#the police officer last night was surprisingly very friendly and even made me laugh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gravemations · 2 months

Text

The Northwood Documents: Cold Reports chapter 3 PT2

You haven't done one of these in years but this is the best time to do it when you're having weird dreams, even if they are dreams.

You decided to get up and get your uniform on as you make breakfast, bacon and eggs is always a good option.

As you clean up your plate and grab your keys and get into your car to get to the local police office, the building from the outside looks old with a red brick exterior and wood banisters but walking inside it was surprisingly modern.

You walk up to the desk and gain the attention of the person there, they were an officer as well. They were an older man probably late 40s early 50s definitely balding but hiding it under his hat.

The man looks up from the computer as he spots you walking in.

”You must be Officer Olivia Hills from the Portland Department, I am Officer Stanton. Glad you could make it safely.” Stanton said with his gruff but friendly voice.

Olivia stood there for a second before responding to the man still thinking of what happened last night.

”Oh yes, that would be me.” Hills responded, reaching out a hand to the man behind the desk.

The man took her hand and gave her a warm handshake, as he caught his breath.

”Sorry things have been very ruff lately, that is why you're here.” The man exclaimed to Olivia.

”You see things here in Northwood have not been going well for years now, numbers of cold cases that go nowhere, violent deaths and a killer we haven't been able to catch. You see you're here cause one of our own was found dead 2 weeks ago and we need some extra help with the investigation and you had a good record with the portland department.” The man suddenly looks at his hands as he holds a photo of the deceased officer.

Olivia stands still as the man explains the woes of this small town as she takes mental notes on this on everything that Stanton said.

”I'll help out as much as I can around here and I hope to be able to find this killer that has been haunting this town!” Olivia exclaimed with a furious passion.

The older man laughed with joy at the determination that Olivia had for a town she had only lived in for a day.

” It's good to have a new Officer onboard to bring back inspiration to this old police station.Any way your office is down the hall to the left 3 doors down” Stanton had pointed down the right hall.

Olivia smiled and thanked Stanton for the talk, She entered her new office. She could tell that the old office belonged to the past Officer due to flowers still being on the desk with a photo of the man. Could not have been much older then she was.

She decided to move the monument to a side desk in the corner and set up all of her notes and stationary as she turns on the computer and decides to look up if there were any files on this Jayden Maverick.

After looking through a number of files she had found Jayden records, she spent a good hour looking at it. Sadly the information found was not actually a lot which was disappointing. Most of it had been corrupted over time and a lot of the information on the file was conflicting about them. Almost like the universe itself didn't want her to know about them.

From family to even their gender and occupation, it was either unreadable or just contradicting itself constantly, but sadly there was one thing about them that wasn't corrupted. A death report, their body was discovered at the nature reserve and they were pronounced dead at the scene back in 1997 on October 31 at 3:00 AM found by a Parkranger after hearing distant screaming and finding their body heavily scarred and their forearms removed. Clear evidence of a murder but the case ran cold and has been sitting here with other similar cases.

Olivia was saddened with this information, she felt awful even if she never actually met Jayden. But this didn't dissuade her from trying to find more about them; this just made her even more wanted to find out what happened to them and anyone else who had been affected.

After work and getting out of her uniform Olivia decided to go into town and ask people about if they knew anything about Jayden Maverick, most people she talked to about them couldn't even recall the person ever lived here. Others who did said that they were insane and mentally ill. That they were a delusional trouble maker back in the day.

This sentiment was carried most strongly by the town news anchor Ather Conners, the man from the news report that Jayden pulled a clip from and put in his video.

This old man went on a 30 minute rant about how that kid was an annoyance and was a danger to the town back in the day. Even though his criminal record was only theirs, they interrupted live reports with his theories and the accidental trespassing.

Note to say she didn't like Ather Conners, he was a bitter old man that had no tolerance for anything. She could see that Jayden probably did need help but that doesn't mean that you can smear the name of a kid long past his tragic death.

Most of the sidewalk interviews were not useful to Olivia but an interesting detail from a few people said that Jayden in the last week of their life a few remember them being very paranoid more than usual and become a recluse. This was something she would write down for latter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She decided to go home and collect all the info she had that she gathered, from the information she found that the killers first attacked around early June of 1997 with its first killings happening in September. The first recorded murder of the killer being Molly and Roman Cornwell, both of them were found dead in the forest with deep scarring and missing limbs.

A common sign of this Northwood Killer is he doesn't just go for the kill, he will often go for more drawn out deaths. Making non lethal cuts and bruises and then removing limbs letting their victims die from blood loss.

She has discovered that 40% of its victims do get away from the first attack just for them to either die a week later or be institutionalized due to them going insane and becoming a threat to themselves and others afterwards.(She will try to get into contact with those who have had contact with it that are still alive)

She had spent a whole week On this note map and worked on the death of the officer. That cause happened to be running cold due to the lack of information they could find.

Footprints disappearing out of nowhere, misinformation from different sources, data corruption and it just seems that people are just forgetting about his existence entirely.

She was not doing better. It's been a week since she started looking into this case and her moving here . notes would go missing on her noteboard, reading becomes harder every day and her house just doesn't feel safe; it feels like she is always being watched now.

She had not had any more word dreams like she had on her first night, that didn't comfort her though. While she was in thought she looked down and remembered the tapes. There were still more of them, she turned to them and picked out the next tape to put it into the tape player on her CRT as the screen turned on.

”Mite as well as watch it to get this feeling off my mind.”

#The Northwood Documents #horror #writing #Ahhhhhhhhh why I write sooo much #part 2 baby

0 notes

spencersawkward · 4 years

Text

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 4

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

there's a place between the bank of a river and the actual water where the soil is soft. it's more like silt, leftover grains of earth not yet swept away. they're extremely delicate, made up of minerals and rock.

I love the earth. I love feeling it under my feet and the way it gives into my fingertips when they push through the surface. I love when I can sense the twisted roots of every plant. they reach for moisture, thin tendrils. there's something very pure about all of it.

which is why seeing the faceless corpse of a woman splayed out on the banks causes my stomach to wrench.

I guess it isn't the only reason, but it certainly doesn't help.

"the edges of these cuts are smooth, not torn," Rossi straightens up from his spot by her body. I don't know how he can get so close. when he waits for me to say something, my lips purse.

"so he must have used a sharp instrument to remove her face." I cross my arms over my chest. the water in her lungs makes me wonder how much pain she was in, how much it hurts to drown. unimaginable.

the slightly blue undertones to her skin imprint themselves in my mind, and my only thought is that I'm glad her eyes aren't open; I get nauseous when they are. instead of dwelling on the gaunt nature of her body, I speak to one of the crime scene experts about the time of death. his voice is barely audible over the rush of water against stones.

we spend about half an hour exploring the site, although something about this place in particular puts me off. I keep edging towards the sides of the river.

"we should meet Aaron back at the station. ready to go, kiddo?" Rossi catches my attention, beginning to make the short hike up the incline. he walks carefully to avoid sullying what I'm sure are expensive shoes, his face contorted with mild disgust. the nickname makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"sure." I turn to scramble behind him, my gaze catching on the scene. jewel-toned leaves heavy with rain, tipping to spill weighted drops in a slow, drowsy fall. and it's now filled with police officers and crime scene experts hauling this poor woman's body to somewhere not so public.

what a world.

we get in the car and Rossi turns the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. I sit with my hands folded neatly in my lap; I'm rigid, though grateful, when working with Rossi. it's something I still need to get used to.

"you okay, there?" he asks as we turn out into the street. my eyes turn away from the locust swarm of cop cars that are parked by the crime scene and I take a deep breath.

"yes, why?"

"you're not usually this quiet."

"really?" I deflect. I've never been particularly chatty at times like this. my mind usually gets sucked into what I'm seeing, memorizing every detail against my will for replay later that night.

"I'm a profiler, too, Clea. and a much more seasoned one than you," he glances my way with raised eyebrows. his features are softer than the photos I've seen before this. even the lecture I attended painted him in a different light. I forget how old he is. but his eyes return to the road while he sighs. "I know when something is wrong."

"nothing in particular," I shift in my seat a little. although I'm sure he gives great advice, I'm not ready to share with anyone the dreams that I've been having. "just still getting settled in, I think."

he must notice that I'm lying; I've never been quite good at it, even in front of non-profilers. but Rossi senses the discomfort that I'm trying to hide and nods.

"well, if it helps, I'm going to be having a wine tasting at my mansion once we get back to Quantico. the whole team is invited."

my words get knotted up in my throat as I think on this. "wine tasting?"

"yes. I've got plenty to spare." there's a slight archness to his tone. I smile.

"to be honest, I really don't think I've got the skill set for that," my limbs relax a little. "my experience is pretty limited."

"and you think the others know a lot?" he waves his hand dismissively. we both laugh.

"okay, then." I nod. "thanks, Rossi."

"Prego!" the sudden Italian interjection makes me roll my eyes playfully.

...

our case doesn't take nearly as much time as I expected. with the unsub's narcissism and general lack of intelligence, we catch him rather quickly and are home before the end of the week. there's a collective gratitude for this fact on the plane ride home which takes the form of lively card games and plenty of friendly trash-talking. we also enthusiastically discuss getting together in the evening.

the wine-tasting event that has been so praised by the team turns out to really be just an excuse for everyone to get drunk while draining Rossi's liquor supply. I've had about three different types of alcohol and, beyond the color, I have no idea what kind.

Penelope is pouring more chardonnay in her glass when she offers some to me. I nod, watch the lovely liquid fill up.

"I'd like to make a toast." Rossi announces, much to the feigned chagrin of Prentiss and Hotch. they roll their eyes while the Italian raises a scotch glass into the air. we're in the kitchen, standing around the counter while bantering about our personal lives and past cases.

"keep it short, Dave. I have to head out, soon." Hotch reminds. Rossi gives him a look, but then turns his eyes to me with a paternal affection.

"to Clea," he says, the rest of the team breaking into smiles. "and her hopefully very long career on the team-- if she can stand us."

there's a chuckle that rolls through the group, but then we all clink glasses. even Reid, who has been downing sparkling cider at an alarming rate, taps his flute against mine. I smile at him, at everyone who is now flooding me with questions. I get a happy, bubbly feeling while I drink. Penelope drops her head on my shoulder and mumbles something that I can't quite understand. JJ talks to Spencer about something, his eyes drifting between the contents of his cup and the clock on the wall. he's distracted by something.

"you okay there?" Emily leans against the counter next to me. she's following my line of sight until it lands on JJ and the boy genius. I nod.

"yeah. just thinking."

"about?"

"how it would feel to be this rich." I send her a smirk. she snorts.

"I would love to know."

"how often do you guys have these things?" I peer around at the guests. everyone seems to be accustomed to the behemoth household that Rossi keeps, except for me. and all of it is so clean, too.

"here? only a few times a year. Rossi doesn't like having people over." she says the last part with a laugh, nursing her drink. I cross my arms.

"fair enough."

"I think people are gonna be heading home, soon, though." she checks her watch. I remember how almost everyone here is bound somehow to someone else, a family or significant other or someone who misses them. I'm not tired at all.

"what about you?"

"I have date night plans with Sergio." she grins.

"I didn't know you have a boyfriend." I raise my eyebrows at this knowledge. Emily seems like the type of person to play the field; her settling down with one person is surprising by itself.

"Sergio is my cat," she tells me. "much more cleanly."

"even better." I laugh. we discuss the merits of owning a pet over dating people until JJ decides that she needs to get back to her family. Hotch is heading out, too, and the steady departure stream of guests begins to form. it's not very late and I'd much rather do something else than go home and watch TV, so I survey the room.

"hey, Reid." I find myself standing beside him while he puts on his coat. it's got elbow patches and there's a scarf that he wraps around his neck to accompany it. he peeks at me curiously.

"yes?"

"would you wanna get a coffee or something?" I grab my jacket off the hanger. before he can say no and shy away from my offer, I explain. "I'm just not in the mood to get home right now."

"uh," his eyes dart down to his shoes, then back up at me. "sure. yeah, that would be... fun."

"awesome." I beam. ever since we hung out in that museum in Boston, I've been thinking about how to get to Spencer. maybe it's just because he's been the slowest to warm up to me, but I'm getting more and more curious about him. that moment when he did something playful-- there has to be more of that. and we obviously have some things in common. it might be nice to have a friend like that, someone with whom I can go to art exhibits.

we all thank Rossi for a lovely evening and I'm about to ask if Spencer wants to Uber somewhere when he starts walking purposefully toward a gorgeous yellow car. it's old-- like, 1950's refurbished, old-- and well cared for.

"whoa." I say as he opens the passenger side door for me in a surprisingly courteous move. I slide inside and breathe in the delicious scent of leather and something crisp and sharp. I wait until he gets in on the other side to ask my questions. "is this yours?"

"yes, actually. I got it about a year ago and I don't drive it very often." he runs slender fingers over the wheel, touching it with a quiet admiration. I turn to him in the dark, the glow from his own headlights casting pale shadows over his face as he starts the thing up. it rumbles to life in a charming, old-timey way.

the sounds of the engine defuse the silence between us as we drive into the city. Spencer almost forgets I'm there, the muscles in his wrists and arms relaxing as he handles the steering wheel. I, on the other hand, am painfully aware of his presence.

every time we make a turn, every time his lips part, I start to think he's going to say something. but he never does, and there appears to be no inclination whatsoever. I wonder if I should ask him some random question to get him rambling, but the nervous energy he usually radiates has softened to something more muted.

it's entertaining when he speaks. I think it's also a guard against vulnerability; at least, that's why I speak so much when I'm anxious. I take his silence as a compliment.

finally, he manages to maneuver his way into a parking spot. I glance around the street, not recognizing the place.

"what is this?" I ask curiously. his hand wraps around the stick shift and parks, turns off the vehicle.

"I come here on the weekends." he glances briefly at me before climbing out of the car. I get out and watch him come around to my side. he's only wearing a cardigan over his button-up, which looks surprisingly cozy.

"so, what kind do you usually get?" I ask. we start to walk down the sidewalk, passing streetlamps and small individual trees that are just beginning to go barren with autumn. the restaurants around here are still full of people.

"coffee? black, usually."

"with five or six sugars." I recall, and he turns to me. there's a dimple in his cheek that tells me he's amused by my memory.

"what about you?"

"I like an iced caramel macchiato, or just a latte." I muse. he pulls open the door to a cute corner place with a steaming mug on the logo. it must be exclusive to the neighborhood.

inside, bookshelves are crammed with used titles and people getting a late-night caffeine fix. most of them are glued to laptop screens or flipping through books. it smells warm and delicious.

"do you know what you want?" he asks, drawing me from my observations. I realize that I've been looking everywhere but at the actual menu. it's drawn in curvy chalk.

"yes." I step forward and the barista behind the register smiles at me. I order my favorite drink and am about to ask my co-worker what he wants, but Spencer cuts me off by ordering and then paying for me. I raise my eyebrows as he hands over the crumpled dollar bills, pleasantly surprised.

when we go to wait for our drinks, he shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't say anything.

"that's not fair." I frown.

"what's not fair?" his voice is distracted.

"I invited you-- I should have paid for both of us."

"it's okay." he gives me a tight-lipped smile. I find myself taking a step close and poking his arm.

"you're so polite."

"thank you." he doesn't know what to do with this information and it partly amuses me.

"so, I know you're from Nevada, but that's pretty much all of my Spencer Reid knowledge." I oh-so-gracefully segue into the topic. our coffees show up on the counter and we grab them before finding an empty table towards the back of the shop. it's in both of our first instincts to seek out the corner spots.

"well, I--" he starts, but then I remember something else.

"and I'm fully aware of your IQ and plethora of degrees, so don't give me that trivia information." I tease. he's looking down at the lid of his coffee. his eyelids are the color of something slightly bruised, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

"what else is there to know?"

"everything." I grin, my elbows resting on the tabletop. it's a small surface, so much so that even leaning forward a little bit gives off an air of intimacy that makes me hesitant. "we're spending a lot of time together, so you might as well tell me about you."

"I'm really not very interesting." it's an easy way to dodge questions and I don't want to push him too hard or scare him away. I just want to be friends, and that can be kind of hard when I don't know the first thing about him.

"I'll start then, if you'd like." I propose with a smirk. he nods and swallows, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing.

"well, I was born in Atlanta, but I grew up in Montana. my family still lives there, though. I'm a big fan of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, I'm a scorpio sun, and I hate mushrooms." I fight a smile as I list random facts about myself in an attempt to get him to relax. I'm not hoping for him to divulge his biggest life traumas; there's no pressure.

it works. his high cheekbones poke out a little as he hides a smile behind his drink. my eyebrow quirks at his reaction.

"okay, now you have to go!" I prod. he puts his coffee down, though he fidgets with the sleeve on the cup.

"I guess I'm technically a Scorpio, too." he concedes.

"what? no." I almost laugh at the prospect. at first take, he doesn't really align.

"yes."

"what's your moon sign?" I narrow my eyes.

"I'm not sure, actually." this seems to frustrate him almost as much as it surprises me.

"you'll need to find that out if you want to understand your chart better." I shrug, leaning back in my seat. he fixes his gaze on my face as he tries to read the seriousness of my words. I'm only partly joking.

"what's your problem with mushrooms?" he asks instead, prompting my eyes to widen.

"don't get me started!" this time, I lean my elbows on the table. "I just don't like the thought of eating a fungus. and the texture--"

"what about milk, though?" he asks suddenly. I pause, mouth still open as I think on this.

"what about it?"

"is it weird to you that people drink cow milk in the same way that it's weird to eat fungi?"

"I suppose not." my brows draw together.

"lots of things humans do are 'weird'." he puts the word in air-quotes and it brings a smile to my lips.

"you're opinionated, aren't you?" I tilt my head a bit. this side of Spencer is new to me.

"mushrooms are rich in various nutrients and have been consistently used across time and cultures for medicinal purposes-- not to mention the burgeoning therapy treatments now in development with micro-dosing psilocybin." he replies. I giggle.

"big on shrooms?"

"what? no, I--" he gets a little flustered, shifting his sitting position and getting a rosy tint to his cheeks.

"I'm just joking, Reid." I set my palm flat against the table, something of a truce between us. he runs a hand through his hair. I move on. "I think the psilocybin research is actually really fascinating."

"isn't it?" Spencer's features appear somewhat ghostly under the café lights. he's got a sort of unusual face, although that isn't a bad thing at all. it's interesting.

he begins to talk about depression treatments that are being developed from shrooms, gesticulating wildly. his watch glints on his sleeve as he speaks. I notice the pretty arch of his eyebrows and the way he speaks through a grin. his voice has got a soothing quality to it, each word an individually selected puzzle piece. it's clear, low, and a bit filled with a childlike passion.

I rest my chin on my palm as he rambles, occasionally drinking my coffee and adding in my own thoughts. I think that Spencer could go for days if I let him, that he could talk enough to fill the pages of those books on the wall.

I'm not sure how long we sit in the café-- it could be an hour or three. we jump from medicine to philosophy to his obsession with Medieval literature. this, being something I know almost nothing about, intrigues me.

"my mom was actually a professor of it, so she read a lot of those books to me as a kid." he tells me, not even stumbling over the word was. either she died when he was young or she isn't dead at all-- there is no loss in the weight of this fact. I don't ask about it, but I pocket the piece away for later.

"explains the chivalry." I joke. he frowns.

"sorry?"

"your manners."

"oh," he blushes slightly. "she's always romanticized it, I think."

the change in tense tells me she must not have passed. I run my fingertip over the rim of my drink.

"does she live back in Vegas?" I hope it isn't too invasive.

"yeah, she does," his eyes flit between the tabletop and my face. "she, um, lives in a sanitarium."

his willingness to confide this almost takes me visibly aback. he seemed so hesitant to share personal details earlier this evening; something in my chest warms.

"oh," my voice is thick in my throat. I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"it's fine." it's not, but I get not wanting to dive into it.

my intentions really weren't to prod at something that obviously is close to his heart, so I sit a bit straighter in my seat and look around the shop. we're the last people here, the only other sounds from the two baristas and the whir of machinery.

"are you-- do you wanna head out?" I ask. part of me feels no desire to leave. we probably should. it's getting late and I never know how much sleep I'm going to get. the hours for this job aren't steady by any definition of the word.

"sure."

when my head turns back from peering around the café, he's staring at me. I smile, stand up and push my chair in. he follows, both of us throwing our empty cups away before heading out.

it's much colder. a slight shudder runs through my body as we step into the night. involuntary, but Spencer falters a moment on the pavement.

"uh," he clumsily shrugs off his cardigan. "sorry." hands the thing to me.

my cheeks flush in surprise. his awkwardness is contagious, apparently.

nevertheless, I wrap the thing around my shoulders and feel a little better. it's warm. we keep walking in silence back to the car, my head now filling with thoughts that I can't quite sift through.

he's a very nice boy. I start to feel grateful that my craving for caffeine has given me the opportunity to get to know him better. when I glance at him for a second, his head ducking beneath a low-hanging branch of one of the sidewalk trees, he catches me and offers a ghost of a smile.

baby spencer is such a sub I literally can't--

#spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #dr. reid #criminal minds #mgg #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #friends to lovers #BAU #slow burn

40 notes · View notes

slashhinginghasher · 4 years

Text

Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 4: Half A Ghost

Summary: When things don’t go to plan, you change the plan.

AKA a nice helping of backstory with a side order of Jesse being a horny freak.

This story is on Ao3!

None of this was going the way he’d planned.

Granted, the plan was fairly light on details - most of which revolved around turning the bitch into a human Picasso - but it was still a plan, god damn it, and none of those details involved him sulking in his office and pretending the ache in his balls was just from her well-placed kick (lucky hit) and not the lingering taste of her blood in his mouth. For someone who was all skin and bones, she was surprisingly strong. Put a little meat on her and she’d probably be a tiny terror. And despite how scrawny she was, he had to admit she’d looked positively fucking edible like that, all pink-flushed and trembling (even if it was just heatstroke). Small wonder he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her--

Fuck.

There were already rumors floating around the organization that he was going soft, thanks to that cocksucker Preston. Some quick knife work had easily convinced the man to drop the subject, but whispers had a way of... lingering. The organization was still recovering from the Miami debacle a couple years back. It had taken more money than he’d liked to make that particular police investigation disappear.. Between the amnesiac hooker melting his face off and Veronica blowing her brains out in FBI custody, the last thing he needed was to be seen slavering over yet another piggy like a horny teenager.

Fucking Veronica.

She was the last time he’d taken work home with him. The mind games had been fun at first, and having clean pussy on demand was a definite plus. But he’d grown tired of playing at domesticity, of making blatantly false promises (of course I don’t touch the other girls, baby, only you). Boredom led to stupid choices. A kid? Jesse was a man of many talents, but fatherhood was not one of them, especially with a simpering little ex-piggy as the mother. Veronica’s suicide was probably the only good thing to come out of that mess.

But he hadn’t thought of Veronica in over a year, and the fact that he was now just served to piss him off even further. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. He had half a mind to storm back down to the basement and snap the bitch’s skinny neck, just to be done with all of it. He was almost out the door when his computer chimed with an email notification.

From: [email protected] Subject: Found her Attachment: marpol.zip

And just like that, boiling rage gave way to an intense, almost electric curiosity. After the initial encounter, he’d sent a picture of the girl to his team with orders to dig up everything they could about her. Now, it seemed, they’d hit pay-dirt. With a slight quiver of anticipation, Jesse eased himself into his leather desk chair and opened the email.

Name: Marena Polunochnaya Age: 23 (alleged) DOB: Unknown Place of birth: Unknown (native Russian speaker) Relatives: Unknown Education: Unknown

What the fuck? That was it? Jesse snarled, ready to throw the laptop across the room and put A. Gallagher’s head on a pike. He clicked open the attachment with a little more force than necessary and was surprised when dozens of files, arranged chronologically, appeared on the screen. The earliest file (a brief police report about an altercation outside a south Miami bar) was dated from four years ago. Before that, nothing.

Little miss Marena Polunochnaya, it seemed, was half a ghost.

And the other half was a little hellion, he thought, scrolling through what seemed like an inordinate number of police reports. Theft, both petty and vehicular, vandalism, street racing, underage drinking, trespassing, assault and battery, minor arson, justifiable homicide…

Wait, what?!

He couldn’t open the file fast enough. Apparently, the girl had been the victim of an attempted mugging three years prior. According to the court reports, she had killed the mugger in self-defense, sustaining a stab wound in the process. And there was video footage: a security camera outside a club caught the entire thing.

Click.

The footage was surprisingly high-quality for a security cam, although the low light still made the picture a little grainy. A familiar little dark-haired figure walked into the alley and was grabbed by a larger figure with a bandana wrapped around the lower half of its face. The mugger pinned the girl to the wall with his forearm and pulled out a knife. There was no sound, but Jesse didn’t need dialogue to enjoy the show. The girl was making placating gestures with her hands, likely promising cooperation. The idiot eased his hold on her and was immediately gifted with a frankly beautiful left hook. His knife hand lashed out, he staggered back, and the girl was doubled over with the knife buried in her rib cage. By body language, the mugger seemed shocked; he probably hadn’t been expecting a fight or planning on actually using the knife for more than intimidation. The girl stumbled forward a step, hand held out as though pleading for help.

And then.

God.

She pulled the knife out of her chest and slammed it home in the mugger’s throat, ripping it open in a glorious arc of arterial spray. The mugger dropped, convulsed a couple times, and was still. The girl leaned heavily against the wall and pressed a hand against the growing dark patch on her side, presumably staying there until the cops arrived on the scene.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

If he hadn’t been hard before (he had been), he sure as fuck was now. Jesse watched the video again. Again. Again. He dragged a hand over his growing grin, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness of his slacks. He was only about a quarter of the way through the files, and curiosity won out over arousal. He kept scrolling.

After the failed mugging, the girl was admitted to some do-gooder program for “at-risk repeat offenders” under the sponsorship and care of one Dr. Linda Malloy. The program’s website sported pictures of gleaming dormitories and spacious gardens, along with promises of education, vocational training, and therapy for “reintegration into society.” The whole thing was disgustingly optimistic and upbeat, and Jesse almost laughed at the thought of the scraggly wildcat in his basement sitting in one of those plush offices.

Dr. Linda Malloy kept extensive notes. Two and a half years’ worth, to be exact. Many of them were dense with psychobabble and medical jargon that Jesse didn’t have the patience to decipher, so he skimmed them, letting his attention fall on whatever caught his eye.

“...shows clear signs of PTSD - insomnia, night terrors, mistrust of authority, violent reactions to unexpected or unwanted physical contact, frequent dissociative states - but refuses to share any information about the events which may have caused her condition…”

“...had to be sedated after refusing to sleep for four days straight and threatening a staff member with dismemberment…”

“...locked herself in the maintenance shed and was found trying to sharpen her teeth with a screwdriver and a metal file…”

“...continues to meet all overtures of friendliness with aggression or by resolutely ignoring the other party…”

“...refused to speak English the entire session. Later translation shows she was parroting my questions back to me in Russian….”

“...did not move, speak, or make eye contact for the entire session…”

“...regarding her habit of ripping pages out of her journal and burning them after writing on them. I asked her about it one day, and she said thoughts cannot return once they’ve been turned to ash. I asked how she had discovered that, and she simply replied ‘Hana.’ When I asked her who Hana was, her eyes widened, as though she had made a mistake, before her entire manner turned cold and she walked away….”

“...had to lock her in her room at night to keep her from breaking into and sleeping in the walk-in freezer…”

Jesse had never been one for novels - couldn’t see the point in spending hours reading about fake shit - but he could’ve read this shit all day. Amazing how so much fucked-upness could fit into one tiny person. He wondered how she’d ever conned her way into getting discharged until he read a little further and saw that funding for the program had been cut, forcing the “residents” out into the world despite the many protests of the staff.

Information was light after that. She paid for a shitty studio apartment with cash that she must’ve gotten from an under-the-table job. Her run-ins with the police were few and far in between. Jesse didn’t blame her for keeping a low profile after escaping Mayberry Asylum. He wouldn’t want to be stuck in a hellhole like that either. (Of course, now she was stuck in his basement, which probably seemed like another hellhole to her. Oh well.) The final file was dated from three weeks ago.

It was a warrant for her arrest on charges of quadruple homicide.

Jesse inhaled so sharply he nearly choked on it. His eyes darted over the preliminary report. Girl seen entering a penthouse apartment with four men. Noise complaints from downstairs neighbors around 4 am. Police arrive on scene to find three corpses, one almost-corpse, and no girl. No one had seen her leave.

There were pictures. Jesse’s hands were practically shaking with excitement as he opened them.

The first corpse had been pushed down the stairs, his neck bent at a terrible angle and blood seeping from his crushed skull. The second had been stabbed repeatedly with a broken bottle until his face and throat looked like raw hamburger. The third was a mess of chemical burns. The coroner’s report said he’d been drowned in a bathtub full of cleaning chemicals. The fourth man had been bludgeoned with a wooden baseball bat, half the vertebrae in his neck and back shattered. He’d died in the hospital two days later.

Oh, someone has been very, very naughty.

The urge to cleave her little skull in two was rapidly being replaced by the urge to rail her until she forgot her own name. It probably wouldn’t take long, he mused. The name was bigger than the girl. He pulled up the video feed from the basement and was greeted with the sight of her retching miserably over the grate in the floor. Right. Head injury. Drugs. Dehydration. She probably wouldn’t survive the fucking she had coming to her in her current condition, and Jesse now had a very keen interest in keeping her alive. He sent a quick message to his medical team before reopening the footage of the failed mugging.

The best way to regain control of the situation, after all, was to admit that the situation had changed.

The relief he felt as he freed his aching cock was nearly as powerful as an orgasm. Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he was this hard. He ran his thumb over the head, letting out a shuddering breath as he gathered the precum beading on the tip. He began to pump the shaft in slow, firm strokes and let his imagination run wild.

He’d tie her down, of course. No way his devious little doll would remain still long enough for him to fully enjoy her. He’d trace his tongue over every goddamn scar on her body, over her hardened nipples and the sharp points of her hips and that handy little panic button carved into her neck. Then he’d turn his attention to her tight little pussy, keeping her on the edge until she was writhing and swearing and begging for it. Then, only then, he’d make her taste herself on his lips as he slid into her tight, wet heat, fucking her hard and fast until she screamed herself hoarse.

Jesse came with a silent groan and the first real smile he’d had since Princess Fuckin’ Gemstone obliterated his face.

Marena Polunochnaya.

He rolled the name over his tongue. It tasted like blood.

#jesse cromeans #chromeskull #jesse cromeans x ofc #chromeskull x ofc #laid to rest #here it is #11:30 pm on a wednesday right on schedule #my writing #marena polunochnaya

11 notes · View notes

docholligay · 7 years

Text

At the Beginning

Also, assuming I can finish this last fic for @keyofjetwolf (it will be finished before i visit, in any case) YOU WILL NEED THIS. This is how our pathfinder characters met. It’s very gay that the only way I can understand a roleplay character, is by ficcing them. I know.

“Guard, I can’t be in here,” Seth seemed surprisingly menacing, despite her height, “I am,” she lend her voice an otherwordly tone, “the CHOSEN.”

She had her eyes dance as if she were seeing something faraway, the odd color of them, like a paste jewel faded in the sun, lending to the illusion, and the guard seemed impressed for a moment, leaning toward the bars. Closer...closer….

Suddenly, there was a guffaw from behind her. “Hell, me too, now as you mention it,” There was the clacking of hooves behind her, and she looked over to see the very annoying white and brown leg of the centaur from the pub, “I’m the chosen one. And...you better let me out of here, before fate itself comes crashing down on you. Cosmos. All that.”

“Me too!” Came the call from the back of the cell. “I’m the chosen one!” Soon, there was a cacophony of claims, and the guard rolled his eyes, unimpressed, and smacked the bars with his stick, sauntering off toward the office.

“Excuse me,” Seth let out somewhere between a growl and a hiss, turning slowly toward her “The fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Oh for shit’s sake,” the centaur tossed her chestnut hair, “That’s the worst attempt I ever saw at--” She looked down at Seth, examined her face, and backed up a touch, “My god, you actually believe it. Well,” She tipped her hat, “been nice meeting you.”

“Oh, you throw a bottle at me, but I’m the crazy one.” Seth threw her arms up.

She whirled around, quicker than Seth would have assumed she was capable of in such a small space. “I didn’t throw a bottle at you, you got in the way of the bottle I was throwing, and that’s a difference,” she snorted and shook her head, “was it my fault you outright flung a red hot nail at my damn head?”

Seth rolled her eyes. “And here was me wondering why centaurs don’t come around the cities much.”

“Yeah, on account of they’re full of goddamn loons whose hair looks like sagebrush on a rough day.” She stamped her foot, frustrated.

Seth tried to think. She could get out of the cell itself. Hardly difficult, one man, one charm, one moment. It was escaping the city after that. There had to be a way, if not by force, which she never contained enough of for her liking, then by trickery.

A drunk man leaned over toward the centaur. “Shouldn’t you be in the stables?”

She bucked both her back legs into the wall, shaking dirt from the ceiling of the cell. “You want to die tonight, you little bitch?”

Actually, force wasn’t out of the question, now as Seth considered it. She strolled over, past where the man had wisely decided to cower in the corner and forget his observations on where centaurs belonged, and stood alongside the centaur.

“Listen, I don’t like you.”

“Take a goddamn number, pinky.”

“But,” She pointed up to her, “I think I can help you. And you can help me. We can help each other, you see.” She smiled in a way she thought was charming. Charm was not foreign to Seth, exactly, but there was a certain quality of effort to it, and she always wondered if today was the day her gift failed her.

“You gonna chosen me free?” She looked down skeptically.

“Listen, do you want help or not?” Seth put her hands on her hips. “I think I can get us free, and, as much as I hate it, you’re the least useless person in this cell. After that, we can both go our separate ways. Free.”

Kitty considered for a moment, and then gave a stiff nod. “What’d’you got?”

Seth smiled, and called for the guard.

____

There was a delight unmatched by very little, to Seth, as the delight at watching her magic sway over their eyes, and hearing them do her bidding.

It was very nearly matched by the way the centaur stared at the scene, as the guard led them to collect their belongings, not even flinching as Seth took her small dagger, and even handing the centaur her shoulder holster, which she clipped back across her body.

“You know there’s a whole mess of officers in the next room, short stuff.” She strapped her bag to herself, and put on her tan leather coat.

“Really??” Seth sang mockingly. “And here I was just bringing you along because you’re so friendly, and you smell so nice. See that back door?”

She gave a glance backward. “Yeah?”

“This is a human city, there’s no way it can stand up to you.” Seth looked at her. “Just…” she whinnied, and pawed at the air.

She scowled, the brim of her hat tipping over her eyes. “I’m not a horse.”

“Whatever, just--”

But before she could finish, the centaur had burst down the door, running out into the night, Seth barely behind her, suddenly regretting that she hadn’t come up with a reason for them to stay together, when she stopped and looked back at Seth.

“Your short little goddamn legs are gonna get us both caught up.” She knelt down. “Get on.”

Seth nodded as if this had been in her entire plan from the moment she stepped into the pub. “You know, it’s only right you’re my beast of burden since, you’re THE ENTIRE REASON I WENT TO JA--”

The cowgirl took off like a shot, one hand on her hat, the other at her gun, safe in its shoulder holster, barrelling down the streets, as the officers poured out behind them, screaming and shouting, pursuing on their own horses. Seth had read about riding before, and when the centaur had allowed her on her back, she had pictured herself elegantly astride her, hair flowing in the wind.

But the whole thing was so much faster than Seth had ever imagined, so much more abrupt, and Seth imagined that usually, when one rode a horse, you decided where they went. Riding a centaur was very different, she reflected, as her ride flew down the streets and cornered hard down alleyways, the police behind them firing arrows close enough that she could hear the whistle next to her ears.

“Use your magic! Just tell ‘em not to shoot us!” She called back to Seth, who bounced on her back, less graceful than either of them might have hoped.

Seth barely grabbed her belt before falling, just steadying herself. “It doesn’t work that way! ….usually.”

“What the hell use are you?!” She shot backwards, scattering them briefly, startling the horses with the thunderous sound, but they collected too quickly, and there was a gleam in the young man’s eye as he shot.

The arrow shot true, and Seth had a moment of wondering how she could tumble away, in the ensuing scuffle, the arrow firmly planted in the centaur’s hip. It was the perfect distraction. Then it flashed in her mind, the centaur’s hooves on cobbles as she turned around, the moment she wasted kneeling and letting Seth on her back. She didn’t understand why she had done it.

But Seth was not about to be undone in gratitude by a centaur.

She summoned up her magic, and focused on the arrow, willing it to slow, willing it to weaken, and by the time it hit the centaur’s hip, it glanced off, leaving only a thin red line instead of the open wound it should have been.

She felt the centaur’s eyes upon her, and then they both looked forward. A large barricade of barrels and crates were in front of them, coming nearly up to the centaur’s human shoulder.

Seth gave a sharp intake of breath. “Uh, question. Can you make that?”

“Great Mare willing!” She shouted into the air.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Seth braced herself and held on tighter to the back of her temporary steed’s coat.

She leapt into the air, and Seth held her breath, waiting for the inevitable tumble, but it never came, just the sharp jar of landing, the centaur catching her from falling off, as she blazed out of town, toward the the forest at the edge.

_______

“You know, if we got some sort of bridle for you--”

“I hope you enjoyed that, as it ain’t never happening again.” She set Seth down on a stump in the camp where she must have been spending the night, which made a certain amount of sense--Seth wasn’t sure which inn in town might be okay with having a centaur stay, and she must have simply decided not to hedge her bets on it.

Although, with her scintillating personality, it might just have been to keep a lower profile.

“Kitty McCrae.” She extended her hand. “Sharpshooter, mostly.”

Seth looked down at Kitty’s extended hand, mildly disappointed that centaurs were like every other creature in the one they most often offered.

“Seth. Seth Fuzlae.” She extended her left in return, and waited for the question, or maybe some quip, but Kitty merely glanced at Seth’s right hand, noticed, and extended her left in return, with nothing to add for commentary.

Seth decided she liked Kitty very much.

Kitty started up the fire in her stone ring, heating some meat over it and toasting a bit of bread. It was simple fare, but it likely sufficed. She put on a pot of water and offered it to Seth, who was forced, painfully, to admit that she didn’t have much to contribute to it. Kitty gave a smirk, but sat by the fire and peeled a few potatoes into it. They sat mostly in silence, the stars spreading out like a carpet over them. Seth looked up and thought of the stories the gnomes told in them, and wondered if centaurs’ were the same.

“So what’s this chosen thing, other than a figment of your tiny imagination?” Kitty took a bite of steak wrapped in bread.

“None of your business.” Seth huffed.

“Seeing as I sprung you hoping to collect on this chosen thing,” she took a swig of her ale, “it kinda is.”

“It’s destiny, they tell me,” she gave a mirthless laugh, “they never stop telling me. The details are different, depending on who you ask, and the day, but they all say I’m here to do something great. Great good. Great evil. Could be either. Great bullshit, if you ask me. Which you did.”

“All anyone ever thought I was destined for was jail.” Kitty looked into the fire, and there was a moment of sadness danced with the flames reflecting in her deep brown eyes, but she laughed, “Which. Guess they were soothsayers after all!”

“Is that what you’re looking for? A destiny?” She took a bite of her potatoes.

“Next bottle, mostly. So you looking for this greatness?”

Seth exploded like an ember in the fire. “Looking for a way out of it! I’ve searched everywhere, for years, trying to find a way to get out of this damn chosen thing. I won’t be a slave to destiny. This doesn’t deserve my life! I will not let it define me!”

Kitty stared at her. “You’ve been searching after this chosen thing for years of your life so it won’t rule your life?”

“Exactly.”

Kitty laughed and shook her head. “Alright, then.”

“He shouldn’t have said that to you in the pub.” Seth offered it cautiously.

“Well he sure as shit found that out, didn’t he?” Kitty shrugged. “Not stupid enough to imagine the world’s any other way. One thing every race can agree on, ‘s thinking I’m half-wrong for living.”

Seth suddenly felt a bit of guilt, and a bit of solidarity. “I’m sorry I whinnied at you.” There would be a time, later, when she would happily whinny at Kitty, and Kitty would simply roll her eyes and ask if she was going to go make some cookies in a tree or something, but those times, when both of them felt something like belonging, were written in the stars still, and not yet reflected on earth.

Kitty shrugged again, wordlessly.

Seth toyed with the blue scarf around her neck. “If you’re not looking for anything but a bottle, I know a town where you can find one. I’m going there. My magic, your speed, your gun, my, for example, actual social skills. We could do okay. ”

“I go on by myself and for myself.”

Seth grinned across the fire. “Of course. That’s why you didn’t let them capture me, even though you could have gotten away without me, it must all be part of your great plan to serve yourself, lone gunslinger.”

“You woulda ratted me out.”

Seth snorted. “I didn’t know your name, Kitty.”

Kitty gave a smirk. “Well, magical gnome who’s,” she wiggled her fingers dramatically, “chosen, and all that...might be of use to me.” She smiled and extended her jog. “Ale?”

“Thanks. ” She accepted it gratefully, and took a deep drink.

“I might could see my way to running with you a spell.” She rolled her blanket out on the ground.

“Partners, then.”

Kitty hung her hat on the tree and pointed at Seth. “Let’s get one thing straight, you try that little mind trick on me, it’s the last thing you ever do, we understand each other?”

“Fair enough.”

Above, the stars moved and turned into position.

#I DON'T HAVE TO TAG THIS BECAUSE I DIDN'T WRITE IT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY OPPRESSOR

14 notes · View notes

crctv-intelligence · 7 years

Text

S1, E7: "Sofia's First"

PREVIOUSLY ON INTELLIGENCE: The shooting that occurred in DC plays first, followed by the bombing of the embassy in DC. Next in the montage is the scene of the thwarted bombing in Budapest that ends with the explosion inside the marketplace. Changing pace, Mikayla's battle inside the airport bathroom in Turkey occurs before she knocks her enemy out and sees his passport from Spain. Alexander and Mikayla are in Spain on the futon with Sofia. The scene where Sofia showed Alexander her pictures is shown again where Alexander suddenly makes her stop. He points to the picture of the man Mikayla had her bathroom brawl with and tells Sofia to take pictures of him if she sees him again. In the final stretch of the recap, the ending of the last episode replays as Mikayla and Alexander agree to read Sofia in before they head back to their respective home countries. (Scene 1: Budapest, Turkey. Outside of Police Station) The guard that stopped the Embassy bombing, recognizable thanks to recap at the beginning of the episode, is walking out of the police station and turning to walk down an alley towards his personal vehicle. His head is down, hands busy as he tries to put on winter gloves. He looks up to see a hooded black figure blocking his path. He turns quickly and starts to run the opposite way when another future dressed the same way stops him. He fumbles to access his firearm, his gloves making the action difficult before he is shot from either side by both hooded men. The two scatter while the camera pans in from up above on the officer and hero now bleeding to death on the ground. (OPENING CREDITS) (Scene 2: MI-6 Headquarters. Amelia Roberts' Office) Amelia has her head buried in files, thick black frames surround narrow lenses so she can see the task at hand clearly. The sound of her door swinging open makes her tilt her head upward, a single hand coming under her chin to keep her tired head steady. Alexander steps into her office, an indistinguishable look on his face. "Fairborn... How'd it go?" She asks, a smirk on her face. "More sex and more intel, I hope." "Sex yes, intel. Uhhhh," the blonde operative brings his hand up to his neck and rubs it a few times. Amelia cocks her head to the side, her fingers sliding her glasses off of her face before setting them down on her desk. "Waters isn't a free lay, you nitwit!" Rising from her desk, Amelia walks around her desk until she's standing toe-to-toe with her subordinate. "You sleep with her, you bring me intel. That's how this works. That's how this all works," she says furiously. Alexander sniffles and purses his lips before lifting his head proudly, not even looking at her as he speaks. "You remember what my actual job is right?" Bowing his head, he looks down at the shorter woman. "You remember what your job is, right? We are supposed to gather intel to prevent bad things from happening. Clearly based on what's been happening around the world, neither of us have been doing a very good job." Amelia swallows, a death glare locked on Alexander that can chill viewers to the bone. She reaches behind him and pushes the door shut before walking forward into him, forcing him up against the wall. "Don't you fucking condescend me in my own office. I know my job. You know your job. We've never had to discuss it before. You've always been the one operative I could trust to do side jobs for me while still getting the important jobs done. Maybe now I should find someone else." Alexander shakes his head as his hands find his pockets. "Look, she doesn't know anything about your piece of pie because Jo doesn't trust her. She has her tech friend looking into it but Jo is suspicious. That's where we stand, Amelia." Alexander suddenly walks forward, reversing the series of events that occurred just moments before as he backs Amelia into her desk. "You just remember something, you crazy old bitch. I've got just as much on you that you've got on me." Amelia is not timid by any means, her firm hand pushing on Alexander's chest and forcing him stumbling backwards. "Fine. You want to talk shop? What'd you find out about the guy from the airport?" Alexander removes his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms over his chest. "His passport is from Spain despite his obvious Russian nativism. Waters just read in a new asset. Young photographer from America living in Spain. She had pictures of our target already so she decided she was our best chance." Amelia is clearly thinking about something once he concludes his debrief. "Why Spain? I get wanting to divert attention away from the true source of the attacks but... Why Spain?" Alexander nods in agreement. "It didn't make sense to me either." "There's something we're missing. You and Waters need to get back and fill in the blanks." Alexander laughs softly and claps his hands together. "Yeah, I don't think that's going to be so easy... Jo found out she was there with me. Might be tricky to get Mikay- to get Waters out in the field again," Alexander catches himself calling Mikayla by her first name instead of the more impersonal last name. Amelia sighs as she walks towards her door and bumps Alexander out of the way. "I'll see what I can do about Waters. You stop falling in love with her," she slams the door shut behind her as quickly as she opened it, leaving Alexander alone in her office. (Scene 3: Streets of Barcelona, Spain) Sofia is picking up a few apples at an open air market, her camera draped from her neck. It's incredibly crowded, the CIA's freshest asset being bumped into from all directions. Her smile is immaculate as she thanks the vendor before it suddenly fades away. Through all the hustle and bustle she hears a Russian accent speaking Spanish. Even though she's fluent in Spanish, it's not her native language and the accent makes it hard to comprehend exactly what they're saying. Partial translations appear on screen. "...matches... bleach... safe..." Sofia's eyebrow raises at this as she slips the apples into the cloth bag hanging from her shoulder before bringing the view finder for her camera up to her eye and removing the lens cap. Pretending to capture the marketplace, she makes sure the man is always somewhere in the frame. Doing surprisingly well, she even makes it a point to capture who he's talking to and who is standing near him as well. Sensing his transaction is about to end, Sofia drops the camera lower and pretends to be reviewing the pictures she just took, using tips the two operatives gave her the night prior such as using peripheral vision. Doing this, she watches the man cross the street to a stand set up with home appliances. The only thing she can translate might just be the most important. "...pressure cooker..." Sofia's jaw drops for a moment before she reminds herself to keep her composure. She smiles at her camera monitor and continues to take pictures, capturing a close up on the box that is handed to the man. There's a name written in permanent marker on the box, almost as if it was being held for him. With as tight of a shot as she can get, she takes multiple pictures of the name that she can't quite distinguish under the pressure. The man turns and slips into the sea of people coming and going from the market. Sofia busies herself looking left and right with the camera, pretending to be more invested in the surroundings than the man. She gasps when she finally turns back to look straight up the road and the man is right in front of her. She snaps the picture again anyway. A setting on her camera decides the lighting isn't right, and the flash pops up on top of the camera before going off. The man blinks and makes a look of disgust. Sofia begins to panic as she apologizes profusely to the man in Spanish. He scoffs and walks past her. That seems like the end, but multiple times he looks over his shoulder at her before finally disappearing. There's a beat before the screen goes black for commercial break. (COMMERCIAL BREAK) (Scene 4: Mikayla's Apartment) Our favorite brunette operative is pacing around a fairly barren living room inside of an apartment building in Virginia. Looking like the living spaces of someone who is rarely home, rightfully so, most of the surfaces are blank and decor-less. After a knock on the door, Mikayla Waters moves through her apartment and to the door to offer a friendly smile to the person on the other side as she opens it. "I come in peace with food," Garrett jokes as he raises the brown McDonald's bag into the air. "Figured after all your time away you'd be craving a good old fashioned American cheeseburger." She snatches the bag away happily as she nods her head to invite him in. "You guessed correctly." She has the burger out of the bag before the bag even touches the counter. Turning to rest her butt against the edge of the marble island counter top, she unwraps the burger while Garrett looks around. "You still haven't made this place very much of a home," the techie notes. "When have I had the time?" she mumbles with a mouth full of food. He shrugs his shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe while you were pacing around up here for God knows how long." Mikayla's face tells Garrett that she's furious how he knew that. "You should really shut your blinds if you're going to wander around like a taskless robot," he laughs as he moves his eyes towards the bare window. Mikayla narrows her eyes and shakes her head, finally swallowing a piece of her burger before speaking again. "You're a creep, you know that?" He shrugs again, wandering over to the window so he can draw the blinds himself. "Kind of have to be a creep to do what we do, don't ya think?" His tone indicates it's a joke but it really is a valid question. She nods to the side once. "Fair point." She takes one last bite of her burger before setting the tiny portion left on the counter with the wrapper beneath it. "So, uh..." Mikayla begins as she hops over the back of her couch and plops down on the seat. "Jo make a big office-wide announcement about my punishment?" Garrett chuckles softly as he sits more casually beside her with a seat gap in between them. "Not really her style. But of course I hacked in to view your file because I'm a nosy bastard." "And?" Mikayla asks. Garrett sighs. "Two week suspension pending a review from Jo and the Director of Homeland Security." Mikayla raises an eyebrow. "Why Homeland?" Garrett can only shrug. "Maybe because you were involved with someone from overseas so they want to make sure you weren't turned in the process." Mikayla rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Un-fucking-believable. He's an ally! The U.K. and U.S. relations are good..." Mikayla's mind wanders. "Did you ever find out exactly what happened between Jo and Amelia?" The camera cuts to a close up of Garrett's face as he looks away from Mikayla. "Oh, uh. No. It's a dead end," he says, an obvious lie to viewers at home. "You know," Mikayla starts to speak as she slides over on the couch. "We're trained liars but you never could lie to me." Garrett turns to look back at her, his face somewhat surprised by how much closer she is now. "What's going on?" she asks, her tone genuinely concerned. "I've talked to two different people and they've both told me this is a road not to go down," Garrett says, trying to relay the warning to her in a less intimidating way. "We're already on that road and we're stranded with a flat tire. We can't turn around now," she states poetically. "Alright, look," Garrett says as he pulls his right leg up under his butt so he can turn on the couch and sit face to face with her. "All I know is Amelia and Jo were both field operatives at the same time and apparently they got involved with each other - romantically - and when the Agency sent in an extraction team something happened. Source wouldn't tell me what, just said that it ended with the extraction team all getting blacklisted and fired from The Agency." Mikayla's eyes are wide open in bewilderment. "And put both rulebreaking operatives into positions of power amongst their respective agencies..." Garrett nods slowly. "So many holes to fill in still." "Well is there a mission report?" Mikayla asks. "There was," Garrett admits. "I saw the first page and by the time I came back from meeting with the anonymous source in D.C. the report was gone." More bewilderment from our heroine as she asks "How does official Agency documentation just disappear from cyberspace?" Garrett shakes his head. "Jo Jones decides it shouldn't exist," he explains simply. (Scene 5: Barcelona, Spain - Nighttime) Sofia is still wandering around the city with her camera around her neck. She's walking along a street side cafe when the sound of a car engine becomes faintly audible off camera. We cut to a view of the front of her as she walks, headlights of a car indicating that it's driving slowly behind her in the distance. She's so busy reviewing her photos that she doesn't notice at first. Continuing to walk along as if nothing is wrong, the new asset suddenly looks up when she sees someone crossing the street a few hundred feet ahead. Proving that the low cut Converse sneakers on her feet were a wise decision, she quickly veers off into an alley between buildings. The car speeds up and so does the J-walking man. The camera follows her as she breathes heavily amidst all of her running, one hand on her camera to keep it from banging against her as she sprints. She looks back and sees the street crossing man not far behind her. She turns another corner and ends up in another alleyway headed towards a road. As she reaches the road, the car that was trailing her stops in front of her. With enough room to run, she turns the corner and continues to run down the street. Thinking quickly, she clumsily pops open the flap on the bottom of her camera and ejects the blue SD card. She reaches into her bra and secures it in the strap, removing her hand with another SD card in hand. While still running, she replaces the new SD card into the camera and turns down another street. Once she sees no one around but can still hear the engine, she drops the camera and continues to run out of sight from street level as she slips into another alley. (COMMERCIAL BREAK) (Scene 6 : Mikayla's Apartment) Hours have elapsed since we last saw the CIA's ex-lovers have a discussion about the mysterious history of their superior. The two are now much more relaxed on the couch, wine glasses in hand as they giggle at something that occurred before the scene change and commercial break. Mikayla fidgets with the glass in her hand, clearly with something on her mind. "What?" Garrett finally asks, hoping she won't shut him out. "What happened to us, Gar?" He sighs as he leans forward to set his glass down on the coffee table before making himself comfortable on the couch again. "Come on, Mik, it's not that complicated. I wasn't fit, you were. I left the farm and traded a gun for a headset and you stayed behind because you were the star." "I was the star?" she asks, clearly flattered by the compliment. "Brash, a little unpolished and a total egomaniac but yeah. You were the star," he confesses amidst a barrage of somewhat insulting terms. "And now?" she asks, clearly not ready to let this discussion end. "And now," Garrett says as he leans forward. The music intensifies, heavy beats setting a suspenseful but romantic mood. Their lips are about to touch when he speaks again. "You've been drinking and I've been drinking. And nothing good can come from that." Surprising the fans with his drunk restraint, he pulls back and chuckles softly. "No, now you're the rule-bending operative and I'm just the guy that sits at a desk." "Oh, Gar." she says sounding sad as she rests her hand on his shoulder. "You're not just the guy that sits at the desk. You're the rule-bending guy that sits at a desk while helping me kick some ass here and there." He looks at her with narrow eyes. "Was that supposed to make me feel better? Because I don't know that it di-" he can't finish his sentence, a kiss from Mikayla stopping him before he can. Just how she interrupted him, her ringing phone now interrupts her. She pulls away from the kiss, Garrett sitting stunned with rosy cheeks and a big grin on his face. "Oh, shit," she says as she grabs her phone off the table. "What?" Garrett questions. "It's my asset," she says, concern in her voice. "Sofia, what's up?" she tries to ask casually into the phone. We now cut back and forth as each person speaks. "I got pictures of the guy you guys told me to," she says, still huffing and puffing for air. "That's great, that's amazing. Why do you sound like you're out of breath?" Sofia has her hands on her knees as she looks up and down, left and right from inside the alleyway. "He must've seen me. A man and a car just chased me around the city. I ditched the camera to hopefully get them off of me but I still have the memory card." Mikayla covers her mouth with her hand and closes her eyes. "Okay, okay. It's only a matter of time before they notice and come looking for that card," Mikayla tries to explain calmly. "Do you have someplace you can stay besides your apartment?" "No, no. I'm all alone here," Sofia begins to cry as she explains. "It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe. We will help you, alright? We're going to help you. If it's safe to move I want you to lock yourself into your apartment. Barricade the door with the futon and whatever else you have that's heavy and wait for someone to come get you," Mikayla speaks clearly and firmly. "Wait. You're not coming?" Sofia asks, sounding disappointed. Mikayla sighs. "I got pulled onto another op," she lies. "But I'm going to try. You're going to be okay Sofia. Alright?" "O-Okay," the asset says nervously into the phone. The call ends with us back in Mikayla's apartment. "What's going on?" Garrett asks. "She's compromised," she mutters as she pulls her coat from the top of a barstool begins to put in on. "Well Jo isn't going to let you go, you're suspended," Garrett tries to explain. "She's my asset," Mikayla spits back. "You know what, Garrett. You go home and I'll deal with Amelia," she says rather harshly before exiting the apartment and slamming the door behind her. In the hallway, she begins typing a message. The recipient: Alexander Fairborn. Mikayla looks up from her phone as the elevator doors shut, serving as a fade to black before the credits. (CREDITS) Mikayla Waters ... Isabela Montoya Alexander Fairborn ... Asher Valentine Jo Jones ... Candice Cornell Amelia Roberts ... Xanetia Petrova Garrett Parker ... Benjamin Perry Sofia ... Lola Alvarez

0 notes