#just think for a moment about how excited Bear got at hearing John's voice over the earbud- and then when John finally returned!!

[tracing-lines-in-the-infinite]

Any episode of Person Of Interest can make you cry if you think hard enough about it

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance

Part 2 🥰

A/N: So excited for this, not sure how many part's there's going to be, but I'm sure excited to see where it goes... Embrace the journey with me .. 🐞🥰

Warnings:

The vibration and ringing of a phone breaks your concentration on this sketch, looking at the caller id, you smile, its your mom! Hey my dearest mommy bear, you jokingly answer, Hi my love, you hear your mom's kind voice on the other end, oh the love you have for her, she'll probably never realize, she has helped you overcome some difficult times in your life, honey, she says did you forget about meeting up with my friend for the mural piece she wants done? Comes the question, oh Shit! Mom I'm so sorry I got lost in this, well this piece I'm working on you say a blush creeping on your cheeks, I'll tell you all about it later, you always tell each other everything, I will be there in a little while mom , I promise you, sorry I totally forgot, regret clearly noticeable in your voice. Oh honey you are so forgetful, she says laughing a little, see you soon honey, be safe, love you. Love you too mom, see you in a few.

....

Black velvet from Alannah Myles, playing interrupts Dean and Sam talking about the case he can't seem to catch a break on. The music playing comes from the corner you sat in, wow okay, he said thinking that, classic rock didn't really suit the, softness and gentleness that you were beaming out, a smile tugging at his lips, you are quite interesting he thought to himself, seeing you packing all the stuff in your bags, he's heart sank a little , will it be the last time he ever saw you.

Seeing you stand, you must be about 5 foot 2 if he guessed, quite shorter than he'd expected, but adorable looking. You definitely carry yourself with confidence, but also not thinking too much of yourself, he is good at reading people but he can't quite put a finger on you. She's probably got some damn lucky guy in her life, he thinks to himself.

Usually he would go and chat you up a little, get your number, spend the night, but something tells him your not that kind. His thoughts get interrupted by two kids running into you, probably going to the playground he saw over there, waiting for you to freak out and get angry, but instead your voice sounds like honey , all while you ask them if they got hurt, your voice not high pitched or too low, just well just sweet, he'd probably listen to you talk all day not ever getting tired of how you sound. Watching you, sort off in a daze, Dean catches what looks like a sketching book, slightly showing what looks like a man's face, if he didn't know any better, he'd say it was him, ha! Yeah right she didn't even notice me, he thought to himself, while reading the title of a book lying on top of the sketch book "Burning Rose" author "lady bug" seems strange , dark cover with a red rose covered in flames, she quickly grabs everything, throws it in, and for a moment time stood still, you look up into his eyes, Dean could've sworn he was drowning in your eyes, he can't help it, with a smile as wide as the county he looked at her, seeing her cheeks, turning to a light rose color, she shyly smiles back, that gave Dean a glimpse of what heaven probably looks like. He wanted to get up say something, maybe even just kiss you right then and there, but you left, like a little hurricane out by the door, a hurricane he wouldn't mind being caught in, he thought to himself.

..........

You get out of the cab, at John, and Mary Winchesters home, humbly looking house but still big, amazing garden, this is so much fun, you love doing murals, feeling comfortable, walking in, You've been busy for almost a week with this piece, looking at the wall of the front entrance, its all coming together, the green of the leaves and the white of the magnolia flowers , complimenting the decor of, the entrance, filled with neutral tones aswell as splashes of dark green and bright yellow.

Good morning darling you hear a kind voice say, morning Mrs W, how are you doing this fine morning you ask cheerfully. Oh good dear, John had to go on a business trip again, so I have the house all to myself, she says, not looking really happy about it. I'm so sorry, why don't you and my mom go doing something fun, drink coffee, maybe even a bit of wine, just don't get to tipsy now, you say teasing her! Oh really honey, you hear your mom's voice behind you, tipsy, ha! We are classy ladies, we don't drink wine this early, but no one said there's something wrong with Irish coffee, you all three burst into laughter. Come on Mary lets leave her alone in her art world, while they walk out you hear your mom laughing and saying I love you honey, you too mom, you say while picking up the brushes you need and sticking it into the back pocket of your jeans , climbing up the ladder, already humming to whatever classic rock song is playing, into your earbuds, knowing this is what you are meant to do with your life.

..........

It's about three in the afternoon, and he still haven't returned the pastry dishes to his mom's house, damnit, like I have time for this, letting out an irritated sigh, driving into the drive way, with his black chevy impala, he'd name her baby, all while a song of Led Zeppelin is playing, he gets out, grabs the clean dishes out of the back seat, he walks towards the front entrance , puts down the dishes on the table right by the door way, looking at the picture in front of him, a woman standing on a ladder, hair braided loosely, with a black t-shirt and jeans on, covered in paint, humming and swaying to what sounds like a Bon Jovi song, while admiring the view, she loose her balance, tumbling down, Dean catches her, wide-eyed and confused she looked at him, its her, the coffee shop angel.

Fudgesticks up a fudge tree Dean hears her say, what? He looks at her while still holding her in his arms, the feeling of her so close to him its electrifying, oh sorry she says laughing a little, I try not too swear to much. Not making the effort to get out of his tight grip, he puts her down, seeing the black shirt she has on is a Guns n Roses paint splattered shirt. Well thanks for saving me from, ending up like humpty Dumpty she smiles. Oh my pleasure, he wanted to ask what's she's doing for the rest of her life, but his phone rang and he had to answer since he is the Sheriff of the town. Yeah, what is it he asks with the irritation back in his voice,? There's been another victim boss, says the young deputy, okay Jack I'm on my way, just hold on , he closes the phones speaker with one hand, looking at the beauty in front of him with paint all over her, even on her even on her face, all he can say is good day miss and he starts walking out the door, not waiting for a response.

.....

Arriving at the scene, there he sees it again, this damn killer is toying with them, its one big game to him, like a treasure map, they need to find, he placed the dismembered body all over, the dogs and coroner is already on scene, working. The almost gifted wrapped torso on the park bench. Dean is looking around the scene for clues as to how he chooses his victims, thinking, he doesn't have a specific type, so to say, some has light hair with light skin, some have dark hair with olive skin, its victim 8, its been 8 months since this case came to his attention, but still no clue, how he gets his victims, since he seems to toy with his victims for 3 to 4 weeks all sedatives maybe used, is already out of there system.

Waiting for the coroner, what seems like hours, he finally gets the call, Sheriff Winchester you can come and look at the body. Yeah on my way, before going in, Dean inhales a deep breath, not so much for the smell, but more for the courage to see another life taken, someone's, daughter, sister. He is a rough man, but sometimes the stuff what he sees can also take its affect on him. Shaking off whatever he just felt, walking in, he sees the women neatly placed on the cold steel table, every body part pieced together, looking at her face , she can't be older than 20-25 he thinks, while listening to the coroner telling him, how she has the rope burn bruises like all the other seven vics, the dismembering is clean, like it's done by a professional, no signs of sexual assault, the coroner goes on to say, she's been washed in some sort of alcohol almost like sanitizer to remove whatever traces of DNA there could've been. But I did find something odd by one of the cuts, the coroner said. Yeah well get to it doc, Dean says, okay jikes! Its another piece of meat, most likely beef, but its getting tested and I will let you know. Good, Dean said thanking the man, giving one last look of the woman lying there. Hell sometimes I hate this job.

....

The stars clearly visible in the dark skies, while sitting on his porch, whiskey on his breath, a worried look on his face, thinking about the day, the case, the parents of the woman he had to let know that they found their daughter, but she didn't make it, how they had to ID her and the damn tears and despair afterwards... Taking another sip of his whiskey, thinking about the coffee shop angel he saw again and how happy and carefree she is like she doesn't have a worry in the world , not a inch of sadness he detected in her eyes or her sweet honey filled voice.

Wondering why he haven't seen her around in this old town, contemplating what he already knows about her, she doesn't really like to be seen, she likes classic rock, she doesn't like swearing, clearly she likes fudge, and she must be an artist, he can't help it but he starts smiling when he remembers her laughter filling his ears, oh yes and she likes to read remembering the book he saw, quickly taking out his phone he does an internet search of this author "lady bug" three best selling novels, there's the one with the rose, he reads the review and then the ending, of the book because he ain't much of a reader so his not going to read the whole thing!

Wait, what! This book its, clearly one of those steamy romance books but its also a thriller, okay , she is something else, he reads the ending of the book again. "Like a burning rose he ignites your soul when his lips come crashing to yours, flames of passion dancing in your eyes, hands and body intertwined, his love for you burning away all the thorns of past heartbreaks and mistakes, knowing his touch is crumbling your walls and with the thought of knowing your safe with him, you give into the flames engulfing your soul."

[berrypockets]

Something About the Night

Chapter 5: Ms. Night

"We got Asia," Polly whispers to herself as she puts the phone down. Her hands couldn't stop shaking, something impossible was now in their hands.

"What?" Asks Arthur. The entire family gathered in Tommy's office as they were discussing some weekly reports when the phorne rang, and as Polly was the closest to answer.

"We got Asia!" This time louder, excitement in her voice. Everyone cheers for the greatest news. What had been an idea was definitely coming true for the Shelby's.

Polly turns to Tommy and asks, "What did you do?"

Tommy just shrugs, "Old man Carisi might put up a good word for us. We'll continue as planned." His town was serious, causing the celebration to put on hold as the people took their seats. The clear excitement on their faces couldn't be wiped by any news, Arthur was passing around the glass of celebratory whiskey, Polly still couldn't believe what she heard from the phone, and John couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear.

"You didn't even talk to anyone the entire night," John stated out of the blue, causing the shift of attention.

"Yeah, didn't you just danced with the lady?" Now Arthur has the attention.

"A lady?" Polly asks. There was something that happened, she didn't knew as she stepped outside for a moment to smoke.

"In white 'Pol," Arthur answers, "Damn she was a beauty. I would pay nice just to give her a little twirl." John shakes Arthur’s hands acknowledging his brother's idea. But Tommy wasn't pleased, he took a swing of his whiskey and says in defense, "She was Mr. Carisi's connection to Asia."

"Then it must have been a hell of dance," John's sarcastic comment almost made Tommy throw his glass, but he didn’t. He continues to grip the glass in a controlled force and just stares at his brother, hell will rise if he hears another thing about her. John obviously got the message and shut his mouth as the family continues to discuss their next move.

"You never told me you have businesses in Asia," Tommy whispers, his hand traces the little freckles on her arm.

"Nothing is really mine,"

"Tell me love, what other things are you hidding from me?" He asks mischievously, there was no greed in his eyes, but truth. Her fingers touching his face, leaving sweet brushes on his cheeks then his lips as she answers his question, "I hide no secrets. Everything is plain as day. You simply just have to look."

She gives him a peck on the lips in which he responds to a kiss. Their bodies tangled under the sheets as the moonlight shines through the window bearing witness to the night.

"Tommy, should we use the guests bedrooms or should we get hotel rooms?" Grace asks, she's sitting on the couch at Tommy's home office arranging papers.

Tommy looks up from the paper his reading, "What?" He was lost by the sudden question, where there wasn't any beginning nor end.

Grace looks at him confused, she just smiles as seeing her husband's-to-be brows meeting in the middle, "Did you forget, Tommy? My family's coming over early for our wedding."

"Wedding, yeah." He just nods his head letting her think he follows.

"It's in two weeks, Tom." Grace adds.

Cold blood now runs in Thomas Shelby’s veins. He could here the church bell tolls from where he sits as the waves hit him hard. He had been occupied by the sudden business expansion and her, he didn't want to be disturbed and he remembers Grace had been bugging her with questions about colours and flowers so he told her that she could take care of it all.

How could he forget such a thing?

Glasses filled with expensive wine and champagne clicking, silver cutlery to the plates, laughter with class, lights twinkling above as they sat at one of Birmingham's most expensive restaurants; the Shelby's sat there unable to fit in, conversation and all.

The Burgess' held high conversions of the newest trends in society, business adventures, the political ladder, and holiday destinations, dancing elegantly in the music. The Shelby's were dressed at their best and finest, but amidst the lively evening Tommy and Michael were the only ones in conversation with Grace's relatives. Arthur spinning his glass of whiskey at hand, John constantly tapping his foot under the table, Finn playing with his food, Ada rolling her eyes over the ladies very conservative topics, and Polly enjoying a smoke amidst the constant stare from the other party.

They tried to join in in the topics of business but because they started as a betting business they were disregarded by the others, as it wasn't even a business, to their opinions. They decided to stay quiet and behave for Tommy's sake. For Tommy's sake.

"Good evening, Ms. Nuit." Arthur turns his head and sees a woman being greeted by a waiter as she enters the restaurant.

"Isn’t that her?" Arthur leans in to John.

"The usual bottle please." She says and the waiter leads her to a vacant table and excuses himself.

"I think she is," John confirms.

"Who?" Polly asks, joining in in their conversation.

"Asia. The one who Tommy danced."

With great confidence Arthur stands, straightening his suit, "Well let's properly introduce ourselves, shall we?" And he made his was to the lady, the entire group followed.

"Good evening, Miss." The lady turns to see the group, and the gentleman begins his introduction "My name is Arthur Shelby, this is my brother John, his wife Esme, my sister Ada, our youngest Finn, and this lovely lady is -"

"Polly Gray," Polly offers a hand in which she took.

"Pleasure to meet the Shelby clan."

"The pleasure should be ours, meeting the woman behind it all." There was no surprise that admiration can be seen in Polly's eyes. The woman in front of her stood with all her confidence and grace.

"Please," she gestures as she invites the group to sit with her. The table was small and could only fit four people, Polly and Ada sat, and Arthur voluntarily sat besides her.

Tommy had notice his family gathered at another table so he slowly withdraws from the conversation his having and made way to the other side of the restaurant, Graces then follows.

"No shoes?" Esme whispers to herself, she couldn't help but stare at the woman in front, who was sitting a leg above the other without wearing any shoes.

John who heard his wife also begins notice the barefooted woman, "Why are looking at her feet?" He asks.

"Because. No shoes." She then noticed the woman smiling at her.

She was astonish on how someone notice she wasn't wearing any shoes. People only look on what's in front of them and never look to what's below.

She gave Esme a smile full of content as she explains, "It's in the car. Sometimes I like to feel the earth beneath my feet. It keeps me grounded."

"Ms. Nuit, the bottle you ordered." The waiter interrupts the conversation then placed the bottle of wine on the table.

"Thank you, David." She then hands him the payment.

"Nuit?" Ada asks, it was the first time she had heard a name like that.

"It's French. One of my many names."

"Why don't you join us? You seem to know your taste in wine. My aunt is a wine enthusiast, she would love to have a conversation with a fellow wine lover." Grace says sweetly, she had immediately notice the bottle of wine, it was one of the most expensive one there is. Her blood still boils for the woman, but if it means making the right connection she's willing to bite her tongue and put on her lovable armor.

Tommy was looking at her with uncertainty, so she gave him a smile to ease his racing heart and mind. From where she stood, Grace notices how the woman was smiling at her man, and as a woman herself she wasn't going to loose the war. Without skipping a beat she wraps her hand to his arm flaunting the diamond ring that sets on her finger, "Tommy and I are getting married in 10 days."

Oh she could hear the sound of victory in Grace's voice so she asks them in a questioning dead tone, "Are you?"

"Tommy?" Grace asks him.

The sound of the silent sea was all Tommy could hear, he knew that tone, and he didn't want to answer. He could feel the earth slowly trying to devour him from where he stood, eyes were all on him as he feel Grace's relatives surrounding him from behind. His own family waiting. Everyone was waiting for an answer.

"Yes," was his answer.

She slowly stood from her seat chuckling, taking the bottle of wine at hand, "One should taste their own words, don't you agree?" She asks, "I'm afraid I have to decline the offer, I have somewhere I must be."

She was half way through the door when the air suddenly went cold as she stops, she turns back as if she had forgotten something, taking a few steps, and looking at Tommy she says, "One can easily take what is given." Emotionless yet soul devouring, "My word won't fade as fast as yours. Words scars; regrets lingers."

"Have a wonderful evening everyone." As she bids everyone and leaves into the dark night.

Note: Nuit /nɥi/ is French for Night. Please feel free to leave any comments.

[ Masterlist ] [ Previous Chapter ] [ Next Chapter ]

Taglist: @heidimoreton @akiisbae @bowerbiersack001 @iamsassys-blog @woofgocows @owishiiimeeeowww97 @nanamin-pointo @rockerchick05 @comfortzonequeen @watercolorskyy @theshelbyslimited

[letarasstuff]

"I don't wanna leave you, Daddy"

(A/N): This was requested by an Anon and it's based on this concept. I hope you are ready for the feels.

Summary: Hotch's daughter is an introvert. A quiet one. But why does she go even quieter after her mother's death?

Warnings: So much hurt. Angst. Fluff. It's bitter sweet.

Wordcount: 2.3k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________

(Y/N) never really was an outgoing person. Even since she was able to walk and talk, she still clung to her parents. She refused to play on the playground when other children were there. Socializing was just not her thing. Her parents were sure that she would never be the person to stand up and perform on stage spontaneously. And it is ok.

This doesn’t really change when Jack comes around. Sure, as he grows older and more capable of things (Y/N) plays with him. But it really seems like he is the only one around her age she is not afraid to befriend.

Aaron and Haley reassure themselves that their daughter will find friends in elementary school. After all this is an institution where many children go to and there also are adults trained for helping them coming along. She definitely will find at least one other kid to hang out with regularly and learn how to be a proper child. Because as of right now (Y/N) is more like a little adult, taking responsibilities, like watching over her little brother, she doesn’t need to do voluntarily. Maybe she will be more messy, rebellious, anything but a perfect child.

But this doesn’t exactly happen. (Y/N)’s teachers are really happy with her. Every parent-teacher conference is about how well and polite she is, always behaving good and following the rules. Sadly, they don’t have any good news regarding her social life. It’s not that she doesn’t get along with her classmates, it’s just that she isn’t able to strike up a conversation or is very good at keeping one long enough that a kid is interested in her.

Knowing that (Y/N) is mostly quiet in her school days, Aaron makes it a habit to bring her more often to the office. She surprisingly warms quickly up to his team and whenever she is around them the girl is an unstoppable tornado running loose around the bullpen.

This is kind of how she grows up until the age of middle school. (Y/N) learns some social skills and makes a few friends over the last few years. Unfortunately these friendships are not as deep as the parents wish, still it’s better than nothing.

Things get difficult when Aaron and Haley start to separate. It never is easy when parents fall out of love and it is not only difficult for Jack to see his father not as often as he used to, considering he still is a toddler needing both parents. Especially (Y/N), who is more of a daddy’s girl than a mommy’s girl, suffers from the situation at home.

Of course it’s hard on her to not see her father for a week or two at a time, but ever since her parents are going on parted ways she sees him at most one weekend every three weeks. This also changes her social life dramastically.

“(Y/N), don’t you wanna do something with your friends? You can invite them over for the weekend”, Haley suggests after watching her daughter not going out with somebody outside of school for several days. For the past two weeks the ten year old just comes home, does her homework and puts her nose in one of the books her Uncle Spencer recommended.

The girl only looks up at her mother to shake her head. “Why not, Sweetie? I haven’t seen William and John in so long. Are you still friends with them?” (Y/N) nods again. “So what is it? Are you guys fighting?” Haley sits down next to her on her bed.

“No, they just-just don’t know about this. I don’t want to tell them. And I want to stay home. It’s ok how it is right now”, she admits. Her mother’s heart breaks at that statement.

In this moment she realizes that anything a parent does has immediate consequences for the children. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. I didn’t know this is so hard for you. Maybe you can talk to them over the next few days about it, I think it’ll help you. Do you want to watch a film with me for now? Jack has a sleepover at a friend’s. We can do a girl’s night. We hadn’t had one in a long time.”

(Y/N)’s eyes light up at that. “With all the candy in the world?” Haley smiles at the newfound excitement. “Of course. Anything you want.”

From only seeing Aaron every now and then it suddenly turns to not knowing when she will see him next. After George Foyet ambushes him and makes his family into the next target, (Y/N), her brother and her mother have to go into witness protection.

The goodbye at the hospital is painful and filled with tears. “But Dad, I don’t want to leave you. I’ll miss you too much. I don’t like not seeing you. And what about you? You will be more lonely and-and I can’t leave you”, she confesses, sobbing into him.

Hotch has to hold his own tears back. He doesn’t want to come over as stoic, but as the strong father figure he always tries to be. “Honey, I know I’ll miss you so much. You have to be strong for your mother. This will not be easy and I know it. I promise to do my best to get all of you back as soon as possible, ok? Please be good for your mother and behave. We all need to work together for you to get back fast and safely.”

(Y/N) continues to cry into his hospital gown. Aaron can’t help it and dissolves in tears himself while trying to calm her down. “Shh, Honey. Everything will be fine. I’m so so sorry for all this. I never wanted something like this to happen. Shh, we will see each other real soon. The team and I will do our best. Just please, don’t cry. Please, it all will be better. I can’t let you go without seeing your beautiful laugh for one last time.”

“I don’t wanna leave you, Daddy. I-I wanna stay with you and Uncle Dave and Auntie JJ and Uncle Spencer and Uncle Der and Auntie Penny and Auntie Em. I’m scared you won’t be fine when we come back.”

It’s needless to say that nobody cracked even a smile that day.

Going into witness protection made Haley worry about Jack especially. He is just four years old and she isn’t sure how much he understands about what’s going on. Surprisingly the boy gets accustomed to the situation pretty fast. Of course he misses his father and his people from school, but he is also quick to meet new ones in the town they moved to.

(Y/N) has bigger problems. New school. New kids. New everything.

“Maybe you can see it as a fresh start. Here is nobody you know. You can be whoever you want to be. I can take you shopping and you can try out a new style”, her mother tries to make the situation sound advantageous to her. But the girl dryly answers: “When somebody doesn’t like me how I am now, how will they like an act?”

Sam Kassmeyer regularly reports back to Aaron about his family’s well being. “Jack is thriving. His teachers describe him as a bundle of joy. (Y/N) slowly gets acclimated to the change. Haley told me she started making friends with a girl in their neighborhood. I already ran a background check and the family is clean.”

Hotch lets out a sigh of relief. He turns towards the image on Penelope’s monitor. “Happy fifth birthday, Buddy.”

A few weeks after that it seems like the events overturn each other.

Foyet coming back. Kassmeyer getting tortured. Foyet finding Haley and the children. Them coming back to their house. The call. Working the case with Jack. The gunshot. The fighting noises. Hotch opening the box and hugging both of his children, relieved to see them alive.

The following weeks are difficult for the now smaller family. They mostly consist of watching videos of happy memories and talking about their feelings. Although it’s more like Jack talking about his feelings, (Y/N) went mostly silent ever since their mother’s death. This worries her father more than anything.

Two months have gone by. “Hey Honey, I’m going into the office today. Do you wanna come with me, stay at home or go to school? Anything is fine by me”, he asks her softly, kneeling beside her chair at the table. The girl is munching on her cereal halfheartedly.

“Can I come to the office?” (Y/N) asks in a hoarse voice. It’s actually the first time in four days that Aaron hears her voice. A small smile forms on his face. “Of course, that’s nice. Aunt Penny is asking me after her favorite Hotchner for days on end now. And Uncle Spencer got a stack of books he has for you to read.”

His daughter nods and quickly gets ready. They are soon on their way to Quantico after dropping Jack off at daycare. “How are your classmates? Do you like the new school?” They decided to send (Y/N) to a different school. She couldn’t bear the thought of only being the girl whose Mom died because of a serial killer.

“It’s fine. There are a few girls who are really nice. I think we can be friends. Mo-” She suddenly cuts herself off. Aaron glances over at her. “Continue, Sweetheart. Just tell me what’s on your mind”, he tries to encourage her.

The girl hesitates before following her father’s advice. “Mom would have liked them,” she mumbles. It’s quiet for a few seconds. Hotch is looking for a suitable answer. After all it’s the first time she talked about her mother since her death. “I’m sure of it, Honey. Maybe you can invite them over and I can get to know them. Think about it, no pressure of course.” (Y/N) nods to indicate that she heard him.

Not long later they enter the bullpen. “There she is! My little Hotchner! How you doing, Baby?” Derek asks her and envelopes her into a hug. But she only shrugs her shoulders. This goes on for the rest of the day. Whenever anyone talks to her, the only answer is given by her body language.

Hotch watches helplessly Spencer trying to engage in a conversation with her. His arms and hands are waving around. (Y/N) though just looks at him without being really there mentally. It seems like she is lost in her own thoughts, like it happened so often over the last few months.

“Have you tried talking to her about it?” Dave asks, sitting down on the chair opposite of him. Aaron looks at him funny. “Of course. But (Y/N) is just not ready to talk about Haley and everybody grieves differently. I can’t force her to speak, Dave.”

The older agent leans back in his seat. “I don’t think she needs to talk about her. This probably is too soon. She needs to talk about you. The changes.” After a short pause, in which the other one still doesn’t get the point, Rossi continues. “That little girl just lost her mother. She is scared to lose her father, the one with the high risk job. I think that is enough to talk about.”

This occupies the agent for the remainder of the day. Aaron was so invested in fulfilling both parent roles, that he forgot that he is just a father. The man his children go to when they have a nightmare. The one, who is more lenient than their mother. He can’t be both ones. He can’t be two people in one.

A kid trusts a mother and a father usually. And he can’t be mother and father at once. Hotch has to accept the fact. The fact that (Y/N) and Jack are going to grow up without a mother. But luckily not without mother figures.

Later that day, after tucking Jack in, Aaron knocks on his daughter’s door. A small “Come in!” echoes back to him. He enters her room and spots (Y/N) already in her bed reading a book Spencer gave her today.

“Hey, do you have time before it’s lights out?” He asks, still wanting to give her the upper hand on this. The girl nods and scoots over for her father to take a place. He lays next to her, pulling his daughter into a hug.

“I know I can’t promise it. Coming back to you every time. You know it as much as I do. But I promise you to try anything and everything in the books. You guys keep me going.” Tears roll over both of their faces.

“I-I just”, (Y/N) moves her head onto his chest to sob into it, “Just don’t wanna lose you, too. I-I don’t think I-I can’t be the girl, who doesn’t have a mother AND a father. C-can you stop that from happening?” Hotch has to wipe his eyes before answering.

“I-I try to keep that from happening, Honey. I promise.”

This is how they fall asleep, squished in a twin bed close to each other. In the morning they both are overheated and got a visitor during the night. Jack wakes them up, asking why they had a sleepover without him.

This morning is the first time Aaron sees (Y/N) smiles since day zero.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962

[rumblelibrary]

hii!! i saw your requests are open, if you’re not too busy could you write something about Laszlo falling in love with reader (she’s a friend of Sara’s and helping with the case) but he keeps trying to avoid his feelings and remain professional and friendly until then he gets jealous of Marcus (or maybe John whoever you think works best) and starts being mean and pushing her away and then John or Sara are like “really?? can you not see that she likes you?” and he apologizes and it’s all fluffy at the end??

that was a bit long sorry, i hope you’re having a great day💗💗

Worlds Apart [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Laszlo being his usual adorable dumbass

Author’s note: Thank you so much for giving me the chance to write your story, hope you’ll enjoy it 💗💗

The first time your presence graced him was on an infamous rainy day. He didn’t mind rain, but it was the kind of storm that forced kids inside the Institute and some of them really benefitted of the time spent outside. So when you appeared at his doorstep escorted by Cyrus, a little of wetness on your shoulders and your hat, arms tightly grasping a big bunch of paper folders, untouched by the heavy weather clearly at your expenses, you looked like a gift from the above.

“Sara Howard contacted me, My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I work for the Town Hall Archives” you introduced yourself, a polite smile softening him. “It is my pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Kreizler” you added.

He blinked realising he was staring while your words moved past him without affecting him.

“Please, Sara told me you are going to be vital in the unravelling of this case, call me Laszlo”

He opened his arm on side letting you in as Cyrus walked away closing the door behind himself. A sense of guilt creeping over him, he realised how low his mind went to appreciate your physical side first and your sweet smile next, if men were anything different from the beasts, then why indulge still in such raw details. From that moment on, he decided, he would not do you the same disrespect. Little he knew that once he forbid himself to take grace of the sight of you, he would be overwhelmed by your bright mind. As you exposed those files to him you two started working together, day after day, time after time, a little dance of turning pages, soft smile, excited discoveries. Your smile affecting him in unpredicted ways, your good heart weakening his mask, your calm demure forbidding his raging fits. Anything of you made him better, any part of you was loved and worshipped by him, your position quickly transitioning from helpful hand, to admirable being and now to an ideal. A sense of necessity creeping over him every time you closed the space between the two of you to show him something, every time he stared at you wrapped up some archive ladder to find this or that file. Another thing you earned from him with time, the hardest maybe, was the ability to make him chuckle. You weren’t a goofball but you knew when to break down his thought process to bring him back to a quieter state. He liked you, he was even considering to offer you to leave the Town Hall Archives to work as his secretary at the Institute. The benefits of your presence made his work better and your natural tendency to method blessing his day to day activities with balance. Laszlo didn’t like to admit it, but a sense of possessiveness was also growing on him, he knew what was going on in his mind, or to better say it in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it. The case was on, after the case maybe.

Or maybe never.

That’s what he thought when, after an interview at the house of a potential future patient of the institute, he took a stroll on the main road, his eyes darting on the flower shop only to recognise you there. Your figure associated with the colourful gifts of nature made his heart skip a beat, a sense of joy filled him soon to disappear when Marcus Isaacson figure appeared beside you holding three or four different kind of flowers in large bouquets, all of them meaning something love related: attraction, desire, kinship.

Those meanings pestered his thoughts, your soft laugh hitting his ears like an angel choir. Your hand lifting up as Marcus bowed his head toward you, your bare fingers running through his curls pulling out some wild leaf that got tangled among them.

“Silly me” he chanted like a child that has zero guilt about earning something undeserved “Come on Y/N, pick your favourite, I can’t hold them all forever”.

Laszlo’s eyes narrowed on him, hating the urgency in his voice, before drifting on the big bouquets, the carnations attracting his gaze, the meaning: pure love, faithfulness, also motherly love.

“The carnations” you said without a doubt moving your arms among the flower to pick them, the closeness you shared rubbing Laszlo in the wrong way.

A sudden realisation hitting him, rage boiling as he turned on his heels to rush to the Institute. What a fool he was, mistaking your natural kindness for…what? Interest for a cripple? Tenderness for a lonely angry man? His jaw clenched, rage surging through him, on that day the door of his office slammed so hard nobody dared to call for him, not even for dinner. When the next day you came to bring some papers and revise some new information, he was keeping a two meters distance all the time, if not more. Anything you said was welcomed with sounds the usual good morning disappeared.

“Laszlo” you called him after more than one hour spent welcomed by only silence and grunts “Did something happen? Maybe, I could help..”

“What exactly gives the impression I need your help?” He shot back before you could even mutter another sentence or even conclude the one you just begun.

His eyes raising from the papers he was holding, his hand moved to his glasses taking them off “As far as my knowledge goes, you’re here to support the investigation with documents and research, not to interfere with my personal life or a job like mine that requires not only tact but also a severe respect of the patient’s privacy”

You closed your mouth suddenly as he never reacted in such a way toward you. Usually he seemed to like to engage with you, to hear your thoughts and opinions, now his hard glare was dooming over you like the Judgment Day.

“I apologise” you resumed to say, maybe it was a bad day, those bad days John teased him about so many times, but that you never encountered before.

So you moved back to your spot respecting the distance he wanted, he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Nothing more was said.

That evening when you were about to leave you thanked him and wished him a good night, as you always did. Silence again, only one hand to be lifted as he didn’t even turn to talk to you. His reaction gutted you and from that day on to visit him turned into the heaviest hours of the day. There was no room for chat, no room for accommodation. You even brought some sweets one day thinking he might like it and he handed those just as quickly to the kids. You even asked him if you wronged him and he said there was nothing wrong.

After two weeks like this, you sat behind your desk at the Town Hall resigned to live with his silence, you stared at a little note he wrote to you once to thank you of your help with some documents titles underneath.

I admire your dedication to the case. Your help is invaluable L.K.

You read, but that didn’t stand anymore, for some reason.

“What’s that long face for?”

Sara asked leaning against your desk as you slipped that piece of paper underneath your notebook. You already gave Laszlo all the documents requested, you could throw that away, but you didn’t.

“I think I upset Dr Kreizler”

Sara looked at you surprised by the way you resumed calling him by his title, like you were trying to gain distance from him. You looked at her incisive look as you quietly explained to her your fears and doubts, what was going on and how you probably should ask John a way to repair the situation, because you were clueless. After your conversation Sara didn’t think about it twice and after concluding her duties she stormed at Laszlo’s office only to find him engaged in the billionth argument with John.

“What have you told to Y/N?”

She asked, a proper mad mama bear as she stared at him mercilessly, she was aiming for the throat and John looked at him puzzled.

“What have you done Laszlo? Having a fine woman interested on you hits so differently?”

Laszlo was about to answer Sara when he suddenly felt attacked on too many fronts.

“Wait, I beg your pardon? I think you have got into some mistake, John”

John looked at him and then at Sara as she shook her head impatiently and already fed up with Laszlo’s ways.

“She does like you Laszlo, where is your problem about it?” She inquired more “Is she not a doctor enough for your likings? Do you want a duchess or something? Because I don’t understand, if you’re not interested to her at least be human”

By this moment Laszlo was still incredule and a chuckle almost left his lips

“I think you are mistaken Sara, Y/N is in a relationship with Marcus Isaacson, I stumbled upon them already”

“Marcus? I thought he was seeing that Esther girl, Lucius complained about his lack of focus more than once, how did you manage to erase her interest that quick Laszlo?” John said surprised and Sara had to hold onto her iron will not to slap the both of them in their faces.

“You two are worse than any little town blabbermouth” she snapped.

John frowned feeling accused and Laszlo was ready to give her a lecture that could last until the end of times when you walked inside in a rush.

“Excuse me” you said out of breath, mud stained your dress as you clearly run your way to her Institute handing them a file “This just came”.

You gulped down as Sara glared at Laszlo while she guided you to have a glass of water.Laszlo studied the document without even acknowledging your presence, another victim served on a plate.

That evening he went to see the body, the Isaacson’s giving a full display of the wounds and marks on the body to him and John. By the rules of the obituary, you and Sara weren’t welcomed inside as they were.  You sat silently, slowly tracing the stain on your skirt thinking how bad Laszlo’s impression of you must be now that you even showed yourself in such an improper manner, such a gentleman like him witnessing you in such a state. When they came out of the obituary Sara stood up as you remained sat, the warm presence of Laszlo now hunting you like a ghost every time he is around.

“The murderer knows we re close” Laszlo stated as he sighed, ashamed that another life was lost “I think that this victim in particular..”

“Y/N!”

Marcus interrupted him rushing out of the obituary with his bloody apron still on, his less than sanitary clean hand on your shoulder as Laszlo was ready to reduce the both of you to dust for interrupting him.

“Excuse me Doctor” Marcus head shot up to him before looking back down at you “Thank you for helping with the gifts, Esther adored them, we are going out again tonight” he said excitedly to you and a big smile, the first of the day, blossomed on your lips.

“I told you, you should trust me more often” you said and he nodded vehemently “If things go this good, I will come to ask you to help me with the ring” he said completely hyped up, bouncing curls everywhere, as you crossed your fingers for him and he repeated the gesture before disappearing again called by his brother who was fed up with his love talks already.

Sara crossed her arms as John’s stare went up to Laszlo’s face, the sudden realisation of his mistake hit him like a bag of bricks. A mix of shame and happiness filling him up. And now the doubt: did he ruined his chances forever? The next morning you came into his office, you never stopped wishing him good morning and being polite, no matter his attitude.

“Y/N” he called you as you were placing your belongings aside. Your surprised look due to his softened tone was unmissable to him.

“Come here, I wish to talk to you”

You grew nervous as he didn’t say much else, so you walked to him sitting on the couch beside him, the one where you shared so many talks not too long before, even if now it felt like an eternity.

“I want to apologise to you” he blurted out all together, no need to move around the topic even though that only affirmation run over you harder than any other phrase.

You didn’t reply, allowing him to proceed.

“I apologise, because I have been selfish and foolish” he said, the fingers of his left hand touching nervously the armchair “I have been mistreating you only because my pride was hurt, I have acted like a man without means and courage.”

You parted your lips but he interrupted you before you could even begin.

“Please, let me finish, I have felt from the beginning a prominent fondness toward you. Your character and your kindness make you a remarkable person, you have the talent of bringing out the best out of most people, me included. But I have misread your ways and pointed your natural disposition to a form of romantic interest directed on me and our common friend Marcus Isaacson”

He was still excluding the possibility of you being attracted to him.

“I thought there was something behind it and I acted like a child instead of asking you directly, and I am ashamed for that”

You stared at him, a little smile creeping onto your lips.

“I think you misread only half of the situation Laszlo, as always you’re too unkind on yourself” you said gathering all the courage you had “because my interest toward you was honest while my relationship with Marcus is nothing by friendly”

Now it was Laszlo’s turn to be silenced, a new realisation creeping into his bones, a hope becoming a possibility.

“And is that honest interest still alive after my despicable ways?”

Your smile grew pulled by the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Maybe” he interrupted. He didn’t want to wait for your answer, your smile spoke for you “maybe we can further bring this conversation to Delmonico’s, tonight, just the two of us”

Your smile grew bigger, his eyes shining for you.

“It will be my pleasure” you answered only, not knowing a bouquet of carnations was already being delivered at your house to welcome you once you’ll be back.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief@thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved​ @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[tulsa-trash]

I'll Be Seeing You

Prompt 1 - “Don’t you say that… not you.”

Prompt 6 - “Don’t you die on me.”

WARNING(S): Angst, Mentions of Death and Swearing

The white, pristine halls of Tulsa’s hospital had become more than familiar to you. You were there everyday for two weeks, it was a routine. You’d wake up, go to school, then visit Johnny until you had to go home.

It was a Saturday night, the gang was at a rumble but you weren’t going to miss out on visiting him. The hospital was busier than usual, nurses and doctors were running around frantically while hysteric family members and friends of patients sat outside the rooms. Soon enough you made it to Johnny’s room and let yourself in.

“John?” You called out to him.

You got a weak groan in response, you made your way around the corner and approached his bed. He was now laying on his back, the last time you visited he was face down.

“Hey, Y/N.” He spoke quietly.

You sent him a soft smile, your eyes trailed over his burnt shoulders and arms and you internally winced. You hated seeing him in this much pain, it killed you knowing he was hurting and you couldn’t help him.

You took a seat in the chair that was already placed on the side of the bed. You put your bag on the floor next to you before pulling out "Gone With the Wind."

“I figured we could continue where you and Pony left off?” You suggested.

His dark eyes met your own and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. God, you thought, why couldn’t it have been me instead of him?

He nodded before closing his eyes, ready to take in the story. Your hands gripped the book tightly as you began to read. Every now and then he would stop you and ask a question, or make a comment about what just happened in the book. Even though he was covered in third degree burns, he was still the same Johnny you’ve come to know and love.

“Y/N?”

You hummed, putting a finger on the page so you wouldn’t lose your place.

“I need to talk to you.”

Your gaze left the book so you could look at him, his eyes no longer shut. He looked at you like whatever he was going to say was very important, so you marked the page and closed the book.

“What is it, Johnny-cake?"

He took a strangled, deep breath. "Look… the doctor was goin’ to tell you this, but I told him I wanted to tell you.”

He’s going to be okay! I knew it, no one wanted to believe but I did! Your mind whirled with hope and excitement that he was going to be home soon, he will slowly but surely recover and you will be together again.

“I’m not gonna make it, Y/N.”

Your mouth went dry and your heart dropped into your stomach as the words rushed out of his mouth. You looked down at the book you held in your now shaking, clammy hands and blinked away the tears that were welling up in your eyes. You swallowed the lump in your throat and let out a heavy sigh.

“W-Well… is he sure? I mean we don’t wanna just go around and assume the worst. Johnny, I think you’re doin’ just fine. I’m sure you–”

“Y/N.” He cut you off. “The doctor knows what he is doin’. My body is supposed to just give out in the next three to five days.”

“You’ve got the be f*ckin’ kiddin’ me, Johnny.”

Your hands gripped the tattered book tightly, your bottom lip trembled while your chest began to rise and fall rapidly. Big, fat tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked at him. He looked so tired, so beat up, so… done. Deep down you knew he wasn’t going to be okay, but you just didn’t want to believe it. And now that its official, you could feel your entire world fall apart.

“Don’t cry, hun.”

You harshly wiped away the salty tears from your cheeks with your palm, but they were soon replaced by new ones.

“You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.” You whispered to him, but it was more like you were trying to reassure yourself.

“I’m gonna die, Y/N. I know that’s not what you wanna hear right now but… I-I’m sorry–”

“Don’t you say that… not you. Don’t you dare say that.” Your voice began to break. “Please, Johnny.”

“I’m sorry, doll.” He was now crying. He looked at you with so much emotion held in his eyes, there was pain, sorrow, love. Looking at him tore you apart, but you couldn’t bear to look away. “Man, I don’t wanna die now… but that’s just the way it is.”

A loud sob erupted from your throat, and soon you were on the floor and kneeling on the side of the bed. You lightly grabbed his hand with both of yours as you cried into the bed sheets.

This can’t be happening, he was supposed to come home with me and the gang. We were supposed to get out of here, I promised him I’d take him anywhere he wanted to go… we were going to see the world.

“Hey.” He croaked before letting out a small cough. “Look at me, please look at me."

You lifting your head from the bed and faced him, a single tear ran down his cheek… and glided down his burned throat.

"I love you.” He told you. “I love you so much.”

“Johnny… please.” You whimpered. “Don’t leave me, please.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” He mustered up enough strength to give your hands a little squeeze. “I promise, you’re gonna be just fine. I’ll be okay, too.”

“Don’t you die on me.” You shook your head. “Please, baby.”

It was silent for a moment, the both of you taking each other in for one last time. You made sure to take in every detail and not let a single inch of his face go unnoticed. From his raven black hair to his small chin. His big, brown eyes, his plump lips, and that damned scar on his left cheekbone. He was an angel.

“I don’t want you here when it happens…”

“Johnny, I’m stay–” You began to protest, but he wasn’t having it.

“Y/N.” His voice was weak, yet firm. “Please, for me.”

You looked at him pleadingly, he looked right back at you with that same serious glint in his gaze. After some time, you gave in.

You got up off the floor and leaned over the bed, careful not to touch him and accidentally hurt him. You placed a gentle kiss on his lips, savoring the taste of them and how they felt against your own. For it was the last time you would ever kiss Jonathan Andrew Cade.

“I love you.” You mumbled against his lips. “I love you so so so much”

“I know.”

You pulled away, trying your best to pull yourself together before you left the room. It was no use, you were going to be in shambles for god knows how long.

You made your way to the door, as you grabbed the handle you turned to look at him one last time. His eyes were barely open, exhaustion overtaking his weak body from all of the talking and emotions.

“I’ll be seeing ya.” He said, the corner of his mouth perking up the slightest bit.

“Yeah.” You sniffled. “I’ll be seeing you too.”

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

[queenxxxsupreme]

I just thought of something- Arthur as a dad and having a little girl that he's so overprotective of and he's got a ranch and he's all healthy and thick- This should be canon I swear.

A/N: BABE this might have just started a mini series involving dad!Arthur and my new ending to rdr2 that I know we deserved. There’s at least going to be two more parts (that could be read separately from this one) including Daisy’s birthday which has some members from our lovely gang in it and some drama as well as the part where Daisy gets her first horse which also has some drama in it! Also just saying, I am open to dad!Arthur requests... 

Additional Note: So in this, Charles’s SO is named Lucy and Abigail and John’s unnamed daughter that they eventually have is named Grace :) They are just mentioned but in this RDR2 AU mini series they will be appearing!

Warnings: DOES INVOLVE SPOILERS FOR RDR2 ENDING, mostly fluffy!, female!reader, 

***

“I’m a survivor, Morgan!”

Arthur jolted awake. His hands gripped the pillow beneath his head with white knuckles. 

For a split second, he didn’t know where he was. The room was dark save for a bit of moonlight that came in through the curtains that covered the window. 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he tried to get his bearings. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin. He pushed the quilt and fur blanket off of himself, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

Arthur’s gaze fell on the end table by the bed. The picture on the table brought him back to reality. 

He picked the wooden frame up, a small smile coming to his lips. It was a picture of you, him, and Daisy when she was a newborn. 

“Oh how time flies.” He murmured quietly, placing the picture back down. 

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to where you should have been sleeping, but that side of the bed was empty. It wasn’t too much of a surprise that he was alone. You had trouble sleeping sometimes. But it was odd that he hadn’t noticed you getting out of bed. 

“I’m a survivor, Morgan!” Micah Bell’s voice thundered in Arthur’s ears. “That’s all there is! Living and dying!”

Arthur stood to his feet and moved down the hallway, making his way to Daisy’s room. He pushed the door open and poked his head inside. 

The little lump beneath the blankets on Daisy’s bed settled Arthur’s racing heart. All the worry that had been swirling in his stomach dwindled down at the sight of his seven-year-old daughter. 

The family dog, Carson, huffed from the foot of her bed, alarmed that someone had opened the door. 

“Shhh, boy.” Arthur tried to hush him before he could disturb Daisy, but it was too late. 

“Carson.” She whined.

“Sorry, sweetpea.”

“Daddy?” Daisy turned over in her bed, brushing her messy hair back out of her face.

“Didn’t mean to wake ya up.” Arthur moved into the room, giving Carson a pat on the head. “Just wanted to check on ya.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause…. Well ‘cause I was just worried about ya.” He explained.

Daisy looked up at him for a few moments. 

“Momma said you was havin’ bad dreams.”

Arthur furrowed his brow.

“When did she say that?”

“Earlier when she came in to check on me.”

Arthur would’ve laughed if the reason that you both were so insistent on checking on Daisy wasn’t because of your past. 

“Were you havin’ bad dreams, daddy?”

“No, sweetpea.” He started to tuck her in, making sure the blanket covered her properly and that she was comfortable. “I was just a little restless. Sometimes it’s hard for daddy to go to sleep ‘cause he knows there’s so much to do around here.”

“I can help you do stuff, daddy.” Daisy offered. “That way you can sleep better.”

Arthur smiled. 

“Sweet girl.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You help me plenty. Try to get some rest. Tomorrow is a busy day. Do you know why it’s a busy day?”

A huge grin spread across her face. 

“I get a horse.”

“What? No, no. That don’t sound right.” Arthur shook his head. 

“Daddy!” Daisy giggled. 

“I’m just teasin’ you, sweetpea.” Arthur kissed her head once more. “Sleep tight, sweetpea. First thing tomorrow mornin’, we’ll be goin’ into town to get you a little horse.”

“What if I want a big horse?”

“Well, we’ll have to just see what the stables have got.” He chuckled. “Good night, sweetpea.”

“Good night, daddy.”

Arthur closed the door to Daisy’s room behind himself. 

He looked down the hallway towards the kitchen, hearing the sound of a quiet conversation. 

He found you and Hosea sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Drinking coffee in the middle of the night? What is it with you two?”

“We’re already up.” Hosea shrugged his shoulders. “No point in trying to go back to sleep.”

You chuckled a little. 

Arthur moved around to stand behind your chair.

“Was Daisy up earlier?” He leaned down to kiss your head. 

“Yeah, briefly. Carson heard something outside and started barking.” You nodded, taking a sip of coffee. 

Arthur looked to the large window in the kitchen that looked over the backyard. His brows furrowed together. 

“Hm. Why didn’t I hear nothin?” He moved towards the window, lingering towards the side instead of standing directly in the middle. 

“You were talkin’ in your sleep again.” You said quietly. “You only do that when you’re having real bad dreams.”

Arthur nodded. 

“I already went out there and looked around. Didn’t see anything.” Hosea told him. 

“I’m gonna go double check.”

“What- You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“That’s not it, old man.”

Hosea watched as Arthur disappeared down the hallway, going to the backroom to retrieve a gun.

“He only wants to see for himself that there’s nothin’ out there.” You spoke so only Hosea could hear you. “He was sayin’ Micah’s name again, Hosea.”

Hosea let out a sigh. 

“He thinks Micah’s gonna come after him.”

“You don’t think so?” You tilted your head to the side a little, eyebrows drawing together. “After…. After what happened…. Arthur ruined his plans at getting the money from Blackwater. Dutch died on that mountain. You’re the only other one who knows and Micah knows you’re here too. It would only make sense for him to come here and…. and I’m afraid, Hosea.”

Hosea shook his head softly, reaching over to take your hand. 

“Micah Bell is a coward, Y/N. He knows it. He knows Arthur’s got all of us in his corner. You, me, Charles, John-,”

“But Hosea, we’ve got families.” Your voice cracked. “We have Daisy and-and Charles and Lucy are having one of their own. Abigail and John have Jack and Grace. We-We ain’t what we used to be.”

Hosea was quiet for a few moments. 

Arthur passed through the kitchen fully dressed and carrying a shotgun.

Your eyes met his briefly. The air in your lungs escaped. It felt like someone was sitting on your chest. 

The back door closed behind Arthur.

“If it comes down to it, Y/N, we will do what we have to do.” Hosea assured you.

You nodded your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks that managed to escape. 

***

A half an hour had passed and Arthur had yet to return to the house. You ventured out to find him. He sat on the front step with the shotgun still in his hands. Upon hearing the front door open, he looked over his shoulder. 

“Do you plan on stayin’ out here all night?” 

He didn’t answer you, turning his head to look back to the woods. 

You sat down next to him, slipping your arm around his. You kissed his shoulder and leaned against him. 

“Is everything okay?”

“I just…. just got this feelin’ that ain’t sittin’ right with me. That’s all.”

“We’ve been here for four years, Arthur. We’ve been quiet, haven’t drawn any attention to ourselves and haven’t let any of the locals know our real names. There’s no way he’d know where we are.”

“If that snake wants to find me, he could. I know it. And if he…. I don’t want him anywhere near Daisy.”

“Charles and Lucy are just down the road. You know Charles is just as vigilant as you are and with those dogs he’s got, he’d know if anyone was setting up camp in the woods between our property and his. If need be, next time Sadie comes through we can ask her to dig around and see where Micah’s at. You know she’d be willing to help.”

“I hate to get her involved.” Arthur muttered, shaking his head softly. 

“If it involves the future of her niece, you know damn well she’d want to be involved.” You rubbed his arm. “It’s early, but we still got a couple hours before the sun comes up.”

He let out a breath. 

“M’not gonna sleep at all tonight, pumpkin.”

“Then at least come lay down. Let me read to you. You don’t need to be out here alone with just your thoughts.”

Arthur’s eyes found yours.

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

“I know.” You smiled. “Come on.” You patted his arm and stood up. 

“Daisy’s real excited about gettin’ herself a horse.” Arthur put his hand on the small of your back as he walked behind you. “You don’t think she’s still too young for one, do you? I mean, she’s so small. She’s smaller than Jack was and he was a tiny kid.”

“She’s just fine for her age, Arthur.” You assured him. “It’ll be good for her to get started with a horse now. It’ll keep you both busy all spring.”

“What if she gets hurt?”

“She’s bound to get hurt. It’s a part of growin’ up.”

“I don’t want her gettin’ hurt.”

The door to Daisy’s room opened and Carson slipped out. 

“Daisy.” You said her name. “You should be in bed. It’s four in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep, momma.” She lingered in the doorway to her room, a frown on her lips. 

You looked back to Arthur. He nodded his head, moving past you so he could get to your daughter. 

“You wanna come lay down with me and momma? She’s gonna read a storybook to me.” 

“Yeah!” Daisy held her hands out for him. Arthur grunted as he picked her up and placed her on his hip. 

Carson slipped into the bedroom just before you closed the door. Arthur put Daisy down on the bed and took his hat off, placing it on her head. 

“Daddy! It’s too big!” She giggled, pushing it back so it didn’t fall over her eyes.

“Nah, I think it fits just perfect.” He grinned. “I’ll be right back. M’gonna go change. Don’t get too comfortable though, sweetpea. You’re in my spot.”

You slipped off your houseshoes and pulled a book from the shelf. 

“Momma?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Where can I get a hat like this daddy’s?” Daisy put Arthur’s hat on the stand next to the bed and then settled back against his pillows. 

“I reckon if you mention it to daddy while you’re in town tomorrow he can get you one.” You sat down on your side of the bed, opening up the book. Carson made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed.

A few moments later, Arthur returned to the bedroom. He stopped just after shutting the door and put his hands on his hips. 

“Sweetpea.”

“Yes, daddy?” She giggled, bringing the blankets up to cover her nose.

“I think we got a problem. Where am I supposed to sleep if you’re in my spot?”

She giggled again, pulling the blankets up over her head as if to hide from him. 

“Arthur, she needs to sleep some.” You told him quietly. “Don’t get her-,”

He didn’t listen. Instead, he chose to tickle her through the blankets. Daisy’s delighted laughter filled the room. You couldn’t help but smile. 

Once Arthur was content with her laughter, he stopped tickling her and pulled the blankets back. Daisy’s hair was a mess. 

“Little Miss Daisy, we are definitely going to have to fix your hair in the morning.” Arthur leaned down to kiss her forehead. “But first, you need to get some sleep.”

“Nuh-uh! Momma was gonna read to us!”

“I’ll read until someone falls asleep.” You yawned. “Though I might be that someone.”

“You heard your mother, sweetpea. Scoot over so she can read us a story.” Arthur nudged Daisy over towards the middle of the bed. 

Once the two were settled, you began your story. 

“A long time ago, there were two cowboys….”

Taglist:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284

[stillwinchester]

Destiel AU - toddler!jack, mechanic!dean

“Good morning, sir!”

Dean looked up from his newspaper straight at the kid with a teddy bear. He had no idea where it came from. He was just sipping his coffee and reading the news, when some stranger toddler appeared on the seat in front of him.

“Umm, mornin'?” he greeted him, still confused.

“I have a birthday today,” said kid and grinned. Dean looked around, but nobody seemed to bother with his situation.

“Congratulations, but you shouldn't be alone here. Where's your mom?”

“In Heaven. She's watching over me, like an angel,” kid explained, and after that kicked him accidentally under the table. Dean dusted his knee off.

“And what about your dad?”

“There!” he pointed to the counter, where was standing a dark hair man in the trench coat. “He's buying birthday's milkshakes. Strawberry!”

“Yeah?” Dean relaxed a little bit, good that kid wasn't alone here. “And how old are you?”

“Four! It's more than three,” he said cheerfully. “Look, I have The Marvelous Marvin. He can talk!”

Kid showed him a teddy bear and pressed his belly. A plushie toy said: 'Hello!', his father turned around immediately and came quickly to Dean's table. He picked the kid up and spoke to him:

“Jack, I told you, don't harass people.” And then to Dean: “My apologies.”

“Nothing happened... He's a great kiddo.”

The man tried to smile, but he was too much embarrassed, so it lookes more like a grimace. Jack, on the other hand, seemed not to care about anything, playing with his teddy bear.

Dean pulled something out from his pocket and asked: “Hey, Jack, do you like stickers?”

“Yeah!”

“So, I have something for you. Happy birthday, buddy!”

It was a commercial sticker with a big text "Singer Auto Repair Shop", but there was also a picture of Chevy Impala which was what Jack noticed first.

“A car!” exclaimed Jack, putting a sticker on his teddy bear at once.

“Jack, what do you say?” reminded him his father.

“Thank you, sir!”

“You're welcome!”

The man put Jack on the seat at the next table and went back to Dean.

“I'm sorry once again, he's a little too much excited,” he excused for his son.

“Sure, nothing happened.” Dean shrugged. “I'm Dean, by the way.”

“Castiel.” They shook their hands, and Dean smiled at him.

“It's nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Cas smiled back. “I'm not gonna take more of your time. Have a nice day.”

Cas sat across of his son. The waitress had brought their milkshakes already. The kid started drinking, but a few seconds later he was talking again.

“Dad, can I try yours?”

Dean heared a chuckle, he looked at Cas and caught how he was rolling his eyes.

“They're the same, Jack.”

“Please... I have a birthday,” begged the kid with a sweet voice.

“All right.” Cas gasped, but changed their milkshakes.

“Yours is better,” admitted Jack, and Cas laughed once again.

Dean finished his coffee and walked away a few minutes later, one more time looking at them. The family picture, a lovely and cute view...

*

Cas knew shit about cars, but he was certainly sure his truck shouldn't make so weird noises.

“Crap,” he murmured. Did he say it loud? Crap! He turned to the back seats where Jack was sitting in the child chair. “You didn't hear anything, Jack.”

“That's not true! You said: crap!” said excited Jack. “Crap, crap! Crap, crap!”

Great! Now his kid expanded his vocabulary.

“I think grocery needs to wait. Somebody needs to check our car.”

“Maybe Marvin? He's a mechanic. He has a badge.” Jack pointed at the sticker on his teddy bear.

“Oh, honeybee, I think we need the other specialist, but thank Marvin for his service.”

Cas pulled out the phone to find some Auto Repair Shop on the internet when he realized that actually Marvin could help. He gave a quick look at the sticker and read an address.

*

“I have no idea how to fix a car. Sometimes I even forget to refuel it,” explained Cas to the old man with a baseball cap. He had found out earlier it’s Bobby Singer, owner of this Auto Shop. For a moment, he felt disappointment because deeply in his heart he had hoped he was going to see Dean from the milk bar again.

“I’ll call my best mechanic. We can handle it,” Bobby assured him, and after that he turned around and yelled: “Dean, we have a client, can you come here?”

Dean got out from under one of the cars. He was wearing work clothes, and his face was dirty from grease, but Cas recognized him at once. Jack, who was standing next to him, was too busy with his teddy bear to notice him.

“Oh, Cas. Hi,” said Dean, frowning with confusion. Probably he didn’t expect to see him again.

“Hello, Dean.”

“And how are you, Jack?” he asked a toddler.

“Good! Marvin took us here!”

“Yeah, so let’s see what’s wrong with a car.”

Dean opened the hood and checked the car. It didn’t take him a lot of time before he found cause of trouble.

“It's the engine...” explained Dean.

“Crap!” said Jack, and Dean looked at him surprised.

“Whoa, isn't it a big word for so little guy?”

“I'm big now! And dad taught me that!”

Cas’ cheeks turned red at once, and he mumbled: “No, I... I didn't.”

“You did, daddy. Don't you remember? Truck was broken.”

Dean chuckled, but he was not going to torture him any longer.

“Okay, I need at least half an hour. You can wait there if you want.” He pointed to a bench near a big tree.

“All right, thank you.”

Dean started working, but his eyes were heading to Cas and Jack all the time. He saw how they were talking and playing with a teddy bear, laughing all the time. They looked so happy, and Dean found himself jealous of what they had.

When he finished, he called them and Bobby. Cas paid for the repair and thanked him for help. They didn't go at once, so Dean used an opportunity to talk with him a little longer.

“He's similar to you, like Mini-Cas,” said Dean, and Cas smiled with proud.

“Actually, he's not my biological son... His mother was my very good friend, but she died in childbirth, so I took care of him,” he explained.

“What about his biological father?”

“It's my brother, but I don't know where he is. He ran away when he found out Kelly was pregnant.”

“This one,” started Bobby and patted Dean on the arm. “I kinda adopted him and his brother. And they're good men. I think I did no bad job raising them.”

“Yeah, you were always a better father to me than John.”

Bobby squeezed Dean’s shoulder, and walked away to talk with Jack. Cas looked at his son with love in his eyes.

“It must be hard, huh? Be a lonely father with a toddler?”

“Sometimes. But I've never regretted this. He's my whole life.”

After a long minute of silence, Dean decided to go one step further. He scratched a back of his neck and cleared the throat.

“Listen, Cas, I'll give you my private number...” he started, but then added quickly: “You know if something would be wrong with a car, just call me.”

Shit! It wasn't supposed to look like this... He chickened out.

“Umm, thank you,” said Cas, putting the card with his number in his coat's pocket. “Dean, one more.”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be okay if I call you on another matter?”

“Which means?”

“If I want to, for example, invite you for a milkshake?”

Dean's face brightened with a smile. So, it wasn't like he was the only one who was interested.

“Yeah... it would be okay, Cas.”

“So, I think I'll call you.”

“I will be waiting.”

Cas gave him a huge smile one more time before he went to Jack.

“Jack, we need to come home. Let's go!” He took him on his arms.

“Okay, daddy!” Jack raised his hand and waved with it. “Bye, bye, Dean!”

“See you later, buddy! Oh, and I have another sticker for you,” said Dean.

“It's like a doctor, but without needles.”

“Yeah, I'm a car doctor.”

“Cool!”

They drove away, this time without a noisy engine, and Cas thought it's a very good day.

*

Cas put Jack to bed, read him the bedtime stories and kissed his forehead. He turned the light off, but stayed there a few minutes more, just to look at his sleeping kid.

Yes, like he said before, being a single father wasn't always easy, but he would never change his life. At least not in this area. Because, of course, he would like to find somebody who could love Jack like their own son, and somebody who could love him...

Sometimes, especially in the nights like this, he felt lonely, it wasn't like he has a lot of time to meet new people, not to mention dates. That's why he went to the kitchen to make a call.

“Yeah?” asked Dean, and Cas couldn't help smile, hearing his voice.

“Hello, Dean. It's Cas. I hope I don't call too late.”

Answer came almost immediately.

“No. It's never too late.”

Part 2

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 6: The Disturbance

A/N:  This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, a child is harmed, creepy break in of apartment.

Special shout out to @arizemo​​ for giving me encouragement to continue to write when I felt like giving up. You were the best and this is dedicated to you, even though I know you haven’t seen the show.

The sky didn’t look as promising as Laszlo had hoped, and was grateful that one of the staff members insisted that he’d bring an umbrella just in case, but he could swear that when he saw Evelina, the day seemed brighter and to him, there weren’t any clouds. “Good morning, Miss Lind. I trust you had a good night’s rest?”

“I did, thank you. I have not had the pleasure of walking this park yet, thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, shall we?” He asked, gesturing with his umbrella, making her chuckle. For a while, they walked side by side, exchanging pleasantries, Laszlo pointing out the different birds, even the ones he couldn’t see but only hear.

“My goodness, you do know everything!” she laughed.

“When I was in college, I studied ornithology first, not quite sure what I had wanted to do, but then I had come to realize that psychology was even more fascinating to me. That was when I had met Moore and Roosevelt, I suppose they are the longest kept friends I have. This was in ‘77, so nearly twenty years.” He faltered for a moment, then said, “That must make me sound very old, doesn’t it?”

“Old? Nonsense, age was what you feel. Do you feel old? You don’t look it, if I may say. You are lean and fit, and you keep yourself in good condition.”

“I’m middle aged, Miss Lind.”

“Silly word. You are a man of the hills.”

“You may tease me as much as you wish, but I cannot help my age.”

“Your age?” she asked, surprised. “I never dreamed-” she stopped herself. I never dreamed that you’d ever think yourself as old, was what she would have said, but she saw the shadow in his eyes and decided to not further probe the topic. “You know,” she says, “It has come to my attention, that you still refer to me as Miss Lind. I believe we have come to know each other long enough to move past formality. Don’t you think?”

He paused to think and realized that she was right. They have known each other for a little over a month, and certainly their introduction was under a certain case of duress that helped bring them closer together. “I-I suppose so. It would be nice to hear you call me by chosen name.”

“Very well, Laszlo.”

Oh God, he thinks, how wonderful it sounds! As they walked, they passed a pair of ladies who stared at them with contempt and made a gesture of turning their noses at them, silently but effectively showing their distain for the pair.

“Do you think that was for me?” Evelina asked, trying to keep her voice light, though she was hurt by the gesture.

“I am certain that was for me. I am not the most well-liked man, and my profession is as frown upon as…” he paused, fearful he’d offend her.

Evelina smiled and nodded understanding. “As an opera singer. It’s alright, it can be said. A month ago, I had difficulty bearing the judging stares and snide comments, but I like to think I developed a thicker skin to bear it, even though it still hurts. I am sure they don’t bother you anymore, the comments on your profession I mean.”

He stopped completely then says, “Evelina, this is wrong.”

She looks at him incredulous. “What is?”

“That I should take up the time and friendship of…of someone so young and good as you.”

She sighed and grinned. “Oh, Laszlo, I am so glad I’ve met you.”

Now he looked at her incredulously. “But why?”

“Well, that’s just it. I am not sure why. I never met anyone that surprises me as much as you do, and yet, someone that I feel I truly understand. And the young ones are so boring. I am never bored with you!”

He huffed out a smile, shaking his head. “I didn’t think I was at all interesting.”

“Of course, you are! You put on this air of being steely cold and distant, but really, you are gentle and kind, and warm.”

“Do not be mistaken, I am nothing more than a cold, aging alienist.”

She shakes her head. “That’s what you try to make people think. And I know why. I may not know the details, but I know you did not have a happy childhood, and it made you feel as though you had to protect yourself from the hurt, but it also stops you from the joy you want.” Looking down at her gloved hands, which fiddled for a moment, she said looking back up, “Now, I told you why I like you, it’s your turn to say what you like about me. You do like me, don’t you?” She asks, her voice soft as she hoped she wasn’t wrong.

He speaks not a moment, then says, “Yes, I like you, very much. I like…that I feel safe with you. It’s a feeling I’ve not had much in my life. You make me think and smile, and, want to live.”

Evelina smiled and her eyes tender. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Laszlo.”

“And I-I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” He feels his heart race at her words, those blue eyes filled with an emotion that no one ever gave him before, and it filled him with many different emotions.

“Laszlo?” A voice breaks the moment, making Evelina and Laszlo turn to see where the voice came from. Approaching them were two young men, one tall and slim with a cheery disposition and the other a few inches shorter and sturdier with glasses. “Laszlo, we may have a lead!” spoke the sturdier man, who sounded quite excited.

“Oh, forgive us,” the slimmer man said, “We hadn’t meant to intrude.”

“Gentleman allow me to introduce to you, Miss Evelina Lind. Evelina, this is Marcus and Lucius Isaacson, they have been working with John, Sara and I on investigations.” Laszlo introduced them, pointing out to Evelina which man was who.

“Oh, yes, I do remember you. I recall Laszlo mentioning the both of you.”

“Likewise, Miss Lind. In fact,” Lucius spoke with a smile, “Laszlo has spoken of you on many occasions. It almost feels as if we know you.” Marcus gave a small but clear jab in the rib, making Lucius look at him in confusion.

Evelina blushed, pleased at the thought of Laszlo speaking of her to others. “Uh, yes, well,” Laszlo intervened, “Follow the lead and when we meet tonight, we’ll go over it. Good day,” his tone of voice may have been a bit curt, but it was understandable.

Marcus nodded and bid the pair a good day before guiding his brother away, trying to explain to him what it was they had interrupted.

Evelina felt her cheeks grow warm at the idea that she was talked of by Laszlo, that other people have heard him speak of her, she wasn’t just some secret friend he didn’t wish to be associated with. The soft rumble of thunder made them both look up at the gray sky and with a few drops falling, Laszlo opened his umbrella and held it over them both. Without thinking, Evelina had slipped her arm around his, allowing her to be sheltered more from the rain.

Laszlo gulped. Yes, he had escorted her a few times, he even escorted Sara, but how close her body was pressed to his side, the scent of rose and iris filling his nose, it made Laszlo feel like a schoolboy in the throes of his first crush. “Um,” he cleared his throat, “I should take you back home.”

As much as she was disappointed that the walk was cut short by the rain, she was pleased at the progress they had made. She felt certain that now with formalities pushed aside and the sharing of first names would lead to the next big step. But still, she was not certain. Did he just humor her since he had saved her and thought that she was a lonesome young woman, or did he have the same feelings as she did? His attitude at times made it difficult for her to decipher, but she wasn’t one to give up.

Reaching back her place, Evelina thanked him, and both felt the absence when her arm slipped away from his. But he had to return to the institute, and she had to be ready for rehearsals tomorrow.

Laszlo hurried back to the institute, and once he had returned, he noticed a group of children sitting on the floor along the wall, looking rather glum. “Oh, now why the long faces?”

“We were going to play outside, but then it began to rain, and sadly the children were very eager to go out,” Mrs. Gorenko, one of the teachers, explained to the doctor, helping him with his coat.

“Well, we can’t have disappointed children. I am sure that the great hall can be a perfect substitute.”

He smiled when he saw the children brighten up and exclaimed in excitement as they were led to the great hall to play. And as he returned to his office, he allowed the good mood to overcome him and he now smiled because of Miss Lind, or rather, Evelina. To say her name aloud was as much of a pleasure as it was for him to hear his name on her lips. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps it is as he could hope it to be.

His mood was so high that he thought nothing could spoil this feeling, but a sudden crash and sound of children screaming broke his dreams. He got up and ran towards the sound, leading him to the great hall where children huddled in a corner, having been led there by Mrs. Gorenko.

He looked over and found Mrs. Gorenko knelt beside a crying child, his leg bleeding. Rushing over and falling to his knees, he looked at the child. “What happened?”

“I am not sure, doctor. We were doing our morning exercise, then suddenly, the window broke, and something flew into the room. Alastair tripped and his leg landed on the glass.”

“Check on the children, I’ve got him.” Mrs. Gorenko went to the other children, looking over them, while Laszlo examined the little boy’s leg. Alastair was only eight, smaller than the other boys, and it broke Laszlo’s heart to see him sobbing and shaking with fear. Other members of the staff came rushing in, wondering what the commotion was and came to help. Two of the nurses rushed over to Laszlo and they carefully carried the boy, rushing to the ward. “Get to work on his leg, he may need stitches,” he softly tells one of the nurses as he got up from the floor.

He went over and looked down at the little ones huddled, many of whom were crying, frighten by the disturbance. “Is everyone alright?” he asked gently and gave a quick scan over their persons. “Take them to their dormitories, no more lessons today for them, they’d have quite a shock as it is.”

Once alone, he inspects the window, followed the broken glass to where a large rock sat. Picking it up, he saw that tied around it was coarse yarn and a folded up piece of paper. He managed to slip the note out without tearing then opened it. The words sent a shiver up his spine.

I have my eye on you, Dr. Kreizler

John never got word from Laszlo to hurry due to great urgency, so when he arrived back home and received the message, he was quick to hurry right back out, despite his grandmother calling for him. He was led by one of the nurses to the big hall and his heart dropped to his stomach to see the sight. “Good God, Laszlo, what happened?”

Laszlo, who had been pacing back and forth, the look that John has seen many times of contained fury, and he knew it could not be good. “Someone threw a rock through my window, with this note attached.” He gestured to the note in his hands, stopped only to give it to John.

John read the note and he too felt his blood run cold. “Do you think it is the killer?”

“Who else? We must be getting close, if he could do such a thing. We need to get him before anything else happens.”

“Are the children alright?”

“Yes, for now. But,” his voice began to rise, “He intruded in their sanctuary. How am I supposed to explain to the children, that the one place they thought they were safe is no longer the haven they were promised? How can I take care of them if I can’t protect them from people like this?”

“We will catch this man, Laszlo, and all will be well.”

“You don’t get it, do you John?” Laszlo stopped pacing, yelling, “They came after my children! One of them got hurt, he may need stitches! What if the rock hit and killed one of them? My children were put in danger John, my children!” His voice cracked at the last words, forcing him to turn away from his friend.

John rarely ever saw Laszlo express an emotion that came from a place of caring, and it broke him to see how upset Laszlo was when a threat came to close, not to him, but to those he cares for deeply. John stepped up and placed a hand on Laszlo’s shoulder, gently, comforting. “We will get him, Laszlo. We will protect your children. I promise.” As much as Laszlo was touched by John's willingness to help, it did not ease his fears or disturbance.

But Laszlo was not the only one to be disturbed.

Going up the stairs to her room, Evelina hummed softly, thinking of the way he said her name, and stopped completely when she saw her door slightly opened. Her blood ran cold, and she carefully kicked the door open, but found no one there. Evelina looked about her room, nothing valuable was taken, but what sent a wave of fear over her was that her dresser drawer was open, and a pair of her knickers was missing. Her heart began to beat furiously and without thinking, she rushed out of the building and went to the first person she thought of.

Sara was shocked to say the least when she saw Evelina standing at his door, looking half out of her wits, desperate. “Evelina. What on earth?”

“I need help.”

She let her in and brought her to the drawing room, offering a whiskey, not thinking of how most women wouldn’t drink it. But Evelina gladly accepted it, downing the whole of it. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“My apartment has been broken into.”

“Oh my.” Sara sat beside her, offered a comforting hand. “Did they take anything valuable?”

“No,” Evelina said, and at first she hesitated, unsure if she should mention it, but then said, “They…they took a pair of my knickers.”

Sara stiffened, feeling shocked and a second hand fear. “What compels a man do to something so disturbing? Thank goodness you were not there, and that no one else was harmed.”

Evelina nodded, agreeing, but still shook. “I do not feel safe staying there. I am not sure what to do or where to go. Forgive me if I am a burden, but you were the first thought of when remembering our first conversation.”

“Not at all. I am glad you came to me.” Sara thought for a moment, then said, “If I came with you to your apartment to collect your things, would that make you feel better?”

“To collect my things?”

“Well of course. I can’t imagine you’d want to stay there much longer, so we shall have all your things brought here.”

Realizing what she meant, Evelina immediately began to protest. “Oh, I couldn’t dare ask. It is too much.”

“Nonsense. Even if you did feel comfortable staying, I wouldn’t feel right with sending you back alone. You shall stay with me for as long as you wish.”

Evelina’s eyes watered and she reached over to hug Sara, who at first was taken aback by the gesture, but welcomed it as she figured that Evelina was in need of comfort. “Thank you so much. I’ll pay you back,” she said, pulling away, “Whatever you’d like. I am not afraid of pulling my weight around here.”

“Really, it is alright. If the situation was reversed, I am sure you’d do the same. Now,” Sara stood, “Let us go and get your belongings.”

It was short work as Evelina did not have much, but Sara looked around the room, searching for clues, for anything to give a clue to who would do this. Whoever it was, knew how to return everything back to where things were, so he was smarter than your usual criminal. The sooner she’d get her away from this place, the better. Sara’s footman helped carry the trunk into the house and Sara brought her to the guest room. “You are free to stay as long as you wish. And I promise, I shall do what I may to figure out who did this.”

“No!” She quickly said, but then tried to explain, “I couldn’t drag you into this. What if this perpetrator is mad, a violent criminal?’

“It will take more than a pervert to stop me from helping you. Truly. And after all, if I intend to have my own agency to solve crimes, I will need the opportunities.” Taking her hands, she looked Evelina square in the eyes and said, “No woman should ever have to live in fear of being born a woman. And I meant what I said, we women must help each other. I am keeping my promise.” Giving a reassuring squeeze, she released her. “I’ll let you get settled in.” She turned to leave, but then stopped and turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Tonight, a few men will be here to discuss a case.”

“You mean, John and Laszlo?”

“Yes, as well as the Isaacson Brothers. We are trying to solve the case of the murdered children. If you do not feel comfortable with the subject, you do not have to stay.”

“Thank you for the warning. At this point, there is not much I cannot handle.”

Evelina found herself situated perfectly and with enthusiasm hurried to join the gathering. All of them had arrived at the same time and were surprised to see an extra member of the group. “Evelina. You are joining us?” Laszlo asked, surprised.

“Evelina is staying with me indefinitely, so you shall see a great deal of her. And don’t worry John, I’ve already warned her of the nature of this case. No need to defend any ladies’ delicate natures tonight.” She teased, making him flustered. Evelina noticed and smiled, it was not difficult for her to see the attraction between the two.

“I shall get the tea,” Evelina offered, wanting to help as much as she could.

“Any news?” asked Marcus, as the team settled in their seats.

“Perhaps. Earlier today, a rock came hurling through a window of my institute, with this note attached.”

Sara took the note and looked at it. “Do you think he is closing in on us?” she asked as she passed the note along to the brothers.

“Who knows?” Laszlo said, taking the note back from Lucius once he was done examining it, stuffing it in his pocket, “But it unsettles me greatly to think he is close to my children.”

Evelina walked in at the last part and gave a quizzical look as she set the tray down. “Something is wrong with the children?”

“Thankfully no,” Laszlo answered, taking the teacup from her.

“Someone threw a rock through Laszlo’s window, we think it might be the killer,” Lucius filled in.

“No one was hurt, I hope?”

“One, he needed stitches, the others were just frightened, but they should never have been frightened in the first place.  Which is why it is imperative that we close in on this murderer.”

The evening passed in a feverish haze; Lucius and Marcus sharing their lead, everyone eager to work out the possibilities, and Evelina was there, trying to help keep things neat for them to work efficiently. She wished she was cleverer to help in their case, to actually do something worthwhile. But she also knew that any little bit could help them figure out why such a madman would want to hurt children in such a terrible way. Her eyes pricked with tears and she had to turn away at one point to dab her eyes with her handkerchief. At least the end of the evening seemed to be satisfactory enough for everyone had left with newfound hope and eager to start the next day. Laszlo and John were the last to leave. Evelina watched with amusement of how Sara and John danced around their feelings, and she wondered if she and Laszlo looked that way. She did sympathize with John, for he clearly adored Sara and Sara seemed to feel the same, but held incredible restraint from her feelings.

Laszlo didn't talk much around Evelina, as if company made him shy, as if everyone was watching him. But she understood, he no doubt had his mind on the case and he spoke her given name when he bid her goodnight, making her mind settle as she worried she offended him in some way. Both ladies retired for the night, and as Evelina laid down, she tried to wrestle with the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Will she really be safe with Sara? Should she tell the whole truth of what she knows?

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​​​ @flutterskies​​​ @sokoviandelights​​​, @cazzyimagines​​​​, @rumblelibrary​​​​, @fictionlandslanddreams​​​​, @violetmuses​​ and @barnesxnobles​​. If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Nightmares ⊰

Pairing: John Wick x Reader

Summary: John comforts his daughter after she wakes up from a nightmare.

Warnings: a smidge of angst, but major fluff

Words: 2.3k

A/N:  I was in a dad!john mood these last couple of days and ended up writing this fic. This is set a few years after Perfect to Me, which takes place in a universe that I'll be expanding with more of these family blurbs. Hope you enjoy!

Daylight has come and gone; an inky blackness speckled with countless shimmering, twinkling lights now fills the late midnight skies above. The air is calm, so serene—it’s tranquil silence lulling John to a deep, deep slumber, one that was very much needed after a tiresome day. Beneath the thick duvet, sleep is just a touch away following a brief bout of tossing and turning in bed. It always takes a little more time for him to retire when your body isn’t next to his during the night.

Eyelids heavy with fatigue, John was teetering on the edge of consciousness when a distant scream from down the hall pierces the quietude, causing him to jolt awake. In an instant, he pushes himself up and out of the mattress, his bare feet swiftly dashing across the hardwood as he heads to the source of the worrying sound. 

A familiar adrenaline fuels John’s hasty sprint, his mind already assuming that something terrible has happened. Sadly, it was a burden he still carries as a result of his past. He knows of the horrors in reality; he had been one of them at one point. Though time has passed since he walked away from that horrid life, John remains wary, afraid that there will come a day when this beautiful paradise he has found would be taken away.

John pushes the door open with enough force that it slams harshly against the wall, his heart hammering against his chest at the sight of the empty, disheveled bed in the middle of the room. “Ellie?!” He yells her name out loud, his voice frantic, trembling as panic starts to creep in. Before he could run to check the rest of the house, John hears faint shuffling coming from behind.

“Daddy?”

A sigh of relief falls from John’s lips once he sees his five-year-old curled up in the closet, seemingly distraught as he is. She was shaking, her lashes wet with fresh tears as she glances up at her father. Kneeling down, John joins her on the floor, his rapid breathing steadied following the recent fright. Ellie immediately crawls closer to him, her short arms wrapping around his mid as she buries her face into his shirt, finding comfort in his presence.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” John murmurs low as he tenderly strokes Ellie’s hair. Her tiny frame quivers while she stifles her sobs, the mere sound of her cries shattering his heart. 

“I had a bad dream,” she responds, tone soft and weary. John’s shirt is stained with her tears, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he holds her closer, tilting his lips down to place a kiss on her forehead, which aided in relaxing his darling daughter. With his warm embrace growing tight, he assures her that she is safe from harm. 

Yet, as they sit there on the carpeted floor, John feels a crushing pain from seeing her so scared. Since becoming a father, he often frets about Ellie. There would be nights when John would wake late in the evening to check on his baby, only to find her sleeping peacefully. He has this constant unsettling anxiety that looms over his head, a rooted fear that he could not shake off easily. 

“Come,” he eventually whispers, his utterance as delicate as the way he lifts her up from the ground, carrying her back to bed. 

Gently, John lays Ellie down on the mattress, drawing the pink blanket up to her body. He then switches on the lamp on the nightstand, its soft glow illuminating what should be a haven for her. John doesn’t even wait for her to ask him to stay; he could not leave her so soon. Sighing, he sits on the edge of the bed, the palm of his hand coming to rest on the side of her angelic face with features still tainted with terror.

“What was your nightmare about?” John probes, hoping that she would answer. 

Whenever he experiences nightmares of his own, you would pose to him the same question. At first, he was reluctant to share, not wanting to have you be a part of the torment his mind poisons him with. You, however, wouldn’t sleep until John opened up, and when he finally did, you always knew exactly what to say to bring him peace, never without fail.

“I-I was outside in the dark,” Ellie recounts with a whimper, her little fingers curling around the edge of the sheet. “A big monster was chasing me, and I screamed for help, but nobody came. I couldn’t find you or mommy anywhere.”

John’s heart is heavy as he pictures her completely helpless. Ellie is so young, innocent and vulnerable. She was too pure to witness or even dream about evil, but that he has no control over. John would do anything and everything if it means keeping her safe, but what could he do in a situation like this?

“Honey, I’m sorry to hear that,” he soothes, lightly running the pad of his thumb under her eye to wipe the remaining tears away. She resembles you more, he thinks, both reminders of all the good there is in this world. “But you’re alright now. It was just a bad dream, Ellie-bear. None of it was real.”

“Are you sure?” She wearily asks. “The monster looked real, daddy. What if it shows up again when I go to sleep?”

“I’m sure, baby. If you see the monster again, I promise I will be here to protect you. Your mother and I love you so much; we will never, ever let anything bad happen to you, El. Okay?”

Ellie wordlessly responds with a nod, reaching for John’s calloused hand then clutching it tightly with her softer one. “Daddy, do you get nightmares, too?”

“Sometimes,” he reveals, rubbing circles on the back of her hand. It still amazes John how much she’s grown over the last several years. He recalls how small her hands were when she was a mere few days old and how much love he had at the time for such a tiny precious thing.

A profound love that has since multiplied immensely even to this day.

“What happens when you wake up?” 

John pauses to ponder as Ellie’s curious chocolate eyes stare at him. They mirror his own in a way, and he smiles the slightest bit, his free hand moving to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, mommy usually talks to me for a bit, just like what we’re doing right now. She reminds me each time that nightmares aren’t real and we shouldn’t be scared of them.”

“You get scared of nightmares?” 

“I do,” he truthfully states. “But you don’t have to worry. All that matters is that you’re safe now.”

Gaze faltering, John could tell that she’s not wholly convinced by the pout on her lips as she fiddles with the shiny silver band on his ring finger. His eyes briefly dart to the stuffed animal that must have fallen when Ellie jumped out of bed and scampered to the closet. Leaning down, John retrieves the toy bear, softly smiling to himself at a passing memory.

“You know, I got Mr. Teddy right after mommy told me she was pregnant with you.” 

He remembers that moment as clear as day. The two of you have long desired for a family, and following a hard year of trying, you had surprised John on his birthday. He would never forget the indescribable feeling he had when you told him he was going to be a father. 

That night, you and John had gone on a lovely walk under the stars, imagining what the near future would look like. The bear caught his attention as you passed by a children’s store, and unable to contain his utter excitement, he had purchased it for the baby to play with one day.

“I always sleep with Mr. Teddy by my side,” Ellie notes as John places the bear in her arms. It was beginning to wear out after all these years, the brown faux fur fading into a dullish color. She could have any toy she wants, but her teddy bear would forever remain. Ellie could never part with it, and it means greatly to her as much as it does to John.

“You love Mr. Teddy, don’t you?” She nods, yes. “Well, from now on, Mr. Teddy will make sure that the monster never comes back. At night, when your mother and I are sleeping in the other room, Mr. Teddy will be our eyes and ears. Even if you don’t see us, he’ll be here to keep you safe.”

The corner of Ellie’s mouth turned up in a small smile, yet it was sweet enough to reassure John. He watches his little girl bring the bear up to her lips, giving the top of its head a brief kiss before holding it out towards him. John furrows his brow in confusion as she pushes Mr. Teddy into his hand. “What’s this?”

“You said you have nightmares,” Ellie replies, her voice soft like the plush in his grasp. “Since mommy’s at work, you can bring Mr. Teddy to your room. I know you’ll always protect me, but who’s going to protect you?”

John is caught off-guard by her simple query. Ellie was incredibly bright for her age, ever so inquisitive at most times. He spends four to five seconds contemplating, but in the end, he’s unsure of what to say. It truly warms his heart knowing that she was concerned about him and was willing to give up her favorite toy that she sleeps with every night. “It’s alright, honey. You need Mr. Teddy more than I do. I’ll be fine.”

“But what if you get a bad dream later?”

“I’ll be okay,” he affirms with a tender smile. “Nightmares aren’t real, but you are. Knowing that you’re here safe and sound is all I need to remind myself not to be afraid.”

For a while, John mulls over his words, absorbing the same truth he had tried to persuade Ellie to believe in. Days, weeks, months, and years have gone by since he quit doing business in the underground world, and so far, no threat has ever come to his family. His worried mind drove this trepidation he had, and to overcome it, he needed to listen to his own advice.

Nightmares aren’t real.

But you and Ellie are.

“Daddy, can you sleep here tonight?” 

Ellie looks up at him with her adorable pair of doe eyes, and John was powerless to them. He couldn’t turn down her request; he could never say “no” to his one and only princess. “Of course. Can you scoot over for me?”

Doing so, she gives him just enough room to lay down beside her. Though the bed was too small and cramped for John’s larger self, he couldn’t care less. Once he’s settled, Ellie snuggles up against him while she holds Mr. Teddy close to her heart, letting out a yawn as exhaustion sets in.

“I love you, daddy,” she mumbles sleepily, ready for blissful dreams to follow.

“I love you too, Ellie,” John returns, exhaling a content sigh. 

Soon after, Ellie’s fast asleep, her small body relaxed, and her rhythmic breathing slowing John’s. His arms cuddle her in, cocooning her as if he’s shielding her away from any and all danger. Within moments, his consciousness begins to ebb, this time unafraid of what was to come.

---

Dawn breaks.

The skies are bright and blue.

In glorious light, John’s eyes slowly flutter open, and he is greeted by the morning sunrise. It’s still quite early, he concludes, and he decides to stay in bed for now so that he doesn’t disturb Ellie. But before he could doze off again, he hears the squeaky creak of the floorboard coming from outside. 

“Hey,” you say quietly once John notices you standing in the doorway. “I was wondering where you were.”

John beams as you tiptoe inside the room, careful not to wake your daughter. Smiling, you bend down to kiss him on the lips. “How did your shift go?”

“It was a slow night in the ER, but I’m glad to be home,” you answer, brushing John’s lengthy locks away from his face. “What happened last night?”

“Ellie had a nightmare,” he states, keeping his volume very low. “I couldn’t let her sleep alone afterwards.”

At the mention of her name, Ellie stirs awake, nose crinkling as her fists rise to rub at her tired eyes. Once adjusted to the brightness of the room, her attention falls on you, and her rosy lips promptly quirked into a gentle smile. “Mommy, you’re home!”

“I am, baby,” you cooed as you shifted to kiss her forehead. “You can go back to bed, Ellie. I just wanted to check up on you two before I sleep for a bit.”

“Mommy, can you sleep here, too?”

You glance at your husband, who only gives you a pleading look similar to Ellie’s, and quickly, you concede defeat. 

Just like John, it was impossible for you to deny her of such. 

With a nod, your feet pads to the other side, peeling back the covers as he and Ellie move to allow you enough space to join. Crawling into bed, you rest on your side while John reaches for your hand, the three of you now laying in comfortable silence.

John waits until you and Ellie drift off to sleep, his heart soaring when he realizes he’s surrounded by the loves of his life. 

And as the sun continues to rise above the horizon once again, vibrant hues of yellow and gold shining down on the earth below, John falls back to a deep, deep slumber; memories of his nightmares now long forgotten, replaced by treasured moments like this. 

Permanent Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein @unaspiringwritings @planetkt @breakthenight​ @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Title: Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The sun feels warm despite the light breeze rustling the leaves as you tilt your head up, propping it against the back of the bench and close your eyes. You can pick up the sounds of children playing nearby, the distant noise of the road half a mile away, and the movement of the trees as you bask in the moment of peace.

When you finally sit up straight once more, you can see Aaron and Jack still standing at the side of the lake, feeding the ducks. You'd taken it in turns, staying with him as he went through the two loaves of bread. You wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find ducks sitting in your front lawn, having followed your far too generous son home.

From beside you, you hear a low rumbling laugh as Jack chases after some of the more aloof birds, trying to get them to partake in his offering as well. Smiling easily, you look up and meet John's eye briefly before you both return to watching Jack terrorize one of the swans in his insistence on feeding it. Must be on a low carb diet.

Satisfied that he was still occupied and Aaron didn't seem to need to tap either of you in, you turn back to your bench companion, fixing him with a pointed look.

He rolls his eyes good naturedly at you, before slumping back and wordlessly giving you permission to ask what you'd been dying to know ever since he'd arrived earlier that morning.

"So, how's it going with Denise?" You draw out the girl's name, a teasing smile on your face. You know that whatever happened must be good. When you'd asked him that, first thing at his arrival, only to be interrupted by Jack's excited voice at his Uncle's arrival, John had merely muttered that he'd tell you later. If he didn't want Jack overhearing, it had to be good.

John shifts, turning and leaning his side against the back of the bench so that he can face you better, leg bent up onto the seat. At the look of bated glee on your face, he shakes his head, quickly dissuading you of any positive sentiments regarding what he was about to reveal.

"I ended it," he admits with a sigh, watching your face crumple in disappointment.

"Why, what happened?" you prod, clearly displeased. You'd thought things with him and Denise were going well. They'd been on three dates already and based on what John had told you and Aaron last time, she was promising. Far more promising than Heather from two months ago. He'd brought that one along to Emily's birthday party that you'd hosted at your new place, and from the moment she'd opened her mouth and made a comment about how Instagrammable your foyer was, it had been downhill.

John's face morphs into a rueful sort of smile. "Honestly? She was a little too freaky for me."

You let his words sink in, the incredulous pull of your eyebrows betraying exactly how ridiculous you found his statement.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He knows how that sounds to you, especially coming from him. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing around once more to make sure that Jack isn't about to walk in on anything he shouldn't overhear. "Let's just say we weren't compatible?"

You scoff, but let him get away with just that. Maybe later, after dinner and drinks, he'd be more forthcoming around the details. Though what this girl could've possibly done that was too freaky was beyond you. John wasn't exactly a prude.

"Well, we'll just have to keep trying. Maeve has a few friends that work with her at the lab. I can ask her to see if any of them are single. Cece might know some people she'd be willing to hook you up with – none of her friends, of course. Or, maybe we try online dating? Though it's an abhorrent cesspool of the worst society has to offer, but who knows, maybe someone will emerge as a good candidate."

John smiles at your hopeful tone, allowing you to continue chatting about the various ways he could go about snagging a girlfriend. He knows a large part of your insistence on finding someone for him stems from guilt. He and Aaron had talked about it, with your persistence in finding him a girl growing in magnitude and intensity the closer it got to your impending nuptials. It was as though you were scared that him seeing you marry someone, without having someone by his side, would tear him apart. He's been stalling having that conversation with you. He's not about to crumble at the sight of you marrying someone that isn't him. Hell, even Cece wasn't worried about him anymore. The last time he'd seen her and her kids for brunch, she'd actually given him her own bill of health to attend your wedding. Aaron was right – he had to talk to you about it soon.

" – and well of course we'd get Pen to run a background check because who knows with the internet really. Should try to avoid the catfishers or the crazy serial killers with a vendetta against beautiful blond men – "

Your tirade is interrupted by someone calling your name, causing both you and John to start, breaking away from your conversation to look in the direction the voice had come from.

"Cedric!" Your face turns up at the sight of the man making his way towards the two of you, bearing a smile that could light up any room. John's eyebrows rise, recognizing the name from a few weekends back when he'd been over.

You pointedly ignore his expression as the both you stand to greet Cedric as he approaches, looking wonderfully windswept in jogging clothes. Of course he jogs on a Saturday morning.

The only reason John even knew about Cedric was because he'd been around for the Great Champagne Debacle of 2012. After yet another delivered case of Dom Pérignon, Aaron had had an entirely uncharacteristic breakdown, insisting that you communicate with Cedric Kensington and inform him that you were very much taken and did not need him or his champagne.

"If it's about getting the shipment, I'll get you a monthly shipment," he'd protested in the face of your refusal to go out of your way to call someone you'd briefly dated to inform them that you were taken, thank you very much. You'd told him that it wasn't as if Cedric was placing the order himself. More than likely, he had asked his assistant to do it once and had simply forgotten to tell her to stop once the two of you had ended.

It had been entirely bizarre to see Aaron so worked up over something seemingly small, and you refused to placate whatever insecurity was behind it. Annoyingly, John had been on Aaron's side of it all and the two of them had drank a little too much and added Cedric's name to the mailing list for wedding invitations. Cedric Kensington was a complete class act. The shipment after that was accompanied by balloons and a giant Congratulations sign, much to both of their shame and your complete amusement. It wasn't Cedric's fault that the men in your life were incapable of understanding when someone was kind and giving without expecting a single thing in return.

"It's good to see you again," he greets you with a quick peck to your cheek before turning to the man beside you. "This must be Aaron, congratulations man." He sticks his hand out towards John to shake.

"Thankfully, no," John responds, meeting Cedric's outstretched hand, a smirk on his face as he looks at you to clarify. This was hardly the first time someone had made that particular mistake, especially given that both Jack and John had light hair compared to Aaron's darker locks. You suppose you could see how people made that particular mistake, and the three of you were starting to get a sense of humor about it. Some joke about sister wives had made the rounds one time too many, resulting in you pelting the two of them with pillows with Jack as your second in command.

"Cedric, this is John," you clarify, trying and almost succeeding at hiding your exasperation with him. "He's a friend. But Aaron is actually –" You break off to look around, spotting him and Jack a little further away from where they'd been the last time. You'd really like for your husband-to-be, to meet the man whose champagne him and his new best friend had gotten drunk off of. The story of how John had earned that title had resulted in more than one person upset with Aaron. Namely, you, who had to corral the two of them back home – a feat that was remarkable and which you did not get nearly enough credit for accomplishing on your own – and David Rossi, who until that moment had considered himself to be Aaron's best friend and had not taken kindly to being dethroned. Aaron was still making it up to Dave.

"I'll send him over," John says, nodding at Cedric before walking towards the lake to trade spots with Aaron. Jack still had some bread left to go.

"How're you?" you ask, turning back to Cedric. Of all the men you'd dated between John and Aaron, he was hands down the favorite.

Cedric fills you in on how the business was doing and in turn you were able to share an abridged version of how you were doing as well, as the two of you waited for Aaron to make his way over.

"With the consolidation, I think I'm going to be in DC a lot more," he shares, unknowingly planting a seed in your head.

Right then, you feel Aaron walking up behind you, and turning, in the distance you can make out John chasing after Jack as he races to feed that one difficult swan.

"You must be Aaron," Cedric stands straighter and meets Aaron's eyes, reaching a hand out towards him. "Congratulations, you're a lucky man."

Aaron smiles at that. "Oh, I know."

You watch as the two of them smile and shake hands, exchanging pleasantries. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't have been able to tell that your fiancé had been incredibly bothered by this man only a few weeks back. You can only imagine what John had said to him when he'd gone over to send him your way.

"Hope we'll be seeing you at the wedding," Aaron remarks, an arm winding around your waist.

Cedric smiles and nods. "It's already on my calendar."

"Good!" you exclaim. "There's someone I want you to meet."

He chuckles and agrees, no doubt knowing you're about to set him up with someone.

As Cedric takes his leave, Aaron turns to you slightly bashful, his eyes finding yours with the hint of an apology in them. "He seems like a nice guy."

Your elbow meets the soft part of his stomach as you duck out from his hold. "He is a nice guy. Honestly," you huff, shaking your head. "You and John need to cool it."

"Hey, I'm not the one who added his name to the list," Aaron protests, unwittingly bringing up an argument that was only freshly buried. He hurries to catch up with you as you make your way towards the lake.

"Yeah, but you didn't exactly stop the guy who did, now did you?" You try to keep your face severe in an attempt to get him to grovel just a little bit more, but your amusement at the entire turn of events ends up betraying you.

With a soft laugh and a shrug in apology, he moves his hand down to hold yours as the two of you continue to walk towards where Jack has now managed to talk John into carrying him around atop his shoulders so he can feed (terrorize) the birds attempting to fly past.

"You want him to meet Garcia?" he guesses, brow quirking up in some interest.

You nod. Elliot Greenberg and Penelope had broken up a few months back, citing irreconcilable differences on both their parts and they'd both been rather hush hush about the matter. You figure setting her up with Cedric – well renowned tech tycoon – might help cheer her up. Plus, he was obviously looking to settle down. Who knows, it could work out.

As you approach, both Jack and John turn towards the two of you.

"Mom! Uncle John said we can go to the Zoo tomorrow. Can we?" Jack's cherubic cheeks and hopeful smile look down at you from atop John's shoulders, eyes pleading with you to take him to the Zoo once more so he could sit in front of the giraffe habitat for an hour.

No matter how long it's been since he started calling you Mom, it still tugs at your heartstrings. However, that didn't mean you were about to take that kid to the Zoo for the third time in as many months.

You raise a disapproving eyebrow at John, as Aaron goes to help Jack off of his shoulders. "Sorry buddy, Mom and I have an appointment with the wedding planner tomorrow," Aaron tells him, setting Jack down with an exaggerated groan. "But, you know, I bet Uncle John would love to take you on his own."

You meet Aaron's eyes with a matching smirk, knowing he had no intention of going to the Zoo tomorrow either. If the two of you could wrangle John into free babysitting for the day, then all the better. You were sure the two of you could manage to find some way to occupy yourselves.

Jack's hopeful gaze turns up to John who rolls his eyes at both you and Aaron before telling Jack that Of course he'd take him to the Zoo.

The four of you walk back towards the parking lot, John and Jack racing up ahead while you and Aaron bring up the rear hand in hand. On the drive back, Jack manages to convince you to stop and pick up ice cream and a DVD for the night. Sometime during the latter half of the movie, nestled against Aaron's chest, your eye wanders over to Jack and John on the other couch. Jack's splayed out all across John's space, feet wedged in underneath John's thigh. You can tell he's about seconds from passing out and you weren't too far behind. Your eyes meet John's, sinking into a quick, easy smile before he turns his attention back towards the screen. You end up staring a moment longer, taking in the sight of him and Jack being close in a manner you wouldn't have thought possible even six months ago.

From behind you, Aaron shifts, adjusting you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. You look up to see his deep brown eyes tracing your features, having long forgotten the movie on the screen. It's like he knows exactly what you'd been thinking, his eyes flickering momentarily to the other couch before returning to yours, a peaceful smile gracing his face. With a quick squeeze to his arm, you shuffle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Home Sweet Home: 112 Ocean Ave

Summary- 2.6k Andy Barber x You. You and Andy almost have it all, married and with a jointed family consisting of Andy’s teenage son Jacob, as well as your two younger children John and Cassidy. Looking to add another member, your family is in need of a bigger house, a forever home. You find just the place, 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville Long Island.   Home Sweet Home

Written for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ Spooky Scary Stories challenge. Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- swears, implied smut, mentions of murders. 

A/N- I chose Amityville Horror for the challenge because its one of my favorite Spook Stories growing up. When reading you will find a lot of similarities to the 2005 Movie, some of the scenarios and dialogue are specifically from that film. Other parts of it are from the book itself. The family name was changed for my own personal reasons. Happy Haunting!  🎃

Masterlist

You scrolled through your phone, double checking the address. “Andy it should be up the next couple streets. Lakeside.” You couldn't hold back the excitement in your tone, and Andy hit the blinker to turn down Ocean Avenue. 

“Babe, don't get too excited.” Andy tried to talk reason with you, his fingers thrumming on the steering wheel. “If it's too good to be true, it probably is.” 

You shifted over as much as you could, the Audi middle armrest keeping you from curling up into his side, but you could rest your head on his bicep. “Come on Andy, this might just be what we've been looking for. Good school district, excellent location, nice neighborhood, enough room for all three of the kids.” 

Andy tilted his head a bit to look down at you, his eyes softening around the edges as he finally smiled, you were so excited for this that it was hard not to match your enthusiasm. His hand released the steering column to take your hand, weaving his fingers through your hand, he let your hands rest against his lap. “You know Y/N, if this place is as big as what the pictures show, we could finally try for our own baby.” 

Wiggling your brows, you nuzzled his arm before sitting up. “I know Andy, why else do you think I want this place. Five bedrooms. It's perfect. Jacob can have a room to come home to when he comes and stays with us when he's not with Laurie. Cassidy and John each have their own bedrooms, and future little Barber Bean will have a cute nursery.” Your voice wandered as your gaze turned towards the window, watching beautiful homes pass you two by. Homes you never would have dreamed possible, million dollar homes on a lake. When you got the ping on your phone for 112 Ocean Avenue being lowered in price, you dreamed about the possibility of it. Then it lowered again, and you started to get hopeful. Then this last price drop, taking off another $30,000 dollar, you squealed in bed. Effectively waking Andy with a jolt, startling him. 

Now here you were, going to look at what will be your dream home, the perfect home. The forever home for you and Andy. Andy would probably scoff at you just knowing this, since he didn't believe in fate. But you did, fate after all was how you met the DA in a bar when you both needed each other in a dark time, and had fallen in love. So fate now was leading you here, to your and Andy’s new start in life. It could be a dream come true. You had enough belief for both of you.  

Suddenly a big white house filled your vision, and you glanced at the address on the GPS. “Andy, there it is! Look at it.” You said excitedly, and Andy slowed the car, pulling to the curb to lean a bit into the passenger side, looking out your window to gaze at the house, giving a small whistle. 

“Okay Sweetheart, I agree. This place looks nice. Too nice, are you sure that price is right?” 

“Yes, I double checked with the realtor when I called them last week. It's really the right price.” 

Andy straightened in his seat, and turned into the long driveway. “That true Honey, this is the deal of a lifetime.” 

You grinned excitedly, just about bouncing in your seat. Andy’s hand reached over, sliding his hand along your thigh before taking your hand, weaving his fingers with yours and giving a gentle squeeze. You knew that he was also excited now. 

When Andy pulled up to the house, the realtor waited for them on the front steps, clutching her phone to her chest and gave a smile. The kind a dealer who's looking to make a fast sale gives. “Welcome, I had hoped you all would be able to find the place easily. Magnificent isn't it? Built around 1910, the foundation is original, but all updated while keeping its original charm. Shall we go inside?” She dangled the keys and you with wide eyed enthusiasm nodded. Andy draped his arm over your shoulder, nodding in agreement. 

The realtor showed them right inside, bustling them inside as she shut the door. “As you see, lots of beautiful lighting, the kitchen has been all updated. The marble counter tops were just installed not even two years ago.” She clasped her hands together and kept a smile plastered on her face while you and Andy wandered into the entrance of the house, looking around. Andy’s head tilted back while looking for any kind of possible damage while you took a step or two on the stairs, and leaned against the banister. “What are you thinking Andy?” you wiggle your nose at him, and he glances at you, you can see him hiding a smile, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, humming lightly while looking around once more before answering. “The entrance way looks nice, spacious. But I want to look over the rest of the house.” 

“Of course, if you come this way to the sitting room. Perfect for get togethers, children's sleepovers, family game nights. Do you… two have any children?” she flashed a toothy grin, and you wandered away from Andy a moment while he addressed the realtor. “Yes, Y/N has two smaller children, and I have a teenage son.” 

“How nice! Then this really would be perfect for living a family life.” she continued on while Andy followed her in, you waited a moment, then stepped away yourself, going the opposite way. You could still hear the realtor's voice, but you paid no heed. You already knew that this was home. You already could see yourself with a new baby on your hip, redecorating room by room. Andy would be able to set up a home office to work from. You might even be able to write that book you wanted. The kids would settle in, Jacob could come home on weekends from college, holidays the whole family could get together and everything you were picturing was the dream. 

Your dream and you hoped Andy's dream as well. 

Your fingers slid along the cool marble counters once you reached the kitchen, and looked around at the new appliances installed. You grasped the large kitchen sink, and peeked out the back window to see the lake view, catching your breath. Large old maple trees adorned the lake edge, and there was a boat house at the end of the deck. Could this place get any better? 

“Y/N?” you heard Andy coming up from behind you, the click of heels against the floor told you the realtor was right on your husbands tail when he entered the kitchen. Looking around, he gave a low whistle of approval. “Nice.” 

You spun and couldn't hide the grin. “Isn't it? Andy…” You gave a soft whine, and he hugged around you, shushing you in your ear a moment before turning towards the realtor. 

“Basement? I plan on converting it into a temporary office for now until we're settled.” Andy asked and the realtor turned around and opened a door, flicking on a light. 

“Go on ahead and look around.” She looked down the dark stairs and took a cautious step back, her voice wavering slightly. “I’m- uh- gonna just stay up here.” 

Andy walked past her, and you followed him, the both of you going down the stairs. Once you both got to the bottom, Andy looked around all the corners. It seemed dry, clean, and had all the usual things that made up a basement. “Yup, it’s a basement.” 

You leaned onto him a moment and chuckled. “You sound so excited Mr.Barber.” 

Up above them, the realtor said in her overly cheerful voice. “So what do you two think?” 

Andy arched a teasing brow and looked you up and down. “I think you look foxy in that skirt.” 

“Andy!” you hissed as you pushed lightly against his chest and started back up the stairs. He was right behind you and his hand slapped against your backside teasing before you two came back out in the kitchen. 

The rest of the tour went decent, the upstairs had more than enough bedrooms for everyone, closet space, the works. Even now Andy was getting a bit more on board with the prospect of buying this house, and you were sure he was going to give in. Your tour ended back in the main foyer, and Andy excused you two to talk a moment. He pulled you into the living room, sure to give you two enough space not to be overheard. 

“You really want this house Y/N?” his hands reached for yours and weaved your fingers together. “It will mean some sacrifices, because it's still on the high end of our price range, but we can do it.” He assured you, and you shuffled a foot back and forth while thinking about it. 

“I want to, Andy, I feel like this is the right place for us. It has everything we wanted and then some. I can see us being happy here.” 

That was all it took, Andy gave a smile and nodded in agreement, and you couldn't help the excited yelp, jumping into his arms, hugging around his neck and legs around his slender waist. The realtor with a look of panic came running around the corner of the entrance and put her hand to her chest in relief. 

“Were all happy then?” 

You grinned happily as you slid back to the floor, and Andy wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “I think we're ready to put an offer on it.” 

“Well, let me call my office and see about drawing up some papers.” She seemed to be relieved, and once you all were ushered outside, she closed the door firmly. Andy walked down the path a short ways, and turned around to look up at the expansive house, his hand rubbing at his beard in a thoughtful way. The largest purchase he’s made so far, but something was still bugging him about it. 

“Okay, what’s the catch with this place? I looked up what other listings go for in this area. None of them are nearly in such a nice location, or this size, and they are twice the price of this house.” When the realtor hesitated, Andy cleared his throat. “By law you're required to tell us if anything has happened here we should be aware of.” You suddenly could feel your heart sinking a bit at the realtors' crestfallen face. 

“Okay… There was a tragedy- a family was murdered here.” You gasped and the realtor continued. “But that was a long time ago, everyone in the town has moved on. Plus it's a house, a beautiful house just made to have a family in it and become a home. Why let one bad time ruin your decision? You will not find a nicer home in the area, that I can guarantee.” 

Andy took a deep breath and looked up at the house again, and you tugged lightly on his jacket. “Can we still? would it be too weird to live in a house where a family was murdered?” 

“Baby, it's not the house's fault. House’s don't kill people, people kill people. Trust me, I've worked enough cases to know.” Andy glanced down at you. “Would you be able to be okay with it?”  

You let it sink in, and you never had to find out the details honestly. You didn't want to know, you just couldn't let your dreams slip away by something that happened in the past. 

“Let's do it Andy, we can make a better story for this house. Our story.”

Later that night, you and Andy have just told the kids that they were indeed buying a house, and showed them pictures of it. After the two smaller ones were in bed, you and Andy were curled up on the couch, watching a tv show. Jacob was nearby on his phone, looking at the pictures he asked you to send him earlier. 

“This house is huge, way bigger than this one or the one Mom has.” Jacob happened to remark, and Andy nodded. 

“It really is Jake, and it's by the college you want to attend. Y/N and I were talking about it on the way home, and if you just wanted to stay with us rather than live on campus, you would save lots of money.” You nodded in agreement while Andy continued. “No rent, you just gotta help around the house a bit.” 

Jacob looked thoughtful at the offer you and his father was making, and he finally nodded. “That actually would be great guys, thanks. At least the first year.” He went back to his phone, and you hid a grin against Andy’s arm, both of you pleased that he was so eager to take up the offer. He might not be your son, but you cared for him just as much as either of your children. 

Jacob soon yawned and stretched. “Catch y'all in the morning.” 

Andy gave a nod and you yawned sleepily as well, but opted to stay right where you were. “Night Jakey.” You said, and he gave a wave as he headed up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with your son. 

It was quiet for a while before Andy kissed the top of your head, and you looked up at him. “Excited Baby?” 

You bit your lip and shifted to sit up more, pushing him back against the couch, and lifting your leg over his to straddle him while cupping his face. “Want me to show you just how excited I am Handsome?” your brows wriggled and his hands gripped your hips gently and tilted his head. 

“Think we're not going to get caught?” Andy said in a hushed voice and you tilted to look up the stairs, noticing all the lights were off. 

“We’re safe.” You giggled and covered your lips with his, brushing up against him with a soft moan. 

You were more than happy to show him just how excited you were. 

Later that night, when everyone was sound asleep, Andy eased out of bed, sure to make sure you were covered. Making his way down to the kitchen, he grabbed his laptop and started it up while moving to sit down. Quickly he pulled up google, and typed in the new house's address. Whatever happened wouldn't change his mind. But Andy liked to know what exactly he was moving his family into. 

What pulled up was horrific. Pulling up crime scene photos of the family who lived in 112 Ocean Ave years ago, he wasn't shocked to see splatters of blood across the master bedroom that would soon be yours, or the torn apart children's beds with holes blown through the mattresses. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen this kind of evil in the world with his work. Rubbing his hand against his chin in thought, his eyes scanned through the article. What he wasn't expecting was the oldest Deffor son, 24 named Ronnie was the killer.  

He had gone through with a rifle at 3:30 in the morning, starting with his parents and then moving onto his siblings. “Oh god.” Andy muttered as he read the details logged, the man claimed he was told to by a demon. Pushing back from his seat, just staring at the picture of Ronnie being taken out by the police, Andy couldn't look away from his eyes, bloodshot and wild. They bothered Andy to look at, imagining how terrified the children must have been to see their brother staring at them like that, from the end of a rifle. Reaching over to close the laptop, and cut off the pictures, he sighed. 

People kill people, the house is perfectly fine. Telling himself this, he put away his laptop and went back upstairs to join you again. You muttered in your sleep and eased back into his arms. 

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tis the Damn Season

Chapter 6- Last Christmas

Hi all! Sorry she took forever- I edited all by myself, so be gentle!

Plans change. Tickets do too, it seems. Harry's beautiful hope, his gift, it came in handy.

Not in the right way, the intended way. Not because she came to him, ran around the world or even an unfamiliar city with him. Those were dreamy ideas, when she wound up spending all of fall semester in Holmes Chapel. Those daydreams shaded the hospital walls and funeral home with sunny possibilities.

Her father had a heart attack and her mother a breakdown. It was too late, when her mother noticed he'd been out with the dog for too long and the dog was inside whining.

"I knew, in my gut. Day dawned wrong. And then never ended." She'd cried. Her mother had cried in her arms in a reversal Emma felt was way beyond her maturity level.

That hadnt been over the phone. Over the phone had only been muffled sobbing and her dad's name, "John."

Emma didn't call him John, but she could forgive her mother. It was up to her mother's good friend Di to share the news: Emma had always looked up to Di, she'd had some tragic marriage in her youth, and then decided god damned men weren't for her.

At the moment, Emma was of a similar mind.

Emma assumed she'd have a similar life to Di, had planned for it actually. Di had her own house, a thriving career as a solicitor and no children. A life like that, of her own, was Emma's dearest wish before she wished to be able to say yes to Harry.

Now she just wished her dad was still around.

There were so many plans to make, a funeral to finance and a mother to support, to put back together.

It's a wonder Emma wasn't an outright romantic, the way her parents had been, lifelong sweethearts. They still had moon eyes for each other until the very end, could be found holding hands on the couch often. Emma had come home unexpectedly early last year and found her mother sitting on the kitchen counter with her father between her legs making out like teenagers.

It was a lot to live up to.

Emma supposed it was why she kept all her heart eyes and love life in the closet and saved it all up to spend once a year. Just like an old lady's Christmas budget.

This year, she didn't think it would be happening. Harry must have had some rich person thing going on with the ticket, because the minute she decided that rather than ask her mom to buy her a ticket to get home, for the funeral, instead use the one she  had from Harry, he'd called. There was clear excitement in his voice, hot on the heels of her phone call to the airlines. It was August. He was set to embark soon, she'd just got back to Amsterdam. He must have thought she was gonna sneak in a cheeky visit.

"You're coming?"

"What?" She was so disoriented. Coming where? What was going on? Her brain was muffled with plans her feelings kept stumbling over at the knees like a trip wire.

"To see me? I got a notification you used the ticket?"

Her brain was muddled, like an egg in a hot pan, what? How did he do that? "No, Harry, umm I'm not coming. I don't even know where you are right now." She barely knew where she was.

"Whose fault is that?" There was a tiny edge to his voice that would cut her if she could even notice. "You could have answered my calls."

"Harry," she sighed, she had been avoiding him a bit. Mostly because she had an evergreen memory of his disappointed face when she told him going on tour was too much, that she simply didn't have the time. She was glad she couldn't see his face when she said the next bit. His voice was buoyant with hope, she was about to pop that balloon. "I need the ticket to go somewhere else." She couldn't bear to say it, was biting her lip hard not to think it, the liquid memory brimming anyway.

"Yeah, ok. Well, Happy Christmas I guess. See you in four months, maybe." The bitterness in his voice was like an old lemon and she didn't even have time to sweeten it with truth when his phone clicked off.

That made her resentful. How could this truth be sweet in any way? It got worse over time, the resentment just nestled among her other griefs.

Then he wouldn't answer her calls. She supposed that was giving her a taste of her own medicine and it was a quick wash down her throat with no water after the other jagged pill life had just forced down her throat.

And it didn't get better. Though, she had to scoff at herself for even having a square of heart for Harry to break leftover.

Break it did though, when she heard he had a new girlfriend, a blonde, a model, a French blonde model.

Of course.

Emma couldn't help but stalk her instagram. His was useless, ill used, so when she'd finished a day of running the house she'd been a child in while taking care of her grieving mother, she'd torture herself some more and watch stories where the beautiful blonde played in a pool, or made jokes, or showed the big mirror over her bed.

That one hurt most. She'd never seen Harry's bed, nor he hers. The little devil voice inside her head whisper shouted that he much preferred the one he was in now, with the mirror and the model to the tiny inn room they'd spent all their overnights in.

She didn't hear from him, and she never called to explain herself either. What would she say? My life fell apart and I needed your ticket, but it hurt to much to say it out loud and you were to much of an asshole to let me say it.

Harry wasn't an asshole, not really, he was hurt. Emma was stunned she had that power, though she had admitted to herself there was more between them than mistletoe kisses and holiday fucks.

She'd admitted it was more to her.

He acted like it was more to him, unless this was just a bruised ego. She didn't like to think that. Harry had every reason to have a giant head, figuratively to go with the oversized cranium he actually sported, but he'd never shown it. He was cocky at times, just enough to be sexy. All of that was a veneer over a sweet vulnerability that made everybody want to be around him, protect him, love him.

Did she love him?

No, she didn't think so, but given more time, the potential was there, like a rock at the top of a hill, all it would take was a push.

Which, time on tour with him would have been. If she could have went. Which she couldn't. She wanted to explain all of this to him as soon as she has the chance- which she would in 6 hours.

Her promises to herself were that she would not cry and that she would accept his new relationship. His real relationship. Emma would not try to touch him, or kiss him, or confess her almost love to him.

He was probably in love himself, from her internet stalks, she was halfway there, with both of them. Harry edged it out by being perfect in person. Camille, that was frenchies name, could only be half as perfect as Emma made her in her head.

"Do I wear the sweater?" She asked her reflection. She'd had to become her best friend the last six months. Emma might have called her mom her best friend, just based on time spent together, if their relationship was reciprocal, but at this turn of the road, she was supporting her mom as she grieved and got back to herself. Emma could see glimmers. She had hope.

She however wasn't sure she had hope for herself. Was she really contemplating wearing the sweater Harry gave her last Christmas to his mother's Christmas party? How pathetic was that? She was rolling her eyes at herself. He'd had a big year, and he bought lots of gifts, probably for his new girl, so her thinking he'd remember felt narcissistic.

Plus, it was her favorite, which mostly had nothing to do with the fact it was from Harry.

Emma really didn't want to go, but Gemma was expecting her. And she really needed to see her, have her support. They'd been texting, a lot. Gemma had heard about her dad and reached out. It was the only emotionally connection Emma really had, those texts, and she needed to see Gemma, honestly. Even if it meant seeing Harry.

She might have wanted to see Harry.

To explain, and maybe just to see him. Make sure he was happy, feel his warmth, steal him back.

No, that was unlikely. See if he was happy and wish him well.

She wore the sweater.

The house was cozy when she arrived, like it always was and it thawed her heart enough for it to ache a bit. For something new. Her heart ached a fair bit off and on, then went numb. It was the only way she'd survived lately. Emma knew she was putting off really feeling her major loss.

It was a strange pleasure to mourn something as minor as heartbreak.

The hug from Gemma made the trip through the snow and down memory lane worth it. And the people all around her and their laughter were invigorating.

The alcohol helped as well. Their house was pretty dry but had been especially when she started to notice her mom was unconsciously developing a bottle a day habit. When it wasn't there she didn't mention it though, so Emma didn't buy it, except for special occasions.

She was merry, and felt held. Her hand was in Gemma's. She'd stayed away from the back bathroom and the kitchen, even come in the front door.

Emma felt like she was getting away with it.

Harry wasn't there, with girlfriend in tow or not. So all her pontificating about checking on him was all for naught, and she was getting all the crosses. She certainly felt like today was a plus.

Until she heard a tone of elation issue from Anne's happy voice that only motherly joy could produce.

Harry was here.

"Fuck!" Came out of her mouth, and Gemma looked at her sharply.

"What?"

"Nothing, guess I'm jumpy, your mum's shout made me spill." Emma thought she shouted an excuse me while she hurried up the stairs to hide, find a place farthest away from Harry and his happiness. He might be alone, but if he was glowing like a brand, the way he did when they holed up together only slightly dimmed by their parting, now because of it, from some other lover, Emma couldn't stand it.

Plus, she thought she'd heard another name connected to his over her own rated r exclamation.

She was coming out of the bathroom. Emma had suppressed her tears ruthlessly and her bottom lip might bruise from the brutal teeth marks she employed. She'd have given herself some words in the mirror, affirmations helped, but what was she gonna say. "You're happy for him."

She wasn't. She was happy with him.

"Fuck this." Emma decided the only course of action was a straight line to her parents house. her mother's house, she mentally corrected and gave herself a more legitimate reason to cry than over a boy. Even if that boy was Harry Styles.

Who she barely stopped herself from running into as she kept her head down and rounded the bannister to head down the stairs.

"Jesus! You gave me a fright!" She dramatized and kept a hand over her heart and her tear stained face down.

"Emma." His voice was flat, and not cold, but the warmth that snuggled around her name was absent and she shivered. "I wondered if you'd be here." Not Hoped, she noted. "What are you doing up here? Don't your usually use the back bathroom?" There was just a bit of heat in that statement, but it didn't warm, it burned. Was he being mean, that wasn't like him? "Nice sweater." Ok, definitely mean.

Her face came up with that thought, it shocked her out of the sense of control she was exercising.

He did look hard, mean, for a moment, but soft around the edges like a melting popsicle when he caught her face.

"Are you crying?" His hand came up and he stopped it mid air before it wiped away her tear.

Emma felt her body lean into him and another tear slipped out when his warm palm and always chilly finger tips touched her cheek.

God she'd missed him! While she was bolstering her mother, she'd needed support. He was supportive, or would have been. But he wasn't taking her calls, and she couldn't bring herself to text, "my dad died". Then, it was such old news, she figured he'd have heard from Gemma.

He took his hand away like she was a hot cooktop.

He pushed his hair back off his forehead with the hand probably damp with her tears and bravely changed the subject. "How long you in town for this time? Jetting off to some climate refuge hotspot soon?"

Emma flinched. Oh- he didn't know.

"Un, no, I'm living here." She didn't elaborate, maybe saying it out loud was as hard as texting it. "I was actually just about to head home to check on my mum. The back bathroom was in use, and the cold makes me need to pee." What the fuck was she talking about, he didn't need that information.

His dimple pressed in just a bit and he went to say something, but Emma just couldn't. She couldn't look at him anymore, or tell him about why she lived there, or about the ticket he seemed to have been hurt enough to move on over. She definitely didn't want to see evidence of his movement, especially not his upgrade. "Anyway, nice to see you," the words shot out of her mouth, impresonal and true. "Bye Harry."

"Wait Emma!" She thought she heard, but she just kept going. She'd tell Gemma she was sick.

She nearly was when she saw Harry's girlfriend hugging her closest friend in the living room.

"Oh god."

Luckily, when she got home, her mum was awake and feeling chatty, not blue. Emma focused on her and the special she was watching. Let the warm sound of her mother's once common laughter wrap around her as a blanket. It was more comforting than a cup of tea.

She waited until later to cry herself to sleep.

The next day was Christmas- the first without her father. She dried her rightful tears before she saw her mom, though she would have had all the standing in the world for them and she felt better about them than those she's shed the night before. She knew though that her wet face would cause a cascade event, the first drop in a waterfall, so she dried them up.

They had traditions to get through.

And get through they did. They each wrapped a gift for her father that they left under the tree and held each other right before tucking into a late brunch and preparing a boozy and sweet laden Christmas dinner, Emma contributed the puddings.

They were very much her mother's favorite, and she broke out a scandi recipe she'd enjoyed the last several years.

She Skyped her university friends, they exchanged the small gifts she'd mailed them and them her. She missed them something awful. She missed school horribly, so much she even emailed her advisor. All of her heart hoped to return after the winter break.

Emma thought the feeling of missing something was a bit like a paper cut and losing your keys combined.

Harry called late Christmas Day, just a few minutes shy of Boxing Day. That more than stung, it was a gut punch, or a knife plunge, though she'd never had either.

Emma ignored the call from Harry. What was there to say?

Boxing Day, well, Emma wasn't much of a drinker, but it was basically a tenet of British culture to get obliterated while watching the queen.

For the last several years, Emma had been off her face on Harry. This year she chose savingnon blanc with her mum. Two days, then they'd go back to a dry house. Tradition was tradition, and she couldn't think about the one she'd started and ached all over for.

What a pale imitation of ecstasy drunkenness was, though she supposed they both left a hangover, a residue.

Her bed, when she begged off to it early was warm and fragrant, but it smelled all wrong. No sandalwood or black coffee, not even the mint she'd come to associated with the comfort of love, or something like it.

It was worse, because when she closed her eyes, having seen Harry's someone in person, she could see him snugged up to her, so cozy. It was in their place, their room at the Boat's Head.

It was over, Boxing Day, when she puked.

She had another missed call from Harry. 11:59 Her personal witching hour.

The next day was a little bit better, either because she had her literal hangover to tend, or because she'd ripped the bandaid off her hurt and let the wound air.

"Hiya!" Gemma's voice and face were bright, unlike the gray day.

"Hello." Emma smiled and her voice held it, she held onto it. "You're merry!"

"Yeah, I'm at the pub. Everybody is at the pub," she flashed the phone around so Emma could see the waving swaying people, "we wanted to get you outta the house, you made such an effective Irish exit the other day you've let your people down, we need to see your smile. You feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you." Emma thought about it, there was a pull to the pub. "Um, maybe I can swing over."

It only took a few minutes to throw on jeans and a jumper, not her former favorite. The walk was a little longer.

When she found them, her first comment was "Im not drinking!" Over a grimace.

"Too much wine with old Elizabeth, huh? " Gemma Laughed

"Yes! Did you know my mum has a long pour?" Emma shared with a laugh.

"No, but mine's gotten more heavy on the booze with me lately, they must like the new stages. Daughters as actual friends and drinking partners. Mum is thrilled!" Gemma grinned.  "So am I! Harry's a little jealous."

Emma tried to catch her grimace before it stomped across her face. Gemma kept talking and she thought she'd got away with it.

"He wants to be one of the girl's! He came down last night and mum, Camille and I were sharing wine and mum was showing her atrocious pictures. You'd think he'd be mad or embarrassed! He was like, 'Where's my glass?'" Gemma was staring at her while she chuckled.

Emma had less success not responding. Her face was a picture she was sure, a jealous one. And then she heard herself asking, "what's she like?" She gulped down the g word she almost voiced. "Camille?"

Gemma made a funny face, then looked at her again. "Um, she's silly and kinda quiet and I think she's worried my mom will care she's posed nude."

She wouldn't. That wasn't Anne's style. And if she did have an issue, she'd never voice it. She was really big on respecting her kids choices. Even some of the stupider ones Harry had made.

Was she ranked among those now?

"Why do you ask?" The gentleness in a Gemma's voice told Emma she knew more than she was saying.

Emma couldn't explain, she was still in such a tender state, like a fissured piece of glass, she knew she couldn't go over it. "I just hope Harry's happy."  It was the only true thing she could say.

And Gemma, bless her just looped her arm through Emma's and said like she was holding a cracked egg. "He is." She left it at that, before she stood, pulling Emma after her. "And we need another drink." Apparently Emma was drinking, she needed it.

They spent another couple hours at the pub and Emma walked home through the soft snow. Her nose was stuffy, and her eyes were leaking, and she was drunk. Least she realized she must be, cuz she was crying. She really hated crying.

She was still weeping under her breath when she got home and found Harry on her doorstoop.

"You're still here?" She boggled. She assumed he'd taken his girlfriend to his big London home Emma had never been to, since she wasn't ever his g word.

"Yeah." He rubbed his hands over his corduroy flares. She'd consider what that might mean, but the pants distracted her. Those were new, must be getting fashion influences from new places, mew people. Those pants were roomy for him. He looked good in them. He looked good, happy.

"Did you need something?" Seeing himwas ripping her guts out and she could barely keep more tears at bay. Her insides were dangerously close to the skin now, tender and exposed. She hoped the distance between them and the weather and, well, maybe his rose colored glasses brought on by loving some other girl, he wouldn't notice her crying.

Over him. At the moment.

"No, I, um," he swallowed. "I thought we might talk." He made those green eyes at her and she hated it. Cuz they were soft and for someone else these days.

"I think we've said it all."

"We haven't said anything, not really, in a year."

"Yeah, well actions over words mate." Good, she was angry. She tried to go around him, into her door. Out of the cold and this situation.

"Emma, wait." He caught her shoulders and her blood froze in her veins but her tears were hot on her cheeks. "I'mso sorry about your dad." He choked up too.

She looked at him and let hurt run down her face, didn't even bother trying to stiffen her upper lip. When he opened his arms, she went to him and cried in a way she really hadn't let herself, into the comfort of his scent, the hurt of his presence.

Emma wasn't sure how long she cried, they wound up siting on the cold stone bench when their knocking knees froze.

"S that why you used the ticket?" He whispered against her hair sometime later.

She nodded. Sniffed up her tears and his pain laced smell.

"Why didn't you call me?"

She shrugged.

"I would have understood. And I would have come, to be with you."

Her tears apparently hadn't run out. She knew that, but she was hurt, by his hurt and his expectation.

She looked up at him. Her lips were so close to his, the outer edge that felt so plush and lovely.

That was a Liberty she didn't have. Maybe never a right she had, like him just expecting her to drop her goals to go to him.

"Where's your girlfriend?" She said the word like the four letters it felt like it was to her.

"Um," he stumbled over the subject change . "She was tired."

"You tell her you were coming to see a girl you used to fuck?"

"What?" He looked at her with a frown and Emma supposed she was being mean, mean but honest. "Don't say it like that. That's not what we were about."

Emma quirked a brow at him. "No?"

"Listen, why are you being like this?" He swallowed and looked like the wronged party when he was the one who assumed the worst of her, then abandoned her, moved on, and showed up, she could only assume, to rub it in her face.

The last year had been the worst of her life, and he'd been part of that. Mostly his absence.

Whoever's fault that was.

"Look, I don't need your pity or your condolences. Or your forgiveness. You just assumed I was taking advantage of you like you didn't know me at all. Which I realized is true apart from knowing what I look like naked, right? Let's be honest Harry? Huh, I'm just the girl you used to fuck over break. Your Christmas bit of fun. Til you found your next model. Who you couldn't wait to come home and show off, right in my face. So if we were more, you're a heartless asshole." She was crying over him now, but half the tears at least were angry and her face must be bright red.

The kicked puppy look on his face was so genuine and felt so false to her she could scream. "Why would I even think you would care if I had a girlfriend or not? If anybody was just the person the other thought of as a holiday fling, it was you about me, Emma."  He huffed, took down the finger he'd stood up to point at her. "I tried for more, asked for more?"

"When?" He'd asked for more, how'd she miss that?

"What'd you think the ticket was for? That was me asking you for more, at least more time?"

"I don't have extra time." She countered. Emma supposed that was some mealy mouthed passive way of saying you wanted to spend time with a person at least.

"And I do?" He yelled that before taking a big breath and muttering sorry. "Listen, I know what you're about, and that you are very serious saving the world, but I'm just as busy as you, more, and I would have made time for you."

"Why?" She stood up into his space. "So I could just miss you more, fall more for you and not get to have you in any real way? To torture myself?" And there is was. Emma knew the ache of the first weeks without him, and she'd always counted their brief time together as worth it. Subjecting herself to more just seemed masochistic. "Have more time with you so I have to get over you all over again multiple times a year."

"Who says you would have had to get over me? We could have been together!" Both of their voices had escalated past the bounds of polite disagreement.

"Together in every way except literally?" She threw her hands out at her sides. "What's the point of that?"

"The point?" He huffed. "The point is that I wanted you and you wanted me, and we could have had each other, but you're too busy," he sneered, "and couldn't talk to me."

"I couldn't talk to anyone!" She screamed. "I was supposed to text you that my dad died and I needed to use the ticket that was supposed to be a gift but was more like a curse, to take care of my mom. That my dream was at best on hold while I made sure my mum could get out of bed?" He looked a little slapped. "While you were off what? Being a rockstar? Having a record breaking year? Moving on? Out of spite?!" She didn't want to think that, but she'd wondered. She knew she was giving herself to much credit. "Why you made sure to bring her to Holmes Chapel? You take her to the Boar's Head too? Or just fuck her in your mum's powder room?" The words were explosive, the cadence like charges lighting off each other. Emma felt like a powder keg.

He was shaking his head. "Stop it. No, no, I didn't move on, not until I thought you were done with me."

"Oh, when I needed you and you wouldn't answer my calls?"

He looked at the ground then. When his eyes came up , the lovely green of them was even more vibrant, due to the tears crowding around their ages. "Emma, I'm so sorry about that. I'll never forgive myself."

His sincerity softened her, though the anger she'd wrapped around herself like a coat was all that was keeping her ribs together.

"I'm so sorry, I know the last year has been more than anybody should have to bear, especially alone." He took  a big breath. "But Camille, I didn't, it's not," he stumbled over the words like they were glass edges, but Emma had a feeling she was the one who was about to get cut. "Um, she and I just met and, well, we, we get on." That was a kind way to put it. "I wasn't looking for somebody else. But I was lonely and she's," the changes on his face ripped through Emma. "She's lovely. I brought her home, because I wanted mum to meet her." That told Emma everything.

"You love her?" She already knew the answer.

He ran his hand through his locks, avoided eye contact until the last second, "yeah, yeah, I think I might."

Emma was nodding, biting her lip to gatekeep the fresh round of tears threatening. "That's good Harry, I'm," she breathed, "I'm happy for you."

He looked at her then. "Really?"

"Course, I care about you, your happiness." That brought on the tears and he reached for her and she had to throw up her hands to keep him away. "No, no, please don't touch me."

His phone rang, he was the only person she knew who actually kept their ringer on. Well the only person under 50, it made her smile. Then cringe, the weird personal knowledge she had because of how much of an almost they were. From his face, Emma knew it was his actual calling.

"Um," he shady buttoned the call. "I have to go."

"Yeah," was all she could respond with, she already knew that. "Well, have a happy nee year Harry. You sticking around?" God she hoped not. May have to convince her mum to go to London if so.

He shook his head, "Um no, we're going to Paris." Ouch. Emma tried for subtle when she wrapped an arm around herself. "Sorry, I'd like," he always looked so genuine lately, in every interview she'd watched to hurt herself, his heart on his sleeve, in his eyes now. "I'd like to hug you, think you could stomach it?"

Emma nodded and went to him for the barest second and then concentrated on the pressure behind her eyes while he kept her close. "I'm so sorry Emma, for everything. I'd really like to be friends," he'd pulled back to hold her eye line at that.

She nodded, she wasn't sure how she'd handle that, but at best it was a couple phone calls, and no weekends away, they hadn't mentioned that in their middle state, she didn't think it would be to hard to keep him at arms length when they had continents between them most times. "Yeah, ok, friends. You take care of yourself, Harry." Emma was a strong girl, woman now, she could handle some texts and a phone call or so.

He kissed her cheek, a continental affectation she closed her eyes over and turned to go. He was almost out of the gate when he turned back. "I'd never take her to the Boar's Head, by the way, that's our place. I'd never take anybody else there." Before she could even think of a response he looked away quick and started to go. "Take care of yourself, Emma. Happy New Year." That came back to her on the wind.

Blew away like the hold she had on the heart she'd given him last Christmas. At least he was someone special.

[katie-writes24]

Fell Into The Same Arms

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: Language, implied material, angst, a sliver of fluff, and injured reader.

Part 2

You know what, this is on me, because I was on Pinterest YET AGAIN and came across prompts that made me want to vent!!! So here is this!! Also, I’m really struggling with this one WIP and I jsut wanted to post soemthing, so I don’t even really know if this is “finished” yet. Let me know if you want to be tagged, and give me some feedback. I apologize in advance if I hurt your heart! But...it’ll be worth it I swear!

Rain was in the forecast the entire weekend, and it didn't seem to stop anytime soon on Monday. It took a toll on traffic, that was for sure; the roads were starting to flood and the bus routes were changed unexpectedly. The streets were in no shape for anyone to be out.

But Y/N didn't pay no matter to that. Instead, she kept walking, despite the throbbing in her thigh and the blisters on the back of her heels. She ignored the piercing feeling in her back when she tensed. That pain in the back of her head: didn't bother her. Not now, not when she's in the wet streets alone at night, having someplace to be.

Another lie. It was someplace she needed to be, and maybe she wasn't welcomed, but she had no other option. Every other door that used to be open was now closed after comments like you're better than this and don't come crying to me when I'll only say I told you so were thrown at her.

Y/N should be getting her keys out to unlock her apartment door, heading to the shower and ignoring the worried cries from Hercules. She could even be knocking on the screen door and letting Eliza draw her a bath while they sipped on hot tea. Hell, she was even considering jumping the gate and climbing up to John's window and letting him hold her as she cried herself to sleep.

What was she doing instead? Knocking on the hardwood door in front of her, not knowing what the outcome ahead would be.

Seconds felt like hours before the door was opened quickly, only going so far as the small chain up top would let it. She was met with brown orbs, in a flash they were wide in shock.

She couldn't blame him.

She could only imagine what she looked like, it obviously wasn't a pretty sight if the feeling in her bones had any say in it. But something told her that her appearance was not why he had the reaction.

At this point Y/N believed that he was, in fact, in shock because it's still pouring rain and she can feel her limbs start to grow numb from the cold. He's still staring at her with that look...

"I didn't know where else to go," Her voice sounded raspy even to her, and she guessed it was loud enough for him to hear, considering he shut the door before the sound of a latch being pulled again was heard, and he fully opened the door.

He looked good; dressed in his pajamas, but still good, considering the last time she saw him. He looked fresh out the shower, and she took that as a sign that he didn't have company over.

Thomas hated leaving people waiting. Something they didn't share in common, apparently.

He stepped aside and Y/N didn't waste a second before stepping into the warm house.

"Just- wait a second," Thomas walked down the hallway, soon returning with a towel that he laid across the floor. "Don't want to ruin my floors."

She snorted. Still the same stuck up she remembers. "Could you spare one for me, you think?"

"I was actually going to offer you a shower, and maybe help you patch things up. Looks like you need it," He gestured to her head, which had a small gash, or at least that's what it felt like.

"That'd be nice," She cleared her throat once more, removing her shoes. She stopped after stripping of her jacket, standing awkwardly and hoping to give the man a hint.

Instead, he scoffed and went down the hall again. "It's not like I haven't seen it all before. Just leave your clothes on the towel, I'll throw them in the dryer."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but did as he said. She quickly walked to the bathroom and stepped into the tub. It all looked the same, including the bottle of shampoo he bought her months ago, still in the same spot.

She cleared her throat, mentally shaking herself clear of those warming thoughts.

A few minutes after she turned on the water, she heard a knock on the door, his silhouette behind the curtain.

"I brought a towel, and some fresh clothes," There was some shuffling before he sighed loudly. "Did you eat? Can I get you something?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Y/N cut him short, trying to ignore his caring need that he normally hid from the public. She wasn't any different, not anymore.

"Well, knowing you, you probably had a large coffee this morning and called it a day. And I'm not quite sure what you got yourself into yet, but I'm sure it didn't happen over a meal." Thomas sounded so sure of himself, and damn him for knowing her so well. Her silence gave it away, and he soon clicked his tongue in assurance. "I'll make you something quick."

There was no resisting the water in her eyes. Pain expanded all over her body, she had an excuse. Plus, he couldn't see her get emotional behind the curtain, and there would be no tear tracks on her cheeks later.

It might seem odd to others, to those who see Thomas as a public figure, a politician. He carries power, and never lets anyone outside these doors see his vulnerability. To them, he is a man with high standards and a precise wardrobe.

But she knew the real Thomas.

He was sensitive, caring for others, acting like he was just now. The newspaper titles were full of shit, they didn't have any right to criticize him because that wasn't the real him.

Of course he was passionate about his job and position, but they didn't know what Thomas acted like in the morning. They didn't know what Thomas's favorite meal to have when he's had a long day was. About his constant need to have a book to read before he goes to sleep, no matter what time it is. About what he looked like when he was in complete bliss, when he was really happy....

No, Y/N knew though.

She reached for the shower handle, turning the knob on the cold setting. She finished up washing her hair as quick as she could, then carefully dabbed her body with a washcloth, avoiding direct open wounds.

Stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a rather large t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/N found Thomas at the table. He was standing over scattered papers, rubbing his chin softly as he thinks to himself.

While he's distracted, she takes in the house, knowing she really shouldn't, it will only hurt her or, worse, make former feelings reappear. But she can't help but look over to the wall beside him, where dozens of picture frames line up in a pattern. Some are of his parents, some of Thomas and James, there's even a group photo of his colleagues standing before Washington. She remembers how excited Thomas was that day, to finally be getting the recognition he deserves.

She also remembers that there used to be a frame below it, one that held two photos of Y/N and Thomas, holding hands, smiling. She remembers that the photographer wanted their hands close to the lens, getting a good capture of piece of jewelry that looked so simple, but held so much promise.

Was suppose to hold so much promise.

Should she really be sad that he took it down? Y/N didn't deserve to feel angry or disappointed that it wasn't hanging on the wall, to be a constant reminder to anyone that walked by of what used to be.

"Food should be ready soon. I just put it in the oven to warm up." She jumped as she was released from her thoughts, Thomas now looking over at her.

"Thanks," He soon walked over to her, only feet away when he lifted up his hand. She instantly flinched, swallowing hard as she realized what she did.

Thomas slowly put his hand down, looking at her with wide eyes. "I wasn't going to-"

"I know," Her voice was shaky, but she held a hard expression, looking at the floor.

Nodding, Thomas cleared his throat before heading to the bathroom, moments later coming out with a tube of ointment. "Let's get you cleaned up?"

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just Y/N's luck. Whatever it may be, she would never stop thanking whoever was watching over her that she got to feel Thomas's soft touch once again.

Yes, maybe she'd like it better if it was under different circumstances, but she was appreciative of the light touch he had against her head, one hand holding it still while the other gently dabbed the cream against her bruises.

The quiet was disturbed when he winced at the scrape right above her hip. There was no hiding it; it was already layered in dried blood, purple outlining the crevice of the soon-to-be scar. Thomas shook his head slightly, and she didn't know if it was from shock or disappointment.

Once he cleared the wound completely, Thomas pressed his thumb against her hip bone, rubbing her skin in soothing motions. Y/N smiled sadly.

"Can you stop, for one goddamn second, and just talk about this?"

"I can't, Thomas! You don't understand why, but I just can't-"

"Do you know why I stick around? Do you care about what I have to say? Don't you know that I love you? I would do anything for you, Y/N, why can't you trust me on that?"

"I do! I trust you with my life, Thomas! That's the problem!" The room grew silent, Thomas forming a sudden frown, eyes teary.

Her own were wet, as well. Vulnerability was not her thing, so Y/N quickly turned around, not bearing to see his reaction.

Lost in her own self deprecating thoughts, she felt a hand on her hip. His long fingers began stroking her bone, her skin lighting on fire every under the fabric of her underwear. Somehow, the simple touch completely broke her, letting out a shaky sob. Thomas wrapped his free arm around her chest, grounding her. Y/N allowed her own arms to grab at his as she shook.

“We’ll get through it,” Thomas whispered, his own voice a bit shaky. “Together.”

There used to be moments where Y/N would allow herself to completely fall into him, would just let go of all the pent up frustration and troubles she had. Because she knew Thomas would catch her, she knew that he would let her release all of her worries for him to fix, and if not fix, just to listen. He would offer comforting phrases that would make her feel like the only woman in the world. He would physically comfort her, whether it was a bath or his touch or his body, he would take away her stress.

And no matter how many times Y/N would experience such ache, Thomas never turned away. Not once. Not even after all this time separated. And she knew damn well that if she did the same thing now, he would let her.

That’s what scared her.

She couldn’t do that to Thomas, not again.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Apparently, him knowing exactly what she’s thinking didn’t change either. His soft voice rang loudly in her ears, traveling all throughout her body. Y/N had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from breaking down.

“You can let go...” It sounded like a promise.

Maybe she could count on him to catch her again, even if it’s just this one last time.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!

@notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @tinywhim @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @daveeddiggsit @ohsoverykeri-blog @astralaffairs @i-know-i-can

[bellygunnr]

Of the Same Steel and Temper

John regarded Dr. Halsey calmly as she revealed the information he already knew-- Project MJOLNIR was entering its final stage, and he was a player in its execution. He doesn’t even smile as she continues to talk, only resting his holographic hand on the hilt of his holographic blade, allowing bits of his code to fritz together as he ran operations elsewhere. He was rather proud of his latest bit of detective work. Infiltration was his specialty.

Not that he enjoyed it, but he did like showing off his prowess in all tasks.

“I’ve already selected my teammate,” John announces, cutting off Dr. Halsey.

She stops short, raising an eyebrow, but expression otherwise unreadable.

“And who have you selected, John?” she says patiently.

John unsheathes his blade with a flourish and points theatrically at a picture frame on the corner of Dr. Halsey’s crowded, messy desk. In the picture, a single woman stood at attention while an Admiral-- Stanforth, he notes-- pinned the UNSC Legion of Honor to her chest. Her expression was relatively schooled, but a mischievous brand of fire shone in her eyes, permanently captured in eternity by the photo. He didn’t have to look at the other citations and medals weighing on her chest to know that she was well-accomplished.

A moment passes. When Dr. Halsey doesn’t say anything, seemingly unable to recover, John forges on.

“Master Chief Petty Officer Cortana-117,” he says, weighing each word carefully, “is a highly accomplished and experienced Spartan. I’ve taken the liberty of researching her thoroughly and I like what I’ve seen. As I speak, I am already calculating our compatibility and… find them within acceptable parameters.”

“It seems you have made up your mind, John,” Dr. Halsey says slowly. “But are you sure?”

“I do not dwell,” John says seriously. “She seems to know how to take action. I can appreciate that in a body.”

“But you know she excels particularly nowhere in terms of physical or mental prowess, yet is the most willingly to undertake risks. She got that medal by attacking Covenant head-on and saving Marines in the process.”

“I am aware. Again, that is something I can appreciate in a body, Dr. Halsey.”

John had wandered off from his holopad to stand inches away from Dr. Halsey’s face. His sword is back in its sheathe, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Under the lights, his ancient Spartan armor glitters emerald green and fire yellow, body rapidly shifting between the two colors.

Despite his level best efforts, his emotions tended to reveal themselves. He was tense and excited but most of all, determined. He would have Cortana as his teammate.

“And what of a mission if she were to become compromised? What would you do if she could die?”

John immediately tenses, his holographic form flashing a brilliant ruby red. A second later, it washes back into his neutral dark green, swirling across his stout frame in ragged bands of hue.

“I don’t think you should ask me questions you are not prepared to answer yourself, doctor,” he replies, affecting a flat tone. “You insult me.”

AI and human stare at each other. Dr. Halsey seems flustered, her thoughts visibly racing behind steely eyes. She cuts one last look at Cortana’s photo before allowing her demeanor to shift, conceding defeat with just a tip of her head.

“Very well, then, John. You can have her,” Dr. Halsey says. “Now, what of the rest of the mission?”

---

The differences in the new model of armor ranged from subtle to obvious. It was definitely heavier, but the modification of her neural implants made the weight negligible. If she was feeling generous, she might even say she was moving faster in this armor. There was also the addition of the shielding-- a shimmering electric layer that reminded her of oil spills on pavement. Iridescent and full of color, but dangerous.

But there was one more thing-- the second major change they had given Mjolnir. So far, it hadn’t come up at all, overshadowed by the shields. The shields were fantastic (as long as she didn’t slip and fall), but it was high time they moved along.

She cocks her head wordlessly at Dr. Halsey. In reply, Dr. Halsey withdraws something from her bag.

“Your own neural lace has been upgraded to better interact with the armor, as you may know,” she starts, “but it also it interface with an AI. A layer of memory-processor super-conductor has been added between the reactive and bio-layers of your armor.”

Cortana nods once. “The same stuff found in an AI’s core?”

“Correct. Your armor will be able to carry an AI-- the same kind that starships house. John will be able to interface between you and the suit. His primary objective will be to provide intelligence support while you’re on the field.”

“What does that entail?” Cortana says, tilting her helmet.

She liked AIs. They were useful and often had personality. She wasn’t sure about sharing her armor with one, however. John wasn’t even impressive name-- who went to all the trouble of making an AI just to name it John?

“John has been outfitted with the best of ONI’s computer infiltration routines and software. He is also equipped with Covenant translation programs. He’s also quite resourceful, but his specialty is, essentially, spywork,” Dr. Halsey replies.

Hm. So this John would be the AI they brought with them, should the upcoming test go well.

“How much… jurisdiction will he have over the suit?” she asks cautiously.

“None. You will have full control of it at all times. John will only be reading and translating the link you have between your brain and the suit-- and improving upon it, so expect that whatever you’re feeling now to be multiplied.”

Cortana liked the sound of that. Real-time intelligence data and greater physical performance? She would be unstoppable. Provided they got along, of course. But everything Halsey was telling her just raised more questions, but before she could ask, Halsey started talking again.

“I’m afraid we only have a small window of time. Please, kneel down so that we may insert the AI into the suit.”

Obediently, she takes a knee, bowing her head to expose the chip’s slot. There’s a moment of hands flicking something open, then a rush of ice water and pain jolts the back of her neck. The sensation trickles like water down the length of her spine before dissipating, leaving her strangely… the same.

Then the AI spoke, and everything was different.

“Hello, Master Chief,” a deep voice said. It was slightly raspy and reverberated in the suit’s speakers.

“Hello, John,” she answers, eyes wide. “Got enough room in there?”

“Not nearly enough. It will do… Thank you for asking.”

Oh. Well, at least he was honest. It was probably difficult to jam the processing power of a starship into the fractional space of her Mjolnir, though she had to wonder how he was compensating for it.

“Let’s begin the test. The conditions have been changed to involve combat-- not ideal, but it should provide ample opportunity for you two to become acquainted. The “win” condition of the test might be familiar to you, Cortana.”

“Ring the bell?” she guesses wryly.

“Indeed. Be careful, and be wary, Master Chief. I hardly need to remind you to be prepared when ONI is involved, but I will say it anyway. You are also authorized to neutralize any threats to accomplish the objective.”

Then Dr. Halsey leans in, voice low, worry lines etching deep into the contours of her face.

“Some would like to see you fail this test,” she says. “See that you don’t.”

“No, ma’am,” Cortana agrees.

Dr. Halsey nods once, then turns on her heel. Just before exiting the tent, however, she looks over her shoulder to stare into Cortana’s face plate, flanked by technicians.

“The second I leave this tent, you must count to ten. After that, make your way to the obstacle course where the bell will be located. And be careful,” she adds, voice firm. “Good luck.”

Cortana resists the urge to salute Dr. Halsey in jest. Instead, she shakes her body out, getting the feel for the armor one more time. As she wiggles her fingers, she hears the metallic clack of weapons from outside the tent.

Her HUD shimmers. The proximity tracker immediately lights up with yellow blips that turn red on the next cycle.

“Assume that all units are hostile,” John says. “The targets are equipped with MA5B assault rifles. Be prepared for my participation.”

“I hope you participate,” she says dryly. “What do you think about this? We’re engaging our own soldiers.”

Eight.

“We’ll win, but I am more excited to see how you handle this,” John says, a hint of emotion slipping into his gravelly voice.

Nine.

Cortana flicks her eyes across the walls of the tent, noting the surprisingly clear silhouettes of soldiers moving outside. She didn’t enjoy facing off against UNSC personnel, especially when they weren’t Spartans, but she never had a choice. Her apprehension only spikes when the shadowy figures become real, breaking into the tent with guns already brought to bear.

Shock troopers. ODSTs, to be exact.

Ten.

The center Helljumper opened fire on thin air. Cortana dove from her elevated platform before his finger could depress the trigger, but she didn’t target him right away. She ripped the rifle out from his port-side buddy’s hands and winced at the unmistakable sight of a shoulder dislocating. Still, she cracks the butt of the rifle across the lead’s chest before turning on the third, suddenly aware that she was in “Spartan Time.”

To her, the third trooper was moving in slow motion, still caught in the throes of reacting to his companions’ defeat. She rips his gun out of his hands and shoves him to the floor, biting back a sigh at the sensation of ribs cracking.

This suit was definitely a step above the last mark. If she didn’t want to hurt them, she’d have to restrain herself even more.

“That’s an odd notion,” John says suddenly. “You have been ordered to neutralize the targets. Why not kill them?”

Cortana frowns as she bustles out of the tent. Immediately, her motion tracker updates with seven more yellow blips that flash red. If she had to hazard a guess, John was forcing the suit to acknowledge the troopers’ FoF tags as ‘foe.’

Interesting.

“John. I think that might be murder.”

“We do need every soldier available,” he concedes.

The tracker’s blips appeared to be concentrated in another on-site tent. On the far side of the tent, she witnesses an ODST peek around the corner for three full seconds before abruptly withdrawing. A thrown grenade replaces them.

Cortana shoots it out of the air. It detonates in a shower of shrapnel and flame, jostling the tent with the shockwave and shredding holes into its roof, but not catching it alight. She’s cutting an entrance into the tent before the smoke and flak has even cleared.

The troopers are facing away from her, rushing for the exit in uniform, slow motion fashion. To her surprise, one twists around and opens fire, bullets pinging across her chest.

She slings the knife she’d been equipped with into his gut. Shielded or not-- and the shields did their job well, turning the impacts into tickles-- she didn’t take kindly to being shot. His buddies she pursues out of the tent, bringing the butt of her rifle to bear on the back of their skulls.

They drop instantly.

“Unconscious, not dead,” John chimes as she whips around to face the other four troopers. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“Thanks,” she says shortly.

More bullets ricochet off her shields. The meter in the corner of her HUD blinks as it diminishes uncomfortably quickly, still un-replenished from the last round of projectiles. Not eager to damage the armor, she rushes forward, grabbing the closest trooper by the torso.

Effortlessly, she tosses his frame into his allies before grabbing up his gun, crushing the barrel. Her HUD wavers as a bolt of alarm flits through her, gaze drawn to the grenade the furthest ODST was trying to arm.

She lets her boots fall onto the arms of the first two troopers, determinedly not thinking about the state of their bones. She also does not think about how the alarm wasn’t her own, instead focusing on snatching up the final two soldiers by their chestplates and tossing them aside.

“Shoot them,” John hisses into her ear. “They’re not neutralized if they’re conscious or functional.”

“What do they have to gain by fighting me? I threw them forty meters!” Cortana exclaims. “I don’t want to hurt them, John.”

John doesn’t say anything but he does mark their position as nav-points on her HUD. She pointedly ignores him by stripping one of the downed soldiers for their grenades, which she promptly attaches to a magnetic hardpoint on her armor. With that done, she takes to the outer edges of the immediate area, making herself as hard to locate as possible.

The obstacle course is achingly familiar by the time she reaches it. It was an endless expanse of tough gravel, just over ten acres of the stuff. She remembered having to cross it bare-foot multiple times alongside her siblings; she could almost feel the ghostly sensation of rocks stabbing her soles.

Before she could step off, however, John speaks, low and urgent.

“Throw a grenade at the field.”

“That’s-- why?” Cortana asks, bewildered.

“There are Lotus mines and that’s the best way for me to calculate the layout. UNSC Engineers try to randomize the pattern, but humans are predictable creatures,” John says impatiently.

Well, it was as good as reason as any. She pulls a grenade from the stolen bandolier and arms it-- and holds it for three full seconds. With a controlled flick of her arm, she chucks it at the ground, watching it bounce once and explode.

Two Lotus mines explode in a geyser of gravel of dirt in reply several feet apart from each other.

“Give me a second,” John says. “Okay. These are rough estimations, but they shouldn’t get you killed. As you were, Master Chief.”

A graph flickers to life, overlaying itself perfectly across the gravel expanse. Yellow flower-like symbols join it in an affixed pattern, telling her what to avoid. That was… extremely useful.

“Don’t like that they’re using anti-tank mines,” she says, gravel crunching underfoot. “Seems a bit much.”

They make the trek across the gravel field in three minutes.

“Thanks, John. That’s really helpful,” Cortana says, making her sigh of relief productive.

“...There’s radio chatter on D band,” John says, his voice oddly pitched. “Encrypted and encoded, but it’s from the nearby airfield. I don’t like it.”

“That sounds exciting…”

But they had bigger things to worry about. After the gravel field was the long, narrow strip of mud and razor wire. It would be interesting to see how the armor’s shields fared against the constant scrape of barbed line. She doubts she could hunker low enough to avoid it entirely.

...If she didn’t get shot to hell first.

“Chain guns, 11 and 1 o’ clock,” John says, almost as soon as she notices them. “I advise evading. I do not feel like dying today.”

Crawling through the razor bed probably doesn’t count as evading, she thinks dryly. She’s glad for their incredibly slow rotation and similarly slow rate of fire at least. It meant that at least one was deactivated by the time she took off sprinting for it, firing at its power lines with her rifle.

There were two chainguns at the far end of the route, clearly meant to create a field of crossfire should she crawl. She’s silenced the one closest to her, but its cousin’s 30mm rounds punch into her chest, threatening to drop her shield into zero with just a handful of impacts.

She silences it by kicking the first chaingun into its chassis, toppling them both.

“Elegant,” John remarks once the residual firing stops. “I am going to investigate something. Don’t get shot.”

Cortana feels the AI slip out of her neural lace. To escape the sudden gaping emptiness, she charges into the rest of the razor-lined trenches. It gave her a few moments to reflect, too. John was an interesting AI. Not horrible to work with, if a little bossy. And vague, too.

If this didn’t feel so high stakes, she’d be arguing more.

Ice water rushes down her neck the same instant she comes up on the next stage of the obstacle course. Years ago, when they were all very young, the Spartans had dubbed this portion the ‘Pillars of Loki.’ It was a nightmarish network of smooth poles of wood-- razed trees-- interspersed with traps and danger. She’d seen the kind of damage the traps could cause.

She wasn’t keen on taking any of them on.

“The airfield is launching an aircraft,” John announces, his voice edged with anger. “A Skyhawk.”

Fuck.

“Language,” John says sternly. “Do you have any ideas? I calculate roughly 30 seconds before contact.”

Well, the best way to avoid traps was to go around them, right? She stares into the crisscross of pillars and deadly vegetation for a couple seconds too many. It would leave her too exposed to try skirting the borders of the field, but maybe climbing onto the poles…

Yeah, that would work.

Cortana scales the nearest tree with a certain lack of finesse. Her armored fingers leave indents in the hard wood and her boots gouge out chunks of bark and flesh from the pole, but she’s standing atop it with-- 15 seconds to spare.

A timer was now ticking down in the corner of her visor.

“Don’t know if that’s helpful, John,” she mutters.

“Bandit inbound,” John replies. “Ideas?”

She launches herself from one pole to the next, taking a diagonal route across the Pillars of Loki. The Skyhawk was an atmospheric fighter that specialized in close air support. It’s complement of four 50mm cannons and anti-tank missiles made it a terrifying and formidable ship, and against her?

Mjolnir, augmentations, AI assistance…

Well, she was as dead as any Covie soldier.

“Contact!” John barks.

The air thrums violently around Cortana as the aircraft bears down on her position. She kicks off of the pillar, free falling just as a spray of bullets sunder the air. Trees shatter into pieces behind her and the world blurs as she tucks into a roll, hitting the ground.

The Mjolnir’s gel layer absorbs much of the impact, but it still hurts.

“Eleven seconds! Goal: 300 meters!” John barks again.

“You’re yelling,” Cortana huffs, climbing to her feet. “No need to yell!”

Once again, a timer was ticking down on her HUD. Nine seconds and going. She was no Kelly, but how hard could a three hundred meter dash be?

Nothing achievable when it was rockets she was facing. The eight-seven-six seconds must be the Skyhawk’s turn time. Maybe she should run for cover.

“No time! New timer! About face!” John shouts, his voice so intense that it drowned out her own panicked thoughts.

Dirt and grass sprays with the force Cortana applies to twist herself around. Her HUD pulses red once before yet another timer pops up, accompanied by the silhouette of a missile. John’s presence inside her mind and suit is suddenly overwhelming.

“When the timer hits zero, the missile will be on top of us. Deflect it.”

John had a knack for sounding like a drill instructor. Or a suicidal admiral. Firm, commanding, unshakable, and slightly tyrannical.

The Skyhawk was hovering nearby. Plumes of white smoke erupt from its left wing as it lets loose a Scorpion missile. Cortana grinds her teeth, feeling a lurch as her brain overclocks into Spartan Time once again.

Three.

Cortana nearly falls over as the Mjolnir’s shields are ramped to their maximum settings.

Two.

The Skyhawk is bearing down on them, outpacing its missile.

“Now!”

Cortana jinks to the side, slapping the fuselage of the missile and sending it off course.

It still explodes several meters behind her. The resultant explosion knocks out her shields and launches her ten meters into the air. Darkness overwhelms her and several internal systems start wailing.

“Run like hell.”

She didn’t have to be told that twice, but her body is shaking violently as she hauls herself back to her feet. Her initial few strides are wobbly, growing steadier in fits and bursts. The goal’s nav-point is blurry and out of focus.

Oh, she was bleeding!

Cortana uses the bell’s tripod to stop her forward momentum. It collapses underneath her and crumples like a tin can, unable to stand up to a half-ton of armored Spartan.

She’s rewarded by the crackle of Dr. Halsey’s voice in her ear: “Test complete. Withdraw, Colonel Ackerson. Magnificent, Master Chief, but please don’t move. I’m sending a recovery team.”

She picks herself up from the bell. Despite its crushed state, she can tell it’s the very same bell she rung some thirty-odd years ago.

“We did it, John!” Cortana laughs. “That was… exhilarating.”

Gingerly, she sets the bell back onto the ground, panting and bleeding inside of her helmet. She probably broke her nose but that was nothing compared to the sense of peace she was now feeling. Whatever this had been, she had conquered it.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, either,” she says softly. “Thank you, John.”

“...Thank you, Master Chief,” John replies. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?