#staring directly into the cold harsh eye of death and opening up my laptop to post this

[fischerfrey]

HPMA AU; A Christmas Prince

Chapter 3: The Princess’s Companion

Summary: Dawn becomes a companion to Princess Olympia while trying to uncover information about the prince and the situation in Alderly.

Words: 2.7k

Characters:

Dawn Harvelle by @potionboy3​

Pandora Lovelace by @gcldensnitch​

Rocky Weasley by @magicallymalted​

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Chapter 3: The Princess’s Companion

The next day, Dawn’s alarm rang at six in the morning, just in case. He had no idea how to be a lady’s companion, so he went through Princess Olympia’s schedule again, and a thick folder full of etiquette rules and other information that probably would’ve helped him if he had had a week to study it. To Dawn it seemed that the princess was in some kind of house arrest for poor behaviour (read: partying and telling reporters to go fuck themselves). He almost felt sorry for the queen, having both her children’s personal lives flayed in the press on daily basis. At half past nine, Miss Pince appeared behind his door to escort him to the princess. She was waiting at another identical fancy room, or maybe it was one of the same ones Dawn had already seen, he truly had no idea.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” Miss Pince greeted her. Olympia was scrolling her phone, looking bored, but when they entered, she looked up and smiled.

“Oh Irma, did you bring my government-assigned friend?” she asked. “Marvellous!”

“At your service, Your Highness,” Dawn said, like a pro.

“Olympia is fine,” said the princess and Miss Pince gave her a look that said it was not appropriate. “Ignore Irma, we’re to be friends,” she continued.

“Cool,” said Dawn. “Olympia it is.”

“Right,” Miss Pince said. “I shall leave you to it, then.”

She left, and Dawn and Olympia were alone for the first time.

“What kind of rules did they give you?” asked Olympia.

“Well, we are not stand any closer than 50 centimeters from each other or drink alcohol before dinner,” Dawn recited.

“That still leaves a lot of options.”

“Those were just random ones, I think there were approximately 128 more,” Dawn added. Olympia sighed.

“According to this,” Dawn said, shaking the folder he had brought with him. “Our best option is tea.”

“First, let’s go for a walk,” Olympia said. “I can show you around.”

“Sure.”

“Grab a coat, it’s cold,” she said.

“Alright,” said Dawn. “I’ll meet you by the door.”

~

Dawn didn’t have a fancy coat, but he bundled up as best he could with what he had at hand. Olympia, on the other hand, was dressed u exactly like Dawn imagined a princess would dress for a snowy day. She had a light pink woolen coat and a matching hat, with a white scarf and mittens.

“’Ello,” he said upon approaching her.

“Hello.”

“Ready?”

“Like a girl scout,” said Olympia.

They headed out. The day was bright and crisp and snow glistened everywhere like a holiday greeting card.

“My eyes hurt,” said Dawn.

“I know right!” Olympia said excitably. “Come, I’ll show you the garden.”

“In the middle of the winter?”

“You’ll love it, the winter roses are at their best this time of year!”

“Why, of course…” Dawn mused. Because of course there were winter roses.

~

They walked to the gardens and Olympia explained some history about Alderly. Specifically, about some weird legend about a princess who fell in love with an ogre who was secretly a prince. The legend was a bit over the top, but the castle grounds were quite beautiful. There were not as many gaudy Christmas baubles everywhere, for one. When they got to their destination, Dawn saw that someone was already there. Prince Quentin was holding a big wooden bow and tinkering something with it. Then he picked up an arrow, set it on the bow, took aim, and shot. Dawn looked at him shoot a few more arrows. He was pretty good, and there was something about seeing someone shoot arrows in real life that made Dawn’s nerdy side get a little excited. He wondered if there was a chance, he could give it a shot.

“Quincey! What are you doing?” Olympia yelled out. The prince turned to look at them.

“What–, oh, Olympia, hi,” he said. “I was just adjusting the sights on my new bow…”

“Hi,” said Dawn, to make his presence known.

“Hello, Mr. Albrecht,” said the prince, or Quincey, as Olympia had put it. It was kind of cute.

“Dawn and I were taking a walk,” Olympia explained and patted Dawn on the shoulder.

“Not day drinking,” said Dawn hastily.

“Well,” said Quincey the Prince and turned back to his archery target, taking aim again. “Mother will be pleased.”

He took a shot and narrowly missed bullseye.

“Show-off…” Olympia muttered.

“That looks fun,” said Dawn.

“Ooh, Quince, you should let us try,” said Olympia.

“Oh yeah, I’ve never tried,” said Dawn. “My family is just obsessed with…” He paused. What did rich people do for fun? “Polo,” he said.

“Our father loved polo,” said Prince Quincey and gave the bow to Olympia. She took her shot and hit bullseye right in the middle. Both Dawn and the prince stared at her in awe.

“Now who’s a show-off?” the prince muttered, mostly to Dawn. Olympia bowed elaborately and handed Dawn the bow. It felt weird and he had no idea how to hold it.

“I’m reminding you that I’ve never done this before,” he said and switched the bow from one hand to the other and back.

“Oh, here, let me show you,” said the prince and walked over to Dawn. He showed him how to hold the bow and handed him an arrow. Actually, he was standing quite close, and Dawn tried hard not to notice, but the man smelled really good.

“Then, stand like this,” the prince said and put his hands on Dawn’s shoulders, turning him slightly. Dawn felt totally normal about that.

“A-ha, okay…” Dawn said, though he didn’t register a word.

The prince moved Dawn’s hands to rest on the proper positions on the bow, helping him pull the string taut, and said: “Alright, now give it a shot.”

“You smell ni–, I mean, thank you!” said Dawn, like some kind of idiot and also managed to let go of the bowstring. The arrow flew but not towards the target. Instead, it flew towards one of the windows of the castle, then right through it, shattering it, accompanied by a woman’s scream and some very imaginative swear words.

“Shit,” said Olympia.

All three of them stared at the window in horror.

“Run,” she continued and grabbed both of them by their wrists, pulling them along. Dawn was hoping he hadn’t just accidentally murdered someone, because that would be bad and definitely lead to the uncovering of his stolen identity.

“Oh, for cock’s sake,” Dawn swore, trying to keep up with Olympia.

~

Olympia led them into a small alcove, and she was laughing. Dawn wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate reaction.

“That was Miss Pince’s voice,” said Olympia. “She’s going to murder us.”

“Unless mother beats her to it…” mumbled the prince.

“Do you have a death penalty in here?” asked Dawn.

Olympia gave him a solemn look. “Yes, unfortunately, they’ll probably take your head for this.”

“What?” asked Quincey the Prince. “We absolutely do not have the death penalty.”

“Oh, good to know,” said Dawn, trying not to sigh with relief.

“But we do have mother-penalties, such as mother taking away my allowance,” said Olympia.

“Well, obviously we were never here,” Dawn said.

“I like the way you think. Quince, I like the way he thinks.”

The prince smiled at his sister.

“We were having tea,” Dawn continued. “In fact, we should go have tea right now.”

“Yes, excellent, come along,” Olympia said and grabbed Dawn’s wrist again, dragging him along, not towards the main entrance to the castle, but possibly a secret passage, or a side door, or something like that, that castles probably had.

“What about me?” asked Quincey The Prince.

“You’re the future king!” Olympia called back to him. “You figure it out!”

~

Dawn followed Olympia through a side door. It wasn’t guarded and he could see himself using it for sneaking around easily enough.

“What the bloody hell is this here for?” he asked the princess. “Way too many ways to rob this place.”

“Not many people know it’s here,” Olympia explained. “I get bored, so I explore.”

“I could be a criminal in disguise, you know.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be exciting?” asked Olympia. “Are you going to kidnap me?”

“No, you’re no use to me, you’re not even next in line for the throne,” laughed Dawn.

“Because of some bullshit, misogynistic law made hundreds of years ago,” said Olympia. “Or the substance abuse. One of those.”

“Would you want to be queen?” Dawn asked.

“Oh, absolutely not, it sounds horrible,” Olympia said. “But it’s the principal, you know?”

“Of course.”

“Anyway,” Olympia continued. “I’ll find someone to bring us tea, meet me at the parlor on the second floor of the east wing in about… seven minutes. Try not to let anyone see you, I’m really not supposed to get in any trouble.”

“You’ll… okay,” said Dawn, although he didn’t remember anything about the directions he’d just been given. He would also have wanted to prepare his own tea, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

~

Dawn ended up getting lost, which was not at all surprising. A palace aide found him on the princess’s orders and took him to the right place. The palace was impossible to navigate.

“I was beginning to think we’d lost you forever,” Olympia said with a laugh. “Here, take a seat and have some tea.”

“Great,” said Dawn and sat down. “Your house is a maze.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Olympia said and sipped her tea. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?”

“I’m not too particular,” said Olympia. “Do you have any pets? Where did you study? Have you ever killed anyone?”

Dawn thought furiously. “No, I don’t have pets, haven’t killed anyone and I study in St. Andrews,” he said, almost in one breath. “Haven’t graduated yet, though, I’m trying something new.”

St. Andrews was where Prince William had studied, right? Must’ve been.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Olympia. “I’m having a gap year, too.”

Dawn was glad he’d had time to do some research, at least. “I heard,” he told the princess. “Have you enjoyed studying in France?”

“I like it much better than being here,” Olympia admitted. “But you know… then… father. I have to be here.”

“Yes, I’m very sorry for your loss,” said Dawn.

“Thank you.”

Olympia noticed quickly that Dawn didn’t enjoy the tea as much as he could’ve and offered to ask the kitchen to bring him a different kind, but Dawn declined, thinking about his own blend waiting for him in his room. He told her about how his mum used to make tea blends herself, before her passing.

“My brother is quite the tea enthusiast,” said Olympia.

“I read that in a magazine, I think,” Dawn mused.

“I’m more of a wine enthusiast,” Olympia laughed, and Dawn couldn’t help laughing too.

“You’re nearly not as stiff-necked as I was led to believe,” Olympia said.

“You’re just as snobby as I thought you’d be,” said Dawn.

“Hey!”

Dawn shrugged. “I say what I think.”

“Good, I want you to be frank with me.”

Dawn laughed. “You’ll be Marilyn, then.”

Talking to Olympia was surprisingly easy. She had a charm about her that Dawn suspected made people like her quickly. It was easy to make her laugh and she was quite funny herself, always ready with a witty retort, at least, for a princess.

“What do you make of my brother?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“I’m worried about him,” she said quietly.

“He seems to be in one scandal or another every week,” said Dawn.

Olympia rolled her eyes and stabbed a tea cake with her spoon. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“I don’t really know him.”

“Not many people do.”

“All I’m saying is that he seems like quite a figure.”

“He’s a tosser,” said Olympia, with her smiling returning. “And a huge nerd.”

“A playboy-nerd?” asked Dawn, suspiciously. “There have been a lot of girls, haven’t there?”

“No, no there hasn’t.”

“Why hasn’t there been a correction in the press, then?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Olympia said quite cryptically.

“I’m not sure I follow…”

“The tabloids usually only write about things our PR team feeds them,” Olympia said.

“I’d want my own voice to be heard.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So, you’re saying your brother is misunderstood?” asked Dawn.

Olympia nodded.

“That’s surprising.”

“Is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The press has been very convincing.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance to get to know him yourself.”

“Darling,” said Dawn. “I’m here to be your companion.”

“Yes, how scandalous,” Olympia grinned. “But I like you, Dawn Albrecht, and I know we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

“Obviously, that’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re here to be a glorified baby-sitter, but I’ll take it.”

Dawn laughed. “Don’t go falling in love with me, I don’t want some Alderlian Crown’s sloppy seconds.”

“As if!” Olympia laughed and threw a tea cake at him.

They laughed and finished their teas.

~

Dawn went back to his room to call his friends again. He had to talk to someone who knew his situation before he lost his mind, so he dialed up Rocky and Pandora again, even knowing they were most likely not going to be very helpful.

“Dawn!” Pandora greeted him. “You’re alive!”

“I almost wasn’t,” Dawn said sourly. “I shot an arrow through a window.”

“You what?” Rocky cut in.

“I was trying some archery,” Dawn explained. “I wasn’t very good. But I did have tea with the princess afterwards.”

“How was she?” asked Rocky.

“Funny, actually,” Dawn said. “We get along.”

“Gosh, I can’t believe you’re living in a castle, having tea with princesses, shooting arrows through windows that probably cost more than my entire year’s salary…”

“Hence why I’m surprised to be alive!” Dawn said. “Oh, oh, wait, The Princess said that what the tabloids are writing about Prince Quentin is false?”

“Seriously?” Rocky asked. Neither he nor Pandora looked fully convinced.

“What about all the pictures with the different girls?” asked Pandora.

“Apparently, he’s a nerd? But I don’t know if that’s true,” Dawn mused. “Can nerds do archery for fun?”

“Mate, nerds are into fantasy stuff, you’re into fantasy stuff.”

“Oh, right, I didn’t even think about it like that…”

“Kerry won’t be happy with a sappy story about a misunderstood prince…” Pandora said. “But I think you should find out the truth and then write it.”

“I don’t know if I can, I don’t have anything concrete, yet,” said Dawn.

“Let me remind you again of the giant, fancy castle that you’re living in,” Pandora tried. Dawn appreciated her effort to cheer him up, and was about to reply, when there was a knock on his door.

“Shit, balls, I have to go,” he said quickly, and slammed his laptop shut.

“Who is i– I mean, come in!” Dawn called.

A palace aide opened the door and stepped in. “Her Highness, the princess Olympia would like a word.”

Dawn got up from his bed and smoothed his trousers. “Yes?”

Olympia glided in. “Dawn, sorry to bother you, but I have an important question.”

“Okay?”

“If you’re not too busy tonight, I’d like you to be my guest.”

“A guest for what…?”

“Mother is serving cocktails for some of the nobility and other important people.”

“Oh,” said Dawn. “And… you want me there?”

“Yes, as my guest.”

“Oh… As a guest-guest?”

“A guest, a plus-one, an avec, whatever you’d like to call it,” Olympia laughed.

“O…kay,” said Dawn. And then: “I don’t think I have an appropriate outfit, though.”

“I’ll have something brought for you, don’t worry,” Olympia said. “I’ll see you in an hour, Gavin here will escort you, so you don’t get lost again.”

“Oh,” said Dawn and looked at the palace aide. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Gavin curtly.

Olympia waved and left, and Dawn felt like he was getting deeper and deeper into a mess he didn’t know how to untangle.

[spencersstrawberryjello]

Scum of the Earth (Spencer Reid x fem!MC)

Summary: After a prison interview gone wrong, MC is left to recover from the disgusting things the prisoner said (with Spencer’s help, of course)

Content: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of violence related to crime, including rape and torture, as well as swearing

MC’s name and pronouns: no name mentioned, she/her

Word Count: 2420

A/N: Can you tell I watched Mindhunter right before I wrote this one? lmao

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“Pretty girl,” the man in front of me clicked his tongue, observing me from his position across the interview table, “The things I’d do to you…”

My hands trembled, but I forced myself to appear calm as I leaned in, a challenge in my eyes. “Would you do to me what you did to those girls?”

He let out a harsh laugh, one that sent a shock of fear straight through my body. He leaned back in his chair, giving me a shameless once over before he spoke again. 

“Oh sweetheart, you’re better than any of those whores.”

“Whores? So you mean to tell me you weren’t attracted to them?”

“Of course I was attracted to them,” He scoffs, as if it was obvious, “How could I not be? No, I was attracted to them; I just didn’t respect them.”

“And you respect me?”

“Well you are an FBI agent, are you not?”

“People like you have a tendency to resent us more than respect us, if I’m honest with you.”

“People like me? You mean monsters. Is that how you see me, Agent? A monster?”

“Not monsters. I merely mean people in prison. We are the reason you’re in this hellhole, after all.”

“Dirty mouth,” He laughed, “Wonder what else you could do with that.”

“I -”

“You asked me if I’d do to you what I did to the other girls,” He leaned in now, his face inches from mine, his voice barely above a whisper, “The girls I raped. The ones that I tortured, that I murdered. Would you like to hear what’s running through my mind right now, honey?”

I couldn’t breathe, my throat tightening as cold fear coursed through my body. But my entire job was to figure out how this man thought. For research.

Nothing in my research could’ve prepared me for what he was about to say, though. 

“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To hear what’s running through your mind?” I replied. His mouth curled into a haunting grin, and he lowered his voice even more, as if he was trying to keep the people he knew were monitoring this interview from outside the room from hearing him.

“I’d take my time on you,” He started, his voice making every inch of my skin crawl, “Too good to waste…”

I had to force myself not to pull away as he began to detail exactly what he was thinking, his voice still too low for Hotch to hear him through the weak security camera microphones. 

Never in my entire career did I imagine I’d be sitting across from vermin like him, listening as he described, in painstakingly visual imagery, how he’d force himself on me, how he’d torture me until I craved the sweet relief of death. How he’d finally murder me. My entire body was shaking, and I couldn’t do anything but bite back the nausea at the scenes he detailed for me. 

I had half a mind to thank god that I remembered to turn on the recorder in my front pocket. There was no way that the mics on the security cameras were picking this up - there was a reason no one had pulled me out of the room yet - and the things he was saying were incredibly revealing, from a behavioral standpoint. But I couldn’t be excited about the new information when he was describing my own death in front of me.

It wasn’t until he reached up and ran his finger along the curve of my jaw that Hotch stormed back in. I hadn’t realized I was close enough to him for him to touch me, but I flinched away from his touch, making him laugh as guards returned to the room, pulling his arms behind his back and escorting him from the room as he laughed.

“Hope you got the information that you needed, sweetheart!” He called as he was removed from the area. I heard his laughter echo up and down the hall, and I immediately rose from the table, my hands still shaking. 

“Can it, Lewis!” One of the guards demanded, but it was quiet as the sounds faded down the hall.

Hotch’s expression of anger turned to one of concern when he saw my expression, my face paled, my eyes far away. 

“What was he saying to you?” He asked. I just pulled my recorder out of my pocket with trembling hands, holding it out to him and fumbling with the button to turn it off so I didn’t waste space. 

“You can listen for yourself. I can’t -” I shook my head, trying to clear it. 

“Ok,” He took it from me, slipping it into the pocket of his suit as he regarded me carefully, “Ok. Are you good to walk back out of here?” 

I attempted to steady my breathing before nodding and grabbing my blazer off the back of the chair, slipping it on and following Hotch out of the prison. I felt a bit better with every step away from the prison we took, but his voice bounced around my mind, the scenes that my imagination created so vivid that I couldn’t seem to push them away. 

Somehow, he knew exactly how to play on my history to get under my skin. He knew exactly what to say to make my skin crawl, and it made another wave of nausea wash over me just thinking about it. Because as bad as the horrors I’d just heard were, they brought about an even more terrifying question.

How did he know?

I had half a mind to ask, but there was a chance it was just a coincidence. I knew that if Hotch had any concerns after listening to the recording I’d made, he’d come to me about it. For the moment, I merely stared out the window, watching the scenery rush by on our way back to the jet. When we finally arrived at the airstrip, I wanted nothing more than to be alone. 

Or at least, alone with one other person. 

Spencer greeted us when we got back on the jet, and immediately he could tell that something was wrong. I was pretty sure my hands were still shaking, and he pulled me into a tight hug.

“How’d the interview go?” He asked. I wasn’t sure if the question was directed at me or Hotch, but I replied before he could.

“It was incredibly informative,” I broke the hug, pulling back to talk to the both of them, “His conversation directly with me revealed a lot about his thought process when doing what he did.”

“Directly with - you were in there by yourself?” Spencer immediately snapped his gaze to Hotch. 

“Calm down, Spence, I volunteered to talk to him alone. You really think our resident Unit Dad here would just ditch me?” I joked, to which Hotch rolled his eyes as I continued explaining, “I thought that I might be able to elicit a more honest response from him if I was talking to him one on one.”

“Because you’re a pretty young woman,” Spencer stated, showing he understood my thought process. I just faked a scandalized gasp, one shaky hand on my chest.

“Dr. Reid, are you calling me pretty? You know, that’s very unprofessional behavior for the workplace.”

“I can think of some behavior that’s a bit more unprofessional,” He teased before pulling me in for a quick kiss. I heard Emily’s voice from behind us. 

“Ugh, sit down!” She called. I offered her a choice gesture before moving away from Spencer, moving to sit in the corner near the back of the plane. Hotch held up my recorder as he walked by, signaling that he was going to listen to it and bringing the nausea back in full force. 

I felt the color drain from my face again, though he didn’t notice. He’d already taken his seat, pulling out a laptop and headphones from his bag. 

Spencer noticed though, from his seat across from me.

“Hey,” He grabbed my hands. I hadn’t even noticed they’d started trembling again. “What happened in there?”

“I - he’s a disgusting person, Spence. Like, scum of the earth disgusting.”

“Lewis?”

I nodded, and he moved from sitting across from me to sitting next to me, pulling me into a hug. I just buried my head against his chest, trying to distract my mind from the sound of George Lewis’s voice, and the images that came flooding back to me. 

“What did he do to you?” Spencer asked. I shook my head.

“He didn’t do anything. It’s just what he said that shook me up.”

He was quiet, clearly waiting for me to continue. I drew in a shaky breath, not moving from his arms as I spoke.

“I… I was trying to get inside his head. I wanted to hear his thought process during the crimes the way that he viewed it, and I knew that using my femininity against him was the best way to do it. I was trying to get him to open up to me because he thought I was attractive…” I trailed off for a moment, the feeling of his hand on my face so real that I almost reached up to smack it away. I fought back the bubble of nausea rising in my stomach as I continued, going into as little detail as possible. “It worked, I guess. What he said was very telling.”

“Babe?” Spencer said after I fell into another lapse of silence. I pulled back to meet his eyes, and the concern in them stopped my heart, “What did he say?”

“...He described exactly what he would do to me if I were one of his victims. In painstaking detail, how he would rape me, torture me, kill me -” My whole body was shaking at this point, and I ducked my head back into his chest, feeling his arms tighten around me. “- I just can’t get his voice out of my head. Can’t get those images out of my head.”

“Reid?” I expected to hear Spencer respond, but instead I heard Hotch. I looked up to see him standing in the aisle, a dark look in his eyes, “Could I talk to you for a moment?”

“I -” He looked between me and Hotch, and I gave him a small smile. 

“Go,” I assured him. I had a feeling that this little meeting was because Hotch had listened to the recording, anyway. 

Spencer reluctantly got up, following Hotch over near the back of the cabin, where he’d set his computer on the counter. I watched as Spencer put the headphones in his ears, pressing play on the recording and listening. I couldn’t see his face, I could only see Hotch’s reaction as the clip went on, but Hotch looked pissed.

I mean, more than his resting pissed face, of course. 

Spencer took the headphones out of his ears after a moment, slowly placing them back on the computer, his body language illustrating a state of shock. He glanced back at me, and I saw a dozen emotions raging across his expression. Of course, there were three that were the strongest.

Anger.

Shock.

And worry.

He immediately crossed the plane back to me, pulling me into a tight hug before moving to sit back down, still keeping me in his arms. He placed a kiss on the top of my head without speaking, one hand splayed on my back to keep me close to him. 

“You listened to the interview?” I phrased it as a question, even though it was more of a statement.

“He never should’ve been allowed to say that stuff to you,” He said. I just shook my head.

“I provoked it. I wanted him to reveal what he was really thinking.”

“It still should never have gotten that far.”

“It worked though.”

“It worked at your expense,” He argued, “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t have to do anything. I chose to.”

“Are you ok?” He asked, the question catching me off guard. He pulled a bit back from the hug, prompting me to look up at him. “I heard the shit he said, baby. Are you ok?”

“I… I’ll be fine. It just really shook me up.”

“You're trembling - you have been since we got on the plane. You’ve been trying to hide it, but I noticed. And I can tell you’re trying not to be sick -"

“... Maybe a better way to phrase it is ‘scared the living shit out of me.’”

He laughed softly, leaning back against the arm of the chair before pulling me close again so I could rest my head against his chest. “That’s closer to what I’ve observed.”

We laid there silently for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around me, one hand softly tracing indistinct patterns up and down my back as I felt his chest rise and fall against me. George Lewis’s voice echoed inside my mind, and I buried my head deeper into his chest, prompting him to hold me closer. 

I was still shaking, and I wrapped my arms around him, gripping the back of his shirt to try to steady my hands. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, and continued to run his hands along my back. The gentle motion was comforting as I forced the memories of the interview to the side, allowing myself to drift off into what I prayed would be a dreamless sleep.

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

“How is she doing?” Hotch asked. Spencer sighed, looking down at me now asleep in his arms. 

“She was trembling, Hotch - I don’t know if I’ve seen something as simple as an interview affect her this badly before.”

“I know… is there any other reason you can think of that what Lewis said would have such an effect on her?”

He reflected for a moment, biting his lip and looking back down at me with indecision in his eyes. Finally, he looked back up at Hotch. “There could be. But it’s something you might want to talk to her about directly… it’s not really my business to share.”

“Is she in any danger?”

Spencer shook his head. “Just something that happened when she was younger. With her sister.”

Hotch nodded, giving Spencer’s shoulder a squeeze in a gesture of comfort before returning to his seat. Spencer returned to his soft touches around my body, his hands smoothing down my hair as I slept in a cold slumber.

[junie-bugg]

Prospects and Propriety - Chapter One

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

“We’re very similar, you and I.” He turns the leaf over in his palm one last time and then presses it into my hand. His fingertips are warm where the leaf is brittle.

We are, aren’t we? Me, a girl forced to marry by the rules and expectations of society and him, a boy whose freewill was stolen away before he could even walk. We’re both prisoners. Destined to fates we did not choose ourselves. Now I see what was so funny to him.

The two of us: we are absolutely tragic.

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Author’s Note: 

This is a story inspired by my love of Everlark and Jane Austen’s novels. I am in no way an expert on the Regency period and I include fashions/details that are not historically accurate.

The setting is an alternate England-like Panem.

The plot is my own (Gale is not Mr. Darcy people, don’t get it twisted) but does borrow aesthetics and ideas directly from Jane Austen and Suzanne Collins.

The cast of characters is a mix of canon Hunger Games and original characters I’ve created.

I plan on including links to music and ambiance videos I used while writing so feel free to explore those! I typically play nature sounds and music together on my laptop so sorry if you're reading on a phone!

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cc9ofwF-e4

(If you want to listen to this on Spotify it's called 'The Secret Life of Daydreams' from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.)

Word Count: 1,727

Chapter One

I run my hands through the tall grasses at my waist. It’s the perfect morning. The crisp air doesn’t quite hold that harsh bite of winter that will soon sweep the countryside in blizzards and ice. Emerald leaves hint at the coming autumn with the slightest tint of yellow along their stems. The sun shines bright through branches and I watch the forest come alive with squirrels and chipmunks that scurry through the thick brush. The dirt path I followed to get here grazes the edge of the woods, but I’ve abandoned it to traipse through the wild-flower dotted hillsides instead. 

From this high up, I can see everything. The village of Whitley lies to the west. I can just make out the rooftops of the squat brick buildings off the main square. By this time the merchants will have opened their shops for business. The rest of the countryside is peppered with grand estates and bountiful farmland. Rivers gleam like veins of silver and dirt roads are wreathed in the dust kicked up by horse-drawn carriages. I wish I could stay and sit here all day. I would drink in the sun and drown in the low hum of insects, though Haymitch has warned me of the nasty gossip that follows a lady with a tan and a set of freckles. 

A lady. I almost snort. Apparently, that’s what I am. Or what I need to be if anyone is ever going to ask for my hand in marriage. The thought ruins the good mood my morning stroll had put me in. I throw myself down among the tall grasses and begin plucking mindlessly at their stems. 

Haymitch Abernathy, the legal guardian of me and my sister, has never been one to force us into doing things we dislike. I’m allowed to ride my horse alone, hunt with a bow and arrow, and take off into the woods whenever I please, like some woodland nymph from one of my father’s old stories. If it wasn’t for Prim and my greenhouse back at home I would probably live out here. Until it got cold of course. I’m allowed more freedom than any other young girl in the county, I’m sure. But not even Haymitch can protect me from matrimony. 

My sister is excited for me. I imagine she’s fantasized about her wedding since she knew what a wedding was. To her, marriage is a romantic fairytale. A strong, handsome man of large fortune will sweep her off her feet and give her an estate to run and small, cherub-faced children to care for. To me, marriage sounds like a death sentence. They say if I’m lucky, I’ll marry for love as well as for fortune, but I never want to love someone as much as my mother loved my father. Because when he died, in a way, so did she. The only person I know that I truly love is Prim. 

Primrose Everdeen, my little sister, was never the outdoorsy type like me. She’s fair, with golden blonde hair that hangs in ringlets past her slight shoulders, and a face as fresh and as pure as a spring dewdrop. She spends her days drawing, flower arranging, and studying languages with my old tutor Mrs. Winthrop. 

“She’ll be a highly accomplished woman by the time I’m done with her. Mark my words, this young girl is special,” Mrs. Winthrop had said to Haymitch mere days after first starting Prim’s lessons. She had been my tutor for years and had never said anything nearly as flattering about me. Sullen Katniss Everdeen must have been a lost cause in her eyes. 

I’m four years older than Prim who’s a mere twelve. We share the same parents, though we look almost nothing alike. Where she received the fair skin, blonde curls, and gentle blue eyes of our mother, I received the olive-toned, straight black, and storm grey palette of our father. 

I sit up suddenly, aware that I left home hours ago and it must be getting time for my lessons. I dread heading back to that stuffy room where I’m required to sit straight and learn to be “lady-like” under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Effie Trinket, my new tutor. Manners are of the utmost importance to her, seeing as she makes her living off of teaching them. She considers being late an unforgivable sin. 

With this in mind, I take my time gathering wild-flowers. There are so many at my feet, their delicate white and yellow petals peeking up amongst the grasses. I deftly craft two flower chains. One for me, which I place on the crown of my head, and one for Prim clutched in my hands. I notice some dirt under my nails and smile, wondering what Effie will say when I arrive late and grimy. 

She purses her lips and crosses her arms as I enter the room. “Where were you?” She demands in that high pitched voice of hers. 

“Out,” I shrug. I hadn’t seen Prim on my way in so I’m still clutching her flower crown. I offer it to Effie instead. “Flowers?” She squints at my offering, probably checking for bugs, before gingerly taking it and placing it down on a side table. 

“Katniss, I need you to take today’s lesson seriously.” Her clipped tone sets my teeth on edge.

“I always do-” I start, but Effie cuts me off. 

“Don’t lie to me, Katniss. I know you don’t care for etiquette. I know that to you a spoon is just a spoon, even when that spoon is a soup spoon and should only be used for soup!” 

Again with the soup spoon thing, it was one time. But she’s right. I find learning manners and etiquette a waste of time. I’ve only been out in society for a short while. I barely attend balls seeing as I’m sixteen and prefer to stay at home anyway. I look up and realize that Effie is still talking at me.

“Are you even listening? Mrs. Winthrop was right, you are hopeless.” She sighs and wipes non-existent dust off of her shimmery lilac skirts. “It is imperative that you start paying attention and make some kind of progress in these lessons. Mr. Gale Hawthorne has recently taken possession of Templeton and is traveling here, as we speak, to take up residence indefinitely. Do you know what this could mean for you?” Suddenly, her annoyance melts away and is replaced by a teary, almost hopeful expression. The way this woman’s emotions swing back and forth between happy and exasperated hurts my head. She comes to clasp my face between her palms. “Mr. Hawthorne earns ten thousand a year, Katniss. Ten thousand!” 

I have in fact heard of the Hawthornes. Maybe those lessons have had more of an impact on me than I thought. I was forced to spend months poring over books filled with the names and family trees of wealthy, well-known families that I had either already been acquainted with or might be acquainted with in the future. A healthy knowledge of people, especially rich people, will get you far in life. At least that’s what Effie says. 

Gale Hawthorne is the eldest son of the wealthy businessman Ezra Hawthorne. I forget exactly how Mr. Hawthorne first made his fortune but the word mine sticks around in my head. What his mine produced, I’m not sure. Precious gems? Gold? Coal? All I know is the Hawthornes are incredibly wealthy, and Gale being the eldest son inherited when his father died. He is in possession of everything from the family fortune to a legion of servants to the many extravagant houses in Town. Now it seems he’s grown tired with the city and has decided to try his hand at country living. Good, I think. A wealthy man who’s used to the high society of the Capitol won’t last long out here. He’ll be out of my hair before the month’s up. Effie must not realize this since she’s still staring happily into my face. 

“And?” I ask.

“Well, he’ll fall in love with you and ask for your hand in marriage!” She beams as if this is obvious. “If you play your cards right of course. For instance, he won’t find you very agreeable if all you do is scowl at him like you do me-” I jerk out of her grasp. 

Of course. Marriage. It’s one of the only things Effie has talked about the entire time I’ve been her pupil. 

“Yes, Mr. Abernathy warned me that'd you'd be. . .avoidant. But don’t you see? That’s the reason I’m here. To teach you how to win a husband! It’s an art you know.” She sighs, probably seeing the panicked look on my face, and slips back into a tone of tired annoyance. “You’ll have to marry someone, Katniss. Might as well marry knowing you’ll spend the rest of your life in the lap of luxury.”

She’s right, of course. There’s no way for women to make their own living. I can’t go to university to study business or law, I can’t run my own shop, I can’t inherit Haymitch’s estate or fortune. When he dies the money goes to some estranged cousin on his father’s side. I am a woman, therefore, I am destined to either marry or die poor and unprotected. And Prim…

If I don’t marry, then Prim can’t marry. One of the rules of proper Panem society is that a younger sibling cannot marry unless the eldest has, meaning I must be happily settled before my younger sister can even entertain the idea of love. If I don’t get married and Haymitch goes and does something stupid like die, there will be nothing I can do. For either of us. We’d be turned out of the house and left to beg for scraps. And I will not let that happen to Prim. Not again. 

I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat and spend the rest of the afternoon paying careful attention to Effie. She’s trying to teach me to communicate with men via body language, long gazes, and the fluttering of lashes. 

This is the only way to save Prim, and with each horrible flutter I produce and each disappointed sigh from Effie, I feel my chances slipping away.

[imma-new-soul]

Say You Love Me (2/2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!readers

A/N: This is a dark fic based loosely on the Netflix original series YOU. It is dark and creepy but I dont want to give to much away. Readers thought are in italics. It was far to long so there will be a second part to this fanfic... enjoy!!

Warnings: dark content, mention of death, blood and violence

Masterlist.

PART ONE

You followed Bucky in his black Ford for a few blocks till his car came to a stop infront of a small apartment building. Parking on the opposite side of the street you watched as he got out of his car and into the building. You figured this was where he lived and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw his figure move around in the first apartment facing the street.

"So this is where you live James, its historic which makes sence, simple not to flashy which seems to be your style not to many stairs which is perfect for when I move in. I wonder if you'll let me get the top shelf in your dresser or are you more of a closet and hangers guy?" 

Luckily for you he kept his window open allowing you to see everything that went on Inside. He pulled his jacket off underneath was a black short sleeve shirt that exposed his arms. You stared at his metal left arm in fascination. You wondered if he could feel with it and how it felt if you ran your fingers across it.

After spending hours parked infront of his house you came to a realization that even though he was a super soilder that killed hundreds of people he was just like the rest of us. He kicked off his shoes, sat on his couch watching documentaries and even cooked himself a simple dinner. As he undressed and headed to his bedroom you also realized another thing. That he was alone. Lonely and probably still confused about the modern world he was forced into. He needs someone who could comfort him, someone he could talk to, someone he could love, he needs YOU.

You stood watching Bucky in his apartment all night, so tempted to let yourself in and confess your undying love to him but you knew that wasnt the way to go about things. You were smart you planned to learn his schedule, accidentally bump into him, and make him fall in love with you. You just had to be patient

6:30 am - Gets up , brushes his teeth

6:45 am - Morning run

8:00 am - Back home for a shower and breakfast

8:30 am to 2:30 pm - Buisness in the Avengers tower

3:00 pm - Lunch with Sam

5:00 pm - Back home

Everyday was the same routine like clockwork he never missed a beat. You figured the best time to execute your plan was in the morning during his morning runs. This morning you parked at the end of the street, dressed in your running clothes. At 6:45 am Bucky began running in your direction, you set off infront of him keeping your distance for a half a mile. Pretending to twist your ankle you fell to the ground wailing in pain. Bucky runs up to you being the gentleman he is to check if you were ok. After making sure you weren't to badly hurt he told you his name was James but everyone calls him Bucky and proceeded to asked you for yours in which you told him.

"James or as you prefer.. Bucky This is how we met, you dont know it yet but I'm going to be the greatest love you'll ever know. I'll tell our kids about this moment, How you were so gentle with me coming to my rescue, my knight in shinning armor, how you felt this spark between us after only just meeting for a moment"

Bucky lifted you up from the floor bridal style putting one hand on your back and one under your legs to sit you down on the nearest bench. He evaluated your ankle reassuring you it wasnt broken but you insisted that you must have sprained it and you could no longer walk. Bucky told you to stay where you were while he ran back to his house to pick up his car and drive you home.

Step one of your plan was already working perfectly and a rush of excitement shot through you. After a quiet 20 minute drive the two of you pulled up to your place and he helped you to the front of the building.

"Do you mind helping me into my apartment, I dont think I could make it on my own" you said pretending to wine at the imaginary pain in your ankle. Bucky agreed and held onto you as you approached the door to your apartment. The warmth of his body pressed on yours felt like ecstasy. The smell of his skin and softness of his voice danced in your ears like a sweet song. You held the key to the hole slowly turning it as he lead you inside.

You locked the door behind you and shoved your keys into your pocket. You offered Bucky to stay and have some coffee, he opposed at first but you insisted again and not wanting to be rude he stayed. Now that he was right were you wanted him to be it was time for part two of your plan.

As you limped to the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee Bucky looked around the livingroom. Watching the hands on your wall clock tick and read the titles of the books that sat on your shelves.

Sitting on the coffee table directly infront of him, your laptop screensaver bounced around the black background till a notification pinged off of the speakers. The screen lite up with photos and folders spared out across the screen. Photo albums of pictures you took of Bucky while you watched him on his day to day. Jogging, walking to the cafe and running regular everyday errands. even his schedule was plastered on the screen.

Shock waves ran through his body, his heart rate sped to a mile a minute and his body fell numb. The air felt twice as thick and panic coursed through him. In one swift move he lunged towards the door not aware of your presents. His hand shook the knob to your apartment door but it didn't budge.

A burning heat rose from the back of head with a splitting pain. Bucky's vision faded to black and his body fell to the floor with a deep hard thud. The graze of a cold breeze chilled his body waking him from his sleep. Blinking slowly trying to adjust his eyes from the harsh light that shined above him he was only able to hear a slow drip of water that fell from the ceiling and hit the floor in a perfect rythem.

When Bucky regained all of his sences he was sitting in a large steel chair, his arms bound with tightly wrapped ropes that entwined with the ones restaining his legs. Beside him stood a small table that held two metal prons and wires that lead to the outlet on the corner. In front of him a dark figure walked slowly towards him.

You stood infront of him with a calm demeanor although your nerves were a wreck. You were furious, furious that your plans were unraveling, furious of how careless you've been. With a shaking uneasy voice you spoke breaking the silence in the room.

"Why why .. did you have to do this?.. you ruined everything."

"What's going on, where am I, let me out of this? Bucky shouted frantically over and over again.

A stream of blood rolled down his neck wetting his shirt. All you could do is shake you head tears now rolling from your eyes.

" say you love you me" You demanded in a harsh voice. But Bucky just stood silent.

"SAY YOU LOVE ME" you shouted one more time

"What no I dont even know you" Bucky hissed back starting to feel dizzy from all the blood he was losting.

Your anger boiling over at this point, you reached over to the table and pressed each side of the device to his temples. They admitted a strong electric pulse causing Buckys body to jerk and convulse violently. This torture went on for hours each charge higher then the one before till his memory was completely wiped clean.

You planted the idea in Buckys head that you loved him and he loved you with all of his being and that he would never leave you. And he complained to every single word you said. Your plan was finally complete, it wasnt the way you wanted it to be but it worked. He loved you and that was all that mattered to you.

You untied his arms and legs releasing him from all of his restains and sat on his lap.

"Do you love me?" you whispered in his ear

"Yes...yes..I do.. I love you so much" Bucky said with such passion and conviction.

He was finally yours and you're never going to let him go .

@honeyvbarnes @aar-journey @sebbbystaaan @mushyjellybeans @criminal-cookies @babiiface95 @silentcoyote @this-kitten-is-smitten

[basic-banshee]

large black coffee (part 3)

A Carry On Coffeeshop - AU/ College - AU inspired by this beautiful art.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

“I hear his breath catch when he finally sees me. His breath. He literally gasped. I’m so beautiful and regal I took his fucking breath away.”

Baz

Holy shit, he’s here.

He’s standing in the doorway, shaking rain out of his hair and staring around at the room in wonder, like he’s never seen a bookstore before. Like it’s a delight.

I can’t believe I almost didn’t see him. I didn’t even look up when the door opened, I just kept working on my essay, and then I glanced up on a whim, and there he is.

I look down. He hasn’t noticed me. I don’t want him to catch me staring, so I force myself back into the exact position I was in when he entered. Distracted, absorbed, absolutely not entirely tuned in to him.

I hear his breath catch when he finally sees me. His breath. He literally gasped. I’m so beautiful and regal I took his fucking breath away.

Or, more likely, I scared the shit out of him.

(I’m honestly fine with either scenario.)

I keep my face completely blank when I look up again. I don’t know what expression he would expect to find there (surprise? Anger? Disbelief? Happiness?) but I don’t want him to find any.

He’s still standing in the doorway like a moron.

“Can I help you?”

My tone is forcibly cool and clipped, and he nods awkwardly and shuffles over to the counter where I’m sitting. He’s still staring around at the room.

“I didn’t know you worked,” he says. There’s a long silence and then he adds, “here.”

He didn’t think I worked because I’m rich. That’s cute.

“Well, I do,” I answer. He’s stopped staring around the room and is now staring at the counter that my laptop and I are currently leaning on. I follow the direction of his eyes, attempting to work out what’s caught his attention, and—

Fuck. He’s seen them.

It never occurred to me that Snow would walk into a fucking bookstore of all places, so I never thought about what would happen if he caught me. It was never even a dim possibility in my mind, but here he is, at my work, staring at my fucking coffee cup collection.

Today’s is here — there’s still coffee in it, and it says “fuck face”. He’s used it before but I don’t mind. It’s one of my favourites. Partly because of the alliteration, and partly because I love the mental image.

But just next to it is the cup that says “goblin.” It’s my absolute favourite cup because it was so unexpected. I actually laughed when I saw it, I didn’t even have a cutting remark for him that day. I’ve got some pens shoved into it so that no one will mistake it for rubbish, and next to it is another cup reading “creepy vampire” which holds some paper clips. I suppose I just like the idea of Simon Snow thinking of me as some mythical beast.

“What brings you in?” I ask, attempting to pull his attention from the cups. My voice is actually nice. Shit.

Simon

I was not expecting him to be here.

I’m not used to seeing him outside of the cafe or class much. In the cafe he’s all snarling and sneering, and in class he’s always either complete tuned in to the lecture or off in his own world.

I see him on campus sometimes, but he’s always got headphones in and walks like he’s off to kill a man. I saw him walking back from football practice once though, and that was weird, because he was all kitted out and sweaty and I’d never seen him look that relaxed before.

It makes sense that he’s a footballer, I guess. He’s got that kind of build, you know? I was on the phone, just loitreing in the parking lot waiting for Penny to meet me when I saw him, and I kind of ducked behind a tree, which makes me sound sort of creepy I suppose. But he had his hair up and he was walking slowly and he looked so calm that I just didn’t believe it was actually him for a bit.

He looks calm now, but it’s different, it’s like a controlled calm. He was leaning against the counter typing something into his laptop and that stupid long hair of his was in his face when I came in, before he looked up, nonplussed. And he’s wearing a T-shirt. Literally just a black T-shirt, the same kind I’m wearing under my jumper, but he’s one of those assholes who makes a plain T-shirt look fucking good, because he’s so tall and fit. The edge of one of the sleeves is curled up a bit, and it’s outlining one of the muscles on his upper arm, which is flexed a little because that’s the arm he’s leaning on and—

Yeah anyway, like I said, it’s weird.

As if he can read my mind I watch him reach to the desk behind him, the one where some of his old coffee cups are being used for office supplies, with my embarrassing fucking insults displayed for all the world to see, and he grabs a cardigan. He pulls it on, covering up his arms and I’m almost panicking because I seriously think he was reading my mind, but then I notice the small space heater that’s chugging away next to his laptop, and I realise he’s just cold. Baz is cold. How fucking mundane.

“I’m looking for a book for my friend’s birthday,” I spit out finally. “Penny. Bunce. Penny Bunce.”

“What kind of books does she like?” he asks slowly. I can’t believe I’m asking him for a book recommendation. What kind of books does a guy like him even read?

“Uh, well, everything. She reads loads, she likes nonfiction,” I start to babble, then I stop and sigh. “Honestly, no idea. She hates every book I recommend to her.”

I swear I see the corners of his mouth tick up. I can’t believe I’m having a civil conversation with him.

“What are Bunce‘s interests, then? In general.”

“Uh,” I say. I can’t tell him that Penny likes everything, because that’s not true. But she’s interested in everything, to some degree. “She’s into feminism. Science. Cannibalism.”

I regret saying that last one, that one’s weird. But it’s true. She is into cannibalism. This week at least. Reading about it, that is. Not, you know, doing it.

Baz doesn’t seem too surprised by this list at all though, and he just nods.

“Follow me,” he says, pushing back from the counter and coming around to stand next to me. I’m not sure if he’s ever actually stood next to me before, and I don’t know why I’m thinking that, but I follow him as he walks up the short stairs at the edge of the room that lead to the nonfiction section. He walks through the shelves without even looking, pulling books out of their carefully arranged places, and returns to me with four.

“This is a nonfiction memoir about feminism,” he says, handing me a bright pink book with a fruit on the cover that looks vaguely inappropriate. I try not to flush. “Here is a new biography about Marie Curie.” He places that in my hands as well. “This is by a mortician who looks humourously at how other cultures celebrate and handle death,” he puts a huge black book in my hands, “and if you don’t like those, here is a special edition cover of Sylvia Plath.”

I stare at the books in my hands. Literally all of them are perfect for Penny. How did he do this so fast?

“Oh, thanks, these are...perfect,” I stutter. “Have you read any of them?”

He nods.

“Just the Plath and the one about death.”

“That’s kind of redundant, don’t you think?” I say. The joke slips out before I realise it, and I glance at him to see his reaction. He doesn’t laugh. His face hasn’t even moved.

“Let’s go with the death one, then,” I say quickly, holding up the large black book.

“Good choice. There’s cannibalism in it,” he says dryly, taking the books from my hands. He quickly replaces three of them, then heads directly to the counter. He doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following.

Baz

Simon fucking Snow just made a Sylvia Plath joke.

Simon Snow reads.

This information has disturbed me in a way I didn’t think was possible. If he told me he had killed a dragon I would probably process that more easily than I am currently processing the idea of Simon Snow reading Sylvia Plath.

He trails me back to the counter and looks around impatiently while I fill in the receipt slip and start to import it into our ancient system. I glance back down as he taps a freckled hand on my school book.

“What are you studying for?” he asks. He’s actually serious. What the fuck is this day?

“Economics,” I say shortly. He nods.

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense.”

Does it? Do I seem like the kind of guy who becomes an economist? I guess that’s kind of a compliment, of sorts.

“You?” I ask, because it’s polite, and also because I actually do want to know what concentration someone as ridiculous as him would choose.

“Oh, er, English,” he says.

English. The boy who can’t fucking speak properly is studying English. Of course.

“Why did you choose that?” My question comes out a bit harsh, which I’m relieved for, because this interaction has been entirely too cordial.

My tone seems to have helped Snow find steady footing again though, because suddenly he grins at me, and it’s stunning. It’s the same smile I got the day my cup read “world’s tallest twat”. I could tell he was truly proud of that one. His smile takes up his whole face, pushing his ruddy cheeks up and his teeth show and it’s like drowning in the sun.

“I dunno. It’s funny, right? I guess it just seems like the best option, which is mad considering I’m a bit shit with words.”

Suddenly the smile is gone, and a cloud passes over his face, like he’s gone too far and said something he didn’t intend to.

I don’t answer, and instead focus on running his card through the machine and fill in the receipt. This interaction has been revolutionary; I don’t want to spook him with too much kindness.

Simon

He puts the receipt in the book and slides it toward me without even looking at me. He’s completely checked out of this conversation. Is that what this is? It has to be. We’ve exchanged multiple words, and there have been no insults. It’s making me itch.

I’m actually happy that he sounds so disinterested when he tells me he hopes Bunce enjoys the book. It’s normal. It’s nasty. I cling to it.

I grab the book and give him a quick nod before I leave the store. It’s huge. I wish I had been able to wander around it a bit. Penny doesn’t have patience with me when we go book shopping, I never just get to meander through, so I was actually looking forward to doing that today. I’m not sure I would have though, once I saw Baz. I can’t imagine just knocking around the store, knowing that he’s there and can see me.

I’m three streets away when I look back at the book and see the receipt sticking out of it. I can see the top of his handwriting. It’s fucking perfect. No wonder he’s such a dick about mine.

I pull out the receipt to glare at his handwriting some more when I notice the “customer name” section. I’ve never seen it filled out on a handwritten receipt before, but there it is, in perfect, elegant letters, filled out.

“Illiterate pissant.”

[swanderful1]

A Cold Awakening: Ch 21/25

Summary:  Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Notes: Once again special thank you to the sweet nugget, @shady-swan-jones for the banner for this story (still so grateful). HELLO IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE SINCE I UPDATED. So let me just apologize for that. I'm so sorry. I was having a lot of trouble focusing and writing and it took me forever to figure out which way to take this but I'm definitely more confident in my direction. I didn't want to post anything I was wishy-washy about. Thank you for your patience and support. Please leave feedback or whatever, I love hearing from people. 

The whole thing can be read on either AO3 or ffnet (if you’re interested)

Disclaimer: I own nothing all rights to OUAT

Rating: M

Word Count: ~9000

Emma’s POV: Monday Night, 8:15 pm

“Milah,” Emma gasped. The woman she had pinned beneath her to the grassy ground was someone she had barely met before, but had the common threads of several circumstances, several people connecting them. But then the brown eyed woman looked up at her and Emma realized Milah probably had no idea who she was. “Or are you going by Grace again?”

The two women stayed quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from either of them being their ragged breathing from the chase. Even in the fading light of the evening, Emma could make out most of Milah’s features. After a few minutes Emma couldn’t swallow her words any longer.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked, trying to sound objective, like a cop (well not really trying that hard actually). It came out harsh.

“How do you know who I am?” the woman asked, her jaw tightening and her opposing glare at Emma solidifying.

“I’m a cop. It’s my job,” Emma spat back.

What had gotten into her? She was never the type to be deliberately nasty to someone. Before she continued to speak, she reigned herself in, realizing that her reasons for being tough on Milah were personal. They could be directly linked to Neal’s long-felt abandonment from his mother. And more recently the tumult she had caused in Killian’s life. Killian. She had only just hung up the phone with him minutes ago to tell him she was on her way here. He had once loved this woman that Emma was now directing all of her hostility toward. Gulping down a stream of inappropriate sentences she opted for something more civil. “I’m going to need to escort you back to the house.”

Milah seemed to take the cue and her body softened a bit as well underneath Emma’s grasp. There was a brief flash of understanding in Milah’s eyes before she put her guard back up again.

“Is there a problem?” the brunette asked.

“There are many problems right now and the most pressing of which involves a proven murderer on the loose who you used to be married to.”

Emma began to rise from the ground and lock Milah’s wrists in the handcuffs, careful not to let the woman slip from her grasp. Though she didn’t look like she was about to sprint off into the night it was hard to tell just what this woman was capable of. Emma caught herself peeking down at Milah’s wrists to see if she had a tattoo that matched Killian’s. She didn’t. And Emma released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Putting Milah in front of her Emma began to urge them toward the house, lit dimly far off in the distance. She hadn’t realized just how far she had chased Milah, everything happening so quickly that she could have sworn it was only for about 30 seconds. But Milah was limping, which explained why Emma mistook her for Gold.

“Is your leg alright?” Emma asked. Not sure why she was even concerned. The task at hand was simple, get Milah back to the house, find out what her role in all this was. There was no need for small talk. No need for pleasantries.

“It caught on a tree root when I ran from the house…” Milah said warily. Even in the ill-lit path back Emma could tell she made the woman anxious. There was no way she could possibly know Emma’s affiliation with Killian, she may not even know her past with Neal either. Having been gone for so long, Neal not accepting her attempts to reach out in recent years.

“You can put ice on it when we get inside.”

Killian’s POV: Monday Night, 8:20 pm

Despite the circumstances, Killian Jones found the balcony of his rented hotel room just outside of Storybrooke, Maine to be one of his new favorite places. Often taking advantage of the private outdoor space to think. To ponder the world’s problems. To work on his laptop in near silence. To sit alongside his dog and take in the quiet evenings.

Which was why he was out here now, in the remaining light from the day, absentmindedly leafing through papers with his dog on the chaise lounge curled against his outstretched leg. His attempt to have a productive work day was in vain. Knowing that somewhere, not far, Emma was hunting down the man responsible for the death of his parents. To say he was worried about her would be a complete understatement.

He had gotten off the phone with her not even twenty minutes ago but now as night began to fall, he wished she was here with him as she had been the night before. He looked up from his paperwork, shivering at the thought of their night together. And when he closed his eyes he could almost picture Emma sitting between his legs instead of a growing stack of proposals and invoices.

The steam rose from the surface of the water that filled the tub, a soft scent of lavender from the bath oils. Emma laid her back against Killian’s bare chest. His hands resting over top of hers on her stomach. He pressed gentle kisses to the bare skin of her shoulder, the exposed space behind her ear, the top of her head. Anywhere he could get his lips on without disturbing her. Their bodies sated from another round of love making in the warm bath water. Her breathing slowed and for a second Killian wondered if she had fallen asleep.

“What’s the best memory you have of being a child?” she asked. He felt himself stiffen a bit but then relaxed. A loaded question that normally would have terrified him. But there was something about Emma that allowed him the comfort of opening up. He paused for a while, searching through all of the bad memories for one that was good.

“My mother was happiest when she was creating things.” He recalled all of the projects she used to take on. A creative soul that always turned toward art. “Most of the paintings in our home were done by her. Sometimes she would write little poems to go along with them.”

Emma spun in his arms to face him. Her eyes filled with curiosity. And he once again felt more at ease talking.

“When I was very little she would make up stories to tell me that went with her drawings. Wild tales of adventure and intrigue. She could come up with anything on the spot. Liam and I used to stay awake listening to her for hours,” he felt himself choke up a little. Knowing she had been going through so much at the time but choosing instead to treat Killian and Liam as though they were the kings of the castle.

Emma smiled at him and rested her hand on his cheek. The skin of her fingers beginning to wrinkle from their long stay in the tub. She didn’t say anything but her expression did everything to reassure him. With her it never felt like she was luring information. She simply wanted to get to know him, and he with her. Killian often caught himself wondering how he had gotten so lucky as to have met someone as incredible as Emma Nolan. And this was one of those (many, many) times.

When he snapped out of last night’s memory he was disappointed to find that he was still on the chaise lounge with his snoring dog. He stood from his seat, slowly moving his leg so as not to wake Princess and walked to the balcony railing. In his hand was lukewarm cup of tea, his third cup, that he now sipped just to give him something to do. That was all he had spent the day in search of. Something to do that was distracting enough to take his mind off of Emma chasing down the man who had murdered his parents.

There was no doubt in Killian’s mind that Gold was still a monster who wouldn’t hesitate to attack again if he felt it meant remaining in prison. How does one even escape a holding cell anymore? It wasn’t the 1600s. There were security cameras and armed guards. How does one man evade all of the hurdles? And if he’s capable of that then he certainly was a desperate man.

He hoped she would catch Gold and then this spiderweb of stress that formed in the pit of his stomach would resolve itself. Though as the time ticked by, Killian realized the hunt for Gold was most likely not an easy one and would obviously be rather extensive.

A breeze swept by, tickling Killian’s skin as he stared down from his balcony at the surrounding land. Imagining Emma safely by his side, her golden hair blowing the light summer breeze. Her easy smile calming his nerves. Her warm soul keeping him grounded on what was now important in his life. As it somehow had regained a purpose other than 80 hour work weeks and conference calls and paperwork. He had done a good amount while in Storybrooke. But he wasn’t nearly as invested in it anymore. And it wasn’t entirely because of the entrance of a certain deputy sheriff to his life, but she certainly helped. Emma Nolan was someone who made him see a life beyond his work, the prospect of taking a trip that wasn’t job related, the thought of spending a quiet evening at home, a Saturday morning in bed, Sunday evening dinners with Liam and his wife, getting to know his new niece or nephew as they grew, perhaps a life and family of his own.

But now he stood here worried sick about her safety, and all he could do was pace. Was it easier to have no one and be isolated from personal relationships than it was to deal with them?

Somewhere along the building of his tense mood, Princess had even gone back in the hotel room, presumably annoyed by how on edge Killian was. He rarely actually worried about people, for their safety, most of his life he hadn’t had someone to care that much for. Save for a few. And one of which, it turned out, had been lying to him the whole time.

Grace. Milah Gold. Whomever.

When he had found out that the woman he spent years loving, years building a life with, had betrayed him in such a way his brain could hardly process it. It’s one thing to lie about who you are, it was another to have that person once be married to the man who had murdered his parents. It was simply too coincidental for Killian to not think the worst. That it was all a sick ploy. But then his heart spoke, and told him that perhaps there was another side to things that he wasn’t seeing. The whole situation was highly complicated, and it broke him further every time he felt himself thinking about his ex-girlfriend. He could run in circles for days trying to figure it out but he knew that the only person who had all of the answers was Grace.

As time had gone on he realized, the answers didn’t so much matter anymore. Because his past was his past, it was a part of him. However, his future was clear. There was one woman he could truly see himself with for the rest of his life. And that woman was without a doubt Emma.

Emma’s POV: Monday Night, 8:25 pm

Once they finally reached the house, Emma opted to take Milah through the front door. But it was locked, so she rang the doorbell with her goddamn elbow while still holding onto Milah’s arm as tightly as she could. Under the light of the porch Emma got a decent look at Milah, a pretty woman, clearly older than she. With curly almost black hair and an angular face that was both striking and attractive. Assuming she was probably nearing 60 years old at this point, she looked incredible. For her age and for… well for any age. It was easy to see why Killian had been drawn to her. Though Emma had never been a jealous person, there was a small part of her that was intimidated by Milah. But then she remembered the night before, the time she had spent with Killian and let her mind wander.

After they had spent more than enough time soaking in the large bathtub in Killian’s suite, the two fell into bed together. Not even bothering to dry off or put clothes on before engaging in a long, slow round of making love to one another. This time bathed only in moonlight from the open windows of his bedroom.

In the wake of their passions they laid together, just staring into each other’s eyes. Emma had never felt like this with anyone before. She couldn’t remember a time she had ever been swept off of her feet by any man. He must have picked up on it because soon his hand reached out to brush her face.

“What are you thinking about, love?” he asked in that gorgeous voice of his. His blue eyes catching the briefest twinkle from the moonlight.

“You,” she said before she could think of something more vague. She didn’t feel the need to put up that veil with him.

“Ah, and what is it about me that’s running through your head?” Great. Just what he needed. More of an ego boost.

“I’ve just never been so happy with someone.” It was the truth, and at first it was scary, but now that she was embracing it she felt lighter. She reached up and grabbed his hand that still rested on her face.

“Aye, love. Me too,” he whispered, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips and tugging her body into his chest. “You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever known, darling.”

He was warm, and familiar but not in a bad way. In a way that made her realize, she would miss this if he went back to London. It made her realize that she wanted a future with him. And it made her realize that if she believed in soul mates (which she didn’t) that he would be hers.

Emma was distracted from her train of mushy thoughts when the front door began to open and she caught Milah looking down at her hand that was wrapped around the brunette’s arm. Her body sighed when she remembered she wasn’t in bed with Killian. She was face to face with his ex-girlfriend.

“Is there a problem?” Emma asked Milah, back to being angry with her. For no reason. Well for a lot of reasons but none that the woman was aware of.

“No.”

“Emma?” Ruby asked as she cautiously opened the door.

“Found someone outside…” Emma didn’t so much have to haul Milah into the house because the woman willingly went. Wait a minute, was she comfortable walking in here? Emma looked to Belle, who stood several steps into the foyer. Eyes blown wide. From shock or recognition Emma wasn’t sure, but something was definitely up.

“Is this….?” Ruby started.

“Yeah,” Emma mumbled before her best friend could finish.

“What do we do with her?”

“Find out all we can. Grab some ice for her ankle. We’ll go to the library.”

With her arm on Milah’s, following this illusive woman from behind, Emma and the others headed into a room she knew there weren’t a lot of alternative exits to. The library. A few windows lined the walls but they were all visible from Emma’s standpoint. She wasn’t leaving until she had a solution about why in the world Milah was lurking around outside and why Belle looked like a deer in the headlights right now.

Inside the library Emma had Ruby draw the blinds as she escorted Belle to a couch opposite Milah. And Milah was taken to the chair with a wooden arm Emma could lock her wrist around with one side of the handcuffs.

And again Emma caught Milah who, for whatever reason fixed her eyes on different parts of Emma’s arm as it locked the handcuffs on her wrist into place.

“Is he happy?” Milah whispered so low only Emma was able to hear.

“What?” Did she mean her son, Neal? Did Neal ever tell her about she and Henry? “Neal’s alright, as much as he can be. A lot has been happening in his life as of late but he and Henry…”

Milah’s brow crinkled, almost confused. “Neal, how do you know my son?”

“I-uh…”

“Killian…I was um, referring to him. That’s how you knew to call me Grace,” Milah said a bit louder, eye level with Emma who was knelt in front of her attempting to pretend she should still be in that position. “That is his shirt, correct?”

Emma’s eyes widened and she looked down at her arm where the sleeves of Killian’s shirt had been rolled. And where his initials were embroidered. That was why Milah had been staring at Emma’s arm. She had slipped it on this morning, since he had ripped her shirt the night before. She tried not to blush thinking of the memory of them so desperate to have each other they forgot all manners and decencies. She never thought that anyone would notice she was wearing his shirt. But of course, as luck would have it, like 5 people today had.

“But then what do you know about my son?” Milah’s voice was a bit more authoritative now, less soft and easy going than it had been when she first talked to Emma. Ruby and Belle had now clearly heard the nature of the conversation. For whatever reason Emma became nervous, standing from her spot. Even though she wasn’t the one in handcuffs, for a second she felt she had lost the upper hand.

“Neal and Emma were together for a long time…” Belle chimed in. Her soft voice coming from the couch opposite where Milah sat. “They have a son, Henry.”

“I have a grandson…?”

Emma nodded and begrudgingly looked back at Milah, whose eyes had only gotten wider. Though Emma knew the woman had no right to be angry, she could still think it was weird. Because it was weird. It was a completely odd situation.

“So you’ve been with my ex-boyfriend and my son?”

Emma grabbed at the sleeve of Killian’s shirt. Trying to cling to any of his scent that was leftover in the fabric. Wishing she was with him, wrapped in his arms with this whole case behind them, instead of where she was. Though normally, Emma was relatively confident in herself she felt like curling into a blanket right now. Preferably with Killian, the man she had fallen in love with.

“I... uh.… yeah… um…” Emma didn’t really have a clever, quick-witted response.

“I think we’re here to figure out more important things, so just put a pin in this for a while, you two, okay?” Ruby offered. Emma’s chest untightened a bit at her best friend’s suggestion to focus on why they were actually here and she gave the brunette the most gracious smile she could muster.

Killian’s POV: Monday Night, 8:45 pm

Since Emma left his hotel earlier that morning, Killian hadn’t stopped worrying about her. As silly as he knew it was, still his gut persisted. She had left him to chase down an escaped murderer, the very desperate man who had killed his own parents.

Killian himself was feeling desperation as he looked on at the space in the bed where the sheets were still tangled from his morning (and night) with Emma. If he laid down, it would no longer have the warmth of her body as she had left hours ago but her imprint was still there. He felt like a fool sitting across his bedroom staring at the sheets instead of doing something. He wasn’t helping. Emma was the one out in the world apprehending his parents’ killer. She was such an extraordinary woman.

“Little brother!” Killian heard the familiar, and at this moment, irritating sound of Liam’s voice from the downstairs.

Killian rolled his eyes. Now that he was in America he had been spending more time with Liam than he had in years. And while it was nice to reconnect with his brother it was also annoying at times because after all… he was his older brother.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Liam asked when Killian reached the bottom of the steps to the foyer.

“It wouldn’t hurt to just look.” Killian wasn’t sure if he was more convincing Liam or himself.

“Then let’s get on with it,” Liam said as he smiled, clearly sensing his brother’s apprehension and patting him on the back.

By the time they got into Liam’s car it was dark out. The day had gotten away from him. Liam started the car and as it growled to life Killian heard the ringing of his cell phone. His heart skipped when he thought maybe it would be Emma again. But it sank quickly realizing it was Regina, his lawyer.

After a quick conversation with the woman detailing the address they were supposed to meet her at and the way to get into the building, he hung up the phone, avoiding eye contact with his brother who was probably preparing to lay into him for being so obviously disappointed that it wasn’t Emma calling. But Liam didn’t. In fact, the ass was smiling and staring straight at the road ahead as they drove into the city.

“All of a sudden you don’t have an opinion?” Killian asked.

“Oh I do…” Liam smirked. “You just may not want to hear it.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Fair point. Maybe one day I will. Let’s just focus on the task at hand. Is Regina there yet?”

“Yeah, she’s already there.” They were only a few moments away themselves. Killian looked out the car window, the trees surrounding them on their drive slowly turning to buildings. High rise after high rise until finally they were in the city, and about to pull into the building’s garage.

A few moments later they were buzzed into the building by Regina, their lawyer and sometimes real estate agent who was just in general a phenomenal negotiator. As Killian rode the elevator up to the top floor he got nervous again. Swallowing a lump in his throat he stepped into the foyer of the apartment.

It was massive… and modern. The floors a bright white and the walls an identical color. Still he tried to keep an open mind. After all, he had Regina organize this apartment showing very last minute. He had been toying with the idea of getting a place in the city for a long time. Boston and New York being places he often went on business anyways, it made sense. But he hadn’t had the nerve to actually consider it seriously. Now he was though, and it was scary. What if Emma didn’t want the same future he did? What if the prospect of him getting a place so close instead of living on another continent was more terrifying for her than it was him?

“Killian, perhaps you should put one foot in front of the other to actually see the place. I’m fairly sure there’s more than one room here…” Liam urged from behind Killian, who had apparently stepped out of the elevator and completely frozen in his tracks.

“Finally, you two are here. They’re only letting us have the keys until 9:30, let’s look.” Regina came trotting into the expansive space, the click of her heels on the hospital white floors bringing Killian out of his daze. “Wait until you see the view.”

“Come on now,” Liam shoved playfully and Killian began to move through the apartment. Walking through the doors to what was the combination kitchen and great room he could see what Regina had been talking about.

The view was spectacular. The entire back wall made of floor to ceiling windows. Made to look like there wasn’t even a wall, like you were one with the sky. It was stunning. Killian loved a view, both his London flat and office had phenomenal picturesque views. A compromise to living in the city, and a way to feel like you weren’t living stacked one on top of the other.

Despite the stunning night time view, all Killian could come up with to say was, “There’s no outdoor space…”

“No but with a view like that, it’s almost like being outside…” Regina suggested. She had worked with Killian long enough to know when he wasn’t thrilled with something.

“But it isn’t the same.” Killian stepped as close to the windows as was allowed, looking down on the cars whipping past below. They looked like toys with plastic people. He was so far from it all. He tried to keep an open mind. “Is there any outdoor space within the building? Somewhere I can let the dog out and play?”

“No, but there’s a park a few blocks away where you can take Princess when she needs exercise.” Regina was being awfully suspicious Killian noticed as he looked at her and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Regina, is this a dog friendly building?”

“Yes,” she answered. ���But there are breed restrictions…”

“Breed restrictions, as in, no pitbulls?” Killian slowly felt himself begin to get angrier.

“Killian, if you buy the most expensive place in the building they’re not going to make you give up your dog,” Liam chimed in. Which only irritated Killian more.

“I don’t want to live in a building that has breed restrictions. Period.” Killian stormed off. Not even wanting to see the rest of it now. It felt like a hospital, not a home. And he so badly wanted a home.

In all honesty it wasn’t Regina’s fault that the place wasn’t ideal for him. She had done her best on the short notice and high list of demands he had given her. There was a bigger issue at hand here. He hadn’t ever talked to Emma, concretely about a future. And while he knew she cared deeply for him, did she want to have him so close by? Did she want the same future with him as he did her?

Emma’s POV: Monday Night, 8:45 pm

Now the library was quiet, the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner serving as the soundtrack to the silence between the four women. Eventually Ruby made her way over to the couch area and stood in front of the empty fireplace to keep her own eye on things, while Emma stood opposite her. She crossed her arms as her mind raced trying to come up with the best way to tackle this.

At first Emma had suspected that Milah was working with Gold, that she had helped to set him free last night. That she was sneaking around Belle’s house as an enemy of the woman who was now married to her ex-husband. But as Emma looked at the two women sitting across from each other she realized something.

“This isn’t the first time you two have met.” Emma was matter of fact in her approach. It wasn’t for certain that she was right, but her gut told her that the way they had responded to seeing each other indicated that they knew one another. And not just in an ‘oh that’s my husband’s estranged ex-wife’ way.

Neither one of them spoke up. Emma made eye contact with Ruby then who looked skeptical of this whole arrangement as well.

“I need to know under what circumstances the two of you could have possibly met…” Emma continued.

“The sooner the two of you start talking, the better shot we have at actually catching your husband…. and your ex-husband,” Ruby said.

“Belle…” Emma started, trying to come across as non-threatening. The two had worked together for a long time, if there was any way Belle could help them out, Emma would be sure to return the favor. “You know I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfires of this investigation anymore than you already have. So if there’s any way to prove that you weren’t holding this secret on behalf of your husband. It’s in your best interest to talk to me.”

Belle held statue still, as Emma hoped that she in some way got through to her. The brunette quickly glanced at Milah, whose eyes went from calm to nervous. From the look on Belle’s face it appeared as though she was measuring her options. She could talk to Emma, work with her, help out or she could keep whatever unspoken alliance was happening between she and her husband’s ex-wife.

And then it clicked. But Ruby beat Emma to the question.

“Belle… did you know your husband killed Brennan and Moira Jones?” her best friend asked, warily. It sounded crazy, the idea they were potentially getting at. At least Emma assumed that was what Ruby was eluding to. Emma had guessed for a while Belle knew what Gold had been up to. Ever since the day of his arrest when she all but gave them the location of the dagger he used to stab Killian’s parents. But then Milah was here, and she was somehow involved. Did she know too?

“Yes… but not the whole time….” Now really wasn’t the time to tread lightly.

“How long have you known?” Emma chimed in. Floored that Belle, a person on the police force working toward solving the case would have known this for any length of time. “Then I’m assuming you knew too?” She turned to Milah.

Both of the women were silent.

“Belle, how long did you know?” Still the women remained silent. If they both knew then they had definitely discussed a bond of silence. “If you don’t give me an answer I will have no choice but to say that both of you were aware for a long enough time to make you an accessory to the crime.”

She wouldn’t do that. But she had to keep them talking.

“I’ve known something was… different, about Robert for a while now. As far as the crime goes, that knowledge came about a year ago.”

Emma kept her eyes on Belle as she spoke, in an attempt to give an unofficial lie detector test, but every so often her gaze would shift to Milah. Who looked just as surprised as Emma and Ruby, however not for the same reasons. Milah’s surprise came from the fact that Belle was talking about any of it.

It was clear as day to Emma that the two women knew each other. The way they first reacted to each other when Emma brought Milah in the house, the way their eyes found each other every few seconds to double and triple check their allegiance, and most importantly, earlier when Emma had only said they were going to ‘the library’ and Milah had known exactly how to get to that room from the front hall.

“At first I thought he was having an affair, with the jewelry. But then I started searching…” Belle was giving the basic breakdown of how she had ultimately made the discovery. Piece by piece finding things that all pointed to a heart wrenching truth. The man she had married was a dangerous monster who had gotten away with committing an unspeakable crime and she feared if she wasn’t careful she would be next.

“And then when he started to catch on to my suspicions… I’ve never felt more in danger.” She talked of being systematically poisoned. A slow burning illness to distract from her terrible feeling about Robert Gold.

“Why wouldn’t you come to the police sooner?” Ruby asked.

Belle appeared to be summoning all of her strength as the wounds from her husband went far deeper than her forced illness. And speaking up was easier said than done. Especially when you’re scared and uncertain. “I knew enough of the case to know that it was botched and screwed up and no one wanted to touch it after your grandfather died, Emma. It was just such a conundrum for everyone. They had spent years searching and found nothing. And the town had suffered because of it. No one would reopen it if there wasn’t a decent trail to follow. It was too risky.”

Another deep breath. Milah still remained silent, but her hand was almost floating in the air, an unconscious motion for her wanting to comfort Belle.

“If he was going to get caught, and convicted and sent to prison for this, especially 20 years after it had happened I needed all of the evidence I could find. And none of it could come from my own home. He would know.”

Emma went through the trail in her head. Most of the pieces they had been sent as evidence hadn’t come from the Gold house. Only at the end, when they arrested Robert did they find the dagger in his shop. There was but one letter in the entire home during the search.

“So where does she come into all of this?” Ruby uncrossed her arms, looking at Milah who was still quiet.

“She helped me.” Belle confessed. “I sought her out. At a time where I felt I had no one, I had her.”

Belle had found Milah, going so far as to visit her in London. They shared their experiences and as it happened, Milah’s experience was not unlike Belle’s. It was then that they agreed to work together, to find a way to see that Robert Gold couldn’t hurt another person again. And the woman with the wild brown hair and pretty face, who Emma had resented for most of her relationship with Neal, suddenly didn’t appear as such an enemy. Now knowing that assuming the woman had simply abandoned him without a care in the world was incorrect.

The reality of it was, Milah had experienced the same slow-coming illness that inevitably left her too ill to get out of bed. With erratic behavior. Eventually, for Neal, she chose to leave. To get well and then return. But that never happened.

“After so many years, Robert told me it would be worse for Neal if I returned,” Milah spoke, she did have a lovely accent. One that matched Killian’s in a way Emma wasn’t expecting. “I took his word, after all he had raised Neal in my absence. I knew that my last interactions with my son were so terrible. Especially for him. It’s something I’ve never forgiven myself for.”

Emma thought of how Neal had told her his mother had tried periodically contacting him. Milah was too scared to attempt to be in his life. So here were two more women who had been intertwined in Robert Gold’s web.

“To live with him, to sleep in the same bed every night knowing what he had done… what he could do... it’s terrifying.” Tears were behind her soft eyes, as Belle spoke. And Emma knew then that Belle revealing the truth about her husband wasn’t an act of revenge it was an act of justice. “When you came to my house to arrest him that morning, I felt so tired and drained. So when you asked me about the murder weapon, I just gave you what I thought was the best answer. It was too hard to continue hiding it. The night you arrested Robert was the first night I slept in nearly a year.”

Emma walked over to her, sitting down on the couch next to her. This woman she had worked quietly near for years, and never known the struggles of.

“I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.” Emma rested her hand on the young woman’s, feeling the faint tremble of Belle’s palm, whose dainty fingers no longer donned a wedding ring. “To either of you anymore.”

“I know.” For the first time in a while, Belle smiled. It wasn’t jubilant or happy, but relief. Like no matter what happened to her from this point on didn’t matter because the truth had been fully revealed.

Killian’s POV: Monday Night, 8:50 pm

“Hey… where are you going?” Liam’s voice sounded in the large, echoey room as Killian feverishly pressed the elevator button to leave the apartment. “I drove.”

“This was a stupid idea.”

“Something tells me this is about more than just the apartment.” Liam approached warily, like Killian was a spooked horse. “I’ve never seen you this way, Killian. Not even with.. Well with you know who…”

“You can say her name, Liam. She’s not Voldemort.”

“I know that Grace… Milah? What are we calling her?”

“Whatever you want. Get on with it.” It was frustrating to him. That after all of the years he spent with her, he still didn’t know what to actually call her. He had always known her as Grace, the proof was etched in black ink on his forearm. But everyone here had known her as Milah.

“I just want you to be happy, little brother. As much as you think that the life choices you’ve made leave you incapable of finding that happiness, that isn’t true. Just because Grace betrayed you, doesn’t mean she didn’t have her reasons and it also doesn’t mean that you can’t look forward to a future with Emma.”

“But how do I know Emma wants a future with me?” It was unlike him to be so uncertain. But given the circumstances of apartment hunting in the city not far from where Emma called home, it made the prospect of a future with her all the more real.

“Talk to her about it, you idiot. You spend all sorts of time together and you’re both too stubborn to come out and say that you want each other around when the dust settles.”

“Can you blame me for being unsure?” Killian eased a bit, Liam was right. Emma was the one he wanted around in the calm before the storm, during the storm, after the storm. She was the ray of light in his present compared to his dark and gloomy past. “I’ve only ever had one serious relationship and it didn’t end so well… I’m 0 for 1 right now.”

“Emma is different.” Liam reached his hand out and rested it on his shoulder. “It’s not her you’re uncertain of. It’s you. And because of that you’ve been running your whole life, Killian. It’s all right to stand still for a while.”

Killian released a breath, his body losing all of the tension he was feeling. He wouldn’t do anything, buy any property without knowing how Emma felt about it. But he had to be the one to start that conversation.

“We have a date on Thursday. Perhaps then…”

“A real live date?” Liam’s amusement was unmasked.

“Hey. She said yes.”

“That’s shocking considering you’re clearly the less-handsome brother.”

Killian raised his eyebrow, pretending to be pissed off. This was what they did. And it was another part of why Killian thought being around here would be good. He could be close to his family.

“Besides… a certain niece of yours has expressed to me several times that she wants her Uncle Killian to babysit her, all of the time,” Liam said, a face of mock annoyance even though he knew what his brother was overall trying to say. That it wasn’t just Harper who wanted Killian around.

“Aye, well, that’s because I’m a lot more fun than you.”

They both laughed at that, easing beyond the heavier parts of their earlier conversation and into something more comfortable. Killian had lived so far from Liam for so long, he was all that remained of his family. And there was a large part of Killian that wanted to be in his brother’s life. Liam was his best friend, and living apart from him had made Killian feel ultimately alone in this world. It didn’t have to be that way though, which was something he was realizing with each day he was in Storybrooke.

After his and Liam’s conversation, Regina met them in the elevator and Killian apologized for how rude he had been. It was in no way her fault nor her responsibility to find him a place to live. Though he would need her to negotiate pricing for him, that would come later. They separated from her once the elevator reached the ground floor, Killian telling Regina he needed to talk to someone before making any irrational decisions about real estate. She gave him a knowing smile, probably aware of the person Killian was referring to, but otherwise said nothing to indicate she knew that person was Emma (she definitely knew).

When he and Liam got back into the car, Killian checked his phone for the first time in a while. There were no missed calls or texts from Emma and a gut feeling told him he shouldn’t be the one to call her first. Who knows what she was up to in pursuit of Gold, the last thing she needed was an anxious phone call in the middle of a stake out. However, that was the exact thing Killian needed at the moment. To call her and to hear her voice just to know she was safe.

“I could use a drink,” Liam mumbled after driving a few minutes. Killian knew he would just pace and torture himself if he was alone in his hotel room. So he agreed to get a drink with Liam, after all it was only 9 pm.

Emma’s POV: Monday Night, 9:30 pm

After hearing the remainder of their story, Emma knew they were telling the truth. Both Milah and Belle had admitted they had been the ones sending the clues. Milah coming back to America to work with Belle to pull all of the information they could. Spending late nights in a hotel room towns over mapping out the plan. Belle needed Milah because otherwise her husband would have suspected her. And Milah needed Belle because she was the one who had used her police experience to put the pieces together.

Emma looked over at Ruby, who was just as affected by the outpouring of the stories these women had. She nodded for her best friend to follow her to a corner of the room. Emma looked at Ruby, gauging how she felt about all of this.

“I mean, we’ll need to get some sort of confirmation that the two of them both suffered these illnesses. And correspondence between them will be helpful in pleading their case,” Ruby started.

“We can try to get them off as easy as possible. But they admitted to sending the clues.” Emma looked over at the two, who seemed the slightest bit relieved. “They won’t get out of this easy. And we’re going to have to tell David.”

“Yeah. They’ll have to give official statements. Should we bring them down now?”

“We’ll give them a little while longer to calm down. Then we can take them to the station. I think they’ve been through enough.”

“I’ve got to say, Em, you’re handling this a lot better than most people would…”

“What? My ex-boyfriend’s mother and current boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend turning out to be the same person?” Emma said sarcastically. But it was her job, her career, to put the pieces together with the help of this woman. “Doesn’t this happen to everyone?”

“You know it doesn’t.” Ruby smiled deviously. “And I didn’t miss that you just called Killian your current boyfriend.”

Emma bit the inside of her mouth. Cursing herself for the slip of the tongue. But not really that angry about it.

“I mean… he asked me on a date. Thursday.” Emma got a little nervous thinking about it. She hadn’t been on a date that she enjoyed in a long time. But then remembered that it was Killian, and the nerves went away. She always enjoyed her time with him. Even if it was often limited to being between crises.

“It’s about damn time.” Ruby smiled at her, less devious this time and more… happy. “You deserve it. I think you both do honestly.”

“Thanks. But I think I need to talk to her. Privately.” Emma looked over at Milah, who stared off into the distance. Looking exhausted.

“You don’t owe her any kind of explanation, Em.”

“I know.” Emma was still going to give her one though. Ruby didn’t have to know that. Neither did Belle. She just wanted to sit down, woman to woman, and say what she wanted to. So she strode over to where the woman sat and bent down to unlatch her handcuffs.

“Can we talk for a second?” Emma said softly, not wanting Milah to think this was a set up.

“Sure,” the woman said back. She looked skeptical of Emma, but followed her to a quieter corner of the room anyway where there were two chairs surrounded by a small alcove of books.

“Neal and I got together when we were young. Too young, probably, to have been together,” Emma started. “And then we had a baby our senior year of high school. Your grandson, Henry.”

She didn’t want to get too far into things, hoping that maybe someday Neal would tell her about him growing up.

“Even though we haven’t been together for a very long time, he’s still my family. I spend every holiday with him. We share a son. He still buys me Mother’s Day flowers…” that last one probably stung. And Emma retracted just a bit.

“His father has turned out to be an awful man. And I think that Neal could benefit from you coming back into his life,” Emma said confidently. Knowing that smoothing things over with his mother could only help him at this point. If Neal could hear her side of the story, maybe he could forgive her someday.

Milah simply nodded. A soft smile crossing her face. The only sign of wrinkles on the woman’s face came at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

“And to answer your earlier question, yes Killian is happy.” Emma looked down at her sleeve. Remembering being in bed with him the night before, professing to each other just how happy they were together. But even if they hadn’t had that conversation, she knew in her heart he was. “Better than he’s been in a long time.”

“I suppose then he knows I wasn’t truthful about my identity.”

Emma thought back to the night she discovered it. And had immediately told Killian she knew his ex had been lying to him. That night she wondered if Milah knew the dark connection between herself and Killian Jones when she began dating him.

As if reading Emma’s mind Milah said, “I didn’t know when I met him. Who he was. And I didn’t know that my ex-husband had killed his parents.”

“Was that why you broke it off?” Emma asked, when she and Belle were explaining the timeline of their meeting Emma had done the math. ‘Grace’ had broken up with Killian right around the time Belle went to London.

Milah nodded. The faintest hint of tears in her strong eyes. “I knew if I told him, he wouldn’t ever look at me the same. And hoped…”

“That he would never find out who you had been?”

“It’s foolish right?”

“No.” As much as Emma came into this situation thinking that she didn’t particularly like Milah’s choices, on some level she got it. The woman wanted Killian to move forward. “I think you wanted him to have a shot.”

Milah reached out for Emma’s hand, grabbing it gently across the small wooden table that divided them. It surprised Emma but she didn’t pull away. Instead looking into Milah’s eyes and realizing that any jealousy, any competition Emma had felt toward the woman earlier was in vain. She wasn’t going to try to snatch Killian from her, she wasn’t here to come between them.

“Thank you, Emma,” Milah whispered, squeezing Emma’s hand once more before releasing. The words weren’t there totally, but it felt like they understood each other.

A few moments later, the two women left the corner to rejoin Ruby and Belle who were sitting quietly chatting in the center of the room. Belle looked a bit more at ease, though there was still the looming wonder of what would happen when she and Milah confessed to the rest of the investigation team to leaving the clues. Emma and Ruby had promised they would work hard to ensure their punishments were as light as possible, but in front of a judge there was only so much they could do.

But going in the women had known what they were doing would have repercussions, and had discussed at length what they would do if caught. To both Milah and Belle it was worth it though. Because Robert Gold would be behind bars, something that was long overdue.

Emma’s phone began to ring, everyone in the room looking over to her because it was the only sound that could be heard. A part of her hoped it was Killian, she had called him around 8 but couldn’t talk long and she wanted to hear his smooth voice wrapped around her name. Wanted the butterflies that erupted in her stomach when he called her ‘my love’. But when she checked the front screen it was David, her father, calling and the butterflies she had dreamed up a few seconds ago were gone.

“Hi dad, everything okay?” she asked. Knowing everything was probably not okay and that she needed to tell him all about Milah and Belle. Eventually.

“Em how soon can you be down to the docks?” David asked, his normally calm voice laced with urgency.

“Um… soon? Why what’s going on?”

“It’s Gold. Someone called in and spotted someone suspicious around the cargo ships. We haven’t been able to get ahold of Neal but his car’s missing…”

“What?!” Emma screamed into the receiver. Not quite knowing how to process all of this.

“We need you down here. Have Ruby take Belle down to the station, they’ll be safe there.”

“Alright. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” Emma hung up the phone, too shocked to even move for a few seconds. Neal’s car was gone, Gold was gone. They couldn’t find either. Emma hated the path her thoughts were taking. Gold at the docks was one of the worst places he could be. Hundreds of tons of cargo came through there everyday. He could be stowed away anywhere. Off to the great unknown in seconds as soon as the travel restrictions were lifted. Emma gulped and stopped letting her mind race. She knew what she had to do.

Killian’s POV: Monday Night, 11 pm

A few hours later, and only about 2 beers in, Killian and Liam left the Boston bar to return to their respective rented homes. Getting in the car Killian once again checked his phone to find he had heard nothing from Emma though it was getting progressively later.

“She’s alright, Killian,” Liam offered as he drove through the dark city streets, heading toward Killian’s hotel.

“We don’t know that.”

“No, but thinking otherwise won’t make this go any faster.” Liam stole a glance at Killian looking awfully sympathetic for an older brother who spent most of his time teasing him. “She’s great at her job, Killian.”

“I don’t doubt her abilities as a cop so much as I doubt Robert Gold’s abilities to be a decent human being.”

“I know.” Liam couldn’t offer Killian anything else. Because there wasn’t any argument against what a terrible person Robert Gold was. He had murdered their parents in cold blood. Obviously he was capable of horrid things, and who knew what he would do as a desperate man on the run.

A few moments later Killian jumped as his phone began to ring. He looked down at the caller ID and saw Emma’s name on the screen.

“Oh thank God,” he breathed before swiping the phone to answer. “I was beginning to think you’d never call, love.”

“Killian, it’s not Emma. This is Ruby.”

Killian audibly gulped. Instinct telling him something had to be wrong for Emma not to call him directly herself. Dread filled his body.

“Something happened… Emma’s, well, she’s…”

“What is it, is she alright?” Killian felt a mixed wave of anger, fear, and devastation take over. It felt like his throat might close as he waited mere seconds for Ruby to answer.

“Killian…. Things went really, really wrong… Emma’s hurt. She’s in the hospital.”

It was at that moment that his fears were truly realized and all of the anxiety and dread Killian had been feeling all day was nothing compared to the feeling that he had right now. The worry that took over every system in his body. The gut wrenching sadness that came with picturing his Emma lying in a hospital bed. One where he swore his heart that Emma had done everything to mend was now breaking in half.