourself for the pounce, but thankfully, Hotch stands up just as she's opening her mouth, and takes her hand. "Come on, honey, let's go show them how it's done."

"Oh!" she smiles, her face lighting up as she follows him onto the dance floor. "You ladies don't have too much fun without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you grin, before downing the last of your original drink.

Emily watches them shimmy into the crowd, her chin resting on her palm. "They are so sweet."

"They've been that way forever," you agree, glancing back over at them as they dance lazily in the center of the dance floor. Haley's movements are a bit looser as she slides through his arms, but he keeps a firm grasp on her hand, keeping her upright even when it looks like she may fall.

He still looks at her the same way he did in high school, when he saw her at that first rehearsal for Pirates of Penzance. There's so much wonder in his eyes, like he's seeing her for the first time, every time.

***

You should be happier right now. You're done with high school, sitting in a sea of green caps and gowns with all of your friends, but all you can think about is how soon he's going to be gone.

You're going to be at different schools next year. Him at Harvard, you at UCLA, opposite ends of the country, for four years. The gravity of what that means didn't sink in until this very moment, the worst possible timing, because you're supposed to be happy right now.

"High school couldn't end fast enough," the girl next to you grins, her cap decorated with the glittery letters of the school she will be attending next year. "I'm so ready for all of this to be over."

You're not. You force your lips into a smile and let yourself glance a few rows up, just for a moment. When it's just the back of his head, you aren't confronted by the confusing emotions that have been swirling around your brain for the last few months. Of course you would realize you're in love with your best friend a semester before school ends. But that isn't the only reason your timing couldn't be worse.

You wave at your dad in the crowd, you is wearing more school colors than even you are, and he waves back enthusiastically. It distracts you for a moment, but then you face the front again, and your eyes are drawn back to the same place.

He turns back then, with a grin meant just for you, and your heart flutters like it's in a butterfly enclosure. You smile back, more genuine this time, but his attention shifts behind you after a quick nod. You don't have to turn back to know who he's looking at in the stands.

You shouldn't be surprised they got along so well, you practically set them up. After their first date, he seemed lighter than air, giddy with the impatient brush strokes of a first love. The look in his eyes now is the same as it was that day.

How did it go?

I'm gonna marry that girl one day.

You don't know why you had just assumed he was joking around. Hotch never joked about things like this.

Eventually, he turns back around in his seat, and you stare at your hands as you clasp and unclasp them over and over and over again until you no longer feel the cavity in your chest where your best friend used to be.

***

The next case comes in as you're working on your second drink. JJ corrals everyone at the bar into taxis, and sends you all off to the airport where the jet is already fueled and waiting.

"You missed a fun night," you note as Gideon climbs into the plane, a few minutes after the rest of you arrived.

"I had a good time," he says simply, before sitting by himself a few rows over. He hasn't spoken to you since he gave you the incident report, but you know it's not about you. Being forced to let Frank get away was hard on him, but you don't know how to assuage his guilt about your kidnapping if he won't even look at you.

Derek flips open his case file and huffs out a breath. "Well, good time's definitely over."

"The Kyles," JJ says, beginning the briefing as the plane takes off, "Dennis and Lacy were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home."

You look up, assuming you heard her wrong. "Only an hour ago?"

"Police were on scene unusually fast," she nods.

Derek frowns. "Why?"

"One of the unsubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims."

Prentiss lets out a humorless laugh from across from you. "You're kidding."

"From inside the house."

JJ scans the file again. "According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there."

Gideon enters the conversation with a confused frown. "Sinners?"

"Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed." She holds up a photo of a page that looks torn out of a book.

"Revelations, chapter 6, verse 8."

Gideon sighs. "They're on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing."

***

Gideon was right, as he usually is. The killings don't stop, and videos of the murders are posted online, spreading the killers' message for them.

"JJ, why don't you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something."

"On it."

Garcia calls almost immediately after they leave. "There's a new video from our psycho."

Hotch stills. "Get it on the monitor here as soon as you can."

The police officer you met at the first crime scene joins you, Hotch, and Morgan in front of the computer as the video appears on the screen. The first thing you see is the dirty mattress. Then come the dogs.

You avert your eyes as the woman's screams for help fill the room.

"Jezebel's death," Hotch whispers, almost to himself.

"My god," Morgan grimaces. "You can turn it off."

The officer suddenly leans forward. "Oh, wait."

"You haven't seen enough?" Morgan asks, disgust coloring his tone. He has two sisters, both of whom he protects fiercely. You can't imagine what he's thinking about as he watches the screen.

"Those dogs," he says, his voice growing in strength as he speaks. "Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago. I would have had them impounded, but the victim knew the owner."

"You have the owner's name?"

He checks his notepad, flipping through it rapidly. "Hankel."

Your blood runs cold. "Hankel?"

"Tobias Hankel."

You're on your feet before he can finish saying his name.

***

The drive to the Hankel farmhouse is filled with hand wringing and nervous leg bouncing. You keep catching Hotch glancing over at you, but you don't care. You just need him to drive faster.

When he pulls up in front of the house, you and Emily throw your doors open before he can come to a complete stop. Hotch and Gideon head toward the house, so you lead Prentiss and Morgan over to the barn, where you can hear the faint sound of panicked breathing.

Lifting your gun and flashlight, you push open the barn door and are greeted by the sight of JJ pointing her gun at you. "JJ, it's L/N, Prentiss, and Morgan. You're okay."

She looks frenzied, her hair and clothes covered in a layer of sweat and grime. When her flashlight comes down, you notice the dead dogs on the ground.

"Tobias Hankel is the unsub," she gasps, stumbling over to you.

"We know, honey," you whisper, taking her arm and leading her outside, before glancing at Emily behind you. "Call an ambulance."

She nods and rushes over to the clearing in search of better cell signal as Derek steps forward, his face still twisted into a worried frown. "JJ, where's Reid?"

"They just completely tore her apart," she babbles, her eyes still frantic even as you put your hands on her shoulders to steady her. "There's nothing even left-"

"JJ, look at me."

Her eyes snap over to Morgan, and he brings his voice down again. "Where's Reid?"

"We split up," she says, her voice still tight, but slightly calmer. "He said he was going to go in the back."

"House is clear," Hotch calls from behind you, making you spin around, your mouth twisting with dread.

"So where is he?"

JJ's eyes glance back at the cornfield behind the house, and suddenly you're running. You can hear someone calling your name, but all you can think about is Spencer with an unsub who's idea of torture is biblical and cruel.

There are two sets of footprints in the dirt by the edge of the field, but after a few feet, they turn to drag marks. Oh no, oh god no.

***

The whole team - except for Reid, your brain keeps reminding you - sets up in Hankel's house, with even Garcia joining you on the scene to limit communication time.

You can't sleep as you alternate between reading Hankel's journals and hovering over Penelope's shoulder as she pores through his downloaded images and videos. Even as exhaustion pulls at your eyes, you periodically splash your face with water from the bathroom to keep yourself up. If anyone can understand how terrifying it is to be taken by a psychotic killer, it's you. Succumbing to sleep feels like a defeat, like you've given up on him.

You don't find anything useful until after Emily and JJ return from meeting with Tobias's N.A. sponsor, but in the sixth hour of scouring his journal, your brain clicks with a realization. "Guys, some parts of this journal match his father's handwriting. But they were written after he died."

"The bedrooms upstairs..." Gideon mutters, his eyes shifting up like they do when he's thinking. "One of Tobias's personalities may be his father."

Your brow furrows and you look down at the journal in front of you even as your eyes burn with fatigue. "Then who is Raphael?"

"My guess," Gideon sighs, "a mediator between the two."

Hotch looks at you, and you can see the concern etched into his face. "We need to start profiling Tobias's father. He may be the one who chose where to take Reid."

Morgan nods. "I'll get Garcia on it."

He leaves the room and Hotch comes over to the table, where you're still staring down at one of the journals. Your hands are covered in pink half-moon indentations where your nails were pressed, and he fights the urge to take you away from here, to save you from this hurt. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine, Hotch," you whisper through gritted teeth. He can hear the worry in every word that leaves your mouth. The terror at the prospect of losing the team's youngest profiler.

"You didn't sleep at all last night," he points out gently.

"Neither did you."

You're not wrong. He didn't get a chance to shut his eyes either, but he's used to the sleepless nights. He supposes you are, too.

Your focus returns to the journal, and you don't notice as he slips out of the room and finds Gideon by the front of the house.

"Reid's brilliant," the older man sighs when he notices Hotch, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "He'll make it."

"I take advantage of Reid for his brain," he says softly, "but I never teach him how to handle things emotionally."

Jason shrugs. "Lead by example."

"What kind of example is that?"

For a bunch of criminal psychologists, you all still have no idea how to truly deal with losing people. Maybe that's just how life works. He thinks about the weeks after Jeff's death, when he wasn't sure if you would ever be okay again. Even as he held you while you cried, and promised that you would feel okay someday, he's not sure if he ever actually believed it.

But then one day, your eyes stopped shining at the mention of his name, and you no longer fell apart after each time you had to question a victim's widow.

Even after your mother's death, you were stoic. He remembers holding your hand at the funeral, but your grip was almost stronger than his, like you were holding him up with your sheer willpower to stay upright.

Seeing you now, he's not sure what will happen if Reid doesn't come back. He just knows he doesn't plan on finding out.

He and Gideon rush back inside when Garcia's voice frantically calls for everyone to look at Hankel's monitors. His eyes squint inadvertently as the video feed of Reid tied to a chair lights up the screens in front of them, almost like his brain is trying to block out the image.

Your hand flies to your mouth, but not before a small anguished sound escapes. "He's been beaten."

"This is for us," Garcia whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He knows we're here."

"I'm gonna put this guy's head on a stick," Morgan spits out, before turning around and slamming his fist into the room's wooden door.

Gideon leans closer to the screens, clearly trying to take in any detail he can from the scene. "Why can't you locate him?"

"He's rerouting to a different I.P. address every 30 seconds," Garcia explains, her voice thick through the tears. "I can't track him."

***

The screens shut off and the video feed of Spencer is gone. Penelope starts frantically typing away at the keyboard, likely in an effort to regain the signal, but it doesn't seem to be working.

Your body feels heavy, like there are weights on all of your limbs. Realistically, you know it's mostly the stress and exhaustion, but you can't stop thinking about the frightened look on Reid's face and how he must be feeling.

When you walk back through the house, the sound of a hushed argument in the kitchen catches your attention.

"JJ, what do you want from me?"

You recognize Morgan's voice, and you almost turn away to give them some privacy, but something in JJ's voice as she responds keeps you at the door.

"I just...I want someone to tell me the truth."

"The truth is one of you is here, and one of you isn't. You gotta figure the rest out for yourself."

You're walking inside before you can stop yourself. "Morgan, go help Penelope with the video file."

He looks surprised when he sees you, but he doesn't argue before leaving the room.

JJ rakes a hand through her hair as you approach her slowly. She doesn't shy away as you stand next to her, so you reach out and squeeze her forearm once before pulling back. "I was terrified when Frank took me in Texas."

She looks up with a shocked expression, her eyes finally meeting yours for the first time all day.

"I was terrified," you repeat, "but I never lost hope, because I knew you guys would come for me, no matter what."

Her eyes crinkle with sorrow and you pat her arm again, almost as much for you as for her. "I didn't blame anyone for what happened to me, JJ. Reid isn't blaming you either."

Her lip trembles, and you pull her into a hug as the tears finally come.

***

"Your team members...choose one to die."

Spencer gasps on the grainy computer monitor. "Kill me."

"Tell me who dies."

"No."

The back and forth continues as Hankel stalks toward him and lines his revolver up with Reid's forehead. "Choose."

"I-I choose Aaron Hotchner."

The room stills.

"He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. 'Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense. In emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.'"

Reid's words sink in and you unconsciously reach towards Hotch, but he's already walking out of the room. You follow him into the other room, the rest of the team on your heels.

"I'm not a narcissist," he says, his voice lighter than you're expecting. He grabs a Bible from the table and quickly flips through it, landing on the verse Reid mentioned.

"Come on, look," Gideon urges. "You can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch."

He waves away everyone's concern. "No. Stop. Stop. All right, everybody right now- what's my worst quality?"

No one says anything. You can feel Morgan revving up, so you jump in to start things off. "You're a workaholic."

Your mind flashes back to your hometown's library, all the late nights where you would fall asleep in your chair as he worked away into the early hours of the morning. His home was a trigger after his father died, and you could see the guilt eating away at him as he realized he didn't miss his dad as much as he was supposed to. As much as Sean did. The guilt that wore him down as he struggled to figure out how to be there for his brother, when he couldn't understand his pain.

He nods at you then, and there's nothing but determination behind his eyes.

"You're a bully," JJ chimes in.

Morgan adds, "You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."

Hotch is still nodding. "Right."

"You don't trust women as much as men," Emily says, her voice wavering slightly.

"Ok, good," he says, tapping the page with his finger. "I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever."

"Hotch, what's your point," you whisper, chewing your lip as you anxiously glance back at the screen.

He shushes you with a wave of his hand. "Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted Genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it."

You lean forward, taking the book from him. "'I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.'"

"He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose."

"Bury my dead," Morgan repeats, his eyes widening. "He's in a cemetery."

***

Hotch heads to the nearest cemetery with Morgan and Gideon, while you follow closely behind, with JJ in the seat next to you and Emily in the back. The drive is short, and you all throw yourselves out of the SUV when you park, as everyone spreads out to search the cemetery.

"Come with me," you tell JJ when you see her eyes flit around the darkness, a slightly panicked expression on her face. "We'll find him."

The wet mulch of the graveyard sinks under your quick footsteps, and you keep your eyes peeled as his name choruses around you, from all of the officers milling around.

The search ends with the sound of a gunshot, and when you get to the source, you nearly collapse with the relief of seeing Hankel on the ground as Reid kneels beside him.

"Spencer," you gasp as the other agents examine Hankel's body. He looks up at the sound of your voice and his face contorts for a second as you kneel in front of him.

A small sound leaves his mouth and suddenly your arms are crushing him to you, your panic ebbing away with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're okay. You're okay."

Hotch reaches out when you break apart and helps him up before Reid pulls him into a tight hug that surprises everyone. "I knew you'd understand."

Hotch tightens his arms for a moment, before they both pull back and JJ throws her arms around Reid. "I'm so sorry."

He pats her back, and for a split second, you can almost imagine he's comforting her, instead of the other way around. "It's all right. It wasn't your fault."

She steps away from him and he asks for a moment alone, so you all move back a few paces, allowing him the time to come to terms with the death of the man who somehow both tortured and saved him. You use the second of space to catch your breath as you will yourself not to let the tears of relief fall.

When Spencer finally stands up, you grab onto his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you, and you help him over to the ambulance that is waiting by the edge of the cemetery.

"Thank you," you gasp as he sits on the edge of the vehicle, suddenly unable to help yourself.

He frowns, his hair hanging in sweaty pieces in front of his face. "For what?"

"For staying alive."

***

The next case takes you to New York, where you find yourself hyper-vigilant as you watch Spencer try to acclimate to the job again. You can't help but notice the small changes in his demeanor, including the snappiness in his tone as he responds to everyone's questions, but you attribute it to the shock of his kidnapping.

After returning from the city, you decide to take some time to complete the paperwork you've been letting slide. Hotch managed to head home at a decent hour for once, and JJ and Prentiss are no where to be seen, but you spot Morgan twiddling his thumbs at his desk, his eyes darting over to peer at Reid almost as often as yours do.

An hour into scribbling out a case report, you head over to the coffee station to refill your mug. It has cooled down since you made it a couple of hours ago, but it still tastes just how you like it.

Burnt, Hotch's voice grumbles in your head. Even when he's gone, he won't leave you alone.

Topping off your mug, you turn around to get back to work and end up bumping into Reid, who looks worse for wear than he did on the jet.

"Shit, sorry," you smile, trying to get him to meet your eye. "I didn't see you there."

"Watch where you're going," he snaps, before stepping around you.

You don't let him get away that easily. Grabbing his arm, you hold him in place as he tries to wriggle away. "Spencer, don't do that. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I'm fine," he says simply, his expression almost emotionless as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

"I'm serious," you say, putting extra emphasis on your words. "I know what you're feeling. I can help."

His expression shifts into one of animosity and something else you can't place. "You don't know anything about what I'm feeling."

His words are like a slap to the face, and he uses your break in focus to tug himself out of your grip and stalk over to the bathroom around the corner.

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to take it personally. He's just been through a horrifying ordeal. No one can expect him to continue on like normal, at least for a little while.

"Something is up with him," Morgan says from his desk, before spinning in his chair to look at the spot where Reid walked away. "He's acting...hostile."

"He's just adjusting," you say quickly, your protective instinct coming out in full force. You close your eyes for a moment to calm your voice down. "This is a normal reaction for what he went through."

Derek doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. You don't even know if you're convincing yourself, because you know why this kind of hostility and irritation manifests: when you're hiding something.

You weren't a particularly crazy teenager, so you didn't have much to hide from your parents, but there was one secret you held until you left for college that manifested in your daily interactions. One secret that changed how you acted around your best friend, how you spoke to him, how you even looked at him.

You push the thought away before turning to stare at the bathroom door as it falls shut behind Reid. You know Morgan's right. You just don't know what to do.

***

"Hey, Reid," Derek says, looking at him with a small smile. "What's going on up there?"

He shrugs. "Just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas, Ethan. Pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now."

JJ called you at home a few hours ago with the briefing and an instruction to pack for warm weather. Wanting to pack light, you threw on the tank top you planned to wear, and a button-down for the flight. A few cursory glances around the jet tell you that almost everyone else had the same idea. Of course, Hotch is still in his suit, and Reid has on a sweater vest that you're sure he won't take off, even if the temperature skyrockets.

"Really?" Derek asks. "You going to give him a call?"

Reid shrugs again, and you absentmindedly wonder if his shoulders hurt from the number of times he has used that motion over the past week. "We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau but first day at Quantico he backed out."

Emily, who is sitting next to you, looks up with a grin. "He probably just couldn't take the heat."

"It's not really for us to judge, is it?" Reid states, and her face falls immediately.

"Right. My bad."

He hasn't been as irritable in recent days, but sometimes a random response will rub him the wrong way. You find Emily's hand on the armrest and squeeze it once. She looks down at her hand and then at you, a grateful smile on her face.

JJ directs everyone back to the images that were recovered as you approach Louisiana.

"A slaughter like this takes time," you note as you examine the depth and shape of the wounds on the dead man in the photos before you.

"Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives," Reid adds, chiming in from across the cabin, "and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero."

Gideon nods, looking up from his file. "This city's barely back to life. Something like this could cripple its psyche."

"So," you say, looking at JJ. "Where do we start?"

She sighs. "All of the records were washed away in Katrina."

"With no case files, there's only one place we can start," Hotch says, drawing your attention. "Square one."

The plane lands soon after, and you disembark into the midday heat, heading to the latest crime scene immediately after dropping your bags off at the station.

Instead of a body, there's a very alive man waiting for you all at the scene.

"You must be BAU," he says, reaching out to shake JJ's hand. "Will Lamontagne."

She smiles at him, accepting the handshake. "Hi, Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone."

The detective is looking at her so intently, you almost feel like you're interrupting something by bring here. "Okay, then. I pictured you different."

You glance over at Emily, who is already looking at you, a smirk on her face.

"These are Agents Gideon, Morgan, Prentiss, and L/N," she introduces. "This is Detective William Lamontagne Jr."

He nods at you. "Appreciate you guys being here."

"Of course," you say, trying to keep the smile off your face as you shake his hand. Beside you, JJ has turned a light shade of mauve that you presently allow her to pretend is just from the heat.

***

"Morgan called," Hotch mentions when you finally meet him back at the station. He hasn't seen you since you got off the plane. "He and Prentiss think the unsub is a woman."

You ponder the idea, your eyes lighting up as the gaps in the profile get filled. "All straight male victims, killed while on a night out at the bars. Always in groups of other men, drinking. A woman would be able to lure them away. That makes sense."

He nods, turning back to the letters from the unsub. He's about to call the rest of the team back in when he notices your forehead crinkle out of the corner of his eye. You look up at him. "Wait, you said Prentiss and Morgan think it's a woman. What about Reid? Didn't he fly out with them?"

He sighs, mentally kicking himself for letting that slip. He doesn't want you worrying about Reid any more than you already have been, but he knows there isn't anything he can do to stop you. "Apparently he missed the flight. They couldn't get ahold of him."

"What?" Your brow furrows with concern, and he quickly interjects to keep you from spiraling. "They will be back from Texas any minute now, and Gideon said he spotted Reid heading over here a few minutes before you arrived. Nothing has happened to him."

"What are you talking about?" you exclaim, before bringing your voice down. "The worst thing happened to him. He's hurting more than any of us can possibly imagine. I just don't know how to help him get through it."

He doesn't correct you. He doesn't say that almost every single member of this team can at least somewhat relate to what Reid may be feeling, including you. Instead, he puts his hand on your arm and says, "You're doing all you can."

You sigh. "And what's that?"

"You're promising to be there when he's ready for your help." He sees the tension visibly leave your shoulders, and he pulls his hand back. "That's all any of us can do."

***

When another body is found in the French Quarter, the plan changes. Everyone disperses in pairs to cover the streets in the hopes of catching the unsub in action.

Even as night falls, the temperature doesn't, and you strip off your over-shirt, leaving you in a pale pink tank top. When you emerge from the bathroom, Hotch is the only one waiting for you outside, with all of the other pairs already patrolling Bourbon Street.

He gives you a funny look when he sees you tying your button-down around your waist, and you bump your shoulder against his with a laugh. "What are you looking at?"

He exhales in a quick burst, before meeting your eye. "You look different."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No," he shakes his head, his eyes blinking shut as he clearly regrets his choice of words, "no, it's good...uh, you look good."

Your stomach flips and you turn your face down to hide the smile that's threatening to appear. "Thanks, Hotch."

He huffs out a laugh before leading you up to the bars, where tourists are bustling around in large groups. The sounds of buskers playing their accordions at the street corners loosens a memory from your brain, and you turn to him with a bright smile. "Remember your first performance of Pirates of Penzance?"

He frowns. "I remember it being my first and last foray into the world of theater."

"No," you giggle, glancing around you periodically even as you continue the story. "I mean, do you remember how that one accordion player tripped and almost fell into the orchestra pit like ten minutes into opening night?"

His eyes light up at the memory and he laughs. "I thought it was hilarious, but Haley was so stressed out the whole performance. To this day, I've never seen that vein in her forehead get so big."

"You were pirate number four," you chastise him with a grin. "She was one of the leads. I hardly think you can compare experiences."

He shrugs, his eyes still scanning the vicinity. He looks like he wants to say something, but then you both notice Morgan and Reid rushing towards one of the side streets and your conversation halts. "Let's go."

***

With help from Detective Lamontagne and his late father, the team is able to catch the unsub right before she kills another man. Once she's in custody, you wait outside by the ambulances, watching from afar as JJ and Will talk by his car.

After a few minutes, she hands him something and walks back over to where you're standing. "I can't believe I just did that."

"What did you do?" you ask, trying not to laugh at how freaked out she looks.

She puts her face in her hands for a second, before looking at you with a sigh. "I gave him my number."

"That's good!" you smile, squeezing her arm. "That's good, right?"

"I don't know," she says softly, her eyes squinting as she looks at you. "He seems really sweet. And he's clearly great at his job. I think the distance just worries me."

"You can take it slow," you tell her earnestly. "This doesn't have to be any more serious than you want it to be."

"What if I want it to be serious? Eventually, I mean."

You can't help but smile at the look on her face. You recognize it on yourself from when you first met Jeff: the excitement of possibility. "Then that's up to you too."

She nods, and you let out a smile. "Let loose, JJ. He seems like a good one, and you definitely deserve something good."

JJ glances over at the police cars, where Will is talking to one of the paramedics. "I hope so."

***

You sit by yourself on the flight home, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind from the case. You don't encounter female unsubs often, but the ones that arise always have a tendency to get under your skin. Maybe it's because their motivations seem so different from the others. Or maybe you just feel bad for them.

You're so zoned out that you don't realize Spencer is sitting next to you until he taps your arm. "Hey."

"Hey, Spence," you smile, trying to keep your tone light so he doesn't think you expect too much. "What's up?"

He looks down for a beat before meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Your heart twists and you press your lips together to keep from speaking too quickly. "You never have to apologize to me."

"I do," he says, shaking his head. "Please just let me."

He looks so strong all of a sudden. You haven't seen him look so steady in months, and it makes your chest feel lighter. "Okay. I forgive you, Spencer."

He nods, making a move to get up, but you don't let him get away just yet. "Just promise me something."

He purses his lips, like he's unsure of how to respond, but eventually he dips his chin into another nod.

"Promise me that next time you feel this way, you'll come to me."

He looks at you with an expression you can't decipher, but it quickly falls into contrition. "I promise."

***

"What are you thinking about?" Hotch's shoulder bumps yours as he sits down on the edge of the desk next to you.

"Nothing," you say quickly. He's not sure why you're lying. He can sniff out your dishonesty from a mile away.

"I thought you and Reid got a chance to talk on the plane last week," he frowns, following your line of sight.

You sigh, turning your gaze away from the younger agent. "We did. I just keep thinking about what he said about the unsub at the last scene."

He's like a drug addict.

It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help.

"All of us knew," he says softly, his eyes turning up, searching for something he can't see. "To some extent, we knew. But he's doing a lot better now. We just have to give him time to trust us with the truth."

Your eyes find his. "How did you know you could trust me? When we were kids, I mean?"

Your question takes him aback. He wants to say something profound, to mention a specific moment when he realized that he could share the worst parts of his life with you without the fear that the world would end, but it wasn't that poetic. All he knows is that you were a kid, and he was too, and the first time you saw the splotches of black and blue painting his skin, you didn't turn away. You looked at him, not with pity or sorrow, but with a strength that he still draws from to this day. "I think I just knew you would always be there."

You ponder his words, your eyes traveling back to Reid, who is flipping through a book he brought with him. He knows there are a lot of ways you could take what he said, but he believes you'll take what you need, because he was telling the truth.

You really were always there for him. Even when you weren't - either because of physical distance or because you were in a fight - he never doubted that you would be there if he needed you.

"Come on," he says after a beat. "Let's head back."

You nod, your mind still a million miles away. "Okay."

***

Friday nights used to be your date night. Jeff would promise to be home by seven, usually with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers, and you would cook something special together before watching a movie or falling into bed.

After he died, Friday nights became your least favorite time of the week, serving as a constant reminder of what you should have, and no longer do.

Today, for the first time in over two years, you think you might be ready to remember those nights you used to love. Grabbing a bottle of cabernet from your pantry, you pull out a thin-stemmed glass and pour yourself some wine. Your heart thuds heavily as you swirl the wine around, and you are willing yourself to bring the glass to your lips when your pager goes off. You feel a shameful sense of relief as you set your glass down and reach for your purse.

181 Arthur Street. Why does that look familiar?

You wrack your brain for a second before it clicks. It takes you less than a minute to toss your wine into the sink and grab your coat.

***

"Where's Gideon?" you ask when you spot Hotch and the team standing in his kitchen.

"He's not here," he replied. "It seems he left in a hurry."

Morgan looks at him with an urgency you recognize in yourself. "PD thinks he did this?"

"They have six witnesses who saw him running down the street covered in blood, wielding a gun."

"Okay, he was probably chasing the son of a bitch who did do this."

Hotch shrugs, and you can feel the momentary helplessness in the motion. "Either way, we're under strict orders not to get in the way of the investigation."

"Gideon's a suspect," Emily nods, "we're his colleagues."

"Conflict of interest," JJ agrees. "There's no way they'll ask for our help."

"Which he needs badly right now."

You turn into the bedroom to look at the crime scene for the first time. The mutilation of the victim's body brings a familiar nausea to your stomach that you swallow down. "Do we know who she is?"

Hotch comes in behind you. "An old school friend." He turns back to spout off a list of instructions to JJ, but you can't take your eyes off of the woman.

Evisceration of the torso. Removal of various organs. No defensive wounds.

Something in her hand catches your attention and your eyes flicker down to see what she's clutching. Using one of your gloved hands, you pry open her fist and reveal a broken piece of bone. A rib bone.

"Frank," you whisper, almost to yourself. "It's Frank."

"What did you say?" Morgan asks, stepping up next to you. You unfurl your hand to reveal the bone, and he swears under his breath. He turns around to address the rest of the team. "Frank's back."

After JJ snaps a dozen photos of the crime scene on her phone, you all head out into the night air to regroup and formulate a game plan. You hang behind the team on the walk out, your mind spinning with memories of hands and voices you still see sometimes when you're trying to fall asleep.

"Y/N." Your eyes snap up to Emily's as she strolls alongside you. "You okay?"

She looks sincere, and you find yourself wanting to talk all of a sudden. You nod, heaving out a sigh. "Yeah, it just feels very fresh all over again."

"I can imagine." She takes your hand and gives it a small squeeze. "You can come to me if you need a break from all of it."

She leaves you with an earnest smile, and you realize, not for the first time, how glad you are that she's on the team.

***

You aren't able to save Rebecca Garner this time. Frank kills her, and you once again feel that familiar bitterness of nausea rising in your throat as you see her mutilated body.

When you realize he's going to go after children again, you join Hotch and Morgan as they go to Tracey Belle's house.

"We need a crime scene team," Hotch barks into his comm when the home comes up empty, no trace of anyone inside.

"That's my house!"

You turn around and see Tracey's parents running up to the entrance, panic reflected in their eyes.

Hotch steps forward to block them. "Mr. Belle..."

"You have to let us in. My daughter's in there."

He turns to the mother. "Ma'am, you can't go in right now."

"Where's Tracy? Where is she?"

You can see the interaction pulling him down, like a ship anchored to the sea floor.

"What's important to know right now is Tracy is alive, okay? Your daughter's alive."

S.W.A.T. takes the parents aside to explain the situation to them in more detail, and you go to Hotch's side as a pained expression crosses his face. More than anything, you want to comfort him. To tell him that Tracey isn't Jack, that this won't happen to him...but how can you?

Gideon's girlfriend was murdered tonight. Jeff was killed while undercover. Your mother was killed by a drunk driver. No one is ever really safe.

Your eyes flash back over to Mr. and Mrs. Belle, and your chest tightens almost uncontrollably as you imagine how scared Tracey must be.

When Emily and JJ find Jane in a holding cell at the local precinct, her knowledge of Frank's backstory provides more clues about his whereabouts. You go with JJ and Reid to his mother's apartment in Manhattan, while the rest of the team heads to the train station to find Frank.

The idea of Tracey being all alone, frightened for her life, plagues your every thought as the three of you drive to the city. You try to clear your mind as you push through the front door and check for any sign of life. Instead, what you find is the dusty corpse of Frank's late mother.

"Guys, over here." Reid points to a latched door. Stepping around the bed, you immediately unlock the door and throw it open, revealing the tiny, shivering form of Tracey.

"Oh, sweetie," you gasp as sits up in fright, her posture only relaxing once she sees the FBI vests. "You're okay, honey."

You undo the ties on her wrists and she all but falls forward and into your arms. You pull her into a tight hug, making sure to be careful of any possible injuries she could have sustained. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against yours brings you a familiar comfort, and you squeeze her tighter, before finally letting go.

***

He finds himself in Strauss's office again as he explains what happened with the Frank case. How he killed himself and Jane, but he can't bring himself to take that as a failure, because he knows she never would've found the strength to leave him anyway. "Once again, the team has battled a monster and won."

"The future of the BAU is not in the balance here." Her eyes are brimming with scorn. "The residual impact as a result of the investigations into the crimes and criminals you pursue is. Every cause has its effect."

He almost scoffs. "You think I don't know that?"

"I believe you are no longer effective in your post."

There it is. He knows she never liked the way he handled his team. The next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "The modern furniture, strategically placed magazines, the framed diplomas, the art on the wall are all in conflict with your family photos."

Her eyes widen but he just continues, undeterred.

"You have three children, but you favor the middle one, your son."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Of course you love all your children," he shrugs, "but not like your son."

Strauss twists her hand into a fist. "That's enough."

"The bonsai that you obsessively nurture is to compensate for feelings of failure as a mother..."

"Agent Hotchner," she says, her voice bordering on rage. "I said that is enough. My position is not in question here. As your superior I am questioning your ability to lead your team."

"My team?" he scoffs, unable to keep the malice from his tone. "Let me tell you about my team. Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him. Why? Because trust has to be earned and there are very few people he truly trusts.

"Reid's intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions and at the moment his shield is under repair.

"Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel she's a part of the team. She needn't worry.

"Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices.

"Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.

"Agent Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of others, which is why he shares so little of himself. Yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.

"And Agent L/N," he pauses finally, taking a moment to find himself again, "she has taken the immense loss that life has handed to her and transformed it, not into cynicism, but into empathy, for her team, for the victims, for the world."

Strauss doesn't say anything, and he can't help the vindication that shines through his voice as he says, "I stand by my actions and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck."

"Agent Hotchner," she emphasizes, making him look back at her one last time.

"How do I know you favor your son?"

She simply looks at him, a mixture of irritation and shame on her face.

"I'm good at my job."

***

"What's wrong?" Hotch looks up in surprise as you sidle up next to him. He was staring at the portrait of the FBI director, hanging in the hallway outside the bullpen, and he only does that when he's professionally stressed.

He looks like he wants to avoid the question, but you fix him with a glare that makes him sigh. "We're being evaluated."

"Doesn't that happen every year?" you ask, still not understanding.

"It's six months early."

You take a deep breath. This past year has been tough for everybody, but you think the team has come through the other side better people. "So they're assessing our unit. It'll be fine, we did great work this year."

"The only file they didn't request was mine."

That sends a spike of anxiety through your bloodstream, but he doesn't need your fear. "They could never fire you. You stepped up to the plate when Gideon left. You helped make this unit what it is."

You're the reason I joined at all, you want to say. You made this unit my family. I can't imagine being here without you.

But that isn't fair. He doesn't need to carry this with you. This burden of having no one else.

So instead you just smile at him, bump his shoulder with yours, and say, "You're going to be fine. This team wouldn't be the same without you."

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @distortionbobble, @sanayikes (message me to be added!)

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devilfic · 5 months

Text

❝right place, right time❞

VI. do you trust me?

parts: previously / next plot: things are getting messy. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, descriptions of surgery, angsty mcangsty pants as always, mentions of the christian God and religious practices, maybe you and bruce wouldn't have to keep so many secrets if you just made out a lil bit, :). words: 6.2k.

a/n: edit as of 2/11/24: replaced mistaken use of "officer" with "detective".

Your needle passes through skin to the beat of a steady metronome. It's made up of muscle memory, glazing your mind as your hands thread the tear together. With each pass, you're unblinking. There are three others in the room with you but they might as well be shadows, faceless and without sound, coloring your peripheral but otherwise of no concern.

The steady metronome beats on well into your final pull of the thread, well into your dismissal of the shadows, well into the comforts of your office where your brain falls out of rhythm. It's been 48 hours and you haven't found a clue.

You'd think after 17 years that you'd have forgotten his name, but you remember Detective Russo. About 5'9, a kinky black beard, and bushy eyebrows that took up good real estate on his forehead. You remembered sizing up every one of those officers, but he was the one you'd memorized. He was the one that promised you that no one would ever know you were there that night. And now Bruce knows.

He was a detective of little significance outside of that, as far as your research was concerned. He'd served a whopping total of 20 years on the force before retiring seven years ago, but without any social media presence or nearby family to speak of, you couldn't find him. Not an old address, not a phone number, nothing. It was like he'd wiped himself clean the minute he retired. Which meant you'd have to resort to plan B.

Your boss intercepts you before you can even get to the stairs, though. Rudy Moretti rarely had good timing, after all, "Hey! Early lunch?"

You think about lying for all of two seconds, "No. Headed to the police station."

Your boss' eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa, everything okay? Are one of those guys from the other night bothering you? I can come with you if you need-"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's something personal."

Rudy shifts awkwardly, "Oh. Well, be safe. And let me know if anything like that pops up." You nod, attempting to escape, but his hand finds your elbow and stops you, "By the way... how's everything with Mr. Wayne?"

You should've expected a question like that by now. You had been officially working for him long enough to warrant it, but you still wince. "Fine." When your boss blinks at you, expecting more, you have to bite your tongue to keep from swearing, "I actually... was invited to a celebration for the Mayor. Courtesy of Mr. Wayne. She was interested in the hospital's new wing. We had a good conversation."

Like a child on Christmas morning, your boss lights up at the good news. "Oh, that's good! That's good. Did she mention wanting to come down for a tour?"

"What happened to you should have never happened in the first place. I'm glad you were able to make it out alive."

Her hand on yours should've been a comfort, and to some extent it was, but even the softness of her palm couldn't have steadied your trembling. She had squeezed tighter when she felt it, perhaps thinking you traumatized for having to recall that night. Unaware of where you'd been. Unaware of the burning need to escape before you spilled your guts on the Persian rug.

"It happens all the time," a voice came from your right, a drunken councilman with his suit jacket unbuttoned, "and it'll keep happening so long as that thug's still running the streets."

"Thug?" The mayor dipped her chin.

"With all due respect, Bella, what's your plan to put Batman in Arkham for good?"

You watched the mayor's back straighten, her eyes narrow. It was the one thing everyone was itching to talk about, and the one thing everyone was too afraid to bring up first.

You felt Bruce's knee bump yours and stiffened.

"You think he ought to be imprisoned?" The mayor asks.

"I think he ought to be drawn and quartered! It's people like him that make this city a far cry from its glory days. Inviting violence, chaos. He's single-handedly responsible for that- that homicidal freak that nearly killed you, mayor. And he's responsible for everything else this city's suffered since he started infecting it. He's a menace. It'll be a cold day in hell before this city's safe with him still on the streets."

It sickened you to hear. People who'd done nothing since being elected calling for the arrest of the one person who's made any real change in this city.

The mayor doesn't immediately speak up and you think she's chewing on his words, preparing to respond with a bit more bite. Her pause is what prompts you to speak first, "If it wasn't for the Batman, I might be dead. He's done more good for this city than bad..." you watch the councilman turn his focus to you, looking baffled as to why you were butting in, as if you hadn't just finished recounting your brush with death moments ago, "...with all due respect, Councilman Roberts."

The councilman sobers up at the heavy gaze you level on him, "Oh, no. Of course. Of course! It's good that he was there. It would've been a- been a real tragedy to lose one of Gotham's good, fine citizens. I'm just saying that... maybe these things wouldn't be happening if he wasn't there to... encourage it."

"You think he's encouraging it?" The mayor chimes in, taking a sip from her glass. Whatever she was going to say before has been shelved for the time being, it seems.

The councilman laughs. You watch him twist so that he's facing you and the mayor, holding his glass to her like a gavel for judgement, "He's a glorified criminal! He's no better than that clown we put away years ago."

"He put away, councilman. I believe you meant to say he," Bruce's first words since he'd introduced you to Bella give you a shiver. With his one arm hanging off the back of the couch, he leans in from beside you and smiles that TV smile again, "Unless you've got something you’d like to share with the class?"

Snickers break out amongst the group. You can feel Bruce's breath on your shoulder for only a passing moment, and then he's falling back into the couch and taking a swig of his wine.

The councilman bristles, clearly not a fan of being laughed at. Or being faced with the truth, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just a silly theory of mine. It's just... it would make sense for a vigilante to hide his identity by publicly denouncing himself, especially if he’s in the public eye already. I mean, it would make most people cross you off their list but... you're making me think twice about you."

You chance a glance at Bruce's face. He isn't drunk. His eyes hold a steady gaze with the councilman encroaching on your space to meet it, and even with the looseness of his body, you can tell he's calculating. His arm behind your head feels drawn tight. You can sense it in its weight near your head. He's flashing his teeth and keeping his voice light, but he's not defenseless. He's leveraging.

Your heart hammers again at what lie beneath this tower.

The councilman flushes. Sinks back into his seat, grumbling, but all eyes on him has him forcing a grin, "You're funny, Wayne. Unfortunately for your theory, I have a real job. Making real change in this city. Something Batman wouldn't understand."

That does something to you, "Maybe I'm biased, but... I've seen what he's done for this city, sir. And in the wake of last year, I think we can all agree that... well, anyone can say they're making change. Even if they're just making money instead. Perhaps it feels like Batman is doing more because we actually know what he's doing."

Bruce's leg bumps yours again. Accidentally.

You watch the councilman's Adam's apple bob, "No offense, and I'm sure you feel offended on behalf of the man that saved you, but there are laws that make sure people like me and Ms. Reál don't cross the line. What say you, when your hero takes things too far one day, hm? Who're you going to call when the Batman beats someone's brains in because people like you justify it? Or is it only okay because at least he stopped you from getting a bullet to the head?"

You're about to spew the first thing that comes to mind, probably full of anger and vitriol and a little of whatever you had to drink earlier, when you feel a hand take hold of your inner wrist. Bruce's grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt you. It's enough to stop whatever might come out of your mouth. When you look him in the eye, he's not smiling anymore.

You stare at each other like that for a few moments, not a word shared but a million thought. It was almost like he knew what you were going to say, knew how it might've made you look, made you both look. Had imagined it coming out of his own mouth too, maybe.

Instead, he releases you and turns to the councilman, "Okay, enough. We all feel pretty spirited about the topic." When the councilman scoffs, Bruce nods to you, "I think you both make good points. He's done good. He saved my doctor, of whom I never would've had the pleasure of working with otherwise. But I have to agree with you, councilman: he operates outside of the law and that is cause for concern. I'm sure these are all important issues that our mayor is working tirelessly to address, isn't that right, Mayor?"

Mayor Reál has her leg crossed over the other, eyes cutting from the councilman's to Bruce's to yours. Eventually, she smiles and raises her glass, "Indeed. This conversation was enlightening. Much to think about."

"I'm gonna get another drink." Your announcement is followed by the most graceful exit you can muster, even though your chest is throbbing with adrenaline and you can feel Bruce following you.

You don't stop until you reach the bar and have another glass in hand, doing your best to ignore his presence as he looms beside you. He allows you a full three sips before he starts talking, "Are you okay?"

The diplomat from before is long gone. He's melted, keeping his back to the group you'd just escaped and giving you such wet puppy dog eyes that it makes you want to hurl again. How could he look you in the eye?

Your hand shakes around the stem of your glass, "You're different around them."

His eyes fall to the bar top, "I am?"

"Smiling, friendly, funny..."

He cuts his eyes back to you, smiling a little, "I'm not usually funny?"

"You pretend to be laid-back around them, and I get why. But you don't do that with me. You act like I know some big secret about you and I'm this close to spilling it," you pinch your fingers together in front of his face, "or maybe you know some big secret about me."

You watch his face for any sign of recognition, but you're disappointed to find there is none. No reaction other than a sigh. "I pretend around them because I don't trust them."

"And you trust me? Even though we barely know each other?"

Uncharacteristically, Bruce tilts so close toward you that you bend back to keep some semblance of space between you, "You're asking if I trust the person I pay to keep me alive over... Councilman Roberts." He pronounces the last two words with such incredulity, then laughs right after. You note his breath smells sweet, but nothing like the wine. Had it been wine he'd been drinking? One look at his glass and you'd think so. Two looks, though...

He was stone cold sober.

You swallow, staring up into his face. Bruce doesn't back away. Questions begin to form on your tongue... destructive ones.

How do you know? How did you find out? What are you going to do about it?

Your stomach drops as you think, surely, there's quite a bit he can do about it. If he wanted to. If you made the wrong move.

His eyes narrow on you, "You look sick. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'd like to go home."

Bruce blinks, shrinks in on himself a bit, "Okay."

"I... I drove."

Bruce nods, holds a hand up to one of the suited men near the edge of the room, and turns to you, "My driver. He'll take you home."

"My... my car. I have work in the morning." You mumble pathetically.

Bruce says something to the driver when he gets close. Another man is summoned, appearing by your side in an instant. This one holds out his hand to you and it takes you a second to realize what he's asking for. You fish your keys out and drop them in his waiting palm.

It's incredibly awkward as Bruce walks you out. You think he'll stop at the front door, or the elevator, or even the lobby, but he walks you all the way to the back door of his ride and—God—even holds it open for you.

You settle in to the nice seats, blinking up at him through eyes you fight to keep dry. You wonder if Bruce would forgive you for throwing up in his car instead. "If it's any consolation," he begins, leaning on the roof of the car. You can still hear the bustle of Gotham all around you, but when he looks at you... there might as well be only him and you, "I agree with you. Councilman Roberts is a jackass."

Your boss is looking at you, expectantly. Still waiting.

"I'm sure she's thinking about it." Is your curt reply. "Is that it? I really gotta go."

Your boss deflates, but otherwise doesn't keep you.

"How can I help you?"

The cop behind the desk seems nice enough. He doesn't smile at you but his tone is pleasant, unhurried. It helps calm your nerves. "Hi. I'm looking for someone. A detective who used to work here."

"You remember their name?"

"Detective Joey Russo," you offer, watching the cop begin to type into his computer, "he retired seven years ago. I wanted to know if you could get me in touch with him. A number or a... address."

"Ah, Russo. I remember him. I'm sorry, may I ask who you are?" You give your name and the cop frowns. "You got a badge? Unless you're with the state, I can't give you anything."

You'd worried as much, "He worked a case of mine 17 years ago. Something new's popped up and I just wanted to talk to him about it."

"If it's about a case we covered, you'd have to talk to one of us about it unless he's directly involved, and even then it'd be a process." He must notice how your face falls because his own softens, "I'm real sorry. I can get you in with someone else."

You know you shouldn't be upset. After all, he was only doing his job. If they gave out personal information to every person who walked in off the street, you imagined they'd have a bigger problem with domestic terrorism than they already do.

It doesn't make it any less debilitating. Bruce Wayne had found him. That was the only way he could've gotten his hands on your file, surely. And Bruce Wayne had money, more than enough to get an ex-cop to talk.

You're thanking the man and trying not to sound as distressed as you feel when you turn and catch new eyes.

You'd only seen Batman at night, tucked into the corners of shadow of your apartment, but here he was in broad daylight—midday—standing next to a plainclothes cop who had yet to realize the vigilante was no longer listening to him. You're so relieved to see him that you actually break out into a smile.

Batman doesn't return it. Without acknowledging his partner, he stomps across the room to you, cutting off your greeting with a rushed, "Did something happen?"

You blink, unable to answer when the cop from before sidles up next to the two of you. He's got a warm, friendly look to him, even if his eyes are narrowed at the pair of you with skepticism, "You two know each other?" He asks. When Batman refuses to tear his eyes from you, the cop addresses you directly, reluctant to extend his hand without confirmation that you were friend, not foe, "Detective James Gordon. And you are?" You give your name and his eyes light up. "Hey. I know you, don't I?"

"The hostage at Gotham General," Bruce answers for him, not even bothering to glance at the detective, "they were on the news."

"You three mind moving somewhere else? The freak's making people uncomfortable." The kind cop from before has dropped all pretense now, glaring at the vigilante who, still, pays no one but you mind.

Gordon grumbles and motions for you both to follow him down a long hallway out of sight.

You struggle to keep up when the detective starts walking, much faster than he looked, and so you all but yelp when the Bat places a hand on your lower back and guides you in front of him.

A turn or two later, you empty out beside a window at the end of another long hallway, far enough away from prying eyes that the detective seems to find it sufficient.

"What are you doing here?" Batman asks immediately.

"I was looking for someone but, actually, now that you're here, I was wondering if I could talk to you." You look over at Gordon, "If you're not busy."

The detective grunts but holds his hands up in surrender, slinking down the hall out of earshot, "I'm gonna go smoke, but I need him back in ten."

When he's far enough away, Batman speaks, voice at a much lower volume than before, "What's wrong?"

"I'm looking for a cop. I need to get in touch with him but he retired and they won't tell me where I can find him."

The Bat's head tilts to the side. You can tell the gears in his brain are turning, "Who?"

"Detective Joey Russo." The Bat freezes. "Do you know him?"

He doesn't answer that, something you take note of with a funny feeling in your chest, "Why are you looking for him?"

It's your turn not to answer. You should've known he wouldn't just tell you without good reason, but your throat closes up when you think about how you'll explain it. It wasn't that you didn't trust him... but... "It's personal. Please."

"That's not enough."

"I know... I know. And I wouldn't be asking this of you if it wasn't important-"

"Then tell me why."

"I can't. But it is important. To me. I promise, it's for good reason."

"A good reason that you can't tell me? That's not enough. That's not how I work. God forbid someone finds out I gave you classified information."

"If I told you why I needed it—if I told anyone why I needed it—it would defeat the whole purpose!"

"That doesn't make you sound any more convincing."

"Batman, please," and your voice breaks as you step that much closer to him, your eyes rimming with tears you're terrified to shed, "I have never asked you for anything, have I? Not for money or your identity or anything. I am asking you for this one thing because I have no one else. You... are the only person who can help me. Please."

You see his face fall, so clear it feels like you can see right through him. Past the cowl and the facades and right into his very being. For a moment, you're just seeing the person and not the idea of him. You see your fears reflected back at you in his eyes, a deep understanding there that gives you some hope.

He draws a deep, heavy breath, and- "I'm sorry."

You're too stunned to watch him walk away.

Judith's apartment has a lack of technology and an abundance of crucifixes. The first time you'd seen it, you'd thought it was overkill. Now, since you've visited enough, it was comforting in its own creepy way. A blast into the past, memories of a grandmother who was never really your grandmother.

She startles at the stove where she's just put something in the oven, "Oh! Dear, I didn't hear you come in. Is everything alright?"

You smile and kick your shoes off by the key-holder, "I knocked. You're supposed to have your hearing aid in."

She gives you a stern look, then smiles.

You can smell hibiscus tea in the air, her favorite. She'd gather handfuls of hibiscus and dry them out in the sun, and then she'd steep their petals in hot water until it turned a deep pink. The taste was always striking, tart and strong, but she'd sweeten it with honey for you and then it wouldn't be so bad.

Without asking, she waddles over to her breakfast table where you've already found your seat and pours you a steaming cup of tea. You take the honey she's brought with her and begin to stir. "You never answered my question." Judith reminds you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, "I'm just taking a break from work, is all. Do I need to be having a bad day to visit you?"

"No, I suppose not," she sighs, taking the seat across from you, "but you do look a wreck."

You grumble. You hadn't looked in the mirror. You hadn't done anything but busy yourself in hopes that it would stave off the wave of anxious tears threatening to fall. You busied yourself until your hands started shaking and people started asking questions. And now you were here.

"Yeah. I'm sure I do. Work's... been hard."

"And besides work?"

"I don't know. I don't really have a life outside of work anymore."

Judith frowns, "You should really make some friends, dear."

That gets you to laugh. "I have friends! I have you. Are you not my friend?"

You could see the question already brewing, the narrow of her eyes as she watched you begin to fidget, "And that demon? Is he still hanging around you?"

You cast your gaze to the tabletop, "...I don't think we'll be seeing him around anymore."

"Oh?" You don't miss the hope in Judith's voice, "Did the police finally arrest him?"

"No. I think I may have... scared him off."

She doesn't respond for a while, even though you can tell from the shift in the air that she's rather pleased with this development. It makes you feel sicker to the stomach. "It might be for the best, dear," you can tell that she's being careful, minding your upset, "he's dangerous. It's best you stick to the light for now." When you don't respond, her leathery hand clasps over yours and forces you to look her in the eye, "Come with me to service this week. I've been telling everyone about you."

You snort, "About me and the demon I'm friends with?"

Judith shakes her head furiously, as if the accusation that she might have spilled your secret greatly insulted her, "They have been praying for you ever since the night at the hospital. They'd really like to see you in person one of these days. I never shut up about how proud I am of you."

Even through the despair, you feel the warmth of Judith's love. It makes you hold her hand back, gripping so tightly that you fear she may be too fragile to handle it. She doesn't seem to mind.

You two share the rest of your tea in relative silence, taking breaks to comment on the neighbors or the news or the weather (which never really changes outside of summer, but you always have something to say with her).

After a refill or two, you feel the dread begin to creep in.

"Dear, come here," Judith calls as you button up your coat at the door, "bow your head."

You frown but do as you're told. In a blink, you feel her finger swipe across your forehead in a quick motion. The familiar scent of cinnamon and myrrh hit your senses right after. You reach up to touch it but Judith captures your hand in her own. In her other is a small vial, unmarked, filled halfway with oil. "To protect you," she says, nodding gravely, "God will watch over you. You are blessed."

You want to tell her that the anointing does nothing for the stones gathering in your stomach, that the moment you walk out of this door you will be hit with a wave so sudden that you will surely drown. But you'd be lying if you said this little woman with her God and prayers didn't make you feel, even for a fraction of a second, safe. You kiss her cheek goodbye.

It's desperate, you know that. You spend the whole evening hating yourself as you pace the hardwood floors, thumbing over buttons and weighing the pros and cons.

"For emergencies only", but this was an emergency to you. It felt like one, the way it gnawed at your very center demanding blood. Every minute dreading that you'd have to see him again and pretend like you had no idea that he knew that you... You'd also spent part of the evening bent over the toilet.

At some point, you throw yourself onto your fire escape for fresh air and nearly throw the phone across the way just to breathe.

You know you've screwed up. The tentative threads of your friendship with the Bat had surely been severed. What had gotten into you, asking him for such a bold favor without anything to offer in return? You'd already given him your hands and your mind, the two things that you'd worked so hard to hone, and you would never think of taking them away.

But maybe that would be inevitable. Maybe you'd lose your license if this got out. And it wouldn't just be you carrying that burden. Every single one of you would be dug up and exposed to the world, and with Bruce Wayne involved, you couldn't imagine the lawsuits. You just couldn't. They could put you under the prison with his kind of money.

And the cops didn't even know everything.

You gasp, sob, and wrench yourself from the railing. You clench the phone tight.

Even if you could get to Russo, and even if he admitted that he gave you up, what good would it do? Bruce had already seen it. He probably had a contact at the DA's office on speed dial. You'd seen what money could do to men like him in this city. What it made men like him do to people like you. The echoes of the accusations against his father a year ago still rang in the wind, and his efforts to make up for it all would never truly make that go away. A criminal record was just as much currency as anything else. He would undeniably own you.

Somewhere between your panicking thoughts, you hear the grates of the fire escape tremor from above. You whip your head up and see a dark shape hovering a floor up. Swiftly, it descends the stairs until your eyes adjust. Your heart catches in your throat as you choke out his name.

The strangled noise causes him to pause when he turns to you. You clear your throat, "Are you hurt?" Batman's head tilts to the side. His eyes flicker from the phone in your hand and back to you. "I'm... I wanted to see you."

His shoulders stiffen. He almost looks like he didn't mean to come. A sliver of you had actually hoped he'd changed his mind, too. "I know it wasn't fair of me to ask something like that of you with no explanation. And I'm sorry. I want you to know that."

He waits, head still tilted.

You bite your tongue, tasting the blood beginning to pool on the surface.

You could tell him. Lay it all bare. And he could drop you at the GCPD without another word.

Or he could accept you. See the you that stands before him now, who had been years clean and had saved his life on your living room floor and confessed that he was why you were a better person now.

That's what friends did. Were you and the Batman friends?

Were you and Batman... anything?

"I wasn't always like this," your head throbs as you force yourself to keep talking, clenching the railing behind you with one hand, "I'm sure it's no surprise to you that I didn't just waltz through life completely innocent for thirty-something years, given where I come from. I wasn't a very good person when I was younger... and I did things I'm not proud of. And, by the grace of a very good man, a very small group of people know the true extent of that.

"But recently, I found out that someone who shouldn't know... does. And they could ruin my life if they used it against me. So I need to talk to Russo, because I need to know if he broke his promise, and then... God knows what else. I don't know. I haven't thought any further than that."

Something substantial but unclear, and if Batman were to go digging officially and find out the rest, at least you'd know Russo was the snitch.

But your heart still clenches in your chest. It feels like you are all made up of open wounds and they're all gushing blood as he watches, saying nothing. If you had really told him the truth, you imagined it would feel akin to spontaneous combustion. God, would you even be able to utter the words? It'd been so long since you'd last said-

Batman takes a slow step toward you, and the open wounds seal up at once. You are frozen.

Another, and another, until you are caged there against the railing, awaiting his verdict. Judge, jury, and... "And if he didn't? If it wasn't him that sold you out?"

You'd briefly considered that. Your friends, who were really more ghosts now than friends, had no reason to expose themselves. They'd gotten off just as easily as you did. Most of them were living lives on the other side of the country now, far, far removed from the history you shared together. Only you remained.

And who would even think to go looking into them? Outside of your history together, now sealed up and locked away, no one would look for them unless they knew what happened already.

Which only left one other option. "Then someone did—someone very close to Bruce Wayne, and there's nothing I can fucking do about it."

Batman stares at you for a while. You don't have a clue what he's looking for. "If I take you to Russo," you gasp, and he hurries his words out before you can say anything else, "it'll be the last time anything like this ever happens again. We go, we ask, and that's it."

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you."

"And I wasn't lying to you."

"What?"

"About Wayne. When you asked me if he was corrupt." You watch his eyes waver on you, eventually falling to the grates beneath your feet, and you're dumbstruck by the shift in his tone. "I never lied to you."

"I... I didn't think you had." He looks at you again. "But there are things that maybe we don't know about him," and as you speak, you place a hand on his arm, feeling it go rigid even beneath the suit, "I mean, he's a Wayne. They're older than this city. And you've seen firsthand the kind of reach people with that kind of money have. He can smile and wave and support as many good causes as he wants, but that could all be smoke and mirrors."

"You really don't trust him, do you?"

You sigh. You could almost hear Emily asking the same thing. But Emily would be smiling, and Batman is grave. Almost... disappointed. Your frown strengthens, "He's got a lot of secrets."

"So do I."

"Yeah, but you also saved my life," you chuckle, "if Wayne pushes me out of the way of a moving car, I might reconsider my stance on him."

The Bat squints at you. To your relief, you notice a bit of mirth in his voice, "No. You wouldn't."

"Listen, I am really grateful that you're doing this for me. And I wanted to say that after today, the thought of scaring you away scared me. And I would really, really like it if you could trust me. I don't want you to think that I'm taking this for granted. I'm not asking for you to take off your mask or bare your soul or anything. I just want you to know that-"

"I gave you this," the hand holding your burner is scooped up in his, held between the two of you, "because I trust you. I keep coming back because... I like... this. It's different. And I don't trust easily. If you believe me on anything, believe me on that."

A bit of your dread is chased away, and your hero is standing in the wake. Bruce Wayne is far away from this moment. He can't stain it. You won't let him. "You wanna come in for coffee?"

At that exact moment, your doorbell rings.

You see Batman jolt backwards and reflexively reach for him, using what strength you have to keep him from escaping. He watches you, wide-eyed, as you cling to his side, "Wait, wait. I wasn't expecting anybody. I'll send them off. It'll be quick."

He turns his head to the door. "You weren't expecting anyone?"

You shake your head. He shucks away your grip as he climbs through the window and takes a few, long strides to the door. He has to bend to look through your peephole, and you rush to catch up to him. After a long moment, he peers at you from the corner of his eye, "It's an old lady."

Judith. The doorbell rings again. "My neighbor. She's harmless, I'll handle it."

You expect him to walk off, find somewhere else to hide from sight, but he backs up behind the door and waits, nodding to you. Well, he was out of sight.

The door opens. The concerned look on Judith's face melts as soon as she sees you there, and holds out a pan wrapped in tinfoil, "Oh, there you are, dear. I made too much casserole so I came to give you the rest. Just in case you haven't had dinner yet."

You beam at her, taking the dish out of her hands, "Thanks, Judith. That's really sweet of you."

She returns a modest smile, but it falls away a second later. You follow her gaze past your shoulder and into the living room where- shit. "It's winter." Her brows furrow, "You'll catch cold if you keep your window open all night."

"Right! I was just... looking out over the city. Taking a breather. You caught me in the middle of it."

She presses the back of her hand to your arm and you note the very stark difference in her body temperature to yours. She frowns hard, stepping closer to you in order to whisper, "Has that demon come to see you again?"

You can't see him from where you're holding the door open, though it's your instinct to glance, but you feel yourself warming up pretty quickly, "He's not a demon, Judith."

No matter how often you repeat it, it goes in one hearing aid and out the other, "Then why does he have horns-"

"Judith, I'm fine, I swear. Even if... he did come visit, I would be fine. He wouldn't hurt me. As I've told you before."

She stares at your window, looking for little goblins with pointed tails and pitchforks no doubt. But as the curtains blow this way and that and no shadows make themselves clear, she is forced to take your word for it. "Alright," she relents, and you try not to visibly deflate, "enjoy the casserole, dear. Keep the window shut."

You watch her waddle all the way down the hallway, smile every time she glances back at you, and wait until you can no longer hear her kitten heels click-clack-clicking on the stairway down. You immediately shut the door and drop your head against it with a dull thud.

A few moments pass. You can feel him still next to you. Even worse, you can feel him trying not to laugh. "She thinks I'm a demon?"

You stand up and shove the casserole into his hands, only a little taken aback by the smile on his face when you do, "You're going to eat this casserole and then you're gonna tell that woman you're a God-fearing man and it tasted fucking delicious."

a/n: there's a scene I'm really excited to write for next chapter if it's gonna go the way I plan for it to go :)

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @geekyfer @thescarletfang @navs-bhat @yehet-moi-ohorat @bluestuesday @maryx0107 @vainillasmil157 @moony-toasts @sketchiethebear @trawberry-fire @hangmanscoming @agent-scorpio @julesjewelss36 @chonkercatto @dcgoddess @hollandorks @anotherr-fine-mess @calsjack @that-one-beannnn @levisfuckinmine @miriamnox @bluestuesday @dumdumsun @phoenixgurl030 @allgaslynobrakess @marvelouskatie

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 2 months

Text

The Dirt (Your Version)

Summary: Meeting Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee was a coincidence. Being friends was a choice. But falling in love with them both was beyond your control.

A rewrite of The Dirt with all the highs and lows of Mötley Crüe from your perspective.

Pairings: Nikki Sixx x Reader, Tommy Lee x Reader, Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Trigger Warning- language, mentions of past child abuse and past self-harm

Previous Chapter

Chapter 21- Mötley fuckin' Crüe

A week later, you and Nikki were pulling up in front of Tommy's double story mansion across town.

"What are you going to say to him?" You asked, climbing out the car.

Nikki shrugged, "first an apology."

You simply nodded before you walked up the tall stairs to his front door taking two at a time before Nikki knocked. A moment later, Tommy pulled the door open with a cigarette between his lips and a look of surprise on his face.

"Hey, guys." He greeted hesitantly, glancing between you and Nikki unsure what was happening.

"What I did at your wedding..." Nikki began to say causing the confusion on the drummer to double. "I didn't... know... how to do that. How to be there."

"What's up, Nikki?" Tommy asked stopping the bassist struggling with his apology.

"I was really fucking selfish, and I shit on something that was important to you, and I am really sorry."

Tommy glanced over at you briefly before focusing back on Nikki. "I know you pretty well, Sixx, so... I kinda get it. And it's okay. But can you say that last part one more time for me?"

"Don't fucking push it, T-bone." Nikki shook his head with a smirk.

You and Tommy began to laugh before the drummer stepped to the side allowing you both to walk through the front door.

"I heard you and Heather broke up."

Tommy nodded, "yeah."

"I'm sorry, man." Nikki grabbed his shoulder with a small squeeze.

"Knew I'd get you to say it again." Tommy grinned with a laugh.

"Fuck you." Nikki removed his hand while trying not to smile.

Your eyes widened in shock not having realised that him and Heather had broken up. But of course, they would have. Heather would've seen the magazine with the photo of her husband kissing another girl on the front page. And not just any girl. It was you. It was the girl that Tommy would hang around with backstage. The girl he'd lean against during shows. The girl he asked to be his groomsman. The girl he ditched their honeymoon for. No wonder Heather was gone.

"Fuck, Tommy, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-" You began to apologise before he cut you off.

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. Heather broke up with you because of me. I mean, fuck, you were married for seven years and-"

"Y/N, look at me." Tommy instructed, stepping in front of you and pinching your chin gently between his thumb and index finger before tilting your head up until you met his eyes. "It's okay." He repeated.

"How is that okay?"

Tommy sighed, glancing over your shoulder at Nikki. The two of them had a silent conversation you weren't privy to before his warm hazel eyes met yours once again.

"Because I've been in love with you since high school."

Out of everything you thought Tommy might have said, that was not on the list. That wasn't even on the draft of the fucking list.

Holy shit.

You opened your mouth to respond but no words came out.

"Kiss her, man." Nikki said from behind you, giving the drummer the permission he needed before Tommy tilted your chin up higher and he leant down capturing your lips with his.

You melted against his mouth and cupped his face with your hands deepening the kiss before pulling away and glancing over at Nikki who was smiling.

"Alright. We're going on a mission." He declared holding his hand out towards you.

You grabbed Nikkis hand before taking Tommys in your other and the three of you walked out the house towards Nikki's car.

It was time to go get Mick Mars.

Apparently, Mick just had hip replacement surgery, so you drove out to the hospital to pick him up.

You leant against the side of the car between Nikki and Tommy, and the look on Micks face when he saw the three of you together was priceless.

"About time you three got your shit together." Was his form of greeting as a nurse wheeled him out the front doors on a wheelchair.

You smirked pushing yourself away from the car and walked towards him.

"It's good to see you, Mick."

The older man smiled, "you too, kid."

"How's that new hip, dude? Feel like The Terminator now or some shit?" Tommy asked heading straight for the handles of the wheelchair.

"Touch the chair and I'll terminate you, Drummer." Mick threatened pointing at him.

Tommy quickly raised his hands and stepped back before Mick thanked the nurse behind him and slowly stood up out the wheelchair.

You took a step forward with your hand out, Nikki doing the same unsure how steady he would be on his feet, but the older man simply waved you both off and began walking to the car.

"Stop looking at me like that. Let's go get our fucking singer back already."

Locating Vince Neil was harder than you anticipated.

He wasn't at his house and after using the spare key to get inside, it was clear that he hadn't been home for a while.

"Where the hell is he?" Tommy asked, looking around and you had a sinking feeling you knew where your brother had ended up.

Moonshadow's bar downtown.

When Skylar was sick, that was where he went every single night and when she passed, he practically lived there. That place was like a second home to him at that point.

You thought rehab had helped him. He sounded fine when you spoke to him on the phone not long ago, but your brother was still suffering.

"Shit." You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands causing the guys to all look over at you. "I think I know where he is."

The four of you climbed back into Nikki's car and before you knew it, you were heading towards the front door of the small quiet bar. But before you pushed it open, you paused and turned to face the guys.

"Look... just let me talk to Vince first, okay? I-I don't know how he'll react."

They all nodded in agreement before you turned and entered the building.

There were a few people seated at various booths and tables, but there was one man sitting at the bar and there was no mistaking that long blonde hair anywhere. The guys remained by the door, for once actually listening to you, while you walked straight across the room towards your brother.

"You got company." The bartender warned, eyeing you and the guys by the door cautiously.

Vince glanced over his shoulder in confusion before his eyes met yours and he sighed, turning back around staring down at his glass of Jack and coke.

"I-I'm not drinking like I was. Don't worry. This is my only drink even ask him." Vince said defensively motioning up at the bartender.

"It's true. He refuses to let me serve him more than one drink."

You nodded, a little relieved to hear that because for a moment you feared your brother had really fallen off the wagon again.

"I'm proud of you." You admitted, sitting down on the stool beside him before leaning over and resting your head on his shoulder. "And I love you."

Vince didn't say anything to that but tilted his head until it was resting against the top of yours.

"How's your hand?" You asked after a moment, looking down at his scarred knuckles wrapped around his glass.

"Healed." He answered letting go of the glass and squeezing his hand in and out of a fist. "I should have never let dad touch you again. I should have seen it coming and-"

"Vin, it's not your fault."

"It kinda feels like my fault."

You lifted your head from his shoulder and turned in your seat to face him properly.

"It's not your fault." You insisted, reaching over and grabbing his arm. "I'm a grown woman. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah? Well, I'm your big brother. It's my job to protect you and I failed, again."

"You can't protect me from everything, big brother." You whispered, mimicking your words from the day you both ran away from home.

Vince smiled sadly catching on before repeating his own words too, "I can try."

Neither of you said anything for a few minutes while Vince sipped at his drink savouring his one alcoholic beverage before you glanced over your shoulder at the others and nodded them over.

"Vin, the guys are here. They wanna talk to you."

That had your brothers head snapping around so fast, "what? No. Y/N, I don't think-"

"We just wanna talk, Vinnie. That's it." Nikki explained calmly reaching the bar, but your brother just stared down at his glass refusing to look at him. "Come on, Vinnie."

Mick suddenly reached out and placed a firm but gentle hand on your brother's shoulder causing him to flinch.

"Let's talk." Mick said.

Vince glanced over at you hesitantly and you gave him a small reassuring nod causing your brother to let out a deep sigh.

"Okay."

The group of you moved over to a table at the far side of the bar away from everyone else. You sat down between Nikki and Tommy while Mick grabbed some soda for you all and placed it on the table while Nikki spoke.

"I was scared." Nikki admitted, looking at Vince beside him. "After what happened with Razzle, I was scared that I was losing the only thing that ever mattered to me."

"Yeah, your band." Vince muttered.

"No. No. This." Nikki explained motioning to all of you around the table. "Look, we went to war together. Shit changes, people change, but I don't fucking care if Mötley Crüe never plays another note. All I want is my fucking brother back. Because this is the only family that I've ever known."

"We love you, Vin. Okay, fuck, I love ya." Tommy added.

"And I am sorry about Skylar, man." Nikki said gently.

Vince lowered his head avoiding everyone's eyes as his body started to shake and you knew your brother was trying not to cry at the mention of his daughter.

"It's against the laws, man." Vince sobbed, shaking his head. "It's against the fucking rules of the universe."

Your own eyes began to fill with tears as you stared at your brother struggling to hold it together before Mick wrapped his arm around him and that was all it took before Vince started to cry.

"Hey." Nikki soothed, resting his hand on Vince's shoulder.

"We got you, brother." Mick whispered, holding him. "We got you, brother."

Tommy suddenly pulled you into his side while you silently cried, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your back. Tears trickled down your face in a heavy stream despite how hard you tried to stop them, and Nikki reached over with his free hand and grabbed yours on the table giving it a small squeeze for comfort.

Eventually, the tears came to an end. Vince managed to get a hold of himself while you sniffed quietly. Your brother glanced over at you noticing your tear-streaked face before he looked at Tommys arm around you and Nikki's hand holding yours.

"Look, Vince-" Nikki quickly began to say, but your brother cut him off.

"You three together?"

Mick stiffened from across the table fearful that this might be the breaking point for Mötley Crüe. If Vince couldn't accept it, that was it. There was no coming back for Mötley Crüe and the older man knew it. You all knew it.

"I love them, Vince." You began to say before either of them had a chance to open their mouths and say something stupid.

A look of shock washed over your brothers face at those words. He knew that the three of you used to hook up and you eventually told him about the miscarriage. But Vince probably just assumed that it was a casual thing between the three of you. He didn't know that you were in love, and you hoped like hell that piece of new information wouldn't make him any madder than he already was.

You loved Nikki and Tommy.

You loved them both so fucking much, and you were done trying to hide it.

"Yeah, I love them." You continued to say. "And I know you don't approve of that. And we shouldn't have snuck around behind your back way back when, and for that, I'm sorry. But I can't change how I feel."

Vince remained worriedly silent for quite some time while he looked between the three of you carefully.

Tommy and Nikki seemed too frightened to speak which was probably a good thing and Mick was sitting there holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen.

"You guys love each other?" Vince eventually asked, his tone forcefully neutral as he glanced between you all.

"We do, man." Tommy answered without hesitation. "I know your sister is off limits, but we love her, dude. This isn't just some fling or something. We love her."

"He's right." Nikki backed up, Vince's eyes shooting over to the bassist. "Look, man. I've never felt the way I feel about your sister with anyone. I love her, and I'm not going to apologise for it. If you want to walk away, we aren't going to stop you."

"Or you can come back and Mötley Crüe can start playing again." Mick spoke up, resting his hand on Vince's shoulder.

Your brother glanced over at the older man briefly before shifting his focus back to the guys beside you taking in Tommys arm around your back and Nikki's hand still holding yours against the table.

Your heart felt like it was beating out of its chest in anticipation until your brother eventually nodded.

"Let's make some fucking music."

After announcing Mötley Crüe were back with Vince Neil as their lead singer, the first show sold out within an hour of tickets going on sale.

"Tommy, sit still or I'm gonna ruin your makeup." You warned from where you were literally sitting in his lap trying to apply his eyeliner, but he kept tapping his foot. "God, I forgot how fidgety you used to be before a show."

"I can't help it. I get nervous." He said defensively but managed to stop moving his foot so you could finish.

You lowered the eyeliner and stared at his beautiful hazel eyes making sure they were both perfectly even before you nodded at your handy work in approval.

"Can I move now, baby?"

"Yes, but be careful not to smudge-"

His lips crashed against yours before you could finish that sentence. It was rushed and needy, but perfect all at once.

You tossed the eyeliner in the general direction of the desk before resting your hand over his bare chest. Your fingers traced over the new tattoos that weren't there the last time you were on tour together. His hand shifted down to your waist, sliding up under your jacket until his warm fingers found your skin and he kept his hand there while you kissed him back needily.

The door to your dressing room suddenly opened causing the two of you to pull apart. You looked over your shoulder to find Nikki walking inside now dressed in his leather pants and new black jacket. His signature warpaint stripes were on his face along with a bandana around his forehead.

"Looking good, Sixx." You whistled as he closed the door behind himself, his cheeks blushing a little at your compliment.

You glanced back over at Tommy who was still holding you in his lap and now had red lipstick smeared over his lips.

"I need to wipe this off." You said reaching up to his mouth, but he grabbed your hand before you could do it.

"Leave it. It'll remind me of you."

Your heart swelled at that small gesture before Nikki walked over to the two of you and spun the chair you were both occupying around until you were facing him.

"Your look is missing something." Nikki observed looking your new outfit up and down.

It was just a simple pair of leather pants with chains hanging from the belt loops and a sleeveless red lacy top that probably showed too much skin and cleavage, but neither of the guys commented on it not wanting to control what you wore which you appreciated.

"Close your eyes for me." Nikki instructed.

You raised your eyebrows, "um, why?"

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life." You answered without hesitation.

"Close your eyes."

You nodded and closed your eyes before Nikki's hand cupped the side of your face gently and then you felt him drawing a small line along your left cheek bone.

There was no mistaking what that mark was.

"T-bone. What do you think?" Nikki asked tilting your head to the side so Tommy could see.

"She's fucking beautiful, man."

"Yeah, she is." Nikki agreed before he lowered his hand from your face, and you felt the chair start to turn again. "Open your eyes, princess."

Slowly, you blinked your eyes open to find yourself now facing the mirror on the desk. Your eyes shifted down to the singular black stripe of warpaint on your cheek that was identical to what you used to have all those years ago.

You smiled at the mirror, "like old times."

Nikki and Tommy both met your gaze through the mirror with bright smiles.

The faded scars on your face and upper arm from the car crash back in 1984 were traced with glitter like you used to do on tour. However, the healed scars on your wrist were covered with bracelets.

You fiddled with the bracelets for a moment before catching sight of the clock on the wall behind.

"It's show time." You announced, climbing off Tommy's lap before shrugging off your leather jacket and throwing it onto the desk. "You boys ready?"

Tommy nodded, "hell yeah."

"Let's do it." Nikki grinned.

You followed the guys out the dressing room and down the long narrow corridor towards the stage before you knocked on Mick's dressing room door as you passed.

"Mick, it's time!" You shouted before walking over to your brother's door and knocking. "Vin, let's roll!"

Nikki then threw his arm around your shoulders while he walked, Tommy off to his other side fiddling with his drumsticks. Mick came out his room joining you down the corridor wearing his long black coat and top hat and then Vince stepped out in his leather pants and black muscle shirt.

The five of you walked down the corridor in sync together.

Vince wrapped his arms around you and Nikki with a bright smile spreading across his face. Tommy sprung himself in the air with one hand on Micks shoulder and another on Nikki's as he jumped up excitingly causing you all to laugh as you made your way towards the stage.

You slipped free from Vince and Nikki as you rounded the corner towards the backstage stairs and paused at the base of them watching the guys all walk up towards the stage.

A swell of love and pride washed over you.

Whenever Tommy sat down behind his drums and Nikki picked up his bass, and Mick plugged in his guitar, something always happened. It was like the air thickened with excitement. You couldn't put your finger on it, but it was like a weird kind of electrical humidity. You didn't just hear it, you felt it. Then Vince would scream the first few words of a song and all you could think was, 'we're home.'

You were a lot older now but some days you still felt eighteen with these guys.

This band had outlived wives and girlfriends, managers, record companies, agents- everything but itself.

From living in the Mötley House along the Sunset Strip and playing at the Whiskey to this moment... Mötley Crüe had fucking made it.

Nikki suddenly stopped halfway up the stairs noticing you were missing and turned in confusion. His smoky eyes locked with yours and he held his hand out towards you. You jogged up the steps and took his hand with a small squeeze.

"You did it. Mötley Crüe are back." You smiled proudly at him. "This is our life."

"If life was a song, then meeting you was the best verse." Nikki whispered in your ear before he placed a tender kiss to your lips.

You closed your eyes savouring the moment before Nikki pulled away with a bright smile on his face. His hand squeezed yours gently before he led you up the stairs catching up with the others just as you reached the stage and the crowd erupted.

Vince threw his hands up in the air enthusiastically. Tommy and Mick holding up devil horns while you stared out at the stadium full of people in front of you. The crowd was screaming and cheering louder than you had ever heard it as Nikki held your joined hands up to the sky.

After everything the band had been through together. All the years of fights, drugs, alcohol, criticism, heartbreak... after everything, they were still here.

That's fate.

That's family.

And that's Mötley fuckin' Crüe.

...THE END

A/N: I'm actually crying...

I didn't think I'd get emotional about this. It's just a fanfic, it's a fake story... but it's also real. It's based on true events from the band we all know and love, but to me, writing this story has been like a lifeline. And now it's over and I have no idea what to do.

From listening to Girls Girls Girls in my dad's car on the way to school when I was a kid... to 15 years later and I'm blasting Kickstart My Heart in my own car driving to work... then fast forward a couple years to the 14th of November 2023, I'm standing at Marvel Stadium in Melbourne over 1,5000km away from home with my dad watching Mötley Crüe live in concert.

Seeing Mötley Crüe in person... seeing Nikki Sixx on stage playing his bass... seeing Tommy Lee unleash on the drums... hearing Vince Neil scream the songs I grew up listening to and hearing John 5 tearing it up on his guitar carrying on Mick Mars' legacy... words cannot do justice to how fucking amazing those couple of hours were.

In 2022, I moved to a small country town for my career. I live alone. I have no friends or family in this town, they all live over 8 hours away. I'm introvert with bad social anxiety and I like being alone. I like my own space and having my own house, but it hurts sometimes being this lonely, but Mötley Crüe have helped me. From their music to their books, to their movie; The Dirt, to all their YouTube interviews and documentaries to their social media presence. Mötley Crüe have made me feel less lonely. They have helped me in so many ways and I owe everything to them.

I know I'm rambling, but Mötley Crüe, Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, Vince Neil, Mick Mars and John 5 have saved my life. Sure, to some that might seem stupid and pathetic. Mötley Crüe don't know me. They never will. But they have impacted my life so much and I would not be here typing these words if it wasn't for them.

So, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank them.

I don't know what the future holds.

Mötley Crüe are doing some shows in America this year and releasing new music soon (I am so fucking excited to hear it) and according to Nikki on Twitter/X, the band will be back to touring in 2025.

Now, I don't know if that means they will come back to Australia or not, but just the thought... just the mere chance and possibility that Mötley Crüe might be back in my country that is enough to keep going. It is enough to get me out of bed in the mornings and go to work. It is enough for me to keep fighting and I know I will get judged for it but fuck anyone who hates on me for saying that because this band means more to me than you will ever know.

ANYWAY...

When I first started writing this, I never imaged anyone would even read it. I was purely writing this for myself, but I am so so happy that many of you have loved and resonated with this story and Y/N Neil.

Out all the fanfics I've ever written this one means the most to me. Thank you for coming along on this journey. I have had a blast writing this and at the moment, this story is finished, but who knows what the future holds ❤️

This is Sourwolf_sterek32 signing off. Until next time, stay safe everyone. I'm going to go cry and rewatch The Dirt for the hundredth time to make myself feel better xx

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