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lorirwritesfanfic · 3 years ago

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Change Of Plans

Author's note: Using wild card day of @rodappreciationweek to post a submission that I was hoping to post on Colt day. This story is a request that someone else received and passed it along to me firmly believing I could deliver it. For this reason, I hope after almost a year without writing Colt, he doesn’t seem too OOC in this story. [Leading characters are owned by Pixelberry Studios and original characters are creations of this author]

Book: Ride Or Die Pairing: Colt Kaneko x MC (Ellie) Rating: E Word count: 3213 Reading time: ~13min Summary: Two years after Kaneko’s death, Colt has rebuilt the shop to carry his father’s legacy. But life rarely goes according to plan when he allows himself to follow his heart. Based on the prompts: Ride or Die Appreciation Week - Wild card day / Smut prompt #15

Los Angeles, August 2021

Street lamps illuminate the road as the car turns left into the boulevard. Traffic is surprisingly light, which is a rare thing in LA and it gives Colt enough time to gather his thoughts before arriving at the shop. Though he prefers to be on two wheels, he can't deny a nice car has its perks, especially when it comes to meeting clients. He stops at the traffic light and gazes at the city skyline. Getting his father's clients back wasn't easy, but he promised himself to keep his legacy alive and rebuild everything no matter how long it took. For him, this is a matter of honor.

He watches the pedestrians pass by when a familiar figure walks right before him. Colt squints his eyes, leans forward to look closer and shakes his head.

"It can't be. She's in college," he mumbles to himself.

But as his eyes lay upon her, all those feelings he thought he had gotten rid off come rushing back, making his stomach flutter. "Ellie..."

She reaches the other side of the street and continues to walk.

Colt furrows his eyebrows. Where is she going?

Once she disappears from view, he follows her, not caring if the traffic lights are already green or still red. He just couldn't lose her.

When he spots her again, he decelerates and keeps his distance. Wearing black leather jacket, black biker style skinnies, wedge boots and hair tied in a high ponytail, Ellie marches toward a neighborhood in West LA, an area way too dangerous for anyone who doesn't live there. He narrows his eyes. She doesn't have any friends on this side of the city. Why would she go in that direction?

A couple of blocks later, she walks into an alley.

"Ugh... This is why I prefer bikes," he grumbles.

Parking the car nearby, he continues to follow her and does his best not to be seen, but remains close enough just in case. What are you doing here, Ellie?

Soon, realization dawns his face. The loud music, the lights, people gathered around drinking, dancing and showing off their cars. Colt shakes his head.

Ellie makes a beeline to a guy who stands near a stunning red Mazda MX-5 parked next to other sports cars. She fishes an envelope out of her jacket and hands it to him. He replies by giving her car keys. Any other person would think she’s simply paying him for some repair service this guy did on the car. But something tells him it's more than that. "Damnit, Ellie..."

"Hey, handsome! Long time no see..." A female voice greets him, hands snaking on his shoulder from behind.

"Is it though?" He says as he turns to the person calling him.

The woman stands before him, wraps her arms around his neck and smiles suggestively. "Yes, it is. You said you'd call me last weekend."

"Did I?" He glances around, yet Ellie is no longer where he last saw her. Shit!

The woman cups his face and turns his head to her direction. "Yes, you did!" She glares at him. "You promised me we'd go out and you wouldn't call me just when you want sex."

"And you promised you'd stop with the jealous girlfriend act, given that we're not in a relationship."

His eyes scan his surroundings again and as he finally sees Ellie climbing into the car, he sighed in relief.

"Looks like we both made promises we can't keep," he concludes matter of factly as he pulls away.

Annoyed, the girl slaps his face and walks away. "Jerk."

He rolls his eyes, rubbing his reddened cheek. "Now onto important things," he says as he crosses the crowded open area, his eyes never losing the one girl he cares about out of sight.

His heart races at each step he takes. She still is as beautiful as he remembers, but she clearly changed. Not physically. She looks bolder, more confident. I's not like he didn't expect this change. He just didn't expect to feel the same way he did the last time he saw her.

As soon as he gets closer to her car, her eyes widen. Most likely, she didn't think anyone would recognize her. And she certainly didn't expect to meet him. When he reaches for the door handle, she looks away. Her skin goes pale, hands grip the steering wheel as if she's holding on to something to steady herself. He opens the door and she looks back at him. She may seem self-assured from afar, but right now, she’s looking at him the same way she used to a couple of years ago.

"Colt?!"

He closes the door then turns to face her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Ellie. But I think we both know the answer."

"Get out," she orders.

"Whoa, hey! Whatever happened to 'hi', 'nice to see you', 'life isn't the same without you'?"

"Save it, Colt! I can't talk right now!"

"Oh, I'm fully aware of it," he snorts.

"Then get out!" She yells.

"No!" He snaps. "I'm going to stay here until you decide not to go through with the stupid idea of signing up for an illegal race!"

"I can't!"

"Why?"

"Because..." She grimaces, as if trying to choose her words carefully. "I have to!"

He stares at her confused. "What do you mean 'you have to'?"

Before she could answer, the same guy she talked to before knocks on her window. "Hey, Penny! Everyone's waiting. You either get into the race or just pay what you owe me." The guy snarls.

"You owe him money?! What is he talking about?" Colt scowled.

"Rent, bills, car repair... You name it!" The man answers.

"Ellie, what the hell is he talking about?!"

"Come on, princess! We don't have all night!" Someone yells from a car, followed by other people, honking their car honks.

"Make up your mind, Penny!" The guy yells.

But instead of talking back, yelling or saying anything to justify her reactions, Ellie simply stays quiet. She seems paler than before, beads of sweat run down her temples, her breath is heavier. She isn't okay and he knows he has to step up.

"She's not going," Colt affirms.

"What?!" Ellie whips her head to the side in shock.

"Hey pretty boy! You can't just swoop in and take your girlfriend home. She owes me five grand!"

"Oh, is that so?" Colt gives the man a sinister smile.

"Colt, back off!"

"Too late, Penny," he sneers, fishes the keys to his car and gives it to the guy. "My 1991 Acura NSX is parked at San Vincente. It pays for a lot more than what she owes you."

"Colt, no!"

Ellie tries to reach for the keys only to see the guy plaster a wide grin and step away from the car holding the car keys.

"Pleasure doing business with you, man. See you around, Penny!" The guy says.

"Don't bother. She's not coming back," Colt hisses then glances at Ellie before he opens the door to step out of the car. "Get out of the car. I'm driving."

"Colt, you can't—"

"It wasn’t a suggestion. Get out of the car!"

She scowls, but doesn't put up a fight. After they switched places, he drives out of the sideshow area and heads back to the main boulevard to leave the neighborhood.

A couple of blocks away from the sideshow, Colt breaks the tense silence looming inside the car. "How the fuck did you get into this mess?! Owing money to thugs, betting on races to pay debts?"

"I didn't ask for your help!"

"But you clearly needed it," Colt sneers.

"No, I didn't!"

"Please..." He scoffs. "What would have happened if you lost the race? What would you do?!"

"Shut up!" She pulls the hand brake, stopping the car.

Tires screech on the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber spreads in the air as their upper bodies are pushed forward and held back by the seat belt.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

"Stop acting as if you still know me or care about me. I don't need your protection!" She opens the door, climbs out of the car and slams the door shut. After removing her boots, she walks to the beach and sits on the sand.

Once he parks the car, Colt follows her. He knows she waited for him to show up at her graduation, to keep in touch while she was at Langston, but he couldn't. He wants to honor his father. If he kept close to her, she would find a way to make him give up. She knows how to reach his soft side. But he couldn't just forgive and forget the ones who ruined his family. He wanted revenge. Nothing else. And no one could stop him until he was satisfied.

As he approaches the shore, his eyes gaze at her sitting on the sand. The small waves caress her naked feet, the long ponytail flies in the wind as she stares into the horizon. Her hands quickly brush on her cheeks, letting him know she was crying. Is she frustrated with me? Or was there something else? Keeping a safe distance, he sits by her side and stays in silence.

"I'll pay you back later," she says.

"I don't care about the car or the money."

"But I do!" She insists. "I can't have anyone taking care of me anymore."

As tears stream down her face again, he moves closer and wraps his arms around her. Her body trembles as she sobs. In response, one of his hands roams up and does her back, soothing. His nostrils are suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of her hair. The fresh, fruity smell that reminded him of sleepless nights thinking about her, of the many times he tried to distract himself with work, alcohol and other women. For a moment, he almost forgets what led them to stop at Santa Monica beach.

"Ellie, it's fine. Whatever... I have other cars at the garage. I'm not going bankrupt because of a seven thousand dollars car."

"Did you open the shop again?"

"Yeah... It's not like it used to be when Pop was here, but I'll get there."

She then looks up at him. "So, everything is going according to your plans."

"You could say that."

"Good for you." Ellie says with a grim smile and pulls away, straightening her posture. "Anyway, I should go. You probably have your own stuff to do, so—"

"You haven't told me why you owed money to that guy."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"You just said you don't care about the car."

"This isn't about the car, Ellie."

She then stands up abruptly and turns away from him.

He watches her walk away in confusion. She did change. "What happened to you?" He shouts.

She stops in her tracks, but doesn't turn around.

"The Ellie I used to know made smart choices, faced her fears without anyone's help, wasn't afraid to be bold, to open up to me—"

"You let me go!" She yells, turning back to him. "You said you love me, but you're so obsessed with this revenge that you didn't even think twice about letting me go!"

"Don't make this about me! You're the one who walked away to a life you knew you're too good for!" He snaps, standing up to meet her half way.

"I had to! It was the best I could do for all of us. But I messed up..." Her voice falters as her eyes well up once more.

"Ellie..." He stands up and steps closer to her, cupping her face so she's looking at him. "Tell me what happened."

"I ruined everything."

"How?"

Ellie glances around, as if scared someone is watching them and looks back at him. "I can't talk about this here."

"Let's get out of here then."

The night deepens as Colt clenches his jaw and his hands ball into fists as Ellie tells what happened to her. He knew she would struggle to adjust to normal life again, away from the thrill of stepping on the gas and driving on a highway at full speed. He just didn't foresee the consequences of it.

"Did you tell anyone about it?" Colt inquires.

"No. I have no proof the Brotherhood is back since they're still in jail. But I know it's him. Who else would try to sabotage my car?"

He nods in agreement. Of course this is Jason Shaw's doing. No one knew who Ellie was in college or in the city, given that she enrolled in Langston with a new identity provided by the FBI. The thought of her unprotected and by herself there makes his skin crawl. Especially because it could've been her in the car.

"How's your dad?"

"He got out of the hospital last week. His girlfriend told me he's fine. He got a medical leave to recover."

"He's still not talking to you because you got involved in illegal races again."

"Yeah..." Ellie says as she leans on the large window sill, avoiding his gaze. "That's why I needed the money. I had to pay whatever debts I have left and split. I can't stay here."

"And you think running away on your own is the best solution?"

"What else am I supposed to do?! Go back to college? Pretend nothing happened and wait for Jason to send someone to come after me again? Let him kill my dad in the process?"

"But you can't run away on your own! You have to be careful, leave no trace and you never did it before. If you make any mistakes, you're done!"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" She snaps. "But I have no other choice. And I can't involve anyone in this mess. I have to leave."

His heart sinks as the words come out her mouth. In a way, she's right. She can't stay. But still...

"I shouldn't have told you this. God, I shouldn't even be here..." Her bottom lip quivers, but she takes a deep breath and continues. "Thanks for today. Not just for paying my debts. For everything."

Is she saying goodbye? Now?!

"Goodbye, Colt."

Without a second thought, Colt quickly stands up from the chair and blocks her path. "No."

"Get out of my way."

"No." He squares his shoulders.

"Colt, get out of my way!"

"No!"

"What the fuck are you doing? I have to go!"

"I know. But you're not leaving without me."

"You have your stuff here. You—"

"Didn't you just say this whole thing started when I let you go? I won't make the same mistake again." He pulls her close to him, one hand resting on the small of her back and the other on the nape of her neck. "You can stay. Or leave. Whatever... Just let me be with you, Ellie."

Her mouth falls open as she stares at him. Colt gazes at her, eyes softening as he marvels at her delicate features. Neither of them make a move.

"But you have the shop..."

"Other people can handle it for me. Or I can sell it. I don't care."

"Colt, I—"

"I'm not letting you go again." With that, he leans in and claims her lips as his.

A fire stokes within him as she melts into the kiss, following the movements of his lips and tongue. Grabbing the back of her thighs, he wraps her legs around him and presses her against the window. In response, her arms encircle his neck and ankles lock around his form.

His hands roam along her body, exploring the curves he yearned to feel for so long. Her smell and touch increase his need to be with her, inside her, savoring every inch of her as her pleas for more of him escape her luscious lips.

The two of them make quick work of their clothes and stare at each other for a few seconds. As their eyes take in the sight of one another and meet, they share a roguish smile. Ellie drops to her knees and caresses his balls as her lips leisurely pepper kisses from his abdomen to his groins. Then, she looks up and takes him into her mouth.

Colt throws his head back and groans while her mouth envelopes his cock. His fingers dig into her hair, messing up her ponytail as he pushes himself further. Her eyes widen, yet she doesn't pull back. He then begins to move. Slow at first, but not for long.

"You like this as much as I do, don't you?"

Saliva drips from her chin as she smirks.

He helps her to her feet and turns her around, so she's facing the wall. His hands reach between her legs and fingers slip inside her. She's soaking, perfectly ready for him. "Dirty girl," he murmurs.

He pulls her back just enough to make her whimper, teasing her sensitive nub in the process. "I can't wait to be inside you, Ellie. But do you want me too? Or do you want this?" His fingers press against her core, moving in circles.

"I want both..." Ellie purrs and bends over, supporting herself on the windowsill.

"Okay."

Once he rolls down a condom along his shaft, one of his hand caresses her thighs and move up to her buttcheeks and back as he uses the tip of his cock to tease at her entrance. When his hands reach her hair again, he pulls her by the hair and plunges into her.

Gasps escape their lips as their bodies connect. With slow yet deep thrusts, he rams into her, hands fondling her breasts and derriere, giving her clit the attention she craved.

He can barely fathom how much he missed this: to see her writhing in pleasure, the sloppy kisses, the warmth of her body enveloping his manhood, driving insane. "You’re so perfect. I’m so fucking lucky,” he groans.

Their breaths go ragged as desire pushes them to the edge. As the heat coursing through their bodies builds up to euphoria, Ellie cries out his name and follows.

Spent, they sit on the wooden floor of his loft and stare out the night sky.

"This doesn't change anything, Colt. I missed you and a part of me will always love you. But I have to leave," she breathes.

"I know." He nods. "But I'll be damned if you leave again without me."

Two days later

Colt steps out of the shop carrying a backpack and opens the passenger seat of his Cadillac ATS. He smiles and places in the backseat, next to Ellie's bag, two pillows and blankets. Perhaps things are no longer just like he planned. Maybe it can be better.

"Trunk is fully loaded, boss," says one of the mechanics working for him.

"Thanks. I'll call you from the pre-paid whenever we arrive in Reno. Keep me posted about everything here."

"You got it, boss."

Giving the man a shoulder pat, Colt climbs into the passenger front seat and smirks at his favorite person. "You ready, sweetheart?"

"Oh, shut up! You're hungover and you're going to sleep the whole drive to Lancaster," she berates.

He then picks up a pillow from the backseat and makes himself comfortable. "Love you too."

After a few goodbyes, Ellie revs up the engine and their car drives off the neighborhood, taking the freeway to leave the city.

#choices fanfic #ride or die fanfic #rodaw #colt kaneko #colt x mc #lorirwritesfanfic #lorircreates #n*fw

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greekowl87 · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: False Flags - Ghost Ship 7/?

This fic still lives, albeit, just at a slower pace. For those that need to catch up…The First Fic: (False Flags Redux) | Ghost Ship: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) or if AO3 is your thing, you’ve got your choices. Sorry for any grammar or issues of that nature. No beta, I suck at editing my own work on computers (especially when it’s longer) and Grammarly only does so much. I still hope you enjoy it. Thanks for taking the time to stop by.

Tagging: @today-in-fic, @improlificinsarcasm, @baronessblixen, and @suitablyaggrieved

A/N: I haven’t given up on this fic but life keeps me busy and inspiration has been little. Thanks for any support with this fic. Sorry; no beta and trying to self edit longer works it not the easiest for me.

Buckley sat by the window of the hotel room carelessly spinning an unloaded Colt 1911 on the small table the motel staff had placed in the double room. Across the room, Alex Krychek groaned in annoyance and turned up the volume on the television with his one good arm. Buckley snorted and continued to spin the pistol. “Will you stop that!” Krychek shouted angrily. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“Am I?” He laughed. “Good, Alexi.”

“Alex. Stop calling me that! I don’t know what the old man sees in you. Enlisting your help a second time? You screwed up and got caught last time. What makes you think you can do better?”

“And I got shot by Mulder too but the tip came from an anonymous informant. Not my screw-ups, you dick. Besides, shouldn’t you be doing something useful? Like getting us dinner or something?”

Krycek shuddered. “And I lost a goddamn arm thanks to Mulder and I’m not complaining. God, don’t you ever shut up? I’m not your servant so stop bothering me. I’m not supposed to let you out of myself or else god forbid you to go rogue.”

“Why worry?”

“I’ve seen your work,” Krycek huffed. He thought about the file folder and the gruesome pictures he had seen. It reminded him of Jack the Ripper, especially when Mulder and Scully had caught him during his last crime spree. “You’re fucking insane.”

“I used to be a gangster from the 1920s.” He replied. His voice took on a Chicago accent briefly. ‘That’s where I learned all that.”

“You really are insane. Bipolar. Order a pizza or something if you’re so damn hungry. The phone book is right there.”

Buckley chuckled and continued to stare on the window, spinning the pistol.

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

Mulder and Scully slept through the night but that didn’t do anything to calm each other’s nerves. The ocean pounding the sandbars only matched Scully’s racing heart. Mulder sipped his coffee and leaned against the counter. “Scully, you’re pacing,” he quipped from the couch.

“I feel like a prisoner here,” she answered. She looked around at the ocean-inspired theme and shook her head. “It feels irreverent like Arcadia did.” She crossed her arms and looked at Mulder. “Don’t you feel the same? We can’t leave.”

“I don’t remember anyone saying that. Skinner didn’t say that. We’re free to come and go as we please. It isn’t like Skinner has placed us in protective custody and he’s standing in the corner watching our every move. We have our weapons. We’re trained federal agents. We’re okay.”

She shook her head in frustration. “I have the worst feeling growing in the back of my mind. He’s closer than they think he is.” She scratched the back of her neck and Mulder got from the couch to catch her hand. “What?”

“It’s not the chip,” he answered quickly. “This isn’t like Ruskin Dam. This isn’t the Syndicate coming after us. This is just old fashioned…” He sighed, unable to find the word. His fingers caressed the back of her neck gently. “It’s just our past coming back to haunt us. Quite literally. In the physical form of a sociopath.”

“You should have killed the bastard when you had the chance,” she replied. Scully relaxed into his touch and closed her eyes. “Might have saved us this headache.”

“You are the better shot between the two of us. Sorry. Couldn’t kill Model, couldn’t kill Buckley even at close range. But you, my kick-ass G-woman can shot a Sig Sauer P-226 with the precision of a surgeon and still take out and heal with the same ability. Maybe I should just give you my own weapon.”

Scully smiled ruefully and leaned into the shoulder she had shot years before. Mulder laughed and held her close. She took a deep breath and looked up to him and said, “I imagined our time down here filled with doing the tourist traps, relaxing with you on the beach, and just having fun.”

“We still can. The Bodie Lighthouse isn’t that far. Neither is Roanoke Island. Let’s go there. Check out the history. Maybe we can solve the case of the missing colony.”

“They’re national parks.”

“And we’re federal agents. We’ll be fine.” He gave her a weak smile. “Let’s do the lighthouse today. We can spend tomorrow on Manteo and have some dinner or something.”

“Mulder…”

“It’s better than seeing you pace back and forth. It’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “Anything is better than just being stressed.”

“I know you hate flying but are you afraid of heights?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Have you ever been up in a lighthouse?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Really? Coming from the woman who loves the seas.” Mulder grinned. “You’re going to love it.”

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

The FBI partners gathered their weapons and badges to hide them discreetly among their clothes. They grabbed Scully’s purse, locked their beach house, and went down to Mulder’s car. He hated seeing Scully like this and knew that this trip would be just the thing. They made the drive down NC-12 to Cape Hatteras National Park chatting silently with one another. When they arrived at the fork for Cape Hatteras National Park, he took the right back down the highway. After a short distance, he turned left down a small paved road where Bodie Island Lighthouse was. Mulder pulled their car in the small gravel parking lot and smiled at Scully. “Well?”

She leaned forward to look out of the windshield. The black and white striped lighthouse stood off in the distance with the white lightkeeper’s house nearby. “It’s quaint,” she smiled. “Very tucked away. I’d imagine you might be used to up in New England.”

“I’ve seen a few.

“It has a history as well.”

“I bet it does.”

They climbed out of the car and Mulder was surprised when Scully openly took his hand and led him towards the Lightkeeper’s House, which served as the gift shop and the National Park Service’s Office. As if she had been there before, she knew right where everything was. Mulder became interested in some of the lighthouse knick-knacks as she purchased two tickets to climb the lighthouse. “Got those tickets to the stairway to heaven, Scully?”

“Hahaha,” she smiled. Much to this delight, she took his arm as they ventured back outside to a bench near the lighthouse to wait for the next tour. She guided him to sit with her on the bench overlooking the lighthouse. “I should really purchase a camera for this trip.”

“We can always buy a postcard.”

“I’m talking about us.” She rolled her eyes in amusement. “Why do you have to be difficult?”

“Because I love it when you say, ‘You’re crazy, Mulder.’ Besides, who needs a camera when you have a photographic memory?” He tapped his temple. “All our recent memory making…”

She laughed and it lifted Mulder’s spirit. Despite having a reincarnated ex-husband murderer who happened to be a serial killer in this life hunting down them while they were on their first vacation as a couple, he was so happy to hear her laughter. She smiled and rested her head against the bicep. She closed her eyes sleepily. “What do you say to us taking a nap in the hammock we have on the deck when we get home?”

“Despite the threat of…”

“Ssshhh. But yes.”

“As long as we pick up dinner along the way. Are you in the mood for seafood?”

“What about some Carolina BBQ?”

“I like you in a vacation mood. Why can’t you be more open to greasy foods when we’re in the field?”

“Vacation. There’s a difference,” she laughed.

Mulder watched a park ranger walk past them, calling, “All those for tickets for the 12:00 lighthouse tour line up behind me.”

“That’s us,” Scully whispered.

“Do you have to be first at everything?”

“I have to remind you who is the boss in this relationship. Tell me, Walking History Textbook, what is special about this lighthouse?”

“I remember,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, “trying to blow it up with the retreating troops but I got orders to report to Norfolk instead.”

She chuckled. “Fucking past lives but then again, I have those to thank for my better sex life.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Shut up.” Her eyes opened and she tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

“This salt air is doing wonders for your spirit,” he remarked.

“Maybe it’s the company more.”

Mulder smiled and kissed her forehead lovingly. She walked together to the front of the lighthouse where others were lining up in front of a park ranger. The woman park ranger smiled and waved people closer. “Gather around everyone! First, a few rules before we go up. The stairs in this lighthouse aren’t like the ones at Cape Hatteras. Only one person at a time can be on them, going up or going down in either direction. You can have multiple people on the landings,” the park ranger explained. “Now that we have that out of the way, can anyone tell me about the lighthouse?”

The tour group was met with silence as the park ranger started to talk about a mini-history lesson about Congress approving the lighthouse and it’s history from the Civil War to the present. As the park ranger concluded her mini-speech, she stepped back and motioned for everyone to begin their journey upwards. Mulder and Scully were in the middle of the group and took a moment to take in the moment around them: other tourists, the lovely March weather, and Scully in sunglasses smiling and laughing with her arm wrapped through his. It was so nice to see you here relaxed and happy.

“Are you happy?” Mulder whispered to her.

“Yes,” she answered.

That was all he needed at that moment. He really should have bought a disposable camera to capture this moment. As they climbed the lighthouse in a single file line, he was entranced by the magic of the moment. They paused periodically on each landing, overlooking various aspects of the horizon. The salt marshes and sounds of the Ocean on the other end. The Atlantic on the other side. Scully laughing. Eventually, they reached the top, the wind whipped Scully’s hair.

She gripped the railings of Bodie Lighthouse and leaned over to look at the people below. Mulder’s hand rested lightly on her back and he whispered, “What a view huh?”

“Hey, mister!”

A young kid’s voice caught both of them off guard and as they turned they saw a young boy with a brand new Polaroid camera. He smiled, speaking loudly over the wind. “I’ll take two pictures of you for five bucks.”

“Try three,” Mulder haggled, getting into the spirit.

“Two dollars includes on the spot printing. Memories last forever.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Mom lets me watch a lot of tv.” The young kid considered his possible client. “What do you say? Five dollars for three pictures?”

“I have to consult with my boss. What do you say, Scully? Three for five?”

She nodded and smiled. The kid smiled and raised his camera. He took a series of three shots. One of them both overlooking the railing out to the Atlantic sea, the second of them together smiling for the camera, and an unscripted kiss that briefly turned passionate, all of which was captured on the kid’s camera. Scully broke away, her cheeks flushed as she smiled. Mulder dug through his jean’s pockets until he produced a crumpled five-dollar bill. He exchanged it as Scully still took the still-developing photos.

Scully waved the photos in the sea air in a vain attempt to get them to develop quicker. She briefly flashed back to when she found that picture of them in the library archives in Newport News months ago from 1863. But there was something else that bloomed up inside of her; pride, love, tenderness, and devotion. Finally, something to memorialize and immortalize this moment now. She eyed the top image of them kissing with affection. Mulder was saying something before he returned to her.

“How did they turn out?”

“The kid has an eye for photography?” She answered.

They both gripped the photos to keep them from flying away in the sea breeze. “The Gunmen can make copies of these,” he whispered into her ear. “We can put one down into the basement and make Skinner jealous.”

“Or we can keep the copies for ourselves,” she answered. She rested her head against his chest; the breeze was in one ear with echoes of eternity from the Atlantic and his heartbeat was steady with promises of the future. “We need to buy a camera.”

“I can agree with that.” They watched the pictures develop on top of the lighthouse as they stood close to each other and as another momentarily in the winds of their entwined existence became immortalized once again on film. Scully felt relaxed and, for once, at peace. “Let me put those pictures in my purse,” she whispered softly.

Mulder gladly obliged and she carefully tucked away their pictures. They stood together, admiring the 360 panorama view that Bodie Lighthouse gave. After a while, they descended the staircase back down to the ground. Scully took his hand in public, unafraid who was watching and dragged Mulder to the gift shop. As he enjoyed the moment of this rare display of public affection, Mulder had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that disappeared when Scully’s lips met his.

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

Buckley sat in the farthest car from the lighthouse, looking through his binoculars. Krycek sat next to him and asked, “Is it them?”

“Yep,” the other man replied. “Just like I told you.”

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

Mulder looked at the Polaroids that had been taken at the lighthouse that day. He could only imagine the film on the disposable camera and how wonderful the shots were going to be. He and Scully were laughing, posing together as a couple framed by the lighthouse and the Atlantic Ocean. The little kids who had charged them five dollars for the pictures were ruthless but he finally had some proof of their happiness in this life. He contemplated calling upon the Gunmen to use their technological magic to digitize the photos but that would be for another day. He had been relatively low profile with his relationship with Scully over the past three months and he did not want to push it unless she was okay with it.

“Hey, Scully,” he called, “when do you think we should tell your mom?”

“About what, Mulder?”

“Us,” he replied.

From the kitchen island, Scully was curled up on the couch with a blanket watching ‘Dharma and Greg’ and not really paying attention to him. She rested her arm on the back of the couch and twisted to look at him. “What aspect of us?”

“Well,” Mulder began, setting the photos down, “the change in our relationship for starters.”

“Or the IVF?”

“I wasn’t going to go there.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admitted. He set the pictures aside and joined her on the couch. “I’ve just been thinking lately.”

“Well, I feel like there’s been a lot of that going around,” she said. Mulder unfurled her legs and rested her feet in his lap. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m not really thinking.”

“Or maybe you’re just too busy thinking. Are you thinking about the IVF?”

“I would want to try again if you are willing too.”

“I still want to think about it,” she replied.

He lightly massaged her feet and she hummed in approval. “I can’t believe how sore my feet are from climbing all those stairs.”

“It’s not like you aren’t used to all work. You’re the FBI equivalent of Wonder Women running in high heels.”

“I appreciate the compliant, Mulder, but if you remember, I decided to wear flip-flops that have no support.”

“Well, where else could you get weather nice enough to wear flip flops in March?”

She giggled as he got a particular ticklish area. “Only in Nags Head.” She nodded to the show that was on. “So, I caught this the first time when I was in San Diego. Have you ever heard of it?”

“What is it?”

“The show’s called ‘Dharma and Greg.’”

“I believe I have,” he said. “Some flower child marries a lawyer and chaos ensues when they decide to marry on the first date. So which one am I? Dharma or Greg?”

“Dharma,” she answered. “But opposites attract and make us better for it. Wouldn’t you agree, Mulder?”

He chuckled. “I might be inclined to. Do you want to keep it on this or find some nature documentary?”

“I like that and this version of Domestic Scully.”

“Did you lock the doors downstairs?”

“Yes,” he answered, “and I triple checked all the locks and windows. The only window that will be open is the one to our bedroom on the third floor.”

“And our weapons?”

“In the bedroom on the nightstands.”

She relaxed and nodded in approval. She withdrew her feet and switched her sitting position. She lounged against Mulder, wrapping his arms securely around her, and they enjoyed the rest of the comedy sitcom. He smiled into her arm and pressed a kiss, solidifying this moment in his memory. Even though there was a psycho that might be trying to kill them, he was the happiest he had been in a long time.

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

Mulder and. Scully had retired after television for a few more hours of watching prime time sitcoms. Scully disappeared into their bedroom and he did a quick lap around the beach house to check all their locks. By the time he got back up to their third-floor bedroom, he could hear the water running in the master bathroom.

“Mulder,” Scully called through the partially closed door. “Did you get everything you needed done?”

He could hear the partially slurred speech. “Is that wine I smell?” He dare not open the door. While this vacation had stress from fear of a psycho, it was bringing out sides of Scully he had only dreamed of and seen in one other lifetime. “Scully?”

“Hmm.” She giggled. “Maybe. Come join me, Mulder.”

“Where did you get the wine?”

He was already taking off his shirt and Scully’s laughter was causing his blood to boil in anticipation. “I snuck it in our last shopping trip,” she replied. She was giggling again. “Mulder, come on. There are still bubbles.”

Bubbles. “Aw, Scully.”

He pushed the door open slightly and saw her hair clipped back and a coffee mug in her hand. Most of her were covered by the bubbles from the jacuzzi so all that he saw was the one bare leg perched near the faucet. “Scully…” he crooned.

“What? Go grab yourself a coffee mug and bring the bottle with you!” She was smiling. Even though they decided to take their relationship to a new level, this still seemed so uncharacteristic of her. “Come on, Mulder. We’re on vacation.”

“I know we are,” he answered. He chose his next words carefully. “Weren’t you the one earlier who was concerned about our safety?”

“I’m not letting them get to me. Us. I was thinking about what you said earlier.”

“About telling your mom?”

“No. I want to try again when we get back to D.C.”

Mulder smiled and his concerns momentarily forgotten. “I’ll be right back.”

He went to the fridge, grabbed the open bottle, and a coffee mug from the fridge. She was smiling coyly at him. He topped off her coffee mug and shucked his jeans. In one fluid movement, he slid behind her and coiled his arms around her. “It’s a good thing you’re so small,” he teased. He kissed his favorite spot behind her ear. “Or else this w Scully lounged back into him. “I’ve been dreaming,” she whispered to him softly. She sipped the wine-filled coffee mug. “Don’t worry, it’s not any new past lives or anything.”

“I’m glad?”

She heard the question in his voice. “I am just thinking about this life and the last. Us. What could have been.”

Scully was always amazed how well they just worked together, either spiritually, or as she had discovered lately, physically as well. She sipped her wine. “Now or then,” he asked.

“Then. I still have a hard time believing it was real, Mulder.”

Together, they entwined their hands and caressed her flattened abdomen. He nuzzled her neck and closed his eyes. They both could remember those memories for the early 1860s, the joy of their unborn child, laying together, and dreaming about the future. “It was,” he replied. “And I don’t know how this whole past life thing works but we’ve been given a second chance.”

“By remembering?”

She turned her head in question and Mulder found her lips. “We’ll have that again.”

“Your faith is grounding.”

“Did you enjoy the lighthouse today?” He asked, changing the subject. “I was thinking why not tour all of them? We can drive back down to Cape Hatteras and climb the lighthouse there. Or drive an hour or so up to Corolla and climb the Currituck Lighthouse. And there are the ferries...Ocracoke, Knotts Island…”

“One day at a time, Mulder,” she laughed. “Today was Bodie Lighthouse. Tomorrow is Manteo. Tonight is this.”

“So,” he paused, setting aside both of the wine mugs. “Do you want to try to experiment and push the bounds of this fancy bathtub?”

“I bet you’re more effective than those water jets,” she challenged.

Mulder smiled and kissed her deeply. “I’ll get you to relax on this vacation.”

Scully just deepened the kiss and pulled him closer.

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

Further up the barrier islands in Duck, North Carolina, Franklin Buckley, and Alex Krycek were at a small pizzeria nestled in a small outcrop of shops. Over shared slices and bad beer, they talked. “I still don’t get it,” Krycek started. “Why is this so fucking important to you? Mulder is no one.”

“Your boss is interested in them,” Buckley shrugged. “As a result, I am too.”

“I read your file you know.”

“Hell, I was in the papers.”

“And this somehow makes you the best choice?” Krycek sneered. “I still don’t understand that smoking bastard’s logic. I know you were in the papers. There is a fucking manhunt on for you.”

“And yet they can’t touch me.” Buckley waved the soggy pizza in the air. “We’re having pizza.”

“Why did the old man pick you?”

“Alexi…”

“Alex.”

“Alex.” Buckley grinned. “Have you ever wanted revenge so badly that you would do anything? Take back what is rightfully yours?”

Krychek grew quiet. “I have.”

“Then this is no different. It’s all a matter of waiting. I made the smoker an offer he couldn’t refuse. Are you going to finish that pizza?”

“No.” Krycek was distracted. He pushed the plate towards Buckley with his right arm. “Go ahead.”

“Must suck having one arm but I’ll tell you, this pizza is better than anything they served in the joint.”

“What’s your plan?”

“You’ll see. In the meantime, it is all the matter of waiting and seeing.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Wait and see.”

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

Back in Nags Head, Scully stood on the deck with her arms around her. She watched the waves hit the shore as high tide came ashore. Mulder had run out earlier to pick up some dinner for them but, while he was gone, Skinner had called her cell phone with an update on the situation. While Buckley still had yet to be confirmed spotted, there had been an anonymous tip that Krycek was in league with Buckley. While the SACs of the branch offices were not as quick, Skinner was the one to make the connection. He hung up without giving Scully any orders to immediately return or what to do next. He promised to call her the next day if there had been any developments.

But this newest update from Skinner had left her uneasy. Their boss had danced around the possibility of recalling his two agents back from their vacation but had not stated anything directly. She watched the waves, memorized, and let her thoughts drift. This vacation of theirs was already turning south with each new update about Buckley. She was beginning to feel paranoid, like a haunting ghost on the edge of her vision. She sighed and looked up at the sky. The sun was setting behind her. Although she couldn’t see the sun at this point, it was already painting the sky in a brilliant canvas of colors and hues of reds, pinks, purples, and oranges. She tried to let herself get lost in the beauty of the moment but her anxiety grew worse.

She watched the last of the sun fade into darkness and went back into the beach house. Scully glanced at the green digital clock on the microwave and frowned when she read 7:13. Mulder should have been back by now. She tapped her knuckles lightly against each other to ward against the growing anxiety. She heard the main door unlock and his musical voice call, “Scully, I’m back! You’ll never guess what I picked up!”

She tried to refrain from clutching her pounding heart but failed. “Took you long enough!”

“I’m sorry, but you know how I get sometimes. Something catches my eyes and poof.”

She could hear him climbing the stairs, trying to juggle plastics takeout bags. He appeared, dropped the armload of food and a nondescript black plastic bag on the counter. He sneaked up behind her, kissed her, and whispered, “Miss me that much?”

She nodded, twisting her head to meet his kiss. “Always.”

He hummed and flexed around her. “You’re tense.”

“I spoke to Skinner earlier.” She tried to relax as she spoke. He hummed. “And I...let’s just discuss it tomorrow okay? We’ll lock the doors, keep our weapons nearby, and play it safe. Is that okay?”

“Whatever you say,” he whispered. “So, for dinner, I got us a surprise.”

“Dare I ask?”

He broke away but not before stealing another kiss. “We’re on the coast. You know the seafood is fresh. I literally just got it so you know it is good.”

“Get to point. Why were you late?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “I went up the strip a couple of miles and found this really cute place.”

“You just used the word cute.” She frowned teasingly, his lighter mood getting the best of her. “Did you find us china patterns?”

“That is a future date at the Alexandria farm market. I got us the best seafood.” He began to unpack the bags. “For starters, Agent Scully baked oysters.”

“An aphrodisiac, Mulder?”

He held up a finger to silence her. “Next, a course of shared soup, that is she-crab soup.” She laughed and hid her face. “Next, honestly I couldn’t decide between landlubbers and the sea, so a buffalo chicken wrap I think will heat up well tomorrow and a lovely scallop dinner…”

“I love scallops.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I got us a combo. Scallops and local shrimp with a salad and a baked potato. But, to answer your burning question, the reason why I took so long…” From his back pocket. She could hear the crinkling of a paper gift bag and he held out the mysterious wrapped package in the palm of his hand. “I saw this and immediately thought of you.”

“Mulder.”

With the food momentarily forgotten, she pulled off the paper and revealed a small velvet box. “You see, I can’t see you in another necklace than a cross or bracelets or rings but earrings...for sure.” She popped open the box and drew in a sharp breath. “Do you like them?”

“Mulder, these are beautiful.” She examined two fine little stud earrings with a sand dollars designed in the silver overlay. “Silver?”

“No, white gold.” He shrugged. “It was in this little kitschy shop run by a local artist who makes jewelry. I just thought.”

“I love them.” She awarded him with a kiss. “Thank you. In fact, I’ll put them on now just to show you.”

“You don’t have to. Besides, I know you well enough you will murder me first if I don’t feed you.”

“I am not that bad.” She closed the box and replied, “Thank you.”

“For what? Dinner or the earrings?”

“Everything.”

He pulled the plates and bowls down from the cabinet. Scully busied herself with fetching silverware and napkins, inwardly defeating the idea to tell Mulder about Skinner’s call until after dinner. He glanced out the window to the deck. “What about eating outside tonight?”

“Let’s eat at the breakfast island and then go outside. It was getting chilly while I was out there a while ago.”

He nodded and went to the radio in the living room. Mulder fiddled with the dial and settled on a classic rock station playing the Eagles. She set out dinner and he joined her. They silently sat next together over dinner. “So,” he asked, unsure of the silence, “what do you want to do tomorrow?”

She paused on the shrimp she was working on. “Skinner called while you were out,” she began. “Giving us an update. We got two SACs and field offices chasing this, along with Skinner, but no one has yet to confirm seeing Buckley aside from the fact they’ve flooded the airwaves with his picture. But there was an anonymous source that Krycek is involved.”

Mulder was quiet, cutting half of the baked potato. “Well, we both know the Smoker is involved. Morely’s were found on the site of his breakout.”

“I know,” she whispered. “He said he’ll update us again tomorrow and Skinner hasn’t ordered us back to Washington. Yet.”

“I sense a but coming, Scully.”

“But since we came down here, I can’t help but feel off or like we’re being watched or followed during all this.” She picked up her fork and dipped a scallop into the melted butter. “When we were at the lighthouse the other day…”

“You felt like we were being watched?”

She nodded, averting her gaze. “I know it doesn’t sound like me.”

“I trust your instincts, Scully.” He looked down at his own food. “And I got the same feeling too.”

“Our money would be gone.”

“But we would be safer.”

“As is our vacation.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I am not spending the rest of the two weeks we took off months in advance in an FBI safe house.”

“What would happen if we were closer for them to keep an eye on us? Skinner is in Norfolk right with the two SACs. Virginia Beach isn’t that far. I remember when we were there a few months ago hearing about Sandbridge. It was advertised to be like the Outer Banks without leaving Virginia. We could take the hit on the money and have the FBI pay for it.”

“Or get them to refund it and then pay for it. We’ve earned it at least.”

“I can’t agree more.” He sighed. “How do you want to play this, Scully.?”

“I want our vacation.”

“But?”

“I just can’t shake the feeling something is going to happen.”

Mulder rubbed his chin, forgetting he had melted butter all over his hands. She frowned and took a napkin, gently wiping it away. “Thanks. But back to your feelings,” he said. “I agree and have the same feeling.” He watched her reaction as she kept her face neutral like a poker player. “But I think we should consider our safety first.”

She nodded.

“What are you thinking,” he asked softly.

“That we can never catch a break. Let’s go outside after dinner and sit for a bit in the hammock. We can pack tomorrow after we call Skinner.” She sighed. “You know, I really was looking forward to having a real vacation with you.”

He nodded. “We can still have it,” he said.

“Can we? As I said, it feels like we can never catch a break.”

With the mood suddenly sourer, they both finished their meals and discarded the dishes. Scully hand-washed all the dishes they had been using, including the few sitting in the dishwasher. Mulder gathered a sweatshirt for her, two glasses, and the small bottle of aged rum he had purchased from them. She eyed the small liquor bottle. “I’m sorry, Mulder to be the downer of the party.”

He shook his head and walked over to her. He trapped her between the counter and his arms. She sighed, wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested her head against his chest. He smiled at her open display of affection. “You’re never the downer at a party.”

“I never told you about my first and last high school party.”

“Well, how about we part-tay outside to that hammock for one night and you can tell me. I’ll bring the booze.”

Scully chuckled. “What would my father say?”

“Hang and quarter him on the yardarm?”

“Aye,” she teased. She kissed him. “Help, I’ve been charmed by a pirate from New England who thought I was a mermaid.”

“That is terrible,” he whispered. They both smiled. “But more of an angel than a mermaid.”

“Let’s go outside. High tide was just coming in when I was out there earlier.”

Scully pulled on the sweatshirt he had brought her and the two glasses and the liquor bottle. Mulder followed behind her, turning out most of the lights as he did. She sat on the hammock like a big lounge chair and made room for him. She rocked it gently as Mulder eased himself next to her. “Let me do the swinging,” he told her. “My legs are longer.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

Scully poured them both a drink and held up his. She chinked the glasses together. “To our vacation being ruined.”

“Well, if it weren’t for the x-files, we wouldn’t be here and I don’t regret a second of it with you.”

“Fox Mulder the sentimental,” she whispered lovingly. Mulder wrapped his arm tightly around her and she chuckled. “I love you.”

He smiled and whispered, “Not a single second.” His long legs began to rock them. “We’re going to be okay.”

She nodded absently. She rested against his arm and listened to the ocean. “We’ll go back to Virginia tomorrow.”

“I’ll tell Skinner to make plans to keep us in Virginia Beach.”

“And get us a beach house. I’m not staying in a motel.”

“Won’t argue with that.”

She sighed. “Fucking Buckley.”

“Fucking Buckley,” he agreed.

“So, it’s settled?”

“Yes. I’ll make the call. Right now, let’s just enjoy the beach.”

He nodded and rocked the hammock with his long legs as she closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment with Mulder.

#false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #txf fic #txf #msr #msr fic #case fic #fox mulder #scully #mulder and scully on vacation

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vampyr-boyfriend · 6 years ago

Text

RED ICE - Ch 16

Characters: Connor x Reader, Hank, Gavin

Warnings: Death of a loved one, Smut

Words: 2,616

RED ICE Masterlist

You took in a deep shuddering breath, trying to breathe, trying to pull any amount of oxygen into your body. The front door opened and Connor was quickly at your side his arms replacing Gavin’s around you. He was holding your cell phone.

“What-” you sniffled and wiped at your eyes. “What’s wrong?” you asked him. Of course you’d want to know what was going on with Connor, despite the turmoil you were in right now.

The android kissed you on the cheek and offered you the phone.

“It’s your father.”

Chapter Sixteen - Why is Everything so Heavy?

They found his body hanging from a stoplight in, the word TRAITOR carved into his bare chest. His eyes were missing and when they cut the strings that held his mouth closed, they discovered that his tongue had been cut out as well. There was a roll of paper where it should have been that read “No one leaves”.

This was Viselli’s signature, or at the very least, the signature that his men use when he sends them to murder anyone who tries to get out from under him. Viselli likes to ensure that everyone who works for him knows that the only way out is in a body bag.

The murder case was transferred to the FBI and your parents were informed of your brother’s unfortunate demise. It had been your father who called to tell you the bad news, and at the worst possible time, too. You’d spoken with him on the phone only briefly, just long enough for him to tell you that Colt was dead, and then you cried and cried and cried into Connor’s shoulder. He, Gavin, and Hank were all there for you, making sure you got the love and comfort you so desperately needed as well as water to keep you hydrated.

When you finally had no more tears to shed, your throat was raw, and your eyes were bloodshot and drooping with exhaustion, you were able to tell Connor what had happened and that your family had no intention of holding any sort of funeral or memorial service for their disappointment of a son. That meant that the responsibility of providing your beloved brother with a proper funeral fell on your already heavy shoulders. Luckily, you weren’t alone. Hank didn’t hesitate to offer his assistance, followed quickly by Gavin and Connor. You were in enough pain as it was; you didn’t need to deal with the stresses of funeral planning right now.

And so you let your friends do it for you.

Sunday, March 13, 2039 // 1:04pm // Highland Cemetery

A gentle snow fell from a clouded grey sky, the soft icicles sticking to your hair and lashes. Gnarled trees were dotted here and there, their bare branches reaching in all directions. They stood like sentinels over the sea of gravestones. A chill late-winter breeze whispered through the cemetery and you shivered. Connor held you close to him with an arm around your waist, trying to provide comfort and warmth in this trying time.

While the FBI took a week to examine your brother’s body for evidence, Hank was busy planning his funeral. He and Gavin had both taken time off, despite Fowler’s disagreement, in order to help you through what was most likely the worst time of your life.

You had become distant, pushing your friends away when they tried to offer comfort. Not even Connor could get through to you when you decided to close yourself off. This prompted Hank to try and explain grief to Connor. The android began to understand as soon as his friend compared it to the fear he felt when he woke in the burn unit’s observation room to find you missing. He thought you’d died. Once the fear subsided, it was replaced with emptiness. He was sure that was what you were feeling, or rather, not feeling right now. Empty. Hollow.

Connor looked at the beautiful casket before him, the dark ebony of the wood in stark contrast to the blanket of white snow it sat upon. The casket was closed. You’d insisted on seeing your brother, but when Hank informed Connor of the state he was in, the android had refused. He didn’t want your last memory of your only blood sibling to be tainted by empty eye sockets and a marred up chest.

You were staring blankly at the hole that the casket was sitting next to, unseeing as those gathered stood in a peaceful, respectful silence around you. Not that there were very many gathered at all; it was just Hank, Connor, and Gavin. Fowler pulled their police escorts when they went against his wishes and flew to Wyoming to attend your brother’s funeral. Clearly, he didn’t care if his detectives got shot by Viselli’s men. But then again, why would he? He’s Viselli’s mole.

Connor rubbed circles on your waist to try and get your attention.

“Would you like to say a few words?” he asked, voice deafening in the silence of the winter scene.

You shook your head. You hadn’t spoken in nearly three days. Why would you now? After another few moments of silence, a heavy sigh escaped your lips and you turned your attention to the somber pallbearers. With a reluctant nod, you signaled for them to lower your brother down into his grave. You watched with tearless eyes as the men did their job and the black casket disappeared down into the earth.

You weren’t crying. You had no more tears to shed. You were just numb.

Shrugging out of Connor’s grasp, you turned to leave. The android caught your arm, then intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Please don’t push me away,” he whispered.

Thankfully, you didn’t pull away from him, but instead let him once again wrap an arm around your waist and lead you to your rented car.

“You two goin’ back to the hotel?” Hank asked, and Connor turned to see his friend behind him, looking rather downcast. You had already ducked into the passenger’s seat and closed your door. Connor nodded in response. “Alright. I’m gonna go find a bar,” the Lieutenant said as he made his way toward his own rented vehicle.

“I’ll go with him. Make sure he gets back to the hotel safely later,” Gavin chimed in.

Connor nodded and Reed clapped him gently on the shoulder before he hopped in Hank’s car.

You slid your keycard into the slot on your hotel room door, then pushed it open and stepped inside. Connor took your coat and you kicked off your shoes. Then, you just stood there in the middle of the room, queen-sized bed to your right, television to your left.

“We were gonna meet, you know,” you said quietly and Connor came up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I told him to wait. I told him not to try and get away. He didn’t listen. He never listens…”

You twisted around in Connor’s grasp and returned the hug, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“I don’t know what I would have done without you guys,” you whispered, then kissed his neck, as soft as a butterfly’s wing. “I couldn’t have done any of this on my own.” Another soft kiss was placed an inch above the first. “My parents are lowlifes, disowning Colt like that. He was just trying to make it in a world that doesn’t favor anyone.” Your hand snaked around to Connor’s front and you nimbly loosened his tie.

He knew what you were doing. His LED flashed yellow as he commanded the speaker in the corner to play music, and suddenly a soft melody was drifting through the warm air of the hotel room.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked. “You’re in a very emotional state right now. I don’t want to do anything that you’re going to regret later.”

You removed your head from his neck and brought your lips to his, kissing him softly and slowly as you pulled his tie from his neck.

“To be honest,” you said, pulling back. “I’m surprised we haven’t done this already.”

“As long as you’re sure,” the android replied, fingers pulling down the zipper on the back of your dress.

The kiss you shared now wasn’t like the ones you’d shared before. Before, they were hungry, passionate, possessive. Now, you kissed Connor slowly and sweetly, and if he didn’t know any better, he might think you were made of vanilla and cinnamon.

“I can feel…” you breathed as his kisses moved to your jaw. “...you. I can feel you.”

He slipped your dress from your shoulders and pulled it slowly down your body, kissing and touching as he went. Wherever his fingers or lips found your skin, the synthetic material retracted, allowing the white plastic underneath to peek through.

“Connor, I-”

The android looked up when he reached your hips, kissing your stomach just above the waistband of your panties. Your eyes were closed, brows furrowed.

“Are you not enjoying this?” he asked.

“No, I- I can feel you,” you repeated.

He helped you step out of your dress and rose to stand before you once more. Your top half was bare before him and he trailed his fingers over your collarbones, watching as your skin fled from his fingertips and then returned when they moved on.

“Tell me,” Connor said, bringing your right hand up to his lips so that he could pepper kisses along your knuckles.

“What do you feel?” he asked.

Your eyes were still closed, but the crease between your brow was replaced by a soft smile as you reached up with your prosthetic arm to undo the buttons on his dress shirt.

“Love,” was your reply, and a stray tear found its way past your eyelids and down your cheek. The android kissed it, tasting the salt of the fragile tear on his tongue.

Connor knew what you were talking about. He had been talking with Kamski before you had woken up, and the android was given a theory that he didn’t get the chance to ask about. Now, he had his answer. Every ghosting touch of his fingertips, every kiss… he could feel you. Not just physically, but deeper than that. He could feel your emotions. He could feel your pain and your sorrow, your grief, your confusion, your distress… your love. Each touch offered him a new emotion. Your emotion. He wasn’t just feeling you physically. He was feeling you on a level deeper than he ever thought possible.

The android shrugged his jacket off and let it fall to the floor. You pulled his dress shirt off, tossing it into the pile. You watched in awe as you ran your fingers over his chest, the skin disappearing and reappearing. You closed your eyes once more as you explored his body and he did the same to yours.

“I need you, Connor,” you whispered into the crook of his neck.

He didn’t hesitate to guide you over to the bed and push you gently down onto it. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He undid his belt and trousers and slid them and his boxers off, leaving him bare before your gaze. You reached your prosthetic hand out to him and he took it, twisting your fingers together as his other hand slid your panties down your legs.

He crawled on top of you, lips finding yours eagerly as he pinned your hand beside your head, white plastic on white plastic. You wrapped your legs around his hips as he nestled in between them, his member finding a comfortable place between your already slick folds. You trailed your fingers gingerly up and down his back, and he did his best to think about how much he loves you with the hope that you would be able to feel it in your fingertips.

He rocked gently forward and you let out a breathy sigh as your head fell back. He kissed down your neck and along your collarbone, then nibbled at your pulse point. Your heart was racing and all of the desire you felt for him in that moment was transferred through your hands, still grasped firmly together. It served to drive him forward, knowing how badly you wanted him in this moment.

“I love you Connor,” you whispered as his cockhead brushed over your clit and you arched your back.

His free hand was roaming all over your body, feeling everything that he possibly could. “I love you too. You have no idea how much I love you.”

He slid his fingers down your leg, unwrapping it from around his waist to grant him access to what space was left between your bodies. His length was coated in your slick and he played at your entrance with his cockhead before you whined at him to stop teasing you. With a smile, he inserted himself inside you, only the first inch or two, and began shallow thrusts to ready you as his thumb circled around your clit.

He could feel your need, your passion. Slowly, he leaned forward, burying himself inside of you as his lips connected with yours once more. He moaned into your mouth, the feeling of your walls hugging his cock unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. You were warm and soft and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this for the rest of eternity, until all the stars in the sky died out and there was nothing left of the earth.

The soft kiss became hungrier as Connor began to thrust into you, bottoming out. He lifted your hips in an effort to hit your sweet spot. From the soft moans of pleasure escaping past your lips to be swallowed up by the kiss and the feel of your lust beneath his fingertips, he guessed he was doing a good job at pleasing you.

Finally, he released the hand that he’d had pinned beside your head to knead at your breast. You groaned and squirmed beneath him. Your touch gave away how close you were. When you were like this, interfacing with one another in such a way, he was able to read you like an open book.

He felt everything.

Your desire was his desire. Your love, his love, your pain, his pain.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he kissed you hard, tongues dancing together inside your mouths. You were hurting, and you needed him to help take away the pain, even if for only a moment. A wave of sorrow washed over him as you felt fresh grief at the loss of your brother. Connor was stronger than you right now, however, and he was able to replace the pain with love.

He could feel your climax coming fast and his was soon to follow. He shifted his position, still holding your hips up, and was finally able to hit that spot deep inside of you that had you coming undone. You came with a loud gasp followed by a long, low moan as your body shuddered and twitched. The muscles in your abdomen contracted and you curled into Connor. He held you tight as he allowed himself his own release, the feel of your walls squeezing around his member enough to make him boil over.

Artificial seed spilled from his cock as he twitched inside of you, each movement making you spasm and moan. It was a surreal experience - completely unprecedented. Not only did he get to feel his own climax, but yours as well. It was almost too much for the poor android to bear and he collapsed on top of you. You were breathing heavily as you came down from your high, clutching him close. No words were exchanged as you lay there, simply reveling in the feel of your bodies pressed together. In this moment, you were connected to each other in a way that no two humans could ever connect. You could feel each other in a way no one else could. Your emotion was his. His emotion was yours.

In this moment, you were one.

@ghistwrite @rk800downloading @deviantconnorarmy @glitch-girl318 @chichiguitarist123 @into-the-stratosphere @fandomblitch @chocolattaee @projectcherry12 @urban-eagle @padme4000 @datweirdname @ipostcoolthingssometimes @ecnelovelamm @derpydanandphil @thecrazybluefangirl @pickelope @pokengirl2 @berjhawn @0-why-do-i-exist-0 @fandoms4everyone @cool-haleychapman @trashytwenties @piemeadows @haikyuu-imagines-and-others @layinglonely @peter-maximoff-trash @i-resent-this-hellsite @poodlegods @astridstark13 @havanbcby @hello-i-make-bad-decisions @qtmeryr @thothandstarlord @hundefrau @negotiator-on-site @nikkidawnlight @lizzietheizzie @sinviix @tropfenlady

#dbh fanfiction #detroit become human fanfiction #RED ICE #dbh connor x female reader #detroit become human connor x female reader

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lordmo · 7 years ago

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dug out from the docs I wrote at my last job, a half-baked idea I had for a 2d arena fighter where guns were a major component, with every character having melee and gun modes. Set in the 1920s-30s USA. Every character is an assassin, but (most of them) with an alibi. Rough character ideas:

Cowboy (main character)

GUN: Pump-action shotty

GIMMICK: Slings around a pair of horseshoes on ropes as a bola, a rope dart, or a kusarigama as needed.

Black farmhand from Colorado.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Drags the opponent off into the night behind a horse.

Singer

GUN: Machine pistol

GIMMICK: Deals with hitherto-unseen piano wire lines as projectiles and traps.

Half-black half-white singer from Memphis (though possibly working out of Harlem, not sold), with all the social bullshit surrounding that.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Leaves the opponent hanging, strung up like a fly in a spider’s web, but it’s piano wire and they’re sliced to shit.

Detective

GUN: .38 service revolver

GIMMICK: Just one helluva slugger who relies on dodging and swaying like a boxer

Drunk-ass white guy from Beverly Hills. Two-fisted and paranoid.

CINEMATIC FINISH: leaves the opponent tied up in a car which “accidentally” loses its’ brakes and goes off the end of a pier

Strongman

GUN: Browning Automatic Rifle

GIMMICK: Big motherfucker with a big gun and deadly grapples

Huge Polish circus attraction with the classic “Strongman” look. His stage is set in Indiana.

CINEMATIC FINISH: drops a god damn boulder on the wounded opponent in the woods

Soldier

GUN: Appropriate WWI-era carbine or troop rifle

GIMMICK: He has a bayonet and is really good at rushdowns and switching between ranged and melee

Canadian wanderer (white) who wears a military helmet with the back blown out, letting his hair flow out of the back. Fought in Ohio or thereabouts.

CINEMATIC FINISH: ties the opponent up in the wilderness, lights one cigarette for himself, one for the opponent, and another for seemingly nobody. Then, in silhouette he slashes their gut open and leaves them for the wolves.

Socialite

GUN: Webley revolver

GIMMICK: Cane sword, which he uses for fencing combos

Posh white dickhead with a masquerade mask and a tuxedo, operating out of Miami. I probably don’t need to tell you that he’s a serial killer.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Socialite expertly dices the opponent apart in the middle of a ballroom, while jaded rich people in opera masks watch the “exhibition”

Businessman

GUN: Sawed-off double barrel shotgun

GIMMICK: He’s slow, but he can switch to a very, very devastating axe with his off-hand.

Portly black fellow from New Orleans. Wears a tweed suit minus the jacket.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Pan away, pan back to screams as someone encounters a mysterious, bloody burlap sack left on the stairs of a local club.

Dock Worker

GUN: Mauser C96 knockoff with a red tassle, Chinese military-style.

GIMMICK: The red tassle conceals a short chain with a blade on the end, and also the Mauser comes with its attachable stock/holster for extra Melee bullshit. Also, can take an immobile kneeling stance with 8-way fire when the stock is attached.

Tomboyish Chinese woman wearing an ill-fitting men’s suit. Based out of San Francisco.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Hidden backup with bigass cleavers show-up and Dock Worker is shown feeding the fish with the opponent.

Flapper

GUN: Ruby Pistol. She carries a LOT of them.

GIMMICK: Potato masher grenades, which are great for both improvised bludgeons AND projectiles.

As the name suggests, she’s a total Flapper Fanny type - and also kinda homage to Ethel Hays in her manner of speech - based out of New York

CINEMATIC FINISH: never got one oops lol

Fortune Teller

GUN: long-barreled Colt .45 (not quite a Buntline)

GIMMICK: Throwing glass beads to create explosions and etc., plus backdashes with her “conjuring” her gun seemingly out of nowhere.

Romani wanderer who claims no homeland, but her stage is in Texas.

CINEMATIC FINISH: same as Flapper

Vigilante

GUN: Colt 1911x2

GIMMICK: John Woo-style action hero, diving and dashing and cartwheeling every which way.

Lantern-jawed white guy in a trenchcoat and domino mask. Works out of Chicago.

Actual alibi-profession is owner of a newspaper.

CINEMATIC FINISH: leaves the opponent tied up and hung from a lamp post, a la Batman.

Stuntman

GUN: LeMat Revolver

GIMMICK: Keeps a rapier in his offhand at all times, plus he has an artificial leg that contains a shotgun.

Strapping tough white guy (though secretly half-Puerto Rican) with a cleft chin. Fights out of Hollywood.

CINEMATIC FINISH: The opponent is the “tragic” casualty of an “accidental” fire on an overly elaborate movie set.

MAGICIAN

GUN: Mars Pistol

GIMMICK: Teleportation and varying magic tricks (like doves with knives taped to their feet)

Italian or Slavic man (haven’t decided) who is currently performing in Philly.

CINEMATIC FINISH: Basically a horror death-trap of some description where the opponent is trapped in an enclosed area and Magician pulls a lever and SURPRISE, the opponent dies horribly in some manner.

THE KID

Gun: Tommy Gun

Gimmick: Lots of belly flops, evades, and crawls.

Short Mexican man, fought in Texas. Wears a way-too-baggy suit and, as his name indicates, he’s barely 20. Current cover business is import-exports.

Never got a cinematic finish

SEMI-BOSS: “Numbers”

GUN: Semi-auto pistol (browning, beretta, whatever’s appropriate at the time)

GIMMICK: Has a hook hand, which he uses for some fucking NASTY grapples. Has a devastating bullet-evading dash.

Bespectacled German guy with a high-and-tight trenchcoat-and-fedora look. Fought in the backwoods of Georgia.

Same as above.

SEMI-BOSS: “Big Guy”

GUN: Browning Heavy Machine Gun, barely modified as to be holdable.

GIMMICK: Big, slow, soaks up damage, fires fast, hits like a goddamn juggernaut.

Towering Native-American guy wearing a crude heavy metal bulletproof vest. Fought in Nevada.

CINEMATIC FINISH: the idea was a sky burial but I’m not so sure anymore

SEMI-BOSS: Sharpshooter

GUN: Lever-action rifle

GIMMICK: Has a lasso at her disposal to reposition the enemy, plus ricochet shots and a kneeling stance.

Short white girl in an over-elaborate dress and huge cowboy hat. Part of a traveling circus currently stationed in Wyoming.

also her personality gimmick is that she doesn’t give a fuck about money or revenge or justice or anything, she’s chomping at the bit to test her showy marksmanship abilities in a real combat situation

CINEMATIC FINISH: Sharpshooter tosses a bottle in the air, turns her back, closes her eyes, and leans her rifle over her shoulder. She blows the neck off the bottle perfectly, letting it land flat and spill its contents as the opponent falls backwards into an open, shallow grave. The show carries on.

SECRET BOSS: Undertaker

GUN: sawed-off single-shot rifle.

GIMMICK: Super armor on some moves, disturbingly long-ranged melee attack specials (see: Freeman from Garou), and he can reflect bullets with his shovel.

Totally stereotypical “ghoulish” guy with the cloak, hunched-over physique, deathly pallor, ratty crooked hat, all of that business. Donno where he fights.

CINEMATIC FINISH: what do you think, genius. It involves an open grave.

BOSS: never settled on one lol sorryyyy

Other ideas involved a big game hunter with a double rifle, a circus acrobat with a bull whip in some capacity, a travelling chef (please let your imagination take that concept to another level), and a death-obsessed olympic pistol target shooter who did low damage but could tap the FUCK outta that fire button.

#mo's brain vomit parade

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rockerdestiel13 · 7 years ago

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Character Spotlight: Foxi Hoyt

Appearance

Foxi is approx. 5 foot 4 inches with a slender yet muscular build. She is often described by her cousin, Courtney, has having strong shoulders and hips. Her hair is cropped short and is dark brown, bordering on black. Her eyes are the same colour though often flashing amber depending on the light source. She is fair skinned with a dusting of light freckles on her cheek bones and across the bridge of her nose. Her skin is far from flawless as the scars from many hunts cover her body. Across her lower back with an enochian tattoo made to keep her invisible to Angels. At the center of this tattoo is the Anti Possession symbol. The whole tattoo is in black ink. Foxi normally wears boot cut jeans with a fitted tee, often featuring something from one of her favourite rock bands. Her absolute favourite shirt being a black halter top that has the Metallica logo on it. When she goes out, Foxi always wears a slightly faded black leather bikers jacket and black leather boots. Despite her rocker chick appearance, many guys have tried to pick her up but she’s turned them all down. As a hunter she doesn’t have the time or will to deal with a relationship or to pull anyone else into the life. She can be a hard ass most times but really cares about other people. She often hides from most things behind a mask of sass, sarcasm, flirting and beer.

When driving from case to case, Foxi is always behind the wheel of a 1968 Shelby Cobra GT500KR that she affectionately calls Babe. The car was given to her by her grandfather when she was sixteen after she had helped restore the car. As a hunter now, she has made modifications to the car including a small library in the trunk which also functions as ammo storage when the small bookcases are turned around. The trunk also has a false bottom that when you open it, reveals all the weapons that she uses on hunts.

(this is the car she drives)

Weapons

As a hunter, Foxi has a large arsenal of weapons at her disposal. Her favourite weapons include a white bone handled machete with protection runes engraved into the metal. A black sawed-off with rock salt rounds and witch killing rounds, and an angel blade. Her favourite weapon is a silver Colt M1911A1 with a white bone inlay in the grip. The gun had enochian engraved on the barrel and fires .45 caliber rounds. The rounds are custom made by Foxi by plating regular bullets in the metal from a melted down Angel Blade. She has around 1500 of these custom bullets with a single blade able to plate approx. 300 bullets. The tips of these bullets are plated with a silver/Angel Blade alloy, making the same bullets capable of killing werewolves. She keeps this gun on her person at all times, usually tucked into the back of her jeans.

(this is her gun, minus the engravings)

Powers

As a human. Foxi doesn’t have any special powers. She does however use a form of divination when she speaks with Babe. Her subconscious has developed a seperate persona for the car and personality that she often consults when she is unsure of what to do. She just passes this off though as just talking her thoughts out to herself. It is unsure whether Foxi knows she has this skill or if it just naturally happens.

Weaknesses

As a human, Foxi doesn’t have particular weakness. What can kill other humans can also kill her.

Past

Foxi was born April 24th 1981 to Dianna and Markus Hoyt in Port Hope Ontario. Her mother would read her myths and legends about monsters that would terrorize the public and brave heroes that would stop them. Life seemed perfect in her family. Until one night, just after Foxi turned 5 years old, a pair of thieves broke into their home while her father was out on a midnight shift. Foxi heard them moving on the main floor and heard something break. She was so scared she started to cry. This alerted the thieves that someone was home and her mother ran into her room to protect her. One of the men grabbed a large kitchen knife and slit the back of her mother’s neck, killing her. They laughed before her crying annoyed them and they knocked her unconscious.

Her father came home an hour later to find his wife murdered over his daughters unconscious body and he called 911. When Foxi woke up she was in the hospital, her dad sat in the corner looking grey and cold. The only thing he said to her in the hospital was that her mother was dead and it was her fault. Back at home, life went on, but there was no love. Her father stayed cold towards her, looking at her like if she hadn’t been born then her mother would still be alive. And slowly over time, Markus became an alcoholic. Trying to drown his grief over his wife’s death. He also became steadily violent with Foxi, beating her when she cried and threatening her with a knife. Foxi soon learned the hard way that he father was gone and he didn’t love her, showing any kind of affection towards him often lead to a busted lip. She secluded herself from everyone and spent her time at home in her room.

Just before her 7th birthday though, things took a darker turn. Her father was near constantly drunk and Foxi made the mistake of being in view of him when he threw a glass bottle at the wall next to her. She screamed as it shattered. This enraged her father as he grabbed the bottle and reached for her. Foxi tried to get away but his hand was firm as he grabbed her pjs. She cried out in terror as her father used the bottle to cut open the back of her neck. Much in a way that the thieves that night did to her mother. He growled at her that her mother’s death was all her fault. That it was her fault she died and her own fault that this was happening to her. He tossed her into her room, her head cracking against the wall and knocking her out. It was the start of the end for her. Her father would constantly cut her whenever he saw her, alway favouring the back of her neck. She learned how to clean and dress the wounds on her own and would always wear clothes that would hide the cuts as the abuse continued for the next 3 years.

It didn’t change until one of her teachers in 5th grade saw one of the scars. They called child services on her father and Foxi was pulled from his custody and moved to the only other family she had. Her aunt Shannon and her husband Dmitri along with her cousin Courtney in Colorado. The first few years of living with them, Foxi kept herself cut off and often had nightmares about her father finding her and killing her. Though when she grew into a teenager, her grandfather showed her a car he was restoring and she fell in love with it. The two of them working on restoring the old car. He used it was a focal point to bring Foxi out of her shell and she ended up getting along great with her cousin. They both read the lore of monsters and other things.

When Foxi turned 16 and got her license her grandfather gave her the car they had been restoring. Later on when Foxi was 22, her and Courtney caught wind of a weird death in there town. A man had been shot with a silver bullet. When only a week before they had noticed a weird but attractive man asking people questions. They managed to connect the dots that the man was a werewolf and both decided to use their knowledge to help other people. They left home and moved to a loft apartment near the edge of a small town in Nevada. They worked to make the place like a fortress for the supernatural, setting down devil’s traps, silver, and a whole mess of other things so what they hunted couldn’t get in. Foxi would often leave Courtney at the loft for research when she needed it and Foxi would drive around the country hunting the things that go bump in the night. She uses the hunts to bury the effects her past has had on her. Often showing others the compassion and care that she was denied in childhood.

#ocspotlight #Foxi Hoyt

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whispersandwhiskerburn · 8 years ago

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Just Another Case: Part 1

Summary: Dean gets a voicemail that Sam is in trouble. When he rushes to try and help, he finds some trouble of his own with a Reader who might be too much for him to handle. Pairing: AU—Mechanic!Dean x FBI Agent!Reader Word Count: 4,050 Warnings: Some tense angsty moments but this part is SFW. Author’s Note: Buckle up, bitches. :D This is part one of my second SPN series, and my first ever AU fanfic—which I’m turning into a 15 part series with fluff, angst, and smut. Go big or go home, right? Included in this fic is a prompt for Lau’s AU Funny Quote Challenge to celebrate @dancingalone21’s reaching 2k followers: “Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers” with Dean x Reader. This also celebrates my one year mark of writing fanfic on this blog (thanks for those who have encouraged me over the last 12 months)! *Tagging Note: Since this series is so different from most of what I write, I made a separate tag list from my forevers; if you would like to join this tag list send me an ASK and mention the JAC series instead of my Forevers list. Okay, that’s it. Enjoy and please leave feedback!

The Just Another Case Masterpost

Part 1: Dean POV

Dean?

It’s Sam. I’m, uh…I’m in trouble.

Dean stopped his routine of undressing and kicking off his work boots, his hand gripping the cell phone tighter as he listened to the voicemail.

I’m okay right now, but I’m worried about Jess. That case that made the news, the one we talked about last week? Well…things aren’t as simple as I thought.

Dean froze as Sam’s voice stopped. He held his breath, hoping that wasn’t the end of the message.

Look, I’m not going to sugar-coat this. Someone’s dirty. And they’re framing me. And it has something to do with this case with Crowley. I don’t know all the details yet, but from what I’ve seen he might be out soon, and he’s made enough threats against me that…well, I’m going to do some digging. I’m not letting this go.

I can’t let this go.

But I can’t let Jess be hurt because of me.

Dean turned, grabbing his keys and wallet from the table, already headed out the door before the message finished, his eyes on the lovingly restored 1967 Impala he’d inherited when his Dad had died in a collision with an 18-wheeler.

I need you to make sure she’s safe. And to get in contact with a friend, someone I trust. She’ll help. Y/N went to school with Jess and I a few years back. She’s a fed now. Her number is XXX-XXXX.

I’m dumping my phone, Dean. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t come looking for me—you might lead someone else my way. Just… look after Jess.

Love you, man.

Oh hell, no. Dean hadn’t been too close with Sam growing up—the kid had been nerdy and awkward, and the age difference was enough that they didn’t hang out all the time. But they’d both put in more effort to be closer in the past few years, after Sam had graduated from Stanford Law and Mom had died from cancer.

They were the only Winchesters left after all.

But as close as they were, they didn’t go in for mushy chick flick moments like that—it just wasn’t their style.

Dean hit the redial button but immediately got the tone that preceded the “We’re sorry. The phone number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service” message and hung up. He tried Jess’s cell, but it just rang and rang. It never even went to voicemail.

Dean threw the phone to the passenger side and peeled out of his driveway, leaving some tire marks behind. The distance between his place and the little bungalow Sam and Jess had moved into was a little over two hours of highway.

He’d make it there in one.

Dean was struggling to find “cool” and “calm” as he turned onto Sam’s road. It had been a little over an hour, and he’d listened to that damn voicemail twice since the first time. He still had no clue what was going on, and he was honestly afraid of what he would find, because the time stamp on the damn recording was four hours ago.

A lot could happen in four hours.

And he couldn’t get Jess or Sam on the damn phone.

He had yet to call the fed that Sam had told him to—he’d worry about that after he’d made sure his future sister-in-law was safe.

Please let her be safe. If anything happened to Jess… Sam would never recover.

He hard-braked his car on the curb, the driveway full with Jess’s yellow Jeep and a car Dean didn’t recognize. Sam’s Mustang was nowhere to be seen.

Dean felt like ice was in his veins. With slightly numb fingers, he opened the glovebox and pulled out his Colt M1911. He’d bought the thing and gotten a license to carry concealed after his car restoration garage had been broken into for the third time. He’d trained on it—his dad had been in the Marines, and Dean had been around guns his whole life—but he never thought he’d have to use it in this situation.

He approached the house with the gun held down by his side, the spare key Sam had given him in his hand. His heart was pounding so loud in his ears, he honestly couldn’t tell if anyone was inside. A light was on in the main room though, and when he paused beside the unfamiliar car, a dark blue Charger, the hood was slightly warm.

Whomever the stranger was, he or she hadn’t been here long.

Dean let out a deep breath, taking the last few steps up the steps and onto the porch at a slight jog. He used his free hand to unlock the door, his palm already sweating on the ivory handle of the gun.

He tucked the key back into his pocket, wiped his hand quickly before releasing the safety and gripping the pistol the way his father had taught him. The adrenaline was pumping, and he wanted to yell for Sam and Jess, but he tried to move softly through the carpeted hallway. If someone unwanted was here, one of the people who had been threatening his brother, Dean would do what it took to keep what was left of his family safe.

Whatever it took.

He headed for the living and kitchen area—they had an open set up in the center of the house, and that’s where the light was coming from. He heard a low voice coming from the room. Jess. She sounded worried.

Dean’s hand was shaking slightly, and he steadied it. There was no time for nerves. He was at the entrance, his eyes adjusting to the bright light. Jess was there.

She was alive. Standing at the kitchen table with her back to him. She was alone, her hand held up to ear, probably on the phone. Dean was too concerned with where the driver of the other vehicle was to listen to what she was saying. His eyes scanned the corners, worried someone was hiding there.

Then he felt a cold barrel against the back of his skull.

“Drop it, or I’ll drop you.”

Jess spun around at the sound of the woman’s voice behind him, the woman who was holding a gun to his head.

Her eyes widened as she took in the scene and Dean weighed his options. Dean slowly raised his hands, the gun aimed upwards.

The woman, and possible hit-man, prodded the hard metal into the base of his neck. “I said drop it, Ace. That means on the floor, not in the air.”

Dean shot Jess a look, trying to see if she was hurt; he didn’t want to get shot, especially not right in front of her, but giving up his gun seemed like the dumbest move at the moment.

Jess seemed shocked out of her silence at Dean’s look and took a step forward, “Dean? Dean! Y/N, no! Don’t shoot him. That’s Dean, Sam’s brother.”

Y/N? The fed Sam had asked him to call?

Dean lowered his gun slowly, willing to trust Jess’s identification and Sam’s message for the moment, even if that gun was still jabbing at the skin on his neck and the hairs were still standing at attention on his arms and nape. He safetied the weapon then dropped it the last three feet from the bottom of his arm to the ground.

He felt the gun at the back of his head move, and he breathed out a sigh of relief, throwing Jess a smile.

The relief vanished as he was twisted and spun from behind, pushed up against the wall while small hands patted his shoulders, his sides, feeling through the leather jacket he wore.

“Hey, sweetheart, watch the hands.” Dean pushed away from the wall and went to turn and face the cop behind him, but he felt a forearm against his spine, pushing him forward again while the other hand patted his waistband, searching for another weapon.

“Y/N, stop.” Jess was there now, right next to Dean and the as-yet unseen Y/N. The hand on Dean’s hip and the arm across his back were removed and Dean swiveled to see Sam’s spitfire of a fiancé holding the arm and shoulder of a woman with icy eyes.

Dean’s first impression of her, other than noticing her short stature in comparison to him (which, let’s face it, was true of most women) and the holster strapped to her hip with the black gun he presumed had just been aimed at him, was that this woman wasn’t one who would take crap from anyone.

“Y/N, this is Sam’s brother, Dean. We’ve talked to you about him before—hell the two of you are supposed to be best man and maiden of honor in a few months.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in question. He should have paid more attention to the wedding planning emails Jess had sent him.

Jess blushed, “this wasn’t exactly how I wanted you to meet.”

Dean smiled at Jess’s blushing face—he knew she hated that involuntary reaction. Mostly he was just relieved that his favorite soon-to-be sister-in-law was safe. She was still in her professional dress outfit—something the art museum she curated insisted on, though Dean knew she preferred baking in bare feet, a t-shirt, and jeans over briefcases, dress pants, and heels.

He tried to turn the smile towards the cop next to her, but the expression on her face was still not very friendly, and Dean held off extending a hand to shake. With the look she was giving him, she might chop the thing off. She crossed her arms over her navy FBI bulletproof vest, her matching pants going all the way down long legs and ending with a pair of combat boots.

“This is Dean Winchester, huh?” Dean straightened, giving her a slow flirty smile he figured would tick the Ice Queen off and nodded. “What were you doing breaking in here armed? Or, an even more important question, do you know where your brother is?”

Dean dropped the smile and looked to the floor to see his gun, stooped to grab it and tuck it in his waistband. “I didn’t break in, sweetheart. I have a key. And no, I don’t know where Sam is, but I know he’s in trouble—hence the gun.”

Jess paled a bit, and Dean eyed her warily. She wasn’t the type to faint, but he didn’t like her complexion right now.

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’. My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N. Either of those, or Agent, will be fine since apparently I’m working right now—what do you know about Sam’s trouble?”

Dean ignored the cop, closing the distance between himself and Jess and taking her arm, leading her into the living room and pushing her gently onto the couch.

“Sit down before you fall over, Jess. I’m sure Sam’s fine.” Dean kept his voice comforting, and was alarmed when he saw tears starting to form in Jess’s eyes. Jess didn’t cry like this. Pissed off and yelling, he’d understand. What if she knew something? What if—

“I’m sorry, I’m just—ugh, I’m a mess. Damn hormones.” Jess looked around and Y/N was there, already handing her a tissue. She nodded her thanks and Dean felt his opinion of the woman improve slightly when he saw the unmistakable concern for her friend in her eyes. “It’s just that, this isn’t like Sam. We were supposed to meet in town to look at two possible wedding venues. But he didn’t show up—I thought he’d been caught up at work, but then he didn’t answer my text. When I tried again an hour later, I got ‘message undeliverable’ and I started getting worried…when I called, it said his phone had been disconnected.”

She sniffed and blew her nose, some of her color coming back as Dean moved back, letting Y/N sit closer to her. He was useless when it came to crying women.

“So I called his work, and they said he hadn’t been into work today—but I made them check, and his car was there in the lot, and—“ Her voice was steadily rising in pitch and Dean was getting more and more alarmed. Was she having a panic attack? What the hell was up with Jess? This wasn’t like her at all!

“That’s when you called me, sweetie. Which was the right thing to do. I don’t know what’s up with Sam, but you need to calm down. This stress isn’t good for you right now.” Y/N’s voice was completely different now—no hard edge, just soothing comfort and warmth. Dean shot a look between the two women, completely lost.

Dean shifted, his confusion and discomfort obvious enough that Jess managed a half smile as she sniffed at her tears.

“I’m sorry, Dean, you don’t know yet. I’m pregnant.”

Dean felt like his eyes were going to bug out of his head. “You are?! That’s—that’s fantastic, Jess! Congratulations!” He wanted to pull her into a big hug, but she was still crying, and Sam wasn’t here—wait— “does Sam know?”

“Yes, of course. We were just keeping it quiet till the rehearsal dinner. Sam…he thought it would be a nice surprise for everyone to find out then….” Jess looked down at the tissues in her clenched hand, or maybe at her waistline which was still the same as far as Dean could tell, then straightened her shoulders and gave a loud sniff before clearing her throat.

“I’m fine. But, Dean, how did you know something was wrong with Sam? You said you didn’t know where he was?”

Dean nodded, relieved to be on firm footing again. “Yeah, he called and left a message while I was at work—and when I couldn’t get him or you on the phone, I rushed over here.”

Dean took out his phone, scrolling through until he found the voicemail and setting the speaker and volume so that Jess and Y/N could hear.

Dean?… It’s Sam. I’m, uh…I’m in trouble.

Dean’s eyes were glued on the two women. Y/N had her eyes narrowed, leaning forward towards the phone in his fist, every inch of her tense and screaming “cop”. He had a fleeting thought that he liked the comforting friend better than the ice lady, but Jess’s in-drawn breath distracted him.

I’m okay right now, but I’m worried about Jess. That case that made the news, the one we talked about last week? Well…things aren’t as simple as I thought.

Dean only vaguely remembered the case. Something about a major drug operation and Sam had gone after the head guy, some dude named Crowley who was supposed to be this generation’s Al Capone or something. Honestly, Dean had been proud of his brother’s first big conviction, but hadn’t paid that much attention to the details.

God, he’d practically memorized the damn thing at this point. It made his gut clench to think of Sam out on his own, trying to dig out a dirty cop or lawyer—Dean didn’t know much about that kind of thing, but he knew his brother was smart and stubborn as hell. And that people who committed major crimes were willing to commit more to not get caught.

But I can’t let Jess be hurt because of me. I need you to make sure she’s safe. And to get in contact with a friend, someone I trust. She’ll help. Y/N went to school with Jess and I a few years back. She’s a fed now. Her number is XXX-XXXX.

Dean watched both women react as Sam said their names. Jess’s jaw jutted out, and if Sam had been present, Dean would have had to make the tough call of stepping between his brother and her to protect him, or to back out of the room slowly.

Y/N was harder to read. Her lips tightened before she drew the lower one inside her mouth to chew on, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Dean watched that abused piece of flesh slide back out of her mouth and almost didn’t hear the end of the message.

I’m dumping my phone, Dean. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Don’t come looking for me—you might lead someone else my way. Just… look after Jess. Love you, man.

He quickly pressed the end button before the automated voice gave him the option to delete or listen again. The silence was heavy in the room as he looked warily at Jessica, worried she’d start crying again.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Or not.

Y/N was shaking her head slowly, “I might help you with that, Jess. I warned him…” Her voice drifted off.

Great. Now Dean was in a room with two homicidal women.

Y/N slapped her hands on her thighs suddenly, startling Jess. “Well, since Sam has decided to throw this shit into a fan to see what would happen, we need to get moving. Jess, Dean, I’m going to make a few calls, get some wheels rolling legally. I need you to pack anything you might need for a week or so—you two are going into protective custody.”

“The hell I am!” Jess was definitely back to her take-charge self now. Dean had always joked that, with her fire, she should dye her hair red to give the world a warning label. She jumped off the couch and towered over her friend while Dean took a step back. “I’m going with you to find Sam. There’s no way I’m going to go sit in some safe house while he’s sticking his idiot neck out.”

Then Y/N was up, arms crossed over those white FBI letters, “oh, yes, you are. You’ve got more than just you to think of now, remember?” She pointedly stared at Jess’s stomach.

Jess narrowed her eyes and copied Y/N’s stance. “That’s dirty pool, you know.”

Y/N just gave a smug smile. “You’ve already told me I’m going to be godmother, so I’m allowed. Now, go get packed.”

“Fine. But you have to bring him back so I can kill him before the wedding.” Jess poked her finger into her friend’s shoulder for emphasis during that last statement while Y/N tried not to smile.

Y/N nodded, apparently seeing some sense in that insane comment that was beyond Dean’s grasp.

Jess glared for a moment longer, then spun on her heel and stomped out of the room, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her like an angsty teen. Dean let out a breath of relief, glad that she had seen reason. Protective custody for Jess was exactly what needed to happen so Dean could fulfill Sam’s request and still sleep at night.

Because he couldn’t let his brother down by letting Jess get hurt, but there was no way he was going to sit around and let his little brother get himself killed either.

“Yeah, I need you to look into this quietly. Let me know what you find out.”

Y/N was talking in a low voice, pacing in the kitchen, while Dean leaned against the door frame, eyeing and appreciating her shape walking back and forth as he waited for her to get off the phone. He realized he was about to lock horns with her—and, strangely, despite his worry for his brother, he was kinda looking forward to it.

“Yes, I realize that….A safe house, what else? We can’t leave the two of them out in the cold, not if someone’s on the take and Crowley makes good on his threats….Sam? I have no clue.”

Y/N seemed to notice him for the first time, stopping her pacing and looking him in the eye. A few strands of her (Y/H/C) hair had escaped from that tight bun on the back of her head and were brushing the side of her neck. Dean fought the urge to pull the hair tie out and see what it looked like down around her face, but he resisted—she’d probably shoot him or kick his ass or something.

“Just get it done. I’ll wait here till Agent Tran gets here to move Sam’s family, but then I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on….Thanks.”

She disconnected and kept her eyes locked on Dean’s.

“I realize you can’t really pack a bag right now, but is there a reason you’re standing here staring at me?”

Dean thought of at least three pick-up lines that would be easy to throw out with that set up, but refrained from saying them. At this rate, he deserved an award for self-control.

“I thought you should know that I’m going with you.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled a little, apparently amused. Dean smiled back, but his was cocky.

“No, actually, you’re not. The professionals will take care of this now, thanks.”

Dean didn’t let the smile falter and her’s slowly melted off of her face. “I’m serious, Mr. Winchester—“

“It’s Dean. And I’m serious too, sweetheart.” He deliberately put emphasis on the nickname and watched her eyes narrow. “I don’t have a bun in the oven to protect, so you don’t have that to hold over my head. I’m going to help you find my brother.”

She crossed her arms in front of her, a stance that Dean recognized as a challenge instead of defensive for this woman. “You have no experience in law enforcement, you know nothing about this case, and you know nothing about these people. How exactly are you going to be any help at all?”

“I know my brother. I can help you find him.”

“I won’t be looking for Sam.” That shook Dean. The smile dropped from his face and he took a step towards the cop in front of him. This was the woman his brother trusted for help, and she wasn’t even going to look for him?

“What?”

“You heard me. If Sam’s right about a leak and someone tampering with this case, then me finding him would fix nothing; he would still be in danger. I’m not going to be looking for Sam. I’m going to be looking for a way to help him. And the best way you can help with that is to not get yourself killed by sticking your nose in where you have no business being. I’m good at my job. And Sam is my friend. I’ll bring him home.”

Dean let that sink in for a second, reigning in his anger. “He may be your friend, but Sammy is my baby brother; he’s family—and I’m not going to sit around while he’s in trouble.”

Dean locked eyes with the cop in front of him who seemed to be listening to him for the first time, weighing his seriousness. He made sure there was no trace of a smile on his face as he concluded his argument—a trick he’d learned from watching his lawyer little brother.

“You say you’re good at your job? My job is to take care of him. And I’m fucking excellent at that.”

Y/N waited a measured beat, her face softening to resemble the caring woman who had comforted Jess on the couch earlier. “I understand that you’re worried, but I’m sure Sam will be fine. He was right to reach out to me; I’ll have this sorted out before long, get Sam home and—“

“Then we all go out for ice cream and strippers. Don’t patronize me, Agent. You know how stubborn Sam is? Who do you think he learned that from?” Dean leaned down, his face barely inches away from Y/N’s, her supportive look turning hard in the face of his defiance.

“This is very simple. Either I will work with you to help my brother, or I will go out and try to find and help him by myself. Your choice.”

JAC Part 2

Just Another Case Series Tag List:

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welimos-blog · 6 years ago

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luxelimoservices · 3 years ago

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luxelimoservice · 4 years ago

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junker-town · 7 years ago

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NFL Dad, Week 17: Good riddance to the Ravens, Seahawks, and 2017

On the final day of the year, one NFL fan tried to watch all of the RedZone action while parenting two toddlers.

It’s fitting that the NFL season came to a close on New Year’s Eve. After the Week 17 games, every team will start with a clean slate — either vying for the Lombardi Trophy in the playoffs, or taking stock of what went wrong and planning for 2018. Coaches will be fired, management restructured, free agents signed, hopes laid upon draftees. Injured players will return stronger than ever, and you’ll take this opportunity to improve yourself, too. Exercise more. Eat better. Work harder. A fresh start for all!

It’s a lie, of course. Unless a franchise has recently fired Jeff Fisher, a team will only take incremental steps forward or backward. Sure, there are exceptions: One or two teams will experience huge leaps in the win column thanks to turnover luck and positive results in close games, and those teams’ fans will be CERTAIN that it was the result of effort and superior coaching, and not the random providence of luck, destined to regress to the mean.

The truth is, the calendar is the only thing that’s changed. We can experience temporary improvements, but most of us are destined to regress to our personal means. And NFL teams are the same: Your team is unlikely to improve dramatically.

But the NFL monolith will scrape forward nonetheless. Your favorite players will get injured. People will complain about the refs. The Patriots will go 12-4. 2018 is the same hell as 2017, just fresher.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— It’s a tame early slate. Bears-Vikings, Jets-Pats, and Browns-Steelers are the only games with playoff implications, and that’s being generous. The (heavy) favorites in those games only have minor jockeying for bye weeks and top-2 conference seeding. I’m saving most of my attention span for the late games.

— A common theme for many of the early games is the extreme cold hitting much of the country. Players wear extra layers, helmets shrink, and Jets quarterbacks live out the metaphors of their station in life.

Inspiring start for Bryce Petty and the Jets http://pic.twitter.com/3t9LvfGCxb

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) December 31, 2017

— My wife and I rented a car to take our kids to my sister’s place for a couple days after Christmas, with a stop along the way to see old friends. And I’m not going to relive the entire journey, but I will offer one unpleasant travel snapshot: Experiencing carsickness from constantly torquing my neck and back around to fruitlessly attempt to soothe two toddlers completely unaccustomed to car travel as snarled traffic turned a 3.5-hour car trip into a 6.5-hour cry-a-thon.

The lesson I refuse to learn: NEVER. GO. ANYWHERE.

The lesson I refuse to learn as a parent of young children: NEVER. GO. ANYWHERE.

— James Harrison is making his debut for the Patriots, and some Steelers fans are aghast. I don’t quite get the surprise. When Harrison was cut by the Steelers in 2013, he signed with the division rival Bengals. He also had a stint with the Ravens after being on the Steelers’ practice squad early in his career. This is James Harrison we’re talking about. He’s not a paragon of virtue loyal to the black and yellow; he’s a vindictive maniac who has dedicated his entire life to hitting people. Of COURSE he went to the Steelers’ biggest rival this year.

— Juju Smith-Schuster’s touchdown celebration gets an A for joyous creativity, and a D for snowball packing.

— It’s 2:15 p.m. and my son is awake at least 45 minutes earlier than my wife and I would like. He only ever takes 90-minute naps now. My daughter at his age would regularly sleep for three hours in the afternoon. Hell, she still sleeps longer in the afternoon than he does, and she’s twice his age. Sleep longer, you adorable goblin! You’re tired!

— The Bears score a touchdown on the famous fake where the punt returner feigns tracking the ball on one side of the field while a second player catches it on the other side of the field. Long live this explainer on why the play is so unstoppable.

— Dallas and Philadelphia are tied 0-0 at the half. Someone named Jeff Sudfeld is playing quarterback for the Eagles. Nick Foles is too valuable for the Eagles’ playoff run!

Last reminder of the year: (extremely long sigh) Any team in the NFL could have signed Colin Kaepernick on the cheap.

EARLY GAMES, SECOND HALF

— The Colts attempt a surprise onside kick, and there appears to be an end-of-year fire sale on trick plays. If I were a coach about to get fired, you can bet your ass I would throw every unused page in the playbook at an opponent in Week 17: Fake punts, surprise onside kicks, hook-and-laterals, Fumblerooskis — the trick plays would get the defense so on edge for the trick plays that they would get knocked over by power runs.

And then I would be fired.

— Much of what I do on a week-to-week basis has already been collected, with much more brevity, in this piece of service journalism: Every dumb thing that happened in NFL Week 17. (No bits about parenting there, though.)

— Eight minutes into the third quarter, the Giants and Washington are a combined three-for-19 on third downs. It’s hard for me to express how much I’m enjoying not watching that game.

Instead, I’m watching these bad bartending videos:

youtube

There’s a whole series of those that are equally confounding, and they are either the stupidest videos on YouTube or the subtlest troll jobs I’ve ever seen.

As someone who’s been absorbing online culture as a job for more than a decade, it’s rare for me to find something like this inscrutable. Hundreds of dollars for a full bar, but no muddler? The totally incapable but somehow believable bartender? The pint glass of whiskey? This is a ruse, right? I refuse to be anyone’s mark.

— A fun new thing I have since the round-trip car voyage is a semi-permanent eye tic. Just a tiny little muscle spasm on my lower left eyelid that’s like, “Hey, remember that time you were trapped in a rolling box of stress for six hours? Twice?” Look for it on SB Nation’s YouTube channel in 2018.

Hey, remember that time you were trapped in a rolling box of stress for six hours?

— My wife leaves to walk the dog right as the early games wind down. Because we’re keeping our children out of the Arctic blast, I stay back with both kids. My son immediately grabs the iPad off the table and shoves his face into it.

“I want Elsa,” my daughter says, so I play “Let It Go” on Spotify and pull up an image of Elsa for her to look at while the song plays. Frozen is the next horizon for us after Moana. I’m fine with this eventuality, but Moana definitely has the superior story and soundtrack. The important thing is that they’re both better than the 50 years of Disney princess movies that came before. GAHHHH WHY DO I SPEND SO MUCH TIME THINKING ABOUT DISNEY CARTOONS?

— The Browns, despite their best effort against the Steelers’ B-team, finish their season 0-16. Congratulations?

— Because all nine (!!!) late games start at 4:25 p.m. Eastern, RedZone’s Scott Hanson must deal with an action-less lull that’s unusual for so early in the day. It’s 4:15 and RedZone is running highlights, snippets of press conferences, and fantasy updates. And come on: I know the segment is sponsored, no self-respecting fantasy league is active in Week 17. Much like Le’Veon Bell.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— GAME TIME. My focus today is Panthers-Falcons, Saints-Bucs, and Cardinals-Seahawks. I want the Seahawks to win to stay alive for a playoff spot, and I need the Panthers to be motivated to beat the Falcons, which means I need Tampa Bay to give the Saints a fight, which means the Seahawks are probably going to miss the playoffs. Which, frankly, is probably better than getting blown out by the Rams or Saints on Wild Card Weekend. Everything is meaningless, by the way.

— Ah crap, Arizona opens the game with a touchdown. Drew Stanton escapes Michael Bennett on what could have been a 15-yard sack, buying enough time to throw a TD pass instead. I am going to hate today.

Tyler Lockett returns the ensuing kickoff for a touchdown to tie the game. I am already closing off all emotion to deal with whatever happens for the next three hours.

— In Tampa, the Bucs score game-opening TD. Yay! But then Alvin Kamara returns the ensuing kickoff for a TD. I NEED EVERYONE TO SETTLE DOWN, PLEASE.

— The kids are at the dinner table, alternately painting with watercolors and screaming. My son, whose relentless teething continues, takes a sip of water from the cup he’d been dipping his paintbrush in. My daughter, who has recovered from a double ear infection over Christmas only to get ANOTHER ear infection, has a Moana-themed coloring book. I read her the plot point that goes with each picture as another Panthers drive stalls. COME ON, CAM.

— The Niners are dominating early and up 10-0, but a Jimmy Garoppolo INT sets the Rams up in the red zone. However, the Niners D holds firm, and the Rams are forced to kick a field goal.

— Oh, hello there, AFC. I understand there are some stakes in your conference today, too, hmmm? In Los Angeles, where the Chargers need a win and some help to secure a playoff spot, Melvin Gordon fumbles, but Keenan Allen scoops up the fumble for an awesome TD.

Wait. WHAT?! Gordon loses it. Allen recovers. And SCORES. #Chargers http://pic.twitter.com/PQ59L012NB

— NFL (@NFL) December 31, 2017

My feelings on the four AFC teams vying for two Wild Card spots, ranked by preference:

Chargers. I know they deserve nothing but misery for leaving San Diego, but this team is genuinely fun to watch. Philip Rivers has been incredible this year, and Keenan Allen has stayed healthy! Melvin Gordon is great and likable! The defense has the kind of scary pass rush that can enable a deep playoff run (read: can knock Tom Brady and Ben Roethlisberger on their asses).

Bills. I hate tables.

Titans. This is one of the least inspiring winning teams I’ve seen in a long time, which is what it’s been since RedZone last clicked over to the Seattle game. Who has ever looked at the AFC South and said, “Yes, this division needs TWO playoff teams.”

Ravens. I strenuously object to Joe Flacco’s existence. If the Ravens offense touches your field, the earth there will be fallow for seven years.

— My kids, still sitting at the table, dance to “Twist and Shout” like two little Elaine Beneses, a brief moment of cheer before the Cardinals punch in another touchdown to take a 17-7 lead over the Seahawks. But the dancing! It’s so herky-jerky and devoid of coordination — like Seattle’s offensive line, but happy.

— What was I saying about the Chargers’ fearsome defense? On third and 22, Derek Carr unloads a bomb to Amari Cooper for an 87-yard touchdown.

EIGHTY-SEVEN YARDS!@DerekCarrQB to @AmariCooper9 for SIX! #RaiderNation http://pic.twitter.com/GLf0Q7bAva

— NFL (@NFL) December 31, 2017

My wife tells my daughter that the Raiders are Uncle Sean’s favorite team. “Can you say the Raiders?” she asks.

Daughter: “The Raid-ahhhhhs.” Chris Berman’s tics are much better when they’re done by toddlers.

— I get a text from Steven Godfrey, SB Nation’s excellent college football reporter who is also doomed to an existence of Falcons fandom. It is to me and Brian Floyd, our managing editor who is also a Seahawks fan: “Please God take this wildcard spot.”

Floyd and I both reject any desire to see these Seahawks in the playoffs. It feels good to own the feeling, to want a different team in a new season instead of watching this one for another week.

— Here is the first RedZone play featuring the Ravens offense that I see: Joe Flacco throws a one-yard crossing route to a running back, who drops the ball. A graphic pops up that says it is the Ravens’ fifth dropped pass of the day. Put this offense in a rocket and fire it into the deepest reaches of space.

— Philip Rivers throws another deep bomb for a touchdown. God, this team belongs in the playoffs, and they’re not going to make it because the first quarter of their season was a grotesque monkey’s paw retribution inflicted by the San Diego city council.

— The Saints attempt a fake field goal, the Bucs don’t fall for it, and Wil Lutz gets CRUSHED. If you ask me, there are simply not enough punters getting blown up by defenders in today’s NFL. (Miss you, Sean Taylor.)

Not enough punters are getting blown up in today’s NFL.

— A big hit in the Ufford household these days is the Daddy Monster. I become my alter ego, roar, and chase my son into the corner where I tickle him and pretend to eat him. “OM NOM NOM!” I say.

He stands up and says, “Naan naan naan!” in his little voice. I feign terror and let him chase me. I hope you didn’t take what I said about the car ride and the eye tic too seriously, because parenting is great.

— Breaking news: The Colts have fired Chuck Pagano. So we’re doing away with Black Monday now? Just getting it out of the way on Sunday?

— I change my son’s poopy diaper. But don’t think of it as poop! It’s more like his butt threw up.

— Flacco watch:

Flacco 3/16 says "Hey remember that time I won a Super Bowl?" http://pic.twitter.com/pvaQG3RKhs

— James Dator [waiting for recognition] (@James_Dator) December 31, 2017

— HALFTIME SCORES:

The Seahawks trail at home 20-7, their only score a kickoff return TD. Burn this season to the ground.

Chargers lead the Raiders 20-10 despite having a FG and PAT blocked. Very on-brand.

Carolina and Atlanta are tied 7-7.

Buffalo leads Miami 10-0. David Fales has replaced Jay Cutler, who is riding a jet ski pantsless to the nearest bank with a boat-thru teller to cash his game check. I am gonna miss that guy so much.

Only a missed extra point is keeping the Bucs from being even with the Saints. New Orleans leads 14-13. Get inspired, Carolina!

Titans 12, Jags 3. Jacksonville trails because its defensive and special teams units have struggled to score touchdowns.

49ers 20, Rams 6. If anything, this score is flattering for the Rams. San Fran-Clara will be a chic pick to win the NFC West next year.

An 85(ish)-yard kickoff return with seconds left in the half gifts Baltimore with a touchdown that cuts the Cincinnati lead to 17-10. C’mon Bengals, don’t Bengal this one.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— I make a vow to myself: The Seahawks have one possession, the first of the half, to keep me interested in the result of their game, and even then … BARELY. Naturally, the run game comes to life, Russell Wilson connects on a pass, and this appears to be a crude approximation of a drive.

— Shady McCoy is carted off. Screw this season.

— I help with the end of the kids’ bath time. My son, who hates getting out of the bath, sits in tub as the water empties. “Fee-oh,” he says, for frio, because my children are dual-language geniuses. I let him chill there while I peek at the TV; I’m just in time to see Doug Baldwin score a touchdown that narrows the score to 20-14.

The next drive — at least, the next drive I catch a glimpse of — Shaquill Griffin intercepts a Drew Stanton overthrow, and I now feel confident that the Seahawks can get a comeback victory, only for the Falcons to lock down the last playoff spot with a win. (With the Panthers trailing 10-7, Cam Newton promptly throws a terrible interception.)

— The Saints have been a little shaky for the last month of the season, but I could definitely endorse Alvin Kamara destroying the entire playoff field. Look at him make a contested catch downfield:

Oh my goodness, @A_kamara6. #GoSaints http://pic.twitter.com/4bLIJaPrzI

— NFL (@NFL) December 31, 2017

That drive ends in a field goal, and the Saints lead 17-13.

— Ravens WR Chris Moore bobbles a red zone pass, which is intercepted and returned for a touchdown. The Bengals lead 24-10, and I am HERE for the season implosion.

Yes, that is Joe Flacco's pick-six. http://pic.twitter.com/Utx1SfhBP3

— Seth Walder (@SethWalder) December 31, 2017

— The Bucs force a fumble on a punt return and return it for a touchdown! The used coffee grounds of the NFC South are ahead of the division leaders, 20-14.

— With the Seahawks trailing 23-14, they definitely could use a field goal to make it a one-score game. Instead:

Thomas Rawls' taunting penalty cost the Seahawks 15 yards and likely cost them three points as well.

— Brady Henderson (@BradyHenderson) December 31, 2017

— With the Tennessee leading 15-3 in the fourth quarter, all the Titans have to do is bleed clock and let Blake Bortles throw it to their defense. Instead, Marcus Mariota and Derrick Henry collide on a handoff, and the Jaguars return the fumble for a touchdown.

I just checked, and the Jaguars have seven defensive touchdowns this year. That’s a lot, but I could have sworn it was more. Like, if you told me that Bortles had thrown as many touchdowns as the defense scored, I would have believed you. But Bortles had 21 passing TDs (to 13 picks); the NFL works in mysterious ways.

— I pause RedZone to put the kids to bed. I read my son Good Night Moon because he freaking LOVES seeing the moon. “MOON! MOON! MOON!” every time there’s a moon on the page of a book. As I read the last page — “Good night noises everywhere” — he puts his finger to his lips and says, “Shhhh.”

I offer him a choice of second books but he olds up Good Night Moon again. So I read it a second time, but with four pages to go, he shuts the book and says, “All done!” Oh, I’m sorry. Did you perhaps already know how it ends?

— Twenty minutes later, the kids are in bed and I’m back in front of the TV, but I don’t have the energy or desire to watch everything I missed, so I just skip to live TV. The biggest news is that the Panthers have farted their way around the second half to lose to the Falcons by two scores, rendering the Seahawks game pointless. Or more pointless than usual, at least.

And the Panthers should be kicking themselves over that performance: With nine seconds remaining in Tampa, the Bucs score a go-ahead touchdown that gives them a meaningless win and leads to a super-awkward unfriendly never-ending handshake between Sean Payton and Dirk Koetter. The Panthers will go on the road to face the Saints instead of hosting them next weekend.

— The Titans lock up a playoff spot with their win over the Jaguars. When it comes to the other Wild Card spot, the Bills win, but they need help from the Bengals, who have lost their lead in Baltimore. Ravens ahead 27-24.

— Oh, the Seahawks lost, too. Blair Walsh missing a 48-yarder to lose a game that couldn’t save their season is the perfect ending to this campaign. (I may have been miserable watching the Seahawks this season, but they were also an effective kicker away from being 12-4.)

— The last game of the RedZone season is Bengals-Ravens, and my remaining hopes and dreams rest on ... an Andy Dalton drive? Oh Jesus, where’s the liquor?

— On 4th and 12 near midfield, the Bengals season is about to sputter and die, and I’m beginning to accept the Ravens beating Kansas City when DALTON COMPLETES THE PASS! TYLER BOYD SLIPS A TACKLE AND GETS TO THE END ZONE!!!

THE @BENGALS! TOUCHDOWNNNN! WOW. #Bengals50 http://pic.twitter.com/NB78jk9U2a

— NFL (@NFL) January 1, 2018

YEAAAAAGGGHHHHH I COULD LIFT A VOLKSWAGEN OVER MY HEAD RIGHT NOW

— With a chance to respond, Joe Flacco quickly leads the Ravens to zero first downs and 4th and 14, at which point he completes a pass eight yards short of the first-down marker. GOOD RIDDANCE, GARBAGE BIRDS.*

And good riddance, 2017. Here’s to marginal improvements in 2018.

*insult also applicable to the author’s team of choice

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greekowl87 · 5 years ago

Text

False Flags - Ghost Ship 6/?

A/N: I know this isn’t my most popular work but it is one close to my heart that I continue to work on even when real life and chaos reign supreme. I thank you for anyone who still takes a moment to read it and/or supports this endeavor. Finally got chapter six done. Chapter seven is underway and being formulated.

For those that need to catch up...The First Fic: (False Flags Redux) | Ghost Ship: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) or if AO3 is your thing, you’ve got your choices. Sorry for any grammar or issues of that nature. No beta, I suck at editing on the computer, and Grammarly only does so much. I still hope you enjoy it. Tagging: @today-in-fic, @improlificinsarcasm, @baronessblixen, and @suitablyaggrieved

“Am I? Good, Alexi.”

“Stop calling me that! I don’t know what the old man sees in you. Enlisting your help a second time? You screwed up and got caught last time.”

“And I got shot by Mulder too but the tip came from an anonymous informant. Besides, shouldn’t you be doing something useful. Like getting us dinner or something.”

Krychek shuddered. “And I lost a goddamn arm thanks to Mulder and I’m not complaining. God, don’t you ever shut up? I’m not your servant so stop bothering me. I’m not supposed to let you out of myself or else god forbid you to go rogue.”

“Why worry?”

“I used to be a gangster from the 1920s.” He replied. His voice took on a Chicago accent briefly.

‘That’s where I learned all that.”

“You really are insane. Bipolar. Order a pizza or something if you’re so damn hungry. The phone book is right there.”

Buckley chuckled and continued to stare on the window, spinning the pistol.

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

They slept through the night but that didn’t do anything to calm one agent’s nerves. The ocean pounded the sandbars only matched Scully’s racing heart. Mulder sipped his coffee and leaned against the counter. “Scully, you’re pacing,” Mulder quipped from the couch.

“You should have killed the bastard when you had the chance,” she replied. Scully relaxed into his touch and closed her eyes. “Might have saved us this headache.”

“We still can. The Bodie Lighthouse isn’t that far. Neither is Roanoke Island. Let’s go there. Check out the history. Maybe we can solve the case of the missing colony.”

“They’re national parks.”

“And we’re federal agents. We’ll be fine.” He gave her a weak smile. “Let’s do the lighthouse today. We can spend tomorrow on Manteo and have some dinner or something.”

“Mulder…”

“It’s better than seeing you pace back and forth. It’ll be fun.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “Anything is better than just being stressed.”

“I know you hate flying but are you afraid of heights?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Have you ever been up in a lighthouse?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Really? Coming from the woman who loves the seas.” Mulder grinned. “You’re going to love it.”

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

“I’ve seen a few.

“It has a history as well.”

“I bet it does.”

“We can buy a postcard.”

“I’m talking about us.” She rolled her eyes in amusement. “Why do you have to be difficult?”

“Because I love it when you say, ‘You’re crazy, Mulder.’ Besides, who needs a camera when you have a photographic memory?” He tapped his temple. “All our recent memory making…”

She laughed and it lifted Mulder’s spirit. Despite having a reincarnated her ex-husband murderer who happened to be a serial killer in this life hunting down them while they were on their first vacation as a couple, he was so happy to hear her laughter. She smiled and rested her head against the bicep. She closed her eyes sleepily. “What do you say to about taking a nap in the hammock we have on the deck when we get home?”

“Despite the threat of…”

“Ssshhh. But yes.”

“As long as we pick up dinner along the way. Are you in the mood for seafood?”

“What about some Carolina BBQ?”

“I like you in a vacation mood. Why can’t you be more open to greasy foods when we’re in the field?”

“Vacation. There’s a difference,” she laughed.

Mulder watched a park ranger walk past them, calling, “All those for tickets for the 12:00 lighthouse tour line up behind me.”

“That’s us,” Scully whispered.

“Do you have to be first at everything?”

“I have to remind you who is the boss in this relationship. Tell me, Walking History Textbook, what is special about this lighthouse?”

“I remember,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, “trying to blow it up with the retreating troops but I got orders to report to Norfolk instead.”

She chuckled. “Fucking past lives but then again, I have those to thank for my better sex life.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Shut up.” Her eyes opened and she tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

“This salt air is doing wonders for your spirit,” he remarked.

“Maybe it’s the company more.”

Mulder smiled and kissed her forehead lovingly. She walked together to the front of the lighthouse where others were lining up in front of a park ranger. The woman park ranger smiled and waved people closer. “Gather around everyone. First, a few rules before we go up. The stairs in this lighthouse aren’t like the ones at Cape Hatteras. Only one person at a time can be on them, going up or going down in either direction. You can have multiple people on the landings,” the park ranger explained. “Now that we have that out of the way, can anyone tell me about the lighthouse?”

The tour group was met with silence as the park ranger started to talk about a mini-history lesson about Congress approving the lighthouse and its history from the Civil War to the present. As the park ranger concluded her mini-speech, she stepped back and motioned for everyone to begin their journey upwards. Mulder and Scully were in the middle of the group and took a moment to take in the moment all around them. Other tourists, the lovely March weather, and Scully in sunglasses smiling and laughing with her arm wrapped through his. It was so nice to see you here relaxed and happy.

“Are you happy?” Mulder whispered to her.

“Yes,” she answered.

She gripped the railings of Bodie Lighthouse and leaned over to look at the people below. Mulder’s hand rested lightly on her back and he whispered, “What a view huh?”

“Hey, mister!”

A young kid’s voice caught both of them off guard and as they turned they saw a young boy with a brand new Polaroid camera. He smiled, speaking loudly over the wind. “I’ll take three pictures of you for five bucks.”

“Try three,” Mulder haggled, getting into the spirit.

“Two dollars includes on the spot printing. Memories last forever.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Mom lets me watch a lot of tv. What do you say? Five dollars for three pictures?”

“What do you say, Scully?”

She nodded and smiled. The kid smiled and raised his camera. He took a series of three shots. One of them both overlooking the railing out to the Atlantic sea, second of them together smiling for the camera, and an unscripted kiss that briefly turned passionate, all of which was captured on the kid’s camera. Scully broke away, her cheeks flushed as she smiled. Mulder dug through his jean’s pockets until he produced a crumpled five-dollar bill. He exchanged it as Scully still took the still-developing photos.

Scully waved the photos in the sea air in a vain attempt to get them to develop quicker. She briefly flashed back to when she found that picture of them in the library archives in Newport News months ago from 1863. But there was something else that bloomed up inside of her; pride love, tenderness, devotion. Finally, something to memorialize and immortalize this moment now. She eyed the top image of them kissing with affection. Mulder was saying something before he returned to her.

“How did they turn out?”

“The kid has an eye for photography?” She answered.

“Or we can keep the copies for ourselves,” she answered. She rested her head against his chest; the sea breeze was in one ear with echoes of eternity from the Atlantic and his heartbeat was steady with promises of the future. “We need to buy a camera.”

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

Buckley sat in the farthest car from the lighthouse, looking through his binoculars. Krychek sat next to him and asked, “Is it them?”

“Yep,” the other man replied. “Just like I told you.”

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

Mulder looked at the Polaroids that had been taken at the lighthouse that day. He could only imagine the film on the disposable camera and how wonderful the shots were going to be. He and Scully laughing, posing together as a couple framed by the lighthouse and the Atlantic Ocean. The little kids who had charged them five dollars for the pictures were ruthless but he finally had some proof of their happiness in this life. He contemplated calling upon the Gunmen to use their technological magic to digitize the photos but that would be for another day. He had been relatively low profile with his relationship with Scully over the past three months and he did not want to push it unless she was okay with it.

“Hey, Scully,” he called, “when do you think we should tell your mom?”

“About what, Mulder?”

“Us,” he replied.

“Well,” Mulder began, setting the photos down, “the change in our relationship for starters.”

“Or the IVF?”

“I wasn’t going to go there.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he admitted. He set the pictures aside and joined her on the couch. “I’ve just been thinking lately.”

“Well, I feel like there’s been a lot of that going around,” she said. Mulder unfurled her legs and rested her feet in his lap. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m not really thinking.”

“Or maybe you’re just too busy thinking. Are you thinking about the IVF?”

“I would want to try again if you are willing too.”

“I still want to think about it,” she replied.

He lightly massaged her feet and she hummed in approval. “I can’t believe how sore my feet are from climbing all those stairs.”

“It’s not like you aren’t used to all work. You’re the FBI equivalent of Wonder Women running in high heels.”

“I appreciate the compliant, Mulder, but if you remember, I decided to wear flip-flops that have no support.”

“Well, where else could you get weather nice enough to wear flip flops in March?”

“What is it?”

“The show’s called ‘Dharma and Greg.’”

“I believe I have,” he said. “Some flower child marries a lawyer and chaos ensues when they decide to marry on the first date. So which one am I? Dharma or Greg?”

“Dharma,” she answered. “But opposites attract and make us better for it. Wouldn’t you agree, Mulder?”

He chuckled. “I might be inclined to. Do you want to keep it on this or find some nature documentary?”

“I like that and this version of Domestic Scully.”

“Did you lock the doors downstairs?”

“Yes,” he answered, “and I triple checked all the locks and windows. The only window that will be open is the one to our bedroom on the third floor.”

“And our weapons?”

“In the bedroom on the nightstands.”

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

“Mulder,” Scully called through the partially closed door. “Did you get everything you needed to do done?”

“Hmm.” She giggled. “Maybe. Come join me, Mulder.”

“Where did you get the wine?”

Bubbles. “Aw, Scully.”

“I know we are,” he answered. He chose his next words carefully. “Weren’t you the one earlier who was concerned about our safety?”

“I’m not letting them get to me. Us. I was thinking about what you said earlier.”

“About telling your mom?”

“No. I want to try again when we get back to D.C.”

Mulder smiled and his concerns momentarily forgotten. “I’ll be right back.”

Scully lounged back into him. “I’ve been dreaming,” she whispered to him softly. She sipped the wine-filled coffee mug. “Don’t worry, it’s not any new past lives or anything.”

“I’m glad?”

She heard the question in his voice. “I am just thinking about this life and the last. Us. What could have been.”

Scully was always amazed how well they just worked together, either spiritually, or as she had discovered lately, physically as well. She sipped her wine. “Now or then,” he asked.

“Then. I still have a hard time believing it was real, Mulder.”

“By remembering?”

She turned her head in question and Mulder found her lips. “We’ll have that again.”

“Your faith is grounding.”

“Did you enjoy the lighthouse today?” He asked, changing the subject. “I was thinking why not tour all them? We can drive back down to Cape Hatteras and climb the lighthouse there. Or drive an hour or so up to Corolla and climb the Currituck Lighthouse. And there are the ferries...Ocracoke, Knotts Island…”

“One day at a time, Mulder,” she laughed. “Today was Bodie Lighthouse. Tomorrow is Manteo. Tonight is this.”

“So,” he paused, setting aside both of the wine mugs. “Do you want to try to experiment and push the bounds of this fancy bathtub?”

“I bet you’re more effective than those water jets,” she challenged.

Mulder smiled and kissed her deeply. “I’ll get you to relax on this vacation.”

Scully just deepened the kiss and pulled him closer.

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

Further up the barrier islands in Duck, North Carolina, Franklin Buckley, and Alex Krycek were at a small pizzeria. Over shared slices and bad beer, they talked. “I still don’t get it,” Krycek started. “Why is this so fucking important to you? Mulder is no one.”

“Your boss is interested in them.”

“And this somehow makes you the best choice?”

“Alexi…”

“Alex.”

“Alex.” Buckley grinned. “Have you ever wanted revenge so badly that you would do anything? Take back what is rightfully yours?”

Krychek grew quiet. “I have.”

“Then this is no different. It’s all a matter of waiting. Are you going to finish that pizza?”

“No.” Krycek was distracted. “Go ahead.”

“Must suck having one arm but I’ll tell you, this pizza is better than anything than they served in the joint.”

“What’s your plan?”

“You’ll see. In the meantime, it is all the matter of waiting and seeing.”

#false flags ghost ship #xfiles #xf fic #txf fic #msr #msr fic #false flags redux #mulder #scully #fanfic

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