#the awkward cop discussion at dinner felt more real but i say that as a nonblack person

[karinyosa]

loch henry was interesting, but i found the microaggressions (mostly directed at pia) toward the beginning kind of odd. i understand that the episode takes place in a small probably more conservative town and that was maybe the point they were trying to get across, but some of those moments were heavyhanded and direct in a way that made me assume they were at least going to comprise a subplot or subtheme of some sort, especially since they were happening so frequently toward the beginning. like especially with the pronoun and diversity references, those feel like such internet conservative talking points to me that it felt like one of those moments where i was being looked back at through the screen for a reaction. i thought it was really odd that the writers seemingly forgot about that element like a quarter way through the story. i just feel like everything about the way they did all that was strange. am i alone in that?

[boldlyvoid]

Wheels Up

Characters: Spencer Reid, Reader (Y/N), Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Savannah Hayes, Emily Prentiss, Elle Greenaway, Tara Lewis, Jennifer Jareau, Matt Simmons, Luke Alvez

Summary: JJ goes on maternity leave, Spencer falls in love with her replacement that he's supposed to be mentoring, Emily Prentiss and Elle Greenaway work a case together that brings Simmons and Alvez in for help...

Warnings: Genius!Reader, mutual pining, idiots in love, drinking, star gazing, lots of fluff, mentions of past assault, grooming, drug addiction, spencer's trauma, Abductions, Rape, Murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 9.4K

a/n: this is for @starry-eyed-spence and @simmonsmilf CM fanfiction week, Day One: Favorite Character... only I couldn't pick just one.

To say Spencer fell in love at the least opportune time was a bit of an understatement. Everyone he’s ever come close to admitting his love to has either left him or died. Now he’s stuck with loving someone in secret, keeping it to himself and hoping that one day she’ll love him back.

He fell in love with a co-worker once again… which wasn’t the worst thing, office romances happen and it’s quite frankly all Rossi’s fault that they even had to worry about fraternization policies. The part that makes liking Y/N so difficult is that he’s supposed to be her mentor, he’s 5 years older than her, and if he was to ever make a move she would feel inclined to reciprocate in order to keep her job because that’s the unfortunate truth behind office relationships with significant differences in positions.

And worst of all… she doesn’t like him that way at all. She’s called him the brother she always needed, a best friend, the best mentor ever. She wasn’t interested in him in the slightest.

“And why would she be?” He’s said this to everyone who knew about his crush on her. “I’m old and boring and she’s so cool?”

But he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that every time she asked him to hang back to help her file something, or when they would buddy up in hotel rooms to discuss cases all night and end up down some star trek rabbit hole instead, every time he talked to her she was falling in love with him right back.

It once again all circles back to Rossi, if it wasn’t for him, Spencer wouldn’t even know her. She wouldn’t have ever been introduced to the unit, he wouldn’t be attached to her at the hip and he probably wouldn’t be as happy as he is with her in his life. Even if she wasn’t his girlfriend.

He’ll never forget the day Rossi asked him to meet her, to help her settle in…

“Spencer, can I talk to you for a minute?” Rossi called him into his office.

He sighed, putting his book down and walking up the stairs to his office. He closed the door behind himself and smiled awkwardly, “what’s up?”

“Sit,” he gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, where Spencer pulls one out and proceeds to sit down, anxiously. “As you know, both Kate and JJ will be out of the field in the next few months to have their babies and we need to bring someone in to fill the void until they return, so I reached out to the academy to see if they have any up and coming Dr. Reid like agents that they could loan us.”

“Why?” Spencer laughs at the choice of words.

“Well, honestly, why get new 2 agents when we could have two Reid’s? JJ will be back after a month or 2, it’s better to have more brains than brawn.”

“So they found someone and you want me to be their chaperone?” Spencer clues in. “Who are they?”

“Y/N Y/L/N, she’s a wonderful agent, but she’s pretty quiet, I don’t know much about her personally.” Rossi prefaces. “She’s a genius, high IQ like yours and just a plethora of knowledge inside that mind of hers. You’ll like her.”

“Alright,” he nods. “When do they start?”

“When JJ’s water breaks, but I’d like you to meet them and maybe even have them shadow you for a day?” Rossi asks, “I’ve actually arranged for you both to get dinner at a friend's restaurant?”

“Is this an arranged date or purely business? Don’t send me in there blind,” he worries. “I need at least a week's prep before I go on a date again.”

“It’s not a date, kid,” Rossi laughs. “She's just a lot like you were when I met you, and I know from watching you all these years that it’s not easy to do it alone, so can you just walk them through it?”

“Of course.”

That first dinner Rossi set up for them was more exquisite than either of them prepared for.

They spent the whole night discussing dissertations and their independent journeys through becoming a genius. He understood perfectly why Rossi and the Academy would think she was a lot like him, she was a genius, but she was awkward. It took a while for her to break out of her shell and open up, but by the end of the night, he already knew they were going to be friends.

“So,” she smirks, “would you mind telling me honestly how hard this job is?”

“Why?”

She sighs, “I’ve heard a lot about Thee Doctor Reid and how you were the youngest hired to the BAU and all the shit you’ve been through.”

“What are the rumours these days?” He awkwardly smiles back, rolling his eyes slightly.

“That you were brain dead in a cemetery from an overdose and yet you’re so smart you came back from the dead to kill the unsub and escape…” she looks more and more disappointed in the rumour as she tells it.

His tongue hits the roof of his mouth as he opens it to speak, making a tsk noise as he shakes his head. “Well, I did OD but it was the unsubs main personality that resuscitated me.”

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

He nods, “what about you? I’m sure you have a reputation based on a rumour?”

She presses her lips together the way he always did, just as awkward. She sighs, huffing the air out of her nose and looking fed up. “I was groomed and assaulted by an older boy who then told kids I had a stalkerish crush on him so if I was to ever tell anyone what happened, then no one would believe me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer knows the words don’t make up for what happened. “I’m guessing that’s why you wanted to get into profiling?”

She nods, “I got away with some PTSD and trust issues, most girls go through much worse… they deserve someone who gets it to look into their cases.”

Spencer nods. “That’s how I felt after my kidnapping too. It took a while for me to look at crime scene photos and not think about how they felt, and wonder why I lived when so many die?”

“I’ve never been a religious person,” she prefaces. “But I do believe we are here for a reason. Whether you choseto be here after your last life or this is some learning opportunity, or God is actually real? And you’re supposed to do good.”

“In narcotics anonymous, they reference god a lot, it’s helpful for the addicts, but I never get into it,” he opens up with her more than he’s ever opened up with any friend. “If my Devine purpose is to suffer in order to relate to those I’m supposed to help that’s a load of bullshit… honestly, I can get pretty angry thinking about why I’ve gone through what I’ve gone through doing this job, but it’s not as bad as what happened to me growing up, and it leads me to believe that I probably wouldn’t have had an easy time no matter how I live.”

She nods, “I know, I get that.”

“Sorry,” he snaps out of it. “I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you.”

“It’s exactly what I asked for actually,” she reminds him with a soft smile. “If you can still come to work every day, after all that, you must be incredibly strong— and if I’m anything like you the way people say I am, I guess I can do it too.”

He had no idea she would end up being his best friend.

She shadowed him just once in the office, picked up everything right off the bat and immediately made a name for herself in the unit. Derek tried multiple names on her before one stuck, and they knew it stuck when even Hotch called her Baby Genius.

She brought a different knowledge base to the team, similar to Spencers but visibly younger. She fit in with the crowds of kids they had to interview, she understood why kids reacted the way they did to trauma and abuse, and she was still a kid at heart. It was the reason Spencer fell for her.

She allowed him to feel free again. They went out together outside of work, going to events he always wanted to go to with a partner but never had a chance. She loved all the same things as him, and she takes him to places he’d never imagine enjoying before her.

Like laser tag… that was an afternoon he’ll never forget with her.

When JJ went into labour, that’s when Y/N started full time and Hotch hired Tara Lewis in the same week. The team barely had time to adjust to being undermanned before they were restocked.

Joining Spencer every morning for every case, she waited out front of her apartment for him to pick her up most mornings, sticking to his side throughout the long days and nights until he drove her home again. Even at work, they were partnered up for everything: heading to the M.E. together, bouncing facts back and forth at the precinct, playing good cop bad cop with perverts, and her personal favourite… Making the geoprofile.

And Spencer liked doing that part with her as well. Because it typically meant they were completely alone in a room, spreading out a map and leaning in close to each other as they placed every sticker and marker. Brushing hands, bumping shoulders, longing glances as they made connections… he also just liked to watch her hands move.

She was delicate and careful and precise… and he was falling in love with everything about her as the days went by.

Everyone on the team had noticed. It was really hard not to when they’ve all known Spencer for almost 11 years now. He was so different with her in his life, he was happy and giddy and dressing even better than before. His hair was perfect and he was glued to Y/N’s side. Or she was glued to his.

Even though they were mentally similar, physically they were polar opposites. Y/N wore all black and was a lot more outgoing than they expected. Rossi thought she’d be quiet… But she was constantly talking. To Spencer, to other officers, to witnesses, she never stopped talking and starting conversations, and thank god she did because she’s cracked 4 cases that way.

The biggest surprise the team learned about her happened on a case in Florida, a shooting in a local park in broad daylight with lots of witnesses meant the whole team was on the boardwalk asking questions. She went out to do her thing, talking to the local skaters, asking them if they knew anything but they didn’t want to cooperate.

They were too cool for the feds.

“Can I see your board?” She asks, “if I do some tricks will you answer some questions for me and Doctor Reid?”

“Knock yourself out,” one of the boys laughs as he hands her his board.

She hands Spencer her gun and shoots him a wink before taking off to do a few tricks. The whole team watches in awe then as Y/N showed off. Cruising along the halfpipe effortlessly like she was a professional.

“Okay Tony Hawk,” Morgan teases her, “where did that come from?”

“Skateboarding is easy, it’s just physics,” she shrugs. “I can figure skate too…”

“What do you want to know?” The boy takes his board back. “We always see some sketchy guys around here.”

Morgan pats Y/N on the back with a smile, applauding her ability to get anyone to open up before leaving her to take the statement.

“Agent?” One of the girls pulls her aside just before they are about to leave, “how did you do that kickflip? I’ve been trying to learn and the boys won't help me.”

“Sure thing,” she takes the girl's board and demonstrates a kickflip first.

“So, you see as I start the kickflip I bend my knees?” She shows her another kickflip all while explaining it. “Much like the with an ollie, I’m building pressure so I can apply it to the tail, making the board pop. The one thing that makes this trick different from the ollie is that instead of sliding my foot up, I just flick my toe out to the right of the board, by doing this, the board flips in a 360-degree motion.

She demonstrates again and it’s another flawless kickflip, and a huge smile on her face as Spencer watches her.

“How fast the board spins depends on how much force I put into it when I flick it out. As soon as the board flips in a full 360, your feet should connect and drive the board back to the ground.”

She hands the board back to the girl, “your turn.”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her nerves out before taking off on her board, looping around and carefully bending her knees, she follows every step and it’s a flawless kickflip.

“Flawless!!” Y/N claps. “Those boys better watch out, you’re a natural.”

“Thank you,” she wraps her arms around Y/N and gives her a hug, “it’s taken me so long to be able to do that, you’re so cool.”

“You’re welcome,” she smiles. “Good luck out there.”

She waves as she takes off on her board, leaving Y/N with a smile as she turns to Spencer. “I miss being that age and thinking everything is so cool.”

“You are really cool,” he agrees. Smiling softly as a blush fills his cheeks. “You’re always surprising me. Is there anything you can’t do?”

She laughs, “yeah the one thing I want to do the most.”

“Which is?”

She sighs, “maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

—

He’s sitting beside Penelope and Savannah, watching Derek and Y/N get drinks for what’s left of the group as the night drags on.

“When are you going to tell her?” Savannah asks.

“What?” Spencer pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

“You have a crush on the new girl…” she pokes his cheek as he blushes and gives it away. “Tell her, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“She could feel forced to say yes because I’m a supervisory special agent and she isn’t and she wants to keep her job so she feels like she needs to,” Spencer worries. “I want her to like me back because she fell for me and I want her to initiate it because then I’ll know it’s not just a power dynamic issue.”

“Have you tried asking her, genius?” Penelope teases. “Because if you asked her then you’d know she has a crush on you and she’s afraid you’ll turn her down because you’re an SSA and she isn’t.”

“When did you hear that?”

Penelope pretends to lock up her lips and throw away the key, making Savannah laugh loud enough to get Derek's attention at the bar. When he and Y/N return, that’s when the questions start.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Spencer gets up and leaves the booth, walking out towards the smokers' exit at the back of the bar, getting a moment of semi-fresh air to think about what Penelope said.

“Spence?” She calls to him from the door, “are you okay? Can I come out here?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Sorry, I needed some air, it’s nothing.”

“Do you need a hug? I read it helps the most when people are stressed out,” she plays it off with a shrug.

“So you do have a crush on me?”

“She told you?” Her face lights with fury, “what the fuck, Penelope?”

“She didn’t mean to,” he tries to cover it up. “It was only brought up because I have feelings for you as well.”

Her eyes widen, her brows raise and her mouth slowly opens as she freezes.

“Y/N?”

She blinks a few times and shakes her head, “impossible. There’s no way.”

He laughs, “I’ll take that hug now?”

She lunges for him and wraps her arms around him so tight. Breathing him in, her hands wander his back as she takes in every second if it and he does the same. He can’t believe she’s that close to him, her hair smells nice and she’s so soft in his arms.

It’s quiet outside, they can hear the music behind the door, the people in the ally talking and the crickets in the night. It’s just them outside, holding each other in the smoking section with smiles on their faces, amazed that it’s finally happening.

“Can we keep this between us?” She whispers into his ear. “Just for a bit? I don’t want to go through all the paperwork and have to separate in the field if it doesn’t work out?”

“Wait,” Spencer pulls back. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

She nods, “well yeah isn’t that what happens when two people have a mutual crush? They date?”

“Okay,” he smiles, staring at her lips and then flicking his gaze back to hers with a blush. “I have more than a crush on you, I really, really like you.”

“Prove it,” she teases, “let's go on a real date soon?”

“You know what, let’s get out of here. I have something I want to show you,” he takes her hand and waits for her to nod.

“Take my lead okay? You don’t feel good and you’re going to wait outside while I say goodbye,” she has a plan right away

“After you,” he holds the door open for her and lets her inside first.

—

“I’m taking Spencer home, he’s not doing well,” she’s a much better actress than Spencer expected, patting his back and watching him leave the bar before her like she asked him to do. “He’s really anxious?”

Penelope looks worried, “oh no, I fucked up. I told him you like him.”

She just shrugs, “if he didn’t know that already then I guess he’s not as smart as he pretends to be.”

“See,” Derek looks at Savannah. “I told you everyone else also thinks he’s faking being that smart.”

“Shut up,” she shoves him and turns her attention back to Y/N. “Go make him feel better, he’ll like your company.”

“I’ll see you guys at work on Monday,” she waves them goodbye, surprised they bought it as she rushes her way back outside to Spencer.

He’s already in his car, engine running and waiting for her with a smile. “Come on,” he hurries her inside and is taking off down the road before she even has her seatbelt on yet.

“What’s the rush, Spence? It’s only 1 in the morning I’m sure tones of places are open still?” She teases.

“You’re going to like this, I used to go here all the time when I started with the bureau,” he explains, leaving the main road to take a back root, and eventually they’re driving on gravel.

“If you’re taking me here to murder me this is a dumb way to do it because they all know I left with you,” she teases. “At least when you go to get rid of me, do yourself a favour and dig 6 one-foot holes instead of one 6 foot hole…”

He laughs, “would you really give your murderer tips?”

She nods, “my goal would be to piss him off so much he either lets me go or murders me quickly. I don’t want to go through all the pain.”

“It’s not fun, that’s for sure,” he shrugs it off but she knows it hits too hard.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, reaching her hand out for his to hold by the gear shift. “I think you’re like the strongest guy in the world, you know that, right?”

“Why?” He asks as if that's a preposterous thing to say.

“I think if I got kidnapped and tortured at 24 I wouldn’t still be working in the FBI,” she admits. “I barely made it through the academy, I know this job is intense but I don’t think I could handle being in that situation.”

“If it’s up to me,” Spencer squeezes her hand tighter and brings it to his lips for a kiss. “You’ll never experience anything like that.”

He’s so good at making her feel safe that she almost believes he has the power to do that. He would do anything and everything to move fate for her safety.

He turns down another back road then, around the edge of a lake and towards a clearing. He follows old tire tracks and parks by the dock. “I found this spot one night on a random drive to clear my head.”

“I thought you hated driving?” She quizzes him.

He shrugs, “I like to drive at night when no one else is on the road because then I don’t really have to worry about anyone else. I hate driving because I can’t always anticipate other drivers' movements. If I could read minds, then I’d drive more.”

“Valid,” she nods, “now why is this such a special spot that you needed to show me right away?”

“Well, I have a telescope and it’s been in my trunk for the last 13 years so that every time I come here, I can look up at the moon…”

“You brought me here to look at the moon with you?” She swoons, “that’s so cute.”

“You think?” He looks like his heart is doing the same swelling as hers.

She gets out of the car before she can lean over and kiss him the way she wants to. In his trunk, he does have a telescope, and a blanket, which they set out on the dock and sit upon.

The sound of the lake, the loons in the distance, frogs and crickets and music travelling from somewhere down the lake. The moon was big, the stars were amazing, and this was the closest she has ever seen them. It's amazing, and of course, it was Spencer showing her everything.

He was everything to her.

And it didn’t take long for him to become everything to her either.

Joining the BAU was a dream to many at the academy, but Y/N never thought that she would get the job, overjoyed that she did. They were a family unit; they got the job done, they protected each other, and it was a wonderful environment to be a part of. She obviously liked Spencer the most out of everyone. He took her in, he made her feel comfortable and safe and she opened up more with him than she has with anyone she’s labelled a “best friend” in the past.

She liked everything about him. The way he talked with his hands, how his sweater, vest, shirt and tie always match, his gun looks a little out of place on his belt, like it’s too big for him, but it’s cute. His hair’s been getting longer too, sometimes he wears glasses and sometimes if she’s lucky, he doesn’t shave every day.

She can’t take her eyes off him when he’s busy and won't notice, just to then move her focus away when he stared at her. She only wishes she could see the way he stares at her in awe, because if it’s anything like how she looks at him, he must love her.

She keeps her hand in his, trading the telescope back and forth in turns, her face was close to his every time they switched and she kept getting bolder with each exchange. Letting Spencer look, she kept her face close to his, kissing his cheek softly as soon as he was busy peering up at the moon.

He turned to her with a gasp, “what was that for?”

“You’re cute,” she shrugs. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while.”

“How long?” He teases, leaning in closer and kissing her nose to make her laugh.

“Since you dropped me off at my house after that first dinner…”

“So this is me,” she nods out the window, “thank you for the ride, I appreciate not having to be in an Uber all by myself.”

“Anytime you need a ride, you can give me a call?” He asks. “Seeing as we’ll be going to the same place anyway.”

She nods with a smile, “I’d love that, do you live close to here?”

“Just up the street,” he nods. “So we could carpool?”

“I can drive some days if you want?” She asks, “I know you mostly take the subway, and I know that because I’ve seen you reading on there before.”

He can’t help but smile, “so you never thought to say hello?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “you looked peaceful, and I’m sure you don’t get many moments like that in your line of work.”

He sighed, knowing she was right. “If it ever gets to be too much for you, please never feel like you have to pretend to be okay? None of us expect you to be stone cold, none of us are either. The job gets to us, just tell me if it gets to be too much?”

She looks from his lips back to his eyes and over again, “thanks, Spencer.”

He does the same to her, “anytime. Should I walk you to your door?”

She shakes her head, “that’s okay you’ve done enough for me tonight.”

“Fair enough,” he laughs. “Have a good night Y/N.”

“You too, Spencer,” she smiles before she exits his car, smiling at him from her porch before he drives away.

“So it’s been mutual this whole time?” He shakes his head at the absurdity. “I’ve been so lonely for so long and then I found you and you make me feel like I don’t need to be alone anymore.”

“You complete me too,” she makes one more comment before connecting their lips.

It’s like the world stops then. It’s silent and serene and everything she thought kissing Spencer Reid would be.

She pulls back with a smirk, “oh no.”

“What?” He worries.

“I’m going to want to kiss you all the time now…”

“Good,” he mumbles the words against her lips before reconnecting them.

—

At work on Monday, it’s very hard for them to look at each other without remembering that they’ve kissed. Spencer’s practically glowing with admiration for her that he gives it all away. He’s overly happy, offering to do things for others, standing way too close to her and bringing her coffee all morning.

“Okay, pretty boy,” Derek takes him by the scruff of the neck and redirects him into his office. “What’s going on with you today, I know you’re not this happy for JJ’s return?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you get laid or something?”

Spencer laughs, “no, you know I don’t get laid. You actually remind me of that fact quite often.”

“You’re so happy I’m worried you’ve moved to crack,” he says it. “Okay, you were acting weird on Friday, you missed brunch on Sunday and now you’re waaay too happy.”

“I’m not on drugs again,” Spencer assures him. “I’m just letting myself enjoy my time with Y/N, if she falls in love with me in the meantime that would also be nice.”

“Oh, so you’re doing this to get laid,” Derek teases him again. “That’s good, I’m sorry if I triggered you by asking, but I had to make sure you’re okay.”

“No, no,” he places his hands on Derek's shoulders, “thank you for caring.”

“Always—“

“Guys!” They hear Hotch yelling from the bullpen, cutting the tender moment short, saving Spencer from spilling the truth.

Rushing back, he sits beside Y/N at the briefing room table. “We have a bad one,” Emily Prentiss of all people walks in the door, followed by Elle Greenaway.

“We’ll have time to mingle in a minute, right now there is a woman who needs our help,” he announces.

Spencer quickly reads over the case files, recognizing Elles handwritten notes, she was a private investigator now. “With Penelope’s help, I’ve been able to set up alerts in College chatrooms in the area so that I can help to missing and assaulted women right away.”

“She’s alerted when someone reports a missing woman and she has advertisements for people to reach out to her for help,” Penelope explained.

“I’ve been working on these cases for the last 9 years,” Elle announces. “This morning Aasia Desai called me saying her sister Bahni never showed up for lunch and it’s not like her, we know she went clubbing last night and so far Penelope’s tracked her down an ally and then she’s gone.”

“Her parents are British diplomats so Interpol has asked me to join, luckily I was just in Ontario so it was a short trip over,” Emily adds. “JJ will be here in half an hour for her first day back, and we will celebrate when we can, but I see we have some new faces here?”

“Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N,” she waves, still glued to Spencer’s side. “I’ve heard a lot about you both from Doctor Reid.”

“Doctor Tara Lewis,” she stands and shakes Emily’s hand, and then Elles.

“So it says here that the first missing case was in 2006 just after you left the BAU?” Spencer changes the subject before anyone can pry into why he would be telling her about the women who worked there before her.

“I did,” Elle nods. “I was too late for her, by the time her parents realized she was missing and called me in the case was cold. I started this as a way to get ahead of it.”

“How long has she been missing?” Tara asks.

“She was last seen at 1:07 this morning,” Elle confirms. “We have 25 hours, maybe, to beat the odds.”

“Reid,” Hotch cuts in, “I would like you and Elle to go check out the street she was last seen on, find any private cameras or anyone who might have seen something.”

He turns to Y/N who just shrugs in silence; “it’s fine.”

“Tara and Derek, I’d like you to interview Aasia when she and JJ get here, Garcia can you do a deep dive into Bahni’s spending and academic records?”

“Sure thing,” she starts clicking away on her computer immediately.

“And Y/N,” Elle looks at her. “I need you to go over the footage of the man who followed her to the alley and get familiar with his face. We’re using you as the face of the investigation to hopefully draw the unsub out.”

“How would she be able to do that alone?” Spencer gets defensive, a way he used to with JJ when she was the media liaison.

“If she goes on the news and makes Bahni seem like a person while describing the unsub as someone who can help solve the case, it will draw him out,” Emily explains for Hotch, who is glaring at Spencer for second-guessing the plan already.

“And she’s college-age,” Elle adds. “If that’s who he’s been going after all this time he will want to come in and talk IF he can talk to her.”

She places her hand on his leg under the table, “it’s a good plan.”

“It is,” Hotch agrees.

“What do you not have a saying to replace wheels up when they stay in town?” Elle teases him.

“Wheels away?” Emily joins her, “that works?”

“just get to work,” Hotch tries not to smirk at them.

Spencer stands up to leave with Elle, “can I just talk to Spencer before he leaves?” She carefully asks Hotch.

“Make it quick,” he agrees reluctantly and lets her follow him down to his desk.

Spencer rests his hands on the back of his desk chair, holding it tightly in an attempt to calm himself down.

“I’m going to be fine,” she assures him. “I don’t think the guy on the tape took her, we’d see him leave if he did.”

“Unless he lives in the alley,” Spencer combats. “Can you ask Penelope to do a background check on all the cars coming in and out of the campus and that street between midnight at 2 am?”

She nods, placing her hand on his gently. “Good luck out there, okay?”

He nods, “it’s been 2 days they’re going to know by the end of the week.”

She laughs, “so be it.”

He says fuck it right then and there, wrapping her up in a hug and kissing the top of her head as the team watches in the briefing room. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes you will,” she smacks his side as he lets her go. “If you’re going to make a scene at least give me a real kiss.”

“Hmm,” he teases. “No cause then I’d have to sign some paperwork and I’ve got to go…” he starts to back away.

“Coward,” she teases.

He just shrugs, meeting Elle by the door and heading towards the elevators in silence.

She doesn’t ask, not even when they get to the garage or inside the SUV. They’re driving down the road for maybe 2 minutes when Elle finally brings it up. “So—”

“What do you want to know?”

“It's that easy now? What happened to you?” She teases. “You’re so different from the baby Spence I left.”

“Well you missed my drug problem, my dad being a possible child molester, getting shot in the knee, getting shot in the neck, my girlfriend dying, and now my mom might have Alzheimer's so you know… I had to grow up a bit,” he lays it all out for her to ask any question she wants.

“Why don’t you ever call me? I would have been there for you through anything,” she reminds him.

“I know that,” he reaches over for her hand, “thank you. But I was a big fan of suffering in silence… and now I have Y/N and she makes me feel normal?”

“That’s good, you deserve some fraction of normal in your life and she’s really cute,” Elle smiles back at him before returning her focus to the road. “How old is she?”

“27,” he smiles. “She’s the best.”

“You love her,” Elle notices it.

He presses his lips together to fend off a smile as he nods, “I think I do.”

“Tell her, you deserve to hear that someone loves you back.”

—

She’s anxiously tapping her foot as she waits for the elevator to arrive with the suspect, Rossi standing just behind her. Only 15 minutes after being on the news, the man that was in the security footage contacted them. Making his way over for a voluntary interview.

He looks Y/N up and down with a smile, “I heard you were looking for me.”

“I sure was,” she plays along with it, smiling and making him think she’s interested as well. “I knew you’d get the message, we just need all the help we can get right now.”

“Of course,” he has his ego stroked so well that they can roll with it.

“Would you mind coming with me and Agent Rossi to talk about everything you saw?” She batts her lashes at him, really selling it.

“Sure,” he follows them down the hall.

Rossi opens the door and lets them in first, letting her get him settled and a glass of water. “So you can tell me everything from that night?”

“Sure,” he nods, explaining his taxi job, his run for the night and his alibi.

“So why did you step back into the doorway?” She asks as she sits in front of him. Straight-faced as she catches him off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“You stepped out of the way to let her pass and then followed her, she made no motion to say she wanted your services, so I’m just wondering why you would follow her before she disappeared?”

“Huh,” he suddenly feels played and his personality switches. “I thought this was just a chat?”

“I’m simply asking you questions? If you don’t have answers that makes you suspicious. An innocent person would have given me an answer,” she fights back.

“She’s right, you got very defensive very fast,” Rossi finally speaks up.

He shakes his head with a huff. “I was going to ask if she needed a ride, she looked pretty messed up. And then some guy came over and wrapped his arm around her and they walked off. They seemed to know one another. I thought she was safe in his hands.”

Only his tone doesn’t match the words. He sounds jealous— It’s not like she would have been a large tab, he wasn’t jealous because he lost a customer. No, he’s jealous like someone stepped in and prevented him from snatching an easy victim.

“Fair enough,” she pretends to believe him. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I can go now?” He changes right back to confused.

She nods, “I’ll escort you down if you’d like?”

“Thanks,” he stands and follows her to the door where Rossi stops her.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, “I’ll be back up shortly.”

She catches up with him by the elevators, “did you have to drive far to get here?” She makes small talk.

“Not really,” he shakes it off. “I like your necklace.”

She touches her necklace and her face drops, “thanks.”

“Necklaces are my favourite.”

“You don’t wear any?” She notices in the form of a question.

He shakes his head as the elevator opens at the ground level. “I think they’re nice gifts.”

She nods along, pretending that didn’t set off every ret alert and alarm in her mind, “well here you are. Thanks again for all the help.”

“No problem,” he goes to leave, turning to stop and block the doors from closing. “If you want, later tonight I can show you everything I saw at the alley?”

“Yeah, sure,” she agrees with no plan to go.

“8 pm? At Cafe Linda?”

“See you then,” she agrees and he steps back letting the door close and then she loses her cool.

Feverishly smashing the floor 6 button, and begging to make it back up to Hotch to tell him everything. But she also just wants to cry but she holds it in as she makes it to their floor matching past Rossi and right into the briefing room.

“He may not be our unsub but that man is a creep,” she announces. “He not only complimented my necklace but he asked me to come to the alley tonight so he can walk me through what he saw.”

“You’re not going,” Hotch announces.

“I didn’t plan to,” she snaps. “I think we need to look into him because he’s either giving little girls necklaces to keep them quiet or he’s taking necklaces after he kills women.”

“Kathy’s parents said she was in a necklace when she went missing,” Emily adds. “His connection to this case and being at NYU right before she went missing gives us enough probable cause for a search warrant.”

Hotch sighs, “fine. I’ll call a judge, you and Y/N can go and search his place.”

“So shouldn’t we arrest him before he leaves the building?” Morgan asks.

“He’s still in the garage, I’ve let the security know to stop him and arrest him at the gate,” Garcia adds, listening in and planning in advance.

“Thank you,” Hotch smiles at her, “you’re always reading my mind.”

Garcia smiles back at him, “always, sir.”

“Okay, let’s go,” she looks at Emily and waiting for her to turn to leave the room.

“Let’s,” she motions for Y/N to take the lead and follows.

The drive to his house is so weird… she doesn’t quite know how to talk to Emily, knowing only slightly about her and her knowing nothing about Y/N.

“So how long have you and Spencer been dating?” Her first question just gets right to the point.

She laughs awkwardly, “3 days…”

“Oh…”

She hums as she nods along, looking out the window and avoiding Emily’s eye contact. “It’s new, we’re both pretty infatuated with each other but we’re taking it slower than most people because I’m afraid to let my feelings change how I do the job.”

“Makes sense,” Emily replies. Her voice is so sweet, she has an aura of calm that follows her and lets Y/N feel safe. She gets why Spencer said she was his best friend on the team before her.

“The necklace comment… why did it make you so wary of this guy?”

“When I was in middle school a guy gave me a necklace while he was grooming me,” she whispers. Looking out the window and pretending it doesn’t bother her now. “It’s fine, I don’t have it anymore, but I knew this guy had that same vibe.”

Emily put her hand out, letting Y/N interlock their fingers and hold it. “I know I just met you, but you’re family now. I’m here if you’re ever suddenly not fine with it anymore…”

“Thanks,” she smiles. “Let’s get this fucker.”

—

By the time the warrant went through, Spencer and Elle had joined them to search the first suspect's house while Emily left to help the rest of the team with suspect two. Tracking all the license plates in the area like Spencer suggested lead them to a Chinese food delivery driver in the area.

That didn’t stop Y/N from destroying her suspect's house. They tore the house apart, searching every nook and cranny for any answer that would make sense. She was tempted to lift the floorboards up, call in SCSI to run ground-penetrating radar and search the fucking walls if they had to.

But then she found it.

A small metal box in the laundry room contained some tools and when she lifted up the fake bottom, she found 5 necklaces.

“Elle!!” She yelled through the house.

They both came running down the hall to her, “is this Kathy’s necklace?”

“Oh my god,” she whispered with a nod.

“I want to kill this guy,” she mumbles under her breath as she places the necklaces back in the box and closes it up.

“Spencer doesn’t need another girl he has a crush on to murder someone and get kicked out of the bureau,” Elle teases.

“What?” Y/N asks.

“Way to go,” Spencer nudges her.

Y/N stands up with the box and slides it into a large evidence bag before taping it up. “I guess he has a type then.”

“I don’t,” Spencer tries to cover up. “I mean, if I do then it’s people who are nice to me…”

She smiles at him, unable to even pretend to be jealous or mad. “It’s hard to be mean to you when you’re so cute.”

“Ew,” Elle announces her disgust as she leaves the room.

“Let’s get out of here before I end up kissing you in a murderer's laundry room,” Spencer teases, taking her hand and leading her out of the house as the rest of the forensics team takes over the bagging of evidence.

“Guys,” Elle rushes back to them with her phone pressed to her ear. “We have a bigger problem than we thought with Bahni.”

They rush into the SUV, putting the team on the speaker to hear the most unthinkable. “So I did what Y/N suggested and searched every single driver coming in and off-campus and the last street she was seen on,” Penelope explains back. “And I came across a man who was delivering Chinese food under the name Tom Larson… and it’s ironic his name is tom because he has a plethora of peeping offences and general creepiness alongside a metric shit-ton of abuse from his dad and dead mother.”

“Okay?” Elle follows.

“Tom Larson lives near Bahni,” Emily explains, “I was just at his house where I found him and his father had been murdered.”

“So we have not 1 but 3 creeps in this case, and none of them are who took Bahni?” Spencer rubs his eyes. “Please tell me we know who was in Tom’s car last night.”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Penelope says with the doles tones of keys clicking behind her words. “We were just contacted by the fugitive Taskforce because they believe one of the murderers they’ve been tracking took Bahni… but he has ties to a much larger scale global sex trafficking ring.”

Elle flies through the streets with their lights on, pulling back into headquarters and right up to the security check. “So who is this guy?”

“Once you get back up here, Agent Simmons and Alvez will explain everything,” Hotch confirms. “I’m taking Derek to see Cruze, we need to tell him what’s going on.”

“Sounds good,” Elle hangs up and throws the SUV in park.

Y/N hesitates, staying put and taking a few breaths as Spencer watches. Elle’s left the car and is already on her way to the elevator. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I just have a hug real quick?”

“Yeah,” he wraps his arms around her and holds her close. “Are you okay?”

She nods against him, “yeah it’s just good to have at least 8 hugs a day.”

“Hug me whenever you need to,” he whispers against her hair, kissing the side of her head before she pulls back.

“Kisses are helpful too?”

He smiles, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers, mumbling against them, “how many?”

She hums, “10?”

He pecks her lips 10 times and counts each one, making her giggle, it takes so much effort to hold her smile back to keep kissing him but she feels much better.

“Thank you,” she beams and she can swear Spencer's eyes sparkle as he smiles back.

She pulls him into another hug, “I hate that we have to go catch a killer right now.”

“Come on then, as soon as we get him we can go on another date somewhere?”

She shakes her head, “after this case I think we should take a nap together… I’m exhausted and I don’t want to let you go.”

Spencer shakes his head in amazement, “you really like me?”

“Yeah, maybe I do,” she teases him. “You should get used to it because it’s only going to get more intense and I will smother you with love.”

He just shrugs, “it’s about time—“

They’re startled with a knock on the window, “we get it you’re in love, can we go now?”

“Sorry!” Y/N calls back with a giggle, pulling him in for one last kiss before getting out. Spencer follows with a deep blush that everyone will see when they get back upstairs, but it looks cute on him.

Luke Alvez has been trying to catch one criminal for the last 2 years. Simon Garrett has been a pain in the ass for the FBI, the CIA and DEA. He first showed up on their radar when his DNA was found on 14 women’s remains, all of who had been missing for at least 5 years.

His DNA was then traced to his son in the foster system, who’s been off the radar for the last 10 years. Everette Garrett.

“Now he’s interesting because I’ve been investigating his sex trafficking ring between Canada and the United States,” Matt adds. “All 14 women his father's DNA was found on were thought to be in his ring, which means when they get too old he hands them to his father to take care of.”

Y/N shakes her head as she listens, “so if you’ve been looking for them for this long what makes you think we can find them in time to save Bahni?”

“We’ve been tracking him for a while, we knew that he had a new girl on his radar and when we heard it was Bahni Desai we knew it was time to get you guys,” Matt explains.

“So far we know that she has to be taken to this warehouse in Alexandria before she goes any further, we’re going to intercept them before they make it to the warehouse and then use their car to gain access to take the whole thing down,” Luke rolls out a map of the facility then.

“We need to have the place surrounded for any runners, SWAT is getting prepped, we’re going tonight at 3 am,” Matt adds. “Morgan, Hotch, Prentiss, Alvez and Myself will be running a team at each of the 5 exits. Once inside, each team's swat unit will deploy gas to carefully knock everyone out, from there we need someone to cuff everyone at least until we know who is a victim and who is working there.”

“We’re taking everyone alive?” Spencer makes sure he hears them right.

“We need to know what the step after this warehouse is if we want to rescue more victims,” Luke’s voice is gentle yet stern as he explains. “I’ve seen this man take too many women from good homes and ruin their lives, I’m not letting him slip out of my fingers.”

“We’ve had this planned for months, we just needed to wait for the next confirmed drop-off.”

“Who’s driving?” Y/N asks, having a feeling it was her and Spencer.

“He’s Reids age,” Hotch announces from the door as he walks in with Cruze, “so we’ll replace Everette with Reid and Bahni with Y/L/N.”

“Rossi and Elle will be there to apprehend Everette, we’re setting up a fake traffic spot to irritate him and inhibit him from running. You two will be in a duplicate car arriving at the warehouse at the arranged time,” Emily confirms. “We just have to prep SWAT and then we can leave.”

“Alright, let’s get ready.”

—

Pretending to be kidnapped in the back of a car driven by her boyfriend was possibly the weirdest way to spend a Tuesday morning. Driving the exact make and model as their unsub, her heartbeat was loud enough to cover the sound of the engine and distract her from the long drive. She was overly anxious, and rightly so, it was her first sting.

And she was doing it all without coffee. Tired but full of adrenaline, she wanted to close her eyes and drift off but she knew she needed to be ready to apprehend the men at the gate with Spencer.

She feels the large bump, indicating they just went over a speed bump and she knows what that means. The car slows and she can hear the muffled talking before swat steps in, soon enough Spencer is cracking the trunk open and reaching in for her.

“Are you okay?” He helps her to her feet and makes sure her bulletproof vest is on right before handing her, her gun and watching her clip it on.

“Yeah, what happened?”

“The guards are down, Swat moved in as soon as we arrived, now we have to stand here and wait for them to clear the building,” Spencer explains as they walk to the front of her car.

She draws her gun and keeps it pointed low, guarded as they watch the front entrance for anyone to escape. “Do you know if Bahni is okay?” She whispers towards him.

He nods, “they radioed in that they got her, she’s being airlifted to the hospital with JJ right now.”

She nods with a deep breath, “okay good.”

“It’s going to be fine, we have enough SWAT here to take the government,” he tries to joke, getting a laugh from one of the officers… very strange to see someone laugh while holding an assault rifle.

One of the swat side steps towards Spencer, “I’m hearing on the line that they’ve cleared every room. They’re cuffing everyone, you’re free to enter.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replies.

The high-pitched screech rubber gripping asphalt in an attempt to stop draws their attention backwards. Elle and Rossi jumping out with their guns drawn, ready to join even though the exciting part is long over.

“No runners?” Elle asks, holstering her weapon. “Aw man, I was excited.”

“Not a one,” Y/N adds, watching the front entrance for the rest of the team to start funnelling out with the unsubs.

Luke exits first with a big smile on his face, Simon Garrett cuffed and barely stumbling out the door in front of him. He finally got him.

“well done,” Elle congratulates him. “Let me help you get him in SWAT van.”

“I think she has a thing for Luke,” Rossi leans into Y/N to gossip. “she wouldn’t stop asking about him on the drive…”

“Ooo,” Y/N teases, getting more and more tired as her adrenaline drops. Her eyes are heavy and Rossi can tell.

“Why don’t I bring you and the good doctor home, I don’t think they need all of us for the wrap-up,” Rossi pats her back. “You’ve had a long night, kid.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, holstering her gun and turning with him towards the SUV. “I’m so exhausted.”

“Well you’ve been on the job for almost 24 hours now, you’ve officially made it through your first overnight sting op,” Rossi congratulates her like he’s her grandpa.

She turns back when she doesn’t hear Spencer following her, “Spence? Are you coming?”

“Um,” he has something to ask as he follows then but he doesn’t say it. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s okay, come sit with me in the back?” She asks, sliding in beside him and resting her head on his shoulder as soon as their seatbelts are on.

“Did you still want to have a nap together?” He whispers, feeling her nod against his shoulder before she pulls back.

“Come here,” she tugs him in against her chest, snuggling in as best as she could in their sitting position. Holding him close and feeling him drift off in her arms. She has no problem following suit.

When she wakes, Rossi is parked outside of her apartment, “here you go, Y/N.”

She hums as she comes to, shaking Spencer awake too, “Spence, come on, let’s get to bed.”

“He’s going with you?”

She nods, “don’t tell Penelope. She’ll have a field day, I just want a nap.”

“You better get more than a nap,” Rossi orders. “You guys need to actually rest before you come back to work on Wednesday.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she teases him. “We will.”

“Bye Dave,” Spencer whispers as he gets out of the car. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime kid,” Rossi waves them off, waiting for them to enter the building before driving away.

“Finally,” she sighs, dragging Spencer down the hall and towards her apartment. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“me too,” he barely says.

He follows her inside like a lost puppy, taking off his vest and shirt, slipping out of his pants until he’s in an undershirt, boxers and his mismatched socks. She’s amazed by how comfortable he is with her, but she has known him for 3 months, it’s enough time to fall in love with someone… right?

She’s loved him since she started working with him. When she realized he valued her opinions, he looked at her as a person and he genuinely loved her company. She felt a real connection with him, not just childish infatuation. He was everything to her.

She slides into bed beside him and snuggles in, wrapping an arm around his middle and resting her head on his chest.

“I guess I really can do everything,” she smirks.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She pokes his chest and giggles away the awkwardness, “the thing I wanted to do most, the thing that I couldn’t do… that was to fall in love with you, but I did it anyway.”

“Well, then I guess I can do everything too.”

She pulls away to look at him, “I love you, Spencer. I don’t know if it’s too soon, but I’ve loved you for a while.”

He pulls her in for a kiss, shocking her as he breathes her in and holds her there. “I love you, more Y/N.”

Permanent tag list

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[sunlight-moonrise]

The Law of Attraction (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Reader cannot understand how Spencer is in a relationship with someone who is his complete opposite. 

A/N: Hello Everyone!!! Here’s another story from the secret-fic-swap in the Discord server. I tried my hand at a new genre and I like how it came out. A big thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins​ for helping me make this real nice for y’all (this story was also written to her). Enjoy!

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings: If you’re a fan of Max or Maxcer, this may not be the story for you. Sacrifices needed to be made for this story to be told. 

Word Count: 4.2K

Masterlist

The thought that the concept of ‘opposites attract’ was only true when it comes to physics. After all, the comparison of people to magnets doesn’t make any sense. If two people are together, there should be some similarities to build an established relationship, right? Without that foundation, the structure will surely crumble back into the fragmented pieces that created it, leaving them cracked and weaker for it.

Compatibility is necessary, yet there is none whenever I look at them. This is the fourth function that he has brought her to, and with each event, I find it harder to look their way. But when I do find them among the crowd, I can’t look away. Like a car crash or thunderstorm ripping tree roots from the ground.

It doesn’t make sense to me, why on earth would Spencer Reid be with a girl like her.

“If you keep staring at her, she might drop dead,” said a sarcastic voice, breaking me out of my reverie. I turned to see Tara with an amused smile occupying her face.

“I just don’t get it,” I mumbled, focusing my attention on the drink in my hand.

“What’s not to get?” she asked, glancing over at the couple in question. “They seem cute together.”

“They have nothing in common. He might as well be talking to some random person in this bar.”

I chugged the remainder of my beverage with desperate hope that the alcohol will somehow make things better in this situation. It didn’t.

“You sound bitter.”

“I am not bitter,” I bit back.

“I didn’t say you were, I said you sound.”

I didn’t respond to her because deep down I knew she was right. I just fiddled with the straw in my now empty glass as Tara continued, “Look, they both like coffee and going to the park, that’s something.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped my throat at the thought.

“So do half the people on the administration floor, he might as well have a harem if those are the main qualifications.”

“So what type of person should Spencer Reid have?” she asked, an eyebrow arching up as she focused her attention on me.

“I don’t know. Someone who is family-oriented and loves kids. Someone who doesn’t judge him for his idiosyncrasies. Someone who listens to his rambles and actually responds to them. Someone who he can escape to when things get too tough. Someone who understands when to give him space but will continue to support him unconditionally. Someone who can challenge him and make each day exciting and interesting. Someone who can ke—”

“Whoa there, I didn’t think you were going to give me a whole novel.” If she thought that was a novel, then the rest of what I wanted to say would be considered an encyclopedia. The only one that Spencer would never read.  

“I just want him to be happy,” I relented.

It was the simple truth. Everyone deserves some sort of contentment in their life, but with everything that Spencer has gone through in the past, his happiness should be at the forefront. He always put others before himself. It was time that someone prioritizes his wants and needs for a change.

“And she doesn’t make him happy?”

Not in the slightest. 

But I didn’t want to say that. I was sure half of the team already thought, or knew, that I was infatuated with him. But I didn’t need to give them the satisfaction of a confirmation by talking about this any further. The looks that Tara had been giving me the past few minutes validated my belief that I didn’t need to dig myself into a deeper hole.

“Maybe,” I said, hoping to put an end to the topic.

But just then, I heard a laugh despite how noisy the place was. I knew without a doubt that was Spencer’s laugh – it was the only sound that would demand my attention that quickly. It was the one he used when he felt uncomfortable.

“Excuse me, Tara.”

I didn’t give her a chance to reply before I hopped off the barstool and made my way to where Spencer and his girl were as casually as possible. Jennifer and Penelope were also with them, and it seems as if the three ladies were doing most of the talking.

“….like kids someday?” I heard Pen say. I didn’t need to hear the beginning of the sentence to know what it was about.

“Ehh, certainly not. My nephew is a handful as is, I don’t think I need any more than that one in my life,” she laughed. She, of course, being the ever loving, ever annoying, Max. A quick glance at Spencer's face confirmed that he was bothered by the subject being discussed. If the rest of the ladies were a bit more sober, they’d probably have seen it too.

“Hey guys,” I interrupted, taking my previous seat next to JJ, “I ordered some water for us and some appetizers. Tara is going to bring it over when it is ready.”

Cheers and thank you were shouted across the small table, but there was only one face I cared to pay attention to. Spencer’s mouth was quirked in a sad smile that was meant to hide the discomfort that had already taken root in his heart like an invasive vine.

“Did you place my fries order?” Max asked, garnering my attention. As much as I wanted to ignore her, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t openly be a bitch to her, no matter how much she irked me. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Other than stealing the affections of a man I’d never actually pursued, that is. But I couldn’t really blame her for that one, right? I should’ve jumped on the opportunity before. It was my fault.

“Yup,” I answered quickly with a small fake smile before focusing on the wooden décor of the bar.

“So any plans for Halloween? Assuming we don’t get called in for a case of course,” JJ asked the table.

“There is this pop-up haunted house coming that weekend.” Spencer said, his voice laced with that childlike excitement that made my heart race, “It is near the annual fair, so I’m going to try and do both.”

“Awww, that’s a cute date idea.”

The table was silent for a moment before Max announced, “I probably won’t go. I am not a big fan of anything spooky or… horror. I’ll leave all of that to this guy.”

The table shared an awkward laugh in a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Anyway,” I coughed out, attempting to save this poor conversation, “you guys need to hear this terrible joke the bartender told me. So basically, this screwdriver walks into a bar….” and just like that, the topic had been changed.

Tara joined us shortly after and the conversation remained lighthearted for the remainder of the evening. We later said our farewells and readied ourselves to go back home. While I should’ve been sad to leave him, I couldn’t help but feel a bitter joy from the fact that Spencer and Max didn’t talk directly to each other for the rest of the night.

●●●

It’s been a couple of weeks since the last team outing. Rossi must’ve missed us, because he decided to host a dinner at his place to celebrate the ending of a long and tough case. No one was going to pass up the opportunity of free food and wine, especially after dealing with a bunch of cops and detectives with entire tree trunks up their asses.

I was the last to arrive, which was not surprising since I live the furthest away from Rossi. Krystall welcomed and settled me in while informing me where everyone was. What I assumed was a team gathering turned out to be a whole party. There were definitely more than two dozen people occupying the space.

Good god. 

“What’s all this?” I asked as I greeted Rossi in the, thankfully, empty kitchen. Because, of course, Rossi wouldn’t be Rossi if he didn’t take care of all the hors d'oeuvres himself.

“Krystall wanted to celebrate our anniversary,” he sighed, as if this ordeal was somehow troublesome. I had to roll my eyes; he wasn’t fooling anyone. We all knew that Rossi would move mountains for his wife.

Their love was pure and genuine, a perfect example of two people meeting again at the right time and sharing something wonderful with one another. As I reminisced on their beautiful wedding day, a thought came to my head.

“Isn’t your first anniversary coming up in a few months?”

“That’s for our second marriage, this is for the first.” Rossi simply stated with a proud smirk, as if it was standard to celebrate any and all anniversaries in life. I supposed that for him, it was.

“Why do I get the feeling that this was more your idea than Krystall’s?”

“Guilty.”

Classic. Well, I wasn’t going to tell a man what he should celebrate nor how to do so. I wasn’t going to ruin any opportunities to eat some fresh crostini.

Once I made my way back out into the main room, I was able to find my team within seconds. My eyes instantly landed on Spencer’s tall and lanky form. And I would’ve been excited for that, if it weren’t for the familiar woman standing beside him.

Max was there. Hooray.

Usually, I was able to properly prepare myself for seeing her. It actually, unfortunately, took a lot of effort to not be openly hostile to someone I dislike. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but it was true. Typically in a situation like this, I’d avoid the person all night. However, I wasn’t going to allow her presence to influence the night, much less stop me from spending time with one of my closest friends.

“Hey guys.”

“Ahh, you’re finally here,” squealed Penelope, “I already grabbed your favorite drink!” She stepped aside to make room for me in the small gathered circle before handing me the glass.

“So what did I miss?”

They all caught me up on the harmless gossip circulating around the office and the new happenings emerging in everyone’s lives. Everything was going well until I heard the next words from Max, words that felt like a bucket of ice water and lead being poured over my head.

“Well, Spencer and I are moving in together.”

Time slowed down, I was sure it had. Because I was able to gauge everything in a matter of seconds. Tara’s concerning glance my way, her hand reaching out and retreating as if to hold me. Penelope’s joyful appearance over the news, her arms rising quickly causing her wine to slightly spill on Rossi’s floor. Matt expressing congratulations as he roughly patted Spencer on the back.

And Spencer….

Spencer looked like he rather be anywhere but here. His lips were drawn in a too tight smile that I knew was far from authentic. He was tapping his heel against the floor and wringing his hands together.

If this was merry news from the two of them, why did he look like he swallowed a spiked fruit?

The loud clanging of metal against glass brought everyone’s attention to the noisy source. Time returned back to its normal pace at Rossi’s call, thanking everyone for joining in on the celebration and announcing that the food was ready in the dining room.

While everyone cheered and made their way towards the ornate display, I headed to the balcony. It was too hot, too stuffy, too loud inside the house. There was one too many people there.

As soon as I passed through the double doors, I took a deep breath of cool, refreshing air. Everything around me felt muffled. Like I had stumbled into a small pocket universe that only differed from ours by a few notches on the volume knob.

I was thinking too many things, and none of them adding up or making sense in my head. How do you move in with someone you’ve only known for such a short amount of time? What was he going to do with his apartment? With his personal belongings that were scattered and settled on crowded shelves? Why did he look so uncomfortable when she announced it? Did he not want us to know? Did he want to say it himself?

“What are you doing out here?”

As if being brought back to reality by the very same hypnotist who enchanted me in the first place, I became aware that I was not the only one on the balcony. I turned to look at Spencer, taking in his disheveled and tired appearance.

“I just needed some space. I was feeling a bit crowded.” It wasn’t a lie, but my companion and I both knew there was a lot more than just that. Trying to keep the attention off me, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I saw you come out here dressed like that and wondered what would drag you out into the freezing cold.”

Now that he mentioned it, the breeze was hitting hard. I didn’t notice my body trembling until now. It is funny how you can’t feel much when lost in your own thoughts. The pain was a welcome distraction, I supposed.

Spencer stood next to me and shrugged off the suit jacket he was wearing. I opened my mouth to refuse, but he gave me a pointed look before I could. Instead, I accepted the warm jacket over my body. The scent of cinnamon and spice immediately enveloped my form and I tried to hide the way my inhales grew deeper. Trying to keep him as close as I could for however long he would allow. He kept his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down the sleeves of the jacket to instill some heat in me.  

“So whatever happened to taking it slow?” I asked bluntly, keeping my eyes on the interesting speck of dirt that had ended up on my shoe. I didn’t feel bad about getting to the point -- There was no way I could subtly ask him what the deal was, and I’d rather not beat around the bush.

“Well, after the whole situation that happened, sh— we decided to pick up the pace of things,” he spoke lowly, as if he was unsure of the words coming out of his mouth.

“Has she even met Diana? Or know about her?” I instantly regretted asking, the angry look he shot my way had me feeling remorseful. But it also answered my question.

Max only knew the surface level of Spencer. She wasn’t aware of all the good, bad, beautiful, and ugly layers that comes with a man like him. She wasn’t the only one to blame, but I wondered how a profiler couldn’t tell that he was hiding those parts from her because he didn’t want to share them with her. He didn’t want her to know, because the knowing made it real.

“I just want the best for you.”

His irritated expression dissolved into a defeated one as he released the breath he was holding.

“I know, I know. It’s just…”

He stopped talking, appearing scared to share his opinions and feelings with me before he remembered that, unlike Max, he never had to hide things from me. He didn’t want to.

“It’s just…” I prodded, hoping he would continue with what he was going to say.

But he just stayed stuck there, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. I could practically see the cogs in his brain whirling as he properly tried to explain. “Well, the thing is that Ma—”

“Spencer?”

We sharply turned our heads to see Max and Tara staring at us. It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered our position. With Spencer’s hands rubbing tenderness heat onto my arms, his jacket over my shoulders and our bodies pressed together to keep warm.

It would be one thing if everything was settled, but this situation was anything but. Max had every reason to be angry. This wasn’t a new thing to her. So when she turned around, she stomped away fueled by the belief that she’d nearly caught her boyfriend committing adultery. Again.

“Fuck,” I heard the man in front of me whisper as he released me back into the cold night.

Still, as he left, he looked back at me. His eyes burned into mine up until he tore them away, making his final decision and hastily running from the balcony. Away from me. Towards her.

Tara and I shared the silence, but she looked at me with those inquisitive eyes, as if I was a client seeking out therapy from her.  

“What?” I hissed, “We were just talking.” I refused to feel guilty over something that I didn’t do. If anyone had done anything, it was Spencer. But at the same time, I didn’t think he was entirely wrong, either.  

“I didn’t say anything,” she muttered, holding her hands up high as a sign of surrender.

“You didn’t have to, I can feel the judgment from here.”

“Look, I’m not judging you. But I do want you to put yourself in Max’s shoes. You guys were gone for a while and she finds you two all over each other.”

“What are you talking about, Tara? Christ, it’s not like I was fucking him on the balcony!”

Although I didn’t intend for my words to be humorous, Tara laughed. I was conflicted on whether it was at me or with me, but it ended up amounting to nothing, anyway.

“Look, the night is young and you need to relax. Come back inside, enjoy the party, and don’t let them bring you down. At least for the next few hours.”

She was right, as she usually was. It was why I usually sought her out as the voice of reason; I knew that despite everything, she would always have my best interest at heart.

“Okay,” I agreed before following her back into the chaotic fray.

I heeded her advice and avoided the couple for the remainder of the night. Shockingly, it was pretty easy, but I was sure it was because they were avoiding me too. There were times, lots of times, where Spencer and I made eye contact, but we’d just as quickly look away, as if we were ashamed of what we have done.

All we did was talk. So why did it feel like something more?

There were also times when I made eye contact with Max, but instead of shame, there was anger and contempt. If looks could kill, like Tara had suggested, I was sure my heart would have given out.

It wasn’t until later in the evening that I saw Max take a cab home while Spencer was still inside the house. No one else but me noticed that they didn’t leave the party together.

●●●

I hadn’t seen Spencer since the incident at Rossi’s a few weeks ago. He had to take his mandatory sabbatical leave and I had to take an abrupt trip back home. What used to be almost daily texts between us became nonexistent in a matter of hours. It was a terrible predicament that I was hoping to fix soon.

As I arrived, I spotted him at his desk. For a long time, I stood there staring at him. If he wasn’t nose deep in a bunch of files, I was sure he would’ve seen me, too. I contemplated on how I should go up to him, but nothing I could think of was good enough to say. 

Hey, I have your jacket, I took it to the dry cleaner’s, so it is all clean. Rid of me like you wanted to be. 

Hi, how were the lectures this time around? Still have a bunch of teens crushing on you?

What’s up, it’s been a while, do you want to get lunch during the break?

I hated that things were awkward, even though I was pretty sure that I was the only one that was making it so. I should have just gone up to him, greeted him, and acted like everything was normal, because everything was normal. Right?

Just when I was about to do so, Emily called us in for a meeting. Impeccable timing.

We had a serial killer case in Louisville, Kentucky. My situation with Spencer was going to the backburner.

During our stay in Louisville, Spencer and I barely interacted. We exchanged notes and passed long messages, but that’s pretty much it. I wasn’t surprised. Our specialties don’t really correlate when we are working on a case. Anytime I did catch some free time, I’d look his way, longing for the opportunity to speak to him. He didn’t look back.

Then, just as the case ended, another chance presented itself. After five days of hardly any proper rest, we finally found the unsub. Everyone was in their respective room catching up on some much needed sleep. Except for Spencer, whose gangly body was tucked away at the bar by himself, a glass of what appeared to be soda in front of him.

Silently, I took the seat next to him, and for a few minutes, everything was quiet. But unlike the usual, comfortable quiet, it was torturous.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

I stared at him, letting the silent communication denote the fact that I knew he was lying to me. Spencer released a sigh and looked at me with eyes more intoxicating than any whiskey that shared their color.

“Actually, no, I’m not okay.”

I was going to ask him what was wrong or if there was anything I could do to help, but before I had the chance to do so, he hastily answered the question I hadn’t asked.

“Max and I broke up.”

I stared at him, my face and mind blank as I tried to comprehend what he’d said. That Max and Spencer broke up. They were no longer together. Spencer was single.

I thought that if this ever happened, I would be happy, elated, jumping at the chance to take her place by his side. But I felt none of those things.

“What happened?” I didn’t want to appear nosy or meddlesome, but I needed to know.

“We were fighting a lot, and I couldn’t take it.”

“Oh.”

“We were… actually fighting about you.”

I sharply turned my head at him, both intrigued and disturbed by the implication that I had anything to do with the failure of their relationship.

“What? What about me?”

“She thought I liked you,” he said while staring straight back at me, daring me to scan through each fleck of gold and green to ensure that he was telling the truth. But his hazel eyes expressed nothing but honesty as he continued, “and she was right. I do.”

“Y-you do?”

All he could do was nod his head, lifting his hand and catching a loose strand of hair before tucking it behind my ear.

“Can I try something?” Spencer shyly requested.

Once again, the universe felt different. I held my breath, trying to wake from the dream. Although he didn’t say it, I had an idea of what he wanted. If the hand on the side of my face and the staring at my lips were anything to go by, I knew what was going to happen next.

I nodded back and closed my eyes. A few seconds passed, the sweetest kind of anticipation. But then I felt the gentle pressure of his lips against my own, sweet and tender. He moved his head to get a better angle while I brought my hands up to cup his face. The roughness of his stubble against the tip of my fingers was a perfect contrast to the softness of him. I could taste the soda he was drinking on his tongue and breathed in the cinnamon scent that seemed sunken into his skin.

When we pulled away, it was full of hesitation. All it took was one look for us to know we couldn’t do this. Not now, not yet. He was still healing from the recent break up and I didn’t want to be a rebound. I didn’t want us to resent one another for jumping into a relationship so soon. We weren’t ready.

We sat there in relative silence, taking in everything that has happened.

“Maybe one day,” he paused “one day we can give it a chance.”

“Yes. I’d like that.” I beamed at him, “And I look forward to that day. Until then, we remain as friends.”

He returned my smile and I realized that it had been a while since I’ve seen his real smile. I missed it so much.

“Friends,” he confirmed.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt relief and comfort. Because I knew everything was going to be okay. I had hope that someday Spencer will get the happily ever after he deserves and he’ll get it with me by his side. One day.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #2

Because I don’t love myself enough, I guess. Let’s continue.

Recap in case you missed the first part: it’s boring, Jared acts like he stumbled on the set and never heard about it before, Texan law enforcement must wear very pristine shirts and cowboy hats or they will die, I guess, the cinematography wants to be good but I’m not sure it knows how to do it.

The last thing I mentioned in the first post was Jared doing a thing with his mouth but I think you need to see it. It’s basically the extent of Jared’s acting in this show. I had nothing against you, man, I swear. I even got your autograph once. I’m not a hater. I’m just looking at him...

THE TITLE CARD! I had paused the episode riiight before the title card. You have to witness it in all its embarrassing glory

Whose idea was it??

Some shots of the city of Austin. Walker and Martinez (Mexican Lady Cop) are having lunch. She says she’s heard about him, he asks what she’s learnt, she says, I textuallty quote, “I hear you are the edge of the coin”. Again, we are not allowed to have any kind of slight metaphor without the dialogue slapping us in the face with it.

“Not head or tail, just... your way” Jared didn’t even come up with the metaphor in that interview, it was in the script. Unless he came up with that line, which isn’t even a good line.

She basically tells him not to get in the way of her career. Being a Mexican-American cop is hard! Such deep commentary.

They start discussing the case, which I had already forgotten about. The cop who was slightly assaulted and won’t talk about it. “Maybe whatever was in that truck spooked him enough to abandon his oath” maybe it was a monster. god I wish it was a monster so that’d mean I’m watching Supernatural and Jensen is in it. The “oath” thing is kinda icky, like they want to remind us that being a cop is a noble path. It is in some places under some conditions. But we’re talking about Generic American conditions.

He’s like “let’s use the traffic cams to see if we can see something” and he slips right into his Sam tone. Admittedly that’s a Sam kind of thing to say.

It was day, and now it’s night. Walker house. He arrives when his family have already started dinner. Except the daughter isn’t there, she’s out with a friend. “Isabel, some Mexican girl” Walker’s father calls the friend. “Mexican American, dad” the gay brother corrects him, a deep and interesting commentary on ethnicity in the United States, we’re weeping with emotion.

Walker apparently isn’t happy that his mother has enrolled his daughter in a Catholic school, his father snaps back at him. We don’t care. We’re not emotionally invested in any of this.

There’s some awkward dialogue because he mentions the daughter playing basketball, but she’s switched to soccer. Wow, it’s like she’s become an entirely different person in those eleven months he was undercover! Can you believe? Apparently she used to play soccer before, she’s come back to it. Whoa. She’s an utterly unrecognizable person now, it’s going to be so hard for Walker to get to know her again from scratch. Can you believe?

Then he gets a call. He needs to pick up the daughter from the police station. He does some Jared awkward faces and leaves.

The daughter (Stella) was at a party and was arrested for possession. I miss when possession meant demonic possession. Dramatic music plays. She’s there with the Mexican American friend, whose parents arrive and he starts a speech on how they should get to know each other better. It is so not the right context to start making friends. “Epic first meeting” Isabel says. “I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing” Stella says. “For who?” Walker quips, like a normal person does.

He’s like, let’s go, and the girls hug, which is the only believable expression of affection I’ve seen so far in the episode. Can’t the story be about Stella and Isabel?

Father-daughter conversation in the truck. Apparently we have emotional moments in cars, which we have never seen on television before.

He asks what she was thinking, she’s like, duh what do people use drugs for. She calls him out for disappearing completely. She mentions how it was bad enough that they didn’t have mom. He says “we both got to stop acting like she’s gonna come back and put us right” which makes absolutely zero sense. It’s like someone wrote it on a note for how to develop the characters and they just decided to slap it into the script of the pilot. Remember these people haven’t seen each other for eleven months, he left shortly after his wife died. They didn’t have the time to process the grief together, why is he even saying that line here?

Meanwhile Martinez get home and we meet her boyfriend, a very cute Black man. They’re cute. Why can’t the story be about them?

He asks her about Walker, she says he’s a mess. Oh god. She says he was a Marine, “signed after 9/11”. Holy shit. He’s a Marine who signed up after asdfghjkl can’t you feel the Manly Trauma here????

He’s a Marine who signed up to fight Muslims after 9/11 and now has a dead wife, he’s exactly the kind of male lead character we need right now.

She says she’s trying to figure him out. Her boyfriend is like “dude stop thinking about that guy, he’s not at home trying to figure you out” and she replies “oh I’m pretty sure he thinks he knows everything about me already”.

This is the first scene that hasn’t felt bad so far.

Meanwhile Jared and his brother go to a bar. It’s very ~Texas Aesthetic~, and they’re wearing cowboy hats, of course. You are not allowed to go to a bar without a cowboy hat in Texas. “The brothers Walker” the flannel-shirt-clad bartender says, coming with drinks. Jensen Ackles makes a face somewhere in the mountains.

The brother goes to call his partner and the bartender starts chatting with Walker. She has a conversation with Jared’s awkward faces and she’s like, I guess you left because I couldn’t answer your questions about what happened yo your wife. This is how people converse in real life.

She asks him if he’s alright and he doesn’t answer, instead is like “let’s have a dance”. He doesn’t say he’s fine, but I think it still counts as a I’m Fine Lie Moment #2 because that’s what it is in spirit.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored.

They dance in the Texan bar, I’m distracted by the pool tables and wish this was Supernatural so we’d see Jensen Ackles play pool.

Obviously the dance is interrupted by work - a text from Ramirez who says she’s got something, “office 8am?” so he leaves because he has to wake up early. I’m not kidding.

I was kind of warmed over by Ramirez and her cute boyfriend and by the bar who was kind of nice as a location, when the next scene at the office immediately starts with Ramirez saying “My mom wouldn’t let me play with dolls when I was a kid, so Iearned about cars instead”. I die a little inside. It’s the second time she’s referred to her mother wanting a son...? So she’s badass because she wasn’t raised to be feminine...? Ew.

So they have this lead thanks to her knowledge of cars. They go investigate. I’m bored.

I shouldn’t have said I was bored, because Walker destroys my boredom by having Jared pick up a cross and start talking to “JC” sarcastically asking him for guidance about his kids going to the Catholic school. “Can you stop” Ramirez says, along with all of us.

By the way they’re in a workshop run by an ex-convict who employs former criminals to make figurines (like that cross). I got a bad feeling about this. Former criminal in cop shows is always code for current criminal.

The investigation leads to two guys who work in the store - “oh I know you,” one immediately says when he spots Walker, “you’re the ranger with the dead wife”. Walker is like, what did you say. And the guy is like oh I heard the story of a ranger’s wife biting a bullet near the border, guess you couldn’t protect her uh~~~

They exchange more provocations - Walker calls him some lowlife something and the guy goes to punch him and Walker beats him up. Violently. I’m uncomfortable. We’re supposed to think he’s exaggerating here but... he does get very violent and should not be a cop. Period.

They go to Ramirez’ house because he cut his hand. Her boyfriend is like “baby there’s a dude bleeding on your couch” I want a season of him, exclusively him.

She scolds Walker. Not because he beat up a guy with more force than needed, but because he acted stupid and that’s bad for her career. I’m uncomfortable.

Also, what’s bad is that they’re supposed to work *together*. He says he has his own way of doing things. Yikes yikes yikes.

She says that her theory is that they put them together because he always break the rules. Apparently she read up his cases and he always break the rules. The main character of the show is a cop who break the rules in half the cases he works. Yikes yikes yikes but also did I mention yikes?

No, wait, he acknowledges that he “bends” the rules, like that’s better! Yikes!

More bad dialogue, then Stella’s school calls him. She hasn’t been at school.

He goes to ask Isabel’s mother, who reveals they haven’t their papers yet, so any criminal activity would mean deportation. He talks about it with Ramirez and mentions that his brother who’s a DA could get in contact with the Feds to speed up the papers. Are we supposed to be like “oh what a good guy”? The thing is just creepy to me.

Well, at least Ramirez says something about it, or actually quotes her mother who used to say that the law doesn’t protect us. That’s why she ~burned bridges~ with her family! Apparently because she became a cop.

Ow. Her mother is not speaking to her because for her, her daughter being a cop is like a betrayal. But for her it’s a way to set things right! We’re supposed to think her mother is exaggerated. #notallcops #individualgoodcopscanchangethesystemfromtheinsideforsuredefinitely

Meanwhile their investigation continues. Remember the cross Walker randomly picked up to mock the concept of Jesus? Ramirez stole it. And now they find out there’s heroin in it. Alright... obviously the business that was supposed to rehabilitate former criminals is a cover for cartel drug dealing. What were we expecting. I’m tired.

Ramirez decides to work the case alone and sends Walker to look for his daughter. “I was that kid once, I always wanted to be found”. The impression you get from the scene is that Walker had forgotten about his daughter missing lol. Ramirez insists he goes. I’m uncomfortable with how many times people put on cowboy hats. Someone should count. We’re only 30 minutes in and it feels like it’s happened 80 times.

Alright, a break now! My laptop’s ventilation is running like crazy, VLC and long tumblr drafts are a bad combination. Or maybe it’s just my laptop being allergic to this show.

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 4

A/N: He’s here! Now done with the prologue, Barba has finally made it to the story haha. This is a long chapter, but it’s also a lot of exposition since it takes place 3 years after chapter 3. That’s right, this chapter takes place in season 15, right after Cragen retires. Gonna say now that I tried to keep the timeline of the show as close as I could, but I have taken some liberties (for example, Cragen leaving to Lewis dying is apparently 4 months, which is insanely short). Also, yes, Amaro should be on desk duty at this time, but with a threat on Olivia’s life, she’s not gonna be left alone.

Also, now that this story is in the “present” tense, and with both Devon and Barba, the narrative will switch between the two’s pov. It’s mostly Devon’s, but you do get Barba’s insight, as well

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: mentions of rape, mentions of trafficking, alcohol/drinking, knives, guns

Words: 12k+

Courthouse

Wednesday, January 26th. 4:36pm

“We find the defendant guilty,” the juror said before taking their seat. The judge thanked the jury for their services and dismissed the court. On the outside, Rafael Barba showed no emotions aside from a small smirk—ever the smug counselor—and simply gathered his papers, put them in his case, and latched it. On the inside, however, he was many things; relieved, happy, and yes, maybe a little smug. Yet a nagging part of his mind was nervous, if not a little afraid; something he wasn’t quite used to feeling, especially after securing a guilty verdict. Sure, he got the conviction on a top-ranking gang member—one Jorge Ramirez--who was just sent to jail for the rest of his mortal life for trafficking, rape, and murder. But Barba knew that this may put a target on his back in retaliation from Ramirez’s gang…not that he hadn’t dealt with some sort of threats in the past. But this time, his instinct was telling him something was off. He pushed the feeling down, grabbed his case while receiving a very nasty glare from Ramirez as he was pulled away, then turned to see Sergeant Benson and all of the other SVU detectives giving him broad grins or congratulations.

           “Guilty on all counts. Nice, Rafael,” Liv said with a pat on his shoulder.

           “Let’s hope we can round up the rest of his posse,” Barba replied. “Drinks?”

Flanagan’s Bar

Wednesday, January 26th. 5:06pm

They all agreed that a celebration drink was in order—this had been a rough case all around--and made their way from the courthouse to the cop bar down the street. None of the party were particularly heavy drinkers, but Barba knew that he wanted to leave his mind for a little bit tonight; this wasn’t his first hard case that he had dealt with recently. That being said, Fin only stayed for one drink, saying he had other things to do tonight. Rollins had a couple drinks, then bowed out herself. Amaro mentioned something about facetiming his daughter before she went to bed and headed out shortly after, leaving Liv and Barba alone. They moved from the big, party table to the stools at the bar, chatting idly about the case, then about life; the norm when they were alone together. Barba never admitted it aloud, but he loved their friendship; Liv was smart, strong, and, most importantly, put up with his shit. What they had wasn’t romantic by any standard; it was fully platonic, and they both knew it, regardless of what rumors flew about. But they both cared for each other in a way that was…different from anyone else. These types of relationships seemed to flock to Liv, seeing as she had a team that she worked with daily and trusted with her life. But Barba? Well, he had a couple childhood friends that he’d see around town, though after the business with Muñoz, those friends were fewer and farther in between. Then there was his secretary, Carmen, and a few acquaintances at work—none of these people were actual friends he saw outside of work, besides at the occasional suit and tie benefit dinners his office forced him to attend. Sure, he was friendly…sometimes…with them, and with the SVU detectives, but nothing that was substantial outside of Liv.

“You need a ride home tonight, Rafa?” Olivia asked after she finished her glass of wine. Barba took a look at his scotch; it wasn’t low enough to shoot it back quite yet. And he didn’t want to make Liv wait for him.

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I can catch a cab tonight,” he replied with a half-smile. Olivia gave him a look like she knew exactly what he was thinking, feeling. But she decided not to comment on it. She knew he could take care of himself.

“Good night, then. Good win today,” she smiled at him as she stood, putting her jacket on.

“Sleep well,” he replied, returning her smile, before taking a sip of his drink.

Liv grinned. “Oh, I will, knowing that we finally put Ramirez behind bars.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, gave him a light squeeze, then headed out into the cold evening. Barba sighed and checked his watch, 9:07pm, later than he thought. He was usually in bed pretty early after a big win, since he normally had to stay up late the previous week preparing. Maybe it was the alcohol, but he couldn’t stop the picture of his quiet loft from flashing across his mind, nor the sudden feeling of loneliness—something that he hasn’t felt in a while. Sure, he has been alone for a long time now, but that never bothered him…much. The truth is, he was usually too busy to really dwell on the fact that his bed, his home, his life, has been empty outside of himself. Plus, the scandal with Alex, Eddy, and Yelina happened only a few, short months ago. And Barba still couldn’t understand how Alex could be doing things like…that…when he got to come home to Yelina at night. YELINA. She was smart, attractive, strong…. Oh, the alcohol was definitely affecting his mood. He’d finish this drink, then head home, end this self-pity spree.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a soft voice asked to his left.

Barba jumped; sucked into his thoughts, he didn’t hear anyone approaching him. “N-no, uh, help yourself,” he replied, turning his head slightly, but not really looking at the person. He heard the stool pull out and the person—a woman, he realized—sat down next to him.

“Whiskey and coke, please,” she ordered. The bartender nodded and went off to make her drink. There was silence, but Barba could feel her gaze on him. His heart was still racing from her surprise appearance, but now he felt his face heating slightly from her stare. “My name’s Devon, by the way.”

“Rafael.” This time, he turned and gave her a somewhat forced smile. He felt his face turn fully red as he looked her up and down, too dumbstruck to even try and hide it. Devon was, well, beautiful. She had long, brown hair cascading down her back in waves, a plain, black v-neck that hugged her curves, navy jeans, and a heavy black trench coat that she had opened once inside the heat of the bar. The simplicity of her outfit did nothing to diminish her natural beauty, and Barba didn’t really care that he was caught staring. She smiled back at him playfully, knowing full well that she had him on the ropes. Now, Barba knew that the alcohol was definitely guiding his thoughts. Maybe his bed wouldn’t be so lonely with her in it. He squashed down the thought as quickly as it appeared; he was not that type of guy. He did not just pick up random women in a bar. No more scotch for a while.

“You alright there, Rafael?” she asked slowly, letting his name dance across her tongue. His attention snapped back to the bar; at some point, the bartender had given her her drink, and he realized that he had been staring at her, mouth slightly open.

“Yeah, sorry. Just had a long day at work,” he replied, taking a sip from his drink. It was low enough now that he could easily pound it and leave if things got any more awkward. He was heavily debating it, debating just getting the hell out of there before either of them made a move.

She nodded, taking a long pull off of her drink, killing half of it in one sip. She swallowed hard, then said, “I know all about long days.” She sat for a second, eyes unfocused, staring at something only she could see. She shook herself, smiling a bit at whatever thought she had before focusing her brown eyes back on his green ones. “Did you want to talk about it?”

Barba thought for what seemed like a long time, at least to him. On one hand, it would be nice to unload some stress onto a stranger. But on the other hand, he was a pretty private man; he didn’t like discussing cases or work with others, especially such a nasty one. Ramirez was one of the worst he’d seen and…wait a minute. It hit him then and he gave the woman a sideways glance; who was this woman? Why did she suddenly appear when he was alone, drinking, and asking him personal questions? Did…did she possibly work for Ramirez? Was she here to threaten him, hurt him…kill him?

Barba pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the blank screen. “Actually,” he started, slamming his drink, “I just got a call I have to take. It was nice meeting you.” He reached into his wallet, grabbed more than enough for his drinks, and dropped the money onto the counter. He didn’t carry any weapons, and he wasn’t much of a fighter. So, he kept his phone in his hand as he gathered his things. He had Liv’s number pulled up so that he could call her if anything happened; it was the only plan he could think of. He gave Devon—if that was her real name—a tight smile before turning and rushing to the door. Just find a cab, just find a cab, he thought. He figured that if there wasn’t one right outside the bar, then he only had to make it the two blocks to the courthouse to find one. There were always taxis on the main roads, and he was hoping that he could outrun the woman, even in his expensive court suit and dress shoes.

He made it outside and took a deep breath. The cold air stung his lungs, but he was used to New York’s frigid nights; it brought his mind back, sobering him up. There were no taxis in sight, so he quickly started to make his way to the main road. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but he waved it off as being paranoid; no one was after him, surely. This was all an illusion, brought on by stress and adrenaline. But as he passed a dimly lit alley, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was spun around, then felt a hard hit to his cheek. It all happened so fast, he didn’t even catch a glimpse of who hit him, let alone know what hit him. He stumbled backwards towards the alley, dropping his case and his phone. Pure fear rushed through him, and he threw up his arms in a defensive position.

Flanagan’s Bar

Wednesday, January 26th. 9:45pm

Devon waited to make sure that she was right. She watched the man—Rafael—make his hasty exit, then looked over at the two men who were sitting a little way away from her. Just as she thought, they got up, and started to follow Rafael out. She let out a sigh.

As soon as she had come into the bar, she noticed the tension in the room. Those two men, both Hispanic and wearing similar outfits, had been watching Rafael with such disdain that she knew they were there for him. By the look of the two, they were probably apart of the same gang. And by the look of the suit and the scotch that the man at the bar was drinking, he probably worked for the government. Seeing as this was a notorious cop bar, and that two gang members decided to actually stake someone out in it, Devon put her money on police commissioner, or lawyer. Of course, this happens the first night out after a three-year stint in undercover. And of course, there were no cops in sight. In a fucking cop bar. She just wanted to decompress, have a drink and just relax; she may have been back for a week, but she was just finally feeling up for hitting the town again. Though, she did enjoy the short conversation she had with the flustered, yet handsome, man at the bar. If the circumstances were just a little different, a little simpler, maybe they could have helped each other relax. Oh well. Still a chance for that, Devon thought, ignoring the fact that he seemed to freak out, citing a fake phone call to leave abruptly.

She waited for the two men to stand and head towards the door before she, too, stood, pulling out some crumpled bills and paid for her half-drunk drink. By the time she left the bar, the two men were hot on Rafael’s heels, though he didn’t seem to notice—there was a thin layer of snow on the ground that muffled their footsteps slightly. She realized that there was no time to warn him, so she took off after them instead, careful to not slip on the icy ground, silently thankful that she wore her snow boots. She opened her mouth to yell a warning anyways but was too late; the taller of the men grabbed Rafael by the shoulder, turned him, and punched him in the face. Rafael stumbled to the side, into a dark alley, dropping his attaché and phone as he struggled to stay on his feet.

What is this, a tv show? Devon thought. The two men had followed him into the alley by the time Devon caught up with them. Rafael had his arms up in a mock defense position—in reality, he wouldn’t stop a toddler from punching him--and the two men were descending upon him quickly.

“Hey, mind if I join in?” Devon called in a loud voice. Look at me, she practically screamed. The two men whipped around; the one who had not hit Rafael had a pocketknife gripped in his hand. Seeing as he had a weapon, and was closest to Devon, she set her attention on him. He lunged sloppily towards her with the knife—has this guy even held a knife before?—which she easily blocked. She grabbed his wrist and slammed it against one of the brick alley walls, forcing him to drop the knife. She then brought her knee up into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Using his forward momentum, she punched him in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. He fell onto his back, gasping for air. The other man looked to his prone buddy at his feet, then back to Devon, but it was too late; he had left himself open by hesitating. She kicked him in his ribs, sending him into a wall. Then she grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that he wasn’t getting back up.

Rafael stood in disbelief, mouth hanging open, dropping his arms to his sides, and looked at the bodies around him, then at Devon. “You alright?” she asked, pulling her coat tightly around her in the cold.

“Y-yeah,” he replied. “Just…just a long day.”

Devon chuckled, then led him out of the alleyway and over to his fallen attaché and phone. She picked them up and handed them to him. “I’m serious, though. Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Or call someone for you?” She grabbed his chin, examining his cheek in the light of the streetlamp.

“No, no, I’m fine.” He pulled out of her grip, cheeks red not entirely from the cold, and looked back to the alley. He ignored the jolt of electricity he felt from the soft touch of her skin. “Should we call an ambulance for them, though? You went a little hard on them.”

“Hard on them? They attacked you, screw them,” she replied, then saw the alarm in his eyes. Right, most people would call for help, even if they attacked him first. “Oh, they’ll be fine. If anything, I should call the cops and have them arrested.” When Rafael didn’t respond, she asked, “why were those guys after you, anyways?”

Devon could see him thinking through his answer carefully. “I think it may be work related,” he finally said.

She didn’t push it; she doubted he’d elaborate anyways. “At least let me walk you to somewhere safer than here.” Rafael didn’t want to voice his objections from the bar, especially after the display in the alley, and so they made their way to the main street, Devon walking a little too close to him. To protect him, she told herself, ignoring the side of her that remarked how attractive this man was. Her heart was still beating fast, though from the fight or from examining his face in the light, she wasn’t sure. She thought about giving him her card with her number on it…for protection…but realized she hadn’t restocked her pockets with them since coming back to New York. Oh well…. Once on the main street, Rafael hailed a cab, and Devon didn’t leave until he had gotten in, thanked her awkwardly, and then disappeared down the street. God, I missed this city, Devon thought. Wish I got in that cab with him, though. Now alone, she headed back to that alley to see if she couldn’t get some answers from the two hitmen. Though, by the time she made it back to the alley, the men were gone, the only sign of them was their footprints all over each other in their scramble to run.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Wednesday, January 26th. 10:37pm

“I’m telling you, they were working for Ramirez. Probably some low-level Aces,” Barba said into his phone. He made it into his loft, had locked the door, and instantly called Olivia. Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew the expression Liv had; worry, concern, and yet hard determination, her Sergeant side taking over.

“I’ll put an unmarked on your block tonight. We may be stretched a little thin here, but I can give you Amaro or Rollins tomorrow morning, then have them switch shifts at lunch,” Liv replied.

“I’ll take the car tonight, though I doubt they will strike again so soon. And I should be safe at the office and courthouse; too many witnesses.” Barba moved to his freezer, taking an ice pack out. His cheek was killing him, and he winced when he put the cold plastic on it. He slowly made his way to the hallway bathroom to examine himself. I can’t believe I got sucker punched….

“I can have a detective escort you to and from work, keep the uni’s there at night.”

Liv always had an answer for everything. But Barba was never a man to live in fear; he figured that he could simply carry pepper spray or a stun gun and be fine. Now that he knew the Aces were after him, he wouldn’t get jumped again. Plus, Olivia was going to have every precinct after this gang; they’d be rounded up in no time. “I’ll be fine, Liv.”

He could hear her winding up for an argument, one he was determined not to lose. Perhaps sensing this, Liv blew out a long breath. “I’ll have Amaro there, first thing in the morning. Please, for my sake, take the ride.”

Barba sighed. “Fine, but I don’t need a babysitter while at work.” She reluctantly agreed—he had a point about too many witnesses--then said her goodbyes before hanging up. Barba looked into the mirror in his bathroom, gently fingering the bruised skin under his right eye. There was no covering it—he didn’t know how anyways—so that would be some awkward conversations tomorrow. Hopefully he could glare hard enough that no one would ask. He put the icepack back on the spot, wincing again at the pain. He had no idea how he was going to sleep tonight. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, especially after recounting the event to Liv. He also wished that he had thanked Devon more—she may not have realized it, but she most likely just saved his life. But one question kept coming back, swimming through the thoughts racing through his mind: who was that woman?

Apartment of Devon Motely

Thursday, January 27th. 7:08am

Devon woke up after a much-needed deep sleep, one she hadn’t had for years. There was nothing quite like sleeping in your own bed to make you feel refreshed. She had been out-of-state for three years, in the life of a made-up woman, in a house that was not hers, talking to people she didn’t know. And while the FBI had people come in a day before she was home, to clean all the dust off the furniture and wash the sheets, it was still weird to be somewhere “new.” There was a peacefulness she gained from being in her home—not just an apartment, but home—but it was still a little jarring coming back to reality. Not to mention the three-hour time difference between here in New York, and where she had been in California. Her sleep schedule in California wasn’t normal, but it made NYC seem a little better; waking up at 7am meant she was a go-getter…just ignore the fact that a week ago, that was 4am. She has spent the whole week home attempting to stay awake later, but it wasn’t happening; she slept when it was dark out, and with the city’s tall buildings, nighttime was earlier than that of the sunny West Coast.

Devon had already spent a couple months with the Fed’s shrink, both in the California branch and her home doctor, and was cleared to work. But her boss knew better, giving her three more months to decompress and return to normal. Not that she was complaining; she had never been undercover for that long before, and it took a bigger toll on her than she thought it would. The hardest part about getting back to normal was picking up her gym routine again; the first day was hell. She wasn’t out-of-shape, but she was definitely out of gym shape. And at first, she was happy when the first day was over, the burn a reminder of where she could grow. That happiness disappeared on the second day of gym. After this week, though, Devon was glad to find her body getting back into the motion of things.

After a long shower, she made her way to her closet. Even after a week of being back, she was still excited to put on some of her own clothes again; her last alias had a decent sense of style but was definitely not her. The college student’s style was oversized hoodies, too-tight shirts, and skinny jeans, while the Madam’s style was skimpy dresses and heavy makeup. Devon’s style, however, was practical; you never know when you may have to kick some ass—as evident with the events from the night before--or deal with a hostage situation. She almost always wore loose-fitting jeans, strong but mobile, and plain, scoop-neck shirts that fit perfectly; low enough to show a hint of cleavage--if only she had a dollar for every perp that hesitated from such a small distraction as a hint of skin--but comfortable enough to run, jump, climb, or whatever else her job required of her. She knew that she fit society’s standards of beauty, but as long as that was true, then it was a weapon she could use to her advantage.

While happy for her own home and clothes, nothing made her more excited than having her personal phone back. She couldn’t risk taking it with her last case—she was given a cell phone for her cover--so she had left it behind. But when she had come back from her trip, she found that couldn’t turn it back on. After a day of fidgeting with it, she had no other choice than to ask for help. Because it had sensitive information on it, she could only ask the FBI techs to fix it for her, something that was not high on the list of priorities for them. She only picked it up last night, after the bar fight—alley fight?—and was too tired to bother with it. Now, she held the power button, smiling as the screen turned on. It wasn’t like she was expecting much in terms of texts or calls; she only had a couple friends, friends who had known she was going undercover, but she wanted to meet up with them immediately to catch up, maybe even warn them about the man who was jumped last night. Even though her boss, Assistant Director Thomas Jenkins, gave her time off, she knew that 1) her boredom would quickly take over and 2) she’d get dragged into something anyways. She always did, especially with her friends being SVU detectives.

Her phone finally loaded, and she noticed that she had two unread texts. Curious, she clicked on them. They were both from the same person; Detective Olivia Benson. She opened them, read them, then sat for a moment, trying to figure out her emotions.

Happy Birthday! sent January 1, 2011 12:00am

I know you’re undercover and won’t see this until much later, but I wish you were here right now. I really need to talk to you. Elliot is gone. sent August 26, 2011 3:08am

The first text pulled on Devon’s heartstrings; she had forgotten how a simple birthday message could make her feel cared about—it was a rare enough occurrence. But that second message made her feel such a heavy amount of confusion, guilt, and sadness. She wasn’t here for her best friend when she needed her most, whether undercover or not. If she had known, she would have called instantly. And what did she mean Elliot is gone? Did he retire? Did he finally transfer out of SVU? Or was it worse; was he killed on the job? Devon clicked the dial button, determined to talk to Liv.

The phone only rang once. “Dev? Is that really you?” was Olivia’s greeting, her voice surprised and hopeful.

“Hey Olivia. Yeah, it’s me. I’m back in town. Can we meet up?” Devon thought it better to talk in person about this, seeing as the text was from over two years ago, barely a year into her UC case.

“Of course. Why don’t you come down to the precinct?”

“I’ll be there in 10,” Devon replied. She hung up and looked around her room. She had a grip that she tended to keep stocked with clothes and essentials, just in case. After waffling about it, she decided to take it with her—if Stabler really was killed, she’d make sure the bastard paid, if Liv hadn’t beaten her to it. She had packed it the day after arriving home, so it was ready to go except for one thing. She grabbed her work laptop and charger, and threw them in the grip before zipping it closed. Last but not least, she grabbed her badge, gun, and her throwing knife that she strapped to the outside of her left thigh—ol’ reliable, as she liked to call it.

SVU Department

Thursday, January 27th. 9:30am

As predicted, it took Devon 9 minutes to get to the 16th precinct, and another minute to make it to SVU. The officers gave her alarmed looks when they saw her with her bulging grip thrown over her shoulder. She flashed her badge but was still shocked when no one attempted to apprehend her; she didn’t recognize any of the officers, but maybe Olivia gave them a head’s up. She took a breath once in the SVU precinct, her shoulders relaxing—a second home when she was in New York. She looked to Liv’s desk, but noticed a man with dark hair sitting there. Noticing her stare, he looked up.

“May I help you?” he asked. Instead of answering, Devon looked at the desk that should’ve been Stabler’s, but saw that it was empty, leaving a heaviness in the pit of her stomach. Now feeling unsettled, she looked to Munch’s desk but saw a blonde woman giving Devon an equally confused look. She vaguely noticed the man reaching for his gun.

“Holy shit, Devon?” a familiar voice said. Devon turned to see Fin coming from the coffeemaker, cup in hand.

Devon felt the tension melt away. “Wow, Fin. I leave for three years and you guys change the whole force?”

He pulled her in for an awkward, half-hug, shocking the other detectives, and said, “it is good to see you, Dev. I thought we may have lost another one.”

By this time, the not-Stabler and not-Munch came over. “Uh, I’m Detective Nick Amaro, and this is Detective Amanda Rollins,” the man said, extending his hand.

Devon shook both of their hands. “I’m Senior Special Agent Devon Motely,”—she saw Fin’s eyebrows raise at the new title—"and as fun as it is to catch up and meet new people, I’m actually here to see Detective Benson.”

“You mean Sergeant Benson,” Fin corrected.

“Sergeant? Now this I gotta see,” Devon said, smiling broadly.

As if on cue, Olivia Benson came out of the captain’s office. “Devon Motely. It is so good to see you.”

Devon pulled away from the other detectives and made her way to Olivia. She gave her a big hug, saying “it’s good to see you, too. Can we talk in private?” Devon could still feel the other detective’s gazes on her back, hear their murmuring.

“Of course,” Liv said. But instead of going to one of the interrogation rooms, as per usual, she led Devon into the office. Devon saw that the décor had changed since the last time she was there, but the biggest change was that the plaque on the desk didn’t say Captain Cragen, but instead read Sgt. Olivia Benson.

“Cragen is gone, too? This is your office?” Devon blurted out. Olivia closed the door behind her, then went to sit behind the desk, motioning Devon to sit across from her.

“Cragen is gone,” she confirmed. “And Munch, and Elliot, too.” She then spent the next hour detailing everything that had happened to the three officers. Devon was relieved to hear that all were still alive, just retired. Again, she felt a pang of guilt and wished that she was there to help them through all the craziness that Olivia outlined. Though she was an FBI agent, Devon had a soft spot for the SVU team; she helped them whenever she could with things that were too…much for the four detectives and captain. Then, Liv started on what she had been going through, recounting her troubles with William Lewis, her relationship with detective Cassidy, their bad luck with ADA’s—“though, we have a good one, now. Hopefully he stays on”—and ended on a short, but informative, description of both of the new detectives.

Devon listened intently, and once she was done talking, she sat in silence for a moment, taking everything in. Her guilt was mounting new heights; while she was fucking around in California, her best friend was going through some of the worst experiences of her life. Then, she asked in a low voice, “do you want me to deal with Lewis?”

Olivia caught her meaning, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s fine. He’s not an issue anymore; he’ll be in jail for life.”

Devon nodded. “That just makes it easier to get rid of him. If you ever want me to, I want to be your first call.”

Ignoring what Devon just implied, Liv changed the subject. “So, tell me about your adventures in San Francisco.” Devon’s demeanor changed from plotting murder to one of exhaustion. She let out a sigh, then recounted her three-year UC case in California. She had been posing as a college student by day, and a Madam at night. She worked her way through parties meeting girls, then pimps, then finally, the pimp’s bosses. She felt terrible about the things she had to do; selling girls, drugs, and much worse. She was happy to be back here, where she didn’t have to fake having an interest in those types of things, where she could just arrest the bastards instead of joining them.

“So, when I turned on my phone today, I saw your text. I know that it was from a while ago, and that you are probably over it by now, but I thought I’d still check in on you,” Devon concluded. In her retelling of the last three years, she had completely forgotten about the attractive man in a suit at the bar the night before.

A wave of emotions flashed through Olivia’s eyes, though she kept her face mostly neutral. “You know, I felt terrible about sending that text to you. I knew you didn’t have your phone, and in a moment of—of emotional weakness, I sent it. And it’s not fair to you that I did that. But at the time, I thought that maybe, just maybe, you were able to see it and talk to me, to help me through that time. To let me vent and talk, even if you couldn’t reply, but just to have someone listen.” Olivia had tears in her eyes, which she quickly blinked away. “I also meant to text you again, but any time I opened our conversation, I would see that last message I sent. And I’d feel the guilt all over again.”

Feeling emotional herself, Devon replied, “I’m not mad or upset; I get it Liv, I really do.” Devon put her hands on the desk, palms up. Olivia placed her hands gently into Devon’s, and the agent started rubbing comforting circles into the back of Liv’s hands with her thumbs. “And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me most. It must have been so, so hard for you to lose Stabler after so long. Do you keep in touch with him at all?”

Liv shook her head. “No, no. In the beginning, I thought about it. At night, when I couldn’t sleep, or when a nightmare would rip me awake before dawn. But I knew that it was for the best, for both of us, to just…cut all ties to him.”

Devon let the silence drag on for a little, continuing to rub little circles in the Sergeant’s skin, letting the conversation rest. “Well, I’m back for the foreseeable future. And I got promoted. And my boss even gave me three months off, if you can believe that!” she let out a laugh, trying to break the tension. They released each other’s hands, the moment over. “Plus, look at you! A Sergeant, and in the big boss’s office, no less.”

Liv smiled and opened her mouth to answer, when her phone lit up, vibrating on her desk. “Benson,” she answered, holding up a finger to Devon. Devon waited patiently while whoever was on the other line talked her ear off. “What? When?” Liv waited a second, “okay, I’ll be right there. I think I have someone that you should meet,” her eyes locked with Devon’s, “just stay there.” With that, she hung up, rubbed her temples for a moment, then got up and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair.

Devon stood up quickly. “What happened? Everything okay?”

“Uh, about that time off that your boss gave you—”

Devon cut her off, “what do you need me for?” Devon was nothing if not loyal.

Olivia smirked. “How about a 24/7 protection detail, overseeing a sarcastic, pain-in-the-ass that we lovingly call our ADA?”

Devon had a rush of thoughts in the matter of seconds—spending 24/7 with someone she didn’t know, on alert at all waking hours, her exhaustion since just getting home, plus Olivia’s description of the victim—but she still said, “whatever you need.” She was glad to help Liv, especially to make up for the past three years, whether Liv thought Devon needed to make up for lost time or not. And with the sudden rush of adrenaline, she could feel her exhaustion ebbing away. Plus, what else were friends for?

           “Thank you so much. Come on, I’ll explain everything on the way.”

 Courthouse

Thursday, January 27th. 11:16am

As Olivia, Devon, and Detective Amaro, who was grabbed on the way out, pulled up to the courthouse, Devon summarized the conversation of the car ride. “So, let me get this straight; you and Rollins took down a gang leader, with this ADA Barba, pushing him into jail for life, and now the gang has a target on all of your backs? No offense, but why not just let me take down the gang instead of posting me up with an attorney?” She grabbed her grip out of the trunk and followed Liv and Amaro to the stairs.

Liv scoffed. “Because Barba was attacked in a crowded courthouse, with unis posted at every door, and yet someone was able to sneak in, armed with a pistol, and take aim at our ADA.” Liv saw that Devon was gearing up to argue more, but she cut her off, “look, we’re all covered at SVU; we already have leads on some of the big hitters in the Aces. And it would really help if I had someone that I could trust watching Barba so that I, or any of the other detectives, don’t have to.” She had a point, so Devon kept her mouth shut. Olivia wasn’t one to suggest things of importance without a reason.

They made their way up the stairs, past the cops that were mulling around, talking about whatever they were talking about, and into the courthouse. The crime scene wasn’t hard to find; it was roped off with caution tape and there were cops everywhere. Devon looked at the wall next to where they were congregating and saw two bullet holes in the concrete. She noticed a couple things at once; no blood, no EMTs, no CSU, which all adds up to no victim. Good, the perp missed his target—no doubt this ADA Barba that Liv was having Devon watch. Devon knew that he was alive—Olivia wouldn’t have brought her to watch him if he wasn’t here—but no one else was injured, either.

“What happened here?” Amaro asked an officer. He gave him a rundown of the facts; a young, white man walked towards Barba while he was on his way to court. He reached into his pocket; unis saw him as he raised the gun. One cop yelled a warning, tackling Barba out of the way, while the other cop on the door took down the man. He got two shots off but missed his mark, striking the wall. The cops arrested him and escorted Barba to his office down the street to await Liv’s arrival after he was cleared from EMTs; no injuries besides a bruised ego.

Gaining all the information they needed, Devon followed the sergeant and detective out, then down the street to 1 Hogan Place. Once inside the DA’s building, they made their way to the elevator. As the doors closed, Devon asked Liv, “hey, are you and Rollins safe? Are you sure there’s not a hit out on you, too?”

“Neither of us have been alone since Barba was attacked earlier. We’re not taking any chances on this one. This is why I need someone I can trust watching Barba; I can’t spare any manpower on it, and god knows we don’t need the Feds tied up in this.” Well, that explained Amaro hovering over Liv’s shoulder, like a bodyguard.

Devon sighed, “yeah, I hear you. But I want to be kept in the loop; names, faces, tattoos, anything and everything. I want to be able to pick out one of these jerks before they have a shot at Barba.”

“Of course,” Liv replied. The elevator doors opened, and they briskly walked to Barba’s office. There were four cops posted outside the door, which was shut. Liv nodded first to the frazzled-looking paralegal seated at her desk, then to the officers, and they moved to allow the three of them in.

“Barba, are you alright?” Liv asked when she saw him, pacing in front of his desk restlessly.

“I’m fine. But I want that bastard arraigned today, and then I have a case that I’m late for already, but these idiots aren’t letting me leave. I need to—” Barba’s outburst was cut short when he saw Devon, who also froze.

Following his line of sight, Liv said, “right, ADA Rafael Barba, this is Senior Special Agent Devon Motely. Devon, this is Barba.”

Barba swallowed past the lump in his throat, eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we’ve met before,” he said, eyes never leaving Devon’s.

It was Amaro’s turn to speak. He grinned in disbelief, “what? When?”

“Last night. In a dingy bar and then again in a dark alley,” Devon answered, making Amaro’s eyebrows raise. If she wasn’t still in such shock, she would’ve shot him a glare.

Liv’s eyes widened. “You’re the one that stopped those men from assaulting Barba? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“One, I didn’t know that was the ‘earlier attack’ you mentioned until just now. And two, he introduced himself as Rafael. I didn’t know his last name or his profession,” Devon explained, before muttering, “glad to see I was already doing this job before I knew it.”

Barba took this time to mentally collect himself, finally ripping his eyes away from the agent and furrowing his brow at Olivia. “Job, what job?”

Liv looked back to him. “Look Barba, I know that last night, you denied having protection. But after this, you need to have someone watching your back.”

“No, I don’t need a babysitter watching me, especially FBI. Why are the Feds even getting involved—”

“Barba look around! You were almost shot outside of a courtroom. You got lucky that he missed. You are going to have protection until this is over,” Olivia ordered.

Barba scoffed. “Over? Do you think that this is just going to go away in a day or two? That if you arrest one or two of these bastards that they’ll back off? I’m not living in fear, Olivia.”

“I know, I know,” Liv adopted her calm, quiet voice that she used with victims, “but I’m not letting you get killed over this. Devon is good; she’s willing to stay for the long haul.”

“Can you not talk about me like I’m not here, please?” Devon piped in. Barba rolled his eyes and plopped down behind his desk, running his hands through his hair roughly, while Liv huffed out a heavy sigh and Amaro stood to the side awkwardly, watching this all play out. “Look, I may just be the ‘babysitter,’ but I’m not working as FBI for this. This is a favor for Liv. Besides, I’ve done this before. Barba, you have nothing to worry about; I’ll be a shadow. You don’t need to talk to me, you don’t need to look at me, you don’t even need to acknowledge that I’m there. I’ll just be your bodyguard.”

“I. Don’t. Need. A bodyguard,” he said through gritted teeth. He slammed his hands down on his desk in frustration, exhaling through flared nostrils.

Liv and Devon exchanged a look. Liv nodded. Perfect, play hardball, Devon’s favorite.

“Fine, I’ll say this in terms you will understand, counselor. As Sergeant Benson said, I am good; you saw that last night. So, whether you like it or not, you will be under my protection until Sergeant Benson says otherwise. You may try, but you will not be able to lose me. I’m going to stay on you, make sure you are protected from all attacks, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Barba opened his mouth, but Devon pressed on, “now, you can make this easier on yourself. Allow me to do my job, allow me to help you, and I will be as I said before, a shadow. Or fight me on this, and I’ll be the biggest thorn in your side. It’s up to you, Mr. Barba.”

Barba gave an impressive glare, aimed at Liv before turning those bright green eyes onto Devon. He seemed to be working through his thoughts, debating on if this fight was worth it. Apparently, it wasn’t, because he huffed angrily and spat out, “fine. But as soon as this is over, I better never see you again.”

“Deal,” Devon said, smirking.

Liv grinned, looking slightly amused, glancing at the both of them. “Well, I’m glad that’s taken care of. Keep me updated.” Still sporting matching smirks, Amaro and Olivia turned to leave, the latter shooting Devon an apologetic smile. Thanks, Liv, she thought ruefully, wondering if she bit off more than she could chew this time.

Once alone, Devon looked at Barba, who had his head in his hands. “Would you like me to sit across from you, or against the wall behind you?”

Barba didn’t even look up from his desk that he was currently staring a hole through. “I thought I didn’t have to talk to you?”

“And I thought you had a court appointment?” She shot back, shrugging out of her jacket easily, tossing it to the couch, making herself at home.

Barba looked up then. He looked at Devon, really looked, as if he hadn’t seen her yet. She was just as beautiful as she was last night; she was tall, fit, well dressed. In the light of day, he could see the corded muscle in her arms and neck.  But her image was tainted in his mind now; he didn’t want someone having to watch his back, even if it was a logical move, something he wouldn’t admit. He knew that Liv had his best interests in mind, and he did feel slightly safer having an FBI agent assigned to him, not that he would admit it out loud. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman had somehow betrayed him. Even if she had saved him the night before, these attacks didn’t happen until she showed up into his life. Which wasn’t fair to her—it was because of the Aces and Ramirez, Barba knew—but he couldn’t separate the events in his mind.

“I got a text from the judge during your…speech. It got pushed to tomorrow, 9am.”

Devon thought for a moment before asking, “do you have any more court appearances today? Or any meetings?”

“No. I plan on being here in my office the rest of the day, prepping the four cases I now have tomorrow.” With that, Barba pulled out some paperwork and a couple of law books. Taking the hint that the conversation was over, Devon pulled one of the chairs from in front of his desk and pushed it to the side of his desk, enough space between it and the desk that she’d be directly in Barba’s blind spot. Before sitting, however, she walked over to the windows and pulled down the blinds, making the office a bit darker, but making it so no one could look in—even though they weren’t on the ground level, Devon didn’t want any unwanted attention from surrounding buildings. She looked at the closed door, seeing that the unis from earlier were still posted outside; four of them, two on each side. She wondered how long they’d stay before they made excuses to leave. Satisfied, she walked back to the chair she had moved and took a seat.

Devon looked sideways at Barba, trying to figure him out; he seemed like just a normal dude last night, albeit a little awkward, flustered even. A normal dude in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. He had an explosive anger—though that was a pretty normal reaction that people had when they had a bodyguard forced onto them, let alone a couple attempts on their life—but going by the fight, or lack thereof, he was all bark and no bite. But she couldn’t be sure of that, either. She had met previous ADAs that worked with SVU. And while Devon wouldn’t exactly call them fighters in the physical sense, they did know their way around a courtroom. And if Olivia liked him, then she was sure that Barba probably wasn’t that bad of a guy…and he also probably knew how to win convictions as well.

Devon then wondered how she had gotten here. Two weeks ago, she was in California; she was working as a madam, working her way through the ranks up a huge sex trafficking ring. Two weeks ago, she was pinning down a high-ranking trafficker, one in charge of bringing in all the girls for eight different brothels. Two weeks ago, the madam was arrested, as was almost everyone involved in the trafficking and brothels, and Devon was snuck out of the state.

Last week, she was in therapy, spilling everything that had happened, and her feelings on the matter, to a therapist, who actually deemed her as “mentally sound” after only four days. And then, she was back in New York. She had done her normal prep after getting home; she had a debrief with her boss, a check in with the shrink here, she unpacked and repacked her two-week grip, she dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled her guns—her normal glock and her drop gun--and she sharpened her knives. She went to get a drink, something that was denied to her for over three years, and something that she needed so that she could simply relax for the first time since she left. Then that man, sitting right in front of her, was at the bar. He was trouble; she knew from the moment she walked in and saw those two men—Aces—targeting him. But just how much trouble, she had no idea. She got into a fight, if you can call it that, and then heard how her best friend’s entire life had basically completely changed. And now, she was ripped out of her life before it even got a chance to be normal again.

“If you have a question, just ask, instead of staring at me the whole time you’re here,” Barba said dryly.

Devon started; she didn’t even notice she was staring. She cleared her throat. “I do have a question, actually.” Barba stopped scribbling, putting his pen down and looked at her, mildly annoyed. “Has your home been compromised?”

He sighed, picking his pen back up and looking at the notepad once more, clearly not taking her seriously. “Not as far as I’m aware.”

“Okay, that’s good. Even so, we should think about it as if it has been. There’re three options; one, we stay at your place with some extra precautions. Two, I set up a third-party place, like a hotel; don’t worry about cost, I’ll cover it. Or three, we stay at my place.” Barba raised an eyebrow. “Keep your mind out of the gutter; I have a guest room and two bathrooms. I also have extra security on my doors and windows that I had installed.”

           “I’d rather stay in my own home, thank you,” he replied, not catching the fact that she had said ‘we.’ He continued writing, clearly done with the conversation. Smiling to herself, Devon pulled her laptop out of her grip and opened it. This ADA was headstrong, like most ADAs assigned to SVU, but she already liked him for some reason. She wasn’t sure why quite yet, but she learned to trust the instinct. Once connected to the internet, she got started on her own work.

 Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Thursday, January 27th. 9:15pm

By the time Barba had finished for the night, well, as much as he was going to do, it was dark outside. He looked at the clock, sighing at the late time; he always tried to be out of the office by 7 at the latest, but time had gotten away from him, especially since his mind was rattled. It was harder to focus on the cases after everything that had happened the past two days, plus the extra day he was granted for the case that was pushed just made him more stressed. He sighed again, feeling the pressure that tomorrow would be. Then, he cleared his desk, pushing papers into his briefcase in an order that only he understood. He stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. He heard the sound of a laptop closing and jumped, startled.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Devon said, placing her laptop in her bag and zipping it up. How did he forget that she was there?

“Sorry, I forgot you were checking Facebook all day,” he replied, rolling his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart. It was only a laptop closing. Get a grip on yourself, he thought, chiding himself. Devon slung her grip over her shoulder but said nothing, a small smile on her lips. Barba put on his jacket and walked to the door. Devon was there instantly; she gently put her hand on his stomach and nudged him away from the door. Barba rolled his eyes again, annoyed at the theatrics, as she opened the door, checking every direction for anything out of the ordinary. The unis that were posted had long since left, as had Carmen; the building was empty, silent. Devon had her gun drawn and motioned for Barba to follow her.

“Is this all necessary?” he asked sardonically. Even with his tone, however, he stuck close to her.

“Honestly? Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful,” she replied. They made their way quickly through the DA’s building, Devon checking every corner and hallway, Barba thinking it ridiculous, over-the-top. “Did you drive here, by the way? Or should I order a rideshare?”

“I was dropped off by Detective Amaro this morning,” Barba said. “Seems Olivia doesn’t want me to be alone since last night.”

“I’d ask why Amaro didn’t stay with you, but if your outburst from earlier is any indication, I think I know the answer.”

Barba bristled, but said nothing. They both made it in and out of the elevator, then to the double doors leading outside. Devon stopped him, opened the door a smidge, and examined outside. After a moment, she opened the door wider, slipping out, but still motioning for Barba to stay put. Huffing, he opened the other door and walked out into the brisk night air, making his way to the street.

“Fucking really?” Devon asked, hurrying to catch up to him. There were no immediate dangers around, just a few stragglers walking down the darken streets, so Devon pointed her gun to the ground, more discreet this way.

“Come on Motely, you’ve seen how unorganized the Aces’ have been in their attempts on my life. I highly doubt there would be one waiting outside the DA’s building, especially this late. Probably got too bored waiting for me to come out.”

Devon made it to the curb, hailing a cab, thinking it safer and faster than waiting for a rideshare. As one pulled over to admit them, she said, “they’ve failed twice now, attacking you while you were at a bar and while you were in the courthouse. Honestly, they may be getting angrier or worse, desperate. So yes, I will expect them outside your place of work, along with at your home, the grocery store you shop at, and any other place you may frequent, no matter what time it is.” They both got in, Devon forcing Barba to sit behind the taxi driver—harder for the driver to attack directly behind himself—while she took the other backseat. “Besides, I’d rather be safe than sorry. And I think Liv may actually kill me if you were to get hurt on my watch.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with,” he smirked. Barba knew he was being difficult, and he wasn’t entirely sure why; there had been two attempts on his life in two days, one that left an angry red mark on his face that everyone was too smart, or scared, to ask about, and another that still makes his heart beat faster when he thinks of it, the sound of the gunshots still echoing in his mind. Now that he had time to sit and think about it, he thought that his anger was a mix of stress from his job—he was doing four cases at once, two of which were tough cases to begin with—and a fear that someone actually took a hit out on him. He’d been an ADA for over a decade; he’s gotten multiple threats, everything from violence to him and/or his family to death threats. But this was the first time someone had actually tried to follow through with it. He sighed, deciding to not take his emotional outrage out on Motely; it wasn’t her fault that she got lumped into this. He had to check his rage, especially now when any mistake could be the difference between living his life and being six feet under.

“Can you give me a quick layout of your place?” Devon asked, jolting Barba out of his thoughts. He agreed, spending the rest of the drive filling in the broad details of his loft; it was smaller than he would like, to be honest, but it was cheaper and close to the courthouse. He had a full floor to himself; a living room, kitchen, two bathrooms—though one was a master bathroom connected to the master bedroom—and two bedrooms. There were only windows in the living room and the master bedroom, the fire escape outside the bedroom window.

The cab pulled to the curb; Devon paid the driver, then followed Barba up the couple steps to the glass door of the building. He opened it, and she followed him in, to the elevator, then down the short hallway to the front door of his loft. She allowed him to unlock the door and walk into the living room before stopping him. She took off her grip and placed it on a couch—there was only a loveseat and an armchair around a coffee table--locked the front door, then unholstered her gun once more.

“Anything out of place?” she asked, not looking at him but rather looking down the hallway to the master bedroom, watching the dark doors lining the walls. There wasn’t much to check in the living room; besides the couch, chair, and table, Barba had a simple TV stand with a TV on it, two bookshelves side-by-side, filled mostly with law books and other scholarly literature he kept from college, and a few, minimalistic wall art hangings. He wasn’t a home designer, and he was hardly home as it was, so he never felt the need to decorate. Once he declined, Devon said, “okay good. Now, place your whole hand on my back, and do not remove it until I say so.” Barba opened his mouth to ask, decided against it, and did as she asked.

Once Devon felt his strong hand lay hesitantly between her shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin sinking through the fabric of her shirt, she started to move through the loft. Barba missed a step, not expecting her to move. He then followed, hand staying on her muscular back. She checked every room, gun aimed at chest height, looking in the closets and under the bed, before ending in the master bedroom, announcing that the home was cleared and reholstering her gun.

“You can have your hand back,” she said while checking the locks on the windows.

“May I ask why I did that?” he asked, dropping his hand to his side. He could still feel the pull of her muscles moving under her shirt, even though he was no longer touching her. He stripped his suit jacket and tie, placed them on a hanger, and hung them on his closet door. Normally, he took it off by the front door and threw it over a chair, but something about having a guest over, especially one he didn’t know, made him want to not look like a total disaster. Though, he noticed with a hint of embarrassment, Devon did go through the guest bedroom, if you could call it that, during her sweep. That room had become a second office to Barba; it was a mess of files, papers, books, and other miscellaneous things that made no sense to anyone except Barba, though he wasn’t even sure what some of it was. There was no bed, no dressers, nothing that actually made it a bedroom. Only a small desk and a lonely desk lamp.

Devon gave him a look that said, just do what you’re told, before explaining. “Because I’ve found that it’s the easiest way to protect someone while also scanning a home. If you go in front of me, you have a chance of being assaulted if there is someone here. Likewise, if I abandoned you by the door, someone could blitz you while I’m back in the master room. It just makes sense to have you touching me, so I know you’re safe while I’m also a human shield.”

Barba didn’t want to know how many times she had failed to protect someone to have found out this method of protection. Seemingly approving of the locks on the bedroom windows, Devon moved to other rooms in the house, checking for ways to break in. Thankfully, his loft was on the 5th floor, so besides the fire escape, there wasn’t a real way to break in—unless he had some very, very determined hitman after him. After checking all the windows, she went to the front door. Unlocking it, she checked the hallway quickly before looking at the locking mechanism in the door; it had a normal deadbolt and a chain near eyelevel. There was also a peephole; otherwise, it was a normal door. She huffed when she noticed the screws holding the hinges on.

“Did you honestly move in here without changing at least the screws in the door?” she admonished.

Barba never thought about it before. “Uh, yes?” Devon shook her head.

“You should install some thicker, longer screws; makes it harder to kick your door down.” Devon then rummaged through her grip, pulling out a doorstop.

“A doorstop? Really? That will protect us if someone kicks the door down?”

Devon rolled her eyes. “Of course not. This is a screaming doorstop; once armed, if this door moves at all, that alarm will wake up the whole damn building.”

Barba looked impressed. “Why the hell do you even know about a device like that?”’

Devon laughed, “I may be an FBI agent, but I’m still a woman. Damsel in Defense is a god-send for living as a woman in the city.”

Grabbing the doorstop, she flipped a switch on it, then wedged it under the door. She then glanced at the clock on her phone, noticing it was getting close to 10pm. “Hey, it’s getting kinda late; what time do you normally go to bed?” she asked, realizing that neither of them had had dinner.

Barba looked at his watch, seemingly also unaware of the passage of time. He had to be in court at 9, which meant he had to be in his office at 7 tomorrow morning and now he was faced with the decision that he had almost every night; stay awake and work on his upcoming cases or get a decent night of sleep. He almost always chose the former, he’d just get a strong coffee or three before court tomorrow. But another part of him was desperate to be alone with his thoughts, to really absorbed the events happening in his life right now. Maybe he’d work for a little bit, then figure out a polite way to kick Motely out for the night, something he very much knew he’d fail at.

“It varies, but it’ll probably be around midnight for me tonight…hopefully,” he debated for a moment before saying, “I’m not planning on leaving at all tonight if you wanted to go sleep for a little. I’m leaving here at six tomorrow morning.”

Completely missing the hint, Devon replied, “ah, no worries. I normally go to sleep around that time, too. You won’t be bothering me at all.” To prove her point, she pulled out her laptop, plugged it in to the wall, and sat down in the armchair with it. Feeling like that was a failure to dislodge her, but unwilling to try again at this moment, Barba sighed. He pulled out the paperwork he was doing in his office, and spread it over the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch.

They worked silently for a couple hours before Barba spoke without looking up. “What are you even doing on that laptop?” As focused as he had been on his casework, the constant clicking of keys as Devon typed crept into his brain.

Devon gave him a wicked grin before she replied, “Facebook, remember?” When Barba shot back a glare, she huffed out a laugh. “I’m looking through the FBI’s database on the Aces. I want to know everything I can about them, seeing as I may have to deal with a couple of them in the coming months.”

“What have you found?” he asked, his paperwork completely forgotten. He got up, came over to the armchair, and sat on an arm, leaning in so that he could see the screen. Devon had the leader—Jorge Ramirez—on the screen, with a quick summation of his profile. She also had the two men from the alley and the man that took a shot at Barba today, whose name was Jake Peterson. He couldn’t help but notice that the two men from the alley, Jose and Rogelio Olivera, both had AT LARGE written in their profiles.

“Well, it’s a relatively small gang based in Manhattan; only 65 members, at least on file. Most are Hispanic, drug dealers, and traffickers...seems like their leader, Ramirez, was the bad one. Probably why he was the leader. Though, they do have a couple of white men hired on as frontmen; they’re the ones that sell drugs to the wealthy businessmen because, and I quote, ‘white men are more trustworthy to the rich bastards.’” They looked at each other, “hey, don’t look at me, I didn’t write it. But it makes sense; most capitalist pigs are deeply racist.”

“65 members, though? You’re right, that is small, but it will still take the cops time to catch them all,” the unsaid words hung in the air, tangible, but not claimed, it’s going to take a while for life to go back to normal.

“So far, only two are incarcerated, Jorge Ramirez and Jake Peterson. Looking through the profiles that I can pull up, it seems like only a few of them have actually murdered before, but not as an active profession. Not to get too cocky, but I think that’s a good sign for you; I should be able to take on anyone who threatens you. Unless, of course, you decide that you want to go wherever you want instead of listening to me.”

Barba flinched inwardly at the slight venom in her voice. He had to work on controlling that spite of his. “You’re right,” he said begrudgingly. “From now on, I’ll follow your lead.” He looked down at her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She looked up at him, returning the smile. “That’s all I can ask of you. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but I am here to help.” They sat there for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Maybe protecting the ADA wouldn’t be too bad, maybe this wouldn’t drive a wedge between her’s and Liv’s friendship. And maybe, just maybe, they’d both get out alive at the end of this.

Barba looked into her eyes, lit by her laptop’s screen. He could listen to her, follow orders, like the good lapdog people wished he would be. He knew, deep down, that she was there to protect him; even if it was a ‘favor’ from Olivia, he could tell that Devon’s job meant a lot to her, that she was taking this seriously. He’d have to remember to thank Liv later, if he survived this. He suddenly realized that he didn’t want Devon to leave tonight; he felt safe here, in her presences.

They both seemed to notice at the same time how they were sitting; Barba had been leaning down closer to her face, and she was leaning closer to his leg, cheek almost brushing against his pantleg. He stood up, hiding the blush that spread across his cheeks as he noticed how close to his crotch she had been, how inappropriate it was. She sat up a little straighter and seemed to find her screen very interesting all of a sudden.

“Well, I think it’s about time I went to bed,” Barba said, stretching. He packed up all the papers into appropriate folders and placed them in his briefcase, so that he wouldn’t forget them in the morning.

“That’s probably a good idea. What time do you get up? Do you eat breakfast, have coffee? Anything I can help with?”

Barba was surprised by the questions. “Uh, around 5:00, no, no, and no.” Once he collected his thoughts a little, he explained, “I get up, I shower, I dress. Then I leave.”

“Simple, I like it. See you in the morning,” Devon trilled.

Confused, Barba didn’t move as Devon closed her laptop and put it on the table. She then stretched herself out on the loveseat, as much as she could since it was shorter than she was, putting her head on one of the pillows he kept on it.

“I—I take it you’re staying here tonight?” Barba asked, incredulous at her brazenness.

“Uh, yeah? You heard Sergeant Benson, I’m sure; ‘24/7 protection.’ That includes overnights, Barba.”

He felt the weight of those words; he was seriously going to be with this stranger all day, every day, for who knew how long. “I just…I didn’t expect—”

“It always catches people off guard the first night. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to me. And besides, our deal is that after the Aces are gone, you never have to see me again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to change out of these clothes.”

Barba’s face went bright red as he hurried to his room. He could swear he heard Devon chuckling as he went. After a couple moments, he heard the guest bathroom door close. Suddenly remembering his hospitality, he went to his closet, grabbing one of his extra blankets, and made his way back out to the living room. He moved quickly, suddenly embarrassed about seeing Devon in pajamas, huffing out a goodnight as he passed by the bathroom as he retreated back to his room before she had a chance to emerge. Again, he could’ve sworn he heard her laughing as he hurried by. Why was he so embarrassed?

He faintly remembered the night before, how lonely he had felt in the bar. Now that he had a roommate thrust upon him, he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Not like there was much he could do about it now. And with that thought from the night before, the other memories came back, how pretty he thought she was, how he had entertained the idea of bringing her back here, even if only for a moment—

No, he wouldn’t, couldn’t think about that, especially with her right on the other side of his bedroom door, stretched out on his couch, sleeping under his blanket. God, what was happening to him? He still didn’t even really know this woman! He had to be more careful, reign in his emotions; she was an FBI agent, assigned to him to make sure he lived through this threat on his life. Nothing more, nothing less. Though, he had to admit that she was probably going to be around for a while. Might as well get to know her, he thought ruefully. He tried not to get too excited about the thought.

[notarelationship]

In A Minute - Ch 3

Klaine Fic - In A Minute

Summary: AU. Kurt’s a bit clumsy, and Blaine needs a boyfriend in a hurry. What more do you want? Words: ~2900 Chapters: 3/? Warnings: none

AO3: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3

Sorry about the extended delay, I needed to rewrite the whole chapter when it didn’t really go where I wanted it to. 

Thanks to @honeysucklepink for the beta! I claim all errors as my own.

-

Santana had been laughing for six straight minutes. Well she did take a break at about the three minute mark to catch her breath, but still. Kurt was actually starting to worry.

“I’m sorry *wheeze* you pretended to be someone’s boyfriend?” She doubled over with a snort, gripping the side of the dishwashing sink to keep from falling over.

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. “He seemed perfectly nice! You said they were regulars! I figured he was all right,” he defended himself. And honestly Kurt never once felt like Blaine was doing anything that he should consider a red flag for weirdness.

“Hummel,” Santana said, once she’d caught her breath. “I am friendly to all the customers - that’s how you get tips.” She snorted again, covering her mouth with one hand. “But you went on a date with him.”

“I did not go on a date with him,” Kurt said, adding air quotes when he said ‘date’. Blaine used air quotes - Kurt shook the thought from his head before explaining himself, again. “I felt bad, I spilled water all over his lap!”

“Okay, yes you did do that. But the remedy for spilling on a customer is to comp them a slice of cheesecake, not meet the parents and get them excited about grandchildren.”

“There was no discussion of grandchildren Santana,” Kurt volleyed. “And I offered him pie. He said he’d take me up on it later.”

“Honestly Kurt, that little fella is probably harmless, but don’t make a habit of it. If he asks you to put the lotion on its skin next time you go out text me and I’ll call the cops. Just leave your lojack on.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. This was a one time thing. Dinner with the parents - that’s it.” Blaine had made it clear he didn’t want to extend the whole boyfriend charade to his extended family, which totally made sense. What kind of person would invite a stranger with him to spend an entire weekend trying to convince their family that they were in a relationship. It was too crazy to even consider. But, for good measure and because he didn’t want Santana to think he was without a sense of humor, he added, “Besides, my skin is perfectly moisturized at all times.”

-

The diner had a lot of regulars, people who came in every day for coffee, or every other day for lunch or a slice of pie (which was in fact better than the cheesecake, much to Kurt’s personal disappointment).

Kurt had no idea what category of regular Blaine fell into. Did he only come in after sports, like the first time Kurt had waited on him? Maybe he was just an occasional regular - often enough that they knew him and his friends, but without any set time to come in. Kurt considered asking Santana how often Blaine came in, but three hours into their shift together she was still laughing every time she looked at him, so he opted not to pull that string.

It was fine, Kurt told himself. It’s not like they were friends. Blaine had asked him for a favor, and Kurt had been able to help him out. He would come back to the diner whenever, and Kurt had enough long shifts coming up that he wasn’t going to have a lot of time to worry about it anyway.

Halfway through Kurt’s third straight fifteen hour shift in as many days, Blaine came into the diner and sat at the counter, alone. Kurt tried very hard to act normal as he pulled a menu from the rack and set it down in front of Blaine.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Kurt teased. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Santana’s head jerk up and look in his direction, but he ignored her.

“Hi Kurt,” Blaine said, a nervous smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Um, how’s the cheesecake?”

“Terrible, actually.”

Four nights ago, sitting with Blaine’s parents and pretending to be his boyfriend, Kurt hadn’t been nervous at all. But now, with Blaine sitting in front of him, Charming Kurt had taken a hike, and Awkward Kurt had moved in.

“So how are your parents?’ Kurt blurted out. Might as well lean into it.

Blaine’s eyes widened for a second and he cleared his throat. “Fine. Great actually. Asked about you.” Blaine chuckled the sweetest laugh Kurt had ever heard.

“Wondering if I’m heartbroken after our big breakup?” Kurt cringed on the inside.

“Kurt -” Blaine started to say something, but was interrupted by Denny yelling across the restaurant.

“Hummel! Tables!”

“Oh god - I’m sorry Blaine we’re just really short this shift. Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll be right back.” And then, because it was entirely possible Blaine was there to eat and not visit Kurt, Kurt added, “Did you want to order something while I take care of some customers?”

Blaine nodded. “Cherry pie? And a coffee.”

“You got it,” Kurt said, as he went to cut his slice of pie and pour the coffee. He left Blaine with what he hoped was a casual smile and went to take care of the waiting tables.

Between taking orders, bringing orders out, and helping the busboys clear some of the busier sections, it was thirty minutes before Kurt could make his way back to the counter to talk to Blaine. When he finally did, Santana was standing in front of Blaine, chatting. She stopped when Kurt approached.

“So, Santana, don’t you have some tables to see to?” Kurt suggested pointedly.

Santana looked at Kurt, her eyes narrowed, and took about ten seconds too long to answer. “Yeah I guess,” she finally said before walking away.

“I hope she wasn’t too terrible,” Kurt said when she was out of earshot.

Blaine paused and scooped the last bite of pie onto his fork, but didn’t eat it. “Well, she did ask me if I was a serial killer, and let me know that if anything happened to you that she would not hesitate to poison my waffles the next time I came in.”

“She - what - she - oh my god -” Kurt was still sputtering when Blaine grinned.

“I guess you told her about dinner?” Blaine asked. Kurt half shrugged a yes, and Blaine nodded. “Cool, I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s going to hang out with my parents any time soon.”

Kurt laughed. “Just do yourself a favor and don’t bring them here.” Kurt risked a glance in Santana’s direction. “Ever.”

“That is not going to be a problem,” Blaine answered with a laugh. “Can you imagine my mother in here?”

Kurt stood awkwardly, waiting as Blaine finished his pie. “Can I get you anything else?” He was the waiter, after all. “More coffee?”

Blaine shook his head. “I actually came here because I wanted to ask you a question.”

“You want me to meet your grandparents?” Kurt joked, but Blaine just kind of winced. “I was kidding. Do you really want me to meet your grandparents?”

“Well -” Blaine sucked in a lungful of air, his mouth set in a line. “I was kind of hoping you might reconsider coming to the wedding with me?”

Kurt blinked several times in rapid succession. He had really been hoping that Blaine would come back into the diner, and over the course of a couple of weeks Kurt would work up the nerve to ask him on a real date, rather than a pretend one. But here Blaine was, asking if Kurt wanted to carry on being his pretend boyfriend.

“I’ll pay for everything - well, for the train ticket and any extra expenses. My parents are covering the hotel. The wedding is at a working vineyard in Connecticut.” Then he added, “I think they have a spa?”

“You know you can get an escort for this sort of thing, I know a few guys,” Santana said as she walked behind the counter to use the soda fountain. She walked away before either of them could answer. When Kurt looked back at Blaine his face was flushed pink.

“I’m sorry about her, she’s -”

“I promise Kurt, it’s nothing like that. I -” Blaine paused and pulled out his phone. “I told my parents I wasn’t sure you could make it, which seemed fine, but then somehow Sebastian got my phone number - honestly I suspect it was my mother - and he’s been sending me really - suggestive - texts.” Blaine unlocked his phone and Kurt leaned over to look at the screen.

The texts were a little raunchy, but no worse than Kurt had seen on dating apps. One of the texts was even a shirtless photo of a fairly attractive guy.

“He’s kinda hot, are you sure you want me tagging along?”

Blaine made a disgusted noise. “Yes - I definitely am not interested. And I know I could probably just tell him no, emphatically and very likely over and over again for the entire weekend, but I honestly don’t want to cause a scene.” Blaine sighed, and Kurt could tell that he was struggling. “I understand if you don’t want to, if this is just too weird, but if honestly just seemed like it would be easier than telling everyone the truth, at least for now.”

“Nah, I get it.”

“So? Will you?”

Kurt bit his lip, it could be fun, and Blaine was a nice guy, or at least he seemed like one so far. “When is it?” Kurt thought it was coming up soon.

“It’s next weekend. I’m really sorry it’s such short notice.”

“It’s fine. Let me see if I can get Santana or one of the other girls to take my shifts.”

Blaine looked relieved, bouncing on his stool. “Oh my god, thank you so much.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kurt said. “I’m going to use the hell out of that spa.”

--

Ten days later Kurt was on a 6:25 train out of Grand Central Station headed to Eastern Connecticut.

Kurt had ended up working a series of double shifts in order to get enough time off for the weekend, although Santana seemed grateful for the swap. Aside from her commercial auditions, there were a half dozen open casting calls during the week she had wanted to get to.

He and Blaine hadn’t seen each other, or even talked really, in between when Blaine asked Kurt to reprise his fake-boyfriend role and when they met up at the train station. They had texted a few times; mostly to confirm the dress requirements (“you won’t need a tux. I’m sure whatever you select will be perfect” - Kurt had preened a little in private at that), and the schedule for the weekend.

Friday night they were expected to make an appearance at a post rehearsal dinner cocktail party, and the wedding was Saturday at five with an elaborate reception to follow. All the rest of the time was Kurt’s, and Blaine had promised he would get Kurt on a train by noon Sunday so he would have time to catch up on some homework. Kurt would definitely have time to take advantage of the hotel spa.

But at 6:25 on Friday morning, all Kurt wanted to do was sleep.

Blaine was waiting for him on the platform, and Kurt was a little surprised to see him in a bow tie at that hour. At dinner with his parents Blaine had also worn a bow tie, and while it suited him, Kurt had assumed it was simply chosen for the special occasion. But here he was at an ungodly hour of the morning, wearing a bow tie with what looked like an expensive polo shirt. Kurt couldn’t quite tell, as Blaine was also wearing the most adorable shawl collared navy cardigan.

“Thom Browne?” he asked. When Blaine just looked confused, he continued. “Your sweater. It looks like it’s from his Brooks Brother’s line.” Now that he was closer he could also see that the bow tie had tiny ducks embroidered on it.

“Oh,” Blaine touched his sweater self consciously. “Yes, my, um, grandmother gave it to me for Christmas a few years ago.”

Kurt hmmed approval. “It looks great. Never lose it.”

Blaine laughed. “Okay.”

The train wasn’t exactly crowded, but there were enough passengers scattered throughout that they wound up walking through several cars before they found two acceptable seats together.

“Do you mind if I nap on the way?” Kurt asked once they were settled in their seats. “I’ve done three double shifts this week and I feel like death.”

“Oh, no, of course. Go ahead,” Blaine answered with a polite nod. “We have to transfer in New Haven, I think.”

“No problem. Just give me a little shove when we get close.” Kurt put in his ear buds and leaned back against the seat, wondering what on earth this weekend would have in store.

Two hours later the conductor was rousting both of them awake, and Kurt was only slightly embarrassed to find that in his sleep he seemed to have nestled right onto Blaine’s shoulder.

“Time to wake up boys, this is your stop.” The conductor was gruff but bored, and didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that two boys had fallen asleep on each other on his train. He’d probably seen a lot worse.

“What! Oh god,” Blaine jerked awake from where his own head had been resting on the top of Kurt’s. “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep too.” Blaine’s face was beet red.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said, wiping a small amount of drool from the corner of his mouth, hoping Blaine didn’t notice. “I think I used you as a pillow when I was sleeping. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Blaine stood quickly and pulled their bags down from the overhead rack, as Kurt sat up and gathered loose items from their seat area. He gave Kurt a tired looking smile. “Let’s go. There is supposed to be a shuttle to the hotel.”

It turned out the shuttle stopped at a few local spots before their hotel, so by the time they arrived it was almost noon.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Blaine said as the stepped up to the front desk. “I should let my parents know I’m here, but do you want to get some lunch?”

“I am at your service, but I could eat a side of beef at the moment.”

“You are definitely not at my service, Kurt,” Blaine protested. “I appreciate your doing this for me so, so much, but outside of the wedding obligations, you should enjoy the amenities. It looks like a great place,” he finished, looking around the lobby.

Kurt tried not to watch Blaine as he checked in to their room, but whether he was just too tired to exercise restraint, or he simply didn’t want to, he wasn’t entirely sure. Blaine was sweet and handsome, and it was going to take Kurt a lot of self-control to not do something very, very stupid. Maybe a shower and a meal and a nap - possibly in that order, would help.

Once Blaine had gathered the room keys and other information about the hotel, Kurt followed him to their room. It turned out that the hotel had been converted from the original living quarters of the first owner, and had a lot of restored details from that time period, whatever it was. As they walked through the half modern lobby to the elevators, Kurt couldn’t help thinking that the entire place looked like Netherfield. It wasn’t going to do him any good to think of Blaine as his very own Mr. Darcy.

“Here we are,” Blaine said, stopping to match the number on his key to the number on the door. “219.”

The key was an actual key, and not an electronic card, which Kurt found classically appealing. The room was not especially large, which made some sense, as they would have had to work with the existing architecture, but it was beautifully furnished, with an oversized armchair, a small writing desk, a wardrobe for their clothes, and an absolutely stunning four poster king-sized bed.

“There were supposed to be two beds,” Blaine said, his voice strained.

“Huh?” Kurt turned from admiring how well appointed the room was to see Blaine staring at the bed, appearing slightly panicked.

“The bed. There were supposed to be two. I specifically called and made sure we could have two beds.” Blaine crossed his arms over his chest. “I remember because they said the only doubles they had were full sized beds, because the rooms didn’t fit two queens.” Kurt snorted a laugh, but Blaine didn’t seem to get the joke, so he let it go. “I’ll call the front desk. They can fix this.” He moved quickly to the room phone, but Kurt stopped him and hung up the phone.

“Blaine, it’s fine. It’s only two nights.” Blaine just made a pained noise. “It’s a huge bed. And - don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not going to take up a lot of room.” Blaine continued to frown, but he seemed a bit calmer.

“Still,” Blaine said, stretching his neck like he was working out a kink. “I think I’ll call and see if they can change it.”

“Up to you,” Kurt said. He went into the bathroom to give Blaine a moment.

He needed a moment too, if he was going to face sleeping in the same bed with Blaine for two nights.

[drawacharge]

so hi yes i know i barely exist anymore, anyone miss me? anyway, this is a little drabble au that takes place in the 2000s about veteran!Billy who served in Afghanistan and has just returned to Hawkins. there’s no strong depictions of PTSD in this one, only a discussion about how poorly we treat our veterans so everyone should be safe trigger wise. enjoy!

ps i got this idea while driving to work listening to this song which made me think about billy deciding to join up

Billy shows up back in Hawkins four years after he joined the Army. Steve hadn’t noticed him leave, and he doesn’t notice he’s come back until he stops at the grocery store to pick up a few things and spots him by the frozen dinners. His long hair and mullet are gone, replaced by short, chopped hair, a tease of curls trying to grow back at the top. And when he looks up to see who’s staring at him, their eyes meet in the reflection of the icy door. There’s bags under his eyes and an exhaustion Steve’s seen a few times before in others. 

They stare for what feels like forever before Steve goes, “Don’t get the salisbury steak, it’s not actually steak.” And Billy just keeps staring at him before he finally turns around, looks Steve up and down quite blatantly and goes,

“Everyone knows that, Harrington.”

Harrington. 

No one calls him that anymore unless there’s a Mr. tied to the beginning.

“Yeah, well, figured I’d let you know, just in case.” He shrugs, thinking maybe Billy’s just as unfriendly as he used to be. It’s not like the army is known for making people nicer, especially with the current war going on. But. “You look good.”

He’s lying.

“You’re lying.”

It’s not that Billy looks bad, per say. He’s always been handsome. He just looks like a man who has been put through the ringer. So, Steve gives a sheepish smile and concedes with, “Only a little,” and he thinks he might actually see Billy’s lips twitch for a second. 

And.

That’s all that really happens. They don’t really exchange pleasantries, or ask what the other is doing now, they just say their awkward goodbyes and Steve checks out.

He looks back as he leaves, though, and finds Billy at the register he just left checking out the Help Wanted sign. 

Turns out, Billy was honorably discharged according to Max. “Something happened,” she says, sitting in between Mike and Lucas as they work on their caps for graduation. “He won’t talk about it, and the Army doesn’t tell you anything, but something happened. Mom wants him to go down to the VA and get a therapist, but Neil says it’s for pussies.”

“Therapists aren’t for pussies,” Steve argues. He had a therapist and she was the only reason he didn’t have nightmares so much anymore.

“I know that! It’s just what Neil said!”

“Why does he listen to Neil anyway? Isn’t he like-- old like Steve?”

“I’m not old.”

“You’re kinda’ old.”

“Hey--”

Max ignores them all, “No, but he’s stubborn. He thinks it’s for pussies too.” Which, like, doesn’t surprise Steve at all because it’s Billy and that sounds just like him. Which sucks because Steve knows a therapist would help. The things each of them have been through might be incredibly different, but at the end of the day trauma was trauma. 

“Maybe you can convince him,” Will offers quietly, eyes cast downwards as he focuses on his cap. “You’ve gotten closer since he left, right?”

“I guess,” Max shrugs. “Who knew being away from each other is what we needed.”

Beside her, Lucas snorts and goes, “Literally everyone,” and Max slugs him in the shoulder.

Next time he sees Billy he’s walking out of the diner with a scowl on his face so Steve thinks about just avoiding him all together until their eyes meet and Billy approaches. He looks hesitant, almost unsure, when he goes, “Hey,” and Steve says Hey back, and he isn’t sure as to why Billy’s acting all weird and awkward until he speaks up again.

“You... work for your dad right? Is there.. are you guys hiring? I swear I’ve tried every place in this town, but I have no experience, so.”

Steve frowns, “You were over seas.”

Billy just shrugs, “Doesn’t matter to them. No experience is no experience. And, look, I know your work is fancy or whatever, but I have a suit and I led my squad in a desert with bombs going off around us so I think I can handle--”

“You were in charge?”

Immediately, Billy’s demeanor changes to something more prideful, and he lifts his chin a little and goes, “Staff sergeant, yeah.” And Steve has no idea what that means, but he thinks it must be a pretty big deal to be promoted like that. It must have meant Billy was good at it. He’s not really surprised, though. He was a better leader to the basketball team than Steve had been and he’d been Captain, so in retrospect, Billy rising in the ranks in the Army just made sense.

“Well--” Steve rubs at the back of his neck, “I can talk to my dad? But... I’ll be honest, he’s just as bad, if not worse than the other people not hiring you. I don’t think he even has one vet working for him.”

“Oh.” Billy’s goes stoic and emotionless, but his shoulders slump but he nods anyway, tight and firm before stepping back and toward his car. “Thanks anyway.”

Steve can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that the most useless he has ever felt in a long while was when he was watching Billy, a guy who fought for his country, walk away dejected because he couldn’t get a job.

The idea comes to him exactly three days later while he’s having a late breakfast at his desk. He feels like an imbecile for not thinking of it sooner and immediately dials a number he has memorized by this point. The phone picks up on the third ring and a tired voice answers.

“Hey, Hop? You’re looking for a deputy, right?”

“I don’t have any experience.”

“Dude, you led a military team in Afghanistan. That’s plenty experience.” 

Their at the diner that rejected Billy’s application just a few days before, having breakfast and coffee. Steve just told Billy about the opportunity to work for the Hawkins police department and he’s never seen the blonde look so skeptical. It wasn’t any weirder than Steve getting his number from Max and calling him up in the first place, though. Billy had sounded so damn surprised when he’d answered the phone, too. 

“Isn’t there like... a police academy or something?”

He shrugs, “I dunno’ any details, but Hopper does. He’ll tell you everything you need to do. He wants you to come by today.”

“I--” Billy pauses, glances down at his untouched eggs and looks away again, back out the window. He hasn’t looked Steve in the eye once since he told him about the job. “Does he know I served?”

“Yeah. He served too you know.”

He almost seems to perk at that, “He did?”

“Yeah. Right out of high school, just like you. It’d why I called him. I figured if anyone was willing to give a veteran a chance, it’d be another veteran.”

That information seems to relax Billy some, as if he trusts Hopper a lot more now that they have something in common. Steve can’t blame him there, either. Something like war was one of those things that only people who have been through it too could really understand. Hopper might have served in a different war, but at the end of the day war was war and he’d be more than willing to help out a younger vet. 

“Why are you doing this?”

Billy’s question pulls Steve out of his thoughts and he blinks owlishly at him before going, “What do you mean?” which only makes Billy’s frown deepen.

“We weren’t friends when I left. I was a total asshole to you and your nerd squad, so why are you doing this for me?”

Steve blinks, then blinks again. Then blinks again. Finally, he looks incredulous when he goes, “Seriously? It’s been four years, dude. I don’t hold grudges that long. Besides, friends or not it’s bullshit that you can’t find a job, and if I can do something to help, why shouldn’t I?”

The other man is real silent after that, just staring at his fucking eggs again, and Steve tries to let the silence have its time because he wants to be respectful and cautious, but he really hates quiet and he’s so close to saying something, anything, just to fill it, when Billy finally looks at him and says, “Thanks. I-- Thank you, man. This means a lot,” with so much sincerity in those striking blues of his that Steve’s caught so off guard he almost forgets to reply.

“... Don’t mention it.”

Two weeks later, Steve’s driving home when a police car pulls up behind him and flashes its lights. It’s not Hopper’s cruiser, so whoever it is is about to get bitched at because he was not speeding, he didn’t run a stop sign, and he’s so fucking tired. He just wants to go home and pass out, but he pulls over anyway and glares at his rear view mirror. 

The glare immediately falters when none other than Billy Hargrove steps out and saunters over. 

Steve rolls down the window and hears him go, “Have any idea why I pulled you over, sir?” While leaning down so he can rest his forearm in the open window. Steve’s about to respond, eyebrows pulled together in confusion and frown on his face when Billy suddenly grins and tilts down his aviators to look at Steve over the rim. “To show off my new uniform, obviously.”

Oh, Steve thinks, realizing Billy was just messing with him. He immediately relaxes, because even though he’s exhausted, he finds that he doesn’t really mind stopping for a moment to chat. Especially when Billy steps back so Steve can check him out. 

It figures he’d pull off a fucking cop’s uniform. Steve honestly hates him.

“Seventeen year old you would be so pissed to find out he becomes a cop,” Steve says, and can’t help but grin when Billy’s smile gets a little wider.

“Oh he’d fucking hate me,” he laughs and leans back out of the window to rest his hands on his hips. Steve notes that he doesn’t have a gun yet, just a baton and tazer. 

“How’s it going?”

“Good,” he nods. “Hopper is still the grumpiest dude alive, but he’s a good teacher. I get my own gun soon.” It’s kind of funny he doesn’t have it yet considering he probably handled guns a lot bigger and more dangerous over seas, but Steve figures Hopper has his reasons. “And I stopped and gave Karen’s useless ass husband a ticket. That was fucking satisfying.”

“You better watch it. The women around here are gonna hear you’re a cop and start running red lights and speeding just to get your attention.”

Billy’s grin settles into more of a smirk, something reminiscent of his younger days, and it does a little something to Steve he doesn’t want to admit. He was never really on the receiving end of that kind of look, and he was starting to get why it worked. 

“But not you, huh?”

He pauses, wonders if Billy is flirting or just asking, wonders if he should be brave and flirt back or just lead the conversation into something safer because there was no way Billy was like that, but--

“I don’t think I gotta’ run red lights to get your attention, Hargrove.”

It’s risky, Steve knows that, and he waits for Billy to scowl at him and say something off color. But instead he just kind of looks at Steve with an unreadable expression before humming affirmation and going, “Just like in high school,” which leaves Steve positively dumbfounded.

By the time he finds his wits Billy’s slapping the top of the car, “Head on home now. I’ll see you later.” And a quick pause as he keeps Steve’s gaze before adding, “Pretty boy,” with a dazzling smile. Then he inclines his head and he’s gone, slipping back into his cruiser and turning around, leaving Steve on the side of the road a little awestruck, totally confused, and.

Well, kind of excited? 

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Roadblocks, part 3

Welcome back. When last you were here, Day ate flesh-burgers and Yova acquired an heir. Onward.

So while Day, Yova, and I were getting our shop-till-you-drop fantasy on, Bella had an important dinner date with her family. Around 4:45, Antonio picked her up in an Uber to take her to dinner. He told her that he’d try to keep the awkward questions at bay, “But you know mom.” Bella was acting a bit fidgety and he asked her if she was okay. “I’m fine, just nervous,” she said. She tried snuggling against him and he told her she wasn’t six anymore. She looked up at him with her big eyes and did her whiny little girl routine and he put an arm around her.

When they got to the restaurant, her parents and several of her other brothers were waiting for her. Her mother made the sign of the cross, got up, gave her the once-over and told her how she almost died from fear. (When she was telling us this, Yova and I shared a, “So that’s where she gets it from” look) Bella managed to keep most of the goth style at bay, but she still had her light blue hair. Her mom was clearly judging it but didn’t say anything. The whole family seemed to be happy she was just okay. They started talking about their lives, the book club mom ran, dad’s co-workers, teasing one of the brothers about his new girlfriend.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Bella and they all started asking her about her job, work at the university, and her social life. She was trying to keep it together but was internally freaking out, feeling like this wasn’t a place she belonged anymore. She managed to push through it and steeled herself, giving Antonio a look to wordlessly ask him if he told the rest of the family what was going on. She saw her parents also share a look and her mother opened her mouth to say something, which is when Bella felt a weird pulse of Glamour through the room. She knew someone in the restaurant was doing magic.

As she looked around, she saw someone sitting in the dining room proper, apart from the small private room her family had: a woman with a red headscarf and large sunglasses covering part of her face. The woman was looking right at her family and drawing something on the table. When Bella turned back to look at her family, her mother’s mouth was open and her hand in the air but she wasn’t moving or blinking. Looking around, she could tell everybody else in the restaurant was frozen as well.

There wasn’t much else to do but get up and head over to the lady in the headscarf. When she reached the woman’s table, the woman handed Bella an envelope and started to get up to walk away. Bella took the envelope but tried to stop her from getting up. “What is this?” she asked. “A warning,” the woman said. Bella tried to get her to tell her what was going on, but she ignored Bella and headed for the door. Bella opened the envelope and read the short note inside: “You hurt my babies. Don’t make me return the favor.”

As the woman left, she snapped her fingers and time resumed. Bella had to duck under a waiter’s outstretched arm and tray and heard a shriek: “Isabella! Where’d she go?” She hurried back to the private room while texting us in the group chat we shared. She gave the very helpful message: “Got a warning from What’s Her Face.” Day responded: “My future secretary, everybody.” Bella snapped a picture of the note and sent it to us before she went back into the private dining room.

Obviously her family was insanely confused as to what just happened. She played innocent and said that she just went to the bathroom. They were looking around at each other and blinking, but decided to buy her explanation because what other choice was there? Her mom once again started asking the question she was about to ask before time blipped: “Bella, what happened with Carlos? He was such a sweet booooooooooy?” Bella gave a knowing look to her dad, who seemed to pick up on what she was telling him. Her dad tried to get her mom to back up, but her mom was whining that she was so excited about planning the weddiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Bella got up and hugged her mom, telling her Carlos wasn’t the one and she didn’t want them spending a ton of money on the wedding. The rest of the night followed nicely and she took an Uber back to her apartment. Before she went, her family told her that they were going to be in town a few more days and wanted to see her again.

As it happened, around this time several of us were running a little low on Glamour. I haven’t talked about Glamour that much, but suffice it to say it’s pretty damn important to Changelings. If we run out, we feel sluggish, weak, can’t really focus on anything. The good news is that it’s also pretty easy to harvest, mostly from humans. Any sort of intense emotion will let you draw Glamour into yourself. The day after our jaunt to the Goblin Market, while I was using the Token I got to enter Adrian’s dream, Yova was playing at a piano bar, trying to harvest some joy from the patrons. She managed to really scorch the ivories, leaving the crowd in awe. When she finished her first set, she got a standing O. The emotion washed over her and she felt all the power and magic filling her up.

Day used the tried-and-true way of agitating people to get some Glamour. He went to one of the sleaziest dive bars he could find, looking around for the toughest guy in the room. He saw an angry-looking dude who was clearly having a lousy day to the point where even the bartender was avoiding him. Day plopped down on the stool next to the dude, waving the bartender down. He asked Day what he could get him and Day said, “Scotch on the rocks, and how about a bar of soap for my buddy here?” The bartender, recognizing discretion as the better part of valor, backed off, asking if the well was okay.

Day reached up and put a hand on the tough guy’s shoulder. He grabbed Day’s hand off and put it back on the bar, telling Day, “Think you’re funny, huh? Ha. Ha. Ha.” Day told him that he was just messing with him. “I don’t care much for your kind of fun,” the guy snapped. “What, the kind with regular working showers?” Day asked. Before Day knew what was happening, the guy clocked him in the jaw. Day felt the anger flowing from the guy’s fist into his skin. He pushed himself over the stool, rubbing his cheek and said, “Ah, Jesus, buddy, what the hell was that?” “Oh, just a little bit of fun,” the guy snarked. “Jesus. If I wanted a kiss, I’d call your mom.” They were about to brawl when Day invited the guy to take it outside. They ended up kicking the absolute crap out of each other, with Day landing a few solid punches before the guy managed to land a really solid hit. He finally stumbled off, telling Day he was crazy.

As for me, I tend to get most of my Glamour from work. I can feel desire and want all the time when people come in and look at everything we’ve got in store. The day after Yova and Day got their Glamour fix, I had a few marks come strolling in at the lunch hour, some Business Barb types who I saw in the store all the time. They were talking as usual about how they were going to have their diet cheat day (which usually happened about four times a week) and I got them drooling about the pink champagne cupcakes. I did my best upselling, telling them how we couldn’t sell them to anyone under 21 because there was some alcohol in the frosting. They each got one (one of the Barbs buying two, saying the other was for her husband. And no, she wasn’t wearing a ring) and I managed to pull some of that Glamour into me when I took their payment.

I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point and headed over to the local park to eat my lunch. It was a beautiful crisp day, about the last point in autumn before it started getting unbearably cold, and I wanted to enjoy the outdoors as much as I could. While I was eating, however, I spotted a guy looking at me from a few benches over in confusion. It took me a second to remember who it was, but then it hit me: James, the co-worker who complimented my lemon cake the day I got swept off to Arcadia. He looked at me and down at his phone and back a few times, then got a very indignant face and stomped up to me. He didn’t say anything but stared at me a long while.

“Can I help you?” I asked. He was very tense and looked about to snap, then stomped off. I followed him and put a hand on his shoulder, asking him what the deal was. He said, “You don’t know me, but if you ever come by our apartment again, I’m going to call the cops.” I couldn’t help but have a grin spread across my face. I patted him on the shoulder (drawing a little more Glamour out of him in the process) and told him, “I think you have a case of mistaken identity.” I turned around to walk off and he yelled after me that he meant it. I went back to the bench and started eating my lunch again. “That’s so cute, they’re both so boring, they’re perfect for each other,” I said to myself as I tucked in.

Later that evening, everybody convened at my apartment. They all piled in and I told Day, who was still bruised from his fight the day before, that he looked like shit. “Community service. I released some birds from the pet store into the wild. Maybe you know a few of ‘em,” he said. “I am going to kick you into the rock quarry,” I said. Once we all settled in, Yova told us that we needed to discuss what was going on and the threat Aurora made to Bella. “I think it’s past time for us to deal with our old friend,” I said.

We had the list of places she would use as hiding places in the Hedge, so that was one option. What seemed like a better idea, however, was the possibility of going after one of our Fetches. Pam’s was back in Minnesota, Bella’s was dead, and Day’s was in the Knights’ custody, so that meant the only real options were either mine or Yova’s. I told them about the problems I ran into with my Fetch and James and Yova reminded us that her Fetch was upstate in the looney bin. I let out a breath and said, “If we are going after my Fetch, I probably shouldn’t be involved, at least on the front lines. I don’t want them freaking out and calling the cops as soon as they see me.”

Around this time, Bella mentioned the woman who gave her the message and described what she looked like, and I realized she was the one I saw outside of my Fetch’s apartment. That clinched it as far as my Fetch being the best point of trying to get to Aurora. Yova suggested that she and Day go talk to the Fetch about some missing person, “invite ourselves in” and appear threatening. Day suggested someone who wasn’t missing but who might have gone off the deep end might be a better topic. “Is there anyone at work who everybody avoided?” he asked. “Ohhh. Lorraine,” I said. “We always said she was going to pull out a pocket bazooka and blow everybody else away.” “Did she work in accounts receivable?” Yova asked. ��Worse. HR. She was the only non-Linda in HR. I don’t think she ever got over it,” I said.

“We need to come up with some name for this guy other than your Fetch. Do you have a middle name?” Yova asked. “Yeah, Shawn,” I said. “Shawn?” Day asked with no small amount of disdain. “Shawn. I wasn’t expecting that,” Bella said. “Look, my brother’s Joseph Patrick O’Neill, my sister’s Mary Katherine O’Neill and I’m Derek Shawn O’Neill. You don’t get much more Irish than that,” I said. They came up with a rough battle plan and I asked them to kick my Fetch in the shins a couple of times because it was an asshole when I went to speak to it. “Well, he’s made from you. Shouldn’t he take after you?” Day asked. I gave him a look that could have turned the Gulf of Mexico into a skating rink and Yova went upstairs to get some vodka.

Oh, and when she came back down, she brought Gershwin to introduce him to Paisley. And Paisley, you’ll be happy to hear, was over the moon about Gershwin. She put her arm around him to protect him. She’s a good girl.

The next day we all left to go over to my old apartment around 4:30. I was sitting in the back of the car with everybody else getting ready to go up and commence the operation. I told them that I’d just stay in the car. I was not happy or comfortable about any of it, for a variety of reasons. “You know, Derek, we don’t have to do this,” Yova told me. “We’re already here, we might as well go ahead,” I said. Yova asked if I wanted to leave the car running so I could listen to some music. “If I mess with the music stations, you will literally kill me,” I said. “I would never,” she said. I locked that promise.

Around 5:00, a car pulled up into the parking lot and James and my Fetch got out, heading for the door. They stepped inside and the others waited a few minutes before going up and knocking. My Fetch answered the door cautiously, asking, “Can I help you?” Day pulled out his badge and introduce himself and the others, saying they’d like to talk to him about a former co-worker. My Fetch looked at Yova and Bella and asked, “Where’s their identification?” Yova was about to activate Hostile Takeover but then Bella showed him the sketch she made of Lorraine. The Fetch warily let them in. James asked who was at the door and the Fetch told him it was the police. “Why don’t you go water the garden? I don’t think they’ll be here long,” it said.

James went off to the back and Day apologized for coming at a bad time. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as a good time,” the Fetch said. “Well, I’m divorced three times, so I know that much,” Day quipped. “I meant with James,” my Fetch said flatly. It rolled its shoulders and said, “You know, I can see you for what you are. So what do you want?” Yova explained the plan and how we were trying to flush out Aurora. “You might have noticed that there’s been someone around lately, a woman in a headscarf and large sunglasses. We need to find her and stop her, she’s very dangerous. And we think that if she sees us here talking to you, it’s likely that she’s going to try to come by.”

The Fetch looked at each of them in turn and said, “I need you to know that I don’t want trouble, okay?” “We’re trying to eliminate trouble,” Day said. “I mean, if you just need to stand here for ten minutes, that’s fine, but don’t expect me to help you any more than that,” it said. “The fact that you let us in is enough,” Yova said. “Good. Because I don’t need any more stress,” it said, looking back at the garden, then at its watch. “You’ve got five minutes. If you want to sit down, fine. I’m going to start dinner.” It headed off to the kitchen and the others decided to look around.

From what they told me later, it sounded like my apartment was more or less exactly how I left it. Big couch that looked mostly new. Good-sized TV. Nice appliances in the kitchen. Photos arranged just so. They all picked up on the fact that it was mostly a veneer of comfort: everything looked nice but not comfortable, like they were trying to convince themselves they were happy.

While they were waiting, they heard some snippets of what sounded like an unhappy conversation between James and my Fetch. James said, “You need to tell me these things so we can deal with them together. I understand if you’re scared, but I can’t do anything if you’re not going to talk to me.” The Fetch didn’t respond to that, but walked back into the living room, saying, “Five minutes are up. Get the hell out.” As he was leaving, Day told the Fetch that they appreciated it helping them out and told it he knew what it was like to be by himself without any help. He gave the Fetch a business card and told it to call if it needed help with something the mundane authorities couldn’t help with. It looked surprised and paused as it took the card. “Thanks. Actually, yeah, thanks. If I have anything else you need to know, we’ll be in touch,” it said. Day patted it on the shoulder, told it to take care of itself, and motioned for everybody to walk out.

I didn’t much notice as they were walking back to the car. I’d been just staring at the center console between the driver and passenger seats the entire time they were gone. My mind wasn’t racing as much as it was drifting. There were a lot of competing thoughts, things I both didn’t want to think about and knew I had to. I’d intended to leave my Fetch well enough alone once I verified it wasn’t going to be a threat to me, but somehow fate was intervening, dragging me back to a place I thought I’d left behind me and forcing me to look back at what I used to be. And I didn’t like what I was seeing. Looking at my Fetch was reminding me of how pitiful and meaningless my old life was. I’d had so little happiness in my old life and being near my Fetch was bringing that back full bore. Even more than that, I was embarrassed as hell that the others were all seeing what I used to live like.

When the others did get back, they all picked up on the fact that I wasn’t doing well. Even Day seemed worried, asking me, “Everything okay, bird brain?” I was quiet for a moment then asked about what they saw in there and if it was as depressing as I’d left it. “Yeah, it was. They don’t seem happy,” Yova said. I was quiet for a minute more and said, “When I talked to him, I just had a couple of questions. I wanted to know if he was still working where he was. And he was. And I asked if my folks had tried to get in touch with me. And they hadn’t. Two and a half years I was gone. They never once reached out or checked up on me.”

They were quiet at that. Bella slid into the seat next to me and hugged me. Neither she nor Day or Yova seemed to know what to say. I swallowed a lump in my throat and said, “I guess I was just hoping he’d be able to do something with that life that I wasn’t.” “Honestly, Derek… he’s not like you,” Yova said. “He’s really unhappy, he’s not a nice person.” “And I doubt if he got thrown into the situation you did, he’d have survived. He’d probably just crumble,” Day said. I took in and let out another long breath. “Do you think we can get out of here for a minute?” I asked. They quickly agreed and we drove away to get a bite to eat before going back to see if Aurora took the bait.

And that’s as good enough a place as any to end this not-so-cheery chapter. Until next time, may all your ghosts be friendly ones.

[gretamaya]

Title: Back Porch

Summary: This is for @invaderhogtwopointohno, who asked for a new neighbors au in the rebelcaptain “May the 4th” exchange. I hope you enjoy the story!

AO3/2446 words

“How do I look?” Jyn asked, stepping out of the door onto the back porch. She didn’t stop to think about why she was asking for Cassian’s opinion. When he wasn’t away on assignment, he could normally be found on the back porch that stretched across both sides of the duplex.

“Good.” The warmth in his voice made the word sound more positive than it was - the lovely smile he gave her had the same effect.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling back. “Um.” Her purpose obtained, she suddenly felt the awkwardness of the situation. “Have a good evening,” she offered weakly. She suddenly wished she was staying here, on the back porch with him, like she normally did. But everyone in her life - her parents, Leia and Han, Bodhi - were urging her to ‘get out there’ and ‘not hide away in your house with no furniture, God, Jyn, you make me look good’ (“Thanks, Han,” she had said, no real thanks in her voice).

“Good luck,” he said, lifting his mug of coffee to her in a kind of salute.

As it turned out, she really should’ve just stayed on the back porch. How could she have trusted Han Solo to set her up on a blind date?

She didn’t know how she knew from one look at the tall, severe-looking man at the bar that things were going to go poorly, but she had. However, she also told herself not to judge a book by its cover.

She really should’ve judged, though, because her judgements were entirely correct in this instance.

“Do you really think watching men kick a ball around is a valuable use of your time?”

“Yes,” she growled. She really hated talking to men about sports. Normally, when they found out she liked football, they immediately started to try to catch her out, by asking her to explain the offsides rule or claiming she just liked it because the men were hot. Somehow this pretentious asshole, who didn’t even like sports, was nevertheless trying to make her feel inferior about sports.

“I prefer to spend my time reading John Chesterfield’s three-volume work on the Crusades. Are you familiar with it?”

“No,” said Jyn. She was frantically trying to think of a way out of this mess.

“It is far more exciting than a football match. Chesterfield’s scholarship is top-notch.”

“Actually, I prefer Niall Ferguson’s scholarship.”

Jyn was a bit surprised when he physically leaned away from her in horror, instead of reacting with glee. “Ferguson’s scholarship is appalling. His inability to build a cohesive narrative from his research seriously undermines any point he is attempting to make.”

“His research really isn’t all that, either.”

He frowned at her, confused. “You just said you prefered his scholarship.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I like it.” She actually found Ferguson awful, she had just been hoping that mentioning him would keep Kay talking for awhile without any input from her. “I was expecting you to launch into a long soliloquy on his attributes. People like you normally like Ferguson.”

“‘People like me?’”

She was prevented from answering by Kay fixating on someone who had just entered the bar. For awhile now, he had been watching everyone that came in with an expectant look on his face. She had thought probably in hope that his real date would appear. Jyn frowned as she realized that she knew who was approaching them.

“Oh, good, my ride is here.” All at once, Jyn’s attention snapped back to the man sitting next to her.

“Your ride? You can’t drive yourself to your date?”

“I assumed there would be alcohol.” He looked down at her beverage. “You’re not driving yourself, are you?”

She snorted. “Of course I am driving myself home!” She could handle a drink. Well, at the moment, she felt like having a lot of drinks and then calling a cab, and feeling that intensified as Cassian approached them. Jyn was both mortified and angry. How did he know this asshole? “Kay… Jyn,” he said, greeting them in turn.

“You know her?” Kay asked, clearly taken aback.

“She is my neighbor.”

Kay looked her over, not for the first time that night. “You did not mention that she was extremely irritating.” Great, thought Jyn, he’s discussed me with this idiot.

“She’s not.” To Jyn: “I’m sorry.” When he offered to pay for their drinks and get Kay out of there, Jyn told him he sure as hell wasn’t doing that and she was going to stay there, drinking.

“But you drove yourself here! How will you get home?”

“It’s called a cab, Kay,” said Cassian and then to Jyn, “I can’t promise he won’t call the cops on you. Why don’t you let me take you home, now, and then we can worry about your car later?”

Before she could respond to that, Kay added, “You should listen to him. Cassian is a sensible person.”

‘Sensible’ was not how she would describe him, not if he had the role in this debacle she thought he did, but to get this over with, she agreed to go with them. Besides, it would give her a chance to confront him about all of this.

Kay, mercifully, did not live far away, leaving Jyn and Cassian alone in the car.

Jyn crossed her arms over her chest. “So how do you know Han Solo?”

“Who?”

“Don’t give me that. You worked with Han to set me up on that date.”

“I would never set Kay up on a date with anyone.”

Jyn had wondered how long he could keep the act up, wherein he looked horrified at this situation instead of enjoying it, but just maybe it wasn’t an act. She was still expecting Han to pull up in a car while they idled at a red light any moment, gleefully shouting about how he had played her.

Getting no response from her, Cassian added, “When he told me he was going on a blind date, I tried to talk him out of it. He doesn’t handle surprises well.”

“If you didn’t set him up, then who did?”

“His friend Cee.”

“Ah.” Cee. Who worked for Leia. Who knew Han. Yes, Cee definitely had the poor judgment required for this.

By this time, they were pulling into the spot in front of the duplex. “You know Cee?” Cassian asked, as he turned the car off.

“Yeah. That explains things. If I had known Cee was involved…”

“You wouldn’t have done it.”

She shook her head, sighed, and leaned back into the car seat. She heard Cassian get out, and wasn’t surprised when the door on her side opened. “I promise never to mention it again.”

“Can you get Kay to never mention it again?” she asked, swinging her legs out of the car.

“I will do my best.”

“Thank you,” she said, fumbling for her keys as she moved towards her door. She looked down at herself. “It’s a shame I got all dressed up for no one to appreciate it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Cassian had closed the car door behind her, and was moving towards his front door, so close to hers.

She looked up at him, startled. “You wouldn’t?”

He looked embarrassed. He had pretty much looked embarrassed from the moment he had shown up in the bar, but subtle changes in his expression told her he was somehow even more embarrassed now.

He stuck his tongue out slightly, a gesture Jyn had learned meant he had made up his mind about something, and said, “I appreciate it.” She was a bit too startled to say anything, but she didn’t run, so he added, “I know you didn’t get dinner, I could make some pasta if you’re interested.”

She had enjoyed Cassian’s cooking before, of course, when he had found her on the back porch they shared and offered him some of what he had been making. This felt different, though, like he was offering to cook especially for her.

She wondered briefly if he was Kay’s friend because he looked good by comparison, but she quickly shoved that uncharitable thought aside, he had done nothing to deserve it. She was still somewhat stressed out from the disaster her date had been, and she didn’t know how good of company she would be. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be alone, and she did want to eat, and Cassian was used to her moping on the back porch, and she really was dressed too nicely to drink whatever alcohol she had in the house while eating ice cream out of a container and cursing Han Solo’s name.

She realized she was taking to long with her answer when he said, “Look, Jyn, don’t worry-”

“I’m interested.”

His worried, embarrassed look was replaced by relieved embarrassment. He held his door open for her.

Jyn had seen plenty of his kitchen from the back porch but very little of the rest of his house. It was warm, inviting, comfortable - a lot like Cassian, really. He spent weeks away on assignment when reporting on the global effects of climate change - he had seen famine, drought, disease. He just liked to come home to something comforting, and alive, which is why their shared backyard was overflowing with greenery that went untended while he was away.

“Would you like something to drink?”

She was desperate for some alcohol but said, “I really need to eat something first.”

He smiled and in short order a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit appeared in front of her. Jyn had to stop herself from blurting out “How the fuck are you still single?” because she knew what his job required of him, she knew that was why he came home to an empty house and overgrown garden with an new, irritable neighbor who made him feel unwelcome the first time she saw him.

“So…” Cassian began, trying to sound casual, as he pulled food out of the fridge. “Who is this Han Solo?”

Jyn smiled. “A friend from college. Now that he finally got up the nerve to actually get engaged, he keeps trying to hook everyone else up. He’s terrible at it. I don’t know why he thinks he’d be any good, either, he danced around Leia for years before anything happened between them. I said yes to his latest offer just to get him to leave me alone.”

“Ah,” he said as he smiled at her. Then, changing the subject completely: “You okay with mushrooms?”

“Sure,” she said. But she wasn’t ready to let this go. “So you knew I was going on a date, and someone had set Kay up on a date, but you didn’t bother to check to see if it was with one another?”

“I thought it was too improbable. Besides, you didn’t tell me you were going on a blind date, just a date.” He looked over his shoulder at her, somewhat apprehensively. “How long are you going to blame me for this?”

“I can’t blame you, you’re too cute and you feed me.” Cassian’s answering blush told her he didn’t expect to hear those words any more than she expected to say them. He quickly turned back to his cooking - Jyn knew her cheeks must be burning as well. She wished she hadn’t turned down alcohol earlier, she could use some now to drown her embarrassment.

Instead, Jyn watched Cassian as he worked at the counter while she munched on the food he had already provided for her. Is there a particular reason you left out the fact that your new neighbor is really good looking? Leia’s words floated through Jyn’s mind. Leia had gotten a look at him one day when she stopped by Jyn’s house to drop some things off. Leia didn’t like Jyn living in an apartment with no furniture. Jyn didn’t mind - her old furniture had been too much of a reminder of her past life, that she was trying to move on from, and it had been cheap, anyway. Leia, the daughter of a senator, her life mapped out before her, did not do and had never done ‘cheap’.

Jyn had thought about answering Leia with glib remarks like ‘don’t let Han hear you say that’ or ‘I didn’t think it mattered’, but Leia never would’ve been satisfied with that. Leia dealt well with honesty, though, so Jyn had told her she didn’t want to talk about it, and Leia let the matter drop. Or maybe she hadn’t. Leia knew Han, knew Cee. Leia could’ve stopped this whole thing, only she didn’t. Maybe Leia had let it go through, so Jyn would realize she was interested in her cute neighbor. Fine, Leia. Jyn would admit that to herself. She was interested in her cute neighbor. Who was currently cooking for her. Sometimes Jyn felt that they were all being carefully manipulated by Leia, and there wasn’t anything any of them could do about it. Her missteps with Han had been caused mostly by the fact that Han was about as far removed from who Leia thought she should be marrying as possible (and also by the fact that Han was Han).

“Are you ready for that drink?” he asked, with a brief glance over his shoulder.

“Sure,” she said, standing up as she said it. “If you’ll tell me-”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, leaving the food he was preparing to gently push her back to her chair. “I’ll get-”

Instead of letting him push her back further, Jyn pulled him towards her. He had already been leaning down slightly, making it easier for her to pull him down for a kiss.

Several minutes later, when he came up for air, he managed to say, “The pasta will get mushy.”

“You have more,” she said, turning off the burners. She wanted Cassian more than she wanted food.

(It turned out he did not have more.)

(She, however, had some. From a box of mac-and-cheese.)

(She’ll never forget the horribly cute distressed face he made at having to cook it. She laughed and kissed it off him. “Cassian, I’m hungry.” He grumbled, but was happy to accept her kisses.)

*

Han was there to greet her at work the next day. “Jyn, look, I can explain-” Han was out of his seat, moving his arm in a sweeping motion, as though to push away the debacle he was prominently involved in.

Jyn walked right up to him and kissed him on the cheek. Han, flabbergasted, sputtering, “Wha- what?”

Jyn just smiled at him and walked away. It was all he deserved, really.

[firehawk12]

Get Out (2017)

Jordan Peele’s debut film caught me completely by surprised. Buoyed by the (at the time) unanimous positive reception of the film, I decided to watch the film blind, eschewing my habit of reading reviews and listening to podcasts about a film before watching it myself. Ignoring the “spoiler culture” debate, I can say that the film’s “surprise” really did catch me off guard and perhaps made the film a more heightened experience than it would have been had I knew about the premise beforehand.

With that in mind, I’ll do something that I haven’t really felt the need to do and leave a big SPOILER WARNING line break here on the off chance that you might want to watch the film and discover its premise on your own.

Given Peele’s pedigree as a creator, perhaps it’s not surprising that he would make a film that touches on and satirises the supposed “post-racial” landscape of a post-Obama America, and in some ways the film might have worked much better in the alternate reality where Hilary Clinton won the election and liberals were busy congratulating themselves for electing both the first Black president and the first female president. In the world we live in now, where demagogues rule the political class and have effectively divided the citizenry into an us versus them mentality, many of the film’s satirical moments take on a darker tone.

The opening scene of the film is reminiscent of a sketch from Key & Peele:

A young Black man, Andre, is walking in what is seemingly a white neighbourhood when a car begins to tail him. Trying his best to avoid a confrontation, he turns around and walks in the other direction, only to be assaulted and subdued by the driver of the car. I don’t know if Peele wanted the audience to think of his previous sketch during this scene, which similarly reproduces the fear that Black men must have of being seen as suspicious simply because of their race, but while the sketch ends with a cute visual gag showing us the only way Black men can deescalate a conflict (by essentially being white), the film leaves us with a sense of dread and uncertainty as Andre is dragged into the trunk of the car and driven away. Little did I know that this opening is a set up for a reveal that could top any K&P sketch.

After the cold open, we are then introduced to the main character of the film, Chris, and his girlfriend Rose. We see that they are in a picturesque, loving relationship that is threatened by the fact that Rose’s parents do not know that Chris is black. But this tension is quickly diffused by Rose, as she points out that her father would have voted Obama for a third term if it were possible. On the way to Rose’s childhood home, a white police officer seemingly harasses Chris but is quickly rebuffed by Rose, who essentially accuses the police officer of perpetrating implicit racism.

It’s meant to be a celebratory moment — for the audience it reaffirms the belief that resistance is the best way to confront racism, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that while Chris is willing to comply with the police officer’s demands, Rose is the one who chooses to stand up to this petty harassment. It certainly helps that Chris tells Rose that he found it “hot” when she defended him from the cop, confirming that as voyeurs thrust into this interracial relationship, we should feel good about these two characters and what they represent in 2017 (particularly in light of Loving (2016), the film that chronicled the life of Richard and Mildred Loving).

We’re meant to find Chris’ meeting with Rose’s parents awkward, particularly because their family has two Black servants named Georgina and Walter, but the film really turns when we first meet Rose’s brother Jeremy. When the family sits down for dinner, Jeremy sizes up Chris and begins to describe his physical features. It’s a conversation that’s off-putting, because Chris is trying to be polite and the rest of the family is trying to play off Jeremy’s blunt examination of Chris’ body. At this point we’re still meant to think that the family is embarrassed at their son’s behaviour because it’s inappropriate, when in reality, it’s because Jeremy is dangerously close to revealing their family’s true purpose. It’s also the first hint to the audience that there is something wrong with this domestic scene, as the scene ends with Jeremy trying to put Chris into a headlock, reminding us of the opening sequence when a masked assailant choked out Andre and kidnapped him.

This turn is when the film begins to dole out its absurd premise and also begins to make the audience raise questions about the so-called post-racism society that the election of Obama was supposed to represent. We get a quick hint that the Armitage family’s “progressive” views on Black bodies derives from admiration when we learn that Rose’s grandfather failed to qualify for the 1936 Olympics because he lost a race to Jesse Owens. This loss triggered an obsession for the Armitage patriarch — rather than react negatively to losing to a Black man, we learn that he admired the physical superiority of the Black body and wanted to find a way to claim it for himself.

The film plays on the scientific racism that still pervades, if the recent Charles Murray controversy is any sign, our society today. While various racists used the scientific method to claim the superiority of the White body over the Black body, with phrenology being one of the big examples of how science was perverted to make racist claims, Get Out inverts this trope by having the all the white characters in the film declare the superiority of the Black body. It is a play on race that is meant to offend the very people it is meant to preach to, because these characters are the definition of East Coast liberals. Billy Hawkins “The Black Student Athlete: The Colonized Black Body” writes:

The Black Body has always been valued in this society for its physical abilities. The main reason so many blacks are now located outside their native lands is that they were needed for physical labor in the early United States. Blacks were not sought to take part in the intellectual development of this country; their existence in the United States was strictly for the physical devel- opment of this country (e.g., working in the cotton, rice, and tobacco fields). (33) 

And this is very much how the people in the film situates Chris and the other Black characters in the film — they are valued only for their bodies because of their perceived physical superiority. With this outlook on race in mind, we find out that the Armitage family has used science for their own nefarious purposes, not to find a way to denigrate and reject Blackness, but to subsume and consume it. For this family, and their (mostly white) friends, Black bodies are desirable because of their physical strength, and are sites for colonization.

This colonization is where the horror element of the film is situated — the Armitage family has discovered a way for white people to literally colonize Black bodies by putting their brains into the bodies of the various Black men and women that Rose and Jeremy have kidnapped. The reason why this revelation isn’t seen as farcical is because of the prescient and very real issues that America faces today. Racism and the exploitation of race isn’t “over”, and we don’t live in a “post-racist” world. In a way, it’s a natural evolution of George Yancy’s discussion of the Black body in his article “Whiteness and the Return of the Black Body”:

Within the white imaginary, to be Black means to be born an obstacle at the very core of one’s being. To ex-ist as Black is not “to stand out” facing an ontological horizon filled with future possibilities of being other than what one is. Rather, being Black negates the “ex” of existence. Being Black is reduced to facticity. (237)

The Black body, and what it means as a political and existential entity, is tied directly to how it is viewed by a white body, and the idea of a white consciousness invading and colonizing a Black body is the epitome of rendering Black consciousness invisible.

It’s why I think this film was created in anticipation of a Hilary Clinton win, because it would have served as a stark reminder of why Americans shouldn’t just pat themselves on the back for voting down the racist fear-monger. In this hypothetical reality where we are living under President Hilary Clinton, the Black Lives Matter movement wouldn’t have simply folded and disappeared into the ether of liberal good intentions. The issues that Black Americans faced in 2016 would still confront them in 2017 and the Armitage family is meant to remind us of how dominant whiteness still pervades the halls of power.

Of course, in the context of a Trump presidency, the satire found in the film re-configures itself. For example, there’s a scene where Chris’ friend Rod tries to go to the police to report Chris’ disappearance. He runs down the entire story about how this crazy white family has hypnotized and kidnapped Andre, Chris, and potentially many other Black people, only to be laughed at by the cops listening to his story. It’s important to note that the cops are Black as well, so it’s not easily read as simply a take on how white police officers treat Black victims. Instead, this scene reads as a condemnation of authority and power, particularly when we see the various abuses of power perpetrated by the White House in the last month. Rod is forced to take matters into his own hands and save Chris himself because he realizes that the system that is supposed to protect him is actively working against him.

The fact that the film works in either political context is what makes me appreciate its satire. The film reveals a sad truth about race in America that is both timeless and apolitical, making us understand how far we still need to go as a society before we can look back and see this film as completely absurd. When you think about the greatest piece of satire, Swift’s A Modest Proposal, the idea of turning Irish babies into food in order to solve poverty is makes as laugh now. But when the Irish were denigrated by the British in the 18th Century, one can only imagine how the political elite would have received such a scathing attack. Maybe we’ll look back on Get Out and laugh at how simple-minded we were as a society, although hopefully it won’t take us a hundred years to reach that point.

Indeed, the film’s ending warns us against seeking an immediate catharsis. We are meant to feel a sense of elation as Chris single-highhandedly kills off each member of the Armitage family, building to the catharsis of Rod’s appearance at the end of the film when he comes to rescue Chris. But while Chris is safe, the problem that the film raises isn’t still lingers in the air. We don’t know if the horrors that the Armitages inflicted on their Black victims are ever exposes, and the kidnapping of Andre remains an dangling thread that is, at least in the moment of the ending, simply ignored. The movie certainly has a “happy ending”, but the question is, “happy for who?”.

It would be amiss of me to not mention the other interesting qualities of the film. First and foremost, I appreciate that the film trusts and allows the audience to figure out the premise by giving them clues that look obvious in hindsight. For example, there’s a scene where we see Walter sprinting the grounds of the Armitage home in the middle of the night for no real reason. But when you learn that Rose’s grandfather put his brain inside Walter’s body and remember that he was a sprinter who admired Jesse Owens’ body, his late night sprinting makes sense. The grandfather is flaunting the fact that he has successfully colonized a Black body and is as good, if not better, than Jesse Owens. There are many moments like this in the film that let you piece together the “gimmick” long before it reveals itself.

The small moments of the film expose bigger questions about the racial politics of America beyond the ones raised above. When Rose disarms Rod by telling him that she knows he wanted to have sex with her, we see that racial fetishization isn’t as easy as normative whiteness trying to consume Blackness. Rose knows that Rod desires her, perhaps because of her face, and he himself is unable to escape her accusation and can only respond by retreating from her.

There’s also another moment when all the white “guests” invited to the Armitage home to inspect Chris is disturbed by the introduction of a Japanese man named Hiroki Tanaka. The film could have simply left it at “white people want Black bodies”, but the introduction of a Japanese character who bids on Chris’ body complicates this simple Black-White dichotomy that exists when we talk about race in America. In terms of the power exchange found in the racial politics of America, where do Asians fit in? Are they the colonizers or the colonized? The film doesn’t answer this question, but I appreciate that it at least raises it.

[njawaidofficial]

Elisabeth Moss on 'Handmaid's Tale's' Real-World Parallels and How She Became an Accidental Activist (Cover Story)

http://styleveryday.com/2017/07/19/elisabeth-moss-on-handmaids-tales-real-world-parallels-and-how-she-became-an-accidental-activist-cover-story/

Elisabeth Moss on 'Handmaid's Tale's' Real-World Parallels and How She Became an Accidental Activist (Cover Story)

With her Hulu breakout scoring 13 Emmy noms, including best actress, television’s reigning (and surprisingly foul-mouthed) star opens up about Season 2 and her political awakening: “I’m a staunch believer in women’s rights. I don’t really give a s— about anybody who isn’t.”

The morning of July 13 started like any other, with Elisabeth Moss trying to eke out a little more time in bed. She is not, by all accounts, an early riser, and this sticky Thursday was no different, save for the locale, South Florida, where she was enjoying a rare few days off.

Then came the midday text from her publicist: a GIF of Chicago Cubs first baseman Anthony Rizzo, shirtless and clapping. “I knew it was good news,” says Moss, a fourth-generation Cubs fan, “because a shirtless Anthony Rizzo is always good news.”

And it was: The Handmaid’s Tale had just scooped up 13 Emmy nominations, including a best actress nom for Moss, the dystopian drama’s producer and star. In short order, she began scrolling through the 49 congratulatory texts that had already come in. Before long, there would be a lengthy email chain among the actors and a back and forth with showrunner Bruce Miller as well. By 3 p.m., Moss was still working her way through the deluge.

This isn’t new territory for the 34-year-old actress, whose pileup of critical hits — The West Wing, Mad Men, Top of the Lake and now The Handmaid’s Tale — has led to her media moniker: the “Queen of Peak TV.” She earned six nominations for what was once her career-defining role as copywriter turned feminist heroine Peggy Olson on AMC’s long-running Mad Men and a seventh for her star turn as a cop in Jane Campion’s 2013 Sundance Channel miniseries Top of the Lake. But for reasons that still confound a large contingent of TV critics, Moss has never won an Emmy. “It’s lucky number eight,” she teases, turning more serious as she continues: “But if you’ve been nominated seven times and lost seven times, you learn to be pretty excited about being nominated. You feel this sense of, ‘Well, at least I seem to be doing well consistently.’ “

What makes this round of recognition different is not simply that her odds of taking home a statuette are greater than they’ve ever been but also that the universally lauded Hulu series has redefined Moss’ career — as an actress, a producer and, at first reluctantly, an activist for women’s rights. “What I’ve learned is, now is not really a time to stand in the middle,” she says. “You’ve got to pick a side.”

Jumping so quickly into another series was not initially part of Moss’ plan. She liked the idea of dabbling in the film world, throwing herself into a string of indies within days of Mad Men wrapping, and then a second installment of Top of the Lake, which she was busy filming when her reps sent her a copy of Miller’s Handmaid’s pilot. His take on Margaret Atwood’s seminal novel — first published in 1985 and now back on the best-seller list — centers on Offred, the titular Handmaid, whose world has been overtaken by a theocratic regime under which all fertile women are stripped of their rights and forced into sexual slavery. Despite her initial hesitation, Moss, who goes by Lizzie, recognized that the opportunity was one she couldn’t pass up. Her one stipulation: She insisted on being an active producer as well.

The demand didn’t faze Miller and executive producer Warren Littlefield, who both chuckle at the mere suggestion that Moss’ could be a vanity title, as is often the case when TV stars transition to producing. “At the beginning, I’d send Lizzie five different films, and I’d say, ‘This one is just about color palette; this one there’s a tone.’ And she’s in Australia starring in Top of the Lake, and a few days later, I’d get these detailed analyses: ‘I completely see this, and I love this, and what about this woman as a production designer?’ ” recalls Littlefield. “I said to her, ‘Do you sleep at all?’ She said, ‘Well, I had a weekend here.’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but you could go to the gym, maybe out to dinner — I’ve been on location before. I also eat.’ She was quiet, and even though it was over the phone, I could feel her smiling, and she said, ‘This is really important to me.’ “

Some 300 emails and nearly as many conference calls followed before the trio first met face-to-face on the Toronto set in the summer of 2016. In that time, Moss also had weighed in on directors — recommending Reed Morano, with whom she’d worked on the 2015 film Meadowland, to helm the first three episodes — as well as on casting, marketing and even wardrobe. At one point, she had costume designer Ane Crabtree send her swatches of the handmaids’ robes so that she could chime in on the autumn-red hue. “I may have taken it just a little bit too far,” she laughs. (Her self-deprecating charm notwithstanding, it’s clear Moss has the instincts and the eye of a producer, which she is bringing to bear on a slew of other projects. More on that later.)

What no one involved in The Handmaid’s Tale could have predicted while filming last fall was just how relevant the drama would become in Trump’s America. Launched three months into his presidency, the series hinges on plot points — right down to the all-female street protests — that mirror the real-world news cycle with unsettling frequency. The handmaids’ robes and bonnets have become the de facto uniform for women’s rights activists, and references to the Hulu drama seem to be fueling the feminist movement. “This show has prompted important conversations about women’s rights and autonomy,” Hillary Clinton told a crowd gathered at Planned Parenthood’s centennial celebration in May, referencing a particularly poignant scene in which one character says, “We didn’t look up from our phones until it was too late.”

Along the way, the series has put Hulu on the creative map in the same way Mad Men once did AMC, and Moss, whose unflinching performance has lapped up praise as “chilling” and “brilliant,” was catapulted into the unexpected role of spokesperson — with which she’s only now getting comfortable. “I guess I just didn’t know anyone gave a shit about what I had to say,” she says with the kind of wide smile you rarely see from her onscreen.

•••

Over a late lunch at a cafe on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, where Moss shares an apartment with her two cats, Lucy and Ethel, I wonder aloud how she handles the exceedingly dark world of Handmaid’s, rife with rape and physical abuse.

Moving a bed of lettuce leaves around her plate, she recalls how famously blunt French film star Isabelle Huppert responded (during a roundtable discussion for THR) to a question about whether rape scenes in particular can be more challenging to shake. “She was like, ‘Noooo.’ Like, ‘It’s my job, and I go and do my work and I go home.’ I was literally like, ‘Praise Jesus, she is my fuckin’ hero,’ ” says Moss, whose propensity for profanity can be jarring at times. “Some of the other actresses [at the table, including Natalie Portman and Amy Adams] probably wanted to answer like that, but sometimes you feel like you shouldn’t because you should take things seriously. But I just love that she is so fuckin’ French that she just was like, ‘Noooo,’ and that’s more of the camp that I subscribe to.”

It’s an approach to acting that Morano, 40, finds herself marveling at each time the pair is together on set. “Lizzie has this uncanny ability to transport herself, and it happens very quickly,” she says. “We’d be joking around, making fun of someone on the crew, and then two seconds later I’d have a camera on her and she’d be crying in a scene.”

Moss has felt comfortable pingponging between real life and make-believe, however grim it may be, for as long as she can remember. “Acting has always just been play for me,” she says, harkening back to her debut as Sandra Bullock’s 6-year-old daughter in a 1990 Jackie Collins miniseries. “All I remember is doing the scene where I find [Bullock’s] body in the pool,” she says. By 10, Moss was being snatched from her family in the Harvey Keitel movie Imaginary Crimes; parts in other disturbing flicks, including Girl, Interrupted, starring a young Angelina Jolie, followed. “So yeah,” she says, “I’ve never really done the lighter stuff, even as a fuckin’ kid.”

Initially, all of it was just a sideshow to her first love, ballet, which Moss studied at the School of American Ballet in New York and with Suzanne Farrell at the Kennedy Center in D.C. But having picked up some early lessons in discipline and hardship, she hung up her pointe shoes at 15 and by 17 found herself back in her native L.A., auditioning for a role on The West Wing before a fast-talking man who seemed particularly at ease with the material. “Later I found out that that was Aaron Sorkin,” she says of the series’ famed creator, adding in her own defense, “I didn’t know who the fuck anyone was.” Moss was cast as Zoey Bartlet, the president’s daughter, and over seven seasons on The West Wing earned a formative education in the power of good writing.

Upon its wrap, Moss jumped immediately to Mad Men as then-awkward secretary Peggy Olson. It wasn’t the simplest decision. Back then, AMC was known for airing crusty old movies, and her agents, since replaced, were trying to sell her on a forgettable indie casting at the same time. But Moss, who was struck by both the world and the script of Matthew Weiner’s series, was insistent: “I just kept saying, ‘Do not let Mad Men go.’ ” Over seven seasons, the drama about 1960s ad men (and women) helped usher in the golden age of television, with Moss’ character ascending the corporate ladder to become something of a feminist icon. The status still tickles her, she admits, as she searches her phone for her favorite Peggy memes. She finds one in which the Mad Men character, with shades on and a cigarette dangling from her lips, shares the screen with a bonneted Offred. “I fuckin’ love this,” she says with a giant smile.

The Mad Men cast became a de facto family for Moss, who’d been home-schooled during her early teen years by her mother, a harmonica player, and father, a music manager. Most of her 20s were spent on that downtown L.A. set; and given her dedication to ensuring everyone there was having a good time, often by way of competitive parlor games that Moss frequently would win, her fellow castmembers anointed her president of base camp. “I was like, ‘I’ll pay for the flowers,’ and they were like, ‘Done! You’re elected,’ ” she jokes. Her co-star Jon Hamm, base camp’s self-appointed sergeant-at-arms, recalls Moss being critical to the cast’s morale. “For a girl who has made her bones being a very heavy and very capable dramatic actress,” he says, “she has a wicked sense of humor, and she gives as good as she gets.��

During that time, Moss married — then quickly divorced — Saturday Night Live alum Fred Armisen. The tabloids attributed the relationship’s demise to Moss’ devotion to Scientology, a theory later dispelled by Armisen when he told Howard Stern that he was a “terrible husband” and then, on Marc Maron’s podcast, admitted that he struggled with “cheating and infidelity.” At one point, Moss chimed in, too, telling the New York Post, “The greatest impersonation [Armisen] does is that of a normal person.” While she learned quickly that “if you don’t want people talking about stuff, don’t talk about it yourself,” she can acknowledge it was a good line, adding with a chuckle: “I was holding on to that one for a while.”

Though the Armisen mentions figure less prominently in her recent round of press coverage, no profile of Moss is complete without reference to Scientology, which she was reportedly born into via her parents. New York magazine once called her affiliation with the church “the strange, odd fact of her biography, the thing that does not belong in her regular-chick story,” and sites like Jezebel have argued that it’s relevant that “the star of The Handmaid’s Tale belongs to a secretive, allegedly oppressive religion.” Moss has come to expect the line of questioning, even if she consistently declines to respond. “It doesn’t surprise me [that it’s always mentioned] because I think if there was anything unusual, it would be there [in a piece about me],” she says with a shrug. “So when it was my marriage and I was going through that, it was that. If something else happened to me, it would be that. And I [understand the interest], I’m happy to read about the thing that I don’t know anything about, too.”

She tucks her shoulder-length blond hair behind her ears, and continues, now with that smile reemerging: “There’s just not a lot else to explore here. I mean, my cat has asthma. It’s something that we’re dealing with: medicine twice a day and she gets a little inhaler. You want to talk about that?”

•••

You don’t need to spend much time with Moss to see that she still has reservations about her own soaring profile and the attention that comes with it.

She talks about stars as though she isn’t one and describes her life, though it includes such things as stylists on her payroll, as devoid of any glamour. One of the last times she can remember going out at night, she says, was Nov. 8, and that was only because she expected the first female president to be elected that evening. (See sidebar on page 64.) Any free time she does have these days is spent in front of the TV (Veep and This Is Us are current staples) or out to eat with her mom, Linda, who lives a couple of blocks away, and her small circle of friends, all of whom she has known for more than a decade and many of whom she has worked with at some point during her career.

“If Lizzie had her druthers, she’d probably stay in bed all day,” says her best friend, Susan “Goldie” Goldberg, a former AMC exec who met Moss on the pilot of Mad Men. Though the two text often and share a “borderline obsession” with Disneyland, there are a handful of subjects on which they don’t see eye to eye. “Lizzie’s a diehard Chicago Cubs fan, and I’m a longtime Mets fan, so we agree not to talk about that,” says Goldberg, now an exec at Annapurna. “Or I love hiking in L.A., and Lizzie dismisses the whole notion of hikes, making fun of me and my ‘urban walks,’ as she calls them.” Other Moss favorites: Central Park, sushi and a decent Moscow Mule.

Moss is equally skilled at downplaying her professional accomplishments. Ask about her first visit to the Cannes Film Festival in May, when her indie The Square, a satire of the art world, won the Palme d’Or and her upcoming season of Top of the Lake earned rapturous reviews, and she tries to refocus the conversation on the surrealness of the festival. (“It’s like a French Fellini movie,” she says. “Everyone’s walking around in tuxedos with people taking pictures of them, and you’re like, ‘Who the hell are these people?’ “) After a fair amount of prodding, she finally accepts that her recent track record is noteworthy. “Yeah,” she allows, “I recognize that I seem to be on a streak of finding really good stuff and people liking it.”

Looking ahead, that “stuff” will include many projects that she’ll be intimately involved in from the start — such as Fever, the story of Typhoid Mary, which she acquired the rights to and is starring in and producing with one of her mentors, Annapurna’s Sue Naegle, for BBC America. She has been busy meeting with other female producers, too, including Girls‘ Jenni Konner, who calls Moss “our generation’s Meryl Streep,” about potential collaborations; and she’s in the process of setting up a production company with two other women, citing actress turned prolific producer Reese Witherspoon as an inspiration. Though female-led projects will almost certainly be her bailiwick, she’ll continue partnering with liberal-minded men, too, including filmmaker Alex Ross Perry, with whom she already has done two films. The pair is quietly prepping a third, for which Moss reveals she’ll play the lead of a female rock group who’s also an alcoholic, drug-addicted mother. “Come on,” she jokes, “she couldn’t just be a rock star.”

Like Ross Perry, most who have teamed with Moss try to do so again. Campion wasn’t interested in returning to Top of the Lake for a second installment unless she knew Moss was on board. She proposed the idea on a coaster that she slipped under Moss’ hotel room door when they were both in L.A. for the Emmys. “An actor like her is often relegated to sidekicks, characters and best friends, but beginning with Top of the Lake, Lizzie proved she could be a lead — that she had the charisma and gravitas to pull it off,” says Campion, who adds that she’s accessible as an actress and humble as a human in a way that so many are not.

Weiner, her former Mad Men boss, has been busy writing his Amazon anthology series, about descendants of the Romanov family, and while he hasn’t begun casting, he has said publicly that he’d like to have past castmembers like Moss drop in. Though she has yet to have that conversation with him, she says she’d “love to do it.” Her current boss Miller says he can’t fathom doing another project without Moss by his side. Sure, he has been blown away by her talent onscreen (“She’s a miracle to watch,” he says), but it’s her contributions as a producer on Handmaid’s that he hadn’t anticipated valuing so much. “Lizzie brings something that you don’t normally get from producers, and once you get it, you never want to not have it,” he explains. “Someone who’s an expert on actors. A lot of the work that she did the first season was just managing this cast of players and getting a great performance out of all of them.”

Of course, that doesn’t mean it has always been smooth with Moss at the helm. She famously put her foot in her mouth when promoting the series at the Tribeca Film Festival in April. When asked whether the show’s feminist themes drew her to the project, she responded, “Honestly, for me, it’s not a feminist story. It’s a human story because women’s rights are human rights. … I never intended to play Offred as a feminist.” Within minutes, the Twitter mob had pounced, and the media began blasting her “striking and somewhat baffling” reluctance to associate with the feminist movement. The experience proved a wake-up call for Moss. “I was asked a question about my character, and I was thinking about my character and about the TV show,” she says, “not that I was speaking for feminists.”

In the months since, she has warmed up to her new platform, even if it can still leave her with a pit in her stomach. “If you’re spending a year on something and you’re thinking about it, you’re reading a book over and over and you’re having to do these scenes, it sinks in, this idea of like, what happens if we don’t say anything or what happens if I don’t speak up?” she says. She has started donating to both the ACLU and Planned Parenthood and has found ways to incorporate the organizations’ pins and ribbons into her red carpet looks and her Instagram feed for her quarter-million followers to see.

After the lunch bill has been paid, I ask whether she worries about alienating the part of her audience that might not feel the same way she does on these issues. Her response is immediate and emphatic: “I’m such a staunch believer in women’s rights, I don’t really give a shit about anybody who isn’t. It’s like, I don’t need them to watch the show. At a certain point, things are more important than your job.” Which is why when you see Moss back on the red carpet at the Emmys in September, you can expect some kind of political statement. “There will probably be a pin or a ribbon involved,” she says, giggling as her mind wanders. “Or maybe I’ll just wear a giant ACLU ribbon and a really good spray tan.”

This story first appeared in the July 19 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.