#this was a lot more horrific because he was in the middle of the track

[cobraonthecob]

alright who's coming to the fia headquarters with me, we are biting these fuckers for not pulling out a red flag when a CAR IS ON ITS SIDE

[anadrenalineslut]

like okay im thinking about how the whole title track sounds very much like she's trying so hard to make the situation sound romantic when the lyrics are objectively what the fuck and how thats probably the point of the song because like the more i really read the lyrics, the more im like these lyrics sound very similar to those in so high school to me.

like i said previously that so high school doesnt work for me as a love song because the lyrics are so un-romantic and what the fuck and I'm thinking ttpd falls under the same category of love songs trying really hard to be love songs but the reality of the situation is so bleak.

for example, ttpd talks about her lover "self sabatoging" and "throwing spikes down on the road" and the "romantic thing" they did together was smoke weed and eat lots of chocolate in bed. The most "romantic" thing he does is at dinner when he takes her ring off her middle finger and put it on her fourth finger, which SHE interprets as "the one people put wedding rings on" because SHE wants to get married and will read into things that arent meant to be read into to justify the "cyclone" of a ride she chose to be on. in other words, she justifies her behavior by saying that it's true love and they're destined to end up married together.

i keep thinking about that HORRIFIC fucking quote from the folklore documentary where taylor admits as much when she says that "betty and james" end up together in her end but "he really puts her through it." anyways moving on before i yak.

the whole title track is the most unromantic, least sexy set of situations you can think of and the cringey lyricism of it all plays into the art of it all because she did it all on purpose to convey her delusional behavior and thinking patterns last year after the break up with joe. the whole song reads as delusional because she wasn't thinking straight after the break up and she wanted to get that point across here i think.

but also like so high school is equally as cringey and unsexy and unromantic as you can fucking get. im sorry but if you're older than 25 and still think american pie is a good movie, you're cringey. if you think having sex around people who dont know thats what you're doing is cool and sexy, you're cringey. like idk the whole song just doesnt feel romantic to me. who actually wants to feel sixteen again ? i was suicidal back then so im biased af but i feel like adulthood is so much better than teenagehood.

its so fucking cringey to want to stay young forever. its so fucking cringey to want to not age and be stuck in a high school mentality. like idk when i hear the song, im just not feeling romantic at all the same way i do not feel romantic at all listening to the title track either. both of these songs to me are similar in nature. cringey af lyrics written to try and back the best out of bleak options because the person who is making these choices just wants to be married already and doesnt care who gets her to the aisle at this point.

like i feel like there is such a desperation in ttpd to be settled down and married and im like.... why? what is the rush? why are you acting like its the end of the world if you're not married by 35? its why the prophecy is a skip for me because its just like... i dont relate to that level of desperation at all.

have i wanted to be loved? yes.

have i been rejected and down bad crying at the gym before? yes.

have i gotten into a serious depressive episode because of a relationship break up before? yes.

but have i ever been so desperate to lower my standards in what i find acceptable in a relationship? no.

i cannot relate to dating people i do not actually like because i want to get married and be married in the eyes of other people so badly im willing to entertain anything at this point.

like i understand ignoring small red flags that could go either way in the beginning of a relationship but i could never seriously commit to changing my entire personality to be in a relationship with someone.

there are also some things i just could never fucking accept in a relationship and treating me like im not high on your list of priorities is one of them. i also am not the type to "send signals" by "biting my nails down to the quick" either in a relationship. i will make my opinion and argument known for why you should not treat me x y z and you still do, i will leave. i will leave so fucking fast and i will not spend 3 years cultivating a side piece relationship to escape into either. i will just leave.

and i feel like taylor has exposed a deep critical truth about herself and her mentality to love that feels very like young to me... i remember thinking this way when i was a child but by 17 i had really outgrown that idea of romance and love already and was developing the 1989 approach to love which i think is another important thing to consider in the ttpd conversation.

because 1989 has assumedly over 100 songs written on it and we got just over 20 of them for taylor's version. that means there is 4/5 of the 1989 era in the vault that we will never hear. and ttpd is 2 hours worth of music written in about 6-10 months so its safe to assume that ttpd era is mostly not in the vault (maybe 1/5 in the vault).

and 1989 is like the life of the bolter character in blank space and i just always assumed taylor and the bolter were one and the same during 1989 era. but even just the 5 songs we got off the vault are so much like ttpd to me that i feel like the real character of 1989 is more like ttpd where the bolter is 1 song out of 31, most of which directly contrast the narrative told in the bolter.

and i feel like 1989 is more an album of taylor's idealized version of herself and ttpd is who she really is to present that image of herself to the world. and the insides of it are so very human but kind of ugly and worthy of ridicule. ttpd is the expansion of dear reader where she warns you of what is to come and how she is going to show you the reality behind "the home thats really a house" because nobody is there waiting for her due to actions she takes to self-sabatoge at every opportunity.

she is so caught up in what people say about her that she spent 3 out of 6 years of her public "end game" relationship fantasizing about how to end up with a past toxic fling from her roaring 20s. she is gatsby looking back at the green light of the 1989 era and wanting to be that "happy" again. so she burns it all down and she's left with songs like ttpd and so high school to sing about because she is a feather taken by the wind blowing.

anyways this is a huge fucking ramble sorry yall if u made it down here congrats holy shit 💓

[muertawrites]

Monster (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: You wake in the middle of the night to find Eddie on top of you, covered in blood.

Reading Time: 3 mins

Warnings: blood, death, mentions of drugs

Author's Note: First fic of Vamptober!!

🦇 send in your ideas 🦇

The shivering wakes you. His whole body quakes, rocking the bed with each heaving gasp of breath. His head is buried in your neck, his arms gripped fiercely around your waist. You're consumed by the scent of iron. The sheets are sticky. So are his hands; his clothes.

"Eddie..." you murmur in a sleep-induced haze.

"Baby," he whimpers. "I... I didn't mean it... I couldn't..."

His fragmented words are shattered by a howling sob.

Slowly, you start to raise yourself from the mattress. Eddie's hold on you doesn't loosen - he clings even tighter to you, as if afraid you're going to get up and leave him forever. Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, under the thick blanket of his hair. It's knotted, matted down with the same sickeningly viscous substance that seems to cover everything you touch.

You don't have to ask anything more. You already know.

It takes some coaxing, but you convince him to stand and follow you into the kitchen. Your breath hitches when you turn on the lights.

Bloody footprints track over the linoleum, from the front door into the bedroom. The front of your shirt is stained crimson, imprints of bloody hands clawing their way up to your neck. Eddie stands before you, drenched in the gruesome remnants of whatever he's done. His eye sockets are sunken, black, almost hollow; his irises glow yellow from within them. Streaks of vermillion coat his chin, his chest, his arms, his stomach; his forehead and mouth are smudged with blood and grime. The shock of color is grotesque against the deathly pallor of his skin. He gazes at you, still shaking, swallowing tears that he no longer has the ability to shed.

"I was so hungry," he bleats.

You say nothing. Your hands go to work, pulling a dishcloth from its drawer and soaking it with warm water. Eddie follows without instruction, stripping off his soiled clothes and leaving them in a disheveled heap on the floor. You wipe him clean, moving the rough fabric gingerly, tenderly over his skin. It'll take a long shower to get rid of the blood completely, but for now you do this - treating him with gentle responsibility until his body relaxes, his brows unknit themselves.

You're here. You're unafraid.

Once his face is visible again, the blood all but completely gone, Eddie takes the cloth from your hands and starts to clean you as well, his fingers still shaking as they move over your body. Guilt still lingers in his eyes; a horrific price to pay for keeping himself fed.

"Who was it?" you ask in a whisper.

"Meth addict," he confesses. His voice is unsteady, barely more than a whine. "He was as good as dead, anyway. I... I was going to the woods. To hunt rats. But I saw him there, in the parking lot at the trail head, shooting up in his car. I couldn't... couldn't stop myself. I... I... Jesus, I tore him apart. He's dead because of me. They might not even recognize him as human when they find him..."

Eddie moans another sob, falling again into your arms. It's the first time he's been so close to you in weeks; he's terrified to touch you, afraid of what he might do in the grips of his hunger. You press yourself hard against his chest, trying to keep him grounded as much as satiating your own need for him to hold you.

You pull away only to cradle his head in your hands, lay your forehead against his. He won't look at you - can't look at you - his eyes keeping firmly shut.

"You can feed from me," you tell him. "We can make it work."

Eddie shakes his head. His lower lip folds in on itself, the shiver of grief returning to his shoulders.

"I'll kill you," he whimpers. "I know I will."

"You won't."

You grasp at his jaw, lifting his chin to force him to meet your eyes. You can still see traces of him - the man you left in the Upside Down.

"You're not a monster, Eddie," you remind him. "You're struggling. But you're not a monster."

He searches you for something, his gaze scouring your features with intense focus. He seems almost frustrated. Why don't you run from him? Why don't you keep yourself at a safe distance? Why do you share your bed with the murderer you fight tooth and nail to convince everyone he isn't?

He loves you. It's the only humanity he's still certain of, and he clings to it, seizing the feeling every time it rises in his chest and holding it like a breath of smoke, savoring the sweet high it gives him.

His hands grip your cheeks, pulling you in for a fevered kiss. You return it with only a moment's hesitation, faltering over the suddenness of it.

He still tastes like himself. Though his lips have frozen over with the chill of death, the way he lingers on your tongue is still distinctly Eddie.

When you pull away, he's steadier. His palms lay themselves firmly on your hips, his head drifting to rest comfortably in the crook of your neck. He takes slow, deep breaths, focusing only on the feeling of your body so close to him. You're soft, and warm, and everything he remembers about being alive. He whispers a gentle "I love you" into your skin.

"I love you, too," you assure him. "It's going to be okay."

vamptober masterlist

[talkingpointsusa]

The Michael Knowles Guide to Bitcoin, lab grown genitals, and the Olympics

After some intense politics related posts and some downright horrific bigotry being expressed in the grifter-verse, I wanted to do a bit of a more lighthearted post. Naturally, when you're writing a blog like this you kind of have to wait out for something particularly dumb if you want to write a more lighthearted post. Enter Michael Knowles:

02:06, Michael Knowles: "The Olympics has now had a transvestite carry the Olympic torch on the way to Paris or something. I don't -- people, the conservatives are freaking out about this, I actually think it makes perfect sense, we'll get to that in a moment. First though I want to tell you about Hillsdale College."

"Or something" is the kind of brilliant analysis that you can always expect from Michael Knowles. Truly a luminary for the ages.

So, the Olympic Ceremony featured a number of drag-styled performances and naturally the free-speech for me and not for thee crowd has wasted no time in bitching about it. It's just dumb transphobia about something that has zero affect on anyone's life outside of the terminally online. Michael Knowles, the king of declaring that things are pagan, thinks that this was a pagan ritual.

But before we talk about that, keen eyed readers of the blog may have noticed that Michael isn't at his usual set over at the Daily Wire. That's because at the time of filming he was busy on the worlds dumbest field trip. I'll let him explain it.

03:44, Michael Knowles: "And speaking of learning things, you might be wondering 'Michael, why is there so much ambient noise?' If you are listening to this right now or if you're watching you might say 'Michael, where are you? Why are there people walking around behind you?' It's because I am at the Bitcoin conference."

That's right ladies and gentlemen, the Daily Wires getting into cryptocurrency! Bencoin baby!

In all seriousness, Michael and cypto-grifters share a lot in common so this is a pretty suitable environment for a guy like him. Hilariously enough, he's filming live in the middle of the conference so sometimes you can hear the people in the background milling about way more clearly than you can hear Michael’s voice. This "lets get Michael to film his show live in the middle of the convention centre" idea clearly wasn't something that the Daily Wire thought through very well.

I feel like this whole situation is exposing my own moral failings because if I was at the Bitcoin Conference (god forbid) and I saw Michael Knowles just sitting there doing his show live I'd go up and harass the crap out of him. You guys would get to see the first Talking Points USA live fact-check!

Ok, we can't spend all day making fun of Michael Knowles going live from the Bitcoin Conference, even though it is pretty funny, so lets get back on track here.

05:11, Michael Knowles: "Karine Jean-Pierre, the White House press secretary, was just asked a -- a question about Kamala Harris. Kamala Harris was put in charge of the border by her boss Joe Biden and -- and then the Democrats when Kamala became the presumptive nominee wanted to deny that she was put in charge of the border."

A lot of right-wing media coverage lately has been devoted to claiming that Kamala Harris was the Biden Administrations "Border Czar". The way that right-wing media has been framing this "Border Czar" thing has been extremely dishonest, although a bit of blame also falls on the MSM as well for giving Kamala that title in the first place.

"Border Czar" is not an official title in the United States government and the United States border falls under the jurisdiction of the secretary of Homeland Security. Where the confusion lies is that Kamala was appointed by Biden to be the chief diplomatic officer to Central American countries where undocumented immigrants often originate from in order to address the root causes of migration to the United States. That's a far cry from being in charge of the border however that didn't stop the mainstream media from irresponsibly calling Harris the "border czar" and acting as if she had a semblance of control over the border itself. Thanks to that, right-wing media has decided to have a field-day with claiming that Kamala Harris was in charge of the border. This is a good example of how even mainstream journalists can exaggerate news stories in todays click-based digital economy and how that exaggeration is genuinely dangerous at times.

06:38, Michael Knowles: "I will quote March 21st, 2024. These are the verbatim words of Joe Biden; 'I've asked her, the VP today, because she is the most qualified person to do it to lead our efforts with Mexico and Northern Triangle and the countries that help -- are going to need to help in stemming the movement of so many folks, stemming the migration of the Southern Border. It's not her full responsibility and job but she's leading the effort because I think the best thing to do is to put someone when he or she speaks they don't have to wonder about is that where the president is.'"

This quote sounds significantly different from what Michael wants his audience to think it sounds like when you understand the fact that Kamala's position was a diplomatic one. Biden even said in the quote that "it's not her full responsibility" and talked about "When she speaks". She was talking to the leaders of foreign nations, not determining policy about border security.

07:22, Michael Knowles: "If you were confused here he is, next sentence, 'When she speaks, she speaks for me'. He imbues her with presidential authority on the issue of the border and migration."

By speaking, Biden was referring to speaking to foreign leaders to devise strategies to cut down on the need for migration, not speaking on the matter of security which is Homeland Securities job.

07:49, Michael Knowles: "So, that's -- that's what happened. Biden put Kamala in charge of the border and now the Democrats are saying 'there's no real -- there's no position of border czar'. Yeah, there's no position of czar in the government. There's no formal position of czar, czar is an imperial title that derives from Caesar so no we don't have a formal position named Caesar or Czar but if you look to Wikipedia, or if you look to Wikipedia before a couple days ago, you could type in 'Biden Administration Czars' and you'd get a whole list of them including Kamala Harris as the Border Czar."

As mentioned previously, the media will often refer to select people as Czars including Kamala Harris after she was given the diplomatic appointment by Joe Biden. Doesn't change what she was actually charged with doing which had nothing to do with security.

09:07, Michael Knowles: "So then, when the nominalism nonsense doesn't work, Karine Jean-Pierre tries to redirect and says 'Well, the Republicans killed a border bill'. Yes, there was a border bill that the Democrats were peddling. It was always a bad idea to consider any of the Democrats border legislation because the president was ignoring the immigration laws that were already on the books. The president already had the authority to enforce immigration law and he chose not to do it because he wanted migrants to flood into the country because the Democrats believe that it gives them a permanent electoral majority."

There is no better metaphor for the current state of the Republican Party and modern American Conservatism in general than Michael Knowles pushing the Great Replacement Theory at the Bitcoin Conference. You can't make this up, it's truly beyond parody.

I'll humor his argument with the exact amount of respect it deserves; Hey Michael, you dumb dipshit you, if the Biden Administration wants the border to be open to replace the hhhwhites or whatever, why did they propose a border security bill in the first place? Wouldn't they just ignore it?

Anyway, this Karine Jean-Pierre stuff is dumb and just standard issue bland right-wing mush. He continues talking about it for a bit, does an ad, comes back to complain about the FBI director testifying before Congress which is just whatever and I'm not talking about it. The GOP drags guys like Chris Wray and Tony Fauci in to generate clips for FOX News and the Daily Wire pursue truth justice and the American way so often that I kind of struggle to care about it. Congress is just a circus these days and the whole point of it in the year of our lord and savior 2024 just seems to be to generate viral clips. Essentially, Chris Wray said that the FBI didn't have all the information about the Trump shooting yet and that Trump may have been grazed and Michael's all fumed up into a tizzy about it. We have way more important things to cover though so that's an immediate skip.

19:31, Michael Knowles: " Now, speaking of gaslighting, a transvestite, a drag queen, has been tasked with carrying the Olympic torch on part of its journey to the Paris Olympics and this has sent the conservative commentariat into a tizzy."

This was before everyone got all pissed off about that Last Supper thing which I'm pretty sure I'll also end up covering at some point but my general thoughts on both things are simple; who gives a shit?

The world isn't designed to cater to this loud minority of bigoted assholes. If you have an extremely bigoted mindset towards trans people, occasionally you're going to see things that you don't like. These ceremonies don't effect Michael Knowles' life in the slightest nor do they effect most peoples lives. Plus, this is just yet another BS culture war story that all of these guys will forget about in a couple weeks when the next reminder that queer people exist comes up.

The lefts key issues are making sure that everybody has access to lifesaving healthcare and preventing children from being shot. The rights key issue is "We had to see a trans person on TV and our bigotry can't handle that".

20:35, Michael Knowles: "The conservatives are really upset about this, I don't really know why. The Olympic torch ceremony -- the Olympic torch ceremony is an overtly pagan ritual."

Well, we can add the Olympics to the increasingly long list of things that the Daily Wire thinks is satanic/pagan.

To be fair, the Olympics do actually have origins in paganism but the torch ceremony wasn't a part of the original games. The first torch ceremony was in the year 1936. Interestingly enough, the guy who created the modern Olympics as we know them was a man named Pierre de Coubertin and he was actually a devout Catholic.

If Michael wants to throw out everything that has pagan origins, than he should get rid of his yule logs and avoid buying a tree when Christmas comes around. Anyway, Michael doesn't care about the Olympics and he doesn't care so much that he's devoting a segment to it and calling for people to boycott the games on Twitter. Really this whole story is just an excuse for to push some gross transphobic propaganda.

21:12, Michael Knowles: "You know me, I'm as rock ribbed about the trans movement as anybody. I think transgenderism ought to be eradicated from public life entirely, the whole preposterous ideology at every level, but pagans gonna do pagan things."

If I was in the background at the Bitcoin Conference this would be the point where Michael starts getting tomatoes chucked at him. Real nice how he's equating being trans with paganism in order to stoke more hatred towards this minority group in his audience. God, this sucks. Wasn't this supposed to be the fun lighthearted post that I write before I go on holiday? Well, he's still broadcasting live from the Bitcoin Conference so there's still that element of accidental satire to all of this.

On that rather dismal note, we're talking about lab grown penises now and with that Michaels show went back to being so dumb its funny.

23:31, Michael Knowles: "Scientists, according to this report, scientists have grown male genitals in a lab and there are fears that it could make blokes obsolete."

This is a headline from a UK tabloid called The Daily Star which lets you know how great Michael's information sources are. I read the article from The Star, as well as articles from the real news, and essentially the gist of this story is that an Israeli scientist used mice cells to grow miniature testicles in a lab and is planning on moving onto using human cells to grow the next pair. She says that her goal is to help treat infertility. Michael offers some truly brilliant insight into this story, check this analysis out.

23:43, Michael Knowles: "This is troubling, not because I think its going to make blokes obsolete but because that must be a very creepy lab. Could you imagine the petri dishes? That sounds really gross."

"That's creepy and gross!", what truly insightful commentary. It's a wonder that Michael hasn't made it to the scientific journals yet. Remind me again why people take this guy seriously.

Conclusion:

Well, that was the Daily Wire live at the Bitcoin Conference. I can't say I'm surprised by how stupid it turned out but Its fun to make fun of regardless. No crazy new revelations about right-wing media and the Daily Wire here; Michael Knowles is as deep as a puddle and they think that everything is pagan, surprise surprise. A fitting last post before I venture off to Washington D.C for a vacation where I get to finally flip off the Capitol Building in person and do the obligatory disinformation writer pilgrimage to the Pizzagate restaurant.

Cheers and I'll see you in the next one after my trip!

Original Video:

“Ep. 1539 - the Olympics Embrace the Rainbow.”

Sources:

Byik, Andre. “Harris’ Border Work Was on “Root Causes” of Migration; She Wasn’t in Charge | Fact Check.” USA TODAY.

Ryan, George. “The Catholic Church’s Hidden Role in the Creation of the Modern Olympic Games.” UCatholic, 27 Feb. 2023.

Ghert-Zand, Renee. "In breakthrough, Bar-Ilan University scientists form artificial lab-grown testicles." The Times Of Israel, 23 February 2024.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | 10. Night Out

I used this prompt for my original characters, Nathan and Patience: the story is under the cut.

Word count: 1,203

“Another date after only a week, Nathan? Really?” Her mother’s voice was vaguely disapproving, and Nathan winced and made guilty eye contact with Patience.

“It didn’t go so well last time,” he said, thinking of the alcohol fiasco, the tears that had come, Patience’s stained blouse. “I want a do-over.”

“Every date will be imperfect, that’s the nature of the beast,” said she, with the wisdom of a woman who had been married some years.

“I want them to be, well, less imperfect. Also I’m paying,” he added. “So you don’t need to worry that I’m about to drain all of Patience’s fortune or something.”

“I was concerned more for your fortune,” she informed him.

“How are you ever meant to buy Patience a nice engagement ring if you take her out to dinner all the time?” asked Rhona, once again taking a wild leap down most of the stairs, landing in the middle of the conversation and putting her foot in it.

Patience went bright red. “Rhona—”

“What? It’s true.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to say it,” filled in her mother, which Patience was glad for because she was currently dying of embarrassment.

She put her hands up to her face. “Not everything has to be said. Besides, Nathan might not—”

“Don’t worry, I keep savings for that sort of thing, if and when it becomes applicable,” he said firmly. “Now, Patience, if you were ready—?”

She was glad to escape the suddenly embarrassing family home, pulling on a light coat as she left the house. It was still February, but it was growing cooler, to her relief.

After a couple of minutes, Nathan broke the silence. “Well, that was awkward,” he stated the obvious. “Rhona has a gift for making everything awkward, I think.”

“Mmm, you might be right. I love her but she’s incredibly annoying sometimes in the way she talks.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. She is great, though. I’m glad you have her.”

“I’m glad I do too.” Patience rubbed her leg, feeling the scarring she had sustained in saving of that very same Rhona. “I wouldn’t have thought so a few years ago, but it’s very true now.”

“I’m glad.” He noticed her action. “Does it pain you, anymore?”

“Only occasionally. Mostly when I happen to think about it. So not really, and not importantly. Just sometimes.”

“Ah. I hope it never hurts you again. You were a hero, Pat.”

She looked away. “I did what I had to do, Nathan. There’s nothing special in that.” Once again she remembered the horrific sense she had had, of being trapped, of dying, and of knowing that she wasn’t going to make it out. Then the way that she had made it out, and lain in agony for far, far too long. She’d always thought she’d pass out before it got to that stage, but she’d lain there, leg twisted horribly under her and burning pain all over her, for far too long before eventually passing out. It had been horrific.

But she tried to forget it and to shake away the pain it had caused her, the remembered pain, and focus on the here and now. She was safe. She was with Nathan. She would be okay. Much as she didn’t feel it right now, she would be.

Nathan was watching he closely. “Are you all right?”

“No.” She said the unconventional answer with an effort, but he looked at her very kindly.

“That makes sense. What can I do?”

She wanted to ask him to let her cry into his coat for a few minutes, but refrained. “I’m not sure. Distract me, maybe.”

“Did you know my parents are talking of getting a dog?” he side tracked promptly. “They’re pretty serious about it, but they can’t decide on the breed. Mum wants a golden retriever, while Dad wants a poodle. Hypoallergenic, and he’s worried for no apparent reason that he is allergic to dogs, which we’ve never found out because we’ve never had a dog. I mean, it’s possible, it’s just unlikely.”

“Yeah: what percentage of people are allergic anyway? It’s not masses, surely.”

“I think we’d have heard a lot more about it if there were, but I could be wrong. Also poodles would be more popular if that was the case too.”

“Maybe the folks who are allergic just don’t get animals and don’t talk about it, though,” he said logically.

“But seriously, if the only reason is a fear of allergies, why not get whatever breed you most want, but have some backup plan in case any of you can’t tolerate it? What about you, for instance?”

“I’m still living with my parents, don’t forget. Until I move out, if there’s an allergy, I can’t possibly have an animal. Do you like animals, Patience?”

“Love them. Though I’m forgetful enough that sometimes I think it would be unsafe for me to have an animal of my own, because I’d forget them. An outdoors bunny, for instance—I just couldn’t.”

“But indoors? Surely an animal would come and alert you to the fact that they’re pretty hungry, actually?”

“Maybe. Maybe they wouldn’t, I don’t know. Or I’d open the door and they’d sneak out because I completely forgot they existed.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself. I’m fairly sure you’d remember, if that was the case. You wouldn’t just forget you had an animal.”

“I might.”

“Anyway, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Though I think we’ve been together long enough at this point that if either of us wanted to get an animal we should be discussing it closely to make sure that it works for both of us, you know?”

“I know.” A small thrill shot through her. It was invigorating, seeing him talk about them as a unit, as a couple he expected to last. She rather liked the way it made her feel. It was us, not you and me.

“If there was a situation in which I was to take care of an animal and those concerns weren’t a problem, would you get one and what would you get?”

“There’s a stray cat we see reasonably often. He’s lovely. I think he’s on the way out though; he’s slowing down a lot and we see him less and less often. But I like cats. I’d get a grey cat because of him. But otherwise, I’d think about an indoors rabbit or something. I like cats, but I don’t understand them.”

“Dogs?”

“I’d get a dog, but I’d be scared I’d forget to walk it, you know?”

“I know what you mean. I think it would need to be part of a routine.”

“Well, I do do best with a routine,” she agreed absently. They were walking in to the restaurant, and the sound hit her like a truck. “And quiet.”

He glanced at her. “Does that mean we shouldn’t eat out, because it’s overwhelming?”

“It’s not so overwhelming when I’m with you,” Patience said, and meant it.

Nathan smiled at her. “I’m glad of that. And if I personally had a choice, I’d probably get a cat. In truth, I’m partial to nice grey cats.”

Tagging @stealingmyplaceinthesun @graycedelfin @pilgrimsofworship and @choasuqeen

[thornfield13713]

97 + 12 Fiddlestan

Okay!

So, I'm going to hew pretty close to the canon setting for this one, because...I like it. So, where are they travelling from? Or to? I lean towards this being a Weirdmageddon thing - the plan fails, and Bill is victorious, and decides to mark his victory by scattering the consciousnesses of his victims across time...thereby inadvertently sowing the seeds of his own destruction, but...that is the way it tends to go.

So, the mind that ends up farthest back is Ford Pines, who wakes up in his bed at Backupsmore with the memories of the apocalypse fresh in his mind. The first thing he wants to do is call his brother, whom he last saw being horrifically ripped apart molecule by molecule in front of him before Ford met the same fate. It takes him fully half an hour to remember...right. Cellphones haven't been invented yet. And he has no idea where Stan is or what he could be doing. Nor does he have the resources to go looking. He can work to avert the apocalypse - he'll work hard, go back to Gravity Falls, and this time he'll know better than to play into Bill's hands, might even be able to find some way to put an end to that infuriating triangle-man for good. He has to go back to Gravity Falls, because if it's not him, Bill will find some other sucker, and they won't know what Ford does. They won't be able to handle the situation as well as Ford could. He doesn't need to find his brother to save the world.

But. He can't stop thinking about it anyway. About how Stanley looked when he arrived at the sh- at Ford's house. About the hints let slip, years later, about what his life before that had been like. About Stanley spending thirty years working to bring Ford home and - all right, succeeding at the worst possible moment, but...looking back now, with the perspective of having lost his brother horrifically before they could make any sort of real amends...that was a lot of work. So, he goes looking, as best he can. He might save up for a private detective or similar, because the 1970s were kind of short on means to track people down, and Ford is really feeling the loss of the internet he had been starting to get used to in the 2010s.

He doesn't get the money together until he's in post-grad, and even then, it takes a while, particularly as Stan keeps changing addresses and adopting new identities. Eventually, though, Ford finds him. In prison in Texas, okay, but...alive. He has to go in person, citing a family emergency and skipping out in the middle of term-time, to visit, and the look on Stan's face on the other side of the glass is enough to tell Ford that...he's alone here. This is the Stan of this time, hungry and desperate and not quite believing what he sees and god, he's so young, how did Ford never process how young he was when he got kicked out before? They talk, anyway. Ford tells Stan what he's been doing, hears a...very much censored and played for laughs version of Stan's own recent years...and then Ford leaves, with a promise to come back in a month or so, the next time he can get away from his studies. Stan, who had been planning a jailbreak, ends up serving out his whole sentence just for those regular visits, patching up his relationship with his brother slowly, awkwardly, and with not a few backslides and difficult moments, but steadily. His sentence finishes out not long after Ford gets his research grant, and when that happens, Ford invites him to Gravity Falls.

And all of the above is just background, because the story actually starts here: Stan Pines, waking up in bed in Gravity Falls, more than thirty years before he remembers getting killed by Bill, with the memories of those thirty years still clear in his head. And, the same morning, Fiddleford McGucket turning up at Ford's door, having driven straight from Tennessee to try and stop Ford from summoning Bill.

Neither Stan nor Fidds trusts Ford on his word that he has no intention of trying any such thing this time, he's just living in Gravity Falls, trying to learn everything he can and avoid making the worst of his past mistakes again. And also trying to head off Bill using some other poor schmuck to do the same thing. Which means they're all three living in the Shack together, watching each other just to be sure. It's the wreck of Fidds' marriage, but...that barely feels real to him now. His wife left him decades ago, and- Okay, most of the physiological reasons for his mental decline aren't there now, but...that was only ever half the story. He feels fundamentally cut off from other people. So does Stan, thirty years older than he looks, knowing so much more about the people of Gravity Falls than he can reasonably explain. And neither of them is- they know, logically, that things have been better this time around, but- neither of them is quite willing to open up to Ford yet (though this does get better over time) so they gravitate to one another instead - the only people who can really understand their experiences.

Not really sure how things evolve from here - probably a loose monster-of-the-week format with relationship-building around the sides - but Bill is still out there, and may reach out to this little group. And, when that doesn't work, he's liable to take an interest in just what it is that's making these humans so unusually resistant to his pitch routine.

[turnupswritessometimes]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Thanks....

I've taken my time with this one, beause it's quite a big question, lol

I'm someone who moves on pretty quickly when it comes to interests, and nowadays I don't even watch/read stuff more than once. But here's the list (not in any specific order):

1.) Stitch from Lilo and Stitch

Lilo and Stitch was one of the first films I ever saw in cinemas as a kid, and it still makes me sob to this day. Just! Stitch! In the woods! With the Ugly Duckling book! And he repeats it and looks around because he's got no family!

There's so much love and thought put into how he moves (see gif - the head tilt - the eyes! He's baby!) that shows his thought process and emotions. His arc is complimentary to Lilo's and it's my favourite film. Plus, he's cute and fluffy!

2.) Myka Bering from Warehouse 13

This space was a toss up between Claudia and Myka from this show. As an 11-13 year old watching this show for the first time, I had the biggest crush on Claudia, but I loved Myka too. And rewatching it now, I love her more.

Warehouse 13 revolves around a bunch of agents tracking down 'artefacts': objects that usually kill people in horrific ways, but sometimes have benefits. (A great episode is Shakespeare's lost folio: touching a page with doom you to die the death of the character depicted, unless you can say that character's final lines.) Myka's come from the secret service and is the more pragmatic one compared to partner Pete's comic relief and pop culture references. (I love Pete too, though!) Myka's also a nerd! A classics nerd! (Middle name Ophelia!) She loves H.G Wells (me too!) - and H.G Wells is in this show (see gif) as a very cool woman who Myka's more than a little in love with. (Me too! Sadly it's all subtext because this shows 10 years old now.) She's capable and cool but has a softer, human side that's allowed to come to light as much as her partner's. They take turns being vulnerable with each other and it's what makes these characters feel real.

She also has the line: "some girls play with barbies, others take fencing lessons." which! come on! It's so good!

3.) Baron from The Cat Returns

He's voiced by Cary Elwes (Westley from the Princess Bride), which makes him instantly cool! And, honestly, he's basically Westley; he's suave, sneaks into places with disguises, and is a master of swordplay. (Maybe I just like characters with swords?)

The Cat Returns is my favourite Studio Ghibli movie, because it's so similar to the Nutcracker, which is a favourite of mine too. The ball scene still makes me feel like a teen with a crush; there's a romanticism to it all that comes from how suave Baron is. His minature world is charming too!

4.) Nancy Thompson from Nightmare on Elm Street

Nancy's my favourite final girl. There's a great interview were they talk about how determined she is; she will find the truth, and she won't stop hunting for it. She takes active measures to ensure she can investigate and wake up in time. I don't have many points on this one: I just think she's neat!

5.) Sora from Kingdom Hearts

Again, I'm torn between two characters from the franchise - Sora and Roxas. But I played Kingdom Hearts 2 first, and that has more of Sora!

The whole series has a lot of nostalgia for me, and Sora's the heart of that. He's the player's world into exploring all these Disney worlds. I actually love the twist that Sora's not really meant to have a keyblade at all; Riku's the one who was meant to be. It's a cool reverse chosen one. Recently, it's more interesting to see how Sora's relentless optimism is being chipped away at. He feels like a very generic protagonist who's being subverted in a very clever way.

6.) Peter Pan, in like, a vague sense

No particular version of Peter, because I'll devour any Peter Pan retelling. A straight, fun disney version is heart-warming and escapist; Syfy's Neverland was like a magical Oliver Twist, with all the emotional beats; darker ones explore the strange, darker (unintentional) subtext of the novel. (Which I do love; it's just so memorable.) All of the Peters, please!

(I vividly remember seeing a Peter Pan panto and Peter was played by a young woman and oh boy! Finding out girls can play boys was a big moment for me!)

7.) Cinderella...from Cinderella

I could easily do top 10 Disney characters, but this is the last one for this list. And again, it's more about what Cindie represents. She keeps her kindness and her empathy throughout her story; she works hard and makes sacrifices and that earns her happily ever after. I think that manta of 'Have Courage and be Kind' in the live action one is a great phrase to live by, and easily applied to real life. I've worked two jobs throughout my masters, so the idea of hard work being rewarded someday is comforting. I hope it's true, lol.

8.) Tails from Sonic

He's just real neat! A good little guy! He can fly and he's super smart! I always mained him on Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Games, and I've liked him since I was a kid. (I really struggled to fill this space, so runners up were Zuko, Nico Di Angelo, Vanitas and Link.)

9/10.) Ash Lynx and Eiji Okumura from Banana Fish

I can't separate the boys! They go together!

Honestly, this shouldn't be a surprise, lol. Oddly, though, it's hard to answer a question of why they're so dear to me. Ash is a very interesting character to unpack; and unpacking those darker elements of his story is? Intriguing? I think is the best word for it. That depth comes across in the manga and is probably what made it endure.

Eiji has a similar depth that I feel like gets washed away a bit, by the fandom. He's 'normal,' but he's not, really. He's exceptionally compassionate, and just as impulsive as Ash. (He is all in within meeting this boy for ten minutes.)

And it's their implied relationship in the series that is just! So! Much! The trust and care and the fact that they do act like two teenage boys messing around with each other. (Which is something I don't think either of them got to have.)

Honestly, I've been writing the both of them for so long that they do feel like a part of me, now, even though they're not my characters.

And that's ten! Thanks so so much for the ask! I love getting to waffle nonsense to a captive audience! Sorry it took so long to answer! <3 xxx

[rjalker]

Meanest dream ever.

this is not going to make sense to anyone who has not listened to all the audios with Charley. Honestly you are better off not understanding. Once she stops traveling with the Doctor, the writing goes to misogynistic hell where the shitty fucking writers think lying to the audience means they're clever.

They think dumping more traumatic shit on Charley one after another means they never have to deal with any of it, and means they're good at writing. And they just keep fucking escalating and literally all they are doing is torturing her endlessly because apparently they think making women suffer is the height of fucking artistry?

It's like if nothing but the Creed of the Kromon was all that ever happened, but instead of getting her memories erased at the end, another horrific thing just immediately starts happening into infinity so that she is literally never given time to even breathe, let alone process any of it.

Here's the short section of book from my dream. You're supposed to imagine it being read by Charley.

For Charlotte (Her friends called her Charley) Pollard, it seemed that everything was moving in slow motion as she watched the floor, dark grey stone criss-crossed with an eclectic assortment of carpets and rugs, rise up to meet her.

All she could see was the floor, slowly rising to meet her and no doubt bash her skull open. But her ears were still working, and she could hear the sounds, the sounds she would never forget, of the TARDIS.

Yes, she knew this floor that rising up, so ever-inchingly slowly, and was no doubt going to knock her fully unconscious once it hit her head. This was the floor of the TARDIS, her friend, and the Doctor. The Doctor. Her Doctor.

How did she get here? She would probably never know.

All she could see was the floor, but her sense of pain was working, too, so she could in fact feel the pain in her wrist, where she'd slashed it open with a conveniently broken piece of metal. She'd already lost a lot of blood, more than she cared to keep track of. That was why she was in the middle of collapsing, at the moment, after all.

And did she mention her ears were working? Working perfectly fine. Yes. She could hear the background noises of the TARDIS, she could even feel her hum through her feet.

And she could hear the voice of the Doctor, in as slow a motion as her fall, his voice flabbergasted, more confused than anything else, because it had only been a second or two since she'd suddenly found herself standing inside the TARDIS and not in the endless metal hallway of the space station, so he didn't yet realize what was happening, he was just surprised to see her. Right now, his voice was asking, in slow, so slow motion, so surprised it overrode all other emotions, “Charley?”

And then, of course, she finally hit the ground, the hard, stone ground, which was, in fact, very hard, despite the attempt she could feel the TARDIS making to cushion her fall.

And then everything did, of course, go black, because now not only was she bleeding to death, now her skull was probably cracked open on top of it.

But you know what? She was fine with that. This was probably another trick to keep her alive, anyways.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Happy Hump Day!

Tuesday was fab! The Trouble and I were both working from home. My job is to ensure she has either coffee or sparkling water, so I am up and down the stairs attending to her needs. She has graduated from two to three screens, so she now looks Kraftwerk in concert. I was down in my study – Lindsay’s Man Cave – doing about five different jobs. I was speaking to a mate the other day, he’s about to retire to Jamaica and do very little. I said to him, “You like to be active. I’m sure you’ll get restless?” He said, “I am tired. I’ve spent my whole life helping other people. I think I’m ready to do very little.” I’m not there yet. I still get a buzz out of being in the middle of different jobs and projects. In fact, today, I turned down work! Yep, not something I like to do, but I have to look after my health. What I really need is time to walk, time to read and time to write.

Today I had a phone call with a young lady from an organisation making a half-hour documentary about pirate radio. I had been recommended to her. I said to her, “You know I’m an old guy, right?” She laughed. “I know,” she said, “we want someone who was there!” She represents a group helping young people from disadvantaged backgrounds find employment in the music and creative industries. This is definitely something I can help with. This kind of work I love to do!

Liz Truss now wants to let more immigrants into Great Britain to fill job positions that can’t be filled. Let’s cast our minds back to the days when the government were trying to get us to vote ‘leave’ but most of the British population didn’t really understand what the EU was and what the hell was going on! Remember those days? So, in order to get the vote over the line, they appealed to the lowest common denominator by saying that ‘leave’ meant immigrants being asked to leave the Britain (when it was actually about Britain leaving the EU.) Surprise, surprise! Brexit is a disaster and – what do you know? – businesses (such as Wetherspoons) are shutting down branches because they can’t get the staff! So now, to stimulate the economy, Mistrust wants to encourage non-UK citizens to work in our delightful country. Good luck with that, love!

Horrific Story Of The Week. Police arrest a girl, handcuff her, stick her in the back of the police car and carelessly park the car on some train tracks. A train crashes into the car and Yareni Rios-Gonzalez, 20, suffers 9 broken ribs, a broken arm, broken teeth, head, back and leg injuries, as the car is tossed into the air and the cop runs away. Result: paid leave for the cop.

Last Thursday, I posted a CD to a friend in Manchester. It cost me £2.05. That’s a lot of money to post a CD to another UK city. The man behind the counter was offering me some ‘sign’ service that costs more than six pounds! I pay them more than six pounds, my friend signs for it and I get confirmation that it arrived and he signed for it! NO! If I pay £2.05, I want it to reach its destination! Is it a postal service or a maybe-it-will-arrive service? Incidentally, Royal Mail made £758m last year, gave its CEOs & Chief Financial Officer £2m in bonuses and £400m to shareholders.

Thanks for reading all the way to the bottom of my status. Many people don’t like reading. It’s too much hard work. So, I thank you for giving me five minutes of your day.

Have a wonderful and well-endowed Wednesday. I love you all. Yes, a crazy, bald man loves and cares about you.

[enjolras-out]

Caged (LinkedUniverse Febuwhump Day 20 - Wild, Twilight, Warriors)

TW – torture (mostly aftermath), being forcibly restrained, description of injury

Apologies in advance for certain liberties taken with Yiga HQ

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36809317/chapters/92963212 

Twilight couldn’t breathe under the thick, clinging mask. He didn’t understand how the Yiga lived in these things, day in, day out. But he’d have put up with a lot worse than a stifling mask, if it was going to lead him to Wild.

The passageway down into the dungeons of the Yiga hideout was hot and dark and lined with identical doors, each with an iron grille window set into them. Through the windows Twilight could make out occasional faces – bloodied, beaten. Sometimes voices screamed at them for mercy. Once Twilight saw a full human skeleton, chained to the wall.

“Darga wants to keep him alive for at least another week,” the footsoldier who was guiding them was saying casually. “Make him really feel it before we kill him.” The two of his four companions who were not undercover infiltrators from across time and space, sniggered at his words.

Twilight felt himself stiffening. His hand clenched on the hilt of his sword but Wars, at his side, nudged him just slightly before responding, in an impressively reasonable imitation of a Yiga accent: “Darga’s going to torture him?” Twilight lost track of where they were for a moment and stumbled over his own feet. Fortunately, the footsoldier didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Oh, he already has. But we’ve got a lot more fun planned, so long as he doesn’t die on us too soon.”

“Is that likely?” Warriors asked, keeping his voice incredibly, horrifically calm. Twilight knew it was all an act, that Wars was nearly as worried about Wild as he was, that he was trying to gather vital information.

He knew it, but that didn’t stop Wars undercover from being, if Twilight was honest with himself, absolutely terrifying.

The footsoldier gave a low laugh. “See for yourselves.”

He gestured to the door in front of them. Six other guards were milling around outside it, taking it in turns to peer through the grille window. The footsoldier pushed through with an air of importance and unlocked the door. Twilight’s heart flew into his mouth and his body seized up for a moment. Warriors nudged him again, forcing him to keep moving into the cell.

The cage was tiny. Placed in the middle of the cell, it was barely high enough to sit upright inside. Not that that seemed to be the main problem, because Wild was lying curled up small on the floor, his arms limply shielding his head, his long hair loose and matted with blood, spilling over his face. He was barefoot and his shirt and tunic were gone, revealing the livid wounds of a whip, still raw across his back and sides. His right leg was twisted at an odd angle, and he was motionless, except for the slight tremors passing through his body at intervals – shudders of pain or cold Twilight didn’t know.

In the two weeks since Wild’s kidnapping, Twilight’s thoughts hadn’t left his protégé for an instant. Now, finally staring at the broken form through the bars, he had to fight not to retch.

The footsoldier drew closer to the bars, crouched down and inserted a small blue key into the lock. “He’s been pretty much out cold since the last beating,” he explained over his shoulder. “Darga said to make sure he’s breathing and get some water in him. Give me a hand, would you?”

Twilight couldn’t move, because he knew if he did he’d pull out his sword and start hacking. The Yiga on either side of him moved, though, and it took every fibre of his willpower to hold himself back when he saw their hands close on Wild’s shoulders and drag him out of the cage. Wild stirred, his eyelids flickering. The footsoldier knelt beside him, opening a water gourd, and before Twilight had even registered what he was about to do he had shoved his fingers into Wild’s mouth, forcing his jaw open. Wild’s eyes snapped open, fevered and panicked, and he struggled to sit up and push the Yiga away, thrashing his head from side to side.

“Hold him down, would you?” the footsoldier said in irritation, glancing back at where Twilight stood frozen in horror. Twilight’s hand went straight to his sword hilt, but then he caught Warriors’ eye again – his friend shook his head, slightly but firmly.

Twilight bit his lip behind the mask so hard he tasted blood. There were ten Yiga in the cell, to say nothing of the rest of the garrison, and they couldn’t take them all. They couldn’t risk failing, not with Wild in this condition. They had to wait. They had to stick to the plan. If he wanted to save Wild, he had to be patient.

But it killed him inside to obediently kneel down beside Wild, beside his cub, clamp his own hands on his bruised arms and help the Yiga pin him to the floor. It didn’t matter that staying undercover was the only way to save Wild’s life: Twilight felt so sick with horror and shame at what they had to do it was almost unbearable.

It wasn’t exactly difficult to restrain him in his current condition and that terrified Twilight, who had sparred with Wild enough times to know how difficult it was to hold him down. Twilight had experience, size and physical strength over Wild; he could disarm him, deal a stronger blow, knock him flying, but if he tried a hold Wild would have inevitably squirmed and twisted out of it in moments. He was fast, agile, creative, he fought dirty when he had to, and he never, to the point of danger or ridiculousness, yielded or admitted defeat.

Now, semi-conscious, his weak struggles were all the more pitiful for not stopping, and for the sheer amount of pain Twilight knew just breathing must be causing him. Keeping his touch as light as he could get away with, Twilight could feel the fever-heat radiating off Wild’s battered body. He could see the heavy bruising signalling broken ribs under the whiplash marks on Wild’s chest, and from this close he could see a shard of broken white bone jabbing right through the torn skin and bloodied fabric under Wild’s right knee.

His heart burned with anger as Wild tried again to twist his head away from the Yiga guard, who backhanded him across the face in frustration before gripping his chin tightly to hold him still. Please, cub, lie still, he thought desperately. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but they’re trying to keep you alive. If you struggle they’ll hurt you. Please, please don’t make them hurt you any worse…

The footsoldier tipped a thin stream of water into Wild’s mouth and Wild choked, trying to spit it out, confused and panicking. The Yiga cursed and set the gourd aside, grasping Wild’s neck with the hand that wasn’t holding his head in place and roughly massaging his throat, forcing him to swallow painfully. “That’s it, good boy,” the footsoldier hissed. “You killed Master Kohga like an animal, and now you’re going to die like the animal you are. Nice and slow and painful, back behind bars where you belong.”

Wild’s breath came in spasmodic, desperate sobs and Twilight’s hands were shaking with the urge to rip the Yiga limb from limb by the time it was done, and the footsoldier tossed Wild back into the cage and locked the door on him again. Wild braced one arm on the floor of the cage, trying to sit up, glaring at them out of hazy, fevered eyes under the curtain of his hair.

Twilight met his gaze through the mask, knowing Wild couldn’t recognise him. His heart seared with the need to just end this – to get Wild out, protect him, comfort him. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his cub’s face. Wild was caged and trapped, dangerously weak, sick and badly injured, he’d been tortured and he was going to be tortured more, but all Twilight could see in Wild’s narrowed blue eyes was rage.

“Tonight,” he breathed to Warriors as they were led out of the cell. Warriors nodded almost imperceptibly, and as one they glanced back at Wild through the grille. Just as the door closed he collapsed back onto the floor of the cage, curling into himself once more. Twilight gripped the hilt of his sword again. Hang in there, cub, he thought fiercely. Just a few more hours.

 Warriors met him on the roof of the Yiga hideout that night, holding up a ring of blue keys. Twilight nodded tightly and wasted no time before lifting his lantern and signalling seven times towards the shadowy rocks to the north. They both waited in tense silence until they received an answering seven flashes of light, then they both drew their swords.

“They’re on the move,” Warriors confirmed. “Let’s go.”

They found their way back to Wild’s cell easily. There was only one guard outside it and Wars had slit his throat before he even knew what had happened. “I’ll keep watch,” he whispered. “Get Wild.” Twilight nodded, slid their stolen key into the lock and opened the door.

By the dim torchlight, it looked as if Wild hadn’t moved at all in the last few hours. He was still lying curled up on the floor where they’d left him, and seemed to be unconscious. His heart pounding with fear, Twilight fumbled at the cage lock, got it open and pulled the door wide.

At exactly the same moment Wild’s hands shot up and gripped the bars of the cage, using them as a lever to propel his whole body into a ferocious barefoot kick at Twilight’s face.

Twilight had to thank both his own quick reflexes and the fact that Wild, defiant rage aside, was in no condition to fight so much as a kitten, because if that blow had connected with his head or neck with the force it was supposed to have, it could have knocked him out. As it was, he took it on his shoulder and staggered awkwardly backwards.  

That was apparently the opening Wild needed to fling himself out of the cage, rip Twilight’s sword out of its sheath at his side and point it at him, bracing himself against the dungeon wall and dragging himself up. He was shaking violently and his breath came in ragged, pained pants. Twilight could almost see his mind flicking between options, weighing his inability to put any weight on his broken leg and run, against the possibility of running the Yiga soldier in front of him straight through. Twilight yanked off his mask as he came to his feet.

“Wild, stop, it’s me!”

Wild’s eyes widened as he took in his mentor’s face and his mouth dropped open. Then the sword clattered from his hand to the floor as he collapsed.

“Whoa, cub, easy…” Twilight grabbed him under the shoulders, lowering him gently down, feeling Wild’s hands clutch at him like a lifeline. He pulled back, cupping Wild’s fever-hot face with one hand, keeping the other on his shoulder for support. Wild’s breathing was rough and his face and throat badly bruised, but he was actually smiling, through lips so dry the motion made them crack and bleed.

“Twi, how…”

“I’ll explain later,” Twilight interrupted him. “The others are creating a diversion but we’ve got to get you out of here.” Wild’s hands were fumbling at Twilight’s shoulder, trying to assess the damage, his ashen face twisted with guilt. “Twi I’m so sorry are you…”

Twilight gripped Wild’s hands in his. “I’m fine. My fault. I forgot to take my mask off.” Wild looked unconvinced and Twilight groaned. “Come on, cub. That feeble nudge wouldn’t have hurt a puppy.” Wild glared, still shivering. Much happier with indignation than guilt, Twilight drew his pelt out of his bag and wrapped it gently around Wild’s bare shoulders, freezing when Wild flinched, the material catching on the raw wounds on his back.

“I’m so sorry, I…” Twilight fumbled to pull it away.

“N…no,” Wild protested, shrinking deeper into the soft fur. “It’s okay. It’s… cold.”

Twilight gave him a dubious look. You’re not cold, you’re burning up. But that was a discussion for another time. At that moment Warriors slid through the cell door.  At the sight of his masked face Wild gave a hoarse warning cry and fumbled for Twilight’s sword again, until Warriors pulled off the mask, falling to one knee beside them. “It’s me. How’re you doing, kid?”

“I’m okay,” Wild said hoarsely. Warriors snorted. Twilight was already pulling a potion bottle out of his bag before Warriors laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

“You can’t.”

Twilight stared at him incredulously. “Wars, look at…”

“Need to set his leg before he has a potion. We don’t have time right now.”

Twilight grimaced. Apart from his leg, he knew several of Wild’s ribs were broken, and the whiplash wounds on his back and chest were still raw and bleeding. He must be in excruciating pain and he hated the thought of denying him the relief of a potion even temporarily. But he knew Wars was right: if Wild’s leg healed wrong they’d only have to break it again.

“It’s… okay,” Wild managed in a whisper, dragging in another pained breath. “I’ll be fine.” Twilight glanced at his exhausted, battered, fever-flushed face and prayed that was true.

“Twi, can you carry him?” Wars was saying. “I’ll cover you.”

“I can walk,” Wild rasped.

Warriors fixed him with a steely glare. “Your leg is broken, we don’t have anything to splint it with, and anyway you’d be too slow. For once in your life, do as you’re told.”

Twilight blinked, startled by the harsh tone, but to his surprise Wars’ captain-voice actually seemed to have hit home and Wild nodded, uncharacteristically meekly. Warriors helped Wild onto Twilight’s back and when Twilight felt his arms clasp over his shoulders he straightened up, gripping under Wild’s knees with both hands. He heard a strangled gasp and Wild’s arms loosened alarmingly, and Twilight froze. “Wild?”

Wars was behind him, steadying Wild against Twilight’s back. “I think he passed out for a moment. You back, Champion?”

“M’okay,” Wild’s voice came again, though it sounded even weaker and more slurred now. “S’ry.”

Twilight’s heart twinged: he couldn’t even imagine how much pain Wild must be in. But there was no way of carrying him that wouldn’t aggravate his injuries; Wild had no choice but to endure it. “It’s okay,” he tried to reassure him. “Just hold on and try and stay with us, okay?”

“’Kay,” Wild mumbled, and Twilight nodded to Wars, who was tucking the pelt more securely around Wild. “Let’s go.”

Wild was frighteningly light and hot against Twilight’s back as they crept back down the passageway, but his grip around Twilight’s shoulders remained firm. They met two guards coming in the other direction and Warriors cut them both down in a swift flurry of blood and shadow. By the time they reached the back gate horns were sounding the alarm and Twilight could see fire spurting out of the keep’s windows.

Warriors met the two Yiga footsoldiers at the gate with his sword drawn. Startled at an attack coming from someone in their own uniform, they were both down before they had so much as drawn their own weapons. Warriors turned back to Twilight, wiping blood from his face with the back of his wrist. “I’m gonna go back and help the others get out,” he said. “Will you be alright from here? We weren’t followed.”

“See you back at camp,” Twilight returned. Warriors gave him a bloodstained smile and whirled to dash back in the opposite direction. Twilight faced the dark ridgeline ahead, that marked where they had made camp. “You okay back there, cub?” he asked Wild, whose burning head rested limply against his left shoulder.

“Yeah…”

Twilight didn’t like how weak Wild’s voice sounded. Best thing he could do now was get him safely to camp, get his leg set and a potion inside him. “Not far now,” he encouraged, as he started to walk again, into the cool, moonlit desert. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but he barely felt Wild’s weight at all.

“Twi…”

Twilight checked, turning his head slightly. Tangled golden hair filled his vision on the left side.

“What is it?”

“Thanks …for coming… for me,” Wild whispered.

[matthewtkachuk]

Hello I need this for my big, silly, himbo man Kev:

forgive me i just couldn’t help myself - all i ever wanted by vance joy

K thx🖤

anything for you baby (write me the happy sequel to your matty fic kthxbyeeeee)

pairing: kevin hayes x reader

warnings: two idiots in love

word count: 1k

forgive me, i just couldn’t help myself

Kevin is loud and boisterous, to put it mildly. Always the biggest presence in any room, predictable and reliable even in his eccentricity. You’re just, so completely not that at all, much quieter, much tamer. Despite the difference you both just work, the kind of friendship where funnily enough you don’t have to work at it at all. Hours, days, weeks can pass without so much as an instagram like, but the second you’re both together it’s like you never left each other’s side.

He’s always there when you need him, even if you were the last one to leave him unanswered, text left on read, even if it’s the middle of the night, even if the thing you require from him is no easy task. When your best friend needed to leave her boyfriend at two in the morning it’s Kevin you called, who drove your SUV because your hands were shaking, who cornered her boyfriend while you helped her pack her things.

With the tremendous amount of good also comes the bad. His schedule is horrific, the offseasons he’s home it’s like you don’t even exist, and more times than not he’s the reason behind your relationship troubles. There’s not a single man out there who believes your feelings for Kevin are simply platonic, who doesn’t make up imaginary scenarios in their head where you’re unfaithful and Kev is the one you really want. The issue is they’re not exactly wrong, even if they’re not exactly right either. You’re not the cheating type, and you’re certainly not the girl who captures her best friend’s attention.

Kevin can’t help it, and he more than likely doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The casual compliments and teasing read more like flirting than they probably should, especially to untrained ears. You’ve endured it all for years now, the pet names that drip from his tongue, the casual brushing touches that linger in your mind for days. They don’t mean anything, though, it’s just Kevin. But, no guy has ever bought that for longer than a few months.

Not even when Kev’s got himself a girl, which is more often than not. It’s not long that he’s lonely, capturing the attention of every girl in every room he walks into. Besides your birthday and a handful of other times, you can’t recall a time you’ve been to the bar together where he didn’t leave with someone who wasn’t you. Though, a lot of times those girlfriends have just as much of an issue with you that your past boyfriends had with him. A running joke in your friend group revolves around the two exes who bonded over their insecurities - John and Jess are actually getting married next week.

The other running joke in your friend group is, of course, the two of you. Talk of the two of you acting like an old married couple interspersed with demands to ‘just kiss already’ are enough to get your blood boiling on any night, but the first night out since getting your heart handed to you two weeks ago by another guy who ‘couldn’t compete anymore’ is really just not the time to be playing the same old worn-out track.

There had been a time when you thought there was merit in all their teasing, when you let yourself believe that maybe the flirting was purposeful, the touches more than incidental. When confronted by a few of your friends about the nature of your feelings for Kevin, you had begged for time to do it on your own terms. That time had never come, but the touches and the teasing never stopped.

Kevin takes all the teasing in stride, boisterous laughter heard above even the loud music and chatter. His hand is heavy where it rests on your shoulder, fingers flexing now and then, teasing the skin just under the sleeve of your shirt. Your face is warm, but you’ll blame it on the alcohol, all the people, the temperature of the bar, everything but the truth. You like nights like this, when you can curl into his side, when his attention is focused only on the familiar faces around this table, ignorant of the girls making eyes at him from across the bar.

When it’s time for you to leave, he leaves with you. A chivalrous ‘let me walk you home’ is met with cheers and catcalls from your friends that you merely dignify with a one finger salute. It’s nice, the easy going chatter that continues into the night as you walk the several blocks home. You lean into him and away from him, influenced by the vodka sodas you drank like they were water as you chatter animatedly.

His full attention is on you, even if you can’t feel it, walking through the lobby of your building and then the elevator. It’s not until you’re safely inside your apartment, finally kicking off your very cute but very much not sensible shoes and turning to offer him a drink that you see it and fall silent. Kevin’s looking at you in a way that is so heavy, and you’re not sure if it’s real or just the vodka, but you think he might want to kiss you as badly as you want to kiss him.

And then he’s resting a hand against your jaw and you’re not pulling away and then he’s right there in your personal space, lips just barely brushing, mouth hovering to give you an out. You don’t take it, but you don’t move further either, waiting and wanting and hoping for him to close that last bit of space. When he does it’s like the world comes together finally, an old tv set of black and white sputtering out color for the first time. The kiss is as heavy as his gaze, as hot as a summer day. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’d convinced yourself you could never have.

“I’m sorry,” he says when you pull apart finally, lips swollen and eyes wide, “I just couldn’t help myself.”

You’re usually so different in your demeanor and your actions, but this time you’re one in the same as you can’t help yourself either, pulling him back in for another kiss.

[jasminedragonart]

I have an idea for a fic but I can’t be bothered to write it so here’s the general synopsis if anyone’s looking for inspo today.

Avatar yue

So yue is the avatar. She encounters Sokka and Zuko who are already travelling together, in the North Pole when Sokka comes to warn the chief about the Fire Nation incoming invasion. Arnook doesn’t listen, and since Zuko can’t reveal he’s the Fire nation prince they try and find someone else who’ll listen to them. It’s too late however. Yue finds out the night before the fire nation officials arrive that she’s been betrothed to the crown prince and her wedding was happening that next morning. The wedding is a ruse. So Lu Ten comes with Ozai instead of Iroh since Ozai is the one who basically set all this up without Iroh and Azulon knowing. He turns up with his little secret army, the wedding happens and in the middle of it all ozai attacks. Sokka and Zuko had snuck into the wedding to see if they could help, and end up saving Lu Ten from Ozai as well as effectively kidnapping Yue who they find out is the Avatar. Zuko becomes Yue’s firebending teacher, Pakku tags along (maybe?) Katara is out looking for her and Sokka’s dad which is why she isn’t with Sokka. In fact, Sokka had set out to find their dad to begin with, Katara tagged along without him knowing and they got split up somehow. Zuko’s the disgrace of the Fire Nation family, and is basically living his life as a spirit now Sokka’s kidnapped him as well. They find Suki when they seek shelter on Kyoshi island who agrees to keep them safe while they think about what comes next. Oh, and there’s some weird old guy (Aang) who keeps trying to join their crew, but they don’t know it and see it as aggressive and are basically running scared whenever they see him. 

I think Gyatso is the last avatar before Yue so this would still make kind of sense for Aang to still be around. He’s hiding a secret colony of airbenders, including his own family (meaning we get airbending family early) 

Maybe they happen upon Toph after she’s ran away to join Earth Rumble, and since Yue’s all in tune with the spirits, like Aang was, she’s like, yup, that’s my teacher right there putting someone in a headlock and the others just go with it because Yue be like that sometimes.

anyway, on the fire nation side of things, because of the attack at the north pole, and Ozai conquering it, Lu Ten had to go into hiding until he met up with Iroh in Ba Sing Se (yes, he won and there are a lot of songs sung about how it happened and they’re all really eerie). Also, he took Azula, she was a hostage to help him escape at the end, and since she still loves her cousin and doesn’t really understand why her father tried to kill him, isn’t completely trying to destroy Lu Ten either. Iroh’s outraged that Ozai would think to attack his own son and right after Ozai lost his own too (he thinks spilling more royal family blood is horrific) and wants to declare war on his brother. Lu Ten doesn’t care about that, all he cares about is the boy he’d seen who looked eerily like his dead cousin escaping with the Avatar. 

Lu Ten and Azula end up searching for Zuko, and they go through this whole redemption arc thing when he sees just what the war has brought to the Earth Kingdom and helps Azula see sense too since they had to go with his own retinue of a small group of travellers/ guards since his father and the rest of the earth kingdom, is busy declaring war on Ozai. In a horrible twist of fate, Lu Ten and Azula end up all alone stranded somewhere, and has lost all hope in both his nation and themselves, which is when Aang finds him and Aang being Aang he sees the good in people. He helps Lu Ten find a new purpose in life, being to help his cousin and right the wrongs his family has brought upon not just the Four Nations but themselves. Azula’s is to salvage what little family she has left, that being her brother and cousin. Together they track down Yue and her little gang and decide to raise an army and defeat the firelord.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

In your Caranthir headcanons you mentioned Finrod and his exploitation of the dwarves and humans. What are your headcanons surrounding that and Finrod in general?

finrod, i think, is a fundamentally self-contradicting character. he's good-aligned to his bones; he's a fair, smart, and compassionate ruler; he's a good friend and son and brother; he loves liberally and often--and he's also manipulative, condescending, arrogant, and a little too fond of playing the savior god.

finrod the shepherd

i want to emphasize that he truly, genuinely loves humans. he would be the first to admit that his relationships with bëor, andreth, barahir, and beren changed him for the better as a person and as a leader. but he never really, at least not until his death, acknowledged humanity as a whole being equal to elves. for most of his life, he regarded humans more like pets: sweet ingenues to be cherished and looked after and encouraged and protected from harm, but not intellectual or cultural peers. he considered himself their steward and advocate, a sort of paternalistic park ranger or teacher with them as his beloved charges. before knowing bëor and andreth, i don't think he ever considered things from a human perspective.

finrod the scientist

he thought of them like babies with highly developed motor skills. their cultures, religious beliefs, art forms, communities, and languages were all just interesting scientific phenomena to be recorded and observed. though he loved bëor, he still thought of the house as a sort of lab experiment he was doing--breeding and cultivating stock, tracking traits and influencing the gene pool. he would teach other elves about them; he would trot out his docile little human and show how eventually, they could be civilized! look at him, he speaks a proper language and bows and sits at the table just like we do! see the progress that can be made with a little gentleness and kindness! and in time, i think he did change a lot and got to the point where he at least began to recognize, if not that stuff he did was outright unethical/exploitative, that he wasn't just a fairy godfather for the humans and didn't have the right to move them around like dolls whenever he felt like it, even when he thought it was for their own good.

finrod the...killer?

slightly tangential sidenote: one of the most upsetting episodes in the silm for me was reading about the establishment of nargothrond and the persecution of the petty-dwarves. up until then, i was a die-hard, no-bones-about-it finrod fan. and then he....exterminated an entire group of people and then set up shop in their house. it made me sick (especially as someone in a minority group) because it was so reminiscent of things that have happened, and continue to happen, to indigenous groups in our world. i found it really weird that someone like finrod (notable for being a general good egg) would perpetrate such a horrific action, which is what started me really thinking about his character and arc in the story.

personally, i think that early in his middle earth days, he was a lot more "ends justify the means" than he was, say, during the beren-at-nargothrond episode. he was newly a king with responsibility for a weakened and traumatized group of people in a strange country, and his priority was to protect them first. everything else came after. his people needed a safe place, and if some obviously primitive (errghhhh cleanse that word from my fingers please) people had to be the casualty of that, well, so be it. it wasn't like they were even making use of nargothrond anyways! they were practically animals! even the other dwarves thought so! they would find a new home. these are the kinds of things i think finrod fed himself to feel okay about driving them out, and by and large, i don't think he questioned these thoughts very much. he regarded it as a hard situation in which he had to make a difficult call for the sake of his people.

finrod the friend

outside of the petty-dwarves though, i think he actually really respected and admired dwarves and dwarven culture. he still held prejudiced beliefs about them, and could often be condescending, but unlike humans, the dwarves he met hadn't been generationally taught to be grateful to finrod and were much more forthright about calling him out when he said and did stuff he shouldn't. he considered dwarves his teachers and thought of them as having certain innate wisdom that elves didn't. at a basic level, he also just needed their help: they knew middle earth much better than he did and had been evading angband's forces for centuries. he recognized that without their support and advice, he wouldn't be able to maintain nargothrond as a safe haven (given that he didn't have a goddess for a wife, he had to make do with what was available). but i think overall he also just considered dwarves much closer to, if not exactly, the intellectual and cultural peers of elves (though he never listened when dwarves tried to explain that maybe he should take a step back from direct tampering with human affairs). he considered receiving a dwarven name one of the greatest honors of his life (i also headcanon that in order to get a community epithet he had to be adopted formally by a dwarf family. he very much loved his dwarven "parents").

anyways, this guy is so complex that i feel like this barely scratched the surface, but i hope it answered your questions okay!! <333

[thegreatestofheck]

dark of the night [A. Hotchner]

word count – 25,555 (its so long im so sorry) warnings - a lot, blood, torture, mentions (but no descriptions) of sexual assault/rape, murder, canon violence stuff, this is essentially a hurt/comfort fic so expect a lot of hurt to come before the comfort, also a slow burn. synopsis - an agent gets taken in the middle of an investigation. in a race against time, the team at the bau must find her by diving into her deepest secrets. when a video tape arrives with horrible images of the state of their friends, aaron hotchner realizes just how terrified he is of losing her.  tagging: @magicalbluepanther (i hope you don’t mind the tag lol) a/n – did anyone order an extra long aaron hotchner slow burn? Because here you’ve got one. so my mental health is declining again and that means I have to write a criminal minds one shot that involves a lot of hurt/comfort. also I gave y/n a name because i don’t really like y/l/n or anything, but you’re more than welcome to replace it with your own! please dont be mad at me. anyway, stay happy, healthy, safe, and groovy!

The moment Agent Hotchner realized that she wasn’t coming back, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. It had happened once before, this feeling, the day he was in his car and he got that call from Foyet and heard Hayley’s muffled sobbing over the phone. Panic settled into his bones, unable to shake it away even as the terrified eyes of the rest of the team looked his way. 

“Did we just lose her?” Emily Prentiss asked, her words wavering ever so slightly as she tried to keep herself calm. 

At the sound of her voice, Hotch finally found himself able to look around the room. 

Morgan had shifted his eyes back to the door that his friend was supposed to come through. Reid stared at Hotch, wide eyed, lips parted. JJ was chewing on her thumb nail, waiting for Hotch to do something, say something. Emily was looking between the door and Hotch. Rossi was standing behind him, so he couldn’t see the look on his face, but Hotch couldn’t imagine he looked any different than the rest of his team. 

Agent Evelyn Caro had walked into the meeting, undercover, in hopes of baiting a serial killer into a quick and easy arrest. After three years of horrific killings, the BAU team was so close to catching him and Agent Caro was more than willing to be the one to take him down. 

Hotch knew this particular case was a sore spot for Caro, as all torture/murder cases were. But during this entire case, she had been far more on edge and far more eager to tear their suspect to shreds. He shouldn’t have let her go to the meeting, he knew it was too personal for her, even if she had never told him why. 

She had refused to take in a ear piece, said that the stories that would be told at the meeting were personal and their privacy was to be respected. Hotch trusted her. He agreed. They all stood outside and waited. The meeting should have been only two hours, Caro promised that she would be back with the suspect in less than three hours. 

But it had now been three hours and almost thirty minutes. The door hadn’t opened a single time since the last of the members of the meeting left, all except Caro and the suspect. 

She fit his physical appearance preference and possessed the confidence he appeared to have deep hatred for. It should have been an easy job. 

“What went wrong?” Hotch murmured out loud, more to himself. 

His words seemed to trigger something in Morgan, who pushed open the van door and unholestered his weapon before anybody could stop him. 

“Morgan!” Rossi yelled after him, but there was no slowing down, and once Morgan was running toward the meeting building, Emily and Reid were on his tail. 

“Hotch, what do we do?” JJ asked, turning toward him as Rossi hopped out of the car to go after his peers. 

Hotch ran through every single protocol that he knew like the back of his hand. They flitted through his brain like smoke, a flurry of useless words and numbers that meant nothing to him. Not a single one told him how to deal with this. Tightness squeezed at his chest as the rules and regulations he clung so tightly to began to fail him once again. 

“We find her.” 

Gun drawn, Hotch entered the building with JJ on his tail. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his composure about him. The same couldn’t be said for some of the others. 

“Evie!” Morgan called out, kicking down a door. 

“Evelyn?” Rossi’s voice echoed through elementary school. 

Hotch was seconds away from calling out her name himself, but he kept his jaw clenched tight. JJ followed every move he made. If he lost himself now, so would JJ. He needed at least one person on his side whose head was still level. 

They scoured the entire grounds, but they could find nothing. The room where the meeting had taken place was empty. Not even the leader was there anymore. This dark room was where the team met up after searching every inch of the grounds. 

There was silence for an eternity as they passed glances between each other, wordlessly asking if anyone had found anything. 

“There’s not even a footprint,” Morgan said helplessly, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. 

“I didn’t hear her scream.” JJ’s voice was weak and her eyes downcast. 

“None of us did,” Rossi replied. 

“We have to find her quickly,” Hotch said, finally trusting himself enough to speak. “He only keeps his victims for five days and if he knows she’s FBI, it’s probably less than that.” 

“I’ll call Garcia, track Evie’s phone,” Morgan said, pulling out his phone and turning away from the group. 

“We start from the ground up,��� Hotch instructed. “Right now, Agent Caro isn’t our coworker but a victim and we have to treat her as such if we want to find her. Dig into her life, figure out what connects her to the other victims. Did he take her because she’s FBI or because she’s connected to the others. Morgan?”

“Her phone’s off,” Morgan said, pulling the phone away from his ear. 

“Tell Garcia to look for a connection between all of the victims. Dig and dig deep. Hold nothing back.”

Morgan paused for a moment. They all remembered when they had to do this very thing to him, when he was a suspect all those years ago. He knew what it was like to have his friends digging into a personal life he long wanted buried, how they looked at him differently after they knew, even if they didn’t mean to. He didn’t understand then, that they were trying to help, but he did now. There was no time to hesitate. This was Evelyn they were talking about. 

“Garcia, give me everything on Evelyn Caro that you can find. Dig deep. She needs us,” Morgan said. 

“Got it.” 

“Call me when you get anything.” 

“Yup.” 

She ended the call and Morgan turned back to the team. 

“Garcia’s on it.” 

“Okay, then we need to get back to the station and look at everything again. We have a name. We know it’s him. We just need to find them.” Hotch turned away from the team and started for the exit. “No one goes home until we find her.” 

___

Hotch meant what he said, but no one needed to be told twice. Red rimmed eyes scanned the same files over and over and over again as they waited for any amount of information from Garcia. 

“There has to be something here,” Morgan said with a frustrated sigh. “Something we’re missing.” 

“Why did he take her?” JJ asked as she set down her file. The woman rubbed her eyes before crossing her arms and looking up at the rest of the room. “I mean, what changed in that room that made him want her?”

“He found out she was FBI?” Reid suggested, leaning back in his chair. 

“How though?” Rossi piped in from his position leaning up against the wall. “Caro isn’t dumb enough to reveal herself, we were careful.” 

“She must have said something in that meeting that convinced him that she was a good target,” Hotch said. He could feel all eyes on him as he watched the ground, unable to meet any of their gazes. “Maybe this is how he finds his victims. At these group meetings.” 

“So we sent Evie into a death trap.” Morgan shoved his chair away from the table and stood, hands on his hips as he breathed heavily. 

“We have to figure out what connects her to the other victims,” Emily said. “Just like any other case.” 

“But this isn’t any other case is it?” 

“Morgan-” 

“This is Evelyn we’re talking about!” 

“Morgan, I need you to calm down,” Hotch said, standing from his place. 

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Hotch.” Morgan trembled with rage, his eyes glazed over with water. “You can’t expect me to sit here and-” 

“I expect you to do your job, Agent Morgan, seeing as that is the only thing that will get Caro back home.” Hotch struggled to keep his voice low. He curled his fists so the others couldn’t see how badly his hands were shaking. 

“You think we’ll get her back?” 

“If you do your job.” 

Morgan breathed in deeply and nodded his head. Before he sat back down, Morgan put his hand on Reid’s shoulder. The kid had his hand covering his mouth, his eyes glazed over like Morgan’s had been. 

Hotch knew how close Morgan and Caro were. Ever since she signed on to the team, the two had been nearly inseparable. Hotch wondered if it was something he needed to discuss with them. Every time that he seriously considered it, he had to question his motivations. Was it to keep complications out of their team or was it something else, something he wasn’t ready to admit? 

Turning his eyes away from Reid and Morgan, Hotch opened his mouth to address the team when Garcia stepped into the open doorway. They all turned to look at her only to see that her cheeks were streaked with tears as she clutched a file in her hands. 

“Garcia, what is it?” Emily stood and walked toward her, a hand out open for her. 

“You...you told me to dig deep so I did,” she stammered. “I...I did and I found...oh, God.” 

“Come in,” Hotch said, trying to smooth the furrow in his brows. 

Garcia took Emily’s hand and shuffled into the briefing room, sniffling through her tears. 

“Our poor baby girl,” Garcia said, setting the file gently onto the round table as if it was fragile. “She never told us-” 

“Garcia.” 

Garcia cleared her throat and nodded her head, flipping the file open. The team crowded around the table. Staring up at them was a picture of a young girl, her face purpled and bloody. Morgan clenched his jaw, Reid turned his face away from the picture. 

“Is that Caro?” JJ asked, her hand hovering over her mouth. 

Hotch had seen this picture before, attached to the file so covered in black redacted lines that he barely gleaned anything from it. But there were no more black lines. Everything about Agent Caro was there for him to read. Her life was an open book for him. This was his job, the only way to get her back, so why did he feel so dirty doing it? 

“When Evie-”

“Evelyn,” Hotch corrected. “She can’t be our friend right now.”

Garcia nodded, her eyes still glassy. 

“When Evelyn Caro was 12 years old, she was kidnapped from her front lawn. She was held captive by her...by her uncle for four years. He did...he did horrible things to her...I’m sorry-” 

Garcia choked, turning away from the file. Morgan put his hand on Garcia’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

“She was held by her uncle,” Hotch continued, eyes scanning the page, when it was clear that Garcia wouldn’t be able to. “There were clear signs of r-pe and physical violence, even though she never spoke about it afterward.” 

“She was held captive by her uncle?” Morgan asked. “How did no one know it was him?”

“Police talked to everyone in the family,” Garcia said, turning back into the conversation. “He was never on their serious list of suspects.” 

“How did she get out?” Rossi asked from his place near the back of the crowd.

“She broke out,” Garcia said, her voice like iron even as her lower lip trembled. “She stabbed that son of a bitch the moment she got the chance and she ran until someone found her.” 

“She killed him?” JJ asked. 

Hotch let out a heavy sigh. Something like pride blossomed in his chest. Maybe it was vindication. He would have killed the bastard himself. 

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?” Reid asked, looking up at Hotch like a lost dog. 

“We all have secrets we’ve kept from each other,” Hotch told him, even though he was wondering the same thing. “Now we need to figure out if this is somehow related to why he took her.” 

There was a moment of silence hanging over the room. 

“Garcia, look into the lives of the other women again,” he continued. “See if there is any kind of connection.” 

“I’m on it.”

There was a new kind of determination in her voice, like a fire was lit underneath her.

“Videos of the other victims were sent to the families of the victims,” Hotch said, looking back at the rest of the team. “JJ, contact her brother, see if he’s received anything and tell him to contact us as soon as he is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the rest of us?” 

Once again, all eyes were on Hotch, expecting him to have all of the answers. But he didn’t. He didn’t know anything. 

“Do your jobs.”

___

When the video was sent to her family, it wasn’t her estranged brother who received it. 

“Hotch.” Morgan’s voice was shaking as he picked up the yellow envelope on his desk. “Hotch!” 

As soon as Hotch saw the package he knew what had to be in it. He had seen four of them before all from the previous victims’ families. His heart constricted in his chest. He knew what they were about to watch. Their team member, their friend. 

Grinding his teeth together to keep his face straight, Hotch took the package from Morgan and started back for the briefing room. 

“Do you want me to round up the team?” Morgan asked. 

“You guys shouldn’t have to watch this,” Hotch told him. 

“You’re not watching it alone.” 

Without another word, Morgan went to collect the others. 

Once they were all in the briefing room, Garcia put the recording onto the big screen. 

“You don’t-” 

“We’re staying,” JJ said, her fingers laced with Emily’s. 

Hotch nodded once before looking over at Garcia and signaling her to start the video. 

As soon as Garcia hit the play button, Morgan put an arm around her shoulder and she put a hand up to her mouth. Hotch leaned against a chair, his knuckles going white. 

The screen was black for a few moments. When it turned on, Agent Evelyn Caro was sitting half naked on a cot. Bruises littered her body, her ribs on the left side blackened. A cut ran across a purple cheek with dried blood running down her face. One of her eyes was black. But Caro stared straight ahead of her, eyes made of steal. 

“Oh, baby,” Garcia breathed. 

The room was small, bland. It looked cold. 

A man stepped into the frame. Caro didn’t even look at him, she just kept staring straight ahead. Before he even said anything, he raised a hand and slapped her across the face. Reid flinched, but none of them turned away. Their attention needed to be on this video, gleaning as much information as they could to get her home. Hotch refused to let her suffering go to waste. He would watch every second of it, no matter how much his stomach burned with hatred. 

Caro barely reacted to the backhand, her head snapping to the side, but the rest of her body stayed in the same place, her hands clasped together in her lap. When she straightened her head, blood trickled down from her lip. She lifted a hand to wipe the blood away before looking up at the man. Her eyes carried the heat of a thousand suns as she looked at her assailant, almost as if daring him to touch her again. That was the Caro that Hotch knew. She would never back down, never give in. 

“What do you want?” She asked. 

Hearing her voice so raw sent a chill down Hotch’s spine. Everything about this was wrong. 

“I know what happened to you when you were young,” the man said, walking in front of her. 

Caro clenched her jaw and turned her face forward once again, seeming to pretend that he wasn’t there. 

“Does this feel familiar to you?” the man asked, spinning in a circle. “The room, the bed, the chain.” 

Hotch’s eyes shifted away from Caro and he looked more at the bed. There was indeed a chain attached to the metal of the bed frame. Caro’s jaw tightened again and Hotch watched as she ran a finger over a scar he had seen on her wrist a million times before but never asked her about. He could only imagine a young Agent Caro, chained to a bed. She carried that scar around with her and he had never even cared enough to ask her about it. 

“It’s exactly the same,” Caro said.

The man sat next to her and still Caro didn’t flinch. Not even her breathing changed. Amidst his anger and his fear, Hotch felt pride. Damn right she would not even acknowledge him. Hotch expected nothing less from her. Though he wouldn’t fault her if she did. 

The Unsub put his hand on her knee and Hotch’s eyes went red. His ears rang, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He watched Caro look down at the Unsub’s hand and Hotch noticed a slight tremble in her body. Her shaking was rage, not fear. He knew her well enough to know that. 

“What do you want?” The tremor reached her voice. Hotch could see her holding back from killing the unsub then and there. Her restraint told him that her captor was the only way out of her room. If she killed him now, she would be trapped. 

The unsub sighed and tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixed on the ground. 

“I want to break you,” he said.

Hotch clenched his jaw, but still Caro’s face stayed straight. She didn’t even blink. The words ‘I dare you to try’ never even passed her lips, but it was a clear challenge in her eyes. 

The image cut and Hotch almost thought that was going to be the end. But then it suddenly clicked on. Caro was slowly sitting up from laying on the bed. The unsub was halfway in the frame, buckling his belt. Hotch heard a quiet ‘oh’ come from Garcia and when he glanced over at her, he noticed tears in Morgan’s eyes. 

Caro seemed stiff as she sat up. The chain that had before been only attached to the bed was now shackled to her wrist. Hotch watched her grimace as she moved her feet to the ground. Her toes curled, telling Hotch that the ground was cold. The entire room must have been freezing. 

A silence hung over the team as they waited for something to happen. 

“You’re tough, I’ll give you that,” the unsub said. Caro refused to look at him. “The other girls gave in at this point.” 

“And then you killed them.” Caro looked over at him, moving slowly and clearly despite the pain that was obvious settling into her bones. 

The unsub shrugged his shoulders, a proud smile on his face. 

“Some girls seem to think that death is better than what I did to them,” he said. “But maybe you kind of like it.” 

Caro pulled harshly against her chain, shutting her eyes and turning her face away from him. 

“Son of a bitch,” Rossi breathed. Hotch refrained from looking back at him. 

“How does she not strangle him?” JJ asked. Her words were tight from the swelling in her throat. 

“He’s her only way out of that room,” Hotch told her. “She kills him and she starves in there.” 

“Not if we find her.” 

They fell quiet again, just soon enough to hear a low rumble of a laugh from the man. 

“I see I struck a nerve.” The unsub said. 

Caro steadied her breathing and straightened her shoulders. 

“I’m not surprised you’ve lasted longer than the other girls, being an FBI agent and all. I wonder how your friends are doing.” 

Caro pulled against the chain again, her eyes squeezing tighter. 

“Ah, another nerve. Should we poke at that one a bit more?” 

The unsub stepped out of the frame. For the briefest moment, with his back turned on her, Caro’s eyes flicked toward the camera. 

“She knows it’s there,” Reid said. “She knows about the camera.” 

Caro sucked in a deep breath and gave a short nod of her head. She knew her taker’s MO. She knew about the videos and the envelope. She knew they were watching her, and she was telling them that she was okay. 

When the unsub walked back into frame, he was holding something in his hands. With his back to the camera, they couldn’t get a good look at what he was holding.

“I am aware that your brother is the only remaining relative of yours who will speak to you, is that correct?” The unsub said.

Caro breathed deeply in once, her eyes staring straight through the unsub.

“This is him and his wife, their two daughters. Beautiful family. When was the last time you spoke to them?”

Agent Caro’s eyes moved from the unsub to the object in his hand and her eyes immediately welled up with tears. The unsub clicked his tongue.

“It’s the shame, isn’t it? It eats you up inside. You can’t bear the thought of tainting your brother and his perfect family with your past.”

She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

“This is Penelope Garcia, yes?”

Garcia straightened her back, surprised at hearing her name.

Caro opened her eyes and Hotch noticed a drastic shift in her breathing. Once steady and calm, her chest now rose and fell at an uneven pace. Her eyes darted between whatever the unsub was holding and his face.

“Jennifer Jareau?”

The unsub tossed something onto the bed next to Caro. And then another.

“David Rossi?”

For the first time, Caro flinched as he flicked what Hotch was starting to realize was a picture in her direction.

“Emily Prentiss. Spencer Reid.”

Two more pictures were thrown at her and Caro flinched twice more.

“Derek Morgan.”

A fire lit in Caro’s eyes as she stared up at him again.

“Aaron Hotchner.”

Before he could even throw the picture her way, Caro jumped up from the bed and charged at him, pulling on the chair.

“If you touch them, I swear I’ll kill you,” she seethed.

The unsub shoved her backward onto the bed, but she scrambled up again. He hit her across the face, sending her back with a yelp. Breathing heavily, she turned to look at him, like a rabid dog.

“That’s a hard promise to make seeing as you are chained to a bed and I am not.”

“She has to know that he can’t hurt us,” Emily said, looking to Hotch for answers.

“She’s panicking,” Hotch replied. His knuckles tightened over the chairs.

“You think I won’t go after them?” the unsub said as he dropped a hand onto her shoulder.

Caro turned her face away from him and shook her head.

“You can’t,” she said. Her voice was growing weak, shaking more. “They’re FBI, you can’t just-“

She didn’t get the chance to finish before the unsub threw a fist across her face.

“I won’t even have to hurt them though, will I?” The unsub sneered, bending down close to her face. “I bet by now they know every dark secret about your past. Every skeleton in your closet. They know about the blood on your hands.”

Hotch had read her file that Garcia dug up a thousand times over in the last few days since she found it. Something in him told him he had to, though another part of him wanted to wait until Caro was there to tell him herself. But she deserved better than for her story to go unknown. She deserved to have someone know.

“No,” Caro whimpered.

“You really think they’ll accept you after that?” The unsub let out a laugh.

“Evie, we love you,” Garcia said as she took a step forward. “Evie-“

“Garcia, quiet,” Hotch said, putting out a hand.

“Sir, she has to know, she has to know.”

Morgan put his arm back around Garcia and pulled her in for a hug.

“She knows,” he whispered to her.

“You lost your family once because of what you did to your uncle,” the unsub said. “Now you’ll lose another.”

“No!”

Caro threw herself at the unsub once again, her fists flying. Hotch had seen her fight before. She was well trained, and she was calculated, confident. But this was animalistic. This was pure instinct. Her punches were weak and light, hitting the places of the unsub where very little damage would be done. The chain prevented any real effort from her, though the bed shook and rattled as she yanked against the metal. It didn’t take him long to wrestle her onto the bed, pinning her down by her arms.

Her face was clearly displayed to the camera. She breathed sporadically, panting and gasping for air. Sweat beaded down her battered face. Her eyes were wide and flitting back and forth, terrified.

“How would you feel if I paid one of them a visit, huh?” The unsub asked, his nose brushing against her cheek.

Caro struggled, a growl of frustration strangled in her sore throat.

“That Spencer Reid lives alone, doesn’t he?”

Rossi put a hand on Reid’s shoulder, who had suddenly gone pale.

“Don’t touch him!” She thrashed again, trying to throw the unsub off of her. She tried to kick her feet, but they were effectively pinned under her by the weight of the unsub. She grunted and groaned in the effort it took to try and get him off of her.

“I doubt it would take much to strangle that skinny neck of his.”

Caro suddenly stopped struggled. The sweat that pooled down her cheeks suddenly started to look more like tears as her body went still.

“Please don’t hurt them,” she said, her voice quiet.

“What, you don’t want me creeping into Emily’s apartment tonight, pay her a little visit?”

Caro let out a quiet sound, something that was almost like a sob.

“Please.”

“What will you do for me in return?” He asked, pressing still closer to her face.

Caro rolled her head back and forth on the bed and Hotch could see the tears that pooled in her eyes.

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

She just nodded her head, lower lip quavering.

“Don’t give up, baby girl,” Morgan whispered. Garcia clung tighter to his hand.

“Well, well,” the unsub said with a sigh as he sat up, releasing Caro from his hold. Her body sagged even further into the cot. He stepped away from the cot and bent down to pick up some of the pictures that fell to the floor. “There isn’t really anything I want from you just now, so I might go and visit one of your friends just to keep you on your toes.”

“No!” Caro leapt from the bed and attached herself to the unsub’s back.

He threw her against back against the cot. Hotch could see him lift his hand to deliver hit after hit to his agent, but he was grateful that the unsub’s back blocked the view of the camera. He didn’t think he could stand to watch her get beaten.

Caro was surprisingly silent as the unsub hit her.

It was over relatively quickly. The unsub straightened himself out, squaring his shoulders. Without a word, he turned to the camera and walked toward it. Caro let out a quiet groan just before the unsub picked up the camera and shut it off.

There was a heavy silence that fell over the team.

“What the hell did we just watch?” Emily asked, setting her eyes on Hotch.

They were once again expecting him to have all the answers, but he had nothing to say. His hands were cramping from how hard he was clenching onto the chair. It took all the strength in him not to throw it across the room. Caro should be here with them, not in that room, not with that man.

“Garcia, can you play the end again and turn up the volume?” Rossi asked.

“No offense, sir,” Garcia said, teary eyed. “But I can’t watch that again.”

“Just the very end, as he’s walking toward the camera. Agent Caro said something.”

“Did she?” JJ asked, crossing her arms.

Garcia pressed a few buttons on her laptop and the video returned. Hotch was almost tempted to look away. The audio was louder as the unsub heaved out an exhausted sigh and started walking toward the camera. And then they heard it, the quiet groan. But it wasn’t a groan at all. She had said something, just a quiet name.

His name.

Aaron.

___

Sitting at his desk, Hotch couldn’t seem to lift his heavy head from his hands. The window, which was almost always closed, was wide open. His office was too stuffy, too hot. He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t get the sound of his name from her lips out of his head.

A knock came to his door and he finally lifted his head. Rossi was standing there with his usual “something is wrong and I’m going to fix it” face. Hotch wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for this conversation.

“What can I do for you, David?”

“We have to talk about what just happened,” Rossi said.

“I don’t really think-“

“Aaron, listen to me,” Rossi said, walking into the room. “Evelyn needs you right now.”

“There’s nothing I can do that the team isn’t already doing.”

“She said your name.”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s tone was a little sharper than he meant it to be. He let out a sigh and stretched out his fingers.

Rossi sat down across from him.

“Why? We all know that she’s closest with Morgan, so why say your name?” Rossi asked. Hotch squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. The exhaustion headache that was plaguing him wasn’t helping the fact that thinking about who Caro was and wasn’t closest with lit a fire in his gut. “And why your first name? She only ever called you Hotch, like the rest of us.”

“That’s not true,” Hotch said, memorizing the lines on his hands so he wouldn’t have to look at Rossi.

“What isn’t?”

“She’s called me Aaron.”

“When?”

“When she was angry with me,” Hotch said. The thought of it pained him. He could hear her sharp tone, the way she hissed his name like venom. When she thought he was too cold, too apathetic.

“Or….”

“Or what?”

There was another time when she called him Aaron. Three other times.

On the worst day of his life, when he held Hayley’s body in his arms, Caro had sat next to him on the floor. People were calling his name. “Hotch, Hotch, Hotchner.”

She sat there on the ground and whispered his name just once, “Aaron.” It was quiet, like a pin dropping during a storm. But still he heard her.

“Aaron, your son,” she said.

That decision, to stay with Hayley or go find Jack, tore his soul into pieces until she spoke again.

“I’ll stay with her.”

The second time was a few weeks after Hayley’s death. Hotch wasn’t handling it well, or at all. She saw right through the façade that he had put forward. He was at the office late one night and so was she. Even when he tried to send her home, she politely refused, saying there was a lot of work she needed to get done.

He spent hours in his office, the grief and the sorrow and the shame building and building and building until he was suddenly standing over his desk. Everything here reminded him of Hayley. The baseball, the picture of Jack, even the piles of papers that were stacked high, shaming him for not being there for her more.

The only way to keep himself from crying was to let the anger take over. Anger at Foyet, anger at the job, anger at the world, anger at himself. Forgetting where he was, Hotch had dumped everything off of his desk with one sweep of his arm.

Collapsing to the ground, Hotch didn’t remember how long he sat there, leaning against his desk, hyperventilating, until Caro walked in. She didn’t say anything to him. She just lowered herself to the ground next to him, letting out a long sigh. She just sat there, breathing louder than Hotch was used to her breathing, but he found after a few minutes that his breathing began to match hers. A calmness returned to his body, at least enough to breathe normally.

“Aaron?”

He turned to look at her, the edges of his eyes lined with red.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Hotch nodded his head. He pushed himself to his feet before helping Caro to hers.

“I’ll drive,” she said, stepping around all of the things on the ground.

“What about-“

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Caro had said. “Come on.”

She talked to him all the way back to the car. She asked if he wanted to talk about what made him dump all of his stuff on the ground. When he said no, she asked him about Jack instead. It felt comfortable to talk to her about his son, even though he tried to keep personal life and business separated. He had never really talked to her about anything other than work, except for the times when the team would go out to eat, back when Hayley would come with them. She would talk about her brother, his family, but very vaguely.

Now he supposed he knew why she was always so vague.

The third time she called him Aaron, they were on a case. Young girls being kidnapped, assaulted, and dumped. This was one of many cases just like it. Hotch couldn’t even remember what town they were in now. All he remembered was walking by Caro’s hotel room and feeling like he needed to go inside. Something pulled him to a stop outside her door that night and he couldn’t ignore it.

He knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for a respond before he opened in.

Caro was still up, even though they had left hours ago. She had skipped the meal they all shared together, which was unlike her. She sat at her desk, the lamp on but not the overhead light. The case that they were working was laid out in front of her. When she looked up at him, startled that he had come in, her eyes were red and he couldn’t tell if it was all of the reading or if it was something else.

“What can I do for you, Hotch?” Caro asked, one of her legs propped up on the swivel chair.

“I….” He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. “….wanted to check on you, see how you were doing.”

Caro’s lips pulled into an amused smile.

“You never check on me.”

“Maybe now’s the time to start.”

They were quiet for a few moments until Caro let out a sigh. She patted the bed, signaling for him to sit.

“These cases, the ones with the young girls, they’re hard,” Caro told him after he sat down.

Hotch felt like a foreigner sitting there and talking to her, awkward as he sat on her bed, like it shouldn’t be him here doing this. But she seemed so eager to talk, like she was just waiting for someone to ask.

“I understand,” Hotch said finally, looking at the carpet. “They’re hard on all of us.”

“Aaron.”

At the sound of his name, he looked back at her and he could see the tears in her eyes. He didn’t realize it then, but she had been begging him to understand so she didn’t have to say. She didn’t want to have to say it.

He couldn’t sleep that night and he didn’t know why.

“She called you Aaron when she was mad at you or….” Rossi’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“Or she needs me to listen.”

“So, what does she need you to hear?”

___

“He knows her,” Hotch said suddenly, startling the life out of the half sleeping agents.

“What?” Morgan asked, sitting up.

“The unsub knows her. There is no way that he learned all of this about her at the meeting they went to. No way he could have replicated the room that she was kept in when she was a child unless he had personal information.”

“He knew everything about her…and us…before he even took her,” Rossi said, his voice laced with awe. “Which means….”

“All those other murders were about getting her here.” Hotch felt his heart restrict in his chest. “This has all been about her. She was the piece we were missing.”

“Sir?” Garcia hurried into the room, meaning she had found something. “The link between all the victims, I think I found it.”

The team turned toward her.

“Evie is the link.” Garcia swiped up on her laptop, a couple different screens popping up on the big screen. “Sarah Jordans went to kindergarten with Evie. Paulette Bobin was the daughter of the police officer who found Evie after she escaped her uncle. Robin Everard was her high school drama teacher’s niece. Celia Hough was the sister of a woman she walked dogs for in middle school. They weren’t close enough to Evie for her to recognize them, but they were all a part of her life in some way.”

Hotch looked over at Rossi and shook his head.

“It’s been about Caro all along. All of it.”

“That means that the place she’s being held is about her too,” Morgan said. “More than just making the room look the same. He’s holding her somewhere that means something to her.”

“Garcia,” Hotch said, turning his attention back to the tech analyst. “Who owns the uncle’s house now?”

“You think he took her back there?”

“She said the room looked exactly the same. Maybe because it was the same.”

“The house passed onto his wife’s son when he died,” Garcia said.

“Where is the son now?”

“He is….” They all watched her carefully, waiting for the last piece of information. “…. He changed his name just after his father’s funeral to….”

Hotch turned back to the screen, where the picture of the unsub was plastered so none of them would forget it.

“Ralph Bennet,” Morgan said, venom in his words. “The unsub.”

“How did she not recognize her own cousin?”

“His father and mother got divorced when he was young. He didn’t even know he had a step-dad who was still alive until he was dead,” Garcia said.

“So, Ralph Bennet was the step-son of Caro’s uncle. He feels like he has to punish her for taking another father figure away from him,” added Reid.

“He wants her to pay. He wants to hurt her in any way possible.”

“He’s got her at her old house.”

___

Evelyn could barely see. Her eyes were weak and tired, partially from the crying and partially from the lack of sleep. She was terrified of letting her eyes shut, of letting her guard down. She needed to stay awake, to keep her guard up. But she couldn’t take her eyes away from the red stain on the floor.

The cot mattress was itching her skin. If she could ignore the itching, she would begin to feel the sting of the metal chain against her skin. She preferred the itching.

A thud from downstairs echoed to her room. The attic. Pretending like this wasn’t that room she had been kept in for all those years was the only thing that was keeping her from breaking down, but that wall between what she pretended was real and reality was growing thin.

Breathing in through her nose, Evelyn shut her eyes and imagined herself back in her apartment, safe and warm. In her hands was a cup of tea, chamomile with only one sprinkling of sugar. It was raining outside. Not too hard, but hard enough that she could hear it pattering against the window. Her dog slept at her feet, breathing softly. In her lap was-

Another thud from downstairs, tearing Evelyn from her fantasy. She opened her eyes and looked toward the door.

“Ralph?” She called out, voice hoarse. There was no response.

When the door burst open suddenly, Evelyn yelped and jumped backward, curling her legs in on herself.

Ralph stood there, his face red and sweat beading down his forehead.

“What’s going on?” Evelyn asked, curling up tighter.

Ralph let out a growl of frustration and started toward her.

“Ralph- no!” Evelyn kicked out at him, but he grabbed hold of her ankles and dragged her to the edge of the bed. “What are you-“

“Shut up,” Ralph snapped, unlacing the chains around her wrist. “We’re leaving.”

“What-“

“I said shut up!”

He tugged down hard on the chain, making it dig deeper into the wound around her wrist. Evelyn hissed in pain, but she quieted as he told her. There was another thud from downstairs and Evelyn snapped her head in the direction of the sound. Things were slowly starting to come together; Ralph’s shaking hands, his red face, the thudding downstairs.

Evelyn looked between Ralph and the door. She sat a still as she could while his trembling hands, waiting for the just right moment. As soon as the chains were loose, Evelyn slipped her wrist out of the chain, kicked Ralph over with as little strength as she had, and ran for the door.

“Aaron!”

Her cry echoed through the house just before Ralph grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He hissed, dragging her back into the room.

“Caro?”

Evelyn gasped through Ralph’s hand at the sound of Hotch’s voice, trying to shout back. She struggled against Ralph as he pulled her back to the bed, thrashing her shoulders to try and break free.

“Agent Caro?”

I’m here, Hotch, I’m here.

Ralph threw the weak Evelyn onto the bed and backhanded her across the face so hard that her head started to spin. She stretched her jaw, blinking away the blackness in her vision.

“Evie!” From somewhere far away, she thought she could hear her best friend, Derek Morgan, calling for her. She opened her mouth to call back, but all she felt was numbness.

By the time she finally felt like she could see again, there was someone else in the doorway. At first glance, she thought it was Ralph, but he was still there in the room with her. The man in the doorway had a gun, the man in the doorway was Aaron Hotchner.

“Ralph Bennet, step away,” Hotch said.

Evelyn watched, head blurry as Ralph did as he was told, backing away from her. But he was going the wrong way. There was something wrong that way. Something she needed to tell Hotch about.

“You came for me,” she said, trying to smile.

“Are you okay, Caro?”

Evelyn could feel the headache behind her eyes begin to fade. She nodded her head once, letting her eyes close. There was something she needed to tell him, something really important.

“There’s something,” she said, shaking her head to try and clear it. “Over there-“

Before Evelyn could even finish, Ralph stepped forward and swung a bat at Hotch, the bat that Evelyn knew was in the corner. The bat that broke her ribs. That was what she needed to tell Hotch about. But now it was too late.

The bat knocked Hotch’s gun out of his hands and onto the ground. Hotch wasted no time in jumping into action, springing at Ralph without a second thought. Evelyn tried to shake herself out of her stoper. She would be no help to anyone weary. Even if malnutrition and the beating she got that morning were the cause of her exhaustion, she wanted to be of more help.

Hotch knocked Ralph backward, but Ralph held tight to the bat in his hands, using it to push Hotch backward. It was hard for Evelyn to follow the fight, her eyes not able of following every hit and swing. When her eyes finally caught up with what was happening, the ringing in her ears starting to fade, Evelyn found that Hotch was on the ground, Ralph standing over him with the baseball bat, ready to bash his head in.

Evelyn pushed herself off of the bed, her legs weak and shaking, and ran toward Ralph.

“Don’t touch him!” She growled, reaching up to grab hold of the bat.

“Let go, bitch!”

It didn’t take much for Ralph to throw Evelyn’s grip off the bat, but only by throwing the bat out of his hands as well. She hit the ground with a thud, the force rattling through her bones. Ralph immediately turned his attention back to Hotch, who was still on the ground but in a less vulnerable state.

On the ground with Evelyn were the bat and the forgotten gun, but they were all the way on the other side of the room. She didn’t know if she could make it there and back before her legs gave out.

She was laying on the ground by the edge of the bed, hearing Hotch and Ralph go at it. There had to be something that she could do. She had to do something. As she pushed herself up, Evelyn’s had grazed over the chain, the chain that had been used to keep her tied to this bed for days. Looking up at Ralph, Evelyn dug into all that bitterness and all the rage that she had been brewing for the past twenty years of her life and found some ounce of strength.

Strength enough to wrap her hands around the chain. Strength enough to pick to chain off the ground. Strength enough to stand.

With Ralph paying attention to Hotch, his back was left exposed to her. He didn’t think she had the strength left. He thought he broke her.

But she was unbreakable.

Wrapping the chain around one of her hands, she walked up behind Ralph and swung the chain around his neck. He let out a startled gasp, lifting a hand, but not before Evelyn grabbed the chain with her open hand and pulled. Ralph stumbled backward into her. He slapped at her hands. He tried to hit her with the back of his head.

But the adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her strong. She pulled tighter, tensing her hands.

Ralph gagged and Evelyn scrunched her nose. He let out a gurgling sound and Evelyn groaned as the muscles in her arms began to cramp from the tightness. But still she did not let go.

Hotch stood, his lip bleeding and his eye beginning to bruise. Ralph and Evelyn stumbled over; he fell to the ground and she landed on the bed, never once letting the chain go slack.

“Agent Caro,” Hotch said. “You can let him go.”

Evelyn only pulled tighter. Ralph smacked at her hands lamely, choking sounds gurgling from his throat. His legs kicked out, struggling in the same way that she had been. His legs kicked and his body twitched and his arms flailed out and he maybe felt an ounce of the terror that Evelyn had.

“Caro.”

Evelyn’s face twisted she breathed heavily, pulling tighter against the chain until Ralph’s eyes were rolling.

“Evelyn.”

She froze, looking up at him. All the tension in her face faded as her eyes met Hotch’s. She always used his first name when she needed him to listen to her, but now it was her turn to listen to him. Ralph gasped for the air that was slowly entering his lungs.

“You can let him go.”

Evelyn remembered that scared little girl she was all those years ago. There had been no other option then. It was just her, her uncle, and the knife in her hand. It was kill him or live the rest of her life in a prison. She felt like that again. Alone, terrified, trapped, cornered. There was no other way out.

“You’re safe now, Evelyn,” Hotch said. “You can let him go.”

She wasn’t alone anymore. Hotch was here with her. She wasn’t that terrified little girl with no way out. She was an FBI agent. She had grown and she had learned and she was no longer alone. Her team had come from her. Her family had found her.

She let go of the chain, pulling her legs onto the bed. Ralph heaved in lung fulls of air, but Evelyn kept her eyes on Hotch. He took a step toward them, pulling out his handcuffs. Evelyn flinched away, pulling her legs in tighter.

“These aren’t for you,” Hotch told her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Relaxing her muscles as best as she could, Evelyn nodded her head.

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

She sat there on the bed while Hotch roughly rolled a still coughing Ralph onto his stomach to handcuff him. Once the handcuffs were on, Hotch turned back to Evelyn, who was still staring at him. Her eyes were full of tears.

It was hard for Hotch to say that he didn’t enjoy beating Ralph into the ground. He shouldn’t want to keep beating the shit out of the man now that he was in handcuffs, but seeing those tears in her eyes made Hotch want to. He had been tempted to let Evelyn kill Ralph. She deserved that bit of closure. But he knew the guilt that she already carried, the guilt she would carry on top of that. He knew because he carried that same guilt.

Still, he wanted to see that monster dead. He wanted to wipe those tears from her eyes before they even had a chance to fall.

“Caro-“

“Evie!”

Morgan burst into the room, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. Evelyn tore her gaze away from Hotch at the sound of Morgan’s voice.

“Derek.” The relief in her voice as she said his name made Hotch’s stomach drop.

Morgan rushed toward the bed and dropped to his knees in front of it. He reached forward and pulled the tattered blanket on the bed up and around Evelyn’s shoulders, covering her. Evelyn just stared at him, the tears threatening to fall from her lashes. Morgan brushed hair from out of her face as a smile began to pull at his lips. His smile made her almost able to break a grin too.

When Morgan first put his arms around Evelyn, het body immediately tensed. She expected to be surrounded by Ralph’s smell, feel his clammy skin on hers. But it was Morgan’s smell; that expensive cologne she had bought for his birthday mixed with the laundry detergent he always used. He held her tight. Even when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t able to look down enough to see Ralph, which was probably Morgan’s intention. She would have done the same thing.

The adrenaline had succeeded in keeping her heart rate steady, but now that Morgan was holding her, her heart started to pound.

Hotch grabbed Ralph off the ground and hoisted him to his feet. Evelyn listened as he shoved Ralph down the stairs, Ralph grunting and groaning all the way down.

It wasn’t until they could no longer hear him that Morgan pulled away. She didn’t want to let him go, afraid that she would begin to crumble without him there. Morgan put a hand on her cheek and leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s get you home.”

___

The first worst part about walking down those stairs was remembering the last time she had done this. That red stain on the floor had been there for twenty years. Evelyn had left her uncle bleeding out on the floor while she stumbled down the stairs, dazed, terrified. She knew the blood was the same because she had been covered in it too.

The second worst part was when everyone turned to look at her.

JJ, Emily, Reid, and Rossi were all in the downstairs of the house. They had holstered their guns, but Emily still had her hand on hers. The stairs were too narrow for Morgan to walk alongside her, so he held her hand as he walked in front of her. She was almost hesitant to take that final step, terrified of how the others would look at her.

When they heard the stair creak, they all turned their heads toward Evelyn. She froze, her blood running cold. She expected the concerned stares, the pitied eyes, it was all she got last time. Tightening the blanket around her shoulders, Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to look them in the eyes.

JJ walked toward her, stopping only a few feet away.

“Can I hug you?” JJ asked.

Evelyn looked up to see that there were tears in her friend’s eyes, but a smile on her face. There was no pity, only relief.

Slowly, Evelyn nodded her head. JJ didn’t need to be told twice. She closed the distance, wrapping her arms around Evelyn’s neck. Emily was next, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her head. Reid’s hug was awkward, shaky.

“If you ever need to talk,” he said quietly.

Evelyn nodded her head. She knew that he understood what it was like, to be taken and held against your will. She gave him a gentle smile that he returned. Rossi was the last to approach her. He had teary smile on his face as well. He didn’t hug her entirely, but instead put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her toward him to press a kiss against her forehead.

“C’mon,” Morgan said. “Ambulance is out here.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Evelyn said, looking over at him and giving a shake of your head.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Same old Evelyn.” He put an arm around her shoulder, as he always did. The action was simple, but it was enough to make her smile, to make her feel normal. “But yes, we’re taking you to the hospital.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes but let him lead her outside to the ambulance. Hotch was already out there, talking quietly to the EMT. Ralph must have gone in a different police car. He was nowhere to be seen.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital?” Morgan said once she had a quick once over by the EMT.

“You’re not going to ride with me?” She asked. Evelyn hoped that the fear of being alone again that she was feeling didn’t show through in her voice.

“Hotch’ll go with you.”

Morgan dropped a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, who wore his usual scowl, his arms crossed. He turned toward Morgan, who raised his eyebrows and walked away.

“I’ll be right back,” the EMT said before turning and walking away.

Evelyn sat on the bed, still wearing the blanket Morgan had wrapped around her. Her stomach twisted as Hotch walked toward her. She kept her eyes at the ground, chewing on the inside of her lip. She could feel only shame as he looked at her. Maybe it was because he could see the bruises and the cuts and the blood. Maybe it was because she was at her lowest and he was her boss who should only ever see her at her best. Maybe it was because he had to talk her down from choking the life out of a man. Maybe it was some combination of everything.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, leaning up against the ambulance.

Evelyn nodded her head slowly. She would have responded with a decisive yes, but her mouth had gone too dry to talk.

“That’s a stupid question, of course you’re not okay,” Hotch muttered and looked down at his feet.

“I’m okay,” Evelyn affirmed. “I’m okay.”

When he looked back up at her, Evelyn was surprised to see his eyes were watery.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get you sooner.”

Evelyn shook her head as aggressively as she could manage.

“I knew you would come, Hotch,” she told him. “I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault.”

Hotch let out an almost bitter laugh.

“I should be saying that to you.” Hotch looked at her in such a way that made Evelyn’s stomach squeeze. “All this time, and you’re still looking after me.”

Evelyn gave him a small smile in return.

“Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course.”

The EMT returned, telling Hotch that they were getting ready to go. He pulled himself into the ambulance and the EMT followed after him.

“Lie back,” the EMT said. Evelyn did as she was told, feeling a suffocating feeling settling on her chest as she stared up at the white ceiling. The sting of tears returned to her eyes and she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to hold them back.

Her hands tensed at her side, clenching around the blanket of the gurney. Hotch, now sitting in the chair beside her, reached out and took her hand in his. She turned her head to look at him, sniffing in deeply.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hotch told her before giving her a sharp nod.

Evelyn nodded back at him, breathing in deeply. She let go of the blanket and shifted her hand around until her fingers were laced through his. She didn’t know how comfortable he was with holding her hand, but at the moment she didn’t care. She needed someone’s hand to hold. She needed his hand to hold.

She wasn’t in the hospital for very long, which she was grateful for. Garcia got there as soon as Evelyn was released and put a pair of shaking arms around her, already dissolved into tears. Evelyn laughed, grateful for her friend’s antics.

“I love you so much,” Garcia said, her tears watering Evelyn’s neck.

She had ditched the gross blanket and was currently sporting a wonderful hospital gown and Hotch’s coat.

“Are you staying somewhere? Do you need somewhere to stay? I’ve got some clothes and a warm bed and I can make you some tea-“

“I really appreciate it, Pen,” Evelyn said, “But Hotch offered me a bed already.”

Garcia stopped her rambling to stare at her, glancing behind Evelyn to where Hotch was talking to the rest of the team.

“Hotch offered-? Right, okay. That’s good. I still brought you some clothes to wear. Come with me.”

“O-okay.”

Garcia led Evelyn to the bathroom to put her in some clothes.

“As soon as they went to get you, I went home to grab you some clothes.” Garcia dropped her bag on the ground. Evelyn covered her mouth with her hand to keep herself from laughing. It was sweet of her friend, but Evelyn didn’t think she needed that many clothes for a few nights. “I hope it’s enough.”

“Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Evelyn stepped into one of the stalls and pulled a thin sweater on over her head and a pair of sweatpants. It wasn’t the cutest outfit, but it was comfortable, and it covered her ill looking body, so it would do.

Penelope was wiping tears away when Evelyn stepped out of the stall. Evelyn smiled at her and put her hands on her friend’s shoulders.

“I’m okay, Pen.”

“Evie-“

“I’m really okay. I promise.”

Penelope let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

“Can I have a smile? It’ll make me feel better,” Evelyn said in a sing-songy, letting her hands fall back to her side.

A smile tugged at Penelope’s lips and she turned away, letting out a little laugh.

“There you go. Now the world’s right again.”

Evelyn and Penelope left the bathroom and rejoined the group just as Hotch was finishing his little speech.

“Go home, everybody. Get some sleep. We’ll come back to work on Monday,” Hotch was saying.

“Thank you,” Evelyn piped up before they turned to go their separate ways. “For everything.”

___

Hotch opened the front door of his apartment. It was dark inside, only one of the lamps were on. It was silent, still. Part of it was reassuring, the stillness. Part of it was unsettling, the quiet.

She looked back at Hotch and he nodded his head, so she stepped inside.

It felt better once she was inside. It was warm, warmer than the attic.

She had never even imagined stepping into Hotch’s home. She expected it to be stiff and cold like his office was, impersonal. But it was lively, with pictures hung on the walls and décor covering shelves full of books. Evelyn wondered absent-mindedly how much of it was Hayley’s sister or if Hotch had a secret interior designer in him somewhere. The thought made her smile.

“You’ll sleep through here,” Hotch said, his voice in a hushed tone. Jack was probably already in bed.

“Your room?” She asked, keeping her voice equally as low.

Hotch nodded.

“I’m not going to displace you,” Evelyn said. “I can sleep on the couch.”

On the couch, there was already a blanket and pillow set up.

“No, Caro. I can’t let you sleep on a couch your first day back,” Hotch said, giving his head a shake.

“Hotch, seriously-“

“Agent Caro…”

Evelyn tilted her head down and raised an eyebrow.

“Now you’re using your boss voice on me.”

To her amazement, Hotch actually smiled. He was looser here, less uptight. Something about passing into his house must have been some kind of release. Domestic Hotch was very different than at work Hotch.

“Fine,” Evelyn said. “But only for tonight.”

“I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Evelyn nodded her head. She turned down the hall as Hotch walked toward the couch. Evelyn stopped, turning to say one last thing to him, but she decided against it. He sat with his back to her, taking off his shoes. She watched him let out a deep sigh and roll tension out of his shoulders. Evelyn couldn’t help but think that she was the cause of that tension and the sooner she was out of his hair the better.

It was strange, standing by Hotch’s bed. This would be the first warm, safe bed she would be falling in to and it wasn’t her own, it was Hotch’s. It felt wrong to touch. It wasn’t hers. Even if he had said she could, it wasn’t hers. This bed belonged to someone else. Hotch’s permission didn’t feel like the only permission she needed.

On the bedside table, there was a picture. Hotch, Jack, and Hayley, all huddled together and smiling. Evelyn felt herself smiling as she looked at it. Reaching out her hand, she ran a finger along the picture frame.

“I hope it’s okay with you,” Evelyn whispered, looking at the picture of Hotch’s late wife.

They’d met a few times in the past and she was just the gentlest woman. She loved Hotch and she loved her son. There she was, staring up at Evelyn and smiling. But the only image that Evelyn had of her in her mind was Hayley’s limp body, the blood that stained her shirt.

Turning away from the picture, Evelyn pulled the blankets back before she kept overthinking. She dropped the bag that Garcia had given her onto the ground, flicked off her shoes and socks, and crawled into bed.

The warmth of the blankets was strange to her. Even her own bed wasn’t as warm as this one was. Still trying not to over think it, Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut and rolled onto her side. She breathed in deeply and was overwhelmed by his scent. With a heavy sigh, she rolled back onto her back and opened her eyes.

“Get over yourself, Evelyn,” she whispered to herself.

Breathing in slowly and steadily, Evelyn let her brain relax. She went to that safe place in her mind, that place far away. She didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep, safe and warm in that room where no one could reach her.

It wasn’t until blood started to seep through the walls that she realized she was asleep.

She woke up to someone screaming. The sound echoed off the walls of the bedroom. Someone was crying.

“Caro. Caro.” Someone was calling her name. Someone close by. Someone far away.

“Evelyn!”

Her eyes snapped open, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might be having a heart attack. The room was still dark, but the bedside lamp was turned on. The blankets were half on the floor. She had been throwing them off when she kicked her legs. Hotch was sitting in front of her. Not just sitting in front of her, but holding onto her shoulders. He had been shaking her. There was worry on his face, his eyes wide. Behind him was Jack, tears rolling down his face.

He was the one who was crying. That must have meant she was the one who was screaming.

“You’re okay,” Hotch said. “You were just dreaming.”

Evelyn lifted her hands to her face to find that there were tears on her cheeks.

“I…I’m sorry,” she said, a scowl in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Hotch shook his head. He looked tired. She must have woken him up.

“Is she okay?” Jack asked and sniffled.

“She’s fine, Jack, go back to bed,” Hotch said. When Jack hesitated, Hotch gave him a smile. “It’s okay. Go back to bed.”

Jack nodded and shuffled out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn whispered again, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch said again and dropped a hand onto her knee. “You’re safe here, no one can hurt you here.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….”

Her hands were shaking too badly for her to say anything else. She already couldn’t remember the dream, but there was blood, so much blood. And she remembered she couldn’t breathe, like there was a chain wrapped around her neck.

Evelyn shut her eyes and put her shaking hands up to her head.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.

Hotch let out a sigh. He was frustrated with her. The thought made tears sting her eyes.

“It’s not your fault.”

Even with her eyes closed, the tears still managed to slide down her cheeks. Hotch reached out his hand and rested it on the back of her neck. The contact only made her tears fall faster. She moved her hands to cover her face, ashamed of her reaction. Hotch pulled her in toward him and the closer she got to him, the harder she started to cry.

He put his other arm around her and she lowered her forehead to his shoulder, the sobs shaking her shoulders. But Hotch held her tight, one hand on the back of the neck, the other on her back.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure what she was really sorry for. Sorry for waking him up. Sorry for sleeping in his bed. Sorry for invading his space. Sorry for getting kidnapped. For getting in the way. For making his life harder. For setting them back from work for days.

“It’s okay, Evelyn. It’s okay.”

At the sound of her name, she stopped her apologies. She heard her first name come from his mouth so rarely, she didn’t want to talk over him. She just wanted to hear him say it again. Finally letting her hands fall away from her eyes, she let her hands fall into her lap.  

“It’s not your fault, Evelyn,” he whispered, hesitantly letting his fingers lace through her hair.

She sniffed.

“It wasn’t your fault and none of us are upset with you,” Hotch told her.

Slowly, her breathing started to return to normal, sucking in short, gasping breaths of air, but they were steadier.

He pulled away from her, brushing her damp hair out of her face and resting a hand on her cheek. She wouldn’t look at him, still taking shallow breaths, tears still rolling down her cheeks, body still shaking.

“None of us blame you for any of it,” he told her, leaning down to try and catch her eye. “And there’s nothing that could have ever happened to you or that you could have possibly done that wouldn’t make us come for you.”

He brushed a tear off of her cheek as it slid from her eye.

“Evelyn, look at me.”

It took her a moment, but she finally managed to lift her eyes to meet his. They were wide and terrified, trembling like the rest of her body. Hotch tightened his jaw.

“We’re not going anywhere. I know your last family left you after what happened, but I promise you, we are not going anywhere.” Evelyn let out another shuddered breath and nodded her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It took a few more moments to calm her down and by the time she had stopped crying, her eyes were getting heavy.

“Sleep now,” Hotch said, slowly standing up from the bed. She was still sitting up, her head hanging and her hands in her lap.

“Aaron?” He paused at the door and half turned toward her. “Will you….”

She scowled and cleared her throat, shaking her head.

“What can I do for you?”

She breathed out heavily and looked up at him again.

“Would you stay, here, with me?” She felt stupid, asking.

But he wasn’t looking at her in pity or loathing. He nodded his head before walking to the other side of the bed.

Evelyn laid back onto the pillow, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She closed her eyes, embarrassed to see him, as if her request was ridiculous and gross. But she didn’t think that she could have fallen asleep if she was on her own.

She felt the other side of the bed dip in and the blankets rustle.

“Do you want the light on?” He asked.

“You can turn it off if you’d like.”

The light flickered off and they were shrouded in darkness.

“Goodnight, Evelyn.”

“Night, Aaron.”

___

When Hotch woke up the next morning, the other side of the bed was empty. He got used to the empty bed a long time ago, but there was a pit in his stomach this time. Evelyn should be there. She should be-

There was a smell coming from the kitchen. A pleasant smell.

Sitting up and stretching, Hotch made his way to the bedroom door. He heard laughing coming from the kitchen. When he opened the door, he had a direct line of sight to the kitchen. Jack was already awake, sitting happily at the table. There were usually only two chairs at that table, but Jack had pulled up a third.

Standing in the kitchen with a smile on her face was Evelyn. Jack was saying something to her, barely incoherent through all his laughter. Evelyn was just laughing along with him. Hotch shuffled through the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the corner of the and crossing his arms.

“What is going on here?” He asked with a smile on his face.

Evelyn and Jack both turned to him, both smiling.

“Eggs, bacon, French toast,” Evelyn said. “Want some?”

Hotch couldn’t help the smile on his face. He nodded, walking toward Jack and sitting down at the chair next to him.

It was strange, seeing Evelyn this way. She was generally serious at work, like he was. She would laugh and tease with Morgan and the girls and Reid, but Hotch was so used to her being solid, so stoic, so ready. But here she was, smiling and laughing and making jokes with him.

Evelyn walked over to the table carrying three plates of food and set them onto the table. She sat down, the biggest grin on her face.

“Dig in,” she said.

Hotch and Evelyn both knew that this happiness on her face went only so deep. Her suffering and her pain were just starting to bubble to the surface. But for now, she could eat this breakfast, laugh with Jack, pretend everything was okay.

“Would you like to watch my soccer game today, Evie?” Jack asked as they took the empty plates back to the kitchen.

Evelyn looked over at Hotch, hesitant.

“That would be great, buddy,” she said before looking back at Hotch. “Would you mind?”

“No, of course not.”

Jack’s grin was the brightest Hotch had seen in a long time.

Hotch knew of course about Evelyn’s competitive nature. They had been working together for years. He had seen enough games between her and Morgan to know that she liked to win. He still somehow didn’t expect that much competition to come out of her during his son’s soccer match.

She yelled from the sidelines, cheering for Jack and shouting at the ref and even exchanging glares with other parents. It was hard not to be distracted by her as Hotch tried to coach his team, trying to keep his laughing to a minimum. When the game ended, after Hotch had a word with the players, Jack ran straight for Evelyn. He stopped just in front of her, remembering what his dad had told him about not getting too close, and grinned up at her.

Evelyn put her hand on his head and ruffled his sandy blond hair.

“You were great out there, kid,” she said. “You got the most goals on your team.”

“We, uh, don’t usually keep score,” Hotch said as he walked over.

Evelyn looked up at him with the brightest smile.

“Well, I did and your team did a great job.”

One of the other moms walked over, her daughter and Jack immediately engaging in teasing and chatting about the game as they tried to kick each other in their still guarded shins.

“My name is Mary,” the mother said, reaching a hand out for Evelyn to shake. Evelyn startled, her heart rate spiking at Mary’s sudden movement. She recovered quickly, shaking Mary’s hand.

“Evelyn Caro.”

“Are you and Aaron-“

“We work together,” Hotch said.

Mary nodded her head.

“That explains the….”

She gestured toward Evelyn’s face before pausing and forced a smile.

“Right.”

Evelyn had forgotten how horrible her face must look. She had been absently rolling the scab on her lip between her teeth all day. Her bruised and cut cheek was sore, her other eye throbbing every now and again. The battered shape of her face hadn’t even crossed her mind while she offered to go to Jack’s game.

Evelyn looked over Hotch for assistance. His smile was still there, but thinner.

“Mary, how is your husband?” Hotch asked, clearly trying to direct the attention away from Evelyn. She was grateful for it.

She listened to their conversation with a smile until Jack walked back over to them and grabbed her by the hand. She turned to look at him with a smile. He beckoned for her to bend down and she did. Jack even stood on his toes so he could whisper in her ear.

“Can you ask Daddy if we can get McDonald’s on the way home?” He asked, his voice so quiet that Evelyn barely heard him.

Still, she let out a laugh and straightened her back.

“I can do that.”

Jack grinned and ran back toward his friends. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched him run away. She had met Jack only handful of times in the past, but he was such a light. He meant so much to Aaron that it was impossible for Evelyn not to love him, too. The poor boy had been through so much already.

“What did he want?” Hotch asked.

Evelyn turned back around to find that not only was Mary talking to Hotch, but three other unaccompanied women were hanging around as well. She resisted the urge to tease him about it right there. Teasing Hotch was also something new. She never would have done it before. Their relationship was strictly professional.

“Jack wants to go to McDonald’s on the way home,” Evelyn told Hotch.

“Ah,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips.

“The kids always do,” a blonde mother said, no ounce of amusement in her tone as she glanced at Evelyn.

“I suppose he thought you asking would make the likelihood of me saying yes higher?”

Evelyn shrugged. The other moms stood there, laughing joylessly, but Evelyn didn’t even see them.

They did stop at McDonald’s on the way home. Jack happily sang a song to himself in the backseat, munching on his apple slices and French fries. Evelyn was sitting in the passenger seat with one of her feet propped up on the dash.

“This feels like cheating,” Evelyn sighed, staring at the fries in her hands.

“How?” Hotch asked with a short laugh.

Evelyn shrugged, shoving the fries in her mouth.

“Something about it. They’re too good, I guess. There’s gotta be a downside.”

Hotch opened his mouth to say something but she held up her hand to stop him.

“You don’t have to profile my eating habits, Hotchner,” she said.

Hotch simply laughed.

When they got back from the game, Jack went to take a nap, leaving Evelyn and Hotch alone in the apartment.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I invited the team over to watch the game this afternoon,” Hotch said.

“Of course I don’t mind,” Evelyn said. “This is still your home.”

“Right.” Hotch nodded his head.

She dropped herself onto the couch, her eyes tired, but she had no desire to sleep, especially if the team was coming over.

But her eyes were beginning to droop against her better judgement. The apartment was quiet, she could barely hear Hotch moving around until there was the soft sound of music flitting through the room.

Hotch sat down at the table, trying to be far enough away from the sleeping woman on his couch to help her feel comfortable. Light music floated through the room as he sat, flipping through a book that he wasn’t really reading. It seemed like every three seconds, his eyes would move from his book to where Evelyn was sleeping. He justified it to himself, trying to tell himself it was just to make sure she wasn’t having another nightmare. Last night had been hard on all of them and he didn’t want a repeat. But there was something else that kept drawing his gaze to her.

She just looked so at peace. Like none of the thousands of terrible things in the world could touch her. Her breathing was short, but steady and there was almost a bit of a smile on her face. His hands were tense around the book, just waiting for her breathing to change to signal to him that she was going to a place in her mind where she didn’t want to be.

He was almost tempted to ask the others to not come to allow Evelyn the chance to sleep. But Hotch thought it was best to allow her the time to socialize with the people she loved. She needed to be surrounded by support at this time and Hotch knew he couldn’t possibly provide enough of it to be any help.

An hour and a half later, fifteen minutes before the others were due to arrive, Hotch walked over to where she slept on the couch. Again, he was tempted to just let her sleep. But he put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a light shake in hopes of rousing her.

“Caro,” he whispered.

She woke with a startled gasp, her eyes snapping open. Hotch was prepared for some kind of emotional response. He was ready in case she needed his help, but after the initial shock of being woken up, she sat up normally. Rubbing her eyes, Evelyn let out a yawn.

“Are they here?” She asked.

“Not yet,” Hotch said. “Soon. I’m going to wake up Jack. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” There was a little bit of a scowl on her face as she continued to try and wake herself up. “Anything I can do to help get ready?”

Hotch was already halfway to Jack’s room, but he shook his head.

“Everyone else is bringing food. We’re off the hook for this one,” he told her before slipping into Jack’s room.

Evelyn forced herself off the couch, even though her bones were still stiff and tired. She straightened the cushions she slept on before rubbing her eyes again. She didn’t think she had dreamed, which was the first time she hadn’t in a very long time.

She was rubbing tension out of her neck when there was the first knock at the door.

Evelyn started and reached for the gun that should have been there but wasn’t. Her heart pounded in her chest, her hand still on her hip where her gun should have been. She wanted to move, but her muscles felt frozen. Eyes wide and body tense, Evelyn struggled to breathe. There was a tightness in her chest she couldn’t shake.

There was a knock at the door again, but she still couldn’t move.

“Caro, you okay?” Hotch asked as he came back from Jack’s room. “Evelyn?”

He stopped on his way to the door. She saw him standing there, staring at her, but all she could do was watch the door. Her body began to shake ever so slightly from the tension in her muscles.

“It’s just the team, Caro,” Hotch said, slowly putting his hands out toward her. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

Evelyn heard what he was saying, but something in her bones told her that it was a bad guy, someone who wanted to come in and hurt her, hurt Hotch, hurt Jack. She wouldn’t let that happen.

“Caro, I need you to look at me and just breathe,” Hotch was saying, taking a step toward her. There was another knock at the door and she flinched. “Look at me. Breathe.”

Evelyn sucked in one deep breath in through her nose before flickering her watery eyes away from the door and toward Hotch. He titled his head to the side, taking on a non-offensive stance. Her eyes strained to look at him.

“I’m going to open the door, okay?” Evelyn gave a sharp shake of her head, her body jerking forward but her feet not going anywhere. “I’m going to open the door. It’s going to be okay.”

He took a step toward the door and Evelyn shook her head again. Hotch turned away from her and kept walking toward the door.

“Hotch,” Evelyn said, her words just barely above a whisper.

When his hand touched the handle, Evelyn shook her head again, staring at the door unblinking. The door unlocked and the handle turned.

“Hotch-“

The door opened. Evelyn’s eyes widened even further, waiting for Ralph to be standing there on the other side.

But it was just Penelope and JJ and Emily, all grinning wildly.

Evelyn blinked her eyes hard and shook her head, dropping her hands back to her sides and relaxing her defensive stance.

“Come in,” Hotch was saying.

Evelyn forced a smile onto her face and went to greet her friends as they came in. She helped them set up the table with the food and drinks they brought.

“How are you doing?” JJ asked as she tore into the chips.

Evelyn sighed, still trying to smile.

“I’m doing okay,” she said.

“I might not be as good a profiler as any of you guys,” JJ said. “But I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

Evelyn turned to face her, leaning her hip against the table and crossing her arms.

“I am doing as well as you can imagine I’m doing,” Evelyn said. “But most of the time I’m doing okay.”

JJ put a hand on her friend’s arm and offered a small smile.

“If you ever need anything-“

“I know you’re always there for me, JJ,” Evelyn said. “I won’t ever forget it.”

JJ nodded and they turned back to the table. It was only a few more minutes before the boys arrived. After greeting Hotch and Emily, Morgan came straight for Evelyn, who was still at the table rearranging everything for the fifteenth time.

“I swear I’m going to lose it if you ask me if I’m okay, Derek Morgan,” Evelyn said, moving the napkins off the plates where she had just put them.

Morgan let out his signature laugh before throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“I know how you’re doing, so I don’t need to ask,” Morgan told her. “I just came over here to give you a hug.”

Evelyn let out a breath and turned toward him, eagerly putting her arms around his waist. There was safety in his arms. Her muscles were still tense from her moment before, and it felt impossible for her to relax and fall into normalcy with her friends. But with Morgan there, everything seemed to be at least a little bit okay.

“Keep fighting,” he whispered in her ear. “That’s how you win.”

Evelyn nodded her head. She pulled away and quickly swiped away a stray tear before wiping her hands on her jeans. She back at Morgan briefly with a strained smile, glad to see him smiling back.

“Let’s go sit,” Morgan said to her.

Evelyn sat herself on the very end of the couch, knowing how much her team loved to cram in together and not really feeling comfortable being stuck in between Morgan and JJ as they shouted back and forth at each other about their opposing sports opinions. She sat with her feet up on the couch and her knees pulled up to her chest.

Reid sat next to her, still and quiet.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey, Reid.”

He didn’t say anything else. Evelyn didn’t really want him to. Still, she leaned toward him and put her head on his shoulder. Reid tensed for a moment, but then he relaxed.

“It’s good to have you back,” he whispered to her.

“It’s good to be back,” she whispered back.

A few minutes before the game had started, there was already yelling going on between Rossi and JJ about something Evelyn couldn’t really follow. Jack came out of his room, hair a mess and eyes looking tired.

“Hey, buddy!” Hotch said. “Come for some food?”

The newly awake Jack shook his head and hobbled over to Evelyn. She dropped her feet to the ground as he struggled to crawl into her lap. He dropped his head to her shoulder.

“You okay, kid?” she asked him, rubbing her hand up and down his back. He nodded and yawned.

A chip flew over her head that Morgan had definitely thrown at Rossi who sat in the chair next to Evelyn. Penelope was watching the commercials eagerly, shouting at everyone to quiet down. JJ had roped Emily into her argument with Rossi and Reid was telling Morgan something about some sports statistic that Morgan was desperately trying to refute.

Evelyn looked over at Hotch, who was watching them with a look in his eye that she couldn’t really read. She was usually good at reading Hotch, but every now and again, he’d get this look that she didn’t understand. When he noticed her looking, he gave her a smile and nodded his head.

Part way through the game, Jack left her lap to go and grab some food. She offered him her seat when he came back so that she could go over to the table for some food and a breather. Hotch met her there, scooping cheese dip onto his paper plate.

“Intense game,” Evelyn said, popping a grape into her mouth.

“Very.”

“Oh, come on!” Morgan yelled.

Evelyn laughed quietly to herself.

“If you need to step out-“

“I’m fine, Hotch, really,” she said, turning toward him. “Everything’s good. What happened earlier-“

“Was a completely normal reaction.” Evelyn was startled by his rebuttal interruption. “You’re allowed to have bad moments or even bad days.”

“I know that.”

“You’re also allowed to have fun.”

“I know that, too.”

Morgan stood up quickly from the couch, letting out half a expletive before remembering Jack was there and switching it up half way through.

“I really missed this, though,” Evelyn said through a laugh.

Hotch looked at her and then looked over at Morgan and let out a sigh.

“He was really worried about you,” Hotch told her, his hands tightening around the poor paper plate in his hand.

Evelyn nodded her head, looking down at the grapes in her hand.

“I thought I’d never see him again. I thought I’d never see any of you again,” she told him.

“You didn’t think we’d find you?”

“Oh, I knew you would,” she looked back over at him. “I just didn’t know if it would be soon enough.”

“Evelyn-“

“Evie, come look at this!” Penelope called, waving her over.

“Pardon me, Hotch.”

Hotch watched her walk away and kneel on the ground beside Garcia. They laughed about something. Smiling looked good on her, but he knew that it only ran so deep. He couldn’t wait for the day that smile would be real again. He just hoped he was there to see it.

By the time everyone left, the sun was almost down. They stayed long after the game, talking and laughing and throwing things at each other like a bunch of children. Penelope was the last to go, always asking for one last hug while Morgan waited for her just outside.

“I’ll see you soon, Pen,” Evelyn laughed, trying to push her friend toward the door.

“I hate leaving you,” Penelope said.

“I think I’m in the safest hands I can be.”

Penelope pulled away at that.

“You’re right.” She looked over at Hotch. “Hotch won’t let anything happen to you. You’re perfectly safe here.”

Evelyn gave her a smile.

“Exactly. Now, go. Morgan’s waiting for you.”

Penelope straightened her jacket and nodded her head.

“Right.” She turned and walked out the door. “Let’s go, Derek.”

Morgan offered one last wave, tossing an arm over Penelope’s shoulders. He sent a look Evelyn’s way that she read perfectly. If she needed anything….

Hotch shut the door and the apartment was silent. Evelyn let out a heavy breath.

“That was fun,” Jack said, laying on the couch.

“Time for bed for you, buddy,” Hotch said.

The team was generally good at cleaning up after themselves and taking the food that they had brought with them, but there was always a mess to clean up afterward. The few times Evelyn had one of these gatherings at her own place taught her this well enough. Hotch walked Jack toward his room while Evelyn turned to start cleaning.

“You don’t have to do that,” Hotch said, emerging from his son’s room as Evelyn pulled the full trash bag out of the trash can.

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing this place is a mess,” she told him.

It was these quiet moments when it was just the two of them that Evelyn felt the most exposed, the most terrified. Not that he would hurt her because she knew he never would, but just knowing that all of his attention was on her made her almost sick to her stomach.

“I’ll take the trash to the can outside,” Hotch said, walking toward her.

“Alright.”

She handed the bag off to him, his fingers just barely grazing over her hand. Evelyn elected not to look up at him as electricity crackled up her arm. She breathed in deeply and turned toward the couch.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. He took a few steps away from her and Evelyn just nodded her head.

She didn’t look at him as he left the room. With a pounding heart, Evelyn sat slowly onto the couch, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply until she dropped her head into her hands.

What was wrong with her? She had always been able to keep her emotions under control around Hotch. Always. Even when he was talking about Hayley, even when he cared so deeply about people it made him rage, even when he did that thing with his eyes that silenced even the haughtiest narcissist, even when he gave her a look that put all other looks to shame. She had always kept her cool because that was what she had trained herself to do.

But now her training was backfiring on her. Her training was making her think danger was there when it wasn’t. Her training was making her question the movements of everyone she loved. Her training was taking her sleep from her. Her training was crumbling and slowly revealing that terrified girl that lay underneath.

Evelyn opened her eyes, hoping to think of absolutely anything else than the heat in her cheeks and the pounding of her heart in her stomach.

Maybe keeping her eyes closed may have been better because as soon as her eyes were open, they landed on Hotch’s bag propped up against the coffee table. Someone must have moved it during the game. Sticking out of the top was a file. There was no name on the file, but Evelyn knew it was hers, or at least from the last job they’d done, which was hers.

Instinct took over and she bent down, snatching the yellow folding from his bag. It was thick, thicker than she’d have liked. Laying it on the table, her suspicions were confirmed as she flipped open the first page. It was this last case and the very first picture on it was the one they took in the hospital when she first arrived.

Evelyn didn’t realize how terrible she looked until just then. She was thin, trembling. Her hair was matted with blood. She looked dirty, covered in blood and bruises. Evelyn gagged, covering her mouth with her hand. That was how all of her friends had seen her that day. The thought made her shiver.

The picture just underneath it was the one they had taken when she was a kid. The similarities in the pictures made her even sicker.

She shuffled through the files, eyes scanning the pages just like Reid had taught her, until she found Hotch’s report.

She pulled it out, hands shaking as she held it in front of her. She had always wondered how Hotch managed to write these reports, summing up everything they went through during the case in just a few short pages.

Her throat swelled as she read through the beginning. She read about the women Ralph killed, how they were assaulted and murdered, how the team discovered it was Ralph. She read through them deciding to send Evelyn into the meeting to find Ralph and lure him in. She didn’t know then that he was the step kid of her uncle. If she had, she wouldn’t have gone in there empty handed.

Then she read how they had found out she was missing and what they did to find her. Her heart plummeted into her stomach, dropping from her chest like a ton of rocks. She lifted a hand to cover her mouth, hoping swallow the sob that was threatening to come from her mouth. Sitting in that attic, Evelyn had wondered what the point of killing those other women was. She had spent hours pouring over ideas. She thought him running into her was an accident, pure coincidence. This case already put her on edge, seeing as it took place in the very same town she grew up in.

But the team had solved it. They had figured it out. All those women that Ralph had killed….

Tears clouded her vision, but she refused to blink. A quiet moan of distress came from her. She didn’t even hear the door of the apartment open.

“Evelyn?”

She didn’t jump at the sound of Hotch’s voice. Instead, she turned toward him slowly, those same tears gathered in her eyes.

“It’s my fault,” she said, holding the report in her hands. The tears dropped from her lashes, hitting her cheeks with the strength of a butterfly.  

“It’s not.”

“It is!” Hotch let out a defeated breath. “It says right here that-“

“That report says Ralph Bennet made the decision to assault and murder those four women.”

“Because of me!”

Hotch walked over to her and sat on the couch beside her, but not too close.

“Did you kill those women, Caro?”

“No, but-“

“No, you didn’t.”

“Hotch, he killed them because I knew them. He killed them because he knew it would lure me in. If I hadn’t-“

“What? If you hadn’t what?” She was quiet. “If you hadn’t killed your uncle? You did what you had to do to survive, Evelyn. No one will fault you for that.”

“If I hadn’t….” she trailed off, staring at the paper with her teary eyes.

“If you hadn’t come with us to solve this case? More women would have died.”

“I fell right into his trap,” she whispered, her hands tightening around the paper. “I didn’t even know he existed, and he knew me well enough to set the trap and just wait for me to walk right into it. I can’t believe I was that stupid.”

“Do you want to know what that tells me?”

She looked up at him.

“You returned to a town where you had been traumatized to help bring justice to these women. You went into that meeting trying to catch a killer. You stayed alive long enough for us to find you using clues that you gave us.” Evelyn sniffed, wiping the underside of her nose with the back of her hand. “You’re not stupid, Evelyn. You’re the bravest person I have ever met.”

She looked over at Hotch again, her lower lip trembling.

“They died for me,” she said and took in a shaky breath. A tear slid down her nose. “How do I repay them for that?”

Hotch was quiet for a moment and heaved out a sigh, just allowing him time to think of a proper answer.

“You live,” he told her. “You survive this and carry on for them.”

Evelyn closed her eyes. She was hearing him and her brain was telling her that he was right, but her heart wasn’t believing him. She couldn’t believe him.

Without saying anything, Evelyn pushed herself off the couch and made for the door, hoping to escape before he could see the tears that were threatening to run from her eyes again.

“Caro, where are you going?” Hotch asked, standing after her.

“I need some air,” she replied as she struggled with the lock on the door.

“I’ll come with you.”

“I need to be alone right now,” she said, finally getting the door open.

Hotch put his hand on the door and pushed it shut. Evelyn froze, keeping her hand on the doorknob.

“You’re not going anywhere by yourself.”

Evelyn turned around slowly. Hotch was looming over her, his hand still on the door to keep her from opening it again.

“Let me out, Hotch.”

“You’re not a prisoner here, but you’re not going out there alone.”

She stared at Hotch unblinkingly. Evelyn’s breathing started to speed up, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but it wasn’t anger or fear that made her heart rate spike.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?”

Evelyn knew she was poking the bear, but she felt like she had to. Poke the bear yourself, make it roar on your terms before it decides to do it itself.

“Why can’t I go out there alone? You think I can’t handle myself?”

“No, I know you can-“

“Then why won’t you let me leave?”

“Because I want you to be safe.”

The calmness of his voice made her even angrier. It made her want to poke harder.

There was a gaping wound in her soul and it was still gushing blood. Hotch was trying to patch it up, help her to heal, but he was getting too close to the only thing that kept her breathing. He was getting too close to the wound and she was terrified of the idea of him seeing her, feeling her, so she recoiled. She would snap at him until he left her alone. Until he left her wound bleed in peace.

“Why did you come for me?”

“Why did we come for you?” Hotch repeated, astounded by her question. “You’re part of the team. Why wouldn’t we come for you?”

“I’m not asking about the team, Aaron. I’m asking about you.”

Hotch straightened at the sound of his first name. She knew why. She’d done it on purpose. She needed to convince him she was angry. That was the only way to keep him at bay.

“I couldn’t just let you rot there; the team needs you.”

“The team?” She let out a bitter laugh before pushing past him and stalking into the middle of the room. “It’s always about the team with you, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“I could have died in that house, Aaron, and all you can come up with is the team needed me and that’s why you came?”

She hated the taste her words left in her mouth. She hated saying them. But she had to. She had to push him away if she had any hope for surviving. She had tied her heart to his and if she didn’t severe it now….

There was real anger in his eyes at her words. Finally, an emotion. A chink in his armor.

“If you had died in that house, I would have killed that bastard myself!”

Evelyn sucked in a sharp breath. It was so rare to see an emotion on Aaron Hotchner. In the last few days alone, she had seen more from him than she had ever seen in all her years working with him; fear, joy, grief, anger, relief. And it was mostly because of her.

“Enough with the team needs me bullshit.” Evelyn dropped the tone of her voice. “I’m going for a walk.”

She turned her back on him and walked toward the front door. She made it all the way there, her hand on the doorknob before Hotch spoke again.

“I need you.”

Evelyn froze, her hand glued to the doorknob as if it was ice and her hand was burning hot. Her blood ran cold and her heart stopped in her chest.

“What?”

“You don’t accept that you’re a vital member of the team as a worthy reason for us to come and help you? Fine.” There it was again, anger in Hotch’s voice. His dark eyebrows were pulled together. “I need you.”

Evelyn had started this argument because she needed to keep his hands away from the wound she was nursing, the wound that every breath seemed to tear open a little bit more. His kindness and compassion were just insult to injury. But his sincerity in this moment punched through every wall around her wound that she had been attempting to build up in the last few minutes.

He said it like he would say any other truth. He said it like he would say anything during a case; without a hint of uncertainty.

She turned toward him. For the first time in a while, she felt no shame as tears glimmered in her eyes.

“You mean it?” She asked, pulling on the edges of her sleeve.

“Have I ever lied to you before?”

“I mean when, Emily-“ Evelyn stopped herself and cleared her throat. “No. You haven’t.”

Hotch stood there, clearly not wanting to say anything else that would set her off. Evelyn bowed her head, let her hand fall away from the doorknob, and she crossed the room, putting her arms around his waist before he even realized that she was coming toward him.

Hotch was frozen for a second, her change in mood so rapid that he almost couldn’t register it. Evelyn’s eyes were screwed shut as she prayed that he wouldn’t reject her embrace, though she could understand if he did. But, eventually, he put his arms around her, pulling her in closer and she could finally relax.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, letting the tears stream down her face, fast and hot. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” he told her, his words just as quiet.

“Please don’t give up on me.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m trying.”

Hotch knew from the report what happened with her parents after she had escaped from her uncle. He knew how they turned their back on her in the following months. She had come back to them after four years, after killing her father’s brother, and she wasn’t the little girl they had lost anymore. They reported anger issues, lashing out, screaming and hitting and breaking things. They told authorities they couldn’t handle her anymore. They just didn’t know what to do.

But Hotch also knew that she was a child who was cut so deeply by someone she trusted and that she deserved to be loved and protected by her family no matter what. No matter how loudly she screamed, no matter the mess she made, they should have loved her. They should have fought for her just as hard as she was fighting to survive. He wouldn’t abandon her like they did.

“I promise not to give up on you if you promise me not to give up on yourself,” he told her.

Evelyn nodded her head.

“Promise,” she said.

___

The following months were hard. Moving back into her own apartment where it was quiet and the silence was deafening was the hardest part. When there was no one to wake her from her nightmares or hold her while she cried, when there was no Jack to make her laugh even when she wanted to cry, when there was just her and the mirror. She hated being back home. She wanted to back at the Hotchner’s, but she knew she couldn’t impose on them any longer.

There were days when her promise to Hotch was the only thing that kept her going. He had made her promise not to give up on herself and she would be damned before she disappointed Hotch again. So, she fought, tooth and nail, just to stay afloat. Some days, that looked like lying in bed and letting the tears fall. Some days, that looked like calling Morgan or Penelope and asking them to play a board game with her. Some days, that looked like running until she couldn’t breathe. Some days, that looked like dancing around her apartment at 3 am.

Slowly, she began to remember what it was like to feel alive. And she started to love it again.

The day she came back to work, the smile on her face reached deep into that wound in her soul. It wasn’t healed, but it was better. It didn’t hurt to breathe anymore.

The team acted like she knew they would on her first case. Hotch didn’t let her go anywhere by herself. Someone had to be by her side at all times. It was suffocating, but she knew it was for the best.

By the time the case was finished and the guy arrested, Evelyn almost felt like herself again. This is what she was meant to be doing. She wasn’t supposed to be sitting by herself in her room all day, wasting away. The field was in her blood. It was part of her.

They all went out to dinner that night and everything was right in the world again. Evelyn used to sit in her apartment, Hotch and Morgan and Garcia sending her updates as they went. She knew when she got the triple text that the case was over that they’d be going out to eat, celebrating, having a laugh to cope with everything they had seen. And she would sit in her dark apartment.

But now she was in the right place. They went to a pub downtown. She ordered fries and a coke with a little cherry on top. Morgan made fun of her for smothering her fries in ketchup. She stole a bite of Emily’s pasta as she talked to Rossi. Life had returned to normal, and it was just what she needed.

The next few cases went the same way. Hotch began to trust her being alone again, allowing her to have the space she needed to do her job. There were cases where she needed to step into the bathroom and cry. There were times when she stayed behind with the local police because she couldn’t even think about going in without panicking. And the nights in her apartment alone were the worst.

But as long as she was on a case with her team, things were actually okay. She could push away her fear and the anxiety that made her bones rattle and her muscles freeze. She could go back to be Agent Evelyn Caro, where she was at her best.

Almost a year passed. Evelyn knew that the anniversary fear was a thing, but she was determined to be fine. The case they came in for was the farthest away from anything that could remind her of what she went through. Men were being taken and killed. The pattern was easy to solve, the profile quick to figure out. Everything was going to be okay.

Until Hotch and Evelyn were hunting the killer on their own. Evelyn was walking through a suspect’s house with her gun drawn, knowing that Hotch was upstairs doing the same thing. There was a thud coming from the second floor.

“Hotch?” Evelyn called out. “You okay?”

There was no reply. Her heart started to seize.

“Hotch?”

Walking toward the stairs, her gun drawn, Evelyn told herself to breathe. She would be no help to Hotch if she was panicking. She took one step up the stairs before a sudden and sharp pain exploded against the side of her head, sending her into the wall, knocking her unconscious.

When Evelyn woke up, she was in a basement. Her head squeezed and ached, jaw stiff. She shook her head and forced her eyes open.

Sitting across the room from her, still unconscious, was her boss.

“Hotch!”

Evelyn scrambled over to him, barely standing at all before she dropped to the ground next to him.

“Hotch, hey, you good?”

She saw him breathing, so that was something, but he was unresponsive to her voice. She shook his shoulders, but still he slept.

“Please don’t fire me,” Evelyn whispered before pulling her hand back and slapping him across the face.

Hotch gasped and his eyes flew open, his body falling over to the side.

“Oh, thank God,” Evelyn breathed.

“Did you slap me?” Hotch asked her, sitting back up.

“You wouldn’t wake up.”

“So you slapped me?”

Evelyn shrugged as Hotch rubbed his jaw with his hand.

“Remind me to never piss you off,” he told her. Evelyn felt herself almost smile. “Where are we?”

Evelyn looked around the basement and let out a heavy breath.

“Not sure,” she said. “We got the profile wrong, didn’t we?”

Hotch nodded his head and used the support beam in the middle of the room to push himself upward.

“There was a woman. I thought she was hurt, but….”

“She got the drop on the mighty Aaron Hotchner? I’m impressed.” Evelyn teased, needed to joke about something before her brain exploded from the pain or the panic she felt growing in her bones took over completely.

Hotch looked down at Evelyn with a stern look that told her maybe joking wasn’t his favorite way to cope with being kidnapped. Evelyn pursed her lips and pushed herself onto her feet.

“Lions got me, I think,” Evelyn told him, using the support beam to keep her standing.

“So there are two of them and one of them is a woman.” Hotch breathed out a sigh. “How does that change the profile?”

“We know that the men were chosen because Lions wanted something they had.”

“Position, status, money-“

“A certain woman.”

Hotch turned to look at Evelyn, who was scanning the basement as if it would hold the answers. There were blood stains on the ground. This was definitely where the victims were killed. There was a door at the top of the stairs, but if these guys were any good at what they did, the door would be locked.

“You think his partner could have been the wife of one of the victims?” Hotch asked.

Evelyn looked back at him and shrugged.

“A wife, a girlfriend, a sister, a daughter. Maybe the person he wants to take her from isn’t even dead yet, but he’s the reason Lions is killing.”

“Why would she help him?”

Evelyn breathed out again.

“Maybe she feels trapped where she’s at and he’s got her convinced this is the only way to save her? If she feels completely dependent on him, she might just do whatever he says.”

“Even kill?”

Evelyn shrugged her shoulders again, but they both knew that the answer was yes. A woman caught in a corner was just as capable of killing as anyone else.

“Well, that’s good then,” Hotch said, putting his hands on his hips.

“How is any of that good?”

“It means I’m the one they want, not you,” Hotch said.

Evelyn’s eyebrows pinched together.

“That really doesn’t sound good, Hotch.”

“You can get through to the partner, Caro,” Hotch said, walking back toward her. Evelyn narrowed her eyes even further at him.

“Maybe, yes.”

“Good. That will get us out of here.”

He turned away from her again. He pulled off his blazer and loosened his tie and the temperature in the room raised about fourteen degrees. Evelyn had to shake away her imagination before responding.

“And what are you going to do?”

“What they brought me here for.”

___

“Please, stop!”

The female unsub, Rosalie, held tight to Evelyn’s arms, holding her back as the male unsub, Jeremy Lions, pounded his fist into Hotch’s face.

“You think you’re so strong,” Hotch laughed, taunting Lions. “Don’t you?”

Lions hit Hotch in the face again.

“You have to stop him,” Evelyn said to Rosalie. “No one else can get through to him.”

“He’s doing what he has to to keep us safe,” Rosalie whispered to Evelyn, but despite the strength in her arms, her voice was weak. “Your friend just needs to give in. It’ll be easier that way.”

Lions hit Hotch again and Evelyn cried out, pulling against Rosalie.

“Shut her up, Rose!”

“Shh, shh,” Rosalie whispered in Evelyn’s ear, holding her right from behind. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“No!” Evelyn struggled against the woman holding her, jerking her shoulders in hopes of breaking free.

“You really think that any of this will earn you manhood, Lions?” Hotch said with a laugh, turning the unsub’s gaze back onto him and away from Evelyn.

Lions hit Hotch in the face again.

“Stop it, damnit!”

Lions whirled around and backhanded Evelyn in attempts to get her to quiet down. Rosalie gasped and let Evelyn fall to the ground.

“Jeremy! You said we wouldn’t hurt her!”

Lions let out a growl and grabbed onto Rosalie’s arm, dragging her out of the basement and leaving Hotch and Evelyn behind.

“You need to get through to Rosalie, Caro,” Hotch said as soon as she took a single step toward him.

“I am,” she huffed. Hotch raised an eyebrow at her. “She doesn’t want me to get hurt, that much is clear. If she associates you getting hurt with me getting hurt, she’ll push for Lions to hurt you less.”

Hotch nodded his head once, stretching out his jaw.

“You trust me, right?” Hotch said.

“Of course.” Evelyn’s response was immediate.

“Good.”

That night, they slept in the basement on opposite sides of the room, even though it was freezing cold. Saying they slept was an over exaggeration. Evelyn could barely even close her eyes. It was the cold that kept her eyes frozen open, but it was also the reality of it all. She was trapped, once again. She was a prisoner, once again. She was at the mercy of a man, once again.

And Hotch was here but she had never felt more alone.

The door creaked open and Evelyn sat up with a gasp. She shuffled backward, away from the door, but it was just Rosalie walking down the wooden stairs. The woman locked the door behind her, but still flinched.

“Hi,” Rosalie whispered as she neared. There was a cup and a plate in her hand. She watched the sleeping Hotch as she walked by, only turning her attention back to Evelyn once she passed him.

“Hi,” Evelyn whispered back, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“I…I’m not going to hurt you,” Rosalie said. She lowered herself to the ground a few feet away from her. Rosalie set the cup and the plate down and scooted it closer to Evelyn.

Evelyn looked between the food and the woman.

“You need to eat.” Rosalie’s voice was soft. Kindly.

Evelyn straightened her back and lifted her chin, giving a slight shake of the head.

“I’m not hungry.”

Rosalie let out a sigh and turned to look over at Hotch, who still slept soundly.

“Saving it for him won’t do anything for either of you,” Rosalie said, almost sadly. “Only one of you is making it out of here. I think you know which one it’s going to be.”

___

“Here, eat.” Evelyn pushed the plate of cold potatoes and toast in his direction, the cup of water sitting on top. Hotch raised an eyebrow at her. “Rosalie came in last night. Brought us some food.”

“Did you eat?” He asked her, sitting up from his sleeping position.

Evelyn nodded her head.

“Caro-“

“I ate, Hotch,” she said, a little more harshly than she meant to. “You need to keep your strength if we’re going to have a repeat of yesterday.”

Hotch almost laughed as he hooked his finger over the edge of the plate and slid it toward himself. Evelyn watched, her stomach gurgling as he took a bite out of the bread.

“Stale toast is just ravishing, isn’t it?” Evelyn asked as she leaned up against the wall he also sat against. Hotch hummed his response. He ate slowly, took a sip of water.

“How are you?” He asked.

Evelyn rolled her head against the wall to look over at him.

“Just peachy, Hotchner. How are you?”

“I’m serious. How are you doing?”

Evelyn let out a sigh, looked up at the ceiling, and closed her eyes.

“Taking it one breath at a time,” she said. “I’ll deal with the aftermath once we’re out of here.”

Evelyn looked over at him again and attempted a half-cocked smile. Hotch wasn’t smiling. He was staring at her, staring right through her smile and her outer shell of calmness and straight into her soul where her wound was, her wound that was slowly starting to heal.

“I’ll be okay, Aaron,” she said, dropping her smile. “Promise.”

Hotch nodded his head and turned away from her.

“Don’t do anything stupid today, Caro,” he told her.

“Do I ever?”

___

“I told you not to do anything stupid,” Hotch sighed as Evelyn let out a hiss of pain.

“I didn’t realize that trying to stop you from dying was considered something stupid.”

“It is when you get put in harm’s way.”

Evelyn held a strip of her shirt against her bleeding nose. Hotch rolled up his sleeves.

“We’ve got two days left here,” Hotch said, pacing back and forth in front of Evelyn.

“The team will find us,” Evelyn replied. She lowered the piece of her shirt and scrunched her nose before stretching it out again.

“I don’t doubt it.”

The sun went down sooner than Evelyn thought it would, meaning she had slept longer than she thought she had.

“You should sleep,” Hotch said.

“I’m not tired.”

“He won’t hurt you, Caro.”

The dark concealed Hotch’s face from her, even though he was only a few feet away. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably.

“I know.”

“If I don’t make it out of here-“

“Hotch, stop. We’re both going to walk out of here just fine.”

“But if I don’t, promise to take care of Jack.” Evelyn breathed in deeply, ready to shake her head and tell him again that they were going to both survive this. “Promise me.”

Instead of arguing, which she knew would get them nowhere, Evelyn nodded her head.

“I promise.”

Hotch didn’t say anything else. Evelyn didn’t sleep. The change in his breathing after a while told her that he had fallen asleep.

She didn’t know how long it was before the door creaked open. Evelyn startled and sat up straighter, gasping in a breath. But it was just Rosalie, coming down with more food. This time, she didn’t say anything. She sat right next to Evelyn and set the food between them.

“You have to eat,” she said finally.

Evelyn reached out and took the cup of water and brought it to her parched lips. She drank some, but set it down before it was finished.

“You don’t have to save it for him.”

Evelyn turned her head to look at Rosalie.

“He’s my friend. I’m not going to let him starve.”

Rosalie was quiet for a moment.

“I think he’s more than that.”

“How did you meet Jeremy?” Evelyn asked. She thought she saw a smile on Rosalie’s lips.

“I lived with my brother and his wife as their live-in nanny of sorts. Jeremy worked for them as a gardener. My father kept me locked up my entire life and when he died, my brother took over. His sister’s keeper or something. But Jeremy he…. he made me feel free and alive and seen. And so, so loved.”

Rosalie stopped there, her smile lingering for a few moments before falling.

“But he changed, didn’t he?”

Rosalie nodded her head slowly, her lower lip curling and tears starting to run down her cheeks. Evelyn just let her cry for a few moments, until the woman collected herself. She sucked in a sob and stuffed her hands full of her dress.

“He took me from my brother’s house, brought me here,” Rosalie said. “Said he needed my help.”

“He used you to lure in men that he saw as superior to himself so that he could kill them.”

Rosalie nodded again, tears still rolling from her eyes.

“I never wanted to…I tried to tell him that I love him as he is…that he doesn’t need to-“

“Rosalie, listen to me. Nothing you could ever do will convince him of that because his issues have nothing to do with you,” Evelyn said, turning to face her.

“I don’t….”

“Jeremy Lions may love you, Rosalie, but he is very sick. He is not killing people to be a better man for you, no matter what he has told you. He feels inferior so he thinks he has to kill to be superior. That’s why he wanted Hotch.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Evelyn heaved out a breath.

“Hotchner is everything Jeremy thinks he’s lacking. Confident, strong. He’s got a high-ranking job. He’s respected by his peers. He’s good looking and has a nice home and great friends. Jeremy doesn’t think he has any of this and he wants it, which is why he wants to hurt Hotchner.”

“To take something he doesn’t think he has.”

Evelyn sucked in a breath and reached forward to take Rosalie’s hands in hers.

“No matter what you do, Rosalie, you will never be enough for him, do you understand? He has you, he has love, but that will never be enough for him.”

“No, no!” Rosalie stood up quickly. “No. Once we’re married, everything will be okay. We’ll buy a new house. Live a happy life.”

“Rosalie-“

“No! You’re wrong.”

“Rosalie….”

“You’re wrong!”

Rosalie hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Evelyn shut her eyes again. With a growl, she pounded her knuckles into the hard concrete ground.

“You okay?”

Hotch was barely awake, his voice gravelly and tired.

“I’m okay, Hotch, go back to sleep.”

He grumbled something and was soon asleep again. Evelyn could do nothing but sigh. Still, she didn’t sleep.

The next day went no better than the last. It was night again before Evelyn knew it. She sat on the ground, head between her knees. Hotch stood, leaning up against the support beam in the middle of the room.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said. Evelyn didn’t move. “Talk to me.”

“I told you, I’ll deal with it after we get out of here,” she told him, her words muffled by her knees.

Hotch walked toward her and let out a groan as he lowered himself to the ground.

“You can sleep,” he told her, his words even quieter than they were before. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

Evelyn lifted her head finally to look at him.

“That’s not why I’m not sleeping,” she said, which was partially a lie. She didn’t sleep because she needed to be aware at all times. She couldn’t risk nodding off and letting her guard down. But there was another part to it.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked her.

“I thought I was going to die alone in that house, Aaron.” Her voice was thick with tears. “Twice. I stay awake because I can’t stand the thought of dying alone. And if you die while I’m sleeping-“

Hotch reached out and took her hand in his. When she looked over at him, he was staring straight ahead, not looking at her. She let out a shaky sigh and let him lace his fingers through hers. It was all the comfort that she needed.

“You’re not going to die alone,” Hotch told her. “You’re not going to die here at all.”

Evelyn nodded and let a few of the tears in her eyes fall, grateful for the darkness to cover her face. She lowered her head slowly to his shoulder, damning all protocol to hell, if there even was protocol for maybe dying in a basement with your boss. When Hotch didn’t immediately pull away from her or shake her off his shoulder, she settled in and shut her eyes.

“You’re not dying here either,” she said. “Not if I can help it.”

For the first time in days, Evelyn slept.

She awoke to someone grabbing hold of her hand. Her first thought was that it was Hotch squeezing her in his sleep. But when she gasped and opened her eyes, she found that it was just Rosalie sitting in front of her. It was still dark outside. She thought that the woman had brought her more food, but she turned out to be wrong.

“We have to go,” Rosalie whispered. “We have to go.”

“What?”

“Shh, shh,” Rosalie put a shaking finger to her lips and pulled on Evelyn’s hand. “You were right. We have to go now.”

Rosalie pulled Evelyn to her feet, dragging her toward the door before she was even fully awake.

“Wait, stop,” Evelyn whispered, trying to shake herself awake.

“No, now! This is the only chance you have.”

Rosalie dragged Evelyn out of the basement doors and up the stairs into the house above. It wasn’t the same house that Hotch and Evelyn had been searching before, she could tell that even in the dark.

“Where are you taking me, Rosalie?”

“You have to get out of here, now! Jeremy doesn’t want to kill you, but he will,” Rosalie said, pulling her through the rundown and dirty home.

“Stop. Stop!” Evelyn dug her heels into the ground and forced Rosalie to stop. “I’m not leaving Aaron.”

“You don’t have time!” There was nothing but pure desperation in Rosalie’s voice. “Jeremy knows I left. He’s coming here. You have to go now or you’re not going at all.”

Evelyn wrenched her arm out of Rosalie’s grip.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Jeremy will kill you.” Rosalie sounded desperate, terrified.

Evelyn shook her head and took a step backward.

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving him.” Rosalie’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Go. Call the police. Tell them where we are.”

Rosalie nodded her head.

“Go.”

Without another word, Rosalie turned around and ran from the house.

Evelyn watched her go. Her heart rate spiked when headlights flashed through the front window. All she could do for Rosalie was hope that she found some place to hide until Lions entered the house. If Lions was here, this was it. He was coming for Hotch.

Evelyn ran back to the basement as quietly as she could. She shut the basement door, hearing it lock with a heart wrenching click, just as the front door opened. She hurried down the stairs and dropped to the ground next to Hotch, startling him awake.

“What’s going on?” Hotch asked, still sounding stuck in sleep.

“Lions is here,” Evelyn whispered to him. “Rosalie is gone, she’s calling the police.”

“How-“

“We need a plan and quick,” Evelyn told him.

“We don’t know how long it will take for the police to respond,” Hotch replied quietly, his voice surprisingly calm. This might be his last few moments on earth, and he wasn’t terrified or angry or anxious. He was just calm. “All of his attention will be on me. You can escape then.”

She shook her head.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“This isn’t a time for heroics.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Before Hotch could argue, Evelyn pushed herself to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, standing after her.

“Like you said, Lions’ attention will all be on you. He won’t be expecting me.”

“Caro-“

She sunk into the shadows just as the door of the basement opened. Lions trudged down the stairs, grumbling to himself.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward Hotch.

“Where’s the girl?” Lions asked, his voice low and gruff.

Hotch was silent.

“Doesn’t matter,” the unsub grumbled to himself. With his back to her completely, Lions started for Hotch. Evelyn would make sure he never reached him.

She crept out from her shadows, walking toward Lions. The ever present ache in her head from when Lions knocked her out didn’t even stop her. She was silent as she moved until she was right up behind him. In one quick motion, Evelyn kicked the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground before wrapping her arm around his neck.

Lions struggled against Evelyn. He was strong and she was weak from days with little food and water as well as the head injury. But she held on as tight to his neck as she could.

Hotch ran to check the basement door, but Lions had closed it, leaving it locked.

As he did so, Evelyn was so focused on keeping her grip on Lions, that she didn’t see his hand moving toward his pocket. He pulled out a knife and rammed it into her shin. She cried out, falling back and away from Lions.

“Evelyn!”

Hotch turned away from the door and ran back toward her as Lions stumbled away. Evelyn fell back against the support beam, lowering herself to the ground as she pressed her hands against the cut on her leg.

Hotch ran toward Evelyn, but Lions intercepted him. Fire spread throughout Evelyn’s leg, dark blood seeping through her fingers. She clenched her jaw in hopes of easing the pain. Hotch and Lions tumbled, a blur of bodies that Evelyn once again couldn’t distinguish. This scene was all too familiar to her.

Hotch was trained, but he was weak. Lions relied mostly on his size and strength, but lacked any formal training. Evelyn needed to get back into the fight, that was the only way Hotch would win this.

With a groan of effort and a sharp stabbing pain shooting through her leg, Evelyn forced herself to stand. Using the support beam as her support as well, she allowed herself a few moments to breathe through the pain before lurching forward.

Lions had Hotch pinned against the wall, his arm across his chest to keep him there. Evelyn hurtled toward Lions, pushing through the pain in her leg and barreled into him. This knocked him off balance. Being unable to stop herself once she started, she and Lions tumbled over each other until they were both on the ground. Hotch started forward to help Evelyn to her feet, but Lions had an arm around her waist and the knife pressed to her neck before either of them could really react.

“Back off,” Lions said, his voice even more gruff than before. Blood dribbled down from a broken nose and he wheezed, telling Evelyn that Hotch had hit him enough times near the diaphragm to knock the wind out of him.

The cool of the metal knife pressed against Evelyn’s throat didn’t scare her. Especially when she met Hotch’s gaze. That dead calm he always put forward she now felt flow through her veins. Everything was going to be okay, she could see it in his eyes. Evelyn breathed as shallowly as she could, trying to keep her throat from extending too far into the knife.

Lions pushed himself off the ground and brought Evelyn up with him. The knife cut into the first few layers of her throat and Evelyn flinched, feel the cool of her own blood dribble down her neck. Hotch put his hands in the air, trying to show that he meant Lions no harm.

“She’s not a part of this,” Hotch said. “You know that, Lions.”

“She’s a bitch is what she is,” Lions snapped, pressing the knife harder against Evelyn’s neck.

Hotch flinched forward and Evelyn shut her eyes.

“You want me, Lions, not her.” This was the calmness that Evelyn had never understood before. Her negotiation skills had never been good. Hotch said that she was too emotional. She cared too much and it was too easy to read in her voice. But Hotch was too good at pretending not to care at all. “Let her go and I’ll go with you.”

“No, Hotch-“

“Shut up,” Lions seethed in her ear. “You don’t get to talk.”

“Is that how you treat Rosalie, huh?” Evelyn asked, her hands on his arm that held the knife to her throat. “You call her a bitch and tell her shut up?”

“Be quiet!”

Evelyn could feel blood soak into her shirt, weighing it down.

“Lions, look at me,” Hotch said, pulling his attention away from Evelyn. “You can let her go.”

Evelyn felt her wounded leg start to grow numb and her balance shifted. In not too long, she wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep herself standing upright.

The door behind them burst open and Evelyn let out a gasp. Lions flinched and loosened his grip on her just enough that she broke free from him and stumbled forward, right into Hotch.

“Jeremy Lions, drop the knife and put your hands in the air!” Emily Prentiss said, her voice deep and commanding.

Evelyn’s leg gave out, every ounce of weight put on it causing a shooting pain up and down her entire body. Hotch held her up by her arms, her back pressed against his chest. He was the only thing keeping her standing and she could barely even do that.

Lions didn’t turn around, but he put his hands up in the air.

“Rosalie did this,” he said, his voice deadly low.

“Drop the knife, Lions,” Emily said again.

“You turned her against me.” Lions shifted his angered eyes away from Hotch and onto Evelyn. “You did.”

“I don’t want to shoot you, Lions, but I will.”

“You turned her against me!”

Lions took half a step toward them, the knife now facing her. Hotch turned Evelyn away, preparing to step between them, but Emily fired a single shot, the bullet tearing right through Lions’ shoulder. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain, the knife falling out of his grip.

Evelyn, still unable to stand on her own, turned to Hotch, her neck still bleeding.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, noting the bruises on his face.

“Are you guys alright?” Emily asked, her gun trained on Lions.

“We need a medic,” Hotch said. Emily nodded her head, her eyes flickering down the cut in Evelyn’s shin and neck.

Emily relayed the information through her earpiece, as well as saying the offender was down. Evelyn stayed leaned up against Hotch, his hands clinging to her arms to keep her steady, as Emily took Lions away in handcuffs.

Morgan and Reid came running into the basement along with the paramedics.

“Evie,” Morgan stepped toward her and she just smiled.

“We’re okay,” she told him.

“Ma’am,” the paramedic said. “Let’s get you to the ambulance.”

The paramedics stepped forward, one taking hold of Evelyn. The other moved toward Hotch.

“How are you feeling?” the paramedic asked him.

“Can you make it to the ambulance?” the paramedic asked Evelyn, who nodded her head.

“I can carry you,” Morgan said, stepping forward. Evelyn let out a quiet laugh.

“I can manage on my own, Derek,” she told him. Still, he followed her and the paramedic, his hands out just in case she started to fumble.

They helped her up the stairs and she looked back at Hotch, to find that his eyes were still on her. He nodded her head and she smiled at him.

The pain that flared throughout Evelyn’s leg was white hot, but with the paramedic taking most of her weight and Morgan just behind her, Evelyn was able to make it to through the house and to the ambulance without letting a single tear fall from her eye.

Hotch came out of the house a few minutes later, the paramedic still trying to get him to sit for a moment while Reid filled him in on everything they missed in the case.

“I’d like to speak with Rosalie,” Hotch said.

“She’s over here,” Reid said.

Hotch tried not to look over at the ambulance where he knew Evelyn was. He still had a job to do and he couldn’t focus on that if all he could think about was whether or not she was okay. He knew she was okay. She was always okay.

Rosalie sat in the back of one of the cop cars, her eyes closed and silent tears running down her cheeks. Hotch popped open the door, but she didn’t look at him.

“Is he alive?” she asked.

“He’ll survive,” Hotch told her. Rosalie let out a shaky breath and slowly opened her eyes. “Why did you help us?”

“I didn’t help you,” she said, looking away from him and toward the ambulance. “I helped Evelyn.”

Hotch scowled.

“She loves you, you know?”

Her words startled him and Hotch felt ice run through his blood.

“What?”

“She loves you. I gave her food at night but she’d only eat part of it, saved the rest for you. And last night I came to take her somewhere safe before Jeremy came back to kill you, but she refused to leave. I almost had her out of that house, but she ran back in. For you.”

Hotch looked down at his feet. He didn’t really expect anything less of Evelyn Caro. She always put everyone’s lives above her own. He shouldn’t expect her to act any different toward him.

But anger still bubbled up inside of him. She could have gotten herself killed and for what? She should have left him there and ran to get help. She should have….

“You better be damn sure you’re worth it.” Rosalie’s words were venom and Hotch could feel their sting deep in his blood.

Hotch shut the door, leaving Rosalie to her silence and grief. He turned to look at the ambulance, just as Morgan was stepping into the back. The paramedic shut the door, closing Hotch off from Evelyn. The siren started to blare, and the ambulance rolled out of the driveway.

“They’re taking her to the hospital,” Prentiss said, walking over to him. Hotch nodded his head. “Lost too much blood to just let her come back with us.”

“She kept antagonizing him,” Hotch said as he placed his hands on his hips. “If she had just let me go with him-“

“Caro was protecting you, sir,” Prentiss said. He looked at her, scowl deepening. “She knew that as soon as Lions had you, he would kill you. She had to make sure that didn’t happen.”

Hotch watched the ambulance as it drove away, the sirens ringing.

He never got the chance to ask if she was okay.

___

Evelyn lay back in her bed at the hotel, staring at the ceiling. A bandage wrapped around her leg and it itched, making it impossible for her to sleep. There was something else keeping her awake. Her mind reeled, the last few days playing over and over in her head. Trapped in a room with Hotch for days on end was the perfect time to talk to him about all the things that were bothering her, but even then, she couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t even know where to begin because she didn’t even know what she was feeling anyway.

Sitting up with a huff, Evelyn glowered into the darkness. She threw off her blankets that were making her too hot, lowering herself onto the ground and landing on her good leg. She hobbled over to her discarded clothes and threw them back on.

Air was what she needed. A breath of fresh air. And then she’d be okay. She could go back to pretending that everything was fine and normal, like she always did.

As she pulled a coat onto her shoulders, she opened the door and froze.

Hotch was standing there, wearing a broken down version of his usual suit. His tie and jacket were discarded, his shirt buttoned up sloppily. She wondered if he had ever even gone to bed. And he was standing in front of her door, his hand not even raised to knock. He was just standing there.

He looked at her with wide eyes, shocked to find her there.

“Um, hi,” Evelyn said, dropping her hand from the doorknob.

“I just wanted to check to see how you were doing,” Hotch said.

“Hotch, it’s like three in the morning.”

He looked down at his hands. He was actually fidgeting. Something had made him motivated enough to come here, but nervous enough not to knock.

“I know. I can go-“

“No, wait.” He froze. “I never got to ask if you were okay.”

Hotch nodded his head.

“I’m okay.”

“Good.”

They stood there in silence. Evelyn felt her throat tighten every time she wanted to say something. Hotch wouldn’t look at her. The silence seemed to drag on for eternity before Hotch finally broke it.

“I talked to Rosalie, after everything, and she said something,” Hotch said. Evelyn finally put her eyes on him.

“What…what did she say?”

There were a thousand terrible things that Evelyn could think of that the woman could have possibly said to land her standing in front of her boss at three in the morning.

“She said that you had a chance to leave that house and you came back,” he told her. Evelyn straightened her back. This was going to be a lecture, she could just feel it coming. She just didn’t know why it couldn’t wait until morning. “Why?”

Evelyn scowled and looked at the ground, her hand still on the door.

“Why?” She repeated. “Because I couldn’t leave you there.”

“You should have.”

Evelyn felt her temper begin to rise. What was it with this man?

“A ‘thank you for saving my life’ would suffice,” she said, her tone harsh. “If I hadn’t come back, Lions would have killed you. From where I’m standing, I made the right decision.”

“And got yourself hurt in the process.”

“I’ll survive.” Hotch fell quiet again. “Listen, Aaron, if you’ve come to pick a fight, I think it can wait until morning.”

Evelyn took a step back and started to close the door, but Hotch lifted his hand and stopped it from closing. She looked over at him, jaw tightened, and found him staring back at her.

“I’m not here to pick a fight with you,” he said.

“Then why did you come?”

She could see the question rattling around in his brain, as if he had been asking himself that very same question ever since he left his room.

“I’m sick of this, Aaron,” she said finally, when he didn’t answer. “I’m sick of neither of us being able to say what we really mean. I’m sick of running in circles around each other. Just tell me why you came here.”

“I came to make sure you’re okay.”

“Mission accomplished then. I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She started to close the door again and this time he didn’t stop her.

“Rosalie also said you loved me.”

Evelyn froze, the door almost shut so she couldn’t see his face anymore. Which was good because it meant that he also couldn’t see hers and the fear that was etched into every feature. Her breathing became heavy, like every breath took so much more work. She closed her eyes, and slowly started to open the door again.

“Rosalie said that?” Hotch nodded his head once. “Did you believe her?”

He was quiet for a moment, letting out a long but quiet sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re a profiler. Tell me, what do you think?”

He took a while to answer.

“I think you’re a deeply compassionate person who cares for the team. I think you would give your life for any one of us in a heartbeat.” Evelyn looked down at her feet and Hotch tried to follow her eyes with his. “I know that you would never do anything to jeopardize the dynamics of this team because we’ve become your family.”

“Okay.”

“So, I don’t know how much of what you say and do is because the team is your family and how much is because-“

“-I love you.”

The words came from her mouth like any other fact would. She had known it for so long, never said it, not even to herself, but she knew it. And she managed to say it so casually. She was just completing his sentence after all.

Hotch stood still, as if trying to decide whether or not she was finishing what he was saying or confessing. He searched her eyes, but she stayed motionless. It was time he figured things out for himself, she decided. They’d both spent so long trying to figure the other out, it was high time someone just made the first move.

“When you were at Ralph Bennet’s house,” he said finally, “I had these horrible dreams about finding you there already dead. I was too late to save you.”

Evelyn could have sworn there were tears glimmering in his eyes.

“You did though, Aaron. You did save me.”

“But was I too late?” He asked. “Did I wait too long for…everything else?”

“What do you want, Aaron?” Her voice was just at a whisper, her hand still on the door.

It was the last time she would ask. This was the last time and then she’d let it go, let him go. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life, however short that might be, pining after one man.

Hotch surprised her then. He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t try to talk. Talking was clearly getting him nowhere. Everything he said somehow came out wrong. Instead, he took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. Putting a hand to her cheek, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

His answer was clear. It took her a few moments to over come her shock, but when she did, she reached out to grab hold of his shirt collar, pulling him in closer.

She pulled him into her room and shut the door, leaving the hallway empty and quiet.

Her room was still dark as he moved her backward, his hands never leaving her. He thought he had lost her. But here she was, with him, and that’s all he needed.

“You,” he whispered against her skin. “Just you.”

Every raging fire that made up Evelyn Caro met the calm seas that built Aaron Hotchner, burning and boiling and soothing in every possible way.

He kissed her lips, her bruised cheek bone, her jaw. His hands rested against the side of her neck, gently though, so as not to irritate her wound. She tugged at his wrinkled shirt, trying to pull him closer.

Hotch knew this was breaking protocol. But he left behind every rule in the book when he left his room two hours ago. Every inch of contact with her made his stomach twist, every time her teeth grazed his lip made his heart pound. For so long he had wanted her and for so long he had pretended otherwise. He was so, so tired of pretending.

He was pulling off her shirt and she didn’t stop him and he didn’t stop himself, but he couldn’t. He just needed all of her.

Evelyn gasped, her intake of breath so sharp that Hotch pulled away. She breathed raggedly, her chest rising and falling.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his eyes moving to her neck.

Consumed by her, he had forgotten the shape she was in. He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.

“I’m not that fragile,” she told him. There was a smug look on her face, her lips twitched up into a smile.

Hotch leaned forward to kiss that smile, soft and gentle. His hands dropped to her waist and he kissed her again. He intended to pull away, leave her be for the night, but every time he tried, he came back to her like a magnet.

Evelyn had just as hard as a time keeping away from him. His calloused hands were grazing over her sides, her waist, her stomach, her back. Her hands were trembling as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Her heart pounded like a drum beat in her chest, so hard that she could hear it in her ears and it made her hands shake.

She expected him to stop her, to realize what he was doing and take her hands a politely decline, but when the last button came undone, he pulled away from just long enough to take the shirt off himself.

Hotch put his lips back on hers as soon as he could. Evelyn smiled against his kiss.

As if she had burned him, he suddenly stepped away, leaving Evelyn leaning against the wall, heaving for breath. He stared at her, his own breath ragged, his dark eyes smoldering.

“Is something…did I…?”

Shame pooled in Evelyn’s cheeks, making them burn. There she was, completely and utterly exposed, barely able to stand well enough on her own to scurry away.

“You’ve had a very hard year, Evelyn,” he said.

She tilted her head to the side and looked at the ground, locking her jaw.

“Hotch….”

“And I can’t take advantage of-“

“Aaron!” She said with a laugh, forcing him to look at her. “I’m fine. This is fine, more than fine.”

“Is it what you want?” he asked.

She gave a small smile and heaved out a sigh.

“Aaron Hotchner,” she said. “Have I ever done anything I haven’t wanted to?”

Lifting a hand, she curled her finger, beckoning for him. He stepped toward her until he was just a breath away.

“I’ll tell you if I need to stop,” she said to him, just above a whisper.

Evelyn reached up and kissed him again. It took him a few moments to respond, but once he accepted what she said, he leaned into her.

He placed a hand on her chest, right over her heart.

And for once, in a very, very long time, that wound in her soul didn’t feel so gaping.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Turning Tables (3/8) - Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Joaquin work together to track down the Flag Smashers, but yet again, she is the middle woman between Bucky and Sam as they butt heads. 

Author’s Note: Continuation of the story into Episode Two of TFATWS. Love the banter between Sam and Bucky, especially when Walker turns up and they team up to direct all of their anger at him. Joaquin is my man, my soft boi. I need more of him in the next two episodes, otherwise, I’m going to be a wreck for a while. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged! There will definitely be two more parts…who knows, maybe I’ll add more or individual one-shots!

Warnings: anxiety, the smallest drop of fluff

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem! Reader

You leaned back in your chair, feet crossed in front as Joaquin read through documents at his desk. Following up on leads was the top priority right now with the rise in communications of the revolutionaries’ known as the Flag Smashers. 

Word Count: 2.4K

Joaquin stood by his word and incorporated Sam and Y/N in the investigation. They had been at the Airbase for a total of 3 hours and 49 minutes, reading through documents and following up leads using the database resources. 

You rest your hands on your stomach as you shut your eyes for a moment. The bags under your eyes had become more noticeable in the past couple days, what with sleepless nights and long hours. All of which led you to grow closer to the coffee machine in your small apartment.

The nightmares had grown worse in the past week, haunting more than the occasional dream. Sometimes it was just the darkness that irked you, which you’d usually resolve with a bit of light. More recently, they formed into horrific events where you couldn’t save Sam or Bucky. The worst instance was last night’s terror.

This time, Joaquin showed up instead. 

Instead of the usual guilt that strung you up, an aching sorrow and horror overwhelmed you as you lost control. 

The fire was everywhere.

It burned until nothing was left.

Until the last edge of life was gone.

Even as you grasped for the tip of control to stop it, the flames extended further and further.

You couldn’t stop them,

And that terrified you.

It had its grip on your throat, ever-so-slowly compressing your windpipe as you clawed for the surface.

“Y/N?”

You inhaled sharply, opening your eyes to Joaquin’s concerned gaze as he leaned across the desk.

“You alright? You dozed off there.”

You nodded your head, slacking your jaw to recognise your feet touching the ground, the cabinets along the walls and lastly, the man sitting behind the desk.

His concerned gaze is glued to your widened eyes which scan the room, almost as if you weren’t completely aware.

“Yeah...I haven’t been getting much sleep is all.”

Joaquin nodded, returning to the words on the document,

“I’ve noticed. You’ve been a bit jittery the past couple days.”

“And...that’ll be the caffeine.”, you trailed, as you stood and stretched your limbs out.

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

Joaquin glanced up from the desk, shaking his head as a smirk grew on his face. The bruise under his left eye had slowly been healing from the past mission, along with a large cut along his forehead.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Oh really? Then what’s the face for?”

“What face?”, he laughed and stared at you incredulously.

You leaned your hands against the back of the chair as pointed at him,

“That face that says I’m judging you.”

“This is not a judgemental face. This is the face of someone who is concerned about you.”

You’re quiet, allowing Joaquin to continue as you grip the back of the chair. Averting your eyes to the floor, your stomach plummets. Thumps palpate in your chest as your blood seems to pump harder.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

You gulped down your anxiety, making eye contact with Joaquin so as to convince him and yourself as you spoke.

“...Yeah. I’m fine.”, you nodded your head and smile with the lack of enthusiasm that brings his attention to it. Joaquin cocks his head to the side, trying to see deeper into your mind.

“Y/N-”

The door bursts open as another uniformed soldier leans in the doorway.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got an update waiting for you, Sir.”

Joaquin stood from his seat, nodding his head at the officer.

“Alright, thanks, you can hand it over.”

The soldier nods his head, leaving the folder on the desk before shutting the door. You huff out a sigh at the tension and silence filling the office. Joaquin gathered up the remaining papers on the desk into neat piles, tidying the space.

“Look, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m electing not to sleep and I’m getting more work done.”

“You can’t live like this, Y/N, you’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

“Yeah well right now, I’d rather not face those fears. Got bigger fish to fry right now.”, you purse your lips and nodded towards the folder.

You exit the office, wandering the first level of the base offices. Your arms press against the railing as you drop your head and listen to the bustling of people and machinery echo across the base. Slumped over the railing, you concentrate on counting your breaths as you hear Joaquin’s feet stomp closer to you.

Joaquin leans next to you on the border as you refuse to move, knowing that your façade of calm will chip as soon as you look at him.

“Y/N, if somethings bothering you, you should tell me. I know you feel that keeping it to yourself is better than admitting it but trust me, it’s a lot worse.”, he leaned down to meet your gaze as a stoic blank expression overcame you.

Your throat tightens and clench your jaw to suppress the sob building in your chest. 

You’ve always been alone with your thoughts, threatening to crack under the constant pressure behind your skull. The Avengers had been an unconventional setting but you created close relationships with a few of them. Some you lost along the way because of uncontrollable things but you wonder. 

You wonder if maybe something was wrong with you.

If it was your fault why they always left.

Why no one stuck around for long.

Tears glimmer, threatening to fall but you exhale a long breath out, turning to him. You twiddle your fingers, jaw clenched as you choke out the words in a whisper.

“...okay.”

Joaquin’s posture straightened as you stepped away from the railing and nodded your head in agreement.

“I’ll try. For you, Flyboy.”

He hummed and a small smile grew on his face at the nickname. 

“That’s all I ask.”

Looking over his shoulder, you recognise a familiar face. 

“Hey, Wilson.” you called over Joaquin’s shoulder, causing Sam’s eyes to flicker between the two of you.

“Hey, Y/L/N. I see you guys are spending extra time together…”, Sam implied with a smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam’s implications, nudging his arm.

“It’s about time he kept me in the loop.”

He recognises the dark circles under your eyes and how tired you look but elects to ignore it. 

“You alright?”, Sam asks.

You look up at Joaquin as his lips twitch upwards in a small encouraging smile. His hand slides across the railing, hovering next to yours as you reply.

“I’m right where I need to be.”

You trail off as you notice Sam’s stiff posture and tension as he glides his hands into his pockets.

“How are you?”

After the huge declaration of America’s new ‘Captain America’, you were infuriated with the SHAM. Walker had done nothing to deserve that shield. 

It was Sam that Steve chose. 

It was Sam that deserved the shield.

You can only imagine how upset he is feeling. 

Sam almost shrugs, tilting his head as he doesn’t know how to express all of his feelings about the situation.

You all glance towards a screen as a poster of John Walker holding up Steve’s shield is shown.

“Seems like a good guy. You met him?”, Joaquin asks.

“No.”, Sam replied.

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice.”

“Yeah. No sweat. I’m just finishing up the checklist. You’ll be all good to go once you land in Munich.”

“I’ll be in the air with Joaquin so you can keep us updated…”

You trail off because your attention phases to Bucky Barnes’ entrance. With the fury in his step, you can practically visualise the daggers Bucky is sending towards Sam as you descend the stairs.

“Shouldn’t have given up the shield.”

“Good to see you too, Buck.”

“This is wrong.”, Bucky interjects.

Bucky follows Sam, cutting him off to interrogate. 

“Hey, hey, look, I’m working, all right? So all this outrage is gonna have to wait.”

Bucky narrows his eyes,

“You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”

Sam is aghast, “No, of course I didn’t know that was gonna happen. You think it didn’t break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?”

“Steve didn’t want this.”

“Oh, my God. What do you want me to do? Call America and tell ’em I changed my mind? Huh?”

Joaquin rests a hand on your shoulder, bringing your attention back to him,

“I’m gonna go ahead and set up before we leave.”

You nod, acknowledging him, gripping his hand,

“I’ll be right there.”, sending him a reassuring smile.

You watch as Sam and Bucky tussle in an argument over the shield and then the mission.

You find yourself striding up to them as Sam stomps off alone towards the plane.

“Hey stranger.”

Bucky turns around and his eyes light up in recognition. He flicks over your tired eyes and sombre expression.

“Sam didn’t know this would happen.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have given it up in the first place. It doesn’t belong there.”

“Bucky… I know how much that shield means to you... But you have to understand that Sam did what he thought was the right thing. We have to accept that. It’s what Steve wanted.”

“This is not what Steve would have wanted, Y/N.”

Bucky is fuming at the thought of the man parading as Captain America.

“I know, I know, Bucky. But we gotta work together to solve this one.”

“Just like always.”

He hummed, looking at the plane.

“Fine, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m mad at him.”

You sigh but agree because you know your boys are stubborn.

*****

You sit up on a crate as the plane flies below the drop-off zone for Sam and Bucky. You were sitting this one out to surveil with Joaquin from above.

“One minute to drop off, Sam.”

You watch Joaquin as he assesses the distance below and the time on his watch. The cuts and scrapes on his face have mostly healed but the blue and purple bruising under his eye remains. 

“So what’s our plan?”, Bucky asks Sam who ignores him as he positions his com in his ear.

“Great. So no plan.”

Bucky shakes his head in annoyance, sitting back down in his seat.

“Thirty seconds!”, Joaquin yells, looking out into the open air.

“I’m reconsidering sending those two out there alone.”

You glance anxiously between Sam and Bucky as the tension in the plane stirs.

“But they’re not alone, because they’re going together.”, Joaquin points out.

“That’s the part I’m worried about.”

You smile unconvincingly at Joaquin as you listen to the men bicker.

“Enjoy your ride, Buck.”

Bucky rejects Sam’s use of the nickname,

“No, you can’t call me that.”

“Why not? That’s what Steve called you.”

You roll your eyes at the childish banter between the two. You were considering the amount of logic and coordination between the two of them but then again, you were too tired to get on board for this mission.

“Steve knew me longer, and Steve had a plan.”

“Why couldn’t Steve be here?”, you whisper sarcastically.

“Fifteen seconds to drop.”

“I have a plan.”, Sam defends.

“Really? What is it?”

Sam ignores Bucky, jumping from the plane. Joaquin peeks his head out in amusement as Sam ignites his suit and flies off. He still wears that look of amaze on his face since the first time he saw the suit.

“Great. Where’s the chute?”, Bucky asked, looking around.

“We’re at 200 feet. It’s too low for a chute.”

“I don’t need it anyway.”

Joaquin perked an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky from the side, 

“You sure about that?”

“No! I know that look Bucky and I swear-”

“Yeah.”, Bucky sighs, yelling as he drops from the plane.

You and Joaquin both stare out into the open air as Bucky plummets into a tree, slowing his descent.

“What. An. Idiot.”, you exclaim from beside Joaquin.

“That looks like it hurts too.”

Pulling your sleeves down, you shiver and pull back from the open door to return to your seat. 

“He’ll be fine. I think.”

Joaquin slides the door shut as its seals with a hiss. 

You retract back into yourself as your thoughts return in the quiet.

Luckily, Joaquin is there to push them back.

“Hey, join me upstairs? I’ve gotta track activities for Sam from up here.”, he waits for your answer.

“Sure.”

He steps aside to let you walk up the steps first, sliding behind you as you reach the second floor. His hand ghosts over you back, guiding you across to the computers.

You flirt around the screens, leaning your hands against the metal frame. Joaquin’s hand roams around different radars and dials as he reads them. You watch from your spot as he concentrates, although, his eyes float up to check on you, every so often. You’ll pretend not to notice the suppressed smirk that threatens to rise on his face at your stare. 

You push that brewing anxiety aside but not without strain. Not without a little help from that pure and inviting calm that Joaquin brings.

***

TAGS:

@asoftie4bucky @remmysbounty @cjsinkythoughts @bubblegum28universe  @farfromjustordinary  @hocusbowie @alainabooks143 @marvelnerd18 @samscaptain @alexlynn16 @dontstahpmemeow @plllover86 @petewentzfrommcr80  @literallyjustfanfiction @captainbarness @parkjammys @the-and-sign-anon @nialeesato 

[iphoenixrising]

DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

**

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

**

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

**

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.