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dizzybee03 · 7 days ago

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Oh man- this chapter was interesting and made me think making the UNSUB a woman would be an interesting plot twist. Also the victim advocate making it all about her is maddening and Hopps showed more restraint than I would have

Anatomy of an Arsonist - FBI Agent!Jake Seresin X FBI Profiler!Reader

Chapter 16 - You Won’t Make a Fool of Me

Series Summary: After nearly being burned alive in a house fire as a child, you now worked as an FBI Special Agent. You have caught some of the worst people with your profiles, working hard as the BAU Liaison Agent to the Major Crimes Unit at the FBI's New York field office. When a new case crosses your desk, a chord is struck in you and memories long repressed come flooding back. Is this UNSUB the same man who is responsible for your mother's murder? Or, is there a copycat hell-bent on making you relive the fear that haunted you as a child?

Banner made by me!

Chapter Warnings: lots of profile speak, discussion of dead children (very brief), lots of advocation for the victims, some bad behaviour from journalists and other associates, Jake’s a little thirsty, I honestly think that’s it for this chapter, please lmk if I missed anything!

Word Count: 6.0k

Masterlist >> Chapter 15 >> Chapter 17

===

Standing outside the door to the city morgue, you looked at Bradley. It had been a long night, you and the team had been on scene in the Bronx for hours since 2 in the morning on what you assumed was July 1st.

The Bronx was home now to two murders. Brooklyn had two. Queens had been discarded after he had failed to take Lacey Hamilton and her siblings out of this world. His choice of location continued to baffle you, the choices seeming completely random until you remembered what the 911 dispatcher, Max Lewis had told you.

Each zone had a firehouse and each firehouse was somewhere in the zone, whether in the middle or far to one side. The first burns, the ‘A’ scenes, were far to one side, drawing each firehouse all the way out to respond, giving him time to drive to the other side, killing and setting the second blazes at the ‘B’ scenes.

What if that was it? If the first fires were just decoys meant to draw a response team all the way out, what if you instructed the dispatch offices to send a house from another zone, leaving the firehouse of that zone to respond to the ‘B’ scenes faster and increasing the chance of saving someone and giving you an opportunity to collect fresh evidence before it was lost?

Voicing the thought to Bradley as he stood next to you, you felt him pause. “It’s a risk, Hopps. The ‘A’ scenes will be completely gone.”

“But if the ‘A’ scene is gone from that zone’s firehouse going all the way there anyway, then why does it matter because the ‘B’ scene will be saved by the zone’s main house now being able to respond faster and minimize the amount of damage?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“This will give us a leg up on this UNSUB. He sees that we aren’t changing and we can pull the rug out from under him. If it is communicated to the dispatch teams to lie about what house is going where as well as the NYFD, we have a chance to catch another mistake,” you insisted, nearly begging him to see where you were coming from.

Bradley’s hand fell to your shoulder. “Let’s go home, get some sleep before we go in and talk to Mav and Simpson about this. You already have to present the profile this afternoon so let’s make that the priority before we go trying to throw off his groove. Okay?”

“Did you just make an Emperor’s New Groove reference?”

“Maybe?”

You shook your head. “I want to see him caught, Bradley.”

“I know Hopps. And I’m not saying no, I’m just saying that we have a bigger priority right now.”

===

You definitely had a much bigger priority as evidenced by the flurry of activity in the JOC when you walked into 26 Federal Plaza later that morning. Simpson was dressed up, full suit and tie and it seemed like Maverick had been wrangled into one as well if the slight wrinkles in the jacket and lopsided tie were anything to go by.

“Douglas!”

Simpson strode over, tie flapping as it seemed to be dragged along by his quick movements. “Are you ready?”

“To present the profile, Sir?”

He nodded, eyes darting around the room, tracking the movements of every other agent running around. “And to make a formal statement on behalf of the FBI about the events of this morning. The news has been ordered to wait for our statement before publishing anything, but I know for a fact that a number of publications had reporters on scene earlier today and have rough drafts of stories ready to go be revised as we speak. We have to control the narrative around these deaths.”

“Of course. Has there been a statement prepared, a list of items to avoid, anything at all or am I going in blind?” You asked, adjusting your bag as you watched your boss consider your words. Going in blind was not something you wanted to do. The lack of direction with something so sensitive was panic-inducing and it forced you to take the lead in an investigation that was very clearly being shared between many other people.

“No, we just caught wind from a few liaisons that the articles were being worked on. There wasn’t any time to do so,” Simpson explained. “You avoid mentioning your mother, the first victim from 22 years ago is nameless and the NYPD are to give out nothing lest they suffer the consequences of fucking up a Federal investigation. Oh, and the fact you discovered from that dispatcher? Stays in office. I have a meeting with the NYPD and NYFD Commissioners as well as the lead dispatchers for the area after this press conference.”

“So the priority is condolences for victims, saying their names, honoring them, then using last night as a crutch to shoehorn in my profile for this UNSUB?” You clarified, wanting to be doubly sure about the details he was asking you to include.

“Yes. That should be more than enough, media can ask questions, you answer them to the best of your ability and if you’re unsure, look to me or Pete.”

You nodded, the profile already swirling in your head as you drew in a breath, releasing it slowly as you surveyed the room. Get ready to be on camera, organize your notes to a few points, and deliver the profile, you could do that.

===

Tugging the black blazer on as you followed Simpson out of the JOC and into the elevator, you steeled yourself in preparation for the onslaught that awaited you. Jake and Bradley had both offered to be the agents standing behind you as you delivered the details, but you had refused politely. You were the focus of this conference, your details and expertise as a profiler set you uniquely apart from the other agents you worked with and so it had to be you, alone, delivering the most important pieces of information to the crowd before you.

The doors slid open and with one final pat of your hair in the mirrored doors, you followed out into the media room, making your way to the podium behind the liaison for the Major Crimes Unit, Emily Sanderson.

A sea of people sat in chairs crammed into the small space, cameras were getting their last checks as reporters tested their microphones and recorders all while chatting among themselves. Standing at the front of the room, you let your eyes skim over them all, noting those you recognized, those you didn’t and those who you knew may try and trap you with a question.

Sitting next to a skinny man with vibrant orange hair was Rory Bennett. Dark hair pulled back in an elegant twist, you knew that she would focus on the big picture, not getting preoccupied by the minute details that would not make a difference to the overall story. You had said it before, but her sharpness and attention to detail made her a force in the journalism world. Not many people got away with hiding the truth or making up details when being interviewed by her.

She smelled bullshit like a shark does with blood.

“Can I please have everyone’s attention?” Emily began, stepping up to the microphone. The room fell silent, seats being taken as everyone prepared for what was to come. “Good morning, I am Emily Sanderson, the media liaison for the FBI’s Major Crimes Unit. We will get to the point first of all, this is a formal press conference, not an interview. Questions are welcomed at the end, but the FBI retains the right to refuse an answer and those questions are not to be reported on. We are trusting you to use your discretion when referring to the victims and their causes of death, while also hoping that the information provided to you today will be used with the utmost journalistic integrity.”

A cough echoed in the otherwise silent room and Emily continued without blinking. “Any reports of victims or their families being sought out for comments will result in penalization for both the journalist and the news outlet and charges may be pursued depending on the severity of the violation. Privacy is expected. Agent Douglas is a professional and she will answer your questions as both she and the FBI see fit. If you don’t get an answer to the question, don’t push. A non-answer or a refusal is your answer. Any disruption, disrespect, or dismissal and disregard of these rules will see you and your team removed from the room and a ban may be put in place for your news outlet’s presence at an FBI press conference. Am I clear?”

Nods and a few “yes ma’ams” broke out across the room and meeting Simpson’s eyes at the back of the room, Emily ceded the podium and the floor to you.

“Good morning everyone. As Agent Sanderson said, I am Agent Douglas, the Behavioural Analysis Unit’s attache to the Major Crimes Unit. For those who don’t know what that means, I’m a profiler. I spend time investigating the ‘Who’ component in every crime that requires it. In short, I am the one using the crime scenes, the methods of attack, the victims, and the weapons to build a picture of the Unknown Subject, or UNSUB committing these crimes,” you began, hearing shutters snap and pens clicking as soon as you introduced yourself.

“Early this morning, July 1st, nine people were killed in a house fire in a Bronx neighborhood. These nine included three single mothers, Morgan Miller, 29, Sasha Redd, 30, and Cassie Green, 28. They were the fifth through thirteenth victims of the serial killer known by the media as The Blazing Bodies Killer, but for the sake of keeping this conference about the victims, I will not be using that name. I will instead referring to their killer simply as ‘the UNSUB.’” Pausing, you noted that a few pens had stopped writing and a number of reporters were looking at you curiously. “The three women were killed like the others; Gwen Schaefer, Melody James, and until this morning, the most recent victim, Kirsten Dale. Each woman was knocked unconscious and stabbed to death before the UNSUB set the house on fire using a very particular mix of flammables and accelerants. These fires were also what killed Nia James, the five year old daughter of Melody James, as well as Autumn Miller, the five year old daughter of Morgan Miller, Erica and James Redd, the three year old twins of Sasha Redd, and Dawson, Lillian and Taylor Green, the five year old son of Cassie Green and her two daughters, four and two years old respectively.”

“None of the children were murdered, they were casualties of the flames, dying of smoke inhalation and according to the medical examiner on scene, they died quickly in their sleep,” you finished, flipping over your paper. You always hated talking about the kids, people hated reading about these child killers, and the FBI agents hated investigating those crimes. Not because they were deemed less important, but because collectively, society had made it known that crimes against children were inexcusable and irredeemable. Here, they were innocent bystanders, killed by a fire when they were safe in their beds.

Simpson’s nod from the back of the room prompted you to continue. “All of the women were dead before the fires started, and the UNSUB himself has been very successful in the coverup of his methods through the use of fire. I am speaking about the victims first because they are the story. Their lives being taken are the reason we are here today, they are the reason the FBI is taking this case as seriously as we possibly can. While I will be speaking to the profile of this UNSUB, he, despite his crimes, is still just a man and a man can be punished for the crimes he has committed. So out of respect for the 13 lives lost so far, I and the FBI want to ask that the moniker given to this killer be phased out of use. He is a monster, yes, but he is a man and affording him a status beyond a normal killer is both disrespectful and offensive to the people whose lives he has taken.”

Jake was standing next to the door, acting as security for the press conference, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you for long. You were up there, speaking as though you yourself were not a victim of this man. The tone of your voice was even, but you could tell that there was a passion there, a drive to see this man in cuffs, behind bars. You had made it clear that while this conference would not exist without the UNSUB, it was not for him and it never was. It made him just that much more proud of you.

“Now, as much as this is for the lives lost, there are some things that need to be communicated about the kind of man that this UNSUB is,” you continued, swallowing hard. “We know that our UNSUB is a white male, somewhere between the ages of 35-50, roughly five foot ten inches. He chooses his victims seemingly at random, though they seem to be women who are 25 and above. There is no distinction for race, sexuality, or age, anyone can be a target and he picks without care, but his pattern so far seems to indicate a choice for the oldest woman in the household.”

“He is driven by media attention, he was spurred on by the moniker that was given to him by the media and it drove him to his third attack on the Hamilton’s house. When that failed and the media capitalized on that failure, he felt forced to attack Kirsten Dale in order to redeem himself. This proves that he follows the media closely and sees the way he is portrayed as a personal statement, so he will be paying close attention to everything that is said today.”

“His ego drives him, this persona has been with him for a long time. There is a pattern to his criminal behaviour and he only reacts during a period of high stress.” You paused, drawing a breath, but a hand from Rory had you stopping before you began again. “Yes?”

“Agent Douglas, I’m Rory Bennett. I just had a quick question before you continue on. How would this UNSUB present in his ordinary life?”

You nodded, smiling a little at her directness. “Excellent question. He would react strongly to criticism from anyone and he would be extremely unable to take accountability for his own actions or mistakes. He would try and position himself as a leader, if he weren’t a manager or a boss already, and he would feel the need to have the final say in everything.”

“So would he blend in well?” Another journalist chimed in.

“He would. He would be narcissistic and like I said, he would lash out like this in periods of high stress. Personally, I believe that he is unable to regulate his feelings and is operating emotionally at the same level as a preteen or adolescent child. This poor regulation would be why he reacts so strongly to criticism of any kind,” you clarified. “Does that help any?”

The journalist nodded, sitting back down, but before you could continue, a man towards the back stood up. “Brian Morgan, Beacon Press. How would you personally describe the Blazing Bodies Killer, as the media is calling him?”

“I wouldn’t, and a killer like this is fueled by the repeated use of a moniker, so as I have said, please refrain from using that name. And I am well aware of who you are, Mr. Morgan, you are the journalist who came up with this moniker, so I feel that it is justified in placing some of his ego trip and the deaths associated, on your actions. This press conference is as much about the lives lost as it is about the person responsible, but if I had to describe him, I would have to say he is a man that is greatly unfulfilled in all areas of his life. He is unable to cope with challenges in his life in any meaningful way, so he lashes out like a toddler throwing a tantrum. He is emotionally unstable and, if I may be so bold, a stunted coward who believes he is infallible. Next question please,” you spat, vitriol tasting bitter and full of fire as you elaborated on your previous points.

“So what is to be done about this man? What can the public do to protect themselves?” Rory spoke up again, casting a narrowed gaze on the man behind her. You couldn’t know, but her disdain for this reporter was strong. The sheer lack of integrity on his end made her skin crawl, so a large part of her appreciated the fact that you had punched him down to a reasonable level yet again.

Plastering a smile over your grimace, you hummed in thought before replying. “I would suggest investing in a home security system, this UNSUB failed the attack on Lacey Hamilton after the alarm system went off, notifying the police of his presence. Additionally, we would advise households, especially those made up of exclusively women to take extra precaution when traveling alone. I know that that is not fair to you,” you said, a wry smile on your face as you looked on the crowd before you with sympathy. “But as the main intended victims, I wouldn’t feel right not warning you about the harm that could come to you. This UNSUB has claimed lives in both Brooklyn and the Bronx, he has bypassed Queens except for the Hamilton family, and unfortunately he shows no sign of stopping here.”

The room was still, pens quieting as the severity of the situation settled around you all like a fresh snowfall. Yet, unlike that blanket that seemed to wrap the world in calm and comfort, this one was made of ash. And it didn’t comfort, it smothered. It choked out any semblance of life and rebirth and this UNSUB wielded it as his cloak in the darkness.

“I would like to open the floor up now to some more formal questions. You all know the drill, hand up and I’ll pick you. But first,” you said after a pause. “If your questions pertain to the UNSUB, please be mindful of the phrasing in which you choose to do so.”

No sooner had you stepped back from the microphone did hands start reaching and grasping for your attention, each one resembling a baby bird desperate for food from their mother.

Choosing a journalist at random, you stood idly as they rose from their seat. “Agent Douglas. Elizabeth Keating, the New Yorker. You said that there was a failed attack, can you tell us more about that?”

Swallowing, you nodded. “I can. The night before Kirsten Dale’s untimely death, this UNSUB made an attempt on the lives of the Hamilton children in Queens. He was ultimately foiled by the burglar alarm going off and the quick thinking of the eldest child in the home prevented him from claiming any lives that night,” you explained, thinking back to how fearful Lacey had been. How she had shaken in your arms and how rattled she had been by the thought of becoming another victim.

“There are rumors that this UNSUB communicates to his victims via letters, can you confirm this?” Elizabeth asked again, bypassing the press conference protocol and cutting off Rory who had just been selected yet again.

Your eyes narrowed, and from where Jake stood, he saw the venom burn your tongue as you prepared for another confrontation. The stony look would have made a lesser journalist cower and he knew that you had already written her off in your head.

When it came to press conferences, you were the link between the community and law enforcement. You held yourself to a high standard when in front of the cameras and Jake was worried that however you shut her down, she would use your response as fuel to make the case that FBI had no idea what was happening while also writing you off as nothing more than a puppet through which the agency was speaking.

“Miss Keating. I believe that when this conference was opened by Ms. Sanderson, she made it abundantly clear as to the proper procedure for a press conference of this magnitude,” you replied coolly and Jake could see by the slight shiver that crept down the journalist’s spine, you had pinned her with the doll-eyed stare that had sent others running. “By ignoring those rules while also interrupting another colleague, you’ve shown complete and utter disregard for how things are done here. And before anyone else hops on this ‘letters rumor,’ let me stop you now. There are no letters and I am under the distinct impression that some of you may need to check your sources more closely. Especially because of the harmful nature of these rumors and the increased likelihood of public interference with this already challenging case. Please continue, Ms. Bennett, my apologies for the events that have occurred just now.”

Cowed by your professional yet chilling tone, Elizabeth Keating sat back down, her cheeks hot from embarrassment. You had taken her down several notches with only a few sentences and the way the room around her seemed to distance themselves, she knew that what you did had worked. She watched you explain your reasoning as to why you knew that this UNSUB was male and seethed with barely constrained anger.

“So for easier memory, both arson and serial murder tend to be male-derived crimes. I’m never saying that women cannot be either, but it is statistically more likely for this UNSUB to be male than female,” you finished with a small smile. “Anyone else?” You were watching Rory, but kept a cautious eye on Elizabeth. If she stood again or interrupted someone else, you would have her sent out immediately.

The awkwardness in the room seemed to give a lot of other journalists pause, but someone else finally raised a hand. “Kayla Carmichael, I work with the Victim Rights Association here in the city and I was wondering what kind of settlement or kindness would be afforded to the families of those that were lost.”

Your gaze immediately went to Simpson who seemed to roll his eyes. The informality had you biting back a grin as you hummed in thought. “Miss Carmichael, I am here solely to present the press and law enforcement with a detailed profile of the man responsible for the untimely deaths of these 13 people. I don’t have an answer for you at this time and I think it’s best if you were to get in contact with Ms. Sanderson and Special Agent in Charge Simpson at a later date to discuss your situation.”

“So you would give them nothing while you are playing catch-up to this psycho? You would rather have more dead than cut him off at the pass like you claim?” She shot back, now standing up. She strode towards you, the short redhead’s heels clicking aggressively on the laminate floors of the media room. “You claim to help and do this for them, but I think you are just thinking of your own ass and how much of a promotion a collar like this would earn you.”

Stepping out from behind the podium, you came forward, your arms crossed as you sized her up. The urge to wield your profiling skills against her was strong, but you refrained because anything you threw back in her face would overshadow all you had been trying to communicate. You knew that Rory would tell the story correctly, but others like Elizabeth Keating and the sharp-eyed man at the back of the room, Brian Morgan, wanted anything that would bring eyes to their columns.

Even if that included your bad behaviour.

Especially then.

Giving her the sweetest smile you could muster, you replied calmly and with an even measure. “Miss Carmichael, I believe that the only one interfering with justice being served is you. Your behaviour is both unacceptable and incredibly disrespectful to the victims you claim to represent. By storming in here and hurling accusations, you have made this press conference all about you and not about the case itself.”

Turning your back, you stepped back up to the podium and motioned for Jake and Bradley to come forward. “If this behaviour continues, Agents Bradshaw and Seresin will escort you out of the building and you will not get what you have claimed to want. Am I clear in my statement?”

She gulped, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish as she tried to regain her composure. “I have done no such thing!” She finally cried out, her tone echoing in the small room. “You’re the one who claims to want change and justice, yet you do nothing to catch him!”

“By all means, Miss Carmichael, please come and join the FBI if you feel you can do a better job,” you said dryly, the open disdain on your face now crystal clear to absolutely everyone watching. “I would never claim to know how you do your job nor would I ever state that you are not doing what you claim to do, so please don’t argue that this is about my inadequacies as a profiler when it is in fact about you getting your name out there.”

The minute you stopped talking, your heart sank. You’d given into what she wanted, bought into her combative nature and embroiled yourself in her bullshit. “To everyone else, I am requesting that any mention of Miss Kayla Carmichael’s tirade be removed from any article you may publish. To do so is to take away from the very people she is supposed to represent and will encourage future bad behaviour.”

You could see Jake biting back a smile from where you stood. His green eyes were alight with mirth, sparkling like a gemstone as he watched you. Hands clasped in front of himself, you could easily picture him as a bodyguard in his grey suit.

A very handsome bodyguard at that.

But he wasn’t the only one laughing. In fact, a large portion of the room, Simpson and Mav included, were trying and mostly failing to school their faces back into neutrality as you watched Sorscha shrink in on herself. “Agents, would you please escort Miss Carmichael out? We’ve had enough interruptions for the day.”

“Absolutely, Agent Douglas,” Jake replied, the mirth in his eyes shifting into something darker as he approached. “We’d be happy to do so.”

If Jake let his eyes wander over you, that was his own secret. He’d been admiring you from a distance for the duration of the press conference, hearing the passion that filled your tone as you presented the profile, the confidence of your answers, and now the firm no-bullshit tone that had initially drawn him to you.

But now? Standing at the podium, your eyes burning brighter than fire, like your very soul had been burned and reborn in the wake of the tragedy that had nearly claimed your life as a child, he felt his pants tighten. The power in your stare had him nearly drooling, and he’d never admit it, but the ease in which you dressed someone down was incredibly hot.

He knew you were more than that, but when he fell in love with your brain, he’d been trapped by the passion and the desire for better you always infused into everything you did. For weeks, Jake had had a front row seat to your mind, he saw the ways your eyes flicked across lines you scrawled on whiteboards, he knew you well enough to know that when you chewed on your thumb, it meant you had a feeling you were going in the wrong direction. He’d seen how your spine steeled itself and refused to waver in the face of the secrets you had buried deep inside yourself. And what’s more, Jake knew what your eyes looked like when he took care of you. He’d caught the lingering looks you’d sent him when he took you home and cleaned up, he’d ignored them because of his own refusal to give you more to juggle.

But he had noted the brief glances up from under your lashes, shy and curious as if you couldn’t understand why he cared. You in this moment were completely different. You were strong, standing taller than a lighting rod in a storm and you were looking at him.

As he left the room, Jake felt your eyes on his back before your voice sounded, dismissing the press conference for today. The woman in front of him was squawking indignantly as he and Bradley walked her out of 26 Fed, yelling about how dare that bitch embarrass her publicly and a whole assortment of noise Jake just tuned out in favor of preserving his sanity.

Once outside, having given this woman, whose name Jake had already forgotten the minute she tried to come after you, a stern warning to not enter the building unless under duress or with a specific invitation, he and Bradley reentered the lobby.

“Bradshaw.”

Bradley’s eyebrow quirked up, the taller man stopping in the middle of the walkway to look at Jake curiously. “What?’

“I know you and Sweets settled it, but make no fucking mistake, the next time you say anything like what you did, we will have some bigger problems at hand,” Jake said coldly. “I don’t care that you both fucked up, but you know better and you should have been there for her.”

“She doesn’t trust me like that, Seresin,” Bradley sighed, running a hand over his mustache. “And, not that it’s your concern, but yeah, we sorted it out. She was kind enough to give me another chance.”

“You didn’t deserve it, but-”

“Hold up now. I didn’t deserve it?”

Jake looked surprised that Bradley would disagree. “No, you didn’t. You nearly drove her back to Quantico.”

“And you can’t function without your emotional support profiler?”

“Boys!”

They both turned, catching sight of you standing on the stairs descending into the lobby. “What’s taking so long?”

“Just chatting, Hopps,” Bradley said easily, sliding his hands into his pockets as you descended. “What’s up?”

The look you gave your partner made it very clear that you didn’t believe him. “Jake, I told you that Bradley and I had it sorted. And Bradley, you didn’t deserve another chance but I gave it to you because the alternative was calling your mother and I did not want to deal with that. So put your dicks away, it’s not time to measure,” you quipped, turning on your heels and headed back up the stairs as both men looked on in shock.

The blonde hadn’t seen the entirety of what you wore into the office today until now, and he was stunned doubly by both your words and the way your dress pants hugged your ass and legs as you made your way up the staircase in the one pair of heels you only ever wore to press conferences. “You’re staring,” he heard you say and when he looked up, you were smirking at him, eyes glinting with barely hidden laughter.

“Yeah Seresin, quit it,” Bradley teased, knocking his shoulder before jogging up after you. “We can��t have you drooling when we debrief with Simpson!”

Oh fuck.

===

Crammed into your office, you, Jake, Bradley, Emily Sanderson, and Simpson stood and sat in any unoccupied space possible. “So,” Emily began. “We need to talk about Kayla Carmichael.”

You nodded, feeling a little cowed even just by her eyes on you. “I apologize for letting my temper get the better of me. That was extremely unprofessional, even if it was warranted.”

The other woman nodded. “I’m considering us lucky that the other media personnel in attendance heard what you said and thankfully found it hilarious. Otherwise, this would be a very different conversation.”

“Miss Carmichael has reached out a number of times before, but the director refuses to cooperate with her agency due to the partial take they retain from any money awarded to victims and their families. Not only that, but her extreme unprofessionalism today made it abundantly clear that we will never collaborate with them,” Simpson chimed in from where he stood against the wall by the door. “You handled yourself well, Agent Douglas.”

“Thank you sir. I nearly lost it because for how much she was saying this was all in the names of the victims, it didn’t stop her from acting like one herself when I refused to buy into whatever scheme she thought she had to trip me up,” you replied with a dry tone.

Both Jake and your boss had to stifle a snort at your words, but Agent Sanderson didn’t look impressed. “You were lucky that she dug her own grave, if you had carried it on any longer, I would have had to shut it all down.”

“My apologies, ma’am. That is the opposite of what I want,” you said sincerely. “Elizabeth Keating is the next issue at hand, I feel.”

“She knew about the letters,” Jake added. “I thought that that was one of the few things we intended to keep to ourselves.”

You nodded. “As far as I’m aware the only people who should know are us and the UNSUB, unless Ms. Keating was just grasping at straws.” You spun in your chair, letting the dizzy feeling wrap around you as your thoughts blurred together. “Maybe another journalist tipped her off, I can reach out to Ms. Bennett and maybe she’ll have an easier time following the trail?”

“I’ll do it,” Emily jumped in. “I think she’s still in the building, chatting with Agent Abril.”

“See that you do, I want the results sent to both me and Agent Douglas. Keep an eye on this one.”

“Yes Sir.” And out the door went Emily Sanderson, the soft click of the door shutting behind her echoing in the now silent room.

“Was baiting the UNSUB part of the plan today?” Simpson finally asked after a beat. “What was it? ‘A stunted coward who believes he is infallible?’”

You cringed, stopping the spinning chair with your toe. “In part. I’ve been toying with the thought that he is a member of the press and while I was speaking, I was looking for any twitching or any other sign of anger coming from the camera people or the journalists themselves. No such luck, so he was either not present for this press conference, or he was and hides himself well.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Jake supplied. “The only thing I caught was Miss Carmichael going to stand before she actually did, and I was only watching for weapons.”

Simpson hummed, tapping a finger against his crossed arm. “I’ll have Agents Garcia and Abril keep an eye on the news. What’s your thinking for him being present today?”

“He might either print the quote in full and then pick it apart or he’d scrub it out entirely, unfortunately that won’t help us much.”

“I thought as much. Damnit, I thought we had something.”

“As did I, Sir. But we can’t know for sure until all publications are out and I go through them all with a fine tooth comb,” you reasoned, drumming your fingers on your desk. “Until then, I can’t say one way or the other if he was here or not.”

“Keep an eye on it, and let me know.” Simpson stood and left your office, the door left ajar in the way you preferred.

You hummed, steepling your hands as you resumed spinning in your seat. “Who are you, Mr. Monster? Who are you really?”

===

A/N: We have a profile! And some very confrontational people. Thank you all for reading! We may have to skip next week again, change to every other week until I have some more time to build up the chapter block, but I’ll let you know!

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dizzybee03 · 7 days ago

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Oh man the way she finally told Sonny how she felt- it gave me chills! Excellent chapter

Whistle Down the Wind, Chapter Three

Word Count: 2454

TW: Pining, unrequited love, angst, mild violence (reader slaps Sonny); hooking up discussed obliquely but nothing explicit.

AN: Part of a series. The series masterlist here.

Sonny hadn’t meant to miss your performance. He had thought he could make it in time, but Nicole kept pulling him back into the bed every time he tried to get up. Before he knew it, he had missed it. He had a panicky back-and-forth texting exchange with his sister, promising to meet everyone for drinks. But she had eventually told him not to bother.

She’s pretty upset, Bella’s final text said.

He felt terrible. He had every intention of the evening ending with you and Nicole as friends, and instead he had only hurt you. Before he finally fell asleep, he promised himself that he’d think of some way to make it up to you. Maybe a movie marathon night. Maybe tickets to a show. You loved music – all music – so an evening together at a concert would be a safe bet. At least you were easy-going. You’d forgiven him for missing less.

He woke up at 4:30 in the morning to Nicole shaking him. “Your phone is blowing up,” she muttered, the irritation seeping through his sleepy fog. She unplugged it and handed it to him after glancing at the screen. “It’s your sister.”

“Bella?” he said, his voice thick with sleep as he answered the phone. “What’s wrong?”

Her shrill voice cut through his sleepiness, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear. It took a couple of tries before he got the whole story. Bella and Tommy had left you alone at a bar. You were supposed to text her when you got home. Bella had woken up half an hour earlier and hadn’t seen any messages from you. She had been trying your cell ever since, stopping only long enough to call Sonny.

“Okay, okay,” he finally replied. He slid out of bed and started pulling on clothes. “She only lives five blocks away. I’ll go check on her.” He hung up and sat on the edge of the bed, then put on his socks and shoes. Then he turned and faced Nicole.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, but his girlfriend only scoffed at him.

“Funny that you go running for someone who’s just a friend,” she said. Sonny peered at her closer in the dim room. She looked mad, and she was probably justified to feel that way.

“Bella’s upset,” he said, shifting the focus. He wasn’t checking up on you. He was giving his little sister peace of mind.

“I’m upset,” Nicole retorted. Sonny turned on the bed to face her, then leaned in to kiss her. She moved away from him though, and his lips only brushed her cheekbone as she stood up and stalked her way to the bathroom. He watched her naked form for a moment, then growled in frustration. He’d have to make it up to her now, too.

********

If you had to list out your regrets, it would start with all the drinks you had at the bar. Then it would continue to going home with a random guy. Then it would end with letting your phone’s battery die completely.

Or maybe your list of regrets should start with wasting so much time on pining over Sonny Carisi. Because going home with a random guy didn’t turn out terribly. Of the bits you could remember, it had been fun. Mutually consenting. You vaguely recalled straddling the guy until you got too wobbly from the alcohol. Then you remembered him helping to hold you up, drunkenly laughing underneath you until you both came.

The regret only came in the harsh light of the morning. The random guy’s bedroom was covered in posters of souped-up racecars, like a middle school boy’s. And then he had offered you a protein shake for breakfast, the gritty whey making your already queasy stomach worse. And then he sat in his living room, doing bicep curls in front of you until you did an awkward soft-shoe out the door.

You made your way home and plugged in your phone to charge. You showered, letting the hot water wash away the night before. When you climbed out and toweled off, you checked your phone. There were about a million messages, most from Bella.

They were increasingly panicked. Then there were message from Sonny – first, the ones just asking if you were okay. Then, the terse ones demanding that you call him immediately. Apparently he’d been by your place, camping out and waiting for you until he gave up and went home.

You rolled your eyes and deleted those. You called Bella instead.

You swore your best friend picked up before the first ring. “Hey,” you said, trying to sound apologetic. You winced and just listened to her berate you, nodding along even though she couldn’t see you. Yes, you should have texted her. Yes, it was incredibly stupid to go home with a stranger while drunk. You admitted as much when she let you get a word in edgewise.

“You need to let Sonny know,” Bella finally told you. “He’s about ready to dispatch all of NYPD to find you.”

You should feel happy that he cared, but instead you felt a swell of irrational anger at this. “I don’t need found now, Bella,” you replied through gritted teeth. “And you can call your brother yourself.”

********

Sonny sent a few texts to you over the next few weeks, and he saw that you read them, but you never responded. He would have gone and visited you, but he had to make amends with Nicole too for his sudden disappearance the night Bella had panicked and called him. He switched shifts with Fin and took a long weekend with her to a cabin in upstate New York. He had thought it would be a romantic, cozy getaway, but she had mostly complained about the lack of reliable cell service and the musty smell in the cabin.

When he got back to SVU that Monday, he already felt exhausted from the weekend. And there was a new case that hit closer to home than usual: a dentist was accused of sexually assaulting numerous patients – including his young niece. Sonny had nieces and the thought of ever hurting them made him feel sick to his core.

He needed someone to talk to the night after they arrested the dentist, but Nicole was out with friends, so he just went to his own apartment, alone. Any other day, he’d call you. Or go to your place for pizza and sympathy. Any other day, you’d listen to him rant and then offer either support or advice. Any other day, you’d send him a playlist, some perfect, alchemic blend of classic rock and instrumental and alternative and EDM and obscure horn pipe compositions that would bolster his mood perfectly.

Instead, you were freezing him out. He felt a wave of irritation at you. He’d missed plenty of your events – you had so many gigs, no one could keep up. And you knew better than anyone that his job was difficult. The least you could do was offer a little forgiveness. You were usually so easy-going, but suddenly now you weren’t. And according to Bella, you had been hooking up with random guys. The seed of irritation with you had taken root when Bella had informed him of that little fun fact.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but between work and Nicole, he didn’t have the energy to bother and figure it out. Either you’d come around or you wouldn’t.

********

You were busy. Your performance with the chamber orchestra had made you a wanted woman, and for the first time in your life, you had to turn down offers. The new exposure drove more traffic to your website, which drove more people to listen to your scoring work, which led to an offer to score a small, indie film that was set to start filming in a few months. You had a script that you were working through, coming up with musical themes and ideas to pitch to the director and producers.

You still had you regular shows with your cover band, and you still did freelance work as a producer for a handful of artists who liked to layer in samples of classical pieces.

And in the evenings – when you had a free one – you had your hunting.

You called it hunting because it made you feel like a vampire slayer, but mostly because you couldn’t call it “looking for hook-ups.” You’d gotten lucky the night of your big performance – you’d been incredibly reckless, but aside from a gross protein shake, you’d come away from it unscathed. So now you had rules.

One drink, maximum, and never one that was unattended or handed to you by a guy. You always insisted that the guy show you his driver’s license, which you took a picture of and texted to Bella or one of your other friends as evidence. Most of the guys were bemused by your measures, but a few got angry. You knew to stay away from those guys.

Other rules? Never give your last name or phone number, always use protection, and never stay the night. You got yours, then you got out.

One night, a few weeks after your cello performance, you had hooked up with a brutally hot bartender. You had gotten yours and gotten out, per your rules. You walked home, your coat wrapped around you. You could have called a cab but you wanted to walk. It wasn’t far, and the night air would clear your head.

You always enjoyed yourself on your nights out hunting, but there was always a pang of regret afterwards. Probably some remnant of patriarchal conditioning, you tried to reason, making you feel guilty for feeling pleasure. But more likely, you felt regret because the guys above you or underneath you or behind you weren’t the one you really wanted.

You shook your head and crossed the middle of the street, ignoring a whistle behind you. Guys in New York could be creeps.

The whistler whistled again, and then a third time – this time closer to you. You reached into your coat pocket for your bear spray as you turned around, ready to fight.

“Listen, creep,” you started, but you stopped when you saw who it was. Sonny. You mentally kicked yourself. You were only one street over from his. You’d have to make a new rule: avoid the dude you wanted to be with when you were out being with other dudes. Or some variation thereof.

“Hey,” he said. He was in his camel overcoat and a rumpled suit, obviously just getting off of work. It was late. He must have had a long day. In one hand, he held a bag from the local chicken joint around the corner.

“Hey,” you replied. “Late night?”

He nodded, then looked you over. “You too.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m headed home now,” you said. “I have an early start tomorrow.”

He nodded again. He peered at you with his eyes that looked tired but were no less blue than any other time. You felt the familiar flush of love that you always felt when you looked at him, but you tried to push it down.

“I’m sorry about missing your performance,” he finally said. His Staten Island accent got thicker when he was tired, and it was showing now. “Performance” came out “perfawmance.”

You shrugged. “No big deal. You were busy.”

“I tried to make it,” he continued. “Something came up.”

You gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I heard.” You turned to leave, but you felt him reach out and take a hold of your arm.

“Why are you so upset?” he said. You turned and looked at him, and he was scowling. Was he mad at you? You felt anger bubbling up in you.

“Maybe it gets old, always jumping when you need someone. A study buddy, or someone to cheer your up or tell you that you’re the best. And then that person never comes through for you. Or hasn’t for a long time.”

Sonny dropped his hand from your arm. “Nicole…”

You laughed again, a dry bark dripping with rancor but didn’t say anything.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he continued, spreading his arms out in a helpless gesture, the bag of greasy take-out rustling. “She wanted to stay in.”

There it was. There was the core of your anger, and it turned white-hot like a nuclear reactor. You’d drop everything for Sonny, but he’d drop everything for her. And then he’d have the audacity to look at you with that wounded look he was giving you now.

He sighed. “If you had someone…” he started, but didn’t finish. He looked you over again, from your feet to the top of your head.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Maybe I do have someone,” you said, your voice low. “Maybe I took your advice and decided to stop being so picky.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Someone? Or several someones?” he asked. “Are you going through some delayed slutty phase because you didn’t get a chance to in college?”

Before you could even stop yourself, your hand shot out, quick as a viper and slapped him across the face. A part of you, deep down, felt horrified at the look that crossed his face as his blue eyes widened. But that part of you was small and quiet, and the white-hot angry part of you was in charge.

“Fuck you, Sonny,” you said, your voice going up half an octave and doing that shaky thing that it did before you started to angry-cry. “I didn’t have any sort of phase in college because I was too busy mooning over you. And I spent the years after that doing the same fucking thing. Year after year, just waiting around for you to notice me.” You ignored the emotions that crossed his face because you couldn’t read them anyway. You used to think you knew him better than anyone but did you, really?

“I didn’t…” he started, but you shook your index finger at him and didn’t let him continue.

“I’m done waiting around for you,” you said, the tears forming and then spilling down your eyelashes. “You have a girlfriend? Great. Go to her when you need a fucking pep-talk. I’ll keep taking your advice, keep my standards nice and low.” You half-turned from him, then added, “and if I need someone to stand me up for my performances, I’ll just call my mom, okay?”

Then you turned away from him completely and left him standing on the sidewalk as you walked home in tears.

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dizzybee03 · 7 days ago

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So sad to hear this but totally understand! Your followers will be here when you come back!

Blog update

Hi all! As you might have guessed by my slowdown in activity over the last few months, I've decided to go on a writing hiatus.

This has been driven by a multitude of things including low engagement on my fics, as well as overall writers block and lack of motivation.

Unfortunately, this means my active WIPs are on hold indefinitely (such as Before I Knew). Sorry to any readers out there!

In the meantime, I may pop on here occasionally, so if there's something you've written and would like me to read, please DM me or tag me, I'll make sure to engage. I am trying to focus on my writing in my personal life as I near my 31st birthday since I haven't progressed much with my goal I set myself for this year. We're also getting a puppy in the new year and trying to start a family.

All that to say -- thanks to all who have engaged with my work over the last 2+ years. Hoping to be back to writing at a normal cadence sometime soon! xx

Tagging some mutuals for awareness:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @horseshoegirl @dizzybee03 @fairyheart @gigisimsonmars @joaquinwhorres @thedroneranger @gretagerwigsmuse @goldenseresinretriever @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @sio-ina-bottle @sometimesanalice @seresinhangmanjake @teacupsandtopgun @writercole @palepeanutponyshoe @callsign-magnolia

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dizzybee03 · 8 days ago

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I can literally he that deep voice of his! This was such a teaser 🤣🤣

Okay, last attempt: may I please request a fic for Mic Brumby using the prompt Let's Have Some Fun? (prompt is from radio show prompt list #2)

Thanks!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mini-bee-bee @hlstead @fancyqueensworld @dizzybee03 @aiko24k

Companion piece to:

More Than Just A Pretty Face (NSFW) - You and Mic spent the night together.

30 Minutes - Mic decides to give you another thirty minutes in bed.

Waltzing Matilda - Mic doesn't want to leave.

All To Myself - Mic can't believe he has you all to himself.

Miss You - Mic misses you when he's recalled to Sydney.

“Let's Have Some Fun.”

It’s the phrase that starts everything between you and Mic because it ends in a game of strip poker back at his apartment. You were still wired when the bar closed so he’d invited you for a drink and a couple of games as a way to help you diffuse that tension.

“You’ve been looking for a way to get me undressed haven’t you?” He says wickedly, his gaze fixed firmly on the cards in front of him as he rearranges his hand. “It’s alright, you can admit it.”

The two of you are sitting on the floor of his living room in nothing but your underwear. Mic, he’s a shrewd player but you, you always have an ace up your sleeve.

You snort your response before looking pointedly at the black boxer shorts that cling to his lower half. “You’re the one that seems to be excited about it.”

He laughs then and it’s a rich sound that sends a flush of heat flooding through your body. That’s the problem with Mic, he knows how to push every single one of your buttons.

“How could I not be?” He asks you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “There’s a beautiful woman sitting across from me and she’s getting wetter the longer this goes on.”

A flush creeps across your cheeks because he’s not wrong, seeing him sitting there across from you, standing at full mast, it does a little something for you. It’s been a long time since you’ve slept with a man, since you’ve wanted one as badly as you want Mic.

“Why don’t we forget about the card game and I give you what you really want.” Mic tossing his cards into the pile in the centre before crawls towards you.

He moves like a predator, those hazel eyes of burning with passion as the heat from his skin radiates across yours.

“And what is it that you think I want?” You ask him, his sensuous mouth close enough to kiss.

“Me.” He says, his voice rough with desire. “I think you want me.”

Love Mic? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

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dizzybee03 · 9 days ago

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Oh shits about to get real! Excited for this update….at least until I read it and then I might be crying my eyes out but that’s what I love about Leah’s writing, the angst is off the chart!

We’re so fucking back baby. Sneak preview time.

Was It Over

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dizzybee03 · 9 days ago

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This was great! Benny sees the real person and that totally scares her!

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Eleven

Ten

Summary: You've made a decision.

Word count: 7.544.

Warnings: Cursing, talks about police work corruption, irresponsible use of alcohol, people being idiots and work-related situations. If I forgot something, sorry :/

Author’s Note: I remember that I said that there would be some fake dating stuff and there will, but not right now. I'm working on chapter 12 already, so it was a small change of plans but not a change of path.

I'll try to update on AO3 as soon as I can! Sorry for any mispelling mistakes as well; always safe to remind that English isn't my first language.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has just completed an operation that arrested a ring of robberies in luxury properties last Saturday. Police-grade weapons, special clothing and technological equipment that facilitate the breach of property security systems were seized.

You closed the fridge and stared at the 7-Eleven television curiously, a bottle of sparkling water in hand.

One of the gang's most notorious victims is technology entrepreneur Theo Park, who was in the house at the time of the incident and was attacked by the robbers.

“To bad things that come to good. If I hadn't been there, maybe they would have gotten away with it and not left enough evidence to get caught. I’m very grateful for LASD's dedication to solving this case.”

Theodore had once said that he appeared on an experimental college TV show and, after that day, he decided he would lose some weight so he wouldn't look so bloated on screen. He seemed to have learned his lesson; despite reporters shoving microphones in his face, he looked flawless.

“It's amazing how the rich get justice so fast, right?”

You blinked a few times and turned to the cashier, who was also watching the TV. You neither agreed nor disagreed; you approached the counter, placed the bottle on top and fished out a pack of licorice candies, which you also slid towards him.

“You work there, don't you? At LASD?”

Because he would know, right? Of all the other thousand times you went there and bought the same thing, without fail, and the other times you were looking for some alcohol after work. You would open your wallet and every time your badge would come into view. It wasn't really a badge, you wanted to argue as you held out the credit card to him and looked up, but you didn't know if it would make any difference to say that.

“Mm-hm,” You answered and he nodded.

“Huh. I don't doubt that your boss didn't carry this Park guy on his lap.”

Again, you didn't respond. Outside, in the parking space very close to your car, there was a pickup truck with a nice Confederate Flag sticker and the owner had entered the store a little before you, so you didn't want to take any chances. The cashier swiped your card and handed you a bag with the things you bought. You thanked him, wished him a good day and he told you the same.

You sat on the curb for about twenty minutes on the block before your building. You took out a piece of licorice candy and chewed it leisurely, observing the movement of the early hours of the morning and mentally calculating that you should soon get in, take a shower and remind yourself that you would be late for work, that there was something else you should do before going there. Yes, the work, the same one that would be buzzing with excitement at the conclusion of a case with so much repercussion, and that would remind you enough of things that you were willing not to remember.

Well, you should expect that; should learn to let it go.

Still, you thought about what you could do strategically: you would get in late, people would be already minding their own business, so you could get in easily.

It wasn't like Theodore was going to give up on the climb to become a popular person in the city alongside the most popular people in the world.

****

You had your eyes closed, face to the ceiling, hitting the back of your head on the elevator wall. Before you could hear the doors close, you heard voices getting closer to the point where they were inside the space with you; when you opened your eyes and lowered your head, you saw Nick, Benny, and Connors walking in.

They paid attention to you for half a second and looked away; Benny had a look that lasted longer, one that made you run your hand over the back of your head and stare at the ground.

“Hearing?”

The question made you snap your eyes up again, spotting O’Brien eyeing you curiously.

“... No,” You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Got something to deal with this morning.”

“Mm,” He hummed. “Something important, eh?”

You didn’t know why you did it, but you swiped your eyes to Benny for a split second and spotted him pinching the bridge of his nose with a discreet sigh. When you turned back to Nick, nodded a little – a deep breath to not say the first thing that passed through your mind.

“It was.”

But there was a weird, sticky atmosphere. Connor’s hair was wet, they all smelled like shower – probably had a long night out, arriving that late at the station. You could tell, from the way Murph would be looking at anything but you, that there was an attempt to access you, a curiosity to know how you would react to the recent news, or to be in the elevator with them when everything was pretty much fresh in everyone’s minds.

The doors opened, like a breath of air along that tension. It was your floor. You shared a small nod with them, walked to the corridor… then stopped, turning to them and held the doors from closing.

“I-” You cleared your throat. “Congratulations on the case. You guys-” You looked at Benny again, saw him frowning at you, which made you frown back. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” Connors said when the silence stretched and no one, not even Nick, said a thing. It was weird to verbalize, weird to touch. Whatever confused expressions were splayed on their faces, it certainly was splayed on your face as well.

You nodded a little, feeling rubbish and robotic at the same time, and then you let your arm go, standing like an idiot in front of the closing elevator doors and giving all of them one last look.

****

Of course Big Nick or Connors would notice, but no one felt like verbalizing it. Untouched territory, like a silent agreement, that it wasn’t their business to poke through your drama with your ex. Maybe that was why Benny felt so weird with time, so invasive towards you even if he knew he was right – you were still someone who happened to be in Park’s life, there was no denying it.

They were on about three hours of sleep – hungover. They managed to hold off on the scoop until the morning, at least until the paperwork was signed; Benny remembered that they handed in the papers and Z had already found the girls to celebrate. Well, celebrate was a strong word. Benny went and enjoyed it, but little; he was home around 3, took a while to fall asleep and had a late morning. Nick needed a ride because he slept in the hotel room, so the two went back and found Connors in the parking lot.

It was strange. Benny spent days talking and listening to his ex's testimony, checking information about him, going deeper and pretending he didn't know anything when Z mentioned that the guy had graduated from Caltech, as if Benny didn't research for that already. And Theodore, fuck, he was an ass, but an ass still trying to be nice. He was polite, but his phrases and his words were a touch harsh, bordering impatience. He would look at him, then at Connors or Henderson or Nick, do an once over, put a tight smile on his face – like trying to fit in way-too-small shoes because it was pretty.

Benny saw that your face wasn't happy, and even if it was, there wasn't a sense of genuine relief in you. It wasn't like you didn't want the case to be solved, but it seemed like you were already fed up and wanted to take a band-aid off at once. Congratulate on the case, smile, leave. Don't give them a chance to ask anything, disguise it.

When the case was closed and they happily went to Theodore’s penthouse to give him the news, he said he would give them something, like a bonus for the Department or other things they might have wanted – you know, to compensate. Benny told him that they couldn’t accept because it would be categorized as a bribe, but then Theodore looked at him like he grew a pair of extra ears on his head like an alien, as if that even made sense.

After a while, he wondered if Theodore was confused because he thought with common sense about LASD or if it was because you, who was already married when you became official there, told him things about the Department's relations.

Still, when they arrived that morning, Theodore had delivered a breakfast basket to them – one that was already somewhat cold, but intact.

If it were up to Benny alone, it would continue like this until the end of the day, and the next day after that.

****

He called.

It was a new number, one you didn’t recognize, but you were already expecting calls from unknown places. You picked up, excused yourself from the chat you were having with Lennon about some material he delivered, went to the corridor – you said it was important, family matter.

For a few seconds after your ‘hello?’, no one said a thing. It was so quiet that you wondered if it was one of those marketing bots or something, so much so that you had already taken the phone out of your ear to put an end to the call. Before you could do it, though, a voice cracked up on the other end, and you stopped dead in your tracks, a big frown on your face as you recognized who it was.

“... Hello?”

And you still had the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen in confusion, and when he insisted one more time you just blinked a few times, looked around and took a few steps deeper into a less crowded area.

“Yes?” You asked, voice low and discreet, the phone slightly pressed against your ear as if someone could hear him, as if it was shameful to speak with him in the first place.

“Oh, hi,” He said. “I… Erm… Am I interrupting something?”

“... I’m working…?”

“No, yeah. Yeah, yeah, totally, I could’ve imagined, I… Sorry.”

You felt a tone of impatience, at the same time that you felt irritated with yourself for wanting to ask how he was, how he felt. You could see that calling you was impulsive, Theodore only got nervous like that in situations without any planning or with too much planning.

Fuck, yeah, you were mad with yourself – you shouldn’t get attached to whatever you used to know about him.

“Can I help you with something?” You asked instead, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut for a second.

He got quiet on the other end, sighing and ruffling through what seemed to be like papers or whatever. You looked around again, just to be sure, and felt that pinch of irritation growing.

“Theo-”

“I thought you had changed your number, so I didn't think you would answer,” He excused with a small voice, one that silenced you. “Now I don't know exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

“Maybe you better think about it quickly, I have to get back to work.”

Another sigh.

“... You went to the hospital that day. Aile-I was told you went there,” The mention of the occasion made you throw your head back in frustration and suppress a groan. “And that you got hurt.”

It was your turn to stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Your hand was good, better; it wasn't that serious of a burn and, in general, you would have a few months of recovery for the mark to disappear. Still, you unconsciously flexed your fingers, remembered Aileen's face when the coffee spilled on you.

“... So what?”

“So what? Hell, you could’ve sent me the bill or whatever.”

“I could?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you called to offer me money for my injured hand?”

He was growing frustrated – you expected him to. You could sense him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw.

“... You went there, maybe you wanted to know how I am.”

“And how are you?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Your hand is okay?”

“You don’t need to pay me for my hand.”

“I don’t want to, I just want to know if your hand is okay. Technically, it’s on me that it got burned.”

“Oh, so that’s the secret for a good relationship? Taking responsibility for your partner’s faults?”

“That’s not-” He paused, huffed. There was a noise you could hear, like a chair cracking, and then the sound of steps on a wooden floor. “I’m not with her anymore. Although I’m probably taking that responsibility, it wasn’t me who threw coffee at you.”

You blinked dumbly at that, staring at the floor without a single reaction to process what he just said to you. It should be simple: he’s not with her, you could’ve supposed it would happen, that has nothing to do with you. But Theodore told you that, let it hang in the air, waited to see what you would do.

“... All in all, I just want to know if you need anything… That’s on me. The least I can do is pay for the hospital bill that I know was expensive as fuck. They call themselves Samaritans but they fucking rob people.”

You needed to suppress a laugh or a giggle or any indication that what he said was slightly funny. For what felt like an eternity, you just kept looking at the floor, then at your own feet, squirming to prevent any insistent feeling to bubble inside of you with the prospect of him realizing that Aileen wasn’t the best for him, or just him being let down.

Not that you expected him to be humbled by it, but still – you could dream.

“... I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though,” You offered, voice more calm and genuine.

“Okay,” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re out of this almost death experience transformation or some shit, but it was nice of you to come by. Despite everything, you still checked on me and… Well, I won’t forget that.”

You considered him for a while.

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Forget that.”

“Why?”

And that was that tone, that… subtle implication. You knew what he was doing – what he was fucking implying. He used to do that when he flirted with you, when you two were doing some dirty talk in bed, when he was trying to get inside your pants. It wasn’t that good in high school, but the experience he probably gathered in college made him bold, confident; that shit worked.

So when he asked ‘why?’ with that low, teasing underlining, you wanted to punch him in the face.

“Because you should. Because I’m your ex. Because it brought me problems. Because it will make you put words in my mouth and meanings to my actions that are absurd.”

“Absurd like you still caring about me?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

Theodore went quiet, probably nodding to himself.

“I need to go now,” You pressed. “And don’t surprise me pulling up some shit like you still having my number and calling.”

“It isn’t some shit. I’m just thankful,” That almost sounded too false, but it just made you feel like it was really forceful. “In debt, too. I know it sounds crazy but whatever you need anything, I-”

“I’ll hang up.”

You did. Right away, at the snap of a finger – out. If he still needed to say something or add or keep up with that bullshit, you really didn’t want to know. You hung up on him, left him mouth agape or whatever, then stared at your black phone screen with that same ugly frown you had when you noticed it was him.

Your head was starting to hurt, you could feel the sting deep inside. After almost two years – two years – and the bastard called right when his little girlfriend dumped him. You deserved this, didn't you? Surely that time you stole parking cones or vomited on the college lawn wasn't going to go unpunished.

Because you were always so nice to everyone, always following the rules. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Bitch. Cunt. Jerk. Asshole.

“You good?” Lennon had a puzzled expression on his face, watching you fuming and huffing while entering the lab again.

You threw your phone on your desk, sighed tiredly at him. Good news, Theodore is alive. Bad news, Theodore is alive.

“Yeah, just some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But maybe Lennon should – he should worry, should give you some clarification, should fuck you again. Thing was: he couldn’t do any of it. He was an amazing friend, one with his own worries and responsibilities, and he wasn’t your mentor to give you advice. And yeah, maybe you hinted something to him, and then he turned you down by saying he was seeing someone – that guy from the 15B, remember? – and he liked them, so you could get your shit together and let him be, feeling bad for not remembering whoever this person was.

So you got angry and worried alone – you got pissed alone. You went to the bathroom, saw yourself in the mirror, and felt like punching yourself in the face. And for what? For answering an unknown call? For listening to Theodore? For feeling that bad after Isla’s case? For, fuck, asking how Theodore was? For wanting to…

Fuck, wanting what?

You looked at your head again. A large scar was forming there, one that was uncomfortable. It wasn't that bad, nor that destructive, but looking at it was a reminder of how you shouldn't be so nice to the wrong people. What did that bring you, anyway? Turn the other cheek and listen to your ex tease you about it?

You clenched your fist and placed it against the marble of the sink for a while, eyes closed.

It wasn’t him; no, it fucking wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.

It was on you. You, you, you. Fucking you.

****

“... And, you know, he’s kind of a bitch so-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Which is why I wondered if there was the slightest chance of you knowing anything about it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So… do you?”

“... Mm.”

The laptop screen began to lower against your will, so that before you could take your hand off the mousepad, the edge reached your fingertips and it hurt. You hissed, but before you could complain, your brother shoved the thing away to the other side of your kitchen table.

“Hey!”

“Did you hear what the fuck I said?”

The pain dissipated at the same time as you looked at his face with a frown -- he was irritated. If you were honest, and there was no reason to be any other way, you would say that in fact no, you didn't hear what he said. You hadn't been listening to what people were saying since Theodore's call, because suddenly you were in a hurry and needed to get away, anxious to put your mind together around the fact that he was still having this effect on you.

“... No, I didn’t,” You sighed in defeat, relaxing your face to a defeated expression and leaning back in your chair, eyes lowering to the table. “What was it?”

“Theodore is on a new project with-”

“Be briefer. Maybe if you didn't go around so much, I-”

“He spoke to you.”

You went from defeated to tense. Honestly, and that was as far as you could go with that wake-up call, you wouldn't have thought that Theodore would make a big deal out of that phone call: it was one of the reasons you felt bad about reacting so intensely to it, in fact, because he didn’t give you the same importance as you did and that was pathetic.

Your face gave away the answer your brother needed, but he didn't hold on to his anger for long; with another sigh just like yours, he sat down in front of you and ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

“Just don’t tell me you’re reconsidering.”

“... Reconsidering?” You asked, and it took you a beat to get what he meant. When you did, you raised your eyebrows. “Do I sell myself for so little?”

“You do. You answered the phone.”

Fair.

“I didn’t know it was him. I was expecting another call from-”

“From Linda Ricci.”

Okay, now this conversation was starting to get weird because you were sure you would hear if he mentioned that name first. You hadn't told people that you were considering, at least in a healthy way, the possibility of leaving LASD. God, you were still coming to terms with the idea of doing this. But suddenly your brother knew the name of the person you spoke to, what you were thinking about doing, and that left you a little scared. He didn't give in, however.

“He told me,” He added. “Which is crazy, because I’m sure you didn’t tell him that if you didn’t tell me or anyone else about it.”

It sounded like an accusation, which could be also something fair because as far as he was your brother, you honestly didn’t put up with the intimate details of your relationship with Theodore. He cheated, you two split – that was all he needed to know, alongside with legal terms of your prenuptial contract. It was the kind of thing that made someone resentful, but his brother never blinked more than twice at his personal life, so perhaps the possibility of Theodore being the messenger of such intimate news of his life after so long was frustrating; between a cheating ex-husband and a negligent brother, who would be the first to know the good news about your life?

“... Can you not tell dad? Or mom?” You tried with an easy demeanor, even if your tone was clipped. He was ready to open his mouth to deny, though, so you rushed to add. “I didn’t even tell my boss yet!”

“And when are you planning to do that? When we all get worried sick about your well being in that fucking job?”

You took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair. The email was open – the answer was there. You saw it.

You glanced at the closed laptop, then at him.

“Soon.”

****

“Is it because of what happened?”

Byrne was definitely not a very sensitive guy, much less an emotional one, but the question seemed to have a natural compassion background like seeing a puppy at an adoption fair. You had asked for the first few minutes of his shift to talk about the subject, at zero hour when no one would arrive for a while, and you sat in front of him with a serious expression.

The question didn't make you change that, actually; you raised your eyebrows and sighed, but it was more like a spontaneous reaction to a subject you didn't want to talk about than an explicit denial.

“Depends on what we're talking about,” You threw the ball at him, who narrowed his eyes at you.

“... About the DEA case,” He said after a while, leaning back on his chair. “The recent events wouldn’t give you time to recalculate like that. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like a well-thought decision, one you wouldn’t make out of spite.”

“That’s a good observation.”

“Not as good as the one you’ll tell me.”

Then you smiled – a bitter, large grin. You measured his reactions with caution, licking your lips and reconsidering what to say. After a beat, you arched an eyebrow and averted your gaze to your hands, both of it splayed out over your thighs.

“... I'm not a very virtuous person, Doctor, and I like to believe I'm not a moralist. Despite this, I have never given anyone reason to doubt my integrity as a professional,” You raised your eyes at him. “Maybe, at some point, but nothing that time wouldn't prove otherwise.”

“You talk about your alliance with Major Crimes.”

Alliance. You needed to prevent a snort at that.

“My partnership, yes,” The correction made him retrieve a little. “And, look, I understand how things work. I'm not an idiot and much less indifferent to them, but I think there comes a time when they stop being just things and start putting you on the main stage.”

For a moment, as soon as you closed your mouth, you remembered Emma, just as you remembered Walsh and his pitiful speech to the cameras. That made you frown.

“You, doctor, are here because the Department's credibility went to waste after what happened. People have always questioned LASD's methodology, but what happened was much greater than common sense about what we do.”

“Are you talking about Emma?”

“I’m talking about being put in the hot seat for sabotaging the case.”

He shut down again, this time considering your stern tone with more caution. You already left her with a cracked friendship, you wouldn’t want it to be worse than it was.

“... You didn’t, I assume.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know I could work it out. I'm not Emma, but it's no secret that Major Crimes doesn't have much room for imposition with me here.”

Which was quite funny to think about, but you did as he did and just took it as it was – a single comment. You nodded, averted your gaze again.

“Not only that, but I appreciate your consideration. Rest assured that, despite everything, they should have the right to speculate. Maybe it was my innocence that I thought I didn't have the tendency to go over anyone to gain an advantage, especially people I've worked with for so long.”

Not that that would actually solve it, but you also didn't want to repeat Emma's attitude and put yourself as someone who was harming someone else's work, even if Nick and company had a lot of capacity to do that on their own. You thought about it. You thought about Benny. He could also harm you with what happened at the hospital, he could make conversations with Byrne less cordial and make Nick push you away even more, to the point of making the murmurs even worse than they already were.

So you said something else to put him at ease.

“It's not Major Crimes that's going to get me out of LASD. Everything that happened and happens makes me sure that I got out of LASD myself.”

****

Gina got the news with a frown, but her hug said that she was proud.

Lennon smiled, placed a small kiss on your forehead – just don’t become a stranger, he said.

Your departure was silent: no parties, no goodbyes and, please, no speeches. Despite all your years at LASD, leaving in an atmosphere of so much falsehood would be worse than dealing with more personal problems mixing with professional ones.

So no one in the lab other than Gina, Lennon and Byrne knew. From what you heard, Cillian would break the news as soon as he found someone else, and two days later he informed you that that other person had already been found. Efficient and fast, just how he liked everything to be.

You considered talking with Nick in the meantime – considered apologizing to Benny, like, properly. But every time you grabbed the phone and dialed their number, every time you thought about texting but saw the flirting stuff Benny used to send you or clipped orders O’Brien sent over, you would chicken out.

You just didn't want drama.

****

Byrne was fucking dramatic, the kind who was probably a theater kid in school before deciding to be a scientist. He had been probing the work of Major Crimes since he had set foot in the LASD, so each and every interaction came with a passive tone that bordered on rudeness, but always hovering with unharmonized friendliness.

It wasn't like Emma – with Emma there was a flow, a rhythm. She and Nick had known each other for a long time, it was just different. Byrne was ruthless, regimented, too close to an OCD diagnosis, and two feet on the spectrum of control obsession. He didn't like them and had made that clear from the beginning; for him, the defeat of Major Crimes was a personal gain, which could be reasonable, since no one there made much of a point of being pleasant.

That day, however, Cillian was radiant, smiling. He asked for permission to enter the office and had both hands in his pants pockets, almost bouncing in tune with what seemed to have been a great weekend.

It should have been – for him, of course. He practically hummed the news, or sort of purred like a cat.

“I received very ecstatic news that our lab partner is leaving us,” He said, looking at Nick and only Nick, wanting to have every single drop of reaction or bother or anything. “She received a particularly undeniable opportunity at Ricci & Co.”

Benny was sure you didn't use the term 'irrefutable'. He just knew that you weren't that definitive about things, or that at least you wouldn't talk to Cillian that way. In any case, it seemed certain that it was a good thing financially and professionally speaking: they already had the opportunity to scratch Ricci & Co. when they worked on an old case. Family business, the kind that wasn't limited to university newspapers like Theodore Park and with big, New York glass doors.

It was an immediate rational thought, one he only processed with more consideration when he saw Henderson exchanging a confused look with him.

“Since when?” Connors asked with a clipped tone.

“Hiring processes at Ricci last, I don't know, thirty days?”

“You know that's not what he asked,” Nick pressed, which made Cillian hide a smile behind a satisfied sigh.

“She gave us two weeks' notice and made sure to finish as many ongoing cases as possible. Today is her last day.”

Benny remembered what happened at the hospital, made mental notes of any sign you might have given as if the whole situation wasn't already a big enough warning. He remembered your tired, defeated expression, your slumped shoulders; you looked sick, apathetic. Then he went over Isla's case, the conversation in your kitchen, your look of fragility at his rejection.

Your defeated stance with Walsh humiliating you in front of everyone, your lost look when he made you sit in a room to solve the problem. Maybe he didn't know that these little things were pushing you out of LASD, that every frustration or disappointment or tiredness was draining you enough to make your decision.

“I see that everyone is very upset, which was expected, so I made a point of letting them know and avoiding gossip or side conversations. I believe there is a lot to think about, especially because this is a personal gain for her but an almost irreparable loss for the Department.”

“You know, Byrne, this is a good chance to stop beating around the bush and be direct with what you want to say.”

“Well, Detective O'Brien, I think everyone here is smart enough to know what I'm talking about. Please be aware that as much as I would have made a point of cutting even our toilet paper budget to match the offer she received, I should have warned you that I am not willing to sacrifice the sanity of my employees for what appears to be a whim of yours.”

Everyone was quiet, expectant – Nick was being called out by a guy who knew shit and, as far as they all knew what kind of thing O’Brien would say, his silence made a wave of shock wash through all of them.

“She was kind enough to say that it wasn't because of you, but I've been watching her movements for some time. No day off to photograph a crime scene that wasn't in her jurisdiction, small bribes with dinners, requests for preferences in evaluating evidence… This isn't exactly professional. A good reason for someone with decency to reconsider, though.”

“You know this agreement always had two sides.”

“Yeah, but only one of them was self-aware of it and clearly the wrong one made the right decision. Should I tell you which side you are on or are we on the same page here?”

It was an exaggeration – at least it seemed like one – but deep down Benny knew it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't like a feeling, just an obvious awareness, the kind that everyone knew about but didn't talk about openly. Big Nick was no longer in the sheriff's good graces. Major Crimes received a portion of annual investment that didn't come that year, and since the last meeting with superiors, Nick wasn't very satisfied with the way things were going. It was off. Odd.

If it was the case of what they did that influenced you to leave, it might sound very absurd but it wasn't impossible, even if Magalon firmly believed that you wouldn't give in for so little.

Byrne wanted the excuse to give Nick a hard time – unfortunately he wasn’t totally wrong about it too.

When he left without a word, using the silence as a way of having the last bit of speech, there was a swagger on his steps, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He knew for sure that was how you saw them all, how you accessed them: full of themselves, always without a worry in the world because they could handle it.

Nick threw a stapler on the panel near his desk, muttered a small ‘fuck’. Tony could even be the one to be at least pleased about it, but no one felt like sharing their opinions on the subject.

There wasn’t a worry about you leaving – it was about how it wasn’t something O’Brien couldn’t control.

****

The idea was a drama-free exit and you knew that Gina and Lennon would be able to comply with your wishes with as much effort as they could. When Cillian let everyone know at the weekly meeting, you got a few hugs and handshakes, but everyone there knew you well enough to be cordial up until that point. You were even relieved. Apprehensive, but relieved. Everyone said so many good things about Ricci & Co., Ballard even showed up at your lab during the day and told you that 'this technology thing was cool', that it 'suited you'.

He was nice. Warmed your heart with the gesture.

Lennon arrived there towards the end of the day and handed you an envelope. As no one had time to buy you a gift as they were busy because they just didn't know you were leaving, some people from the lab raised a donation and gave you around 450 bucks.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Rob from IT always had a small crush on you.”

That made you smile and almost made you cry.

And maybe your last day at LASD would turn out perfectly fine if it were like that, if you only said goodbye to people with silly, happy memories, so that you could miss it a little while you were tied up in the good parts of working there.

Looking back, you should have been more insistent about saying no. Not because it sounded like a bad idea from the beginning, no, but mainly because you knew how nights like that could end and you should be just a little less carefree just in case. Lennon invited you for some drinks – Gina too. Took you, what? An hour? And then what was supposed to be only a small gathering with only the three of you turned into a ‘remember when we got our asses busted for going to that bar?’ and before you could decline, the three of you were smashed in the backseat of an Uber to meet some Gina’s friends at that same bar.

It was like the old days, the trio fresh out of college, excited from the perspective of being in LASD, all excitement and fervor to be your best versions. Theodore wasn’t with you when that happened – he went to get you from the bar, yes, but if he was there in the first place, you wouldn’t be that drunk or have that much fun.

And you had enough fun. You weren't very drunk, but you had that buzz, that feeling of excitement and anxiety; for a while, you managed to forget your apprehension about saying goodbye to LASD, about taking a direction in a place where you didn't know anyone. For a while, only. With dancing, beers, a shot or two like the cops used to do. With music too, voice high and hands moving in the air.

You would certainly need to deal with your relationship with alcohol after that. That was something for tomorrow, however, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next month. Fuck Theodore. Fuck him and his fake concern and his phone call and his fucking money. You didn't need any of that. Look at you: a young spirit, hot, single, with friends, having fun. He didn't have that. He would spend his life licking the balls of rich people to invest just a little of their time in him, humiliating himself for crumbs to grow in life… And you wouldn't. Nooooo, not you. You would be great. She would be a fucking analytical security manager for mansions up and down the Coast, earn your money and be respected. That's what you were going to do. And no thanks to that mediocre piece of shit. No thanks to Walsh or your work for even more pathetic and idiotic detective messes.

You were almost a wreck, but okay: your reflection in the mirror was more inviting than you thought it would be. Gina was already vomiting, one of her friends holding her hair as those tequila shots took effect. You watched the scene in your reflection for a while, then heard your friend turn to you and say that it was late, that it was better to leave. You nodded. You turned to the sink, turned the tap on, watched the water drowning your palms in.

She got Gina on one side and you on the other. This was your chance to leave too. Yes, you've already had your relaxation, you've had fun, and you could go and rest. But then you glanced in the wrong direction at the wrong time and spotted Benny a few tables away with Connors and Henderson.

You looked around – Lennon was distracted, probably didn’t even notice them. You had this… frown on your face, this… sense of inadequacy. Should that be your second chance to say something? Because, well, it didn’t take long to admit the coincidence.

Benny turned slightly amidst laughter and the two of you held each other's gaze for a while. The laugh turned into a smile that turned into a grin, that turned into a straight line, then a frown. You felt embarrassed, called out, caught out. Suddenly you were too sticky, too uncomfortable, ready to run away.

Gina slipped through your arm when her friend announced she would take her. You stood still, watching them both stumble out of the bar with a lowered gaze. Flexing your fingers, you forced a big smile on your face when Lennon came jumping up and down, offering you another shot of tequila.

They would leave, you decided. They would leave and you would be able to relax. You didn’t owe them a thing.

****

You were sitting in the gutter nursing a can of Coca-Cola that was already hot. Lennon had already left sometime around one, and it was reckless of you to let him go alone with another guy, but before you could worry anymore, he sent you a photo in the mirror of his own house. Damn, you could be closer to Gina's friends, they were really good people.

You should have gone with her, even, and not stood there saying that you were fine, that you would order an Uber and go home alone. Firstly, you were clearly not well. The drink had gone bad, you were drunk and everyone obviously knew it was the stupidest thing in the world.

Still, you sat there, watched the streets fading into blurs of light and dark. Another peak at your phone and the driver was 15 minutes away, taking turns, expecting you to cancel the ride. It wasn’t like you were going to throw up in his car or whatever – you just wanted to go home.

“Seems warm.”

His voice made you grunt, bowing your head down in defeat. When you looked up, he was standing right beside you, both hands inside his jacket pockets while he eyed your hunched figure.

“Because it is,” You grumbled, taking another stubborn sip. “Borderlining my sobriety, so… cheers.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree that you have a conflicted relationship with alcohol.”

“Calling me an alcoholic?” You frowned, to which he just shrugged. He raised his eyes to observe the street surrounding you two, nonchalant as ever, and after a beat of silence you just scoffed to do the same. “Too bad you saw it too late, I guess.”

“What? You think I wouldn't fuck an alcoholic?”

“I’m not-You know what, eat shit, Magalon.”

But he didn't go. Damn, he wasn't. He remained there, moving the sole of his boot on the concrete here and there, sighing as you held your head with both hands. After a few minutes, your cell phone buzzed: the driver canceled.

“Lemme guess-”

“Why are you still here?”

“I have a tolerance for the number of bodies to find in one night,” He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to you. “Just imagine if the first thing I see in the early hours of my morning is a reckless drunk girl who took an Uber at 2 am.”

“Right, okay. Got it.”

“Yeah, so.”

“But I’m good. I’ll find-”

“Another Uber to go back home?”

You glared at him, then made an effort to get up from your seat and feel the whole world spinning in your head. That almost got you on the floor again – you lost your balance for a second, got up too fast.

“You know what,” You raised both hands in the air. “I’m done. I’m totally done. Say what you mean or leave me for you to find me dead in the morning.”

Benny shook his head, taking in your state with what seemed like frustration.

“I don’t remember you being so annoying. Last time you drank a little too much-”

“We kissed. I know the lore, Magalon, I was there. But we are not gonna kiss now, if that’s what you’re intending to.”

“I don’t wanna kiss you right now.”

“Good.”

“But I want to take you home.”

It could be the alcohol. Well, there was a good chance it was alcohol. Anyway, when he said that in such a genuine way, with a more accessible and light tone of voice, as if he was comforting you, you felt your eyes water and an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. He noticed it too, noticed the way you wavered, blinked hard a few times and stayed curiously quiet.

You averted your gaze to the side and sniffed with a dry nose, doing a hard job to keep the tears at bay.

“Do I look like I need to be saved by you? Like, all the time?”

He didn’t walk closer, didn’t try to bring any kind of physical comfort – Benny shrugged, kept it cool. When you looked at him again, he wasn’t giving you anything but a straight face.

“At this point in time, you could say it's just a coincidence that we're in the same place when you screw up. And luckily, of course, I'm not such an asshole that I'd let you go off on your own.”

And then he said something that made you waver even more.

“I like you. In a very stupid way, but I admire you as a person and as a professional. The difference between then and now is that you're hitting the goalposts for a longer time because you're too stubborn to understand that it's not always your responsibility.”

That would make you really cry, but you didn't, opting to swallow dryly while locking your jaw so that your lower lip wouldn't tremble and you wouldn't falter. He was too good at it, it was even annoying. You didn't see Nick or Tony having that same kind of ability to read people, even though it was naturally intrinsic to the anatomy of a good detective.

The cold night breeze hit you, making you shiver and flinch a little. He then took a single step closer, pointing at his own car down the street.

“Home. Let’s go?”

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@seaweeden

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

@mysoulisasunflower

@dizzybee03

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dizzybee03 · 10 days ago

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This is like the 10th time I’ve read this and I love it in all its angsty glory

My Girl [Masterlist] — Full length series

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Lawyer Natalie West]

Summary: Jake Seresin could be the answer to all of your dating woes. He’s the full package: steady job, mature, dependable, attractive to a fault. The polar opposite of every guy your age and he’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. But there’s one roadblock: he’s a single father to four-year-old Ellie. Jake is looking for a level of commitment you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give, and he’s not willing to bring someone into his daughter’s life who isn’t there for the long haul. And even if you are stepmom material, is Jake ready to let someone back in his life while still mourning the recent loss of his late wife?

Status: Series is complete!

Please fill out this form here to join my tag list

Overview:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Dream cast moodboard

Headcanon/blurbs:

Soft proposal

Bath time

Injury HC

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dizzybee03 · 11 days ago

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Happy Tuesday to me! This was an excellent story to walk up to today! I absolutely LOVED it!

hey lady!! so sorry i’ve been so MIA, classes have been on my ass lately😭 (among other things) but i hope you’re doing okay!!

anywho….i had a ✨thot✨ if you will, lol😅 basically, i was sucking on a tootsie pop and well…one thing led to another and i had ideas🫣 so i was thinking a jake or bob fic that involves the reader teasing either of them by sucking on a sucker or something and you can take creative liberties w the smut? i just like the teasing, smut can be whatever you so please! thank you thank you thank you!! you’re the best!🤍🫶🏻

Okay well I’m working on this one next because I can’t stop thinking about it lol.

Who’s reader going to tease? Jake? Bob? Both? 😏

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dizzybee03 · 11 days ago

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This was so sweet!!

Home Again To The Sea (Hangman x Reader)

Summary: You and Jake never thought you'd have to see the day when his grandfather returned to the sea

Warnings: Mentions of death, war, religion, angst with a happy ending etc.

Tagging: @bradleybeachbabe I didn't wanna write this just yet but I figured I might as well

Pearl Harbor Memorial

Hawaii, November 11

It had been the toughest three weeks of your life.

And now it all led to here.

You never forgot the look on Jake's face when the VA hospital had called and told him that Grandpa Seresin had passed away in his sleep. Jake wasn't usually one to crack, but he had. He had been so close with his grandfather, the man having practically raised Jake and his siblings while his father had been on deployment and Jake's mother having to go with him. Jake's best memories had been with his grandfather on the ranch in Texas, walking the fence, learning the lost cowboy trades and of course his Navy graduation. You never forgot when Grandpa Seresin had stood there in his vest and baseball cap with all the patches, saluting his grandson who had just graduated from Top Gun.

You and Jake were saddened beyond words that Grandpa Seresin was no longer walking the earth, but deep down you were glad that he was in a much better place and with Jake's grandma again. The man had lived to be a hundred, something no one had expected due to the ungodly amount of cigarettes the man had smoked over the years.

You squeezed Jake's hand when his parents had pulled to a stop in the parking lot. "I don't know if I can do this," he croaked.

"You can," you told him. "It's what Grandpa Seresin would've wanted."

Jake sniffed away the tears, holding onto both your hand and the silver urn containing his grandfather's ashes. Already, so many people had arrived, Tom and Sarah Kazansky with their brood of kids and grandkids, Mav and Penny with Amelia and the boys. Rooster and the rest of the Daggers were there too along with Bob and Mary and the rest of the Floyd clan.

Val and Maria, your two little girls were eager and excited to see everyone despite the heaviness of the morning. You and Jake shook hands with all the higher ranking officers and people you knew. Cole and Natasha were both in the dress uniforms and their son Gabe in his best dress suit. Jake's brothers and sisters had all showed up with the nieces and nephews, his older brother Eric having gotten leave from Camp Pendleton to come and attend.

It was hard having to stand near the end of the dock while Father Sasigawa gave the short funeral mass, the urn sitting on top of the flag draped over the stand. Bob and Mary stood with you, Jake and the girls along with Jake's father, Michael, Joe Floyd, Tom Kazansky and Mav.

Michael, Joe, Ice and Mav stepped forward when Father Sasigawa had finished. The sound of TAPS being played close by, echoed across the harbor, a ghostly voice from the past having come back to haunt the grounds where the USS Arizona had once been docked. The four of them folded up the flag, corner to corner and edge to edge until it was perfectly folded into a triangle.

You and Jake were called forward before Mav handed him the flag, the two of them saluting each other with tears in their eyes. Jake completely broke, his shoulders shuddering as the memories of Grandpa Seresin flooded back to him.

Bob, Mary and Jake's brother Eric, helped Val and Maria carry the urn to the edge of the dock. All was silent until somewhere in the distance, a long bagpiper had begun to play "Amazing Grace", the music whispering in the breeze that rustled the palms and the waves that lapped at the dock. The guns fired in the distance with it, a final salute to Jake's grandfather.

"Bye bye gate gampy," Maria chirped, blowing a kiss and waving with her tiny little hand as the urn sank into the water.

And down to the sea he went, Grandpa Seresin joining his brothers he had once been so close with, some still enshrined behind the walls of rust and steel and where they would rest for many years to come.

*****************************

The air was a bit more cheerful at the bar that night with hundreds of Navy families having gathered to celebrate Grandpa Seresin's life and the memories people had made over the years.

"Aw look at this one," Bob chuckled, holding up a rather embarrassing photo of Jake as a baby, his grandfather holding him up with a cigarette between his lips.

"That's Grampy for you," Jake laughed. "Cigarette in his hand and a drink in the other."

"Man sure loved his whiskey," Natasha half laughed.

"You have no idea," Jake told her.

All of them laughed when they found the photo of Grandpa Seresin as a young man in his Navy denim, once again with a cigarette in his mouth and both middle fingers held up for all the world to see. The bottom had been marked in fresh black ink, Leyte Gulf, October '44.

"Hey Nancy, is this one your dad?" Bob asked, showing the bartender the photo.

"AUE!" Nancy Kuakini gasped. "Yup that's him and Jake's grandpa alright! I dunno if it's in there but see if you can find the one where they got the tattoos, that ones hysterical."

As they sifted through the photo albums and through other memorabilia, Val came waddle running through the crowd and tugged on the sleeve of her father's dress blacks.

"Daddy Mommy says you gotta come quick," she told him.

Jake followed her right outside where you and Mary were both seated at the picnic table. It had grown dark, the waves crashing on the shores and the black field above dotted with stars. You breathed through the pain that tore through your body, but you weren't sure it was real or false pains just yet.

"Babes you good?" Jake asked, kneeling next to you.

"Oh God baby wants out," you groaned. "Yup.........yup he definitely wants out."

"Aw shit!" Jake blurted out. "Ok ok......gimme a sec and I'll go get the truck."

In no time at all, Jake was back with the truck and helping you in while Bob and Mary took care of Val and Maria. As soon as you had gotten to the Navy hospital and were wheeled in, Jake promptly sent a message to the Daggers, his parents and his siblings.

It didn't take long at all and by morning, John Michael Seresin had finally graced your family with his presence. The Daggers and everyone in your family could hardly stay away, wanting to come and visit and see the newest addition to the family. The girls were eager to step into their big sister roles and for a moment, you and Jake know that John Michael is a gift from Grandpa Seresin. And as you and Jake rest that night, you know deep down that Grandpa Seresin is still with you, watching over you all, just as he did all those years.

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dizzybee03 · 12 days ago

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OMG they finally admitted their feelings!!!!!!! I’m not gonna lie though, I’m a little worried for how Bradley is gonna react 😬

Brother's Best Friend - Part 14

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: swearing, a smidge of angst, and some good ol' fluff because that's what BBF is all about!

WC: 2900+

Part 1 | Masterlist

You look up as the door creaks open, your hand sweating against Jake’s palm. Your chest tightens and your head swims. Suddenly, your vision blurs.

…

You hear your name, but it’s muted, like someone is saying it underwater. You open your eyes and see two anxious faces hovering over you. You try to sit up, but your head is heavy and your limbs are weak and you’re disoriented because Jake and Bradley’s voices are getting louder and more overwhelming with every second. You want to tell them to be quiet but the words can’t seem to form in your mouth, or, rather, you’re far too exhausted to make the effort to speak.

Slowly, you sit up, blinking into your lap as Jake says something about an ambulance. You pass a hand over your brow, noting the sweat that’s gathered there, as Bradley starts listing off the various nutrient deficiencies that you may or may not possess. You glance up at the two of them feebly.

Both enormous, grown-ass men are crouched before you, staring at you in terror.

“What happened?” Jake asks and you blink at him slowly, wondering the same thing.

“Are you okay?” Bradley says, tilting his head to the side so he could catch your gaze.

You nod uncertainly, because you’re not a hundred percent sure that you are. You look around unhurriedly, taking in your surroundings. You’re on the porch of your house in a cute little dress, and the porchlight is on because it’s dark out. And then it hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re still on the porch. Has Bradley been informed of the relationship? Or did he already know? Was he angry? Did you get caught in the crossfire and get knocked out?

You blink anxiously – and more alertly – between Jake and Bradley, trying to assess the situation. Neither of them seems to be paying any attention to one another; only to you. “What…” you start, but your voice croaks and you bring a hand up to your throat self-consciously. You clear your throat and start again. “What’s going on?” you ask casually, as though you’re not sitting unsteadily on the ground with no recollection of the last god knows how many minutes.

Bradley’s eyes widen in outrage. “What’s going on is you fucking fainted!”

You look at him with soaring eyebrows. “I did?”

“Right before Bradley came out to take out the trash,” Jake says, giving you a meaningful look.

“Ohhh,” you reply, dragging out the word. “The trash.” You nod again, trying to organize all of the information in your presently scrambled brain. “The trash,” you repeat.

“It’s garbage day tomorrow,” Bradley clarifies.

“Right.” You rub your sweaty palms on your thighs. “Garbage day.”

“And then you just” – Bradley makes a motion with his arm to indicate that you toppled over like a tree might fall when it’s chopped down, and you eye him thoughtfully, doubting your collapse was that dramatic. “You're lucky Seresin was here to catch you. You could have cracked your head open on the concrete.”

You glance over at Jake who’s keeping an unusually straight face. “So lucky,” you mutter without a hint of sarcasm because you don’t think you’re quite capable of that just yet. Nonetheless, Jake throws you a pointed look.

“You’re home late,” Bradley says casually, but you could tell that he’s concerned. “Did you party a little too hard?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “Me?” you ask, amused that he’s the one asking you this question and not the other way around.

“Did you take something?” he asks. “Not judging,” he adds. “Just need to tell the ambulance what you’re on.”

Jake briefly drops his head into his hand, but recovers just as quickly. “I don’t think she’s on anything,” he says quietly.

You give Jake a sour look because the only thing you’re on is four vintage cocktails and an espresso, and he knows it.

Bradley sighs. “Where were you, anyway?” he asks. “That Jake had to go pick you up?”

You narrow your eyes at your brother and then at your boyfriend, who is expertly avoiding your gaze. Clearly, he’s decided that Bradley is not equipped to handle two calamities in the same evening. “I was on a date,” you state contemptuously.

Jake stares at you rigidly while Bradley cringes. “I'm guessing it didn’t end well?”

You press your lips together irritably. “You could say that.”

Jake rolls his eyes and stands up. “Ambulance is here,” he says just as the ambulance pulls up and two paramedics rush up your driveway.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “You guys actually called an ambulance?”

“We thought you died,” Jake replies curtly.

You look up at the back of his head as he waves over the medics. “Maybe check for a pulse next time,” you say, your ability to utilize sarcasm apparently restored.

…

After you are thoroughly checked out and given the okay to stay home for the night, you trudge tiredly to the living room couch, Jake and Bradley hot on your heels.

“You should go to bed,” Jake says as you plop down into the cushions. “You need to rest.”

You close your eyes, sinking further into the cushions with a groan. “I won’t make it,” you respond, feeling the exhaustion as if it were a physical thing weighing you down.

Bradley places his hands on his hips. “Jake’s right, you need to get some sleep.”

“I am,” you whisper, your eyelids heavier than they've ever been.

“I’ve got an early day,” Bradley says apprehensively, as though he doesn’t want to leave.

“Go on, I’ll stay with her,” Jake says.

Bradley waits a beat, considering the offer, and then turns to look at his friend. “Thanks, man.” Bradley replies, giving Jake a pat on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

Jake nods without looking him in the eye and, once Bradley is upstairs, he approaches you slowly. He takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

You open your eyes about halfway, watching him warily. “I don’t think it’s contagious,” you murmur.

Jake doesn’t laugh. Instead, he eyes you grimly from his corner of the couch.

“Why aren’t you talking?” you ask, getting a little nervous because Jake isn’t normally the quiet type.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes and then squeezes his eyes shut and brings his hands up to his face. He pulls in a lungful of air, and then another. And then he lets out a sob.

You open your eyes all the way and even lift your head up off the cushion slightly. “Are you crying?”

Jake inhales sharply again and then releases an unsteady breath. He rubs the moisture from his eyes away roughly and lets out another sigh. “You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, his voice just barely above a whisper. His glistening eyes finally meet yours.

You stare at him. “Did you actually think I died?”

“I’ve never seen anybody faint before,” he admits.

“You’ve seen planes being shot out of the sky,” you remind him. Surely this can’t have been more traumatic than his job.

Jake gapes at you. “Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.”

You grimace. “Eww. You don’t have to be so graphic.”

Jake chuckles and sniffles. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”

You drop your gaze into your lap. “Is that why you didn’t tell him?”

Jake sighs and brings a fist to his mouth. “What would I say, Baby B? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m dating your sister and she’s so stressed out about it that she’s fallen unconscious on the doorstep?’ Sorry, bro?”

You pout sullenly. “That’s not why I passed out.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because if I’m the reason –”

“You’re not the reason,” you assure him, although you’re fairly certain he hit the nail right on the head.

Jake releases another heavy sigh. “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

You close your eyes and rest the back of your head on the cushion once more. “Okay, Seresin,” you respond calmly. “But, if you don’t, I will.”

Jake slides closer to you on the couch and puts his arm above your head. You lift it slightly so that he could tuck his arm underneath, and then you let him pull you in. Falling asleep in this kind of embrace is all you’ve ever wanted since you met him but, alas, this moment feels less than magical.

…

The following morning, you’re startled awake by an obnoxious grinding sound that gradually turns to a sort of whirring. Bradley is in the kitchen making his morning shake. You glance around the room because you’re alone on the couch.

“Is Jake gone?” you call out to your brother.

“Good morning to you too,” Bradley calls back and then walks into the living room holding two shakes. “Made you breakfast.”

You cringe at the green liquid in the glass. “I prefer to chew my food.”

“Well, you’re in luck then,” he says. “Because the blender’s busted so this might be a little chunky.”

You hold back a gag. “Thanks,” you croak, taking the glass from Bradley’s hand as he sits on the couch at your feet.

“Sleep well?” he asks, taking a large gulp of his shake.

“I think so,” you respond, propping yourself up on a throw pillow and taking a sip. “This isn’t so bad, actually.”

Bradley shoots you a self-satisfied look. “I put Nutella in yours.”

You smile at him. “Sorry for the scare.”

Bradley watches you silently for a moment before taking another swig of his breakfast. “I’m concerned, Y/N.”

You sit up straighter. “I’m fine now.”

Bradley shakes his head. “I’m talking about Jake.”

You blink at him innocently while your guts twist in on themselves with dread. “What about Jake?”

“Have you noticed anything off about him lately?” he asks.

“Uh.” You gulp, stalling. “Not really. Have you?”

Bradley sighs. “He’s just been sort of…I dunno. Weird.”

“How so?” you ask, even though you know exactly how so. No doubt Bradley has taken note of Jake’s sudden disinterest in women and it strikes him as odd, considering his history.

“That chick he was dating, remember the one we teased him about? I’m pretty sure he’s still with her,” he says.

You take a long sip of your drink before responding. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I just have a bad feeling about it.”

You glance up at him nervously. “Why?”

Bradley meets your gaze with a defeated expression. “She’s changing him.”

You are far too guilt-ridden to keep looking your brother in the eye, so you drop your gaze to instead study the puke-green color of your shake. “For the worse?” you ask quietly.

Bradley sighs. “I can’t tell.”

You bite your lip, trying not to frown too hard. “He shouldn’t have to change,” you say.

Bradley nods slowly. “That’s what I was thinking.” You swallow another chunky mouthful of your breakfast shake as Bradley rises from the couch. “You should get some more sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you after work.”

As Bradley shuffles about the kitchen, you contemplate your relationship with Jake, wondering if Bradley might be right. You fell for Jake long before he became boyfriend material and there are qualities about him you wouldn’t change for the world. But have there been things that you’ve tried to correct? Have you been unwittingly changing him? Shaping him into something he was never meant to be?

As you sit there in thought, Jake walks through the front door with a paper bag and a tray of coffees. “I brought breakfast!” he calls when Bradley peeks his head out of the kitchen.

“Thank god,” you mutter, setting down your half-drunk shake.

Bradley gives you a look. “I heard that.”

You purse your lips to hide a grin. “I’m hungry!”

“I fed you!” Bradley exclaims.

“I’m hungry for real food, not plants,” you whine.

Jake enters the living room proudly. “Real food, coming right up,” he declares.

“Oh my god, I love you!” you exclaim.

Jake’s hand freezes in midair as he’s about to set down his offering on the coffee table. You meet his gaze in alarm, realizing what you’d just said. What you’d just admitted. Meanwhile, Bradley strolls into the living room, humming a tune, as oblivious as ever.

Your heart pounds in your chest as Jake slowly lowers the bag onto the table, his eyes still locked on yours. “I made you breakfast,” Bradley says, sticking his hand into the bag to retrieve a wrapped bagel. “But him, you love.” Bradley proceeds to unwrap his bagel. “I see how it is,” he says after taking a bite.

You swallow around a giant lump in your throat, suddenly not remotely hungry. “I…” you start, your voice wavering uncontrollably. “I… love food,” you conclude.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “You were talking to the bagels?”

You notice Jake suck in his cheeks as he tries not to laugh.

You nod vehemently, feeling like you might just faint again. “Can you pass me one?” You reach your hand out, ignoring Jake’s face completely as he hands you a bagel.

“Alright, kids,” Bradley says. “I’m out.” He starts for the door but, just before leaving, he calls out, “Behave.”

The sound of the door closing behind him makes you severely nauseated, because it directly precedes the moment you have to face Jake. You glance up at him slowly as he digs his own bagel out of the bag. Finally, his eyes meet yours. “’Sup, Baby B?” he says nonchalantly, and you can tell that he’s prepared to overlook the slip if you are. For all he knows, it was a completely innocent statement and meant nothing at all.

But you know otherwise. And perhaps it’s the residual stress or the lack of sleep, or perhaps it’s the fear that your brother might be right about your influence over Jake, but you suddenly feel compelled to tell him. You suddenly feel like he has a right know. “I wasn’t talking to the bagels,” you blurt out.

Jake glances up at you in surprise. He gives you a small smile. “You don’t say,” he responds wryly.

You let out an impatient sigh, annoyed that he’s being so flippant. “I’m being serious.”

Jake nods. “Oh, I know. You were talking to the coffee, obviously.” He tries to hand you a cup.

“Jake!” you exclaim. “Stop being an idiot! I’m telling you I love you!”

Jake sets the cup down and blinks at you with a small, wonderstruck smile, like he can’t quite believe that you’ve said it again. “You mean it?” he asks.

You stare at him wide-eyed, alarmed that that’s all he’s got to say. But it’s not as if you can take it back now. You nod hesitantly.

Jake straightens his back and grimaces, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

You watch him in outrage. His reluctance to engage on account of your brother is no longer cute. You attempt to compose yourself, to hide the pain your face might otherwise betray. You rise from the couch in silence and begin to walk away.

“No” – Jake starts, catching you by the arm before you’ve even cleared the coffee table – “that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

You yank your arm out of his grasp, but he just takes your waist instead. “Let go!” you shout, twisting away, and Jake immediately releases you, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Wait,” he pleads desperately.

“Wait for what?” you yell. “For you to finish freaking out?”

Jake looks like he might be on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“I wasn’t looking for you to say it back,” you declare. “But I admit that I was hoping for a more considerate acknowledgement.”

Jake takes a step toward you. “Can I touch you again?” he asks, holding his hands about six inches away from either of your arms.

“No,” you respond stubbornly, not looking him in the eye.

Jake sighs, bringing his hands up to his eyes and sliding them bleakly down his face. “Do you really think I would have ever done this if I wasn’t already in love with you?”

You glance up at him, still frowning. “Done what?” you ask quietly.

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Can I please touch you?”

You press your lips together to keep them from quivering and nod your head.

Jake put his palms on either side of your face and takes another step toward you so that he could rest his forehead over yours. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot,” he says.

You let out a shallow sigh, wondering if perhaps you’ve overreacted. “You don’t have to apologize for being yourself,” you respond glumly.

Jake snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, feeling your mouth stretch into a tiny smile despite your irritation.

Jake brushes his thumbs across your cheeks. “I loved you before I even realized I liked you.”

You meet his gaze skeptically. “That seems improbable.”

Jake grins. “Ever the romantic.”

You roll your eyes as his hands fall to your shoulders.

“I never would’ve gone there with you – kissed you, lied to Bradley” – Jake frowns slightly. “Never in a million years, Baby B. If I didn’t know without a shadow of a doubt that I was in love with you.”

You gaze up at him, justifiably speechless. The fact that he didn’t make a move until he was absolutely certain sets your heart aflutter. You squeeze yourself into him and mutter sheepishly, “So, you love me back, then?”

Jake chuckles and wraps his arms around you tightly. “You’re unbelievable,” he says. “Of course I fucking love you back.”

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dizzybee03 · 12 days ago

Text

I love this side of Gibbs- great story 💙

GOOD MOOD

Leroy Jethro Gibbs x F!Wife!Reader // Word Count: 1.3k Summary: Gibbs comes home in a good mood and you decide the best way to break some not so 'good mood' news to him. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. liiiiight angst. liiiight fluff. Smoking Weed/Being High. Mentions of losing a job, violence, punching. No use of Y/N. Reader is a private investigator, married to Gibbs, and has a teenage child in this fic. A/N: Been rewatching NCIS from the beginning and I just simply forgot how much I love this show. Grew up watching some episodes when they'd be on tv running reruns but never watched from season to season before and I just jkshjkhf love it so much. So now I'm adding another fandom and character to the roster!

“You know I’m a federal agent, right?” Gibbs’s voice came from behind you along with the sliding of your back porch door.

“Yea, but I’m not.” You smirked, holding the joint in your hand as you blew the smoke out that he was clearly smelling as he joined you in the backyard.

“What’s with the new recreational activity?” He still had his work clothes on as he turned the patio chair around so it was next to yours.

“Rough day at work.” You exhaled.

“Being a private dick will do that.” He had a hint of humor in his voice as he said it. Teasing your occupation the way he would if it was anyone else.

“Investigator.” Correcting him with a smirk on your face, you continued talking. “And what can I say, there were no more special agent openings at NCIS.”

“You’d fail the drug test anyways.” He was looking over at you, a smile wide on his face.

“You’re in a good mood.” Your eyebrows raised, your face matching his humor.

“Better than usual.” He shrugged and kicked his feet up on the bricks that surrounded the fire pit in front of you.

“Hm.” Turning your head back forward, you looked at the fire that was starting to die down.

Gibbs’s face turned into a frown as he questioned you. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” You teased him, taking advantage of his good mood.

“What’s with the hm?” He mimicked the noise you made.

Letting out a laugh you dropped your head on your shoulder, “I’m debating if I want to ruin your good mood.”

“Ah.” It was his turn now to look away and towards the fire pit. “How bad?”

“Eh.” You shrugged.

“That’s like a 5, that’s not bad.” He was joking but his face was serious which is what made you laugh out loud slightly before deciding to spit out the news.

“I lost my job.”

Gibbs didn’t show any emotion on his face, just a slight nod as he acknowledged you. “Who’d you punch?”

It never should have surprised you when Gibbs knew things without being told, but it always did.

“Your knuckles.” He was getting up to feed the fire as he said it.

Your eyes looked down and saw the red bruising finding it's home around your knuckles and closed your eyes as you rested your head against the back of the chair, joint still in your left hand.

“My private dick of a boss.”

Gibbs smirked slightly at that as he dropped a few more pieces of wood into the fire. “Enough was enough, huh?”

“That and he called me a bitch.” That was a statement which earned you a look from him, he froze in his steps and stared up at you through his brows. “Don’t worry, I clearly took care of it.” You flashed your hand to him.

He went back to feeding the fire as the silence fell over you two for a few minutes. Coming back to the patio chair, he sat down and placed his hands behind his head.

“All things considered, that’s not too bad. Never understood why you worked for that asshole.”

“I told you, NCIS wasn’t hiring.” While it was a joke, Gibbs took you seriously.

He pointed to the joint. “I could get you in. Just have to wait a couple weeks.”

“Nah, I’m goin’ back to my roots. Investigative journalism.” Your eyebrows raised.

It was how you met Gibbs all those years ago, you were working on a big story, one that brought you to the NCIS headquarters during Gibbs’s first year on the job as special agent. The rest was history.

“And now I have an in at the Naval Criminal Investigators offices if I find myself with a big Navy scoop.”

“Pretty sure you had an in when you first stepped onto those offices.” He was smiling now, staring at you.

“You’re still in a good mood.” You smiled back at him, both of you looking at each other as the orange tone of the fire reflected off his skin.

“Told you, wasn’t that bad.”

“Hold onto that feeling.” You scrunched your face up while his own face dropped. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I got the weed?”

Gibbs's mind started running, trying to think of an answer that made sense. Putting that special agent brain to work as if it wasn’t overworked enough all day on duty. He was coming up blank, which automatically put him a few points lower on the good mood meter, stumping Gibbs wasn’t enjoyable, for anyone.

“Where’d you get the weed?” He asked, knowing you wouldn’t tell him unless he did ask. You knew better than to interrupt Gibbs when he was working a case, interrogating someone, or even just as simple as working through a thought.

“Your daughter.” After you said it, you took another hit from the joint, knowing you were gonna need it for his response.

“What?!” He kicked his feet off the fire pit bricks, his arms were next to his body which was sitting up now, bent over his legs as he leaned forward all while turning to look back at you, shock–or anger, all over his face.

“Got a call from the school today, she got caught smoking in the bathroom. The school apparently doesn’t discard of the herb on their own so they gave it back to me.” You let out a giggle at that, clearly the weed starting to work its wonders on you but also laughing at the strange policy.

“Where is she?” Gibbs was still concerned.

“In her room, where she’ll be for the next two weeks. I told her how her father is a federal agent and she can’t have this shit in the house.”

Gibbs’s face twisted up in a smile at that comment. “So you, her mother, clearly are out here setting the example for her.”

“I had to get rid of it somehow.” You lifted your hands in innocence.

Gibbs let out a laugh. “You too high to help me with the boat?”

“Never.” You were getting up, tossing the joint into the fire. “You gonna talk to her?” Now you were standing in front of your husband, his eyes were moving away from yours at the thought of needing to scold his teenage daughter.

“Depends. What else you tell her?”

“That I was still deciding if I was going to tell you or not.”

It was the most you saw Gibbs smile in one night in a while. He was in a good mood.

“That’s good, that’ll keep her guessing.”

“Ain’t my first rodeo.” Your shoulders raised as you bragged, humbly.

It was then that he placed his lips on your forehead, giving you a quick kiss as his hand moved to your hand that was littered with the memory of your awful day. His thumbs lightly caressing the bruises on your knuckles.

“You knock him out cold?”

“I told you, it ain’t my first rodeo.” That made Gibbs good mood turn to a great one, he never liked the guy you worked for, he didn’t like private investigators at all, but for you he tolerated them. But this not only meant he was done tolerating them but that he’d get to live with the mental image of you knocking the jerk out cold.

“C’mon, I’m almost done with the hull, have a feeling this story is gonna get me through the finish line on that.”

“Eh.” You scrunched your face up again. “I am high, so probably through the rest of the hull and the start of the bow. I get kind of chatty.”

With a laugh, Gibbs tossed his arm over your shoulder and planted another kiss to your temple. Yea, he was still in a good mood.

Dividers by: realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🕵️ NCIS Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (let me know if you’d like to be added! I'm using my all writing taglist right now!)

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dizzybee03 · 12 days ago

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Can’t wait to read these!!

What I've Been Working On This Week:

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: Christmas Alone - Beau S - You spend Christmas alone after Beau recieves a posting to Arizona.

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: Snow - Colter S - Colter makes a realisation when you end up staying the night in Nebraska.

Christmas Bingo Card 2024 - Mistletoe - Douglas H - You and Douglas share a kiss in City Hall.

Christmas Bingo Card 2024 - Surprise Gift - Joe V - Joe finds a surprise gift on his desk when he works Christmas Day.

Christmas Bingo Card 2024: A Little Naughty, A Little Nice - Nick T - Casanova relives his relationship with you.

Revelations - LJ Gibbs - Gibbs makes a startling connection between you and Mike Franks.

Haunted - LJ Gibbs - Mike reflects on your relationship after Gibbs makes a discovery on your sister's case.

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dizzybee03 · 12 days ago

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Nnnnnnoooooooo! A deployment, ugh hopefully it’s a short one! So glad Daisy has Penny to lean on while Jake is gone

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 20

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Jake comes clean and Daisy has to talk to Penny

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

I managed to make it until we were back at my apartment before I broke. Tasha was spending the night at Javy’s place, which meant it was just the two of us and after a few hours of thinking up the worst possible scenarios for what Jake had to tell me, I was ready to cry, scream, or throw up. Or do all three at once, it was a toss up really.

“I’m going to sit down on the couch and you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” I said, putting my hands on Jake’s shoulder to stop him from kissing me when we walked in the door. “Because I know there’s something you’re not telling me.” Jake sighed, running a hand over his face.

“We’re not breaking up, let’s start with that,” Jake’s voice was tired but serious, his words striking out one of my fears. I nodded, running my hands up and down my pajama pants, trying to ease my anxiety with the familiar feeling of the fuzzy fabric. “Rooster and I might be deployed soon.” The news hit me like a blow to the gut, deployed? What happened over Thanksgiving had been a mission, just a few days apart and that had been hell.

“How long?” I heard myself ask, knees folding into my chest. Jake sat beside me, wrapping me in his arms, chin resting on top of my head.

“I don’t know, Wildflower.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know and I couldn’t tell you if I did, it would be classified,” Jake kissed my hair. “I don’t have any details, I don’t even know if it’s happening. It’s all just whispers behind closed doors and rumors at this point, which is why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“I love you,” It’s all I could think to say. Jake’s thumb brushed over my cheeks and that’s when I realized I was crying, “I love you so much.”

“I know, baby, I love you too,” Jake held me tight. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”

“Tell me next time, okay?”

“I promise, Wildflower. I’m sorry I worried you,” Jake kissed the top of my head, rubbing circles into my back. “I love you so much.”

My first thought was to run, to get away but the second that crossed my mind, the idea of being without Jake hit me like a truck. I didn’t want to be without him, I couldn’t imagine not having Jake in my life. He had managed to intertwined every part of my life with his, from my writing to his family, we were bound together. Running away now would be running away forever. Right?

“Why don’t we call Penny in the morning?” Jake kissed my hair again, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Maybe we can call mama and pops too.”

“I’d like that,” I nuzzled into his neck, “How long are deployments usually?” Jake sighed, bringing me onto his lap.

“It depends, there’s short deployments of just a few months and then there’s deployments that can last over a year.” A year? My grip on Jake’s waist tightened, “It’s probably not going to be that long, baby but if it is, we’ll figure it out.” After a few minutes of silence that felt like hours, Jake whispered, “You’ll be waiting here when I get back?”

“Always,” I answered without hesitation. I took Jake’s face in my hands, staring him down even though I still wanted to puke a little bit. Jake’s eyes were intense, his brow creased in worry. “I’m not going anywhere and no matter where you go, you’re coming back home to me. Deal?”

“Deal.” Jake closed the distance between our lips, kissing me soft and sweet. There was no rushing, it was as if we had all the time in the world, and if we did have all that time, what was a few months apart? He pulled my legs fully around him and stood, never breaking the kiss as he carried me to the bedroom.

When he laid me back on the bed and stripped me bare, Jake took his time. He covered my body in kisses, worshiping every inch like he was committing it to memory, and when we finished, he pulled me into his chest and held me tight all through the night.

The next morning I called Penny, who evidently had been waiting to hear from me. I tried to ignore the fact that everyone around me probably already knew about the deployment, especially the fact that Tasha hadn’t said anything. Penny invited me over and Jake dropped me off,

“Call me when you’re ready,” He whispered, kissing my forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Penny greeted me with a hug and a mug of peppermint tea, she looked cozy in her navy pajama set and robe, pulling me into her living room.

“How are you holding up, kiddo?” Penny passed me a cream blanket that was soft.

“First thing I wanted to do was run,” Penny hummed, rubbing my knee. “Now I just feel a little numb.”

“I thought having grown up with my father’s deployments would have made things easier the first time my ex-husband deployed but it didn’t.” She sipped her tea, staring ahead where a picture of her and Amelia hung on the wall. “I spent the first month crying in bed, almost got fired from my job. Then one of the other wives in his unit, an older woman named Vera, sat me down for a talk.”

Penny looked the picture of calm as she spoke and I envied her for it. What I didn’t envy was how many years, deployments, and undoubted heartache that it took to cultivate that calm.

“She first told me that I looked like crap,” I chuckled along with Penny. “Then she told me I was going to join her walking group. Most of the wives in the unit met up every morning and walked a mile around base. If we had news, we shared it, some women talked about how their kids were handling things, we organized what we were sending in care packages, and we traded recipes. Anything to keep ourselves sane.”

“Are you asking me to join your walking group?” Penny pursed her lips at me, rolling her eyes. “What, you, me, and Ames could totally go for walks on the beach before school.”

“Good luck dragging that girl out of bed early,” She pushed my knee, laughing. “But seriously, Daisy, one of the best things you can do while he’s gone is stay busy and stay connected with me and with him.”

“How am I supposed to talk to him if I don’t know where he is?”

“You’ll most likely be able to call him but if you want to send him letters, you’ll give them to command and they’ll send the letters to him when they can.” When they can. That wasn’t very reassuring.

“What else do I need to know?”

I spent the day getting my affairs in order, scheduling a stop on my mail, making sure all my bills were on auto pay, and updating my will and life insurance policies. By the time it was lunch, my head was pounding from all of the tedious details.

When lunch time came and went without a word from Daisy or Penny, I stopped by the store and picked up a few things for Daisy’s apartment. Bath bombs, new pajamas, a few nice notebooks that she’d probably never write in for fear of “ruining” them. I chuckled to myself, I really did love her and all of her little quirks. If it wasn’t for Daisy’s one-year rule I’d pick her up from Penny’s and take her straight to the court house if she’d let me.

Deployments had never bothered me before, in fact, I loved them. They meant that I could fly on missions, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I kept an eye out for enemy bogeys. Now the thought of being away from home for even a few days made my heart hurt. I wanted to go to work in the morning, fly formations with the team, and come home to Daisy at the end of the day. I wanted to fall into bed beside her and tease her when she spent twenty minutes rearranging the blankets so she wouldn’t be hot.

The deployment hadn’t even started yet and I already wanted it to be over. I said a quick prayer, praying that this deployment would be a short one.

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90

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dizzybee03 · 12 days ago

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This was literal perfection! I just love how they found their way back together 💙

love's never lost when perspective is earned

Jake Seresin x Reader

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” Peter Pan, J.M Barrie

Peter by Taylor Swift S P E Y S I D E by Bon Iver Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov Smother by Daughter

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, Parentification of eldest siblings, bad first date experience, gets a little spicy towards the end (no smut), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please)

This one shot was written for @arcane-vagabond Fairy Tale writing challenge with the inspiration of Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, and the use of the word Scintilla.

Word Count: 6.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

She remembers that summer wrapped in a golden glow. Back when hot, humid days were spent bathed in the sun’s vivid orange. Their fingers were sticky with jammy pie fillings, stolen from his mama’s kitchen. Cold water from the garden hose always tasted better after a day of chasing themselves around the properties.

What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jake had asked her as they lay in the grass behind his house.

“I haven't decided yet,” she told him matter of factly, “But, I’m gonna have a nice house, and I’m going to go far away from here”.

“I'm gonna be a pilot,” Jake said, “And I’ll fly wherever I want”.

She knew he was entirely serious, even as a little boy he’d never failed to accomplish what he put his mind to. The gentle waiver is his voice as his statement teetered around the edges of his true feelings and fears. “I wish I could fly away,” She told him, watching the clouds shift across the bright blue sky above them.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me,” Jake promised. And back then, a promise had felt like enough.

They were seven; her shins were always bruised from climbing trees and tackling the Seresin boy during their daily football scrambles; his cheeks were always sunburnt, and he lied every time his mother asked if he had put sunscreen on. In many ways, she thinks those two months running after Jake Seresin had been both the peak and the plateau of her childhood wonder.

September meant returning to school; finishing supper and homework before being allowed out to play, and with the autumnal turn crept in early sunsets and earlier curfews. In November, her stepdad moved in, and her mother told her to expect a little brother in the spring. The days of scraped knees and make-believe slipped away before the winter frost set in.

When he thinks about her now, he pictures her laughing like she did when they were ten years old. He misses the days when she had the freedom to forget herself.

At ten years old Jake Seresin couldn’t understand why his friend wasn’t as fun as she used to be. He watched from his kitchen window as she sat on the front porch with her little brother, settling next to her and feeding him from tiny jars of baby food. At a distance, it'd be easy to mistake her for any other girl playing make-believe with one of her dolls. But Jackson wasn't a doll, he was fussy and gassy, and he needed to be fed and put down for his naps before she had a moment of spare time to spend with her pal Jake.

Her little brother had been followed by a new baby girl two years later. Tire marks on the dirt driveway highlighted where her stepfather’s truck should have been most days. Jackson had finally gone down for a nap but Olivia had been teething and her wailing could be heard from a mile away.

“What do you want to do today?” Jake asked her as he made his way up her porch steps to sit next to her on the stoop. “I want to fly away,” she told him.

Without a second thought, he grabbed her hand as he took off running, down the stairs, across the lawn and into the field behind the house. The long grass tickled at their ribs as they ran as fast as possible, their arms outstretched on either side of them.

Circling, and jumping, hooting and hollering they made their way across the flat land with boisterous laughter bubbling from their lips. By the time they stumbled to a stop at the fence line their breath came to them in quiet gasps, their cheeks warmed by the exertion of their activity.

The sound of his pulse fell in time with her carefree giggles as she twirled around mimicking some kind of bird. Had it not been for the physical boundary of the wire fence he thinks they could have kept running forever, the promise of freedom they didn’t yet understand beneath their wings. In that moment he knew he’d chase that feeling for the rest of his life.

At sixteen she felt more like a substitute parent than she did a teenage girl. Her mind and her soul had aged beyond her years and stayed wrapped in a youthful vessel. School had become an escape from the responsibility she felt at home. While Olivia and Jackson clambered onto the school bus excited for first and second grade, she climbed into the passenger seat of Jake Seresin’s restored F-150. Each morning he'd pass her a wrapped sandwich made in his kitchen with his mother's fresh-baked bread. A replacement for the meal he knew she sacrificed to divide the last of the breakfast cereal between her siblings. He filled her with servings of farm butter and homemade jam, or ham and cheese. Their silent dialogue in brushing their knuckles during the exchange, as he always chose to ignore how she saved half for her lunch later in the day.

Pulling into the parking lot at school she had been keenly aware of the way the other girls looked at her as she walked hand in hand with Jake; the glares shot her way when he kissed her cheek as they parted ways to head to their classes.

Their jealousy rolled off them in waves, and she heard how they spoke about her in the locker room after gym class. Whispers about his gorgeous green eyes and boyish charm. What could the hottest guy in school possibly want from the strange girl in her secondhand clothes and studious persona? Surely he'd have more fun with a girl who wanted to party.

It was true. In the span of one summer, he'd grown 6 inches, towering over her now. His shoulders broadened. The lanky awkward limbed boy she'd known in her childhood grew stronger and more defined as he learned better how to pull his weight on his family’s farm. His masculine stature and maturity softened only by his flushed cheeks, and childlike grin.

And yes, he snuck beers from his father’s garage fridge and did handstands for ovations at parties hosted by the school football team. An absolute joy to be around. To know Jake Seresin was to love Jake Seresin, but didn't know him the way she did.

They didn't know he was terrified of thunderstorms until he was 12. They weren't there when he split his pants open trying to climb over a fence when they were 9. They had never had the privilege of listening to him read aloud from all his books about aircraft; his 11-year-old fingers tracing the letters as he sounded out the big words, the fear of being held back in 5th grade hanging over his head.

They had never held him as he tore into himself. The golden boy, raised in the shadow of an older brother who hadn’t lived long enough for him to remember; so deeply loved, but not enough to fill the ache in his parent’s hearts.

No one in those school halls would ever be able to tell the difference between his happiest days, and the smirk he plastered on always aiming to be better than what he believed himself to be.

He was so stubborn and far more clever than he ever let himself sound; she scolded him almost daily as he tried to shrug off his homework. “You'll need math and science if you ever want to fly a jet,” she would remind him, accepting the glass of sweet tea he offered her. Their textbooks and notes would lay spread across his kitchen table while Jackson and Olivia occupied themselves with blank paper and wax crayons, offering Jake scribbled drawings of airplanes, “wow! That's amazing, thank you,” he'd say every time.

She hadn't asked Jake to worm his way into her soul, and yet even now she knows some part of her soul belongs deeply to him. Their games of tag had slowly become time spent talking about their parents and watching the clouds; their hands intertwined between them as they listened to each other's dreams and desires for the future.

And on the nights when his life just didn’t seem to fit quite right, he’d tap on her window, willing her to join him in the bed of his truck a couple of miles from their homes; and she’d remind him who he was. The bright boy with a heart of gold, and a laugh that reminded her of everything good in the world. She’d rest her head on his chest, his fingertips tracing aimless shapes across her back, as she convinced him he was more than a collection of hand-me-down dreams.

His eighteenth birthday crept up to him before passing in a blur of candlelight and buttercream icing. His mother cried in the kitchen when she excused herself to ‘take care of the dishes’. His father clapped him on the shoulder. Their two sets of hazel-green eyes met as the older man offered a nod. The action itself did not speak to a relationship of closeness or specific affection, but still, it managed to convey a message of approval, apology, and love too difficult to speak.

She had knocked on the door shortly after dinner had been cleared from the table, the remaining half of his birthday cake being ushered into the refrigerator under a cling wrap film. Shivering in the night air, her hands clutched a package of brown paper with a shiny blue ribbon, his name scribbled in her careful writing. Quickly, he’d pulled her into the house greeting her with a kiss as deeply passionate as she deserved. “Happy birthday,” she’d whispered, pressing the gift she’d brought into his hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he’d told her. “I wanted to,” she insisted. With steady hands, he unwrapped the box. His question was silent, but the shocked expression on his face must’ve conveyed enough for her to be able to answer him anyway. “It’s the one from the antique store,” she grinned, “Mister Abbot let me pay for it in instalments”. He tipped the brass nautical compass into the palm of his hand, staid in his evaluation of both the physical and emotional weight of the gift. “This is too much,” he spoke after a moment.

Her eyes went wide, her smile dropping. “I love it,” he was immediate in his attempt at reassurance, “but, you’re saving for school. I don’t want you spending your money on me, darlin’”. He tried to pass the compass back to her, a woebegone ponderosity settling in his stomach at the very idea of rejecting any part of her. Insistent, yet patient, she curled her finger over his. The digits were so much smaller than his own, cracked and raw from washing dishes and cleaning tables at the local diner. The painful reminder of how hard she’d been working to climb her way out of her own life. “I want you to keep it. Selfishly,” she said, “I want you to always be able to find your way back to me”. How could he have argued with that?

Politely, she’d popped into the kitchen to see his mama, accepting a Tupperware of cake slices to take home for the kids to enjoy. His father met them at the door as Jake shrugged on his denim jacket. “Where are you kids off to?” he asked out of curiosity more than any concern. “Just going for a drive,” Jake told him, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Don’t let him get you into any trouble, ya hear?” he warned her with a teasing grin, the humour evident in his voice. “Yes sir,” she had agreed easily, knowing Mr Seresin’s penchant for faux sternness in the moments between his genuine stoicism. Seemly satisfied to see her smile grow, he had turned to Jake with an immediate pivot back to his natural sternness, “You make sure you get her home at a reasonable time. It’s a school night”. Jake’s compliance echoed her own, with no room for jest, “Yes sir”.

Parked in their usual spot, at the edge of a cleared field he wrapped layers of blankets around her shoulders, before settling down next to her. Their biggest dreams breathed between them and the night stars. “I love you,” he said. The statement was resolute, and immovable in its honesty. “I love you too, Jake,” she told him. Her words were spoken like a promise she desperately wanted to keep.

“When we graduate, I'll drive us across the country,” he tells her, “I'll buy us a house. You can go to school and I'll fly”.

“It’s a nice dream, baby,” she says.

Their drive home is silent.

She spent her nineteenth birthday sleeping in his childhood bedroom. He hadn't been home in months but the sheet still smelt like him. She scraped her knees climbing up the trellis to his window, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d laughed to herself examining the superficial wounds, enjoying the familiar bite of nostalgia. Memories of her childhood long since passed left tears at the corners of her eyes. Near manic laughter faded into a melancholy exhaustion.

Her eyes focused on the small book collection Jake had managed over the years. They had all been perfectly aligned in their homes on his bookshelf; set in alphabetical order by author. His need for structure despite his free spirit had been amusing until it became mildly concerning. Routine, crafted to satisfy the need to stay completely distracted from an overwhelm of feelings he had always been sure he didn’t have the capacity to express. The hope in her heart had always been that he might learn to hone his particular brand of presentiment. He’d always been so rough-and-tumble, so hard to worry after; determined to never let the mask slip as he raced through life with a smile.

1400 miles away she ached to be beside him; so lonely in her knowledge of him. She worked to comfort herself by tracing the titles on the spines of the books he’d left behind. Over and over. Over and over. With blurring vision and an unfocused mind, she slipped into a well-deserved sleep. The sun streamed so gently through the window of Jake’s room. A touch of light tugging her from her slummer had been a welcome change from the jarring wake-up call she had at home. Two siblings who had yet to figure out how to make themselves breakfast without bickering or clattering plates. The smell of fresh coffee and pancake batter wafted up from downstairs.

The bedroom door squeaked as she opened it, and underfoot the floorboards in the old farmhouse creaked, each step down the staircase punctuated with the sonance of more than a hundred years of life. In the Seresin house, the noises reminded her of the generations who had come and gone, it was easy to imagine the lives that had been lived within the walls. Across the yard, the similar shifts and groans of her childhood home echoed like ghostly calls; the whispers warning of a life liable to be wasted if she stuck around.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Mrs Seresin smiled, setting an extra spot at the kitchen table. His mother had always been the kindest person she’d known. Despite the undisputable reality that her son’s girlfriend had all but broken into her home, she welcomed her with open arms, asking if she wanted blueberries in her pancakes.

The longer they went without mentioning the elephant in the room the easier it became for her to slouch a bit in her seat, appreciating each bite of the breakfast that had been offered to her. Nineteen years of being in rooms out of necessity rather than desire had made it difficult to trust other’s interest in her well-being.

Feeling her shoulders drop in relief left her feeling something like a stray cat brought in to shelter from the storm; glad to accept Mrs Seresin’s kindness, but uneasy all the same. She had grown used to being weary of tenderness and generosity; always waiting to hear the conditions of the beneficence.

Sipping her coffee, Mrs Seresin smiled over the lip of the mug. “If you want to stay a little longer, you could help me go through some of Jake’s old clothes. Some of them would probably fit Jackson now”. Her words reached like an olive branch across the table, and for a moment she understood that perhaps the older woman wasn’t just benevolent for the sake of it, not on this day at least. With her only living child out of the house she had been lonely in her need to mother someone, and glad just for the company as unorthodox as the circumstances may have been. She’d been glad to learn that some glint of selfishness lingered in everyone, and in a strange turn, it only made her trust the woman more.

She hadn't expected a pile of folded sweatshirts to make her cry, and yet in a blink of an eye, she found herself sobbing. A flicker of hurt rushed through her with the realization that some things will always matter more to her than they do to anyone else. Just another piece of clothing to Jake, another part of her task for the day to his mother. But she was holding the world in her hands.

She remembers that sweatshirt well, red and worn out by time, always just a bit too tight in the shoulders, the seams stretching at the sleeves. He was wearing it the night he picked her up from her first date.

Bobby Dunbar had been two years older than her, and had no idea of the meaning of the word ‘no'. She left him alone in the movie theatre after he'd tried to creep a hand up her skirt for the second time. With a quick call from the closest payphone, Jake was on his way to pick her up without questions.

Together, they drove out of town and past their homes the sun dipping down below the seemingly endless horizon. Overhead the stars had begun to make themselves appreciable against the backdrop of the darkening sky. Parked, they lay in the bed of the truck looking up at the sky ahead. He took care to trace the constellations for her, naming them as he went. In the meantime, her fingertips copied the shapes with invisible lines across his chest. The well-loved red sweatshirt was soft beneath her cheek.

He kissed her for the first time that night. Not her first kiss, but the first one that mattered. Jake always had this ability to make her world stop spinning, even if just for a moment. Sitting on the edge of his bed sobbing into the sweater she wanted nothing more than to be near him, to hear him tell her everything was going to work out for them in the end.

“I got my scholarship,” she told Mrs. Seresin, “I'll start in the fall, and I'll be able to live on campus”.

“That's amazing news sweetheart,” her affirmation, so much like her son’s.

“It's a lot farther for Jake to drive. I won't be here to check on Jackson and Olivia. My mo--”

“They'll be alright. It's high time you live your dream, honey”.

At nineteen years old, she struggled to understand that sometimes the beginning feels like the end. A pit growing in her stomach, she clutched the bags of hand-me-down clothes as she headed home. The sky above was dotted with the same stars Jake had taught her about years ago, she stood still for a moment trying to remember the feel of his lips, or the comfort of his hand in hers, but only felt the cool evening breeze.

Twenty-one felt like wearing a costume. Joining the Navy. Getting good grades. Helping on the farm whenever he had an ounce of free time. Being a good son, being a good boyfriend. He was playing dress-up in a life that wasn’t built for him, and yet he found himself so desperate to play the part.

The first few months away had been excruciating. Most nights he chugged Pepto-Bismol before going to bed, hoping that the tearing feeling in his chest was just heartburn, and not just his soul stretching across four states. It had been the longest they’d ever been separated; smashing the previous record of the one week he spent with his aunt and uncle when he was ten.

He won’t blame her for the divide that grew between them, but he knows that the ache in his chest cracked into a chasm sometime after she moved onto her college campus.

The commute to see her was longer, his back was stiff, and his eyes were tired after driving hours, and crisscrossing state lines. The time they spent together was almost exclusively spent sleeping or skipping around their desperate need to return to what they once were, all while refusing to give up their dreams.

Two years into her degree he was exhausted. On base, his bed was assembled for practicality, not for comfort. Hard, uneven mattress and nights spent cold beneath the covers without the warmth of her body tucked against him. His bunkmates all snored, and the hustle and bustle of those still working during his allotted sleeping hours kept his mind alert even as his body dosed. In her dorm room, her duvet was plush and cozy, her pillows smelt like her shampoo, and she snuggled as close to him as physically possible on the nights he managed to make it to her. But her roommate was nosy and made it almost impossible for him to love on his girlfriend. Unable to touch her as freely as he yearned to-- and even worse, unable to speak as freely as he needed to, his feelings threatened to choke him. Lost without the level of communication that had become their life preserver for years, he felt as though he was drowning.

At twenty one he asked his father for his grandmother’s engagement ring. A family heirloom he’d always known he’d propose with one day. He would make good on the promises he made. They would get married and he’d buy them a house-- he had already managed to save quite a bit. It was not a lack of love that broke them, but perhaps an excess of it. A shared desperation to do more, and be better; both of them hell-bent on clawing their way out of the ruts they’d found themselves stuck in. And with so much to prove it had been impossible to climb without letting go of each other.

He was down on one knee when his heart was ripped from his chest. For a moment he felt it was impossible to breathe. His mind was silent, too stunned to think and too confused to speak. She was still shaking her head when he finally found the strength to look up at her again. “No,” she said. “I thought--”

“I’m sorry-- I can’t. I won’t. It’s not fair,” she told him. Certainly not fair, he thought desperate to understand. But when had life ever been fair? “I can’t,” she repeated. He watched, hopeless, as she shrunk in on herself. The bright, brilliant girl he’d spent more than half his life loving shied away from him, hiding behind a shame he couldn’t find a source for.

As he slowly made his way back to his feet, with the ring box shoved back into his coat pocket, she spoke again. “I think it would be better if we spent some time apart”. That he had not been expecting, and the words nearly had him keeling over; a brutal blow that knocked the air from his lungs. He found himself helpless, unable to do anything but nod. All his fight sat on the tip of his tongue, pinched between his teeth, betrayed by his pain, and misunderstanding. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. For anything. For everything. But the words never came out. “I’m sorry,” she wept as she ushered him out of her dorm room.

With one hand, and no force he held the door frame for a moment, one last longing look at the girl he knew he’d love forever. “One day we’ll be enough for each other again”. He hoped that was true.

She carries a spark of regret in her chest, it grows when she thinks of him, and it shrinks when she remembers she freed him too. She thinks now that her denial of Jake Seresin may have been hasty. Fifteen years older, and with more perspective than she had at twenty-one, she thinks their lives could have been different if she had been brave enough to talk things out.

Her fear of stagnation had been her only motivation for so much of her life. His proposal had been on the surface a desperate attempt to cling to a bond they had begun to outgrow. And while his intentions at their core had been pure, getting married would not have saved their relationship. She had only begun to live for herself, and he still didn’t understand that his life was his own. Their marriage would have only served as a new way to masquerade and play pretend; years of running away from the fears that kept them both up at night. He would have grown to resent her inability to live without planning, and she would have hated his unintended absenteeism. Being married would not have kept his side of the bed warm, nor would it have given him any new ability to quell her anxieties.

She still thinks of him often. From her apartment on a clear day her view of the sky seems to span for miles and miles. She pictures him up there, carving through the clouds with the dedication and precision she’s always known he’d be capable of. She imagines him happy, living his dream. She hopes he’s proud of himself, and she prays that he knows that she’s proud of him too.

Sometimes, she lets herself wonder if he ever settled down; offered his grandmother’s ring and his heart on his sleeve to some other lucky girl. She’s tried to move on herself a few times, but never made it close to feeling like she was in love. The last guy had been a year ago now, he was nice enough, handsome, had a good job, and a good sense of humour. On paper he was flawless. He’d take her out for dinner, and walk her to her door. Sometimes he spent the night. He bought her flowers, and held her hand. But on one too many occasions she felt inexplicably lonely sitting next to him. He complained that she wasn’t any fun. She struggled to explain the sense of responsibility she’d never been able to shake. She asked him about his dreams. He never seemed to have any.

And so the hint of any spark that had been there fizzled away into nothing.

She tells herself she’s happier on her own and decides to keep moving forward, ignoring the cracking of her heart. She uncorks a bottle of wine, dancing alone in her kitchen, looking out at the vast evening sky and the setting sun. As much as she enjoys the view from her rental, she’s been in California long enough that it might be worth buying into the housing market. Nothing fancy, but something she can truly call her own. She’s been making good money for a while now, and her siblings have made it through college themselves. Jackson moved to New York with his sights set on being an architect. Olivia moved to Austin and became a nurse. Her mother hasn’t bothered to call in ages. Her shoulders relax without the added pressure of caring for others. For the first time in a very long time, her mind is quiet--it’s finally time to write the last chapters in her own story and stop running.

He keeps an old photograph of her in the inside of his flight suit, right over his heart. He’s living his dream, and he won’t allow himself to forget that she’s the reason why. Driving home from base at night he passes houses much larger than the bungalow he’s been renting. He wonders where she went after she graduated, and what kind of job she has now.

He chooses to picture her happy even at the expense of his feelings; a devoted husband coming to wrap his arms around her while she stirs a pot on the stove. A scintilla of guilt makes itself known as he grows somewhat jealous of this life he's envisioned for her. The truth is that he knows she was right for turning him down. They were too young, too naive, and too frightened. Breaking up with him may have been the first time he had seen her truly put herself first, and in hindsight, he’s glad she did. He knows he’d never have been able to live with himself if he had been what stood in the way of her making her dreams come true. It took him a while to understand the gift she had given him when she sent him away. The freedom to be the man he wanted to be, and not the man anyone else needed him to be.

He’d fucked it up more than once along the way. At work, he had become too brash, too cocky, too full of himself. He put his walls up and wore the self-assured mask he thought people wanted to see. Unwavering confidence, and determination. His return to Top Gun had been a wake-up call. He’d been forced to adapt, to let his guard down and learn how to let people in again. And for the first time since he was a teenager he appreciated the difference between being valued and being important. The realization had come with a sense of belonging and camaraderie that he hadn’t expected but couldn't afford to forget.

In his personal life, he had failed time and time again to form long-term bonds. One-night stands didn’t hurt, but the idea of waking up next to someone left him nauseous. But the truth is he yearns for that connection. He wants to be seen. He wants to be understood. He stopped going home to visit his parents two years ago, the weight of self-placed expectation chewed through him and left him hollow; guilt filled its place.

Last week he stood back straight, with his heart full of pride as he accepted his promotion. The new rank came with a new role, and a new more permanent position. He'd be stationed in San Diego for at least five more years. He called his mother. He booked a flight home for his next break. He started browsing real estate pages. It’s time to stop running.

She’s only made it to a couple of open houses so far but she hasn’t been able to find anything she likes yet. Most of the houses she’s seen are out of her price range. Others have been too modern, some too outdated.

She remembers the Seresin’s kitchen, the buttery yellow walls and linoleum tiles. Their house wasn’t flashy, nor had it been renovated anytime in 1980, but it was cozy. She can remember the smell of Mrs. Seresin’s baking. In her mind's eye, she recalls the feel of the cabinet doors that Mr. Seresin had built himself when they moved in, and his wife’s initials carved into the bottom corner of the cupboard over the sink. In every way possible they had made that ordinary farmhouse a home, and she wants the same for herself now. Like everything in her life, she decided her house has to be perfect. She’ll know it when she sees it.

The house is a two-story craftsman, built circa 1935. The siding is a garish kind of coral colour, faded by the sun, and the trims stand out in a soft vanilla colour, chipped at the edges. She’s driving home from work when she sees the sign for the open house standing proudly on the front lawn. Without a thought she pulls over, throwing the car into park. Inside, it smells like freshly baked cookies-- a real estate trick she’s learned over the last few weeks. It’s easy to imagine a house is your own when it smells so inviting. She's come to expect this, and won't let it blind her.

Her heels click across the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the empty house. She moves past the stairs into the surprisingly spacious living room. A large window looks out onto the quiet cul-de-sac, and the room sits bathed in the soft glow of the street lights outside. She imagines the room furnished, with soft drapery, a plush sofa, tv hung above the fireplace, and she can imagine herself unwinding here. The dining room is a fair size, and the kitchen has a sliding door that opens up to the backyard. The cabinets are brand new, and the owners have spent time renovating while staying true to the charm of the house. On the countertop, she picks up the real estate agent’s pamphlets about the home, amenities and nearby schools are listed, and she wonders if she might have the chance to raise a family here.

Overhead the sound of steady footsteps, and a pair of heels make their way down the hall and then the stairs. “If you decide to put in an offer, do not hesitate to call, in this market the early bird gets the worm,” a woman speaks. “I appreciate it, thank you,” a man replies in a low southern drawl, “do you mind if I take a look at the backyard before I head out?” “Not at all! Take your time, I’ll be out front just getting my signs if you need anything else”.

He’s barely stepped into the kitchen when he hears his name. “Jake?” a familiar voice wonders, her arms coming immediately to wrap around him. She hits his chest with a thud, but it does move him an inch. Her name is sighed into her hairline as he holds her close. “You made it-- all the way to California,” He smiles, pulling back to get a good look at her. She’s as gorgeous as he remembers, if not more so. Her features have sharpened over time, and he thinks her hair might be darker now, but she’s glowing. Her grin is wide and her shoulders relaxed as she reaches to trace his name and rank on his uniform. “You’re flying, Jake,” she all but whispers. He nods, his eyes softening as his hand comes to rest over hers, his heart racing beneath her palm. “Turns out I’m pretty good at it,” he jokes, and is rewarded with his favourite laugh.

His free hand lowers to rest on her hip and she steps closer, familiarity allows them to skip out on formality. He’s missed this; a shared closeness loud enough for them to speak without saying anything. He knows her like he knows the back of his own hand, and even with years passed between them, he’s able to fill in the gaps. Her clothes are well made, and well fitted. Office wear. Her shoes leave her standing tall, reminding him of senior prom and the time they spent slow dancing. He knows what she’s overcome, and he’s never had any doubt about where she would end up. Clearly successful, and if the way her smile meets her eyes is any indicator, she’s happy too.

In all honesty, she’s not sure who leans in first, but she knows she’s kissing Jake Seresin for the first time in fifteen years. He kisses with hesitation at first but allows himself to give in to a passion grown with time. He’s more skilled than he was the first time they kissed, and she tries her best not to flush with jealousy. His cropped hair is soft where her hand reaches up to hold at the back of his head willing him closer.

One step at a time he backs her across the room until her back meets the wall. With fingers gripping the collar of his shirt she begs him to crowd her space. She swears he’s taller now. His shoulders are broader, his arms far more defined. He’s always been handsome but the boyish charm has been replaced by something far more deadly, and she’s convinced she’d die happy if it was him stealing her breath away.

She melts beneath him. His hand moves across her hip, down to feel the round of her ass, before his grip tightens at the flesh of her thigh, warm in her cute little dress slacks. Neither of them bothers to suppress the moans or sighs that leave them when begins to kiss down his neck. His knee slots between her legs, thudding when it makes contact with the wall, startling them both.

“Careful. You break it you buy it, Jake”.

“I think homeownership will be good for me,” he grins catching his breath.

“Not if I buy it first,” she quips, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she blinks up at him. He groans, his knees weak as her smile grows. “Let’s talk it out over dinner,” He manages his counteroffer.

***

Their house smells like chocolate chip cookies, made from the recipe Jake’s mother passed down. The window in the master bedroom offers a gorgeous view of the San Diego sky. On weekends, she wakes up to the smell of coffee brewing, and Jake sliding back into bed, his hands greedy as he pulls her from her sleep with warm kisses and the promise of breakfast if they manage to make it down the stairs.

The floorboard creaks when he comes home at night, the weight of his day shed at the door. He greets her as if he's been gone for months even when it’s only been a few hours. And he holds as if he’ll never see her again when he returns from a deployment.

The gentle breeze that blows through the open windows of their little home carries away their lingering anxieties, and they allow themselves to soften in each other’s presence.

They lay in the grass in their backyard, paint smeared across their clothes, brows sweaty from a hard day's work. The siding is now a fresh, pale green, the trims glow in a soft white. Above them, the stars shine. The same stars they watched as children, and loved as teens. He watches her, enamoured, as she points to the North Star tracing her way around the night sky, recalling the stories he told her about each constellation. He wonders how many lifetimes are painted in the sky above them, how many lovers have admired the stars as they have.

She pulls him from his thoughts, rolling to settle with her knees at either side of his hips, her left hand resting on his heart. He looks at her as if he’s in awe of her, his wedding band cold on her back as his hand slides underneath her shirt. Leaning down to kiss him she’s certain this is the life she’s always been running towards.

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dizzybee03 · 15 days ago

Text

So glad they got the guilty verdict and hopefully they’ll continue building their life together in peace

Ch. 47: Closing Arguments & Verdict

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

After a brief fifteen-minute recess, everyone returned to the courtroom. You sat back at the witness table, taking a deep breath as the Judge re-entered the room and took his seat behind the bench. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

"Mr. Dunby, you have the floor for closing arguments," the Judge stated.

Dunby stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "Thank you, Your Honor," he replied, moving toward the center of the courtroom to address the jury.

Dunby took a moment to meet the eyes of the jurors, his expression calm but resolute. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, his voice steady, "this case is not just about forgery or breaches of trust, although those are serious crimes. This case is about manipulation, obsession, and a violation of the most sacred bonds—both personal and professional."

He paused, letting his words settle in before continuing. "Dr. Seresin came here today and shared her story with all of you. She spoke of the trust she once had in Dr. Stryker, of their professional relationship, and how that trust was shattered by his actions. He exploited that trust, using deception and fear to control her." Dunby gestured toward you. "You've heard the evidence. The forged documents, the manipulation, the threats. These aren't the actions of a desperate man—they're the actions of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He isolated her, drugged her, and made her believe she had no way out."

Dunby walked slowly, methodically, as he spoke. "And yet, despite everything, she had the courage to stand up and fight back. She found a way to get help, and thanks to her strength, she is here today to tell her story. Dr. Stryker tried to strip her of her agency, her freedom, and even her identity—but he failed."

He turned to the jury, his voice rising slightly with emphasis. "Now, it is up to you. You have seen the forged documents; you've heard how Dr. Stryker took advantage of a vulnerable situation to manipulate and deceive. There is no doubt that his actions were intentional and malicious. This is your chance to deliver justice—not just for Dr. Seresin, but for everyone who has ever been taken advantage of in this way."

Dunby paused for a moment, letting the silence fill the room. "I ask you to carefully consider the evidence before you and find Dr. Stryker guilty of the crimes he committed. Thank you."

With that, Dunby returned to his seat, the weight of his closing argument hanging in the air as the defense attorney, Mr. Rowe, prepared to make their final statement.

As Dunby returned to his seat, the courtroom remained silent, the gravity of his words settling over everyone present. Mr. Rowe rose next, buttoning his jacket with a calm, calculated demeanor. They moved to the center of the courtroom, facing the jury, their expression thoughtful.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Rowe began, his voice soft but deliberate, "you have just heard a compelling story, filled with fear, manipulation, and deception. But what Mr. Dunby is asking you to do is to convict a man based on emotion rather than fact." The defense attorney glanced briefly at Dr. Stryker, who sat still, his expression neutral.

"You've heard from Dr. Seresin today," the attorney continued. "No one is denying that she went through a traumatic experience. But we must focus on the actual evidence. Did Dr. Stryker act irrationally and obsessively? Maybe. But the question is: did he break the law? Did he commit forgery? Did he truly intend to manipulate and control Dr. Seresin, or is this a tragic misunderstanding fueled by heightened emotions?"

The attorney began to pace slowly. "Mr. Dunby talked about trust, and trust is important, yes. But trust is also subjective. Misunderstandings happen in both personal and professional relationships. What the prosecution has failed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt is Dr. Stryker’s intent to deceive or harm. There’s no substantial evidence that shows he forged those documents—no proof that he acted with malicious intent. All we have are allegations and circumstantial evidence."

The attorney paused, locking eyes with the jurors. "Before you make your decision, I ask you to remember the principles of justice. A man’s life is in your hands, and you must weigh the evidence carefully. The burden of proof lies with the prosecution, and if there is even the slightest doubt in your mind, then you must find Dr. Stryker not guilty."

With a final, measured nod, the defense attorney returned to their seat, leaving the courtroom in a tense, thoughtful silence. The judge then addressed the jury, explaining their duty to deliberate carefully before reaching a verdict.

The fate of the case now rested in the hands of the twelve jurors, who would decide whether justice would prevail.

"Y/N, go and get some lunch," Dunby said as you all stood outside the courtroom. "I'll let you, Max, and Chuck know when the verdict is in."

You nodded, relieved for the break, and headed toward the courthouse doors with Max and Chuck.

"There's a little café around the corner. We can go there," Max suggested.

The three of you began walking in the direction he indicated, chatting lightly as you went.

When you reached the café, you stepped inside to the aroma of fresh coffee and baked goods. The atmosphere was cozy, with small tables scattered around and soft music playing in the background. You glanced at the menu, your stomach grumbling as you considered your options.

"What are you in the mood for?" Chuck asked, leaning against the counter. "Something hearty or just a quick snack?"

You rubbed your belly with a smile. "According to Junior, everything on the menu sounds good, but I think a sandwich and soup will suffice."

Chuck chuckled. "Junior's got good taste already! A sandwich and soup it is, then."

Max glanced over at the menu, nodding in agreement. "I’ll have the same. Can’t go wrong with a classic combo." He turned to the counter, ready to place the order. "I’ll get it—consider it my treat."

As Max went up to the counter, you and Chuck found a cozy table near the window. The sunlight filtered in, creating a warm glow around you.

Chuck leaned back in his chair, a serious yet comforting expression on his face. "So, how are you really feeling about everything? I know things have been intense."

You took a moment to gather your thoughts. "Honestly, I’m a mix of anxious and hopeful. I just want justice, you know? But at the same time, I’m worried about how I’ll feel no matter what the verdict is."

Chuck nodded, understanding etched on his features. "That’s completely valid. Just remember, you’ve done everything you could to stand up for yourself. No matter what happens, that’s something to be proud of."

"I have to admit, I was glad Jake could contribute to everything. I think that really made a difference," you confessed.

Max returned with the food, setting down the steaming bowls of soup and sandwiches in front of you. "Alright, let’s dig in."

You had just finished eating when you received a text from Mr. Dunby saying the verdict was in. "Well, that was quick," you remarked, shock spreading across your face.

Max glanced at you after checking his watch. "Wow, that’s pretty fast—only an hour and a half."

Chuck shifted in his seat, a hint of anxiety creeping into his expression. "That could mean a lot of things. Let's hope it's a good sign."

You nodded, trying to quell the rising nerves in your stomach. "Yeah, I just hope they took their time to consider everything."

Max placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "No matter what happens, you've done the right thing. You stood up for yourself, and that's what matters most."

"Thanks, Max," you said, appreciating his support. "Let’s get back. I need to know."

The three of you rose and made your way back to the courthouse, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As you entered the courtroom, you felt the weight of everyone's gazes, and your heart raced. You found your seat and exchanged nervous glances with Max and Chuck.

Dunby noticed your nervousness and gently reached over, patting your hand that rested on the table. His touch was reassuring, grounding you as you waited for the news.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense, and you could sense the anticipation from everyone around you.

The Judge looked around the room, ensuring everyone was present and quiet before he began. "Ladies and gentlemen, the jury has reached a verdict. In the case of Dr. Stryker, we ask that the foreperson please stand."

A woman in the jury box stood up, her expression serious as she held a piece of paper in her hand. You leaned forward slightly, holding your breath as she addressed the Judge. "Your Honor, we find the defendant, Dr. Stryker, guilty on all counts."

A wave of emotion surged through you, a mix of relief and disbelief. You glanced at Max and Chuck, who both wore expressions of surprise and joy. Dunby’s grip on your hand tightened, and you could see the pride in his eyes.

The Judge nodded, his expression solemn. "Dr. Stryker, your sentencing—"

You barely heard the rest as a sense of victory washed over you. The truth had prevailed, and you had fought for your justice. As the Judge continued, you felt a tear slide down your cheek, but it was one of relief and hope. You had reclaimed your voice, and now you could finally begin to heal.

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