#shown up for his appointment an hour late and still somehow expected to be seen… there was also a smell of weed smoke

[fingertipsmp3]

If some idiot at the doctor’s gave me a cold right before I’m supposed to start my new job I swear I’m going to launch myself into space

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

--

Chapter 04

--

Late September 2010

--

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch. 

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago. 

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before. 

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case. 

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

--

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch? 

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me. 

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

--

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that. 

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of. 

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid? 

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?” 

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.” 

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself. 

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

-

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch. 

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague. 

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.  

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks. 

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath. 

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call. 

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it. 

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

.

Please let me know of his well-being.

.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s. 

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

--

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well. 

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away. 

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls. 

.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

.

Surgery.

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt. 

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted. 

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

.

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

.

The reply is almost immediate.

.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time. 

.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

.

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what   I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way. 

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official. 

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean. 

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information. 

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr.  Reid?” 

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?” 

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.” 

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs. 

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

--

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach. 

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone. 

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.” 

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold. 

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,”  Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least. 

“--I’ll think about it.” 

--

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life. 

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile. 

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to. 

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control. 

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just… 

Hoping.

--

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word. 

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols. 

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it. 

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind. 

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane. 

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week. 

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

--

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under. 

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it. 

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him. 

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.” 

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed. 

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.” 

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands. 

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.” 

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is. 

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked. 

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look. 

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible. 

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.” 

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion. 

- 

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences. 

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking. 

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason. 

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon. 

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it. 

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.  

29 years. 

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected. 

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you. 

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back. 

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds. 

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you.   Come back.   Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him. 

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

-

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread. 

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever. 

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never. 

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more. 

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him. 

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent. 

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly. 

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already. 

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh? 

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later. 

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

--

(tbc...)

--

Tagged List:  @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[sithsecrets]

A  Matter of Expediency - Part V

After being married off to Kylo Ren in the name of securing an heir to the First Order’s throne, a princess tries to navigate the ins and outs of married life. As she grows closer to her new husband, the princess also carves out a place for herself in the Order, assuming control over her life when she thought she would have none.

---

Part 5

4.3k words

Mentions: bad family dynamics, verbal insults, public embarrassment

---

Sabe doesn’t come back to apologize, and you don’t run after her to make amends. Instead, you busy yourself with final preparations for your wedding, trying not to grow too nervous as the day approaches. Lydia, Helda, and Joon are by your side the entire time, of course, helping you with this and that, running here and there whenever you ask them to.

Your final dress fitting comes the day before you’re due to leave for Undarbi, and you must admit that it’s the only appointment that you’re excited for. The palace seamstresses have been working tirelessly since you become engaged to the Supreme Leader, and what they’ve come up with is truly a work of art.

White is traditional for a bride on your planet, but you insisted on being wed in cream instead. You never liked yourself in white, but any shade of ivory has always looked beautiful against your skin and hair. Instead of going with an airy, gauzy dress like one would expect to find at a wedding set on a beach resort, you’ve opted to style your garment in a sleeker vein. Long sleeves, a high collar, simple yet still very intricate detailing— you think you’ve done a good job of marrying (for lack of a better word) the styles of your home planet with the Order’s aesthetics. And of course, the dress has been precisely tailored just for you, custom made in every way.

Once the seamstresses get your laced and buttoned into your gown, you feel like you’re dreaming. You look so beautiful, absolutely radiant, and it’s in this moment that it all feels real to you. Day after tomorrow, you will be married to the Supreme Leader of the First Order in this gorgeous, opulent gown.

“You’re a vision,” Lydia declares, standing between Helda and Joon. You look over at your friend and smile, running your hands down your abdomen experimentally.

“How does it look in the back?” you ask, twisting slightly so that you might get a better look at yourself.

“Absolutely perfect,” Joon declares, moving behind you to straighten the gown’s train. You had insisted on having one, and you love how it’s turned out, perfectly cut and rich with tiny, intricate embroidery.

“It is to your liking, Princess?” one of the seamstresses asks, hands folded in front of her. You don’t mean to gush, but you can’t help yourself, not when you feel so beautiful.

“Oh, yes!” you exclaim, running a hand down one of your arms. The fabric of your gown is so soft beneath your hands, and you wonder idly what your husband will think of it.

After you give the dress your final approval, the seamstresses help you of it, packing the garment away to be shipped to Undarbi for the wedding. It’s what’s happened to a lot of your things as of late, really; everything you own and most of your clothes have been sent to the Order in preparation for your arrival on the Supremacy, the ship that’s to be your home once you marry Kylo Ren. You had less to send than you thought you would, actually, and you were glad for that. You overthink everything these days, worried about making a bad impression on your new husband. Kylo thinks something of you, that much he said himself, but you’re still worried about earning his affections and keeping his respect.

As the wedding draws nearer, your anxiety about your wedding night rears its ugly head. You’re concerned about forging companionship with your husband, of course, but it’s been difficult not to fixate on the physical aspects of your relationship over the past couple of days. Joon has assured you more than once that you’ll find your way as you and Kylo fall into bed together, but you’re still extremely nervous about the prospect of having sex with a virtual stranger. You pray that Kylo will be gentle with you, that he’ll listen if you say you’re uncomfortable or in pain. You know that Lydia was a virgin when she married her husband, but you feel like you can’t ask her about what happened on their wedding night. You’re afraid her story will only frighten you more, so you choose to dwell on Joon’s romantic, positive descriptions of sex instead.

You insist on having a private dinner that night, wanting to enjoy this final evening on your home planet with only those who care for you. Joon, Helda, and Lydia, and yourself sit around a small table together, and while the lot of you cut up and laugh happily, there’s an undertone of melancholy permeating the entire meal. Though you’re still incredibly angry with her, a small part of you still wishes that Sabe was present as well. But, she never shows, and it doesn’t hurt you too badly— you hadn’t been expecting her anyway.

Your ladies stay with you well into the wee hours of the morning, but they eventually depart, telling you to sleep well if you can. That night, after everyone’s left, you spend a long time out on the balcony, taking in the moons and stars that dot your planet’s sky one last time.

---

In the morning, you dress and supervise the packing of your last few belongings. Nervous butterflies flit about your stomach as you wait for an Order landing party to come collect you, eternally grateful that your ladies have been allowed to travel with you.

It’s strange, being flanked by stormtroopers as you board the ship that will take you to Undarbi, but you don’t say anything about it. The journey to the resort is short, thankfully, and the leader of the little group sent to collect you is friendly enough. Still, the ride is mostly silent, and you’re happy to make landing.

Undarbi is just as beautiful as you remember it, sunny and balmy and warm. It’s a pleasure to hear the crash of the ocean behind you as you and your ladies make your way inside, sucking in breaths of salty air as you’re welcomed by staff member after staff member. Even the owner of the resort himself is there to greet you, gushing about what an honor it is to host you and Kylo’s wedding. It’s overwhelming, all of the good tidings and compliments that are thrown your way as you come inside, but you like to think that you take it all in stride well enough.

An official from the Order is waiting for you on the other side of the crowd, sleek and clean-cut in a dark outfit and boots. Sweat beads on the back of your neck, but this man seems hardly affected by the humidity. He introduces himself graciously, ushering you through the lobby and up to your rooms for the night with two stormtroopers in tow. That’s been a constant since you were picked up this morning— guards are ever-present, sticking close to you and your ladies.

The rooms you’re shown to aren’t the ones you’ll share with your husband tomorrow night, of course, but they are beautiful and extravagant nonetheless. The chambers themselves are massive in size, built from the finest stones and woods you’ve ever seen. Every furnishing is rich and plush, every detail and decoration opulent and grand. Tomorrow, you’ll board the Supremacy and begin living with your husband, but tonight, you’ll sleep alone for the last time.

Your ladies are housed elsewhere, so you’re left alone for a moment as they’re shown to their own living arrangements. Grateful for the moment of privacy, you perch on the foot of your bed, looking all about at the things around you. A little snooping lets you know that your things have already been put away for you, and it’s a relief to see that your wedding clothes have arrived safely. Your engagement ring is still on your hand, of course, and you play with it idly as you walk around.

The balcony attached to your room overlooks a private stretch of beach. You open the double doors to let in some air, breathing deeply so that the salt may cleanse your lungs and calm your nerves. The moment of peace passes quickly though, broken by a knock at your door.

When you open the door, you find your fiancé standing before you, hands clasped behind his back. You muster up a small smile at the sight of him, a burst of butterflies going wild in your stomach.

“Supreme Leader,” you say, curtsying deeply. You try not to let your nerves show outwardly, but you can feel your hands fidgeting at your sides.

“Princess,” he says, tone even.  “I was informed of your arrival, and I thought it appropriate to come see how you’re settling in.”

Always so formal, you think to yourself, but it’s not a negative observation. “I’m settling in just fine, thank you,” you tell your fiancé, smiling more broadly. “This resort is very beautiful.”

Kylo nods at that. “Excellent. I’m glad you think so.”

You nod back, and the two of you stand in silence for a moment. Kylo is the first to speak.

“I also wanted to ask you if you would allow me to escort you down to dinner in a few hours,” he blurts, and you can tell by the way that his arms work under his clothes that he’s fidgeting with his hands behind his back.

“Oh,” you breathe, taken aback. “Yes, of course. That would be lovely.”

You hadn’t even considered it, the idea of having to make an appearance at the evening meal tonight. You feel stupid for letting it slip your mind, but thankfully, you had the good sense to have a few changes of clothes sent with you along with your wedding things and night clothes.

“Is it just going to be us, or…?”

“No,” Kylo answers quickly. “There will be a few members of the Order in attendance, your family, and then of course you and myself. Your attendants are welcome to come too, of course.”

“I’ll be ready,” you assure him, somehow growing even more nervous than you already were. It’s petrifying, the prospect of being shown off to Order officials, and you have always dreaded having to see your cousins.

Kylo nods and bids you farewell, turning and walking off down the corridor. You can tell that he’s trying to be friendly and warm in his own way, and you figure that him asking to escort you to dinner is an attempt to forge some sort of friendship or bond between the two of you.

Thankfully, Helda, Joon, and Lydia reappear at your door soon after the Supreme Leader leaves, and they help you decide what to wear. It makes you feel like a basket case, but you let them take the reins, too anxious to be of use. As always, Lydia does your hair, Joon helps you with your makeup, and Helda has many helpful suggestions regarding which earrings would look best with your outfit.

When all is said and done, you think you look rather pretty. Your dress is made of light, airy fabrics, and you’re grateful for that. Even the fall of nighttime has done nothing to stifle the heat outside. Now more than ever, you thank the stars for central cooling.

Your ladies depart once you’re dressed, saying that they’ll see you at dinner. Once they’re gone, you’re left waiting for Kylo to come, perched carefully on the stool in front of your vanity so as not to wrinkle your clothes. You don’t have to wait long, however, because your fiancé arrives promptly at seven pm.

The Supreme Leader looks rather handsome, dressed in finer, lighter eveningwear, and way he looks at you when you open the door makes you feel shy. Still, you greet him brightly, happy to take the arm that he offers to you.

---

The dinner table is already crowded by the time you and Kylo arrive, dotted with Order officials, their wives, and unfortunately, your uncle and every single one of your cousins. There’s three of them, two boys a girl, and you grow sick at the mere sight of their faces. Sebastian, Mila, and Tensin have always tormented you, always, even after your mother died. They’ve been away at school for the past several years, only coming home for major holidays, but of course your uncle has yanked them away from their educations at the first opportunity to parade the three of them in front of every important person in the First Order.

Yourself and Kylo are greeted with kind words, and everyone stands from their chairs in respect. Kylo nods silently, and everyone sits down again, back to chattering and drinking merrily like nothing happened. Your ladies wave to you quickly, the three of them seated next to two empty chairs at the table, and you and Kylo start moving that way. You’re relieved to see that they’ll be by your side, your head already swirling with new faces and names to learn.

You don’t make it to your seats.

“Cousin!”

Mila’s shrill voice forces the pleasant look right off your face, and you’re more than horrified to see your uncle’s only daughter making her way over to you and your fiancé. She comes to stand before the two of you, curtsying deeply to the Supreme Leader and the Supreme Leader alone.

“Mila,” you say shortly, acknowledging her only because you have to. You hate to admit it, but she looks beautiful tonight, swathed in jewel tones and draped in gold. Mila’s always been a pretty girl, all sharp angles and big eyes in the way men seem to like, and what’s worse is that she knows it, too.

“You look nice, cousin,” Mila says, looking you and down with a look in her eyes that you know well. “Pink always such an… interesting color on you.”

Under different circumstances, your cousin’s snide remark would barely sting. But Kylo is beside you, and you flush with embarrassment at the thought of him witness Mila’s cruelty. And it’s like she can read your mind, because her eyes land on him next.

“You look very handsome, Supreme Leader,” Mila husks, and though Kylo’s not really your lover, something about how she’s talking makes you want to cut out her tongue on the spot.

“Thank you,” Kylo says curtly, seemingly unimpressed by your cousin.

Having seen that Kylo has no interest in entertaining her advances, Mila begins scanning for other soft spots to jab her fingers into. Your engagement ring catches your cousin’s eye, and she snatches up your hand in hers.

“What a beautiful ring you have on, cousin!” Mila exclaims, studying the stone with hungry eyes. She’s grinning like a wolf as she asks, “Won’t you let me try it on?”

Astoundingly, Mila actually goes to take your ring off your finger, not even giving you time to tell her no. You jerk your hand back, moving to grip Kylo’s arm with two hands now to protect your jewelry.

“No, Mila, you can’t try on my engagement ring,” you tell her, in disbelief that she’s acting this way. Your cousin’s always been a menace, but in front of the Supreme Leader? Your fiancé? Has she gone mad?

Mila laughs lightly. “It wouldn’t fit me anyway,” she says, looking at Kylo as she speaks. “My cousin always did have the chubbiest little fingers.”

Your cousin’s smile is bright, but there’s cruelty in her eyes. Thankfully, she leaves the both of you alone after that, and you’re finally able to sit down.

“That’s your uncle’s child?” Kylo murmurs, and you’re flattered when he helps you into your chair before sitting down himself.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, still incredibly embarrassed.

“Then let’s hope that her brothers are not as unbearable as she is.”

That has you turning quickly to meet your fiancé’s eyes, and though Kylo does not openly console you, the sympathy in his gaze is comfort enough.

“I’m afraid they’re worse,” you whisper. “At least Mila’s intelligent.”

“Fantastic,” Kylo deadpans, and you snort as the food service begins.

---

Wine flows as readily as conversation at the dinner table now, and you’re relieved to find yourself amongst so many fun, lively people. You feared that the Order officials would be boring or lacking in social skills, but they’re quite the opposite. Chancellor Hux is the stiffest of the bunch, but even he’s loosened up now after half a glass of wine.

The Supreme Leader doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he’s sure to include you in the conversation, readily explaining something whenever you ask a question. And boy, do you have so many! It’s dizzying, trying to get a handle on what the Order does and does not control, where their greatest interests lie. In twenty minutes, you learn the name of three new planets and come to find out that the Order has found inhabitable moons in the Outer Rim.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to learn all of this,” you laugh at one point, having just incorrectly named the location of the Order’s Starkiller Base.

A man a few seats away shakes his head, making a flippant gesture with his glass of wine. “My wife’s been a High Admiral for fifteen years, and I still don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about sometimes. All you have to do is smile and act like you understand.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention. At least she’s trying!” his wife chides, but she’s smiling as she rolls her eyes. “You’ll get it,” she assures you.

“Says the woman who can draw maps of the galaxy from memory,” her husband teases, smiling broadly when his wife bats him on the arm.

You take another sip of your wine, flush with drink and elation at the feeling of being included by those around you. The Chancellor asks you a rather analytical question about your planet’s trade structure, and you’re more than happy to discuss the matter with him. That strikes up a conversation regarding your planet as a whole, and where you were born. You talk about your mother and growing up outside the palace before her death, and your fiancé and the others listen intently.

“What are you talking about down there, cousin?” calls a male voice from down the table, and you look that way to see Sebastian gazing at you with a rather smug expression on his face. Your stomach drops at the sight of him and his siblings, for they all look like predators on the scent of a kill. Still, you square your shoulders and answer him, keenly aware that you now have the attention of the table.

“My mother,” you reply curtly, voice even and calm. To your left, you see your ladies sit up in their chairs, defensive— they know what’s coming as well as you do.

“Why don’t you tell your new friends about your father?” Tensin suggests. Sebastian snickers at the mention of the subject, and Mila is entirely too pleased with the both of them. To your horror, your uncle does nothing to quiet his children, only watches on.

“My mother and father were never married,” you admit, choosing your words carefully. You throw a cautious glace Kylo’s way, anxiety spiking as you observe his unreadable expression.

“Come now, cousin, let’s not split hairs,” Tensin drawls. “You don’t even know who your father is.”

No one says anything for a moment, and you refuse to meet anyone’s gaze. It’s true, what your cousin’s said— your mother became pregnant with you after a fling, and while you’re sure that she knew your father’s identity, she never got the chance to reveal who he was to you before she died. It’s shameful on your planet, being an illegitimate child, and you feel mortified to have such a thing come out at the dinner table in front of strangers.

Beside you, Kylo shifts in his chair, and it seems as if he’s going to speak. But Chancellor Hux cuts him off, face hard as he asks, “Do you have a point, Prince Tensin?” You can tell by the set of the Chancellor’s mouth that he does not appreciate your cousins’ behavior at all, though you don’t get your hopes up.

Not one of your cousins provides an answer, and it gives you a sick sort of pleasure to watch as they begin to squirm in their chairs. Your uncle, a much more seasoned bullshitter, schools his face, but you can see the sweat beading on his brow.

“Because I would hope that you do,” Chancellor Hux continues, raising his brows. “You see, you may take our lack of reaction to what you’ve just implied as an indicator of indifference or disgust, but you would be mistaken in doing so.”

The Chancellor pauses again, perhaps waiting for a member of your family to say something. Still, they sit silent.

“I am my father’s bastard,” Hux spits, rage seeping into his voice now. “And I am not the only one at this table who comes from such a lineage. Two of the admirals before you are orphans from backwater planets, and General Hayden was born in a brothel.”

“I grew up there, too,” a man calls from down the table, not at all ashamed, and you presume him to be the general that Hux spoke of. He gives you a sympathetic look, and you’re eternally grateful.

“So you see,” the Chancellor explains, “your little jab at your cousin only makes you look bad. The identity of the Princess’s father means nothing to me, or to anyone else you see before you. If you’re trying to cast shame on her, it’s not going to work.”

Mila finally opens her mouth, trying to smooth things over. “We were just talking, Chancellor. My brothers meant nothing by their comments.”

“Yes, they did,” Hux cuts, glaring at Mila directly now. “And don’t act so innocent, Princess. I saw you when the Supreme Leader and your cousin came in. You were throwing yourself at him and yet again trying to embarrass her. Maybe if you weren’t so insufferable, the Supreme Leader would have chosen to marry you instead.”

General Hux shakes his head, openly disgusted with the three of them now. “Spiteful children. You have no idea what you’re doing, have no idea how lucky you are. I do not profess to know the Supreme Leader’s private thoughts and feelings in this moment, but I have seen him gut people for less.”

That has Sebastian and Tensin looking nervous, and even your uncle and Mila shift timidly in their chairs.

“However, his temper has improved in recent months, and I believe that he is trying to make a good impression on your cousin and her friends. But,” the Chancellor amends, “if I were you, I would leave the table, lest you find yourselves without tongues.”

The threat is enough to send Sebastian, Mila, and Tensin out of the room, and you’re happy to see them go. Chancellor Hux turns his angry stare on your uncle next, and you cannot believe that the man is still sitting there.

“Why don’t you go with your children, Your Majesty?” It’s phrased like a question, but you an hear the command in the Chancellor’s tone. Your uncle looks around the room for a moment, taking in all the unfriendly faces around him.

“Goodnight,” he says, rather subdued as takes off after his children.

The room is completely silent after your family has left, and you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. You know that you should say something, and you hope that Kylo might speak as well, but neither one of you gets the chance.

“Thank the stars,” Helda declares, unusually bold. “I’ve always hated those black-hearted, spoiled cretins.”

That comment earns Helda a few amused chuckles, and you think that even the Supreme Leader cracks a smile. You gape at your friend, shocked beyond belief at her behavior. Lydia must be horrified too, because she peers at Helda around Joon’s body.

“Helda, what- Who let you drink wine?” Lyida hisses. It’s then that you notice the flush on Helda’s cheeks, the looseness of her smile— Helda is drunk!

You can’t help but laugh at you watch Lydia try to wrestle Helda’s wine glass away from her place setting, scolding Joon for not helping all the while. All the tension has left the room now, and everyone is thoroughly enjoying the display before them.

“You’ve had enough,” Lydia tells Helda, but an officer at the end of the table disagrees.

“Give her another glass!” she commands. “This is the most rousing commentary I’ve heard around a dinner table in a long time!”

While you find what’s going on very funny, you still can’t help but feel incredibly upset by your cousins’ cruelty and your uncle’s indifference.

“I’m not close to my family either.”

Kylo’s voice is soft in your ear, and the way his breath tickles your neck makes heat prickle down your back. You turn your head towards him, unsure of what to say to that. Thankfully, he’s not expecting a reply.

“It’s okay,” your fiancé whispers, and then the both of you go back to talking with the group.

---

You spend your final night as an unmarried woman walking along the beach. The waves lap at your feet and ankles as you breathe in the salty air, a fistful of your nightgown in one hand.

Pausing on the sand, you turn your face towards the stars, studying how they make patterns and pictures in the sky. This time tomorrow, you’ll be amongst all of these twinkling balls of flame, spending your first night in Kylo Ren’s bed.

Closing your eyes against the moonlight, you whisk away thoughts of your husband and your marital bed, trying to center yourself one last time before you go to sleep.

[jonathananubian]

Te Dralyc Kar 9 [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

Jango isn’t quite sure how he came to adopt a blonde slave boy after a job on Tatooine went sideways, but he honestly couldn’t complain. The boy is a little genius, brimming with compassion and a willingness to learn. The only hiccup, as far as Jango is concerned, is the fact that his boy is a naturally powerful force user. Someone the jetii would want to get their hands on.

Of course- he’d just like to see them try.

[This story isn’t linear. More like a series of snapshots. At least until later chapters.]

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022666/chapters/57795934

Introducing Anakin to more of the Haat Mando’ade left Jango feeling very conflicted. A few of them still harbored a lot of anger towards him for how he had disappeared all those years ago. Thankfully most of them came to understand the horror that had been inflicted upon him and forgave his absence. Being enslaved after losing everyone he cared about had broken him. He didn’t feel like he deserved the title of Mand’alor, didn’t think he could handle the reminder of his greatest failures. Then Anakin, his bight little star, had come into his life and given him something to hold onto. None of them said it but he knew at least a few of them were thinking it. The boy had saved his life and what remained of his sanity. Sitting down to a large meeting with the heads of various clans he was surprised just how many people still believed in Jaster’s ideals, and how many more had joined up after Kryze and Vizla had come into power. While Jango certainly, and obviously, hated Vizla he had almost as much disdain for Kryze and her tyrannical ways. The Mand’alor could call upon the warriors of Mandalore and expect them to come when called to action. But the Mand’alor also understood that there were other walks of life that needed to be honored as well. Farming, crafting, raising children, all of that was just as important and honorable as being a warrior. Kryze didn’t get it. She and her New Mandalorians thought that the Resol’nare had no room for those who did not fight as a way of life. Because she didn’t understand she forced her own ‘ideals’ on the people, subjugating those who just wanted to continue living as their forefathers had for generations.

A foolish child throwing a tantrum because not everything was going her way. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was destroying his people’s heritage he might have pitied her. Her father had been a good man, honorable, and she was disrespecting everything he stood for in her search of a mythical ‘peace’ that didn’t, and would never, exist. “Jango, you’re being a stubborn bastard about this.” Dennan of Clan Haarok hissed, slamming his fist into the top of the table. “Just accept the position and let us move on to other matters.” Currently he and his son found themselves as guests of what remained of House Mereel. Now that Jango had returned everyone was more or less intent on thrusting him into the position of Clan Head immediately. “Clan Mereel is gone. Everyone who had any claim to the name is dead.” Except, technically, himself. As the adopted son of Jaster he could always take the man’s last name for himself. But in doing so it would be erasing a part of his own history, part of what made him who he was. Jaster had never asked him to change his name and never expected it of him. "Jango... he made you his heir. You don't have to take his name, everyone here knows you are the rightful head of Clan Mereel. Don't dismiss this out of hand, Jaster deserved more than that." Some around the table flinched, glancing between Shiona and himself. Originally she had been one of Jaster's lieutenants, someone he could trust to get shit done. Somehow, even now, she still held onto the authority that had been placed into her capable hands. He wanted to argue, to curse them for bringing him there, but he knew it wasn't their fault. Jango's failures were his own. "Fine." Standing he placed a fist over his chest. "I am Jango Fett, Leader of House Mereel, son and heir, now Head, of Clan Mereel. I swear to hold my position with honor, to lead you in fairness, and to enact swift vengeance against anyone who dares to cross us." He gave Shiona a look but she just beamed at him. Tensions in the room began to lessen as he sat back down. Now that everyone knew where they stood, where Jango was in the hierarchy, they felt more inclined to work with one another. "One last matter of House business." Jervun of Clan Menzai stated, calling everyone's attention to him. "Alor, will your son be the heir to the Clan? Or the heir to both?" Jango felt as if someone had shoved electricity down his spine, it was an uncomfortable feeling. The thought of Anakin being the heir to a clan and house that had already been through so much hardship made him clench his hands. He didn't want to hand over the curse that seemed to plague him his entire life. But... Anakin had seen himself as Mand'alor. Or at the very least wielding the Darksaber. If that vision of the future was to come about he would need as much advantage as possible. "I do. But not only that." He had the entire room's attention, it was like old times. "I name Anakin Fett as heir to the title of Mand'alor." There were gasps from more than one mouth and he gave them all a humorless grin. "Jango, he's only seven! You're going to paint a target on that child's back!" Tavi of Clan Ysom practically yelled from down the table. "Anakin is Ka'runi, powerful enough that a passing jetii immediately noticed and tried to talk to him." If he hadn't been in the middle of Dex's diner he might have killed the bastard. Just in case he decided to tell the other jetii about Anakin. "His appointment as my chosen heir to the position of Mand'alor doesn't need to leave this room." He looked every sentient in the eyes, or in some cases the visor of their helmet. "I hope you know what you're doing, Alor." Tavi muttered, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. "I have some idea." Laying his arms over his legs he leaned forward. "Tell me everything I missed. We need to start planning." The look of relief and hope on their faces made him want to flinch. Jango still wasn't sure if he could be the leader they needed but by the stars he was going to try his damnedest to make things right. [Anakin] Life since they'd come to Manda'yaim was really interesting. His dad still made him practice hand to hand, how to shoot a blaster, and how to make traps. But now he had an hours worth of training a day with a man named Wad'e. When he'd first shown up in his purple armor Anakin had been a bit nervous, he was a very quiet man. But at his dad's prompting the man had brought out a pair of beskad and Anakin's apprehension had fallen away. He got to learn how to fight with a sword! It was a lot of hard work, just like all hit other practice, but it became one of the most fun parts of his day. Even more than his language lessons with Runa, who seemed to know every language ever. Even though he and his dad would return to the same place to sleep at night Anakin began to notice how busy everyone was around him. How his dad barely had any time to do anything besides meditate with him during the day. He knew that his dad had an important new job now, one that needed a lot of planning, but he couldn't help feeling ignored. "Hey, kid... you okay? You're distracted." Blinking up at Wad'e he felt his face flush in embarrassment. The man had been trying to show him a new strike and he had been lost in his own head again. "N'eparavu takisit, Adat'juri Tay'haai." 'I'm sorry, Teacher Tay'haai.' He said politely with a small bow. The man watched him through his dark visor, Anakin could feel the man's eyes scrutinizing him. "It's alright ner hibir." 'My student.' Crounching down he reached over, almost hesitantly, and put a hand on Anakin's head. "But if something's wrong you can talk to me." Anakin bit his lip and looked down, a bad habit from his life before. "...do you think buir's work will be done soon?" The man stiffened for a moment and a sense of uncertainty filled the air between them. Anakin let out a sigh, that was probably a yes. The man ruffled his hair, making the blonde yelp in surprise. "Your buir is a very important man. Because he's important there are a lot of people who want to speak with him right now." Pulling his hand away the man stood back up and lifted his sword once more. "It doesn't mean he loves you less, or that you're not important to him." There was a faint feeling of strong conviction and respect for his dad that made Anakin feel less anxious. "When he's finished his work why don't you just ask him for some of his time? I'm sure he'll give it to you if he knows you want it." Anakin smiled. "Thanks Adat'juri." The man gave him a single nod and slid into the stance he had been in the middle of teaching. "Now, make sure not to turn your foot outward, you'll want to-" Anakin followed his movements, mind focused on the lesson. Later that evening, after dinner, he sat with his dad for meditation. No matter how hard he'd worked that day Jango always made time to sit down and do their daily meditation. It was nice, to be able to just sit and feel his father's presence so close to him. It made him feel safe and focused. "Are you drifting, An'ika?" Opening his eyes he smiled sheepishly. Jango gave him a look somewhere between fondness and consternation. "You've been really distracted today. Me'vaar?" ‘You okay?’ "Buir... I..." Anakin looked down at his lap, feeling almost selfish for what he wanted to ask. "Do you... think we could go out and see the city a bit? Or... maybe play a game?" His buir watched him quietly for a moment then let out a long sigh. Anakin tried not to chew on his lips again, Shiona said it was bad for him. "An'ika, c'mere." Getting up he walked to his father and smiled when he was pulled into a big hug. "I'm sorry I've been so busy lately. It's not your fault and I haven't forgotten about you, alright? We can go out tomorrow for lunch at the Baat." After a moment his dad pulled away slightly. "I... was planning on introducing you to more people soon. They've been asking about you." "Why?" His buir rubbed the back of his neck. "Because they... well they're our family." Anakin's eyes went wide. He had more family? "Like cousins and stuff?" Jango chuckled. "Something like that. I'm sure if you ask them nicely they can tell you stories about your ba'buir, Jaster, or even stories of me as an adiik." Anakin beamed. "After lunch tomorrow?" His dad smiled. "It's a promise."

[lana-b-bana]

Cordelia Taking Wilhemina To The Doctor Headcanons

A/N: My wonderful partner-in-crime @shineestark contributed heavily to this, so if y’all like this, then you should—you have to check out her masterlist here because you’re sure to find something you like. :)

Early mornings are one of Wilhemina’s favourite times with Cordelia 

Because they’re both so sleepy and perhaps her walls aren’t raised yet, so she finds it easy to mumble about her feelings 

And tender things

(Like love)

So Wilhemina lets it slip that she has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning, quite early, unfortunately, at 6:30, so would Cordelia mind if she came back late and took the day off?

Cordelia just mumbles “mhm” and goes back to playing with her hair

And that’s that. Of course, Wilhemina would never expect Cordelia to say anything that may be seen as indelicate

But, well, Wilhemina was maybe hoping that Cordelia would be curious?

(A tiny part of her wishes that Cordelia would offer to take care of her when she gets back but that’s ridiculous. She’s a very busy woman, and Wilhemina’s appointment isn’t that important, but still. It would be nice to be cared for)

Wilhemina is expecting her alarm to wake her up, but it’s Cordelia’s soft hands stroking her cheek and calling her name gently

She thinks it’s just a dream because why would Cordelia be awake at god-knows-what time it is 

So she just turns her head and extends her arm, hoping she would feel Cordelia’s body

But she realizes it’s not a dream when Cordelia softly laughs and caresses her cheek again, saying “Honey, it’s time to wake up. You have a doctor’s appointment today, remember?” 

Boy, is she awake now 

Wilhemina is also awake + surprised when Cordelia mentions that “I made you some breakfast, sweetheart, so come downstairs when you’re ready.” 

She gets ready quicker than she any time in her life because she wants to know why Cordelia is up earlier than she usually is

Wilhemina’s mouth just ... drops when she sees her breakfast plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes and a cup of coffee

Cordelia is watching her with a shit-eating grin, and she comes up to Wilhemina to kiss her on the cheek 

“Good morning, my love.” 

My what ,,,,???!!!!!,,,!!!

“H-Hi. Good morning, Cordelia” is all she can manage to stammer out before she blushes and gestures toward the plate. “Is this for me?”

“Who else would it be for?” 

God, Wilhemina’s blushing so hard right now

“Well ... anyway. What are you doing up at five o’clock?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cordelia’s teasing grin melts into a soft smile as she pulls out the chair for Wilhemina to sit. “I’m taking you to your appointment.”

“Oh.” Wilhemina’s not exactly sure what to do with her answer

No one has ever, ever expressed any concern for her, let alone waking up hours early just to drive her to the doctor’s

Not to mention cooking her breakfast and surprising her 

Her chest is so tight, but she still wants to make sure Cordelia isn’t just playing a prank on her

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s not trouble. Not to me.”

“You still didn’t have to.” 

“I know, beautiful.” Cordelia leans down to brush her cheek with a kiss before she squeezes Wilhemina’s hand. “I wanted to. Eat up now.”

Who is she to disagree with Cordelia? Especially after her convincing argument that she wanted to do all of this, wanted to take of Wilhemina 

Cordelia does indeed drive Wilhemina to the doctor

Wilhemina is suspiciously quiet on the drive there because her mind is going into overdrive, as it usually does

Is Cordelia going to drop her off? Why did she wake up so early? How is she going to react later when Wilhemina isn’t as responsive as she usually is?

The drive passes quicker than usual

And Wilhemina is shaken out of her thoughts by Cordelia’s hand on her knee and her saying, “We’re here, Mina.”

Her nerves are worse than usual when they get inside, and the doctor’s calling her name already

Wilhemina turns to Cordelia, ready to say goodbye even though every part of her is aching to be protected in Cordelia’s arms

But all she does is caress Wilhemina’s cheek with her thumb and stare at her in that tender way

“I’ll be right out here waiting for you, okay, honey?”

“You’re waiting? For me?” falls from Wilhemina’s lips. Can this day get any more surprising?

“Yeah. I am, sweetheart.”

The doctor calls again for her, and Cordelia smiles like they’re the only two people in the world. “Go on, now. I love you.”

As Wilhemina walks down the hallway to an examining room, her mind can’t stop thinking 

About Cordelia saying I love you

That she woke up early and drove her here

That she’s staying for her 

Wilhemina’s heart is about to burst

But even thinking about Cordelia can’t distract her from the doctor who unzips her dress

She does it so clinically, nothing like the tender, lingering way Cordelia does it

And when the doctor prods Wilhemina’s back, it’s such a foreign feeling that she can’t help but flinch and wish for the twentieth time that Cordelia was here with her 

The appointment is finally, finally over 

Honestly, when Wilhemina goes back out into the lobby, she still thinks that maybe Cordelia was just teasing her and she’s gone

But no. 

Cordelia is standing up, a newspaper in her hand, and the sheer delight in her grin makes Wilhemina’s heart flutter because it’s the sight of her making that Cordelia so happy 

“Hey, honey.” Cordelia interlinks their arms together and walks Wilhemina out to the car, not bothered at her silence

Wilhemina is just so tired

All she can manage is to let some gentleness shine in her eyes

For Cordelia, that’s more than enough

The drive home is quiet, the radio tuned to a classical music station as the only noise in the car

Wilhemina is staring into her lap, and she wants to take a nap. With Cordelia, preferably 

(That’s romance, you guys)

Cordelia can take one look at Wilhemina and she just knows how she’s feeling 

She wants to give some comfort to Wilhemina without speech, so she lays her hand on Wilhemina’s knee and gently rubs little circles with her thumb

That one little touch makes a lump in her throat

Without looking at Cordelia, Wilhemina covers her hand with hers 

(She feels stronger, somehow)

Even when they arrive, they both don’t talk

Cordelia only takes Wilhemina by the hand and leads her to the bathroom

She has to admit, a bath would be nice

Cordelia kneels to fill the bath with warm water and, of course, lavender salts 

By the time she stands up and turns around, Wilhemina is undressed except for her long shirt

She’s playing with the hem, fiddling as she avoids Cordelia’s gaze by staring at the floor

She’s shown her back to Cordelia many times before

But this time feels less casual, more ... raw. Just like the first time. 

Cordelia walks over to Wilhemina and intertwines their fingers and presses their foreheads together

“You know you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, right, sweetheart?” At Wilhemina’s short nod, she continues, “But, if you feel comfortable enough, I’d like to take care of you.”

God, she wants that so much 

And she’s too tired to deny Cordelia anything when she’s speaking so sweetly

When Wilhemina relaxes into the warm water, her back resting on the bathtub wall, she feels more comfortable than she’s ever felt all day

Cordelia is looking at her so tenderly that a flush comes to Wilhemina’s cheeks that she later blames on the heat rising from the bath

Cordelia takes care of her, just like she said she would

She washes Wilhemina’s hair, lets her fingers linger on her collarbone, starts pressing kisses to Wilhemina’s cheek 

It’s one of the greatest things she’s ever experienced 

Cordelia helps Wilhemina out of the bath, and she leads her by the hand to their bed

And like usual, Cordelia rests her head on Wilhemina’s chest, reaching up to play with her hair

“I love you.” It’s the first thing that Wilhemina says after her appointment and the most meaningful 

“I love you too, honey.” 

Wilhemina allows her eyes to close, smelling the sweet scene of Cordelia’s perfume, truly letting herself be vulnerable

Sure, the next coming days might be full of trials

But with Cordelia by her side, Wilhemina could do anything

[creativeashproductions]

Bundle of Joy // Noah Centineo

Summary: Days into marriage you find a revelation that changes everything your honeymoon entailed. Definitely not an inconvenience in any means other than an early present in more ways than one.

Characters: Noah Centineo x Reader, Kelle Centineo, Greg Centineo and Taylor Centineo

Words: 1.7k

Disclaimer: This is only a fictional take on the Centineo family. Do not repost our work anywhere without our explicit consent.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and a smidgen of angst.

A/N: It’s hard to come back to a website that’s turned to shit lately and when nobody really makes an attempt to talk to us. Don’t expect any works without actual interaction. We love to talk to people, but I’ve started to turn to Quotev seeing as we get no feedback.

Master list

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

On your honeymoon, you had expected lots of wine, sex and relaxation for once in a hectic lifestyle you had chosen from that first date of some now defunct dating app. Five years later you hadn't expected the honeymoon to consist of pregnancy tests, saltine crackers and puking. Despite feeling ill, you had decided to keep your suspicions to yourself and keep having fun because these few weeks are the only ones Noah had been stress-free for awhile.

"Babe!" Noah exclaimed peeking his head back into the bungalow with a bright smile, "Are you feeling better?"

"I think that fast food I had, had given me food poisoning." You moaned from the king-sized fluffy bed. The padding of his bare feet sounded first before he settled on the mattress next to you.

"Should be head back home?"

"No." You shook your head quickly, "I'll be fine. I'll just take it easy. Help me up?"

Noah gently grasped your hands in his as he shifted you into his arms to bring you out into the sunny day that England offered finally. In a few days, you would head to Paris, France for the last leg of the honeymoon before returning to your jobs.

"I love you." You sighed leaning into his body more with a beaming smile despite nausea you still felt settled into a less intense feeling, "I'm so happy you married me."

"How could I not with that beautiful smile, caring personality and my gorgeous counterpart." Noah chuckled to himself as the sunrise over the small lake side retreat you had chosen months ago.

Maybe when you returned home in a few weeks, you would have news for Noah about a possible little bean joining the family. Early in the marriage, actually a few years sooner than planned, but there was no doubt that Noah would take the new life in strides. He was born to be a father.

"Do you think anyone would mind if we went for a little swim." Noah's husky voice asked barely a breathe away from your ear as his arms crossed over your midsection.

"Seeing as you booked the entire retreat and the employees signed Non-Disclosure Agreements I think it's safe to say we can." You winked before shedding the camisole you wore to bed last night from a suitcase of lingerie your friends had all bought as a bachelorette party gift.

"I love when you talk dirty to me." Noah joked chasing after your form just as easily removing articles of clothing before he dove under the water to pop up in front of you.

"What can I say? Those years of studying were put to use somehow." You retorted pressing a kiss on his cheek before he nestled into your neck with little love bites and whispers of love.

"I can't wait to spend my life with you."

Paris was more romantic than movies had shown with delicious food, beautiful lights at night and the Eiffel Tower didn't disappoint. Noah returned to filming an upcoming series you hoped would be picked up due to the new arrival coming in May, your calculations were confirmed at the doctors for a due date. It Baby C stayed on schedule with no early appearances the due date would be on Noah's birthday.

The first thing you had to do was tell Noah about it but given that he was a man of detail and observation you had decided to just leave hints around the house. First, you planted a soother in the open box of condoms in his side table and swiping his new script to underline baby in the middle of it. It was only the first part of the plan.

The man himself wandered into the room with a spoon hanging from his mouth and a yogurt container in the other while reading a script. Sundays were never worked on with the lovely director of the film, he reserved those days for his own family.

"Did you pick up milk?" You questioned with a glance at your husband.

"Behind the other milk in the fridge." Noah replied setting his script down while placing the spoon in the dishwasher and the yogurt container in the garbage, "How are you?"

"Perfect." You grinned wrapping your arms around his neck with a cheeky glint in your eye.

"I'll make supper if you can get some veggies and fruits." Noah proposed already opening the fridge to see a platter of veggies, all of the items baby sized, with a chuckle, "I should have known you would have done that already."

The night passed with Noah not catching the little hints even when he had taken his watch off before bed to put in his side table. His eyes caught sight of the pacifier, but he assumed your friend had dropped it when she was helping you choose a new colour for the room. She had had a baby only a few months ago, so he had known she sometimes forgot items. You chuckled as he didn't even catch the underlined work in the script before he yawned.

"Can you hand me the bookmark?" He asked as you gently passed it over.

"Can you pick some things up from the store?" You questioned, "I'm not sure if I'll make it in time. I have that check up with the doctor."

"Sure. Give me a list."

"I have coupons actually." You spoke up leaning over your side to pick up the few coupons. Despite the excellent money Noah brought into the home from acting roles and your well-paying job you preferred using coupons to save money if you could.

"Flour, cookies, pickles, peanut butter, saltines, Doritos and clam chowder. Baby other than flour and cookies we never buy this stu-" Noah cut himself off at the last coupon in his hand in shock. Blatantly displayed was a coupon able to be redeemed in eight months, "Are you...?"

"That one can be put away for a few months." You giggled, "I took a few tests in England. It wasn't food poisoning."

"Little Centineo." He breathed dropping them to pounce on you to press kisses all over your face with a grin that outmatched even the one from your wedding, "Oh my gosh you're carrying my baby."

"You think that you can play some music on your guitar to the baby?"

"Of fucking course. I have to call my parents." He made a dash for the door before you called him back.

"Or we can let them sleep and keep the news to ourselves for a while. Besides don't you wanna know my due date?" You smirked to yourselves as you started to walk over to him.

"This is ama...babe no you should sit down." He guided you back to sit on the bed once more, "When's Lil C coming?"

"Your birthday party may need to move to the hospital if things go to plan."

"Our baby is coming on my birthday." Noah breathed before collapsing on the bed backwards, "I feel like I'm gonna combust. Y/N I literally thought I couldn't love anything more than I love you, but you just proved me wrong. I haven't even seen an ultrasound and wow."

"Tomorrow you will if you can make it to the appointment. I have already been to one to confirm the pregnancy, but I refused to look at the screen until I could with you. It will be a special moment." You turned to cuddle into his side.

True to your words Noah's birthday was spent in the hospital months later cradling his sleeping newborn daughter in his arms. Barely a day old she had almost made it to Noah's birthday but just born at 11:49 pm you knew she was perfect and would still be adamant of celebrating with Daddy. You just knew in your heart that Noah had a new best friend for life.

"Sweetheart?" Kellee spoke through the cracked door, "Are you sure we can come in?"

From the hospital bed, you waved them in just as the baby opened her eyes to stare up at Noah. Noah's parents and sister came into the room having only just arrived at the hospital after the long drive. Your family had already been in a few hours ago before leaving your little family to bond.

"Hey, Mom," Noah whispered scooting the chair closer to your bed.

"Oh my gosh."

"You have a healthy granddaughter." You grinned up at your in-laws.

"What's her name?" Greg questioned peering at the newborn Noah passed to Kellee.

"We would like you to meet Kenzie Taylor Centineo." You breathed keeping your eyes on the pink bundle now in Greg's arms.

"Taylor." Your sister in law gasped blinking slowly, "You gave her my name."

"Well had you not spilt your wine on my shirt in that restaurant I wouldn't have met your brother, my husband." You tearfully replied ushering her over with Kenzie in her arms, "Without a doubt in my mind I knew from the minute I saw Kenzie on the ultrasound that she had to be named after one of the strongest women I know. Noah agreed. Thank you so much for helping me find the love of my life."

"Aw." Taylor nearly sobbed as Kenzie gripped her pointer finger in her hand and cooed up at her, "Well little Kenzie Taylor I hope you know we're going to have a day monthly of ice cream together, but for now you grow up some."

Your life was complete for a few years before another bundle was passed around the room wrapped in another hospital blanket.

Forever Tag List (Want to be tagged? Send us an inbox, we’re more likely to see that than a comment on our work)

@cityofsobbingfangirls @tas898 @barbidollash @trustnobodyshootfirst @winchesterfanfiction @deanwinchesterisamazing @oh-my-hecky-padalecki @padackles2010 @msimpala67 @deangirl5509 @heyitssilverwolf @therealme13posts @petlaufeyson @professionally-crazed @winterhurricane @tearsandbloodofmyenemies @blackwidow-romanoff @crazybarnes @marvelofcourse @takemetothefictionalworld @destiel67bellarke @ohmy-sammy @fightinthepain @vivabucky @waituntilthedustsettles @daydreaming1393 @cumonbucky @inhumans-of-shield @basicwhiskeyprincesss @soulfull-ofevans @spookass @glitterintheairblog @girl-with-wild-dreams @frickin-bats @darkestgrungeuniverse @shamvictoria11 @buckyappreciationsociety @sammysgirl1997 @fly-f0rever @archer-whovian-violinist @jenn0755 @anamarieswift2194 @unicornofdanger @ifyoudie @jealousbitxh @stormin-thru-glitter @sparklyaura @stilescstilinski @curlyxtomato @katshrev @its-sanaa-k @theoismydad @im-a-light-child @tmriddler @flirtswithdanger @divide-supermarketflowers @arkhamasylumpatient-blog1 @introverted-fandom-human @jennylj16 @potterandbucky @harleenq4life @runs-with-sciss0rs @superhero-lover101 @ridingmoxley @edward-lover18 @ridingmoxley @thefangirlliveson @the-crime-fighting-spider @bookworm-nerd6 @sebby-staan @caitlyn-blackwell @were-all-gay-down-here

[sariasprincy-writes]

Where it Happened - 019

Part i    Part ii    Part iii    Part iv    Part v    Part vi    Part vii    Part viii       Part ix    Part x    Part xi    Part xii    Part xiii    Part xiv    Part xv    Part xvi    Part xvii    Part xviii    Part xix (here)   Part xx 

Where it Happened part xix

Sakura was ignoring him. And not just his phone calls and text messages, but his pages too. Itachi searched the entire hospital for her. The Cardiac Ward, the ER, every OR. But every place he went, she wasn't there. And every person he asked didn't seem to know where she was. She was just gone.

It was like after fleeing his condo the night before, Sakura had just vanished into thin air. Itachi had tried to get in contact with her every way short of showing up at her apartment but she hadn't replied to any of it. It didn't take a genius to know she was mad. He understood that. All he wanted was a moment to explain. He had hoped to catch her today - corner her even if he had to - but first he had to find her.

Not knowing where else to go, Itachi swung by the surgical board again. He scanned the list of surgeries purposefully, searching for her name. When he didn't find it, he raked a rough hand through his hair and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

For the first time, Itachi was lost. He didn't know what to do next. In surgery, it was so much easier. If something was bleeding, slap a bandage over it. If it was deep, stitches. An abnormality, cut it out.

Alright, perhaps medicine was not that simple, but in comparison to this, it sure seemed that way. There was a rising feeling in his chest. Not quite panic but something close.

"Hey, Uchiha," Kakashi greeted.

Itachi glanced at the trauma surgeon abruptly. He tensed, expecting Kakashi to glare at him, or in the very least give him that cold stare as he had done to Gaara. Kakashi did neither of those things. Instead, he simply erased a surgery off the board before filling in another.

Bemused, Itachi silently observed him, searching for any signs of hostility or anger. There was none. Itachi's confusion grew. Well that was unusual. As Sakura's self-appointed protector, Itachi had been certain Kakashi would be waiting for him. Or at the very least ready to tear into him at a moment's notice. Unless, Sakura hadn't told him. That was even more strange.

"Hatake," Itachi said slowly, "have you seen Sakura this morning?"

Kakashi gazed back at him curiously. He thought for a moment before he shook his head and looked back over the board. "I haven't seen her since last night. I think I saw her car this morning when I came in, though."

Itachi had too. Which is how he knew Sakura was here. Somewhere. Now if only he could find her.

"Have you talked to her at all?" Itachi pressed subtly.

Upon finding no errors in his work, Kakashi turned away from the board to face him. "About Gaara? She told me she was going to talk to him yesterday."

Bewildered, Itachi blinked. "What? She did?"

"She didn't tell you?" Kakashi asked equally surprised.

It suddenly occurred to Itachi why Sakura had shown up on his doorstep, all smiles and bursting with energy. She had stood up to her abuser. And she had come out victorious.

Itachi abruptly felt worse. "No, she didn't," he murmured.

Kakashi simply shrugged as he checked his pager. "Well, I'm sure she was going to. Knowing her, she got sucked into a case. You know how she is when she gets focused on something."

Itachi made a noncommittal noise as Kakashi left, hoping the trauma surgeon was right. Somehow, Itachi didn't think that was the case this time.

Still lost in thought, Itachi remained in front of the surgical board until his own pager went off. He pulled it off his hip quickly, trying and failing not to be disappointed when it wasn't Sakura's name that appeared on the screen. He was needed for a consult.

Finding Sakura would have to wait, but he couldn't resist giving the board one last glance, hoping beyond hope he might have missed her name the first time. He hadn't. An audible sigh passed his lips before he turned his back and walked away.

##

As it turned out, Itachi had been needed in the ER. What started as a consult had quickly turned into emergency surgery where he had found himself hands-deep in a woman's chest for nearly four hours. Surgeries like those normally gave him a high, left him with a rush after saving a woman's life. Only this time it didn't. His mind returned to Sakura the instant he left the OR. His phone still empty of any messages from her.

Itachi went searching for Sakura again, but just as it had been this morning, he had come up with nothing. No one had seen her all day. Frustration welled within him. Not at her, but for the simple fact she had so effectively vanished.

Had this been what Sakura felt like when Gaara left? Or when Itachi had returned to his old hospital for those two long months? If Sakura had felt even a fraction of what he was feeling now, he had never been so sorry. Itachi just wanted the opportunity to talk to her.

The sound of his pager drew Itachi out of his musings. Pulling his gaze from the window in the attendings' lounge, he snatched it up only to find it was a non-emergency page. His frustration surged again and in a short burst of anger, he threw it at the wall.

Shisui stopped short as he entered the lounge, gazing first at the nearly broken device laying on the floor at his feet before glancing at his cousin. "Was it something I said?"

Itachi shot his cousin an impatient look before his eyes fell out the window again. He rested his hands on the windowsill, his knuckles turning white under his strong grip.

Sensing Itachi was it no mood for games, Shisui bent down and picked the half-broken pager from the floor. He snapped the plastic pieces together before peering at his younger cousin in concern. "What happened?"

Itachi ground his teeth together in an attempt to control his anger. "Izumi showed up on my doorstep last night."

"What? Why?" Shisui asked, his eyes wide.

"I believe it was Sasuke's doing."

"Why would he send her here?"

Shaking his head, Itachi picked up his head and peered out into the distance, past the hospital parking lot, past the city and to the trees beyond. "I assume to try and get me to come home."

"Well obviously you're not going to," Shisui said. "I thought you told him that?"

"I did," Itachi replied so quickly he nearly spoke over his cousin.

Shisui frowned. It had been a long time since he had seen his younger cousin this upset. "So what happened with Izumi?" he pressed quietly.

"Nothing," Itachi said. He hung his head with an exhausted sigh. Then his grip on the windowsill tightened again. "At least until Sakura showed up."

"Does she know?"

"She left before I could explain. I have been trying to all day but…" Itachi trailed off and shook his head. "But she is ignoring me. And I cannot seem to find her."

Their conversation paused there. Itachi returned to staring blankly out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Shisui simply watched him, still rolling his cousin's pager around in his hands absently. It was hard to know what to say in situations like these. Even Shisui's normal teasing wouldn't be enough to cheer his cousin up. He felt helpless.

"Just when I think things may finally work out…" Itachi murmured.

Shisui frowned at his cousin's back, searching for the right words to bring him comfort. He never found them before Itachi's pager in his hands went off. He glanced down at it. "You should probably take this," Shisui told him.

A long moment passed before Itachi finally released his grip on the windowsill and straightened. He took his pager back from his cousin and read over the message.

There was still a frown on Itachi's mouth as he headed towards the door. Shisui stopped him just before he left. "Itachi," he called. Itachi paused in the doorway to glance back at him. Shisui offered him a comforting smile. "Sakura cares for you. Once she calms down, she'll listen."

Itachi said nothing, only inclined his head fractionally before he left. He wished he could believe Shisui, but his cousin didn't know Sakura's history like he did. Shisui hadn't been there - hadn't seen the look of utter betrayal on her face as she left. Itachi could only hope his cousin was right.

##

It was an hour before midnight when Sakura returned to the hospital. This late, the parking lot was empty, except for the cars belonging to the night shift and the surgeons who hadn't quite made it home. Her cab dropped her out front. She tipped the driver and collected her bag before she headed upstairs to the attendings' lounge.

A yawn passed Sakura's lips. It had been a long day. The only thing she wanted to do was retrieve her coat and car keys, and head home. Where her nice, comfortable bed was waiting for her.

"You're here late. Where were you today?"

Looking up from her phone, Sakura spotted Naruto sitting on one of the benches in the lounge. His own phone was in his hands, but he looked at her as she entered the room.

"Military hospital," Sakura replied. "They had a high risk valve replacement so they flew me out. My plane landed an hour ago."

Naruto made a noncommittal sound as he returned to his cell. "Did you tell Uchiha? I heard he was looking for you all day."

Sakura nearly scoffed. Of course he had. She wouldn't be surprised if he was outside her apartment right now waiting for her. Four missed phone calls and eight text messages later. She would have thought he would have gotten the hint by now.

"Might have slipped my mind," Sakura said casually. She grabbed her jacket from her chubby and slipped it on before she slowed to a pause.

Thinking of Itachi had landed her right back in that horrible mood she had been in since last night. She was angry - downright pissed off - but she was also hurt. So incredibly hurt. He had been sleeping with her and all along he had been promised to another woman.

A bone-deep ache throbbed in her chest. Sakura wanted to go home and cry. She also wanted to drown her sorrows in liquor. No reason she couldn't do both.

Turning back around, Sakura faced Naruto. "Are you off?"

The blonde pulled his gaze from his phone before nodding. "Yeah. Why?"

"Wanna go get a drink?"

Naruto considered the offer. Then he grinned. "Yeah. Actually that sounds awesome right now."

Sakura knew what that smile meant. It might only be Tuesday but they were going to drink like it was the weekend. Exactly what she needed.

##

When her cab pulled up to her stop, Sakura was nearly dozing in the back seat. She forced her eyes opened and had just enough thought to pay the driver before she slipped out and stumbled up to the front door of the quaint house.

The front porch was off. In the darkness, Sakura searched for her keys, cursing quietly when she couldn't find the right one. Somehow she eventually managed to find the key for her apartment, only to grow frustrated when it wouldn't fit into the lock. Annoyed, she jiggled the door handle only for it to turn easily. The door nearly slammed open.

Oh yeah. Kakashi always left his front door unlocked. Something that would be dangerous living in the heart of the city, if not for his unbeatable security system.

With the grace of an intoxicated surgeon, Sakura closed the door behind her before she slipped out of her boots. She fell against the wall, her shoulder loudly catching her weight as she struggled with the right one. A half-whispered curse escaped her, but eventually she managed to kick it aside.

As soon as it was off, she stepped around the corner. Only to come face-to-face with said security system.

Three large dogs sat side by side. They stood between her and the rest of the house. Large, intimidating shadows. They stood utterly still, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. Sakura simply held her hand out towards the middle dog. He sniffed her cautiously before the tension drained away. His tail thumped against the floor happily in recognition. Smiling, she scratched the top of his head before she stepped past the dogs and made a beeline for the couch.

Too drunk care about anything else, Sakura fell asleep within seconds.

##

The distinctive plinking of a metal bowl filling with dog food drew Sakura from her sleep. She pulled her blanket over her head and tried to roll over only to find her legs trapped under a large, warm weight. Another pressed along her back, a third beside her pillow.

Upon that unmistakable call for food, all three weights vanished as the large dogs went for their breakfast. With the couch to herself, Sakura finally rolled over, in search of a more comfortable position. One that would chase away the pounding of her head and the nausea rising in the back of her throat. For a little while, she dozed, vaguely listening to Kakashi as he moved about the kitchen. The hiss of the coffeemaker, the retrieval of a mug from the cabinet and the opening and closing of the fridge.

At some point, Sakura resigned herself to the fact that she wasn't going to fall completely back into the blissfulness that was a deep sleep. With a long sigh, she threw the covers off and squinted against the light.

Sure enough, Kakashi was in his kitchen dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a dark grey wife beater. He had a cup of coffee in one hand while he bent down to replace a bowl of water on the floor. When he straightened, he glanced over and watched her approach.

"Good morning," he said, eyeing her.

Sakura ran a hand down her face, thankful he didn't say anything about her appearance. She was sure she looked terrible between her tangled hair and the makeup she still wore from last night. "What time is it?" she asked with a yawn.

"A little after four."

She didn't reply. At least not with words. Instead, she slipped into a stool at the bar and rested her face in her hands, a low, pained groan escaping her lips.

Kakashi sipped from his coffee, still watching her. "You are really hungover, aren't you?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm just still drunk," Sakura mumbled.

Pressing her eyes into her palms, Sakura willed her building headache to leave her in peace. Maybe last night hadn't been a great idea. But it had sounded so good at the time.

"Here, drink this."

Lowering her hands, she saw Kakashi had retrieved a glass of water for her. She flashed him a quick smile of thanks and drank a third of it before pressing the side of the cool glass to her aching forehead.

Their conversation lulled briefly. Sakura contemplated her life choices while Kakashi drank his coffee and studied her. Eventually he asked the question. "You going to tell me why you got shit-faced and ended up on my couch at two in the morning?"

Tears automatically welled in Sakura's eyes. She pinched them together, trying to keep her misery on the inside of her body, before she released a long sighed. One so deep it came from the soul.

"Itachi is married. Or at least engaged to be married," she murmured.

Kakashi just blinked, dumbfound. Like that had been the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth. Not that she could blame him. For Sakura had worn that same exact expression only two nights ago when she had met the other woman. Or rather, Sakura supposed she was the other woman, wasn't she?

"What?" Kakashi finally managed. "He didn't tell you?"

Lowering the water, Sakura glared. "Of course he didn't tell me!"

Flinching, Kakashi tried another direction. "Well...at least you two weren't sleep together," he offered. When she didn't quite meet his gaze, his shot her a look of surprise. "Wait, what. Since when?"

"Since that conference I went to last month." Sakura told him.

Her tears returned at the memory of them in that hotel room. Tangled in the sheets, mouths meeting and tasting only to separate between moans. Whoever was stabbing her in the chest with their scalpel, she really wished they would just stop.

"Gods, why does this keep happening to me?" she asked, raking her hands through her hair. "How do I keep ending up with these type of men? What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Sakura. This isn't your fault, no matter how much you think it is," Kakashi told her. He set his coffee aside to grab her wrist but she refused to look at him. "You just have the unfortunate luck of attracting the wrong type of guys."

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered.

A deep frown marred Kakashi's face. The utter heartbreak in her voice made his own chest ache. More than anything he wished he could relieve her of the pain she was feeling, but he knew there was nothing that could be done. He could only help her pick up the broken pieces.

"I know," Kakashi murmured just as gently. He rested his hand on her head as she buried her face in her hands. They remained that way for a little while before he eventually walked around the bar that separated them. "Come on," he nudged her. "Let's go deal with your hangover."

Without a word, Sakura let him pull her from the stool. She followed him further into the house, so numb and defeated that she followed his order to sit without complaint before he disappeared into the bathroom. In her misery, it took her a moment to realize she was in Kakashi's bedroom.

It had been years since the last time she had been here but it all still looked the same from the bland, grey walls to the faded, dark green comforter. The room itself was remarkably empty say for only a bookcase filled with medical textbooks along one wall and a desk along another. It was scattered with paperwork, the only pictures in the room on the nightstand beside her.

Trying to find anything to distract from the ache in her chest, Sakura peered at them absently. She did a double take when she realized one of the two photos was of her and Kakashi. They were both in scrubs, Sakura's light blue and Kakashi's darker to differentiate their rank, leaning over a hospital bed with a tired but smiling, little girl.

It had been during Sakura's intern year. The little girl whose father continued to insist there was something wrong with his daughter even when all test came back negative. And it had been a good thing the man fought so hard. For his daughter had come back with Kawasaki disease, a rare condition that causes inflammation in the coronary arteries.

"I was nearly fired this day," Sakura said when she heard Kakashi return.

She looked up when he didn't reply to find his arms full of medical supplies. A metal stand, an IV and a banana bag - just the thing that would give her enough fluids to combat her hangover. Automatically Sakura held her arm out to him when he sat beside her.

He peered at the picture. "You disobeyed two different attendings' orders."

"I saved a life."

"Which is the only reason you weren't fired," he countered.

He set up the equipment with practiced ease before he slipped the needle in her arm. Sakura hissed quietly. For being a surgeon, she was never a fan of needles being used on herself. Absently she rubbed at the insignificant ache. "Why this picture?"

Wordlessly Kakashi took the frame from her. He studied it a moment, as if weighing his answer. "Because it was also the day I knew you would make an excellent surgeon."

A genuine smile crossed Sakura's face as Kakashi replaced the picture on his nightstand. She stared at it for a moment longer before her eyes drifted to the picture beside it.

It was from a long time ago, years before Sakura had even met him. There was a woman in the center photo, Kakashi and another man's arms thrown over her shoulders. All three of them were dressed in military garb, a dusty, sandy desert stretching out behind them. It looked hot and uncomfortable, but they were all smiling. Like they hadn't a care in the world. Sakura couldn't ever remember seeing a happier smile on Kakashi's face.

"Are you ever going to tell me?" Sakura asked, glancing back at Kakashi. "About your time in the war?"

He blinked, genuinely surprised. "Why do you want to know about that?"

"Because you've never talked about it," she told him. When he remained quiet, she pressed gently. "Did...did your teammates die?"

Kakashi didn't immediately answer. Just stared at the wall unseeing. He was quiet for so long, Sakura thought he might not answer and she was just about to let the topic go all together when he finally murmured, "Their names were Rin and Obito. And yes, they were killed."

Another hollow ache settled deep in Sakura's chest. But this time it wasn't her own pain that tugged on her heartstrings, but rather his. He had lost those most important to him. Likely right before his eyes. As it was so common in the war.

Sakura couldn't say she was terribly surprised. She had guessed a long time ago that Kakashi had lost someone important to him. Assumed that was why he always kept everyone at arm's length and why so many of his nights were sleepless.

It had been a shock the first time Sakura had crashed in an on-call room only to wake to Kakashi struggling against unknown demons in his sleep. He had never wanted to talk about it, and she hadn't known him well enough to press. And as the years went on, she had found that all he wanted was silent company. Someone who would stay with him and not ask the uncomfortable questions he didn't want to answer.

Sakura offered her silent support now. Without speaking a word, she rested her head on his shoulder. It surprised her to find that the action not only comforted him but her as well. Two lonely people in a harsh, lonely world.

"No matter what happens, I promise I'll always be here," she murmured.

Kakashi was never one for words so she hadn't expect a reply. Instead, he rested his cheek against the crown of her head, each taking comfort in the other. If only all her relationships could be this easy. All so open and free of judgment.

They sat there a little while longer before Kakashi had to get ready for work. Without asking, Sakura slipped under his sheets and cocooned herself in the blankets, carefully of her IV. He came out of the shower to find her that way. "Just please don't throw up on my sheets," he told her as he dried his hair with a towel.

From under the blankets came Sakura's muffled reply, "No promises." Then she peeked her head out to smile. "But I do promise to clean it up if I do."

"Fine," Kakashi sighed before he tossed the blanket back over her head.

##

That morning when Itachi arrived at the hospital Kakashi was waiting for him. The trauma surgeon was leaning against his locker with his phone in hand, but his attention shifted to Itachi as he entered. His glare was indication enough that he knew.

"You talked to Sakura," Itachi said. He set his bag down in his cubby before facing the older surgeon.

Kakashi slipped his phone into the pocket of his scrubs before he crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought I warned you what would happen if you hurt her."

"I never meant to," Itachi said. And he meant that. He had never been so sorry about anything in his entire life. "She does not know the whole story."

"She knows enough of it."

"Not the important part," he countered. "Which is why I need to speak with her."

To his disappointment, Kakashi's glare only hardened. "If you have any decency left, Uchiha, you'll leave her alone."

Perhaps Kakashi was right. And if that was what Sakura wanted, Itachi would respect that. But he still needed to talk to her. He couldn't just walk away. Not until he at least explained. Itachi shook his head. "I can't."

Kakashi stilled then, his eyes widening as if the most outrageous thought just occurred to him. "Oh my…" he said, slowly fitting the pieces together. "You don't just care for Sakura, do you? You actually fell in love her. While you are bound to another woman."

Itachi looked away and didn't answer. Because the truth was he had. He didn't know how and he didn't know when. Only that now when he thought of the future, he wanted her in it. And right now, that future was slipping through his fingers, threatening to vanish forever.

"Where is Sakura?" Itachi asked quietly, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Kakashi stared at him for an unpassing minute. "Unavailable," he said shortly, causing Itachi's shoulders to slump in disappointment. Then the trauma surgeon glanced at his watch. "But she'll be home in a few hours."

Itachi breathed a silent sigh of relief nonetheless before he nodded this thanks.

Kakashi ignored it. Simply pushed off his locker and swept past him. Only to pause when he reached the door. He turned to fix Itachi with a stern stare. "I swear to whatever god you believe in, Uchiha, if you do not make this right, I will make your life hell."

Itachi didn't doubt that for a minute. There was a hidden, dark edge to the trauma surgeon that peeked through in times like these. Like Kakashi could make someone disappear if he wanted. He was not someone one wanted as an enemy. And Itachi had no intention of making him one.

"Sakura told me about Gaara," Itachi said before Kakashi could leave. If the older man was surprised by that information, it didn't show on his face. Itachi continued nevertheless, "She told me what you did for her. How you helped her. I just want to say that no matter what happens between Sakura and I, please do not ever stop looking after her. She trusts you. More than anyone."

Kakashi looked away. He had always been hard to read but just this once it was obvious he was considering his next words carefully. When he turned back to Itachi, his face was passive once more. "Did you ever think, Uchiha, that perhaps the reason she is so hurt is because she trusts you too. And you betrayed that."

"I have never lied to her," Itachi said honestly.

"Then perhaps you should tell her that."

Then Kakashi was gone, leaving Itachi alone with his troubled thoughts.

For the rest of the day, Itachi couldn't get his mind off Sakura. Now that he knew she was finally home, it took all of his willpower not to drop everything to go see her. It was the longest day he could ever remember having.

When Itachi finally did arrive at Sakura's apartment, he was surprised to find he was nervous. Afraid that she would turn him away. Or perhaps she would listen to what he had to say but still tell him she was done. Itachi was aware just how much Sakura had been through in such a short time. He would understand if she couldn't handle any more. That being said, it didn't mean he wouldn't try like hell to convince her otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, Itachi knocked on Sakura's door. He waited with bated breath when the deadbolt slid out of place a minute later before it opened to reveal Sakura.

She was dressed down in a pair of shorts and a zipped up hoodie, but it was her eyes Itachi noticed. They were dull, that fierce spark gone from them. She looked like a woman who had gone through a large emotional rollercoaster in a short period of time. A shadow of her true self.

Sakura took one look at him before she swung the door closed.

Itachi caught it at the last second. "Sakura, wait. I am not married. Nor am I engaged. I never cheated and I never lied to you," he told her quickly.

She was no longer looking at him but neither was she actively trying to close the door on him. That was enough to give him hope.

"Please. Just let me explain."

There was a long moment of hesitation as Sakura considered what she was going to do. So long that Itachi thought she might still close the door on him anyway. But then, she stepped back, leaving the door open for him.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Itachi followed quickly and closed the door behind him. Sakura stopped a few steps from the door before she rounded to face him, her expression hard. She looked one wrong move from kicking him out.

"I want you to know that I never intended to hurt you," Itachi began softly.

Sakura crossed her arms over her chest. "You said you wanted to explain so explain. None of this 'it's complicated' crap. I want the truth, Itachi."

"The truth is I was engaged to Izumi," he admitted. "She is the Heiress to a large pharmaceutical company and had we married, our combined influences and finances would have put us at the top in the medical industry."

"So you were marrying for power," Sakura said, unable to hide her disapproval.

To her surprise, Itachi simply shook his head. "No. I wasn't," he said calmly. When a confused expression passed her face, he explained, "I met Izumi at a conference. It was never about business. It was just about the two of us. I had planned on spending the rest of my life with her. I thought she would be the mother of my children..." Itachi trailed off. The next words out of his mouth almost as painful as the day he had learned the truth.

"Until I learned her and my father had been planning on combining our families' finances from the very beginning."

Like snow in the sun, the anger melted off Sakura. She was still hurt and mad but she couldn't hold onto that burning rage. Not with Itachi standing there looking so lost. So heartbroken.

"She was in it for the money," she concluded.

Itachi nodded. He buried his hands into the pockets of his jacket, not quite meeting her gaze as he shrugged. "Perhaps she did love me. But at this point, it is too hard to tell the difference anymore."

"So you moved here to get away."

"Yes. And then I met you," Itachi said, looking at her again. "Ever since I was an intern, it seemed everywhere I went, my name was known. I have always been regarded with a certain level of respect...whether it was earned or not. In a way, I have become accustomed to people speaking my name as if they know me. But you...you never even once did so. In fact, you didn't even like me."

Sakura looked away and bit the inside of her lip, trying to hide her smile.

He couldn't help but smile faintly in return. "What I am trying to say is that you have always seen me for who I am. I don't have to pretend or put up a front with you. I am my most comfortable and my most happy when I am with you. There is no other person in the world that has ever made me feel like you make me feel."

Sakura stilled, her eyes slowly rising to meet his. He hadn't say the words but his meaning couldn't be any clearer. Her heart filled to bursting and broke at the same time. It couldn't be true.

Opening her mouth, she fought to find her words. In the end, she shook her head. "You can't honestly expect me to believe any of that so soon after breaking off your engagement with another woman."

Itachi blinked, obvious confusion passing his face. "I didn't just break off my engagement, Sakura. I ended my relationship with Izumi three weeks before I met you."

That information hit Sakura like a physical blow. She simply stared at Itachi as all that pent up anger slipped away in a single exhale. He really hadn't lied, she realized. It only made his declaration that more sincere. And she didn't know if that scared her or excited her.

"I…" Sakura shook her head slowly as she trailed off. She didn't know what to say. Mostly because she didn't know how to process any of this. So much had happened in such a short time. It was like she was running a marathon at a sprint and she just couldn't seem to catch her breath.

She settled for a redirect. "Then what was she doing here?"

Itachi sighed loudly. "As it turns out, Sasuke has a bigger mouth than when he was in med school," he said with a great deal of forced patience for his brother. "Something I spoke with him at great lengths last night."

That would explain how Izumi had known her name. And why she had shown up after so much time had passed. Had Sasuke pushed Izumi into believing her relationship with Itachi could be salvaged?

These thoughts swirled through Sakura's head but they vanished abruptly when she saw Itachi was still watching her. Her heat began to race again. She wondered what should she say. How should she respond. Their relationship had begun complicated with one of them always having one foot out the door. Now, however, Itachi was standing before her, all his card laid out in front of her. It was her move. And she didn't know what to do.

Itachi, who could somehow always read her so easily, sensed this. He stepped toward her, his fingers ghosting along her jaw as if trying to calm the storm raging in her mind. "I am not looking for you to say anything. I am simply telling you how I feel. I told you before that I am not going anywhere. I can wait for whatever you decide."

His fingers trailed down the column of her throat to rest upon her pulse point. Featherlight touches that made her skin tingle in the best kind of way. He held her gaze and for one breath-holding moment, she thought he was going to kiss her.

He didn't.

Just like that, he withdrew from her and stepped away. "Let me know when you have your answer," he murmured.

Her mind still spinning, Sakura watched as Itachi turned to leave. She reached out for him before she even realized she was moving, her fingers grasping the sleeve of his jacket. Itachi glanced back at her but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze fixed at some point near his shoulder. A strange expression on her face like she didn't know if she had meant to stop him or not.

"Just...stay," Sakura said so quietly it was nearly a whisper.

Not a reply to his declaration. But also not pushing him away. Just a truce while she sorted out her own thoughts.

When she finally raised her eyes to met his, she no longer looked uncertain. Just a little anxious of what would happen next. It was so endearing Itachi couldn't help himself. He cupped her face before he bent his head and kissed her. Soft and slow.

Sakura responded briefly, her fingers clutching at the material of his shirt. Neither of them spoke when she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Itachi merely held her, one hand cupping the back of her neck while the other tightened around her shoulders.

It was a long while before either of them moved.

to be continued...