#Derek: No no. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that today. That was delightful. Thank you.

[noyzinerd]

Stiles: Um, sure. Let's see...hmmm...Oh! If you see a drowsy looking bee on the ground, you can give it a little drop of sugar water to help make it feel better.

Derek, in the middle of cleaning out a bullet wound:

Stiles:

Stiles: I'm now starting to realize that you were probably asking me for a "Q-Tip" rather than a "cute tip".

[hotchsreader]

For the Rest of My Life

Words: 1.5k

Reader has an anxiety attack at work, and Hotch helps her through it. Very soft Hotch.

You knew today was going to be a hard day. You woke up, hair caked to your forehead and your legs felt like jelly, like you were not meant to be walking on them. As you sat up, your entire room spun around and it took more than a couple minutes to ground yourself. You knew what to do in times like this, you had your useful skills learned over the years tucked away in the folder in your brain, but today it felt like the cabinet holding them was locked.

You walked into the bullpen, eyes foggy and head down. Usually, you greeted everyone with a happy and hopeful smile, but today that felt too hard. The muscles in your face felt like they would snap if you tried even to talk. Derek looked up at you, and over at Emily trying to gauge the problem, but Emily just shook her head no and let you sit at your desk, forget about all that was going on in your brain, and throw yourself into the reports that were due. You sat there for a few hours, with no one bothering you and your focused workspace. It was very easy when everything felt like this to throw yourself into work or a project because it makes the mind stay busy. It’s when you have nothing to do that everything feels like it's going to come crashing down around you. It’s when you have nothing to do that it creeps up to the surface and begins to slip out, mostly without your control.

You were so focused you didn't hear the familiar sound of steps creep up behind you until an arm was placed gently on your shoulder.

“Hey, I know what you’re doing, and I would like to see you in my office ASAP,” Hotch said to you, he leaned down to say it in your ear so no one else could hear. He knew that allowing everyone to hear what he said would make this all worse on your end.

You didn’t think twice, you got up from your workspace, pushed the chair in behind you, and followed closely behind him. You realized as you walked behind him how tall he was, and how well fitted his suits always are. You start to wonder where he buys them before you realize how far your mind has wandered in the minute it takes to get to his office.

“Have a seat, and tell me what's on your mind.” He sits in his chair and motions for you to sit down in the chair across from him. You feel the tears slip out before you even hit the chair. You knew this would happen at some point today, but Hotch actually taking the time to pay attention to you, to realize something was wrong enough to come out of his office and grab you, made the tears sting just a little bit more.

“Oh no, sweetheart what is going on?” He immediately jumped up and rushed around his desk to you the minute he saw the tears falling from your eyes.

“It's just… it's just a hard day for me is all.” You sniffled and tried to wipe your tears but he brushed your hand aside and wiped them for you. He placed his hand on your knee as he bent down beside you, looking up into your eyes.

“Is it your anxiety?” He asked, you could tell his voice was laced with concern. He would do anything to protect you, but it is hard to protect a person from their own mind. No matter how much he had tried to.

Your palms had started to become clammy, and you were shaking. The entire time you were trying to throw yourself into your work you had ignored what was going on inside your brain. In hindsight, that was a bad idea because now every little thing that happened alongside your anxiety was fighting its way out. You started to cry a little harder, your shoulder bobbing up and down as the sobs tormented you.

“What can I do honey? I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Hotch was speaking in a soft, gentle tone. This was not the first time he had helped you through an anxiety attack. The second night you spent with him you realized you had forgotten to submit a report on the case you all had handled that week and started to panic. He calmed you down then by reassuring you that he was in charge of when they were due, and he absolutely believed you that it had been done you had just forgotten to submit it. You have never been one to turn something in late, even at work. The only thing about now, this was the first time you had an anxiety attack at work, and you have no idea why it was happening.

“Just stay with me, hold me.” Hotch grabs you, lifts you up, and takes you over to the couch in his office. He sits you down and runs over to his desk where he grabs tissues. He sits down in front of you on his knees, takes the tissue, wipes your eyes, under your eyes, and gives you a new one to blow your nose with. After you do this, he takes them all to the trashcan, returns to you sits down, and guides you where your head is on his lap and he is stroking your hair. He knows that laying down and having your hair stroked is one way to easily ground you, so you can return back to your normal state and are able to function again.

You clear your throat and ask, “How did you know something was up?”

He lets out a small laugh, “When you walked in. You didn’t look at anyone, you didn’t wave, and you didn’t even lift your head up to check if I was in my office like you always do. I let you have a little while, hoping you’d be able to pull yourself out of the trance you were in, but once I realized you couldn’t, I intervened.”

You shift, rolling yourself over, so you can get a solid look at the man. His forehead is creased, meaning he’s worried about you, and his hand hasn’t moved from your hair. He uses his other hand to rub your cheeks with his thumb and he hums your favorite song.

“Do you know what caused this anxiety attack?” He looks down at you with a half smile as you smile back at him, letting him know everything is getting easier. The pounding in your chest has started to ease up, but you can still feel your heart rate is pretty fast. If you got up now, you’d probably either pass out or your eyes would go blurry for a minute, preventing you from moving.

“Honestly, no. I woke up and felt very groggy and focusing to even get myself out of bed was tough. I haven’t had one of these episodes in a while, so I thought if I just worked through it, I could ignore it enough that it’d go away.” You now, roll your eyes at the thought. You had been dealing with anxiety since you were eleven years old. You had dealt with these types of episodes before, you had to face it head-on or it would just get worse. You learned your lesson this time.

“You could’ve just come to my office. You know I am always here for you. Always. I would have helped you get through this. You didn’t have to let it build up this badly.” He jokingly waved a finger in your face to symbolize you had been bad. This brought a hearty chuckle out of you, which in turn made him smile. Seeing Hotch smile could cure most things for you. He was a great man, a great dad, and a great boyfriend. He would do anything if it meant that you would be okay. You had just thought this one wouldn’t be as bad.

“I know, it’s just embarrassing to have to deal with this. I wish, I just wish I could be normal.” You let out a heavy sigh, as he looks at you.

“Hey, if having anxiety makes you not normal, what does having nightmares related to the things I’ve been through make me? We all have our demons, and we all have things that make us different from the people around us. There is absolutely no such thing as normal. Who you are, and I mean this, and everything about you makes you perfect to me. Anxiety included.” He says, completely serious.

You look up at him, sit yourself up, and place a soft kiss on his lips. He returns it, grabbing the back of your head to emphasize how much he means it.

“I wouldn’t have made it through this without you, Aaron Hotchner.” You smile, your mouth inches from his. He kisses you again, and bites your lower lip. You laugh.

“I wouldn’t have made it through a lot without you, if this is the way I can repay all you’ve done for me, I’ll do it for the rest of my life.”

[takaraphoenix]

Small But Good

Tags: m/m, directly post s2 finale, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Alpha Peter, Spark Stiles, Pack Mom Stiles, Pack Feels, True Mates, hurt/comfort, aftermath of torture, m/f

Main Pairing: Peter/Stiles

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III

@WritersMonth Prompts: running + penthouse

This Fic on AO3 | This Fic on FFNet

Summary: After Gerard is taken down, Stiles finds himself disappointed in Scott and very hurt. He also finds himself alone with Peter. Peter, who is suddenly alive again. Ever since he'd helped kill the Alpha, Stiles had been thinking about Peter a lot, had realized something about Peter's behavior toward him but he thought it wouldn't matter anymore, with Peter's death.

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

--

Today sucked, on nearly every account possible. The only good thing that had happened was scoring the winning goal and hearing his dad's cheers. After that, everything had kind of gone downhill. First he got dragged off and kidnapped by hunters. Then he got mildly electrocuted when he tried to free Boyd and Erica because Boyd and Erica were strung-up in the basement, with electricity running through their bodies, tears running down their faces and—Stiles shook his head violently, trying to shake the image of them off. The beating from grandpa Argent had sure been a highlight. Back home, Stiles had to lie to his dad again and that was its own pain too. And then he had let himself be roped into driving Lydia to an abandoned warehouse just so he could watch her declare her undying love to Jackson in a manner that broke the kanima curse and allowed Jackson to turn into a proper werewolf again. Yet somehow, the biggest blow was the way Scott didn't even ask. Stiles had visible cuts and bruises, his entire face felt like one big bruise, all to send a message to Scott and Scott didn't even ask. No, all Scott was run after Allison, again.

Stiles slumped against his Jeep, all his energy drained as he looked around, looked away from Allison and Scott, and from Lydia and Jackson. Derek and Isaac were leaving, together. Stiles noted, with a hole in his stomach, that Gerard was gone. Closing his eyes, Stiles sank down the side of his Jeep, landing on the ground. He pulled his legs up against his chest, even as that caused the pain in his ribs to jolt through his entire body for a moment. Scrunching his face up, Stiles rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward. He just wanted today to be over. Maybe he should leave, but he just didn't have the energy just yet, he needed only a moment to gather himself. And maybe, just maybe, he hoped that Scott would return to him, would notice, and ask, and care, and…

"There you are. For a moment I thought you'd already left."

Stiles frowned, not lifting his head off his arms. If he didn't look up, he didn't have to confirm that he was absolutely losing his mind because that voice, that voice, it haunted his nightmares. His heart jumped as the guilt overwhelmed him again. He'd killed him, Stiles had killed him, Stiles had—A hand touched his arm, startling him so much he jerked away. Jerking away? Not a good idea with bruised ribs and various other injuries that Stiles hadn't cared to catalog yet. A whimper escaped him as white dots started dancing before his eyes and he curled together more.

"I'm sorry," Peter's voice was filled with regret. "I didn't…"

He trailed off, leaving it up to interpretation what he didn't mean to do. Stiles didn't care to try and guess at the moment, because his whole body was just one big ache right now. Taking slow, deep breath – as deep as his ribs allowed – Stiles leaned his head back against his Jeep's door and tried to reign it in. Opening his eyes, he actually looked at the werewolf.

How was this man that handsome, it was absolutely ridiculous. Like he'd stepped out of one of those underwear catalogs that Stiles definitely didn't keep in the lowest drawer of his nightstand. Those mesmerizing, deep blue eyes, the physique, the pretty face.

Not the time to focus on that. Time to focus on the fact that Peter Hale was somehow alive, even though Stiles had helped kill him. He'd helped… He closed his eyes again, tightly, wondering if Peter would be gone when he opened them once more. Like this was a trick of his mind. After all, today was such a day. He felt like he kept losing, he'd lost Erica and Boyd – Erica and Boyd were still in that basement, were probably still being tortured, he hadn't been able to free them, he had failed them, he had—and judging by the look of utter betrayal on Derek's face and the way Derek and Isaac had just left, Stiles guessed he'd lost the pack, in general, on account of his association with Scott, after what Scott had just pulled, which he also felt like he had lost Scott. Stiles was heavily injured and his best friend not only didn't ask, he also… didn't stick around, to make sure Stiles would be fine, would find home, or anything at all. He'd also lost Lydia, but then he wondered if he ever really had her, because even when she went on dates with him, she wasn't really there and her heart had always belonged to Jackson and… it didn't really hurt. Somewhere along the way of desperately trying to date her, he'd come to terms with the fact that he had made this whole thing up in his head and had romanticized and idealized it to hell and back.

"Stiles," Peter's voice was sharp, urgent.

"Not passed out, just thinking," Stiles grunted, cracking an eye open, because if he could still hear Peter then Peter was probably still there and yep, there he was, all handsome and worried.

Wait. Stiles also opened his other eye, staring at the werewolf. Worried? Why would Peter look worried? Peter should look furious or murderous or betrayed or maybe even heartbroken, after all, Stiles had helped kill him and how could Peter even look at him, he had-

"Stop thinking," Peter growled with a frown. "Because whatever you're thinking, it's spiraling you into a panic attack, darling. Get out of your head. Tell me what's going on in there."

Stiles barked out a dry laugh at that. "Why are you even talking to me."

A look of confusion and hurt – hurt? – flashed over Peter's face as the wolf took a deliberate step back, like he was trying to give Stiles space. Heaving a deep sigh, Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. His head hurt so damn much and this wasn't helping.

"Why are you talking to me?" Stiles asked again, much softer this time. "I helped kill you."

Understanding dawned on Peter, as this put Stiles' words into a wildly different context from whatever Peter had assumed he'd met. Stiles didn't have the brain-power or energy to guess.

"That doesn't matter," Peter whispered.

"It does!" Stiles barked out the words, balling his hands into shaking fists. "I killed you! I'm the one person you should have been able to trust and I killed you! I'm your mate and I killed you!"

His eyes widened and he clasped a hand over his mouth. He really needed to invest in a brain to mouth filter at some point. That shouldn't have been said. It had remained unsaid over the entire stretch that they'd known each other, every interaction, as heavily laced with the evidence as it had been – the way Peter not once laid a hand on him, not when he'd kidnapped Stiles, not when he left Stiles go again, even as he'd mauled Lydia, even as he'd killed his nurse, he'd offered Stiles the bite and had accepted Stiles' refusal, he'd even let Stiles get help for Lydia. It was all there, all glaringly there but Stiles had adamantly refused to see any of it until it was too late, until he threw the Molotov cocktail and felt the bond snap inside his soul.

He expected Peter to lash out, to sneer at him, to leave, anything, but not to… laugh. "So you figured it out on your own. Of course you did, clever boy."

Stiles felt himself flush at the praise. "Why aren't you mad? Or disappointed? Or angry?"

When Peter looked at him, his expression was so soft that it took Stiles' breath away. "Because I wasn't… all there. The fire, the coma, the isolation without a pack, it had left me… feral and insane. I was a threat, to the people you cared about, so you helped take me out. And I can't… blame you. Not you. Besides, I think dying helped. I feel much clearer."

Humming softly, Stiles wrapped his arms around his knees. "Where did you come from?"

"Mh," Peter got a far-off look. "It wasn't hell, surprisingly. I think more of a limbo-"

"No, I mean just now," Stiles interrupted him with a grunt. "I am in no shape to even halfway consider the philosophical, theological and… metaphysical, I guess, implications of your resurrection. I mean that I was sitting alone in this creepy ass warehouse and then you showed up."

"Ah," Peter chuckled, and then he flexed his claws and flashed his eyes – red eyes, Alpha eyes, holy shit, more implication that Stiles need to shelf for later. "Something slithered away while nobody was looking. But I could smell him all over you. I… don't need to ask who did this to you. So, I followed him to make sure he never lays a hand on you again, darling."

This time, when Stiles whimpered, it was not a pain reaction. It was something very deep and primal. A weird mix of pleasure, arousal, surprise and feeling protected. He couldn't even feel embarrassed about the noise. Peter had just declared that he'd killed the man who had kidnapped and tortured Stiles, all just to make sure Stiles would be safe. Blinking sluggishly, Stiles regarded the wolf and he could see the restraint in his posture, the tension. Like it took everything he had to hold himself back from something. It took a moment until Stiles' brain caught up.

"I didn't flinch because I'm scared of you or thought you wanted to hurt me," Stiles offered after another moment. "I wasn't really here, in my mind I mean, and you startled me."

Some of the tension drained away from Peter, but there was still reluctance in his eyes. "Can I… touch you, darling?"

Stiles offered a half-shrug, directly followed by a wince. "As long as you don't make it creepy."

The moment Peter's hand grasped his neck, something happened. It felt like the pain decided to just leave his body and Stiles could take his first deep breath in hours. He gasped surprised. There were black veins snaking up Peter's arm as the wolf drained Stiles' pain.

"Thank you," Stiles' voice was a whisper.

"Come on," Peter got up and offered Stiles a hand. "Let's get out of this place."

Stiles hummed but he was reluctant to follow the order. He didn't want to go home. Still, he let himself be nudged toward the passenger seat of the Jeep and when Peter held out his hand, he even handed over the keys. He was so in no shape to drive, it was still a miracle they had somehow made it all the way here in the first place. A mournful sigh escaped Stiles as he regarded Roscoe.

"I am so sorry, baby girl," Stiles gently patted the door. "I so can't afford to fix you this time…"

He could feel Peter's eyes on him, but he was glad the wolf didn't comment on it. Neither on Stiles talking to his Jeep, calling his Jeep 'baby girl', or being too damn broke to repair said Jeep. Closing his eyes, Stiles leaned his head back and tried to relax.

"Why were you still here, Stiles?" Peter asked after a moment.

"Because everybody else already left," Stiles shrugged. "Because I didn't have the energy to drive myself just yet. Because I… didn't want to go home and sit in an empty house."

"Your father-"

"Is out on shift, yeah," Stiles turned his head to look out the window. "Creepy warehouse beat lonely, empty house, I guess. I doubt I'll sleep much tonight anyway."

Stiles frowned when they passed his house. Sure he had said he didn't want to be alone at home but he didn't really know what the alternative was. Finally, he turned to actually look at the wolf again. Peter didn't acknowledge it though, like he wanted Stiles to verbalize what was on his mind and since when was that a thing. People wanted him to talk less, not more.

"Seeing as I have already been kidnapped once today, I'd like to know where we're going."

The noise coming from Peter was somewhere between an angry growl and a snorted out laugh. "I am not kidnapping you, darling. You just said that your house isn't safe, with your father gone and you in... no state to fend off an attacker yourself. We're going to my place."

"You have a place," Stiles blurted it out without meaning to and winced at how it sounded.

"Yes, unlike Derek, I am not too fond of rat infestations," the look on Peter's face was filled with distaste and judgment. "He may be fine sleeping in that... train depot... but I do have standards."

Stiles hummed softly and sank lower in the seat. His eyes trailed back out the window, watching the scenery of night time Beacon Hills pass them. They left the neighborhood and the longer they drove, the bigger and fancier were the houses, until Stiles was fairly sure he'd never actually been in this neighborhood. There was a new and tall building, rich people apartment building to attract a different kind of new people into moving to Beacon Hills. Supposedly, it had a pool on the roof, or so Stiles had heard. He recognized the building when they headed straight for it, and for the underground parking beneath it, where Peter first had to show an ID to even enter.

"Of course do you live in the one apartment complex in all of Beacon Hills with a private pool."

"The pool is only accessible through the penthouse."

Stiles looked at Peter from the corner of his eyes, noting a smug smirk. "And you live in the penthouse. Of course you do."

"What can I say, I am a man of great taste."

He actually winked at Stiles at that. Looked at Stiles and winked. Like he was talking about Stiles. Like he was flirting with Stiles. His heart jumped a little at that because them being mates, being somehow fated to be for reasons beyond Stiles' understanding, was one thing, it was a thing that Peter hadn't chosen for himself. But flirting with Stiles was a choice. A choice that made Stiles' cheeks feel hot with a flush and his heart feel weirdly full, made him feel desired.

Peter parked the Jeep next to what might be the most expensive car Stiles had ever gotten to see up close in real life and something told Stiles this was Peter's. So Stiles opted to not comment on it. Instead, he got out of his car – his dented, damaged, beloved car that miraculously had brought them here while making the most concerning noises Stiles had ever heard a car make – and rounded her to stand next to Peter, his eyes decidedly not on the shiny car next to Roscoe.

"Not to jinx my luck, but... you are being surprisingly... compliant."

Peter raised one eyebrow as he led Stiles into the elevator and used a key to unlock the penthouse button. Stiles slumped against the back wall and closed his eyes again, heaving a deep sigh.

"My dad's at work. Scott just... left," Stiles couldn't help the sneer. "So did Lydia and Jackson, for that matter, but they were too wrapped up in their curse-breaking, all defying Disney-style love story, also I would rather jump off a bridge than let Jackson Whittemore drive me home. Derek left, which, I guess I can't fault him for that, to him Scott and me have always been a package deal, so if Scott betrayed him and left the pack, he most likely assumes I did too."

"Assumes," Peter repeated, tilting his head intrigued. "You're... not? Leaving the pack, I mean. I'm well-aware that whatever this… was… it was Scott's idea and not yours. Your ideas are more… refined and also effective. This one had Scott written all over it."

"Contrary to popular belief are Scott and I actually two separate people," Stiles huffed and opened his eyes to glare at Peter while motioning at his bruised face. "This? This wasn't just because grandpa gets off on torturing teenagers – though he definitely does – this was a message for Scott. I got kidnapped and beaten up and electrocuted and kicked in the ribs to teach Scott a lesson and Scott didn't even fucking ask. He didn't even fucking notice."

Stiles had talked himself into a rage and he hit the elevator wall hard with his fist, clenching his eyes shut to keep from crying. He was not going to cry. He'd gotten through getting tortured without crying, he was absolutely not going to cry out in disappointment just because Scott prioritized his girlfriend over his best friend (again, something that had already nearly gotten Stiles killed twice in the past months because Scott was too wrapped up in Allison to even answer his damn phone), even though the damn girlfriend was the reason why Scott had gotten a "message" to begin with. A gentle hand on his upper arm tore him out of his thoughts and made him look up at Peter. Red eyes and fangs, like the wolf was so close to the surface, to leaving and acting out in revenge. On Stiles' behalf, Stiles realized. Peter was wolved out to go and hunt down Scott.

"Right," Stiles cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Right. So. Yeah. Everybody else had left and you... stayed. For me. Besides, you seem much more... sane. Not less murderous, but more rational. Besides, I know you won't hurt me."

That put a look of genuine surprise on Peter's face. "You do."

"Werewolves can't hurt their mates, lesson I learned from Scott having no problems pushing me around but not even hurt a hair on Allison's head, not even on the full moon," Stiles shrugged, turning his face away a little to hide his returning blush. "That was the main thing that clued me in on... this. You never hurt me. You attacked Scott and turned him, but only after I left. You attacked Derek in the hospital, but didn't even try to attack me, before he came, even though you could have easily killed me if you had wanted to. You mauled Lydia, but didn't lay a hand on me. You killed your nurse after she was no longer useful, but just let me go unharmed. You have attacked or straight-up killed pretty much everyone who interacted with you. Aside from me. Never me."

"Clever boy," Peter whispered with a pleased look on his face. "When did you figure it out, then?"

Pressing his lips together, Stiles avoided Peter's gaze once more. "After we... killed you. I felt the... I guess I felt the bond snap, it was like something in my soul broke? Took me a couple more weeks to actually... admit that though, to look back at everything and put it into the obvious context."

Peter regarded him with a frown. "I'm sorry you had to feel that."

"What," Stiles sputtered, head snapping up to stare at the wolf incredulously. "I helped kill you and you're apologizing that your death had a negative effect on me? You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm a born werewolf," Peter's voice was gentle but void of emotions. "Mates are… Wolves pride themselves on finding their mates. Yet not every wolf is lucky enough to meet their mate. If a wolf brings their mate into the pack, these mates are… cherished, within the pack. Respected. A wolf would do anything for their mate, it's… not just instinct, it's also a sense of… gratitude. You exist for me and I will do anything in my powers to protect you and be worthy of you."

Peter's gaze on him felt so heavy that Stiles had to swallow hard. Even without werewolfly hearing, Stiles could tell that Peter wasn't lying, that he meant every word. Still, there was something sorrowful in his eyes, he looked guarded as he turned away from Stiles some.

"I haven't been worthy of you, yet. So I can't hold it against you that you played your part in killing me, darling," Peter offered a bitter, twisted smile. "I was feral. My mind was only slowly coming back to me. I turned Scott, because he smelt heavily of you. I attacked Lydia, because your scent was all over her and how dare she try to take what is mine."

A shudder wrecked Stiles at just how forceful and possessive that last word was. He swallowed again, struggling with all the emotions that were going through his head. He shouldn't be turned on by that, he shouldn't feel pleased by that possessiveness, not after everything Peter had done. But he'd never been wanted before. Not by Lydia, whom he loved for so long, not by anybody else. The want was undeniable here, Peter wanted him, wanted Stiles to be his and only his, and the feeling of being wanted to fiercely was exhilarating and dizzying.

Peter cleared his throat. "I'd like to note that this was not a display of relapsing insanity, it's simply an instinctual reaction to an unsealed mate-bond."

"Noted," Stiles blinked at him, not sure what else to say.

The elevator doors opened and Peter gently grasped him by the elbow to guide him in. Stiles' eyes roamed the space, taking in as much of it as he could. It wasn't very personal, but then Stiles supposed that Peter had lost all personal possessions during the fire. It was very fancy and very modern in decor and style. The kind of place that made Stiles not want to touch anything because if be broke something it would probably cost more than a year's worth of his allowance.

"Come," Peter reached for his arm again after locking the door behind them.

Stiles wasn't feeling snarky or defiant, even though all that gentle urging along was kind of frustrating. He felt like a little kid lost at the mall with a kind stranger trying to make him trust them so he could be brought back to his parents. That was just not the vibe he wanted from his mate. His heart jumped at that thought. At thinking about Peter as his mate. So far, he'd only ever thought of himself as Peter's mate, something that felt much more removed from him. It was a wolf-thing. But after putting words to his own experience, to the fact that he had felt the mate-bond snap, it was hard to deny that he also played a part in this, that this was affecting him too.

"I'm not a spooked animal," Stiles pointed out after a moment. "I got the shit kicked out of me but I am not made of glass, okay? You don't need to be this… this careful not to push me."

The ghost of a smile spread over Peter's lips as he nodded. "Fair enough, darling."

Stiles took in the bathroom and he made a soft, high noise. There was a gigantic bathtub at the center of the black-tiled room, easily big enough to fit two people – and Stiles actively tried to not picture himself and Peter in there together, no sir – and a large shower-stall in the corner. Two sinks, Stiles noted curiously. A large shelf filled with towels and bottles of various kind.

"Take off your clothes," Peter prompted, giving Stiles an expectant look.

"Yeah, no," Stiles huffed out a laugh. "I am not getting naked in front of you."

"Fair enough," though as Peter said it, he sounded defeated and a bit… pouty. "I do need you to take off your shirt and pants though. I need to check your injuries, darling."

"Ri—ight. Check my 'injuries', creeperwolf," Stiles muttered teasingly.

He did comply though. He'd done his best to take care of them earlier himself but that only went so far. With a wince did he peel his shirt off over his head, stretching up pulled painfully on his ribs. A hand grabbed his shoulder and the pain was once again replaced by a warm, comfortable feeling. A pleased sigh escaped Stiles as he relaxed in Peter's grasp.

"Thank you," Stiles whispered while unbuttoning his pants.

He kicked them off and found himself down to his boxers and oddly self-conscious. His breath hitched at the sound of a growl. It was filled with rage, the kind that should tell Stiles not to move because there was an angry werewolf in the room. When he looked at Peter, he could see the Alpha all wolved out, snarl on his face, all fangs and glowing red eyes. His hands were balled to fists, blood dripping from them where his claws were digging into his palms. Without even thinking about it, Stiles stepped up and took Peter's hands, startling the wolf into relaxing his grip enough so Stiles could ease his fists open. Stiles frowned down at the claw-marks that were already healing.

"I'm sorry," Peter sighed. "I didn't mean to scare you…"

"You didn't scare me. Come on. Give me a little more credit. I know that little display wasn't aimed at me, it was aimed at Gerard. Yeah, I know it looks… bad, worse than the bit of bruising on my face," Stiles heaved a sigh. "I don't think anything is broken though. Broken ribs feel different. But I do think they're bruised. But I'm okay."

"You are not okay, you are hurt," Peter growled again.

"Yup, uhu, fully aware of that," Stiles looked up at Peter with one raised eyebrow. "But nothing's broken, or torn. I can walk all on my own. I'm okay. Besides, you already killed him, so there's nothing you can do about this with violence and wolfiness right now anyway."

Stiles' heart jumped at the admission that Peter had killed Gerard Argent. Peter had killed Gerard Argent for hurting Stiles. Impulsively, Stiles leaned up and brushed his cheek against Peter's. The wolf went impossibly still at the action, his breath catching in his throat.

"Stiles-" Peter growled, a soft, low warning. "Don't do things you don't understand."

"Don't," Stiles growled back, annoyed. "Don't start underestimating me now, Peter, not after you've been pretty much the only person in this damn town who acknowledges I got a brain."

A flash of surprise and confusion went over Peter's face. Like the wolf had really thought Stiles would do something as weird as rub his cheek against someone else's just for fun. Of course did he know about scent-marking, he'd been reading up on werewolf behavior for long enough at this point and he knew that scenting was important among a pack, among mates even more so.

"You killed him," Stiles said in explanation, offering a half-shrug. "You killed him for me."

Peter huffed out a surprised laugh. "Sweetheart, aren't you perfect for me."

A blush lit Stiles' face up at the compliment. "C'mon, you wanted to inspect my injuries. Because I would actually love to get into that bathtub and soak in it for like an hour."

"That can be arranged," Peter's voice was a purr.

"Alone," Stiles clarified with a sharp glare. "I will be going into that tub alone."

Again with the pouting! A grown-ass man had no right to look that cute while pouting!

"Another time then, darling," Peter winked playfully at him, before turning more serious. "I am going to touch you now though, to check your injuries. Is that okay?"

And oh. Oh, Peter and consent were really fucking hot. A thought that had crossed Stiles' mind already when Peter had toyed with his wrist, offered the bite – and let go as soon as Stiles had declined. So much has been happening to him with no say so on his part that it was just incredibly good to be asked, and for his boundaries and wishes to be respected.

"Yes," Stiles whispered, his voice soft. "That's okay."

Peter's fingers were gentle as they ran over bruises, prodding at places to check if something was broken. Gentle and slow, which only made Stiles hyper-aware of the touch. His heart was hammering in his chest as soft hands wandered over his ribs. Closing his eyes tightly, Stiles tried really had to not get hard. This was not the time or place for it.

"I'm sorry," Peter frowned and paused. "Am I hurting you?"

"Opposite," Stiles pressed out embarrassed. "C'mon. Use your nose, creeperwolf."

When Peter sniffed the air, the Alpha froze and growled – not threatening, not playful, but a primal, lustful sound and Stiles hadn't known that growling could sound lustful. The hand previously on his ribs was now gripping his hip tightly, not painfully so but possessively so. Stiles couldn't help the small whimper that escaped him. Flushed in embarrassment, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Peter's chest. Fleetingly, he thought about Scott – which did kill the arousal, thank you very much. But this was what Scott and Allison had experienced. This forceful draw to each other, this feeling of desire and care and safety and love – love, even though they didn't even really know each other. But standing here, in Peter's arms, there was an unwavering certainty that even if he looked in the entire world he would never find anyone who'd love him as deep and fierce as Peter. That didn't make Scott walking out on him sting any less, but it did put things more into context.

"Is it…" Stiles swallowed hard. "Is it always going to be this intense?"

Peter made a small, curious noise, too busy nosing at Stiles' neck. "No. Once a mate-bond is sealed, it… settles. The draw between us is so strong right now because we're not bonded."

That answer satisfied and relaxed Stiles somewhat because how would he ever get anything done again if Peter was close-by? Taking a deep breath, Stiles pushed off Peter some, taking a step back. The wolf actually whined at him, which had no right to be cute.

"Injuries," Stiles reminded him. "Because it is kind of cold standing here in my underwear. Plus… really do not have the energy to stand much longer. I want in that bathtub."

The reminder of his overall state did sober Peter up some. His fingers moved quicker this time around, which indicated that Peter had been savoring the moment before. The thought of that put another blush on Stiles' cheeks, because holy shit Peter really wanted him, huh.

"Nothing broken," Peter whispered. "You're all good."

"I know," Stiles chuckled, raising both eyebrows at the Alpha. "I told you."

Peter grumbled, finally letting go of Stiles so he could instead draw a bath for his mate. "I didn't doubt you. My rational mind knew you had no reason to lie. The wolf, on the other hand, needed for me to make sure you really were okay myself."

"That's okay," Stiles whispered, sitting down on the rim of the bathtub.

He watched the water fill and bubbles forming. Peter had bubble baths. In the quiet of the room, with nothing actively distracting him, like Peter's touch had, his mind wandered back to the basement. To the feeling of electricity running through his body when he'd tried to take of the bindings on Boyd and Erica. To the tear-streaked expressions on both their faces, their muffled cries and pleas behind duct-tape. The way they'd jerked in their bindings, trying to help him while Gerard was kicking him. A hand caressing his cheek brought him out of his thoughts, causing him to flinch. He blinked rapidly, blinking away tears. Damn it.

"He's dead, he can't hurt you anymore, darling."

"It's not about me," Stiles growled frustrated.

"Tell me what it is about then," Peter prompted, looking at him with too much patience.

"He didn't just have me. He had Boyd and Erica too," Stiles averted his eyes. "They took me as a message for Scott, they took Boyd and Erica to find Derek. The fact that they were still being tortured by the time the hunters got me tells me they stayed quiet and protected Derek, but I don't know how long that lasted, I don't know if-"

His breath hitched at that and he found himself unable to finish the sentence. Damn werewolves, always causing Stiles worry and distress. They were absolutely going to be the death of him.

"Would… you like me to go look for your friends?"

"We aren't friends," Stiles huffed out a laugh. "We don't even like each other. Or we didn't. I don't know. But ever since the rave, I just… I feel so protective of them. I mean, Isaac, Erica and me were alone with still-a-kanima-Jackson and I pushed the damn werewolves behind me like I could protect them, I'm a squishy human, they heal! Still baffled that they let that happen, or that they listened to anything I said, honestly. But seeing Erica and Boyd down there, I just… I wanted to rip Gerard's throat out. And now I don't know if they're safe, if they're…"

"Mh," Peter had an amused smile on his lips, which seemed just so inappropriate for the severity of the situation. "It's ironic, that you have stronger pack instincts than Scott."

Stiles' head jerked up to stare at Peter. "What."

"You said earlier, that Scott betrayed Derek and left the pack, and that Derek would assume that meant you'd leave the pack too, which implies that you don't," Peter offered. "You joined the Hale Pack and you are still a member of it. What you're feeling is the pack bond. You are protective of your pack mates. I'm assuming you joined the pack closely before that… rave?"

Stiles blinked slowly, eyes widening. "I… I… Yeah. Yeah. We… the rave, that was the first time we all worked together, as one pack. Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Scott and me. I… oh. I didn't… I didn't even, I mean, I'm not a wolf, I didn't expect that I could feel a pack bond."

"You could feel the mate-bond," Peter pointed out. "Maybe you're not as human as you assume."

Stiles sucked in a breath at that. For some reason, he saw the line of mountain ash he'd drawn that day. Magic. But Deaton had said that was something everybody could do – oh. No. Never mind, never believe anything that lying, secretive man had to say. Damn it, he really should know better.

"I'm magic," Stiles blurted out.

"You sure are," Peter's voice had dropped into a purr again.

"No," Stiles swatted at the wolf's chest in annoyance. "I mean literal magic. That day, at that rave, I performed magic. I created mountain ash out of thin air. I'm magic."

Well, seemed Stiles finally managed to shut Peter up for good. The wolf was staring at him in amazed bafflement, which only made Stiles blush. Again. Ducking his head, Stiles turned to look at the tub again, watch the way the water was slowly rising.

"They left the pack," Peter offered when he noticed Stiles' avoidance and clear desire to change the topic. "They left, running away, presumably before they were captured."

Stiles' attention returned to his mate, a confused frown on his face. "What. But you just said that what I felt was the pack-bond. How could I have a pack-bond with them if they left the pack."

Peter pressed his lips together to a thin line and turned away from Stiles. Mh. Interesting. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles walked around Peter to put himself into the wolf's line of sight.

"Oh no, mister. You know something," Stiles accused him, poking his chest with a finger. "Tell me. I don't really know what this is, or what it's going to be, but it's not going to work if you scheme on your own and not share with me. No lies, no secrets. Got it?"

Peter had the decency to look sheepish. "I don't… know for sure, but I'm… starting to have a theory. No lies, no secrets, but… give me a bit more time to test my theory?"

Stiles wiggles his nose, frowning, but in the end, he nodded. "I just… After the shit Scott pulled today, after the secrets that fucking Deaton keeps having, I don't…"

Peter reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I understand, darling."

Sighing, Stiles let his hand drop into the water, feeling the temperature. "I think I'll take that bath now. If I'm not out in two hours, you are allowed to knock on the door to check if I drowned. But you're only allowed to enter if I actually don't reply."

Amusement returned to Peter's face at that and he nodded, before looking more serious again. "Do you want me to go and look for them? The wayward pups."

Stiles went still for a long moment. He hadn't even considered that. That he wasn't alone anymore. That Peter was there, with werewolf senses and speed. Stiles' heart jumped.

"Yes," Stiles forced the word out. "Please."

Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles' head, which had no right to be that comforting. "Anything for you, sweetheart. I hate to leave you alone, but I know you are safe in my den. I'll get our wayward pups back for you."

Our. Something about that made Stiles' heart swell. Our pups. Not Derek's betas. That reminded Stiles that he still needed to ask why or how Peter was an Alpha, if Derek was also an Alpha. Before Peter could leave did Stiles grasp his wrist, stopping him. Peter turned to give him a curious look.

"Be… careful," Stiles didn't look at him. "You may have killed Gerard, but there are still other hunters in Beacon Hills besides the Argents. Be careful, okay?"

The way Peter was practically beaming at him made Stiles' heart beat like crazy. "I will."

With that, the Alpha left the bathroom, leaving Stiles to his bath. Gingerly, he stepped out of his boxers and got out of his socks before slipping into the huge tub. It was perfect. All of him was covered in water. They had a bathtub at home too, but only limited space, so usually he had to pull his legs up to fit in and then his knees were outside the water. But this tub was perfect. Stiles sighed contently, closing his eyes and relaxing for the first time all day. Maybe the first time in weeks.

/break\

Stiles wasn't good at sitting still for too long though so after somewhere just under an hour, he got out of the tub again and carefully dried himself off with one of the way too fluffy and soft towels that his fancy wolf owned. He frowned down at his bloodied clothes and then daringly went to the door, cracking it open just a bit while clutching the towel around his waist.

"Peter?" Stiles called out loudly. "Peter, are you back yet? Pe—eter?"

No answer, no werewolf rushing to his side. Okay. Opening the door fully, Stiles stepped out and headed over to what he assumed to be the bedroom – no, that was a… holy shit. Stiles' eyes widened when he took in the shelves lining every wall of the room, two shelves standing in the center of the room back to back. Peter had his own library. Shaking his head, Stiles tore himself away from the temptation of the very old looking books and instead left to check where the bedroom actually was. Heaving a relieved sigh, he headed straight for the closet. And damn. Of course did Peter own expensive, fancy suits, on top of the… way too deeply cut v-necks. These were just obscene, honestly. Huffing to himself, Stiles went further through the closet, knowing the wolf had to own some comfort clothes – and hah! Lo and behold, a black hoodie and sweatpants.

Stiles couldn't help but bury his nose in the hoodie, inhaling the wolf's scent that clung to the clothes. He gave a content, little noise, safe in the knowledge nobody had heard it. His eyes landed on the very large, very inviting bed and he remained strong for about three point two seconds before he allowed himself to collapse on it and oh those sheets were actual heaven.

A blissful sigh escaped his lips as he rolled around on the bed and curled together.

/break\

Peter was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling tense and wired. Partially because he had left his mate unsupervised, alone and vulnerable. Rationally, he knew that Stiles was safe in the penthouse. The wolf inside him wasn't rational though, not with his mate injured, not with the mate-bond still unsealed. His eyes stared into the rear-view mirror, watching the two betas huddled together on his backseat. They looked worse for wear. Not as bad as Stiles, but considering they were werewolves? The fact that there were still unhealed injuries on them was concerning.

"Who are you," the blonde girl asked, staring at him. "Why did we… trust you."

A lazy smile spread over Peter's lips at that. "Because I'm your Alpha."

Both of the teens tensed at that and exchanging a look. His theory had easily proven correct when he had found the two betas – not really knowing them, he hadn't been able to track them by their scent, but Stiles' scent clung onto them enough and the mate-bond was still so open and raw that Peter was overly aware of anything Stiles. He'd found them in the woods and ordered them to come with them, promising them he could bring them to safety and to Stiles.

"How," the boy growled. "Derek was our Alpha, but we left his pack. We didn't actually join any other pack. Allison got us before we had a chance to even leave town."

Allison? Peter raised his eyebrows high. The girl. A sneer found its way onto his face. He'd thought she was different, being a werewolf's mate herself, but it seemed the Argent genes were too strong. Just like Kate, just like Victoria, just like Gerard. Looking down on werewolves, thinking they had a right to kill every wolf they met simply for existing. Who went after innocent teenagers. Kids.

"I'll explain it to you upstairs, with Stiles present."

The two betas still looked doubtful but they didn't argue. At least something. They quietly followed Peter through the garage, up the elevator. He noted the way they held onto each other, trying to shield the other respectively. Mates. It was written all over their behavior. That explained why the two betas had thought they could just run off and would be fine. Not just youthful stupidity, but youthful stupidity fueled by the overwhelming feeling that a new mate-bond gave one. A sense of invincibility and that, as long as one had their mate, they could do anything. Peter had never understood it, until he'd held Stiles earlier and the whole world seemed to slip into place.

"There we are," Peter announced as the elevator door opened into the penthouse. "The living room is over there, take a seat, I'll just go and fetch Stiles."

He headed for the bathroom and knocked, not receiving an answer. Concern colored his features as he knocked again. No answer. When worry took a hold of him, he opened the door, even though he knew that if Stiles was just dozing he would be furious with Peter for entering. Still, he had to make sure his mate hadn't drowned, or slipped on the tiles, or… was simply gone. The frown on Peter's face increased as he noted the distinct lack of Stiles. His dirty clothes were still here, in a pile on the floor where they'd left them earlier, but Stiles was nowhere in sight.

Closing his eyes, Peter took a deep breath, following his nose to find his mate. It led him first to the library, with no Stiles in it either. Only when he reached his bedroom did he finally find his mate. His heart jumped into his throat as he laid eyes on Stiles. The human was curled together small, laying in the center of the bed – Peter's bed, Peter's mate was in his bed – and he was wearing Peter's clothes – surrounded by Peter's scent, soft, good, smelling like mate now.

He approached slow and careful before sitting down on the edge of the bed, running gentle fingers through the no longer very buzzed cut. Still short, but decidedly longer than the last time Peter had seen his boy. It was soft, Peter liked the feeling of it. He wondered what it'd feel like if it were a little longer still. Stiles beneath his touch stirred, those captivating, big, brown eyes staring up at him curiously and sleepily. Stiles stretched in a far too cat-like manner, yawning.

"You're back," Stiles noted, nuzzling into Peter's hand still on his head. "Did you…"

"Yes, I found them," Peter smiled down at his mate. "They're in the living room. Do you-"

-need another moment. The rest of the sentence was lost on Stiles as the human had jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room at a speed that surprised Peter, considering Stiles' earlier exhaustion. Getting up, Peter went to follow his mate, reaching the living room just in time to see Stiles fully launch himself at the two werewolves, who happily caught him between them. They wrapped their arms around each other in a tight hug, the betas burying their faces in either side of Stiles' neck, sobbing out noises of relief. Peter's eyes softened as he watched this clear display of pack. It filled his heart with warmth. This was what pack should be like.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," Stiles gasped out, rubbing his cheeks against both of theirs. "Peter went looking for you but I wasn't sure if he'd find you-"

The girl interrupted him sharply. "Who is he?"

"U—uhm…" Stiles flushed furiously.

And oh, his boy was delectable when he blushed, it was truly a challenge for his wolf to not grab his mate and ravish him on the spot whenever he did that. Stiles pushed off the betas a little and turned his body to look at Peter, to look between the betas and Peter.

"Peter Hale, he is… Derek's uncle and was the Alpha of the Hale Pack before Derek and he's… uh… he's my mate," Stiles' blush deepened. "Peter, these are Boyd and Erica."

Boyd and Erica. Peter stared at the teens intensely. Now that they were his betas, he ought to learn their names. He hadn't bothered before, when he thought they were Derek's. Instinctively, his eyes flashed red. Both betas flashed their eyes golden back at him. Good.

"You said you'd explain," Boyd spoke up after a moment. "What… is this."

"As my mate just told you, I was the Alpha before Derek," Peter motioned at Stiles. "I died, temporarily. It wasn't for me, so I decided to come back. But it appears that my death had a certain… effect, on Stiles."

"The broken mate-bond?" Stiles frowned. "But it like… snapped back into place? Right?"

The way he reached up and rested a hand over his heart made Peter's own heart jump. Stiles really could feel the mate-bond. Humans couldn't. They were more likely to fall in love with a wolf who shared a mate-bond with them, but the intensity, the connection of a mate-bond, it was lost on humans. His boy really wasn't simply human. But then when was anything about Stiles simple?

"No," Peter shook his head and rounded the couch to sit down on his living room table to be right in front of the three teenagers. "I was the Alpha when you and me met, when our bond… first formed. I was the Alpha, and that made you the Alpha mate."

By the way Stiles' eyes widened, these words meant something to him. Peter smirked pleased. His boy was clever. All the research he did, the knowledge he absorbed with so much greed. It was mesmerizing. Knowledge was power, much more so than physical strength. Too many underestimated that. Not Stiles. He wielded that power and that would always appeal much more to Peter than any physical prowess. His mate was clever, brilliant even, a strategist to boot too.

"Traditionally," Peter continued, at the blank looks from the betas – his betas. "A pack is led by an Alpha pair, a pair of mated Alphas. The Alpha, the physical protector, the leader of the pack, and the Alpha mate, the… heart of the pack, the emotional protector. When I died, I was still the Alpha."

"Died," Boyd repeated, grabbing Erica's hand more tightly.

"Yes" Peter waved a dismissive hand. "Not the point of the story. I died, Stiles didn't. And when Stiles, together with Scott, officially joined the Hale Pack, Stiles… was still the Alpha mate, due to the fact that Derek doesn't have a mate. The role wasn't filled, but Stiles had a mate-bond with a Hale Alpha, so he… filled it. From what he told me. Protecting you and… Isaac, was it, at that rave, trying to free the two of you, feeling protective of you betas, feeling that pull toward you. I'm assuming you feel the same. The bond between betas and the Alpha mate is a strong one, often times even stronger than their bond to their Alpha, because it is… more emotional."

Both betas turned to look at Stiles wondrously, but it was Erica who spoke up. "Yeah I thought it was weird that I felt so… protective… of Stiles, all of a sudden. I mean, I always liked him, even before I got turned into a wolf, but I had no problem threatening him when Derek told me to-"

Peter interrupted her with a loud, deep growl at the thought of Derek threatening his mate. He knew he was flashing his eyes, judging by the way the betas whined. Stiles heaved a sigh.

"Yeah, he does that, a lot, it's okay," Stiles waved a dismissive hand. "It's like, our thing. He threatens me, but in the end, when I actually need him, he always comes. He saved my life more than once. I saved his at least as often. Maybe at least one time more."

The growl turned into a grumble, still not pleased with the situation but appeased for now. "Yes. So, even without a mate-bond to the Alpha who turned you, Stiles still filled the role of the Alpha mate for you. You formed a bond with him. And then I was brought back from the dead. I… don't think I would still be an Alpha if Stiles hadn't joined the Hale Pack, but since you were part of the Hale Pack when I was brought back, you kept my connection to the Alpha spark alive. It's like a feedback loop. You became Alpha mate because of our mate-bond to me, the Alpha. I became Alpha again because of my mate-bond to you, as the Alpha mate."

"Okay," Stiles frowned, but Peter could tell that he was keeping up.

"But what does that mean for us," Erica argued.

"It means that you may have turned your back on Derek, but you didn't turn your back on Stiles – and by the time you left Derek's pack, I was already alive again," Peter replied. "Stiles is my mate. If Stiles has your loyalty, your wolves recognize me as your Alpha."

Boyd grunted, frowning as he looked from Stiles to Peter. "Is that… okay?"

Stiles rested a hand in Boyd's neck, calming the beta instinctively. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay. We're pack. That feels… right, right? And if it feels right, it has to be okay."

Erica whined as she nuzzled into Stiles, curling around him. "So it's just… us?"

"A small pack," Peter conceded, but when he saw the protective and comforting way by which the three teens on his couch were entangled, he wasn't worried. "Small but good."

Stiles made a soft noise, burying his nose in Erica's hair "C'mere, Alpha. Bond with your pack."

He grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him close enough to press the softest kiss against Peter's lips, sending a jolt of joy and love and belonging through Peter. Small but good. Besides, who knew. A pack traditionally had two Alphas, Stiles was human, he couldn't be Alpha. Maybe, just maybe, Derek and Peter could work together. But that was a matter for later. Right now, all that mattered was right here, on his couch, in his den. Safe from any danger and all his.

~*~ The End ~*~

[babeyvenus]

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 28: Judgements and Murderers

Sam's eyes slowly opened as she heard a vibration by her head. Her phone was vibrating and charging on her pillow. She picked it up to see Scott's face on her screen.

She answered. "Hello?"

"Where the hell were you?", she heard him yell. Sam frowned. "First off, you're not my dad and second…  I was just out for a while. I needed to clear my mind."

"You should've let us know. We were worried sick!", he replies.

"My bad, Scott. I'm fine. I promise.", she says. She, at least, didn't dream about that creep last night…

"We got Malia. Scotty went all alpha on us and changed her back to being a human.", she heard Stiles in the back. 

"Holy shit! Scott, you were able to shift?", she grinned. 

"Yeah, we both got improvements today.", Scott informed her.

"Improvements how?"

"Stiles can read again.", Scott said. Sam's heart skipped as she covered her mouth in disbelief. "Don't mess with me, Scott!"

"He's not! I can read again!", she hears Stiles in the back. She let out a relieved laugh, wiping her eyes. "I'm so glad, Sti. That's so good to hear."

"Well hurry up and come over so we can celebrate!", he yells through the speaker. She chuckled. "Alright, I'll be right over."

She hung up and saw a text from Derek.

Sorry, I'm not done with my vacation yet. Need to do some stuff. I'll be back, promise. 

She smiled. At least he sent her a text. She got up and freshened up before getting out of the house. She was relieved to see her car in the driveway and got in, heading to the McCall house to celebrate.

Soon October came just as quick as September left and the best day was soon arriving.

Mischief Day.

Sam parked next to Stiles as he was already full of energy and bouncing toward her.

"Today's gonna be awesome. What's better than a pissed off Finstock?", Stiles grinned.

"Not much.", Sam says, gathering her things out of her car.

"My dad's working the late shift tomorrow, so how about we all dress up, go do some trick or treating and watch some Michael Myers at my place.", Stiles suggested.

"Trick or treating?" Sam looked at Stiles, raising a brow.

"Hell yeah! We're not too old for it.", he smiled.

"Yeah, but scary movies sound so much better than going out. Y'know? Get in the spirit of things. Something mundane.", Sam says. 

"Something mundane would be like going out trick or treating. What about going to a Halloween party?", Stiles suggested.

"You get me a bag of candy and I'll consider it.", Sam bargains.

"Yes! Snickers or twix–", Stiles suddenly groaned, looking behind her. She turned around and saw Scott standing next to his motorcycle with Ethan and Aiden.

She sighed as Stiles stormed up to them and followed him.

"No, just to talk." Aiden shared to Scott.

"Ah, that's a change of pace for you guys. Usually you're just hurting, maiming, killing…", Stiles listed. 

"You need a pack. We need an alpha.", Aiden stated.

"Yeah, absolutely not. That's hilarious though.", Stiles nodded.

"You came to us for help. We helped.", Ethan urged. Scott had informed her happened while she was missing.

"You beat his face into a bloody pulp.", Stiles reminded.

"The only time you "helped" us was when you were trying to tell Derek that he needed to skip town, but even then, it wasn't exactly helpful. You were stalling time.", Sam says.

"That's actually counterproductive.", Stiles argued.

"Why would I say yes?", Scott asked them.

"We could add strength, make you more powerful. There's no reason to say no."

"I can think of one. Like the two of you holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd. In fact, I don't know why we're not impaling them right now.", Isaac sneered, walking up to them, defensively. Aiden's jaw clenched as his eyes turned blue, letting out a warning growl.

"You wanna try?", he challenged.

"Alright, dammit.", Sam warned, reminding them this isn't the place. Isaac stepped forward and was ready to attack until Scott grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Yeah, sorry but they don't trust you. And neither do I.", Scott informed, walking past the twins, pulling Isaac away and taking Stiles and Sam.

The three of them walked into the school to see it busy with laughs and pranks. Silly string and toilet paper was being chucked through the air and half of the students were running wild.

The moment they walked through the doors, a roll of toilet paper came their way, hitting Stiles in the face while Scott and Sam ducked. "God, that's my face!", Stiles yelled.

"Take that shit somewhere else!", Sam shouted at an underclassman who carried rolls of tp. 

He sighed and patted Scott on his chest. "Hey dude, good decision, buddy. Good alpha decision."

"I hope so.", Scott sighed as they walked to Stiles' locker.

"You know so.", Stiles said as they reached his locker.

"It's just a lot more respectful to earn your trust than trying to force it out of you simply because they need an alpha.", Sam tells Scott.

He wasn't even paying attention. She followed Scott's stare to see him looking at Kira at her locker. Stiles also caught his line of vision.

"What are you lookin' at?", Stiles asked with a smile.

"Me? You.", he quickly said, looking back at Stiles.

"You looking at her?", he asked.

"Her? Who her?", Scott nervously asked.

"Her, her, Scott. Kira.", Sam says, nodding at her.

"You like her?", Stiles asked.

"No," he answered quickly. Sam raised an eyebrow. "I mean, uh, yeah. Yeah. She's okay, she's new.", he says. 

"She's new?", Sam repeated, smiling. That's all he could say?

"Ask her out!", Stiles encouraged as Kira closed her locker door and walked down the hall.

"Now?"

"How many chances do you get at love? Yes right now, Scott!", Sam encouraged.

"You're an alpha, okay? You're an apex predator. Everyone wants you, you know? You're like the hot girl that every guy wants!" Stiles explained.

"Don't give him a big head, now.", Sam joked as Isaac walked up, awkwardly.

"The hot girl?", Scott repeated. "You are the hottest girl.", Stiles gave him a pat on the shoulder and took off.

"What?", Isaac asked, confused.

"I'm the hot girl.", Scott's smile spread ear to ear as he nodded his head, pumping himself up.

"Yes you are.", Isaac agreed with a nod.

"That's our Stiles, filling your head with his weird pep talks.", Sam sighed, shaking her head and walking to class with a smile.

As usual, Finstocks' class was full of stifled laughter as they sat in their seats, trying to behave as they waited on Coach.

"Son of a bitch!", he heard outside in the halls.

Scott, Stiles, and Sam looked at each other and snickered as Finstock came storming into the class, totally pissed off. 

"Mischief night! Devil's night! I don't care what you call it, you little punks are evil.", Coach sneered. Sam let out a quick sputter of laughter, covering up with a cough.

"You think it's funny, Wilson?", he challenged. Sam scratched her nose. "No, Coach.", she said, trying to hide her smile.

"You all think it's funny every Halloween my house gets egged? A man's house is supposed to be his castle." Scott couldn't hold his smile anymore and Coach slammed a hand down on Scott's desk, making him flinch.

"Mine's a freaking omelet!", Coach cried, turning his back to them. On the front of his desk sat a card in a yellow envelope next to a small box wrapped in red wrapping paper topped with a shiny blue bow. Finstock reluctantly picked it up and rolled his eyes. "Oh this? We're going to do this again?"

He held the gift up for the class to see. He dropped the gift to the ground. "I don't think so!"

Coach stomped it and smashed it to pieces. His eyes grew wide with realization as he saw what he destroyed. He picked up broken pieces of a ceramic mug and immediately went to open the card. "Happy birthday," He read aloud and opened the card, "love, Greenberg."

As Sam got out of her class, Stiles pulled her down the hallway, watching as multiple students were bustling in the halls.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, every cop from the surrounding three counties is here. I just saw my dad, something's wrong.", Stiles replied. 

"If it's not one thing, it's another.", Sam muttered, following him as his dad came into view.

"Dad! Dad!", Stiles yelled, catching the Sheriff's attention. They jogged over to him.

"Kids, I don't have time.", he stressed. "What's going on?", his son asked, concerned. Sheriff looked around, "A very dangerous prisoner escaped and he was spotted nearby."

"What prisoner?", Sam asked as they followed him. 

"William Barrow.", Sheriff sighed. Their eyes widened at the name. William Barrow, a crazed mass murdering man. He was known for walking onto a school bus full of kids with a shrapnel bomb strapped to himself. Four kids died and one had lost his legs.

"The William Barrow? The shrapnel bomber? He was spotted nearby?", Stiles cried, causing the Sheriff to stop in his tracks.

"A little closer than nearby, actually.", his dad whispered. They turned to see Mr. McCall as he walked past them with several officers. Stiles and Sam looked at each other with a knowing look. All this chaos happening, everyone running about…  he was here.

"Dad, what's really going on?", Stiles asked his dad.

"He might be here. You two need to be careful. He escaped during surgery at the hospital so see if you can get Scott and Isaac to get a lead on anything. I've got to go, I'm sorry."

Stiles and Sam turned to each other as his dad walked away. Sam pulled Stiles. "We need to find Scott. Now." Stiles nodded as they took off in a run to find their best friend.

They were looking everywhere for Scott but couldn't find him. He wasn't answering his phone and they didn't see anyone who saw him. 

As they passed up a hallway, she stopped, catching Scott's back pressed up against the wall of lockers right next to an English classroom. Stiles' caught her pause and they ran up to their friend.

"Scott.", Sam called, grabbing his attention.

"Where the hell have you been?", Stiles asked. Before Scott could respond, Lydia came jogging up to them. "The police are leaving! Why are they leaving?", she urged for an answer.

"The police?", Scott asked.

"Your obliviousness is gonna get you in trouble.", Sam says.

"They must have cleared the building grounds which means he's not here.", Stiles said, making Lydia sigh heavily.

"Who? What are you guys—", Scott started but Lydia cut him off. 

"He has to be here! That sound—the buzzing I've been hearing—it's getting louder.", Lydia exclaimed.

"How loud?"

"Like it's right on top of us.", she whimpered, looking up. 

"We need to find my dad.", Stiles said.

"Someone tell me what's going on! Who's here?", Scott asked.

"William Barrow. Remember him? School bus bomber?", Sam asked. 

"What?", he exclaimed with wide eyes. "My mom was supposed to do his operation!"

"He escaped during it and he's here. You try to go catch a blood scent we need to find his dad.", Sam says as they split their ways.

Scott went to find a blood scent and Isaac while Lydia, Stiles, and Sam ran outside. They caught the Sheriff just as he, Agent McCall, and a few other officers were going down the stairs.

"Dad! Dad!" Stiles called as they ran down the stairs in tow of the Sheriff.

"Yeah?" He continued to job down the stairs.

"Sheriff, wait." Sam begged.

"You can't leave yet.", Stiles said. Sheriff Stilinski stopped at the bottom of the stairs before turning around to them. "We got an eye witness that puts Barrow by the train station.", he told them.

"Let's go, Stilinski!", Agent McCall yelled.

"Would you give us a second!", Sam yelled. The Sheriff turned on his heel to walk away but Stiles stopped him.

"Lydia said that he's still here.", he cried and his dad's eyes widened. 

"What? Did she see him?"

"Not exactly…" Sam grimaced. "But if we say she did, would you guys stay?", she asked.

"What do you mean not exactly? Did she see him?"

"No. Not at all, actually. But she has a feeling—a supernatural feeling." The Sheriff was more than confused with his son. He looked over to find Lydia standing against the outdoor lockers.

"But, Lydia wasn't on the chessboard!", Sheriff said, exasperated. 

"Well, she is now.", Stiles clarified.

"Kanima?"

"Uh…Banshee."

"God, really?", Sheriff cried.

"We know! We know how it sounds, but it basically means she can sense when someone's close to death."

"Can she sense that I'm about to kill you?", Sheriff whispered harshly. 

"You've got to believe us. She's been right every time before."

"I'm not saying I don't believe it, but right now, I'm going with eye witness over banshee." The Sheriff began walking away.

"Why would he be at a train station?", Sam asked, walking after him. "He targeted kids and now he's going to target the entire school!"

"We're leaving a few deputies here. The school's on lockdown till 3 o'clock. Nobody goes in, nobody goes out. Kids, that's the best I have right now. That's the best I can give you guys."

"Wha—leaving me here, no, that is the worst!", Stiles stuttered as his dad ran off to catch up with Agent McCall.

"Don't leave us!", Sam yelled and stopped as she sighed.

"We need a plan B.", Stiles said and Sam nodded in agreement.

Stiles and Lydia were checking the classrooms, the wolves were checking the basement, and Sam was checking the supply closets and the library.

She snuck to the basement after they checked and found nothing. Sam thought he'd be here. It'd make sense if he really wanted to hide.

She sent the text to a group message to Scott, Isaac, Ethan, and Aiden. Despite our recent differences, this involved them too.

Coming out of the library, she moved down the hall and checked each closet. There was nothing out of the ordinary. She moved down another empty hallway and just as she was about to open the custodial closet, the shrill ringing of the fire alarm blared throughout the school.

She quickly covered her ears to block out the sudden shrill noise. She rushed out of the room and spotted the group of six joining up together.

"Who pulled it?", Sam asked, rushing over to them.

"Me.", Stiles admitted.

"Figured. What do we do now? No one's here anymore.", Sam says.

"Does that mean everyone's safe?", Ethan asked.

"I don't know.", Lydia sadly answered. "I just…I don't know."

"No one's safe till he's back in custody.", Isaac said.

"We aren't exactly safe in the school at night either.", Sam said as she sat in the back seat of the Jeep. Lydia, Stiles, and Sam were on their way to the school because Stiles had a superstition as to where Barrow was hiding.

Stiles parked the jeep at the front of the school, and they went around to the side door that was always kept unlocked. They quietly walked themselves to the chemistry room.

"So, what are we looking for?", Lydia asked. Sam looked around, seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the chemistry room.

"I already checked in here, Harris always used to lock the closet and the new guy does it...too.", Stiles said as he easily opened the door. Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "Why was it unlocked?" It was never supposed to be unlocked.

"Yeah. Notice anything else?", Stiles asked.

"Besides chemicals? No.", Lydia answered. Stiles was using the flashlight on his phone as he searched through the shelves.

"Chemical smell." Sam thought back to Erica's dead body. "Ammonia.", she said as her eyes widened. "He masked his scent."

Lydia was right. Stiles looked at Sam as he crouched to the ground and nodded. He shined the flashlight on the floor to see pieces of broken glass, string, and drops of dark red blood.

"He was here. Performing very minor surgery on himself, but you were right."

"Why don't I feel good about this?", Lydia shifted her weight nervously.

"Something's not right. Why would he come to a busy school just to stitch up a wound?", Sam thought.

"He was probably here to kill somebody.", Stiles said.

"But who?", Sam asked. 

"That's what we have to figure out.", Stiles said, getting up and walking out of the closet. We began walking into the chemistry room.

"He targeted a bus full of kids, Stiles. If he had the chance, he'd blow up the whole school. I doubt it's just one person he's after. Hence the term mass murderer.", Sam emphasized. 

Lydia was staring at the board and Stiles was asking her what numbers on the board were.

"Atomic numbers.", she answered, walking closer. Stiles and Sam walked over to her to see three sets of numbers written vertically.

"Is it a formula?", he asked.

"Not really. 19's Potassium, 53's Iodine, and 88's Radium."

"The first two make potassium iodide…" Lydia picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the letter K next to 19.

"Potassium is K?", Stiles asked.

"From Kalium, the scientific neo-Latin name." Lydia said, dismissively. She wrote an 'I' next to 53 and continued on to radium.

"What's radium?" Stiles questioned.

"Ra?", Sam asked. Lydia slowly wrote Ra next to 88.

"Ra." She gasped, dropping the chalk onto the ground. They stared at the board in shock as they read what was on the board.

"Kira.", Stiles and Sam simultaneously whispered in shock. He was after Kira.

"He's still not answering.", Sam warned as Stiles drove crazy down the road.

Scott had a bad habit of not answering the phone for when it counts.

"I got it! Turn right!", Lydia directed as Sam tried his phone once more. Something was off. He's not answering his phone and Kira could be in danger. Both him and Kira could be in danger.

"Fourth house down on the right.", Lydia informed, making Stiles swerve again. Sam's eyes widened to see Scott's bike. "Look!", Sam says, pointing at it. 

As they got closer to Kira's house, Stiles shifted the car into park and they all ran out of the jeep, seeing Scott knocked out on the pavement next to his bike.

"Scott!", Sam yelled, running over to him.

"Scott.", Sam shook as she crouched down to him. "Scott! Wake up!!"

She even checked for wounds. Nothing but a gash on his forehead. 

Stiles ran over to them, shaking his best friend. "Scott, Scott, Scott!"

Scott's breathing became heavier, and his eyes began to flutter until they popped open. He gasped awake, looking around. Stiles and Sam gave him space and stood up.

"Barrow! He took Kira!", Scott yelled as he looked up at them.

"We know. He was after her the whole time.", Stiles said. Scott got off the ground and shoved his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out his phone. His fingers dialed Isaac's number and eventually Isaac answered. 

"Did you find anything?", he asked. They heard Isaac's muffled voice and Scott nodded. "All right, thanks." Scott hung up the phone looking defeated. "We have to think of something, he's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there. How did I know that?", Lydia asked.

"Okay, Lydia.", Sam says.

"What do you hear now?", Scott asked as Lydia concentrated on her hearing.

"Nothing." Her voice cracked. "I feel like I can do this, but I don't know what to do. It's—it's like it's on the tip of my tongue and I don't know how to trigger it.", she frowned. "I swear to God! It literally makes me want to scream." Scott, Stiles, and Sam looked at each other. Her screams were her warnings before someone was about to die.

Someone was gonna die.

"Okay then, scream. Lydia, scream.", Stiles ordered. And she did.

All three of them covered their ears to block out her shrill shrieks in the night air.

They all stared at Lydia's back as she finally went silent and looked up at the sky.

"It's not flies.", she said and quickly turned around, making Stiles flinch. "It's electricity.", she smiled in success.

"Wait a second…Barrow was an electrical engineer.", Stiles said. 

"Where did he work?", Sam asked.

"Some electrical substation."

"Lydia, find the address, please. C'mon.", Sam said as they piled in the car.

Something wasn't right. Unless Barrow had some weird, sick twisted way of killing Kira or he was trying to prove something.

"What's wrong?", Lydia asked as she looked at her through the rearview mirror as they sped down the road.

"I'm getting this weird feeling. Barrow is twisted, but electrocution? The last time I've seen anyone use electrocution was on werewolves.", Sam said.

Scott looked at her. "But she didn't smell like one. In fact, her house would've smelled like it, considering I was just there." 

"But why specifically her? I mean, he spelled out her name in elements.", Sam says. 

"She has a point.", Lydia said. "She did know about Bardo. Maybe she knew too much."

"I wanna believe that she's innocent and maybe she is. But if she's not human, what is she?", Sam asked.

"Okay, wait here alright? Wait for the cops to come.", Stiles instructed Lydia as we finally arrived. Scott, Stiles, and Sam rushed out of the car, Stiles keeping a grip on his metal bat.

"Me? Wait, why?", Lydia asked.

"I've only got one bat.", Stiles said and ran off towards Scott.

"What about you?", Lydia asked Sam. Sam shrugged. "I'll be fine. You sit tight.", Sam said and caught up with the other two. 

Scott was already ahead. Stiles and Sam ran towards the sound of struggling.

"No!", they heard Kira's voice. "Don't, she's not the one you want!"

Stiles and Sam ran into the room to see Scott paralyzed on the floor, and Barrow holding a broken power wire and walking towards Kira, who was tied up with ropes.

"Scott, your eyes!", Sam yelled.

"I can't." He groaned. "Can't move. Please. Help her."

Stiles and Sam began running towards Barrow as he closed in on Kira. Then, all of the sudden, they were blinded by white light. There was the sound of an explosion and all they heard was the buzzing of electricity.

Stiles and Sam were thrown back and hit the floor with a loud thud. Sam looked up with a groan, seeing sparks and strands of light. When the light dissipated, her eyes widened.

Electricity was being absorbed into Kira's hands.

All the lights in the substation flickered and finally gave out, submerging them in darkness. Stiles struggled to get his phone out of his pocket and turn the flashlight on.

It didn't matter. All they saw was Kira's terrified face and heaving shoulders. Sam stood, ready and defensive.

What the hell was that? What even is she?

Their questions didn't even get answered as they were now sitting in Sheriff Stilinski's office. Scott's dad pressured them with questions.

"Are you asking me?", Scott asked, staring at his dad with raised eyebrows.

"I think he's asking me.", Stiles said.

"Definitely isn't asking me.", Sam said.

"I think he's asking all of you.", Lydia said.

"Okay, let me answer the questions…." The teens looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Let me ask the questions.", McCall corrected. "Just so I have this absolutely clear, Barrow was hiding in the chemistry closet at the school. Someone left him a coded message on a blackboard telling him to kill Kira. Then Barrow took Kira to a power substation and tied her up with the intent of electrocuting her, which blacked out the entire town."

"Sounds about right.", Stiles nodded.

"How'd you know he'd take her to the power station?", McCall questioned.

"Because he used to work there? Do y'all not have a file on him in your little agent headquarters?", Sam says, looking at him in confusion.

"Lucky guess.", Stiles corrected before Sam got herself in trouble.

"That's one hell of a deduction there."

"What can I say, I take after my pops. He's in law enforcement.", Stiles joked, winking and pointing at his dad. The Sheriff stifled a laugh and when McCall turned around to correct himself with a glare, he passed it off as a cough.

"Just answer the man, kids.", Sheriff pleaded.

"We're just smart. Are you gonna arrest us for doing a little Scooby dooing?", Sam smiled.

McCall rolled his eyes and moved on. "What were the two of you doing?", Agent McCall asked his son and Kira.

"Eating sushi and pizza." They both finally concluded.

"Eating pizza.", Scott said at the same time as Kira said they were eating sushi. They all looked over to him with a raised brow. He looked over to Kira instead.

"Eating pizza.", she said as Scott said what Kira had stated before.

"Wow.", Sam muttered.

"Do you believe any of this?", McCall asked Stilinski.

"To be honest, I haven't believed a word Stiles' has said since he learned how to speak." Stiles tried to hide his smile.

"But I think these kids found themselves at the right place at the right time and that girl sitting over there is very lucky for it." The Sheriff concluded.

"Kira," Agent McCall started, "is that how you remember it?" The teens looked over to the girl, narrowing their eyes at her.

"Yes.", she nervously answered. "Can I get my phone back now?"

"Sorry, but no.", he declined, getting up and finally letting them leave the building. They all were led out of the Sheriff's office after Agent McCall told Kira that she'd be taken home by an officer.

"Scott." His dad called to grab his attention.

"We'll wait for you outside." Sam told Scott, following the direction Kira went in. Sam jogged out of the building to see Stiles and his dad talking by the Jeep and Kira walking with the officer down the sidewalk.

"Kira." Sam called. She turned to her, and Sam walked up to her.

"Yeah?", she nervously asked.

"Are you okay?", Sam asked. She looked at Sam fairly confused.

"Umm, yeah. I'm okay.", she nodded.

"Good. Just wanted to make sure.", Sam says. Kira fidgeted as Sam stared her down.

"I don't know what happened. I don't know what that was, I mean I'm even more shocked than you are," She grimaced. "No pun intended. But seriously, I didn't even know I could do that."

Sam sighed. "Look, I'll give you the benefit of a doubt. We've been through a lot already and I don't need another problem. However, if you do need help, that doesn't involve doing mysterious favors for you, then we're willing to help.", Sam says, and she nodded.

"Thank you.", Kira says. "Don't make me regret it, Kira.", Sam warned. She nodded and walked back to the officer waiting.

Sam turned around and saw Stiles look at her with a curious expression. She shook her head dismissively.

Seems like the power outage reached all of Beacon Hills, not just some parts, but that didn't deter school from continuing.

After last night, Sam wasn't really in a Halloween spirit. She just wanted to go to home.

"Hey~ Guess what I got?", Stiles smiled as he walked up to my locker. Sam tilted her head in curiosity. He pulled out a party size bag of Twix, making her smile. "Happy late birthday."

"I was joking.", Sam chuckled, taking it.

"You love me anyways.", Stiles said, grinning. 

He looked behind her, and waved, catching her attention. Scott was walking through the door but quickly stopped in his tracks as he looked behind them. Stiles and Sam followed his line of sight to see Kira by her locker. She looked over at Scott before going the opposite direction.

"What did you say to her last night?", Stiles wondered.

"I was just letting her know not to mess up.", Sam shrugged.

"Did you threaten her?", Stiles asked. Sam looked at him in disbelief. "No. What?"

He raised an eyebrow. "She's new, I'm not gonna automatically threaten her and make bad with her right now. I'm just letting her know not to mess up.", Sam says. 

Scott began jogging down the hall to catch up with Kira.

"There he goes.", Sam warned as Stiles grabbed Scott. "No, no, no! Stop, stop."

"I need to talk to her.", Scott said.

"If you don't remember, someone left a coded message for Barrow to kill her.", Stiles reminded.

"Which is why I need to talk to her!", Scott argued.

"Scott, no way! Until we figure out if she's just another psychotic monster that's gonna start murdering everybody, I vote against any and all interactions!", Stiles exclaimed.

"What if she's like me?", Scott asked.

"That girl walked through one hundred and twenty gigawatts of electricity.", Stiles stated with wide eyes.

"Kate electrocuted Derek when she kidnapped both of us after the formal. As I said before, the last time I've seen anyone use electrocution as torture and punishment was for werewolves.", Sam added. 

Scott shook his head anyway and took off. Stiles tried to go after him, but she stopped his shadow which made him yank to a pause as she walked up to him.

"He's very hardheaded." Sam sighed. Stiles frowned and dug into his pocket. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and looked over to see Stiles examining a silver key in his hands. "What's that for?"

"I don't know.", he said, blankly.

After school, Scott came running up to Stiles and Sam, pleading them to help him with something, but he was struggling to ask.

"Before you say anything, does this involve breaking the law?", Stiles asked. "Why are you surprised if it did?", Sam asked him.

"I need help, actually Kira and I need help getting her phone back. There's some things on there that the police can't see.", Scott said.

"Breaking into the station? Come on, Scott! My dad's in enough trouble.", Stiles whined.

"Please!", Scott begged.

"You're asking us to help her? I'm going with Stiles on this one, your dad's an asshole.", Sam tells him.

"I'll owe you guys forever, please. You won't have to go in. I'll take all the blame. We need to help her.", Scott stressed. 

"Why can't we just go do normal Halloween stuff like go to a party? No, we need to go break into a police station!", Stiles complained and sighed. "Let's go."

Stiles was more than frustrated they were helping Scott sneak into the station.

"I can't believe we're doing this.", he mumbled. Scott and Kira walked up to the car as Stiles pulled cards out of his pockets.

"Okay, this one will get you into all of the perimeter doors, this one into the evidence room, and this one's for my father's office.", he handed the cards to Scott.

"You didn't steal these, did you?", Scott asked.

"No, I cloned them using an RFID emulator."

"Is that worse than stealing?"

"It's… smarter.", Stiles said. While Kira pulled Scott aside for a second, Sam looked at Stiles.

"An RFID?", she looked at him in question.

"It's definitely something that may be against the law.", Stiles summed.

"Okay. So, now almost everybody's out dealing with the blackout. But there's always somebody at the front desk. There's Dispatch and usually a night shifter or two. You guys are gonna use the service door entrance by the dumpster. All right? Nobody uses it. I'll text you if anyone comes out. But, Scott, if you get caught, I can't help you. My dad's under investigation for impeachment because of your dad, so, if anything happens, we run and leave you both for dead.", Stiles said. 

"Got it, thanks. Seriously, dude.", Scott nodded.

"I'd ask my dad, but you know—"

"We got it, Sti.", Sam says, rubbing his shoulder.

"All right, just, uh, hurry up.", Stiles shooed them. The two nodded and walked off.

"What do we do now?", Sam asked, sighing.

"Sit. Wait. Hope we don't get caught.", Stiles said, looking defeated at this point.

"Well, our best chance at saving your dad the trouble would be just leaving them here. Scott already has his bike, we can just dip.", Sam said as we waited.

Stiles didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Sam knew he was stressed and tired, even though he looked better after not being able to read for a while.

"How are the nightmares?", Sam asked, making him pause then look at her. Sam raised an eyebrow as he tried to find the words to explain.

"They're… better. They've stopped but not completely.", he says as he messes with a silver key.

He pauses. "Can I tell you something?"

Sam tilted her head in wonder. "What's on your mind?"

"There's nothing really wrong… I think it's just me. I know Scott has his own thing going on and Isaac's living with him and all and then you're dealing with your witchy stuff now, I just– I feel left behind. I don't know how to explain it. I'm…", he sighed.

"I'm scared. Scared that I'm gonna lose you guys. If I haven't already.", he confessed.

She put an arm around him as she pulled him close. "Stiles, you still have us. Nothing's gonna change anything between us. We've got you. We love you a bunch, I promise you. We may have a lot to deal with right now, but it's not gonna sway us from you.", she reassures, hugging him.

He wrapped an arm around her. "Love you, kid.", Sam says, and he chuckled. "I'm only a couple of months younger than you."

"Yeah, but you're still the baby of the group.", Sam laughs, returning his smile. It was good to see him smile. She can't stand to see him so upset.

Their talk stopped as a beam of headlights shone, catching their attention. The other vehicle came to a stop and the ignition was cut off.

"Ah, hell." Stiles complained as Agent McCall exited the car.

"Don't move.", Sam whispered. Stiles leaned down in his seat and grabbed his phone, sending a quick text to Scott.

"Come on, Scott.", he whispered as McCall walked up to the back door.

"Okay, nevermind, you need to leave.", Sam urged. He watched Agent McCall's figure head in the door and disappear. He tenses, not making any move to leave. Sam gets ready to go in, but Stiles stops her. "Sam, don't."

"Just warn Scott to hurry the hell up. I'll stall.", Sam said, hurriedly getting out of the car and quietly following after Agent McCall. "Agent McCall, hold on.", Sam called, rushing over to him. "I've been looking for you."

He turned to her with furrowed eyebrows. "What do you want, Samantha?"

"The whole thing with Barrow, it was true. We literally just went to the school to make sure Barrow wasn't there. I helped Stiles with the plan of going to the substation.", Sam says, making him raise his eyebrows. 

"Really?"

Sam nodded. "Well, thank you for telling me. Now you should get home, there's a curfew.", he said and tried to walk away.

"Also, what you're doing to Stiles' dad sucks.", Sam says, making him pause and turn to her. "He's the best sheriff we've had for years. Did you ever once consider that maybe the mysterious cases were out of his control? Or anyone's control for that matter? Or that whoever was doing all of this has a very clean way of getting rid of evidence?", Sam pressed, walking up to him.

He didn't seem to have an answer which made her eyebrows raise. "Are you serious?", Sam scoffed.

He put out a hand to stop her. "Samantha, I really don't have time for judgmental reviews of performance."

"But you have time to review his. That's a little hypocritical, don't you think?", Sam challenged. He frowned at her. 

"You asked Stiles if the Sheriff was drinking? What does that have to do with the cases? Why even bring up a sensitive topic to someone that isn't even comfortable with telling you information like that to begin with?", Sam pressed.

He sighed. "If I pause the impeachment, will you leave me to my job?"

"Maybe.", Sam says.

He frowned. "Samantha."

"You said if. I said, maybe. Both are probabilities and it looks like we're gonna be holding on to those ifs.", Sam challenged and walked away.

She pushed out the door and walked around the building to find Stiles fidgeting near his Jeep. His eyes widened when he saw her and rushed over to her. 

"What happened?", he asked. "He tried to make a compromise and I told him it wasn't gonna work.", Sam said.

Stiles pulled her into a grateful hug. They pulled apart once they heard the metal of the back door creak open. Scott and Kira came rushing out with a smile on their faces.

"We did it! All the pics are deleted.", Scott smiled.

"That was awesome!", Kira said, excitedly. "I mean, terrifying, completely terrifying but kind of awesome."

Stiles and Sam looked at her in amazement before looking at Scott. He had such a sweet smile on his face as he looked at Kira.

"God, I've never done anything like that before, have you?", she asked. Scott, Stiles, and Sam all looked at each other, chuckling.

"Yeah, once or twice.", Stiles nodded.

"Pretty much.", Sam says.

"So, I guess I should take you home." Scott sighed. Kira nodded and started walking off to Scott's bike. Sam's phone bleeped, alerting her that she had a new message.

She pulled it out to see Danny had texted her asking if she was coming to his party. Sam sighed and agreed. She supposed she deserved to treat herself tonight.

Sam looked at the address he sent and frowned at its familiarity.

"Let's go.", Stiles called after her. She walked up to him as he looked at his phone. "We gotta go to this party, you promised me a party after I gave you candy.", he whined. Sam smiled. "I did say that."

She looked back at her phone, a confused frown setting in on her face. "Why's the party on Emerson St, though?" 

Stiles' eyes widened as they piled in. "That's Derek's loft.", he laughed.

Sam's heart dropped as she whined. He was gonna be so pissed when he came back.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-A New Home

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this is a repost considering it didn’t show up in any of the tags yesterday. have i mentioned how much i despise tumblr sometimes :) again, i want to give a special shoutout to @avengersbau for giving me a second set of eyes on this one.

word count: 2k

warnings: canon-typical violence and descriptions of injury.

The Purest Things Masterlist

gif is not mine! credit goes to @hqtchner

au! october 2007

Bookend: “It’s never too late to become who you want to be. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

++++

"I am SSA Hotchner. Welcome to the team Agent Y/L/N," his voice reminds you of the transatlantic accents of Hollywood stars of old. The kind you used to hear in the old black and white movies you would watch as a child.

"It's an honor to be here sir," you stare directly into his brown, soulfully deep eyes.

"J.J., get us started, please," SSA Hotchner suggests.

Sitting down, you look to the screen that displays the frightful footage of bombs detonating in various locations.

"Yesterday, an 81-year-old woman was severely injured when a bomb exploded in the toilet of a women's restroom," J.J. informs.

"Interesting spot to hide a bomb," Agent Prentiss sneers.

Jennifer flips through the slides and shows another bombsight located in a subway station, "Last year a similar bomb that had been attached to a phone box detonated. No outstanding injuries were reported. However, the bombs' similar makeup alerted detectives to dig into other bombings throughout the years. They have positively identified attacks over the past twelve years as perpetrated by the same bomber."

Spencer adds, "His M.O. is similar to George Peter Metesky, better known as the Mad Bomber. He terrorized New York City over a period of 16 years. He planted bombs in theaters, subway stations, libraries, and offices. They were left in phone booths, storage lockers and restrooms."

"Do you think we are looking at a copycat?" Derek questions.

"If we are, we need to stop him soon," declared David.

"He's escalating-becoming bolder and more vicious," you say, scanning the report.

"Tell Boston we can be there by 9:30," Hotch notifies J.J...

++++

"It seems like he's a textbook paranoid schizophrenic. People suffering from this disorder may think that other people are regulating them or plotting against them. They tend to be reclusive, antisocial, and obsessed Hwith hatred for their presumed enemies," you twist a loose string from your shirt around your finger, unwind it, then repeat the process.

It's a nervous tick you developed over the years that has worn down numerous tops before achieving their intended lifespan. You glance at Agent Hotchner, seeking a sign of approval. His eyes meet yours, and he poignantly nods.

Did I say too much? No. Don’t overthink this. They can probably smell fear.

"In his letters left at the bombsights, he uses words like 'broad' and 'chick' to signify women," Dr. Reid chimes in.

"Do you think the unsub is motivated by hostility towards women? "

"It's possible," he continues, "These speech patterns age him significantly, however. Phrases such as these were mainly used in the 30's, 40's, and 50's."

Agent Hotchner begins to delegate tasks before the jet lands, "Morgan and Reid, I want you to head to the bombsights and see if you can't work out the motive. J.J. and Prentiss talk to the victim's families, determine our victimology. Y/L/N, Rossi, and I will head to the precinct and familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land and see if we can't formulate a geographical profile."

++++

At the precinct, you observe Agent Hotchner's ability to singlehandedly transition an entire police force's obligation to under his jurisdiction.

"Captain Moreno, this is SSA David Rossi and SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N," the Unit Chief introduces you.

The captain tilts his head at you, "Aren't you a little young to be in the FBI? How old are you anyway?"

You nail him with a you're-full-of-crap look. 

Everyone gets to be young once; your turn is over, old man.

Choosing to take the high road, you say, "I'd like to get my hands on the bombers handwritten notes. There has to be something in those letters that can give us a clue into the who, what, when, and where of this case."

Skeptical of your request, he narrows his eyes and looks to David and Agent Hotchner.

"You hear her," Dave exclaims, "Lead the way!"

Your enigmatic smirk no doubt gives away the great pleasure Dave's gibe brings you.

++++

"Agent Hotchner," you hand him your preliminary geographical profile. With his arms crossed, he intimidatingly peers into your research.

Don't burn a hole in my paperwork; I worked hard on that.

He is impressed by your work, taking in your comprehensive outline of proof that details the unsubs point of origin. For someone so young, your attention to detail puts even his most observant profilers to shame. "How did you come to this conclusion?"

"My family is from Chicago. When I was little, I used to read through my grandfather's old newspapers that he collected throughout the 1950's. On the jet, I knew some of the phrasings that Dr. Reid was using sounded familiar, so I cross-referenced it with some of the particular articles I remember from my childhood and found his wording to be exact iterations of the Chicago Crier."

Without taking his eyes off of the paperwork, he commends you, "Impressive use of your prior knowledge. Often, the information drilled into us through education is lackluster compared to that of real-world experience."

You turn to walk back to your makeshift desk when he calls out to you, "And Y/L/N, call me Hotch."

Your shoulders relax from the tension you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging onto, "Alright. Hotch."

++++

You immediately regretted your decision. In pursuit of the unsub, you had wandered off down an abandoned subway tunnel and cornered him.

"Harold Watts, FBI. Gently place the remote detonator on the ground," You shout. Grappling to keep your gun from slipping between your clammy palms, you grip the weapon tighter.

Ordinary people's first days of work are uneventful; they're given a series of mundane tasks at most. Me? Of course, my first day involves being secluded in a subway tunnel facing down a man decked from head to toe in explosives and wires.

"D-don't come any closer. I have my finger on the trigger! I'm not afraid to die, and I will not hesitate to take you up in flames with me," he stammers.

The stampede of footsteps, no doubt from your colleagues and half of the Boston police force, resonate through the echo chamber you're standing in. Watts spooks and loses his balance. You begin shouting for the people behind you to stand down.

"The tracks are live, one wrong step, and we all blow up. I repeat, stand down!"

Turning your attention back to Watts, you attempt to soothe his irrationality. You slowly return your gun to its holster, raising your hands up in surrender. Hotch yells something unintelligible from behind you, but your focus is on the unsub and trying to prevent any more casualties.

"Harold, let's just talk this through for a couple of minutes. My men behind me will leave us alone. It's you and me now. Before this, you never wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to be heard. All of your life you felt like you were forced into the shadows, and you began to fester there in your pain and rage."

He tenses up; you have his attention now.

"Those girls who teased you and ripped your masculinity from you needed to be taught a lesson. But you didn't just stop there; you decided to do all women a favor and demonstrate to them the kind of pain they could cause, hoping to prevent them from making the same mistakes. In fact, you helped me to see what I can do better. I never want to make someone feel the way you did."

"Y-you learned that...f-from me?" Harold quietly sobs.

You nod, "Yes! Yes, Harold. And you can still be heard, but not if you die today. I could be your greatest advocate. If we walk out of here right now, think of how famous you could be. Harold, you will never be stuck in the shadows again."

It is crucial to your survival and your teams that you are brave just long enough to analyze the situation and keep your self-control. Panic won't do anyone any good right now.

Your mouth dries as you await Harold's next move. Suddenly, he hunches over, extending the hand gripping the detonator. Pausing for a moment to be sure he isn't making any drastic moves, you promptly hurry to his side and gently pull it from his clutch.

As the police officers and your colleagues rush to your aid, Harold looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Make me famous," he murmurs with a grin that churns your stomach.

Hotch ushers you away from the unsub, backing you up against the wall of the tunnel, "You actively defied my orders."

Searching every inch of his face for an accurate reading of his emotions, you are unsure of how to respond.

"I'd like to think it won't happen again," his eyes studying you just as intently.

You swallow hard, aware of the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "You have my word, Agent Hotchner."

"Good," he affirms, eventually freeing his hold on your arm.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and relax your spinning head against the wall.

Opening your eyes, you observe your new team tieing up all loose ends. They're safe. You are safe. Despite this first day not being as mundane as others, you wouldn't have it any other way. This feeling is what you signed up for, and it's already fulfilling you in ways you couldn't fathom before stepping inside the BAU office this morning.

++++

Aboard the jet, you tuck your legs underneath you and open up a book to read.

A cup of steaming hot coffee appears on the table in front of you.

Hotch sits across from you with a similar cup and offers you a subtle smile, "Impressive work out there today. I'm sorry your first day of work couldn't be more eventful."

A joke? I didn't take him as the joking kind.

Rolling your eyes, you put on a disappointed tone, "God...if you guys drag your feet like this every day, I might have to consider a transfer."

In a more serious nature, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess. You were right, you know, no amount of studying or lectures can truly prepare you for what it's like when you're staring into the eyes of a killer. I've learned the negotiation techniques and memorized the textbook 'put the gun down' speech, but all of that flies out the window when you're in the moment."

"You will find that improvisation at times is the key to success in this job. Just know that this team is a family. You will never face this alone or be at a loss for anything. Your career is in its infancy, but I can tell you have a long and triumphant journey ahead of you. We will do whatever we can to ensure that you are at home here and can use this team as an opportunity to refine your abilities. All I ask in return is that you work with us, not against us. You have nothing to prove. They see your resourcefulness. So do I. You are one of us now."

Some gazes are the promise of protection; his is all that and more. The words "at home" resonate in your mind. You've spent your whole life searching for a home, and here it is, its doors being opened to you. After a lifetime of running from place to place, perhaps this is where you can finally settle down.

"Get some rest," Hotch whispers to you. And with that, you lean your head against the chilled window and shut your eyes.

++++

Tag List 🏷

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[jediken0bi]

Home

Summary:

After a rough case Spencer knows exactly what he needs to feel okay again. Or rather, who he needs

(no smut, pure fluff)

word count: 1747

-

On days like today, the only thing Spencer wants to do is be held by you. It took him some time to figure out that physical affection was something that could make him feel calm and content as opposed to the feeling of discomfort he used to experience every time someone invaded his personal space to go in for a hug or something of that sort. His best guess was that it's different with you because he loves you. Not like he loves Derek or JJ or any other member on his team, but in a way that feels all consuming sometimes.

He means that in the best way possible.

He fell in love with you almost as quickly as you fall asleep after a hard day in the shop. It overwhelmed him at first. He wasn't used to feeling with such intensity.

There was a time where Spencer believed he couldn't love and be loved in return. He didn't think he knew how. But you just walked into his life one day and before he realized it his heart had made the decision to love you.

He'd like to say that he doesn't remember what life used to be like without your constant reminders that you fell in love with him because of what he considers his quirks and not despite of them, or your cuddles that were usually followed by praise or words of encouragement, but the truth is he does remember.

He remembers how dull life felt before you. How lonely he was and how undeserving of love he felt all his life.

Sometimes he can't help but fear what would happen if you suddenly got tired of him.

But then he remembers the words you whisper to him ever so often when you feel him growing anxious:

"You're the brightest star in my galaxy, Spence"

It's cheesy and it's cliche but it soothes his soul like nothing else. Hearing you say those words makes him feel like he can finally let out that breath he's been holding all day long.

It's cheesy and it's cliche but it is perfect.

It's been a little over a week since you and Spencer have last seen each other. Sure, you've texted and called as often as your schedules let you and you even convinced him to facetime you once, but it just doesn't compare to actually being with each other.

The team had just wrapped up a horrible case involving young women. Without going into detail it's fair to say that Spencer couldn't wait to wrap his arms around you tight enough to ensure that you're here with him, that you're safe.

The Metro was late, delaying his arrival by approximately 20 minutes. While that's not enough time to raise concern for a lot of people Spencer knows better than to not let you know.

His job puts him at risk every day and you're not naive enough to believe that safety is a given for people in Spencers line of work.

He shoots you a quick text letting you know he'll be late and you reply with lots of exclamation points, emphasizing how excited you are to see him.

He can't help but smile to himself. He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. He's struggling with letting the events of that recent case go.

The victims looked too much like you and it sometimes took Spencers focus away from what was right in front of him. He can't help but feel like he should've been quicker.

There's no doubt in his mind that you'll start questioning him as soon as you spot the distressed look on his face and you're going to want him to tell you what happened. And he will. Just maybe not tonight. You two agreed to have no secrets and the key to that is total transparency when it comes to what's on your mind.

He doesn't worry though. You never make him talk about work when he tells you he doesn't want to yet.

You don't push because you know that he'll tell you the next day once he is rested and convinced that both of you are safe.

Completely lost in his thoughts, he almost missed his stop. He managed to get off in time and from there it was only a 5 minute walk to your place.

Your Place.

These words are starting to taste bitter on Spencers tongue. He's been wanting to ask you to move in with him for weeks now but every time the opportunity presents itself he chickens out.

Part of him is so scared you're going to reject him and he's going to lose you.

Realistically speaking he knows that you value your time together as much as he does and he can't imagine you'd ever laugh at him or leave him for something like that but it's those pesky insecurities he's been trying to overcome that tell him that he can't really be sure.

He's confident though. Tonight is the night. As much as he doesn't mind going to your place to see you after cases, he can't shake the thoughts of him being able to come home to you. Thoughts of you waiting for him with open arms and a overall presence of love that will fills your shared apartment.

Before he can get too lost in his thoughts he knocks on your door and starts nervously shifting around on his feet.

It's not that he's afraid you're not happy to see him. Quite the opposite actually you've made sure he knows you've missed him just as much as he missed you. It's just that Spencer never really got used to being on the receiving end of such strong affection.

He loves it. God, he loves it so much but it still feels like it's too good to be true. His job makes him paranoid and as much as he wants to, he can't quite shake his anxieties about losing you just yet.

You open the door and he looks up with wide eyes.

There you are in your worn out Star Wars shirt with those adorable matching shorts practically beaming at him. You look so happy to see him. Because of him. His eyes immediately soften and he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

"Spence!! You're back!"

Before he knows it you're already in his arms. Legs wrapped around his middle and arms around his neck squeezing him tightly before leaning back to press a firm kiss to his head.

He doesn't waste a single second. Wrapping his arms around you and pressing you closer to his chest. He lets out a breathy laugh.

"Hey there beautiful. I missed you so much"

You let out a small giggle before leaving the embrace to properly look at him. One of your hands goes to rest on his cheek while the other starts brushing through his messy hair.

You look at him with a wide smile.

"I can almost guarantee i missed you more, handsome. Now come in we haven't cuddled in over a week and i'm starting to feel very serious withdrawal symptoms!"

This time he lets out a proper laugh, nodding his head and taking your hands in his.

"Yeah i know a thing or two about that. We got a lot catching up to do then"

You only smile wider and drag him inside, promptly closing the door behind you.

"Indeed we do so go get changed. You must be uncomfortable in those clothes. You're in luck sir your pj's just got out of the dryer"

You push him towards the bedroom door and both of you laugh at the domestic scene at hand before Spencer stops, turns out and wraps one of his arms around your waist.

"Can i get a 'welcome home' first"

He looks at you with such love in his eyes you almost forget what you want to say.

"Hmm well technically you're not home yet"

You say teasingly knowing exactly what he is actually asking for. You're more than willing to give it to him considering it's all you could think about this past week and a half but you always did enjoy watching him squirm.

Spencer doesn't seem fazed by your comment. He looks a bit nervous but other than that he radiates a certain confidence you're finding incredibly attractive on him.

"You're here, aren't you? My home isn't a place. It's a person and that person is standing in front me right now"

You stare at him with shiny eyes. Despite what he may think, Spencer is actually quite the romantic. It's not unusual for him to compliment you out of nowhere. You're fairly confident you never experienced genuine love until you've met Spencer.

But this? This was so much more than a compliment. It's him wanting to make you understand just how committed he is to you. How much he loves you.

Not wanting to wait any longer you just grab him by the collar of his vest and press a firm kiss to his lips. You only hope that Spencer can feel the extent of your love through this kiss.

What starts out as a innocent way to proof that he is your home too quickly turns more heated when Spencer presses you closer to him.

His tongue asks for entrance and you grand it to him. You're completely lost in the feeling of Spencer and every second that passes you get more desperate to proof your love to him like he did by telling you you're his home.

Your hands start roaming through his hair before landing on the nape of his neck.

He lets out a soft sigh as you start playing with his curls. After some time the two of you are starting to slow down until it was only an exchange of little pecks and reassuring kisses to the forehead, nose or cheek.

Lips just millimeters apart you whisper: "You're my home, too, Spence"

He smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips.

Not ready to break the embrace just yet, you hug him tight. He, obviously not wanting to let go of you either, starts rubbing small circles on the sides of your hips.

"Welcome home baby"

You whisper into his neck. Loud enough so he could hear it but not loud enough so it would break the quiet atmosphere around you two.

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask.” Chapter 9 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter 

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid is one of the most brilliant men in the entire world...but even geniuses can be dumbasses. Once he realizes he’s made the biggest mistake of his life, the next step is getting Reader to forgive him. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst. but then the fluff we all need. 

Content Warning: Talk of drug addiction, mentions of injuries, angst. 

Word Count: 9.4k for Chapter 9 

A/n: I’m sorry I didn’t get this out as quickly as I wanted; I know I broke your hearts in chapter 8. So, please let me and Dr. Reid put them back together. Thank you for sticking with me. 💖 Chapter 10 returns to the smut we all signed up for. 

-- Chapter 9 - “You know why.” -- 

Out of all the compliments I've received in my life, "you're such a strong person" is the one I have gotten the most often.

I was “so strong” for busting my ass through college with dreams of going to the FBI.

My friends told me I was “so strong” when I gave myself a few days to lay around and cry about my ex before I bottled it all up and moved forward.

Everyone said I was just “so strong” for joining the FBI and finishing in the top of my class at the academy.

And when I told everyone I was a profiler that hunted the most dangerous monsters on the planet? I was both “so strong, so brave.”

It’s a nice compliment to receive, but I have never really agreed with it. I’ve never really felt strong. I've always felt resilient. The two words have always felt very different to me. It took enormous amounts of strength to go to college, join the FBI, and then become a member of one of the most prestigious units; but eventually, that strength fades, or it just tires out. Resilience came when the strength was gone when the fight had left your body, but you couldn’t give in, you would endure this pain and any pain after it…because that’s just who you are.

It didn’t take strength to leave the hospital 3 days after Spencer Reid broke my heart. It didn’t take strength to go back to the same apartment where I could feel echoes of him in every room. It didn’t even take strength to not break down and cry.

I kept going because I had to. Because I was resilient.

--

“You sure you got everything you need, mama?” Morgan had been annoyingly thorough in his duties today; Garcia had assigned him to be the person who brought me home and got me settled.

I offered him a wan smile. “I’m fine, Derek. It’s just a gunshot wound. I’m actually surprised how well I’m feeling.” Not good. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ‘good’ again.

He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Because the last thing I need is Garcia to throw one of her damn shoes at me again. Those things are heavy, y/n.”

I chuckled at him. “Well, you won’t get maimed on my account. I’m really okay.”

Morgan regarded me from his position by the door, his eyes ran over everything from the exhaustion on my face to my arm that was in a sling; he took note of everything before he sighed heavily. “I know it’s not my place to say but…”

“Then don’t say it, Derek.” I brought my gaze up to his, my eyes were pleading. “Please, just don’t say it.”

Reluctantly he nodded. “You call any of us if you need anything.”

I nodded. Because I would call any of them if I needed anything…any of them except the one person I really wished I could call.

--

My life went on like that for a time. On my first night home, Rossi had flowers delivered. On my second night home, JJ came by to bring me groceries. On my third night home Emily came by and helped me wash my hair in the sink because I couldn’t lift my arm yet. On my fourth night home Garcia came over with a stack of action movies and popcorn. I didn’t ask why she brought mindless action movies; I knew why, and I was grateful.

On my fifth day home, the team left on a case. The in-person visits slowed down a lot after that, much to my relief. I loved them all but they're profilers and I was so tired of pretending to be strong when the only reason I was still standing was because I was too fucking stubborn to fall down.

But still, Garcia would schedule the odd visitor every now and then to come to check on me; usually either her, JJ, or Emily. No one ever brought up Reid, and I was very careful not to ask about him. I don't know what they knew and what they didn't…but I just couldn’t talk about it.

I was cleared to go back to work on the second Tuesday after my injury, but I would still be on desk duty until I was 4 weeks out. I had sent Hotch an e-mail on that second Tuesday morning and requested to use some personal time, just until the end of the following week. His response was, “Whatever you need.”

He didn't respond to the e-mail I sent yesterday. The e-mail I wasn't even sure I wanted to send but knew I had to. I had submitted a hardship transfer request.

“Then maybe you should reevaluate your place in this team,” Reid had said to me. Maybe he was right. I had thought my home was with the family inside the BAU…but I had also thought Spencer Reid wanted my heart.

“But I think your judgment has been compromised.” Maybe my judgment was never that good to begin with.

--

Twenty-four days after I was shot and two after I requested my transfer there was a knock on my door. Scheduled visits weren’t a thing anymore. Only Garcia had been coming by; Emily and JJ would send me texts, and Morgan drove me to physical therapy a few times but that was it. So, I was very surprised when I heard a sharp knock at my door at 2 pm that Friday afternoon.

I opened the door only to find the last face I expected to see.

“Hotch,” I said, my brows drawing together.

He just gave me a rare smile. “Not who you were expecting?”

“It’s not that you’re not who I was expecting,” I began carefully. “It’s just that…when I think of cheerful visitors coming to surround me with rainbows and sunshine…I don’t think of you, boss man.”

He scoffed, which I had learned was his version of a chuckle. “Garcia is busy. So, can I come in?”

I waved my arm, offering him inside.

He surveyed my apartment; he’d never been here. None of the team had ever been here before- Stop. Don’t think about it.

“How have you been?”

I gave him a very sour look. “Peachy with a side of keen, Hotch. But that’s not why you’re here.”

He didn’t look abashed in the slightest. “You’re right. That’s not why I’m here.”

We both sat on my couch; I kept my gaze on my hands, but I felt his eyes on me.

“Why are you requesting a hardship transfer?”

I was prepared for this question. “Because there is a personal issue within my team that affects me; I can no longer be an effective agent of the FBI in this unit.”

Hotch gave me an almost smile. “That’s a very political answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It might be.” He sounded so thoughtful I turned to look at him. We were both profilers, but Hotch was in charge for a reason; that man saw things in ways I don’t think any of us did. “The reason might also be that Reid is a dumb ass.”

I was in no way prepared for that statement to come out of my boss’s mouth. A laugh, the first real laugh I had had in almost 25 days, burst out of me before I could clap my hand over my mouth.

He did smile then. It was a soft, sad smile. “I figured that’s what it was.”

“He’s a genius, Hotch.”

“And he’s also proof geniuses can be dumbasses.”

That one got a small chuckle out of me. “I didn’t know you were funny.”

“I have my moments,” he said dryly.

I took a deep breath, my eyes moving around my apartment, searching for something to focus on. “I don’t know what you know, I don’t know what any of you know…but I can’t stay. Not like this.”

The older man considered me for a moment, planning out his next words. I knew that the team knew that Reid and I had been…something. I hadn’t asked what they knew; I couldn’t ask.

Hotch let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping before he spoke again. "Hayley had an affair."  

…I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that. “I’m sorry, Hotch.”

He just nodded, his gaze sort of far off. “The team was working a case in Milwaukee; it was right before you joined. I was considering transferring; it was right before Gideon left. I knew it, she knew I knew it. I think that was sort of the beginning of the end for us.”

I just stared at him. Hotch didn’t talk about personal things.

He continued on. “It was never really brought up again until the divorce. You think divorce will end your fights…it never works out that way.” Hotch let out another sigh. “Anyway, I think about this one specific fight a lot now. I just…She was so fucking cruel, y/l/n. She said things she knew would hurt me.”

You can’t call a dead woman a cunt, y/n. You just can’t.

“I think about it so much now because I know she lashed out because I hurt her and she was scared. I picked my job over her and Jack. And she’s right…I did.”

Enlightenment finally dawned on me.

“Hotch, I see where you’re going but it’s different,” I stressed. “Protecting the team is my job. I protected a member of my team.”

He just nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. “You also jumped in front of a bullet for a man who is in love with you, who now thinks it’s his fault you got hurt.”

“He is not in love with me!” I interrupted, not that Hotch seemed to care.

“And you also told him you loved him, for what I suspect was the first time, while we all thought you were dying.”

Hold the fuck up. “You heard me? Spencer heard me?!”

Hotch nodded his head solemnly. “Rossi figured he hadn’t told you. He was inconsolable on the way to the hospital. He rode with you in the ambulance. Morgan had to restrain him when you were taken into surgery.” I felt my lungs seize, there was no more air in the room. “His legs gave out from under him when the doctor told us you made it. He was in your room right before you woke up. He ran out when your heart rate spiked.”

That…that can’t be right. “I…I don’t know what happened while I was under, but you weren’t there. You didn’t hear what he said to me, Aaron.”

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I wasn’t, but I have been around him every day since you were injured. I’ve known him for years, y/n. He’s hurting…because he’s a dumbass.”

I tried to focus on Hotch’s words, I really did. But one thing kept playing over and over in my head. That asshole heard me. He lied to me.

--

-- Spencer POV –

“Because I love you.”

“Because I love you.”

“Because I love you.”

The worst thing about having an eidetic memory is that I never forgot anything. I remember the crushing disappointment I felt on my 8th birthday when my dad didn’t call. I remember how gutted I felt when I found Gideon’s letter in his cabin. I remember the self-loathing I felt when Emily was beaten by a deranged cult leader at Liberty Ranch because she didn’t think I could handle it.

I could remember every single crushing moment of my life with absolute clarity, including the moment when I told y/n I didn’t love her. I could see every detail of her face in that moment whenever I closed my eyes. How pain covered her face for just a moment before it went blank.  

Her face in that moment was all I saw when I was awake, but what I saw at night may have been worse. I saw her happy. I saw her laughing at some joke Morgan made. I saw her smiling at me while I explained the scientific impossibilities of the show we were watching on her couch. I saw how thoughtful she’d looked before she kissed me for the first time.

In the 24 days, 21 hours, and 16 minutes since I made the most painful decision of my life, I had regretted it and rethought it countless times. But then I remembered how her eyes fluttered closed that day, how her blood ran out of her body and down my arms, no matter how hard I pressed on the wound. I remembered how it felt to think I was going to lose her.

The members of my team were all furious with me for my decision; I even felt tension from Rossi and Hotch, though it was more subtle. Y/n hadn’t been with our team long, but she had already carved out a place in everyone’s heart…and she’d carved out all of my heart; now it was filled with almost nothing but her. At first, it was just Morgan who was pissed at me, then Emily started becoming frustrated, even JJ stopped inviting me over for dinner as much. They were all still my friends, but everything felt different.

I hadn't realized there was a giant problem until the last person I ever expected to be mad at me finally snapped. We were in the conference room discussing our last case when I had asked Garcia a question. Looking back, I can see it was a dumb question; Garcia cross-referenced everything and dug into people's lives before we even had a chance to ask. But even my stupid question hadn’t warranted her response.

“Garcia, do you know any of the victim’s extended families have any connections to one another? Even distantly.”

She had clicked her tongue against her teeth, her shoulders stiffening. “Of course I have, Reid. That’s a stupid question…but I guess we should expect stupid questions from you now. Since you’ve suddenly become an-“

“Garcia,” Hotch warned.

“Sorry, sir.” She let out a breath.

“Yes, Dr. Reid, I have checked and found no apparent connections.

She’d been avoiding me ever since.

I knew that I had made a mess of things, but the team just didn't understand. They'd only felt her warmth from afar; I'd actually got to be a part of it. They didn't know how her feet were always cold and how she'd shove them under my leg while we watched TV. They didn't know that she mumbled in her sleep sometimes, or when she was really stressed about a case, she'd grind her teeth. The pain I felt now was indescribable, but I couldn't live with losing her.

We’d gotten back home from a case earlier this morning, Hotch let us all go home around noon. Usually, he'd make us stay and finish our paperwork, but he said he had "something" he had to take care of.

Not being at work was bittersweet. Because work reminded me of her, but at least I could occupy my mind with other things; when I was home, she surrounded me. I couldn’t lay in my bed without imagining her beside me. The look on her face when she told me she was ready to be with me. For the first few days after I could still smell her shampoo on my pillow. That was long gone now.

It was just after 2 pm when there was a very loud knock on my door.

“Open up, dumbass!’

What is Morgan doing here? I got up from my couch to open my door. Morgan was in the same clothes he wore to work, he didn't look injured, but his jaw was set, his teeth clenched together. Uh oh.

“Why are you here?” I sighed. I already knew why he was here.

“I’m here,” he began, shoving his way into my apartment. “To see why you’re still being a dumbass.”

I didn’t bother correcting him. Maybe I am a dumbass.

“Morgan-“

“Nu-uh. You sit your little scrawny ass down and listen to me.”

I’m not that scrawny, I thought grumpily while I sat down.

He put his hands on his hips, coming to stand in front of me. “Reid, what are you doing man?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“Well, I’ll tell you what the fuck you’re doing, Pretty Boy. You know, we were all content to let you flounder along for a while longer. You’re smart, you’d figure it out. But that was before y/n submitted a request for a hardship transfer.”

My shoulders stiffened. I had told her to rethink her place on the team, but I didn’t mean leave it. “What? When?”

“I’m not sure when,” he replied. “Hotch is at her apartment now trying to talk her out of it.”

So that was his important business.

“Look, kid.” He came to sit beside me on the couch. “I know you’re scared. I know you almost lost her, and you couldn’t bear that. But you’re losing her now too, man!’

“It’s different, Morgan,” I protested.

“Yeah, it is different, because you don’t have to lose her! You didn’t see her when she came home from the hospital. She wasn’t even sad, Reid. She was numb. We all knew she had walls up before…but these new walls, man? They make the old ones look like nothing.”

I put my hands together, lacing my fingers tightly. “But-“

Morgan stood up. “No, Reid! No! No buts. I understand that you’re hurting, believe me. But did you ever stop to use that big ass brain of yours to think for a second that you’re hurting her too?!”

“I know I’m hurting her, Morgan,” I said hotly. “I know! But it’s better she’s hurt like this for a little while then die over me!”

“Oh, come on, kid! You can’t make that choice for her! That’s not how love works!” He let out a sigh. “You’re acting like a coward, Spencer. And that’s not the kind of man you are.”

It’s exactly the type of man I am. “Morgan, she’s…she’s everything to me. She’s the sun at the center of my universe. I can’t let her disappear.”  

“Okay, okay,” Morgan nodded, considering me. “Now, I’m not a genius but I do know some stuff after hanging around your ass for all these years. The universe would fall apart without the sun. But…what happens if the sun dims?”

“What?” My heart refused to work when I processed his words.

“You heard me. What happens to the universe when the sun dims? It’s still there, but it’s nowhere near as bright anymore. Because she may be the center of your universe but she’s still a part of a lot of other people’s…I don’t know, galaxy or some shit.” Morgan flicked his hand around to gesture at nothing, like this somehow proved his point.

“Spencer. I know you’re scared. I get it. But you’re making the choice for her. You lied to her, man. You got her to let you in and then you fucking shut her out when you get scared! Do you think she wasn’t scared to let you in in the first place? She’s never going to be totally free of danger, Reid. That’s part of what makes her who she is; she is always going to put herself at risk to help people, we all are! It’s why we’re on the same fucking team!”

The impact of Morgan’s words was a blow to the gut. What if I wasn’t keeping her safe? What if I was putting her through this…because I was afraid? Did I push her away from me for her? Or did I-

“Oh my god. I’m a dumbass.”

Morgan threw his hands in the air before slapping them against his hips.

“I fucked up.”

Morgan opened his eyes very wide and tilted his head down in a universally recognized expression of “you think, dumbass?”.

“What do I do?”

“You apologize, Reid! You go over to her house and you beg for forgiveness.”

My palms were starting to sweat. “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”

Morgan shrugged. “Then at least you tried, man.”

“Will you give me a ride?”

His face split into a wide smile. “There’s the genius! Let’s go!”

--

-- Reader’s POV --

It was just after 4 pm when there was another sharp knock on my door. I picked up the remote to pause the TV show I wasn’t watching; I had just needed some background noise. With a huff, I pulled myself off the couch and started shuffling towards the door. Hotch hadn’t been gone long, so I just figured maybe he’d come back to impart more wisdom on me.

It wasn’t Hotch. My heart stuttered when I saw that mop of curly brown hair out of my door’s peephole.

He knocked again, more hesitantly than before. “Y/n,” he called. “I know I don’t have any right to ask. But…I need to talk to you.”

My eyebrows drew together in confusion. What could you possibly have to say to me?

I cleared my throat. “Is something wrong?”

I saw his head snap up; his eyes fixed on the peephole on my door. “Yes. Everything is wrong.”  

Oh. “Are…are you alright?”

“No.” His answer was simple and firm. “I know I don’t deserve anything from you…but, please, y/n.”

Taking a deep breath, I cracked open my door. “What do you want, Reid?”

I only allowed a tiny sliver of my face to be seen through the door. “C-can I come in?”

“I…I don’t know,” I mumbled. You’re still everywhere. If I let you in now…how will you ever fade?

Reid just nodded. “I understand. I just…I owe you an apology. I owe you so many apologies.”

I swallowed; my throat suddenly coated in sandpaper. “Reid, I don’t…you don’t…”

His eyes never left mine; he was leaving the choice up to me. “I don’t have to come in. I’ll talk to you through your door. Or I can talk to you over the phone. I’ll send you letters if that is easier. Just…please say you’ll talk to me?”

Very, very slowly, I eased the door open. He was cautious when he walked in, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets. “You don’t have to-“

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “That day in my apartment… I asked you not to lie to me. And I’ve done nothing but lie to you for the past 24 days, 22 hours, and 30 minutes.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I already know you heard me, Reid.”

He just nodded. “That’s one of the things I lied about. But it’s not all. It’s not even close to all. I told you my feelings changed, and they didn’t. They haven’t. I still feel the exact same way that I always have. I’m so sorry I even let you think that I didn’t l-“

“Stop.” I wrapped my arms around my middle. “I-I can’t. You…you can’t say that.” I will break if you say that.

His hands came out of his pockets, his arms outstretched, palms facing me; like I was a wild animal he was trying not to startle. “I won’t, I won’t. I’m sorry. I won’t say it until you're ready to hear it if you're ever ready to hear it. But…you have to know why.”

My teeth dug into my bottom lip; my eyes averted from him. “Why what?”

“Why I…Y/n, I just…I thought that I was protecting you.”

My face fell into a frown. “Protecting me from what?”

He stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “From me.” I opened my mouth to say something, but he hurried on. “I know I contribute to the team in some ways, but I also know other people have to pick up my slack sometimes. I just…I know members of the team have gotten hurt protecting me before.” He swallowed, his eyes blinking rapidly. “I couldn’t let you get hurt trying to protect me too. I’m not worth it.”

I felt anger start to burn in my stomach. “You don’t get to make those sorts of choices for people, Reid.”

He nodded. “I know. I was wrong.” He squared his slim shoulders, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest them at his sides. “I fucked up. I’ve made the biggest mistake I have ever made in my entire life. And I only know one way to fix mistakes this big.” He paused, his throat working when he swallowed. “In Narcotics Anonymous the hardest steps for a lot of people are steps 8 and 9. Step 8 is acknowledging that our actions have caused pain and we need to make amends. Step 9 is making those amends and making them in a way that won’t hurt anyone.”

Hands back in his pockets, he took a hesitant step towards me. “I promise, y/n, I will never hurt you again. This isn’t an excuse, but I was so…I was so scared. I thought that…I thought that your injury was my fault. And I thought if I distanced you from such a…a colossal fuck up like me that you’d be safer.”

My body started to shake, but I wouldn’t let any tears fall. I couldn’t. If the dam broke now, I don’t know that I’d be able to put it back in place.

“Y/n, I don’t deserve the opportunity to make amends to you. But…if you’ll let me, I’d like to try. You’re…you’re everything, y/n. Everything. I even lied before when I said you were sunshine and warmth. You’re so much more than that.”

I heard the tears in his voice, but I couldn’t look at him. I’d break if I looked at him.

“You’re the sun. You’re the center of my universe. And I thought I was keeping you safe, but…I didn’t give you the choice. I took your choice away from you when you’ve always given me a choice in everything.”

I moved my eyes upwards to look at the ceiling, crossing my arms over my chest, my hands rubbing over my upper arms. “I don’t-I don’t know what you want me to say, Reid.”

I heard his shoes on my floor; I felt the air shift in the room when he took a step closer to me. “Just…Just say you’ll…that you’ll at least wait before you push your transfer through. That you’ll let me try to fix this, even though I don’t deserve it.”

A humorless laugh left my throat. “I already told Hotch to hold my transfer request.”

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “You did? When?”

“He came by about an hour ago.” I finally, finally looked at him. I saw his glassy eyes, his wild hair, and the clear pain mixed with a spark of hope on his face. He wasn’t my boy, not anymore. But…goddamnit. “He said…He said you were being a dumbass.”

Reid laughed a bit at that. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

“He asked me to give it some time. To see if working with the team again would actually be a hardship. My first day back is Monday, and I’m cleared to go back on active duty Wednesday.”

He shifted, his hands coming up to push is hair out of his face. “So, you’ll be back on Monday?”

"That's the plan," I said softly. "But…Reid, I don't-I don't know if I can…"

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just asking you to let me try to make amends for this.”

I brought my hand up to rub my forehead. “What is your goal here, Reid? What do you want?”

His face was as open as I’d ever seen it, his eyes were wide, and his lips were parted. “I want to go back to the moment you started to wake up in the hospital. I want to hold your hand and tell you how much I” he cut himself off, which I was grateful for. “And I want to be the one that drove you home. I want to be the one that helped you wash your hair. I want to be the one that sat on your couch and watched movies with you.” He sighed, his eyes shifting to the side. “But I can’t have any of that. Morgan came by my apartment around the same time Hotch was here…he told me that I was hurting the thing I was trying so hard to protect. And he said you were building a wall around yourself.

Dr. Spencer Reid brought those brown eyes back over to meet mine. “I want you to let me try to knock down that wall again.”

My voice was soft, I could feel my chin trembling, my nails were digging into my arms. “But why?”

For the first time since he entered my apartment, he smiled. It was small but overwhelmingly warm. “You know why.”

I felt something pierce my heart; it was small and sharp, both painful and soothing at the same time. “Reid…I…I don’t know if I can…I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to know,” the man said simply. “You just have to be willing to let me try.”

“But they’re just words, Reid. They’re just words. How am I supposed to believe that you won’t do this again the next time I get injured? Because I can handle being injured…but you gutted me.” I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, using the pain to help me focus. I couldn’t let the dam break.

“They’re not just words,” he whispered. “I’ll prove it, y/n. I promise.”

I took a very shaky breath, not making an attempt to hide my pain. “I gave you everything, every single part of me and you brushed me aside. You left me in agony when I needed you.”

My choked words lashed at him, but he just took it with a nod. “I know. I don’t deserve another chance. I have no right after what I’ve done. What I’m asking for isn’t fair…but I have to ask. Please?”

“Okay.”

“What?” His words were soft, but the smile that spread over his face was the brightest thing I had ever seen.

I huffed. “You heard me. Don’t push it.”

‘Okay.” He smiled at me again as he made his way around my body, heading for my door. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself like I could somehow physically hold myself together. I heard the lock turn and the door pull open; I heard his feet shuffle through the doorway…before he paused. “Thank you, y/n.” The door clicked shut softly, and I finally allowed myself to breathe.

I wasn’t strong, I really wasn’t. Because if I was strong, I wouldn’t have felt so fucking hopeful.

--

After my conversation with Hotch yesterday, and my surprise visit from Reid last night, I expected my Saturday to be fairly uneventful. Which is why I wasn’t expecting a knock on my door at 8 pm that night.

“Who the fuck is it now?” I muttered, sighing with exasperation.

I thought Hotch was the most unexpected person I would ever see at my door unannounced, but this one caught me more off guard for so. I opened the door to see the bright smiling face of a young man in a delivery uniform. “Y/n y/l/n?” He asked politely.

“…Yes?”

He handed me a plastic bag with styrofoam containers inside. “Here you go. The bill has already been taken care of. Have a good night, ma’am!”

He was already halfway down the hall before I realized what was happening. “Wait, I didn’t order anything,” I called.

"I know, ma'am," he turned, walking backward as he spoke. "The order was placed in the store. A man came by and ordered the food, left a note to put in the bag, and told me to leave before you had a chance to refuse it." He smiled sheepishly at me. "I'm sorry, he gave me a really good tip. Have a good night!"

Frowning, I shut my door and moved into my kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. Sure enough, there was a note on top of the container.

“I know it’s your favorite. S.R.”

The thing about Reid is he had the worst handwriting I had ever seen. Even if I hadn’t suspected this was from him and he hadn’t signed the note, the handwriting would have given it away.

I went into my living room and snatched my phone off the couch before I quickly fired off a text.

“Why did you have dinner delivered to my house?”

His response came a moment later. “You know why.”

--

On Sunday morning, I had one of my last physical therapy appointments. I hadn't sustained any permanent damage to my left shoulder from the bullet. The only real issue was the healing muscle and the artery that was nicked. Even though I was right-handed, it was important in my line of work that I did not lose any strength in my left arm. The physical therapist had made an exception to see me on the weekend since my first day back at work was tomorrow.

The thought of going back to work made me incredibly nervous. I wasn't sure how things would be different. Not only did I have to worry about my relationship with Reid, but I also had to worry about how it would affect the team. I knew they all cared about me…but Reid had been a part of their family much longer than I had. Hotch’s visit on Friday meant a lot to me; I don’t think I would have been able to come back to work without it.

Despite my nerves, after being home on my couch for almost a month, I was itching to get back to doing the work I loved. I had already passed my post-injury psychiatric evaluation, which was pointless anyway as the BAU wrote the questions, but now with this approval from the physical therapist, I would only be on desk duty for 2 days once I returned.

I was so caught up in thought when I got to my apartment that I almost missed the paper taped to the front of my door. It was an envelope that looked some sort of parchment. If the type of paper didn’t give away the sender, the messy way my name was written on the front certainly did.

Calm down, y/n, I thought, reaching up to pluck the note from the door. It’s just a piece of paper. I knew my fear was irrational but trusting him after everything that had happened was terrifying. Because despite my best instincts, I wanted to trust him.

Inside the envelope was a letter, it wasn’t written on standard paper; but, nothing about the man it was from was ever standard.

--

“Y/n,

Before my mother’s schizophrenia became as bad as it is now, she used to read to me all the time. She was a professor of 15th-century literature. My love of reading came from her. Her favorite author is Margery Kempe; and when I was thinking about what I wanted to say to you, one quote in particular from Kempe kept coming to mind.

‘Patience is more worthy than miracle-working’.

The fact that you’ve given me even the slightest chance to apologize to you is the closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever seen. It's not a gift I'm going to take lightly. I know this is so incredibly hard for you. I know tomorrow is going to be hard for you, but I don't want you to feel like you're being forced to do anything before you're ready. I want to make amends, or at least try to, but I don't want to cause you any more pain.

You were patient with me in the beginning of our relationship; you were so unbelievably kind and generous – I think those are the things that made me…feel how I do now. I just want you to know that I’m prepared to be patient too. I never expected you to forgive me, and on the off chance you did, I knew it wouldn’t come easily.

I’d wait for you forever, y/n.

I don’t want to go against your wishes, but I want you to know that I’m ready. I’m ready to tell you now and every moment after for the rest of my life. All you have to do is ask and I’ll never stop telling you what you mean to me.

- Spencer”

--

My hands shook as I refolded the letter, slipping it back inside the envelope. I was dialing his number before I was even fully aware of what I was doing.

“Hello?” His voice sounded slightly apprehensive, almost shy.

“I got your letter,” I said quietly.

“I-I…I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

I let out a sigh. “No, Reid. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“You’ve not called me Spencer since…”

“I’m not there yet.” I closed my eyes when I said it; even now…I didn’t want to hurt him. I’m just not there yet.

I heard him shift around on the other end of the line. “I know. You don’t have to be. I just…I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”

“And send me dinner,” I added dryly. He laughed softly before I asked what I really wanted to know. “Reid…how have you been?” I ran my hand over my forehead. “I mean…before I was…before I was shot I know you were struggling with-“

“Ah,” he mumbled when the realization hit him. “It wasn’t easy…it hasn’t been easy. I went to a lot of meetings after you were…And I spent a lot of time on JJ’s couch trying to convince her and myself that I was doing the right thing by pushing you away.”

I flexed the fingers of my left hand, my posture shifting while he spoke. “But you haven’t…I didn’t make…”

“Y/n,” he said, his voice was so fucking gentle that it almost shattered me. “I haven’t. And even if I did, it wouldn’t have been your fault. No bad choice I make is ever anyone’s fault but my own. My demons are my own.”

I sighed. “I know, Reid, but I don’t want to be…I don’t want to make them worse.”

“You couldn’t,” he said firmly. “Whenever I did think about calling a dealer, doing anything I could to not feel the pain in my heart…I-I kept seeing your face. You looked so understanding when I told you about dilaudid. You made me feel proud of myself for the first time in a long time.”

I had to put my palm over the end of my phone. I didn’t want him to hear how my breathing had become uneven.

“Y/n, I’ll do anything to have you look at me like that again.”

"I don't need to ask why do I?" I asked lightly, in an attempt to defuse the tension.

He laughed. “No, I don’t think you do.”

I found myself smiling, grateful he couldn’t see me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Reid.”

--

When I arrived to work on Monday morning for my first official day back, I was apprehensive but hopeful. The world wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t as dark as it has been.

Right when I entered the bullpen, I saw something on my desk that made me pause. There in the center of my desk was a large iced coffee from my favorite cafe, the one near my house. No matter how early I got up, I never seemed to have time to stop there before work most days. So, the fact that a cup was there in the first place was cause for notice but that wasn’t the strangest part; the ice wasn’t melted. There wasn’t any condensation on the plastic cup.

I know I’m not a genius, but that can’t happen. Right?

“There she is!”

I turned to see Rossi making his way towards me, his arm's outstretched. He wrapped me in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“We’re happy to have you back, y/n.”

I smiled widely at him, meaning it when I said, “I’m happy to be back.” He gave my upper arm a squeeze before he started to walk away. “Hey, Rossi. Did you do this?” I asked, gesturing to the cup on my desk.

He just had a sly smile on his face. “I did not, kiddo.”

Of course, he didn't. After taking a deep breath, I turned to the desk across from mine. Reid was already sitting there scribbling away, doing a very good job of pretending he didn’t know I was already here. I marched over to him before I lost my nerve. “The ice wasn’t melted.”

He looked up at me, not the slightest bit surprised at my presence, a soft smile on his face. “Beg your pardon?”

“The ice. In my iced coffee. It wasn’t melted.” I waved my hand around in the air. I’m not crazy, am I? That couldn’t have just happened.

“That’s because I asked them not to put any ice in when they made it,” he said simply. “You don’t like it as much when it’s watered down after the ice melts some; so I just added the ice here.”

My heart started to beat faster. “Why would you do that?”

The smile on his face got bigger, his eyes seemed to soften somehow when he looked at me. “You know why,” he said simply.

I didn’t know what to say. So, with a tight nod at him, I turned and walked back to my desk.

The rest of my first day back went how I expected. When Morgan saw me, he gathered me up in a giant hug and spun around ignoring my demands to put me down. Garcia hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in years and brought me cupcakes. Emily and JJ took me to lunch. Hotch made me fill out forms. And Reid…well, whenever I turned to look at him, I found he was already looking at me.

--

The very next day when I showed up for work, I was suspicious. Every day since that Friday, Reid had done something. But when I arrived in the morning there was nothing on my desk. Nothing appeared out of place. Maybe it’s a fluke. Reid was already sitting at his desk, scrolling through his e-mail.

I knew what he had done the second I sat down. For as long as I had worked at this desk in the BAU bullpen, there was one wheel on my chair that was wonky. It never wanted to roll, and it always drove me insane. No matter what I tried the wheel never worked this well, and especially not this smoothly. Did he-?

When I looked over, he was already looking at me, that same soft smile on his face.

--

On my third day back at work there was nothing on my desk when I arrived, there was nothing anywhere. But I knew him, I knew he wasn’t done yet; there had to be something.

That something was on my desk when I got back from turning in my return to active duty forms to Hotch. There was a single sunflower in a vase sitting on my desk. I walked up to it and touched the petals softly. It was beautiful, but I was confused.

Walking over to his desk, I didn’t bother trying to hide the confusion or apprehension on my face. This time he wasn’t pretending to be doing something else; his eyes had been on me since the moment I walked out of Hotch’s office.

“It’s beautiful,” I began. “But I don’t understand the symbolism.”

He tilted back in his chair, looking up at me. “Sunflowers always want to be looking at the sun…and so do I.”

Because he thinks I’m the sun.

“But don’t sunflowers stop turning towards the sun when they get older?”

He just nodded. “They might, but I never will.”

I ran my tongue over my lips before I pulled both of them in between my teeth. I felt tears prick the corners of my eye. “Why?” I asked, my voice slightly thicker than normal.

Spencer stood up then; it looked like he would reach for me, but he quickly put his hands at his sides. “I’ll stop if it hurts you. Y/n, I promise to never hurt you again.” His words were earnest, his eyes were pleading. “But ‘why?’ You know why.”

I just nodded my head slightly, blowing out a shaky breath. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

I don't know why Spencer said I was the sun because his smile at that moment was the brightest thing I'd ever seen. "Is it too much if I throw in a cheesy line, like, 'it's not as lovely as you?'"

“Brat,” I muttered, turning quickly so he wouldn’t see my smile.

That bright smile was still on his face when we all met in the conference room 20 minutes later. I saw Rossi clap him on the back when he walked in. JJ shot him a very sweet smile, it was almost motherly, like she was proud of him. Prentiss just winked.

Morgan wasn’t subtle. I’m not sure he knew how to be. He held out his fist for a fist bump, laughing openly when Spencer just wrapped his hand around it and shook.

“Alright,” Hotch said from the front of the room. Fuck, even he is smiling a little bit. “Let’s get started.”

--

Less than 30 minutes later, I was boarding the BAU jet for the first time in more than a month. We were off to Arkansas to assist the Hot Springs police department to catch a suspected serial killer.

I was one of the last ones on board; I smiled awkwardly when I saw everyone’s eyes on me.  

“What kept you, Pretty Girl?” Morgan asked with a grin.

Oh, I’m Pretty Girl now? Subtle. I shot Morgan a look to indicate I wasn’t amused. “I had to talk to Garcia.”

Rossi looked at me expectantly “…About?”

They were all just staring at me, and they weren’t even trying to hide their amusement. I sighed. “I couldn’t just leave it on my desk, you assholes.” Garcia might have squealed loudly when I brought her my sunflower and asked her to watch over it for me.

Every one of them laughed…except Reid. Reid just bit his bottom lip and dropped his gaze. He looked so much like my nervous boy that it made me ache. That was the first time I allowed myself to admit how much I missed my darling boy.

--

I was in the middle of going over victimology when a cup of coffee was sat down beside me. I mumbled my thanks, not even glancing up, just reaching out to grab it. It wasn’t until my fingers wrapped around the cup that my head snapped up.

“Morgan,” I called. “What’s this?”

His smile was very, very bright. “It’s your coffee.”

I picked up the iced coffee, giving it a once over. “Are you or are you not the same Derek Morgan that has said multiple times, ‘I ain’t no damn barista if you want special coffee you go get it your damn self'?"  

He nodded, his smile never wavering. “I am, so don’t get used to it. But when my boy has finally stopped being a dumbass and is trying to win his girl back?” He winked at me. “I’ll make an exception when he asks for a favor.”

I heard JJ laugh softly from the other end of the table. I scrunched my face into a mock glare at both of them. “Don’t you have a murderer to catch?”

He turned before leaving the room, putting a hand to his chest in a very dramatic fashion. “Pretty Girl, you should know SSA Derek Morgan can multitask!”

--

I still don’t know what it is about towns in the middle of nowhere, but it never fails, one of the cops from said town will try to weasel his way into my bed the second the case is over. I was packing up after the unsub was booked when someone cleared his throat behind me to get my attention. This time it was a tall, slightly out of shape Officer named Reynolds. His smile was greasy but at least he didn’t try to touch me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, offering what I hoped was a polite smile. “I have a boyfriend.” I always tried to be diplomatic when this happened, just because I didn’t need to Hotch reprimand me for threatening a member of the local police…again.

Officer Reynolds’ scoffed. “He doesn’t have to know.”

The smile dropped off my face, my eyes hardening. Fucker. “That’d be pretty fucking difficult since he’s a member of my team and he’s sharing a room with me.” I picked up my bag and tossed a sarcastic “nice working with you” over my shoulder before I hightailed it out of the conference room. I didn’t stop until I got to the main entrance of the precinct, where I planned to wait for the rest of the team.

“So, am I the boyfriend you mentioned?” A voice asked from behind me.

Of course. I turned to see Dr. Spencer Reid looking very pleased with himself. “I also didn’t know you wanted to share a room with me tonight. We each have single rooms though, so we don’t have to swap with anyone else…” he trailed off pretending to think. “So, who’s room are we taking?”

I rolled my eyes. “Reid, if it got some slimy cop off my back, I’d tell him you were my husband. I will throw you under the bus to save myself from a very awkward conversation that would probably lead to me punching someone.”

His face changed, he no longer looked overly pleased with himself. He looked like the same man that sat on the couch with me all those weeks ago and asked me if I kissed my submissives. He looked like the Spencer that used to be mine.

“You act like I’d mind,” he said quietly.

“Mind what? Being thrown under the bus?”

“Being called your husband.”

I froze, my eyes immediately dropped to the floor. I couldn’t look at him, I couldn’t. I let out a very shaky exhale, a sure sign that I was about to cry. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Why is he doing this to me?

I saw his beaten-up converse move into my field of view. He was close to me now, but he didn’t touch me. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he whispered. “But I promised I wouldn’t lie to you anymore.”

JJ walked around the corner then and he broke away from me. I just stared at my hands the whole drive back to the hotel.

--

The clock on the bedside table blinked 11:47 pm. I had been lying in bed since 9 pm trying to fall asleep. When we arrived back to the hotel, I didn’t speak to anyone, I just kept my head down and walked straight into my room. Once I was inside, I tore my clothes off and got into the shower, turning it on the hottest temperature I could tolerate.

I felt the tears; they were right there, I felt them pulsing underneath my eyes. I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to deny myself everything I had ever wanted when it was offering itself to me…I was the reason I was in pain right now, and it was all because I was so fucking terrified to trust him again.

I glanced back over at the clock. 11:49 pm.

Taking a deep breath, trying to pull some sort of courage into myself, I picked up my phone.

He’s probably sleeping, I reasoned, giving myself one last chance to back out.

But then the phone was dialing. I listened to the ringing and held my breath. Because what was I supposed to do if he didn’t answer? What was I supposed to do if he did?

“Y/n?” his sleepy voice asked, sounding disoriented but urgent. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Everything. And no. But I couldn't get my mouth to open. I couldn't say anything. If I opened my mouth, then everything would spill out. All the pain, all the secrets, all the hopes, and fears…and it would all be bared to Spencer Reid.

In the way that Spencer knew everything, he knew what I needed then. “I’ll be right there.” I heard a rustling on his end of the line, but he never hung up the phone.

Before I was ready, I heard the same hesitant knock on my door that I heard every night he came to my hotel room just because he missed me; the same knock that I had heard that first day at my apartment. The knock was the final crack that broke the dam I had built around my emotions in an attempt to hold them back so they wouldn’t sweep me away.

I don’t remember walking to the door, I don’t remember unlocking it; all I remember is Spencer standing on the other side in the same Caltech t-shirt and sweatpants he wore in my apartment when we sat on my couch on our first real night together.

“Y/n?” His eyes ran over me frantically. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him. His hands reached out like he would grab me, but I saw the indecision on his face. “Tell me what you need, baby. Please?”

The moment that I was so afraid of happened then. The tears finally flooded my eyes and my jaw unlocked. “Spence, I’m scared.” I swallowed, trying to control my broken voice. “I want this so much but I’m terrified.”

His arms enveloped me before I was finished speaking. One hand in the center of my back, the other on the back of my head. He smelt like coffee, laundry detergent, and my Spencer. My body shook in his arms. The pain from his words at the hospital, the pain from him not being there when I woke up, the pain of losing him, and the pain of having to turn him away for almost a week when he was all I wanted; all of that pain just poured out of me while I sobbed into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he whispered against my hair. “I’m so, so sorry. And I will do anything-I’ll do everything to prove to you that I will never hurt you again.”

He kept holding me until my tears finally quieted, my body almost went limp in his arms. The weight of all of that pain was so heavy for so long, and now that I didn’t have to hold it, I was so tired.

“Spence?” My throat felt raw, my eyes were puffy.

“Hmm?”

I didn’t lift my head to look at him. “I’m ready to hear it now.”

Spencer froze, I’m pretty sure he stopped breathing for a moment. Then he leaned back, pulling his chest away from my face. Both of his hands cupped my face, his thumbs moving over my cheeks softly, wiping the tear trails away. Spencer held me like I was more fragile than glass like I was made of something that would crumble into nothing if he so much as moved wrong.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his beautiful golden-brown eyes searching mine.

I nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” I said, giving him a small shaky laugh.

He tilted my head up slightly before his lips brushed against my forehead. “I loved you before you were ready to hear it; I loved you before you even knew I existed.” He pressed another kiss my cheek. “I loved you since the first time you smiled at me.” He kissed my other cheek. “I will never stop telling you how much I love you.” He trailed his lips over to my mouth. “I will love you forever…because no one has ever loved someone the way I love you,” he whispered, his breath washing over my lips.

I leaned forward and brushed my mouth against his. I felt the final layer of my resistance crumble. “Please don’t hurt me again, Spence.”

He pulled away to stare in my eyes. “I will never hurt you like this again. I’m so fucking sorry, y/n.”

“Just kiss me, Spencer.”

He gave me a tiny grin at the command. “I thought you didn’t kiss your submissives,” he teased.

I brought my hand up to hold his face. “You know I break all my rules for you, my darling, nervous boy.”

--

--

Series tag list: @abschaffer2​ @liaabsurd​ @brokenanxiety​ @thisiscalmandits-dr​​ @less-intelligent-spencerreid​​ @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @cielo1984​ @sarcasticsagittarius1998​ @101donuts​ @heyitssarahk @creepingfromthecorners​ @fanfictionislifetho​ @annestine​ @boiled-onionrings​ @gublerspublers @dolanfivsosxox​ @lamusaeuterpe @publiusvirgilius​ @suzystuff @differentkettleoffishalltogether @georgiamae​ @thatsonezesty13​ @addie5264​ @hopefulfangirl24​ @april-14-blog​ @whateverthefuckm8​ @alissablake​

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Taglist for all my writing: @rachelxwayne​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sickeninglyshoujo​ @justagirllookingforherplace​ @nanocoool​ @andiebeaword​ @imjusthereformggcontent​

[sterek8nights]

Just The Right Gift

Yet another "oops this is longer than it was supposed to be" Hanukkah fic! Featuring established Sterek, Laura & Stiles brotp, an accidental POV change, and so much fluff!

Me: Laura, light of my life, sister of my heart, how are you?

Lo: Do you need bail money, or should I bring a shovel?

Me: Worse

Stiles' phone rings in his hand, and the words of Shakira's She Wolf blasting from the speaker startle him enough that he nearly drops it.

"What's up, Stiles," Laura asks, amusement and a teeny-tiny hint of concern clear in her voice. 

He sighs, annoyed with himself and ever-so-grateful for the presence of the Hales in his life, crazy werewolf shenanigans and all. "Tomorrow is the first night of Hanukkah, and I don't have Derek's present, and I have no idea what to get him."

Laura makes an aborted sound, and Stiles just knows her eyebrows are doing that scrunched up furrowed thing that all Hales seem to have perfected by grade school. "Didn't you finish all of your Hanukkah shopping like, weeks ago? I distinctly remember a celebratory pie, because you beat your record. And I was with you when you got Der that journal, and the fuzzy socks with the wolves on them-- I better be getting a pair of those, too, by the way-- and I know you've got something big for the last night planned, because you won't tell anyone what it is. So. What the heck are you talking about?"

"Okay, first of all, I earned that pie, I have never been done almost three weeks before Hanukkah starts. B, you have to wait and find out your presents like everyone else, even if you are my favorite. And three, the first night gift is important! It sets the tone! And I woke up this morning and realized that none of the presents I have are the right one to be the first one this year, and--"

"Hey, hey," Laura cuts off his quickly rising panic with a gentle interruption, "I need five minutes to get ready, and I'll come get you; we can go to that little antique market that has the back corner with local artists and stuff first, and if the perfect first night gift isn't there, we'll check out Beacon Heights, I heard from Lydia that there's a new magic shop there that's the real deal. Could be promising," Laura says, pushing reassurance into her tone as she pulls a sweatshirt off the small pile accumulated on her chair.

Stiles releases a huge gust of a breath, and Laura can hear the familiar wetness of frustrated tears that didn't get a chance to form that sometimes came with Stiles' panic attacks. She lets herself feel proud she was able to sooth her packmate before he could really even feel his anxiety.

"You are the best future Alpha a guy could ask for, you know that?"

"Future anything else on that list, little brother?" Laura asks teasingly, picking up her car keys and heading out the door.

"What are y-- Who tol-- I have no idea what even you--" Stiles squawks, and Laura can hear him flailing, fabric rustling and the sound of something being knocked over.

Laura cackles. "See you in ten, Stiles. I promise we'll find the perfect thing today. Kisses!" She hangs up with Stiles, and calls Derek immediately.

"Hey, Laur, everything okay?" Derek answers, he sounds like he's just returned from a run, the sadist, it's way too early for exercise.

"Yeah, yeah, just fine, Der. Um. Two things. We've spent like, at least a dozen Hanukkahs with the Stilinskis, right?"

"Yes?" Derek answers, clearly confused by the line of questioning.

"And no one has ever made a big deal about like, the gift on the first night? I didn't somehow miss that and just pick at random like I was raised by wolves, and you've all been too polite to tell me this whole time, right?"

"Laur, what the hell did you put in your coffee this morning?" Derek laughs.

Laura grins so wide that her eyes squint closed a little.

"Derek," she says, making sure that she sounds serious, even though she's trying not to crow gleefully. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. Are you paying attention?" Laura waits for Derek to make a sound of assent, even though she can practically hear him rolling his eyes, "You need to make sure that whatever gift you give Stiles tonight is one of the good ones, okay. Not the bathrobe with the tail and the hood with ears. Make sure the box you give him is something real. Like the one with great-grandpa's notebooks, maybe."

Derek sucks in a small, surprised breath. "How did you know?"

"I helped you decide on the tiger robe," she starts, but before Derek can call her out on her teasing avoidance, she continues, "I noticed they were missing from mom and dad's library last week, and I connected the dots. It makes perfect sense, giving them to Stiles. He'll love them. Plus, they should stay in the family."

Derek sighs, but there's a dreamy quality to it that is only there when he's thinking about Stiles. Laura's grin grows impossibly wider.

She's quickly approaching Stiles' apartment, so she says "Gotta go, baby bro. I'll see you two later tonight, yeah?"

"Yep, we'll be there as soon as Stiles is done with whatever errands he has today. There will probably be a lot of salads involved, since it'll be a week straight of latkes and donuts," Derek chuckles fondly.

"He only lets John get away with so much, even at Hanukkah," Laura adds. "Bye, Der-bear, love you!"

Derek groans at the nickname, but says "Love you, too," before he hangs up.

As soon as the call disconnects, Laura finally gives in and releases a joyful shout, compete with a fist-pump Stiles would approve of.

She's totally getting a brother-in-law for Hanukkah.

[reminiscing-writer]

Off The Deep End

-

4

Warnings: violence, harsh language, fainting, miscarriage, and lots and lots of crying.

-

Derek Morgan, if you go over to those curtains one more time, I swear on all my plushies back at Quantico, I will beat your ass myself.” Penelope threatens for the fourth time in the past few hours. She receives a smile from Emily who’s seated beside a napping JJ.

“Babygirl. I’m just trying to open a window, it’s too hot here.” He squints at her, with sweat beads on his forehead.

“I don’t care!” She snaps, placing her laptop aside a little rougher than she'd like. She gets up from her spot on the couch, and shoves Derek aside from the open window, “You’re going to sweat through your clothes, you are going to make a puddle on this floor. I don’t care! But, we are not opening these, because if these open, then my internet fades away, and if my internet goes away, then I can't do any digging to find Spencer. So, no, Derek, you may not open the window!” She snaps.

He stares at her for a moment with wide eyes silently. As she returns back to her spot he follows her and sits at her feet.

“What?” She growls frustratedly. He softly takes her glasses off her face and folds them, putting them aside. “I can't see without those, Derek.” She huffs, going to take them back. He stops her hands, and brings them to his mouth and gives her knuckles soft kisses.

“Sweetie, I know this is stressful. It’s hard on all of us,” He speaks to her with love, “but, it's important we don't lose our temper with each other.” She looks at him dearly with teary eyes.

“I just wish I could do more.” She sniffles quite like a mouse, tears dripping from her eyes, “I feel like we’re not doing enough to help him.”

The team is all at wits end. It’s very clear. Earlier, Hotch had lost his temper with JJ because she hadn’t ‘talked to the local police about the case yet’. Even he knew that was a ridiculous thing to argue over, because, the local PD had nothing to do with this case. But, nonetheless, he had yelled at her, and she had argued back, causing the both to walk away from each other heated.

“Well, then talk to me. Tell me, what is it that can help you work better.” Derek wipes his dear friends cheeks, “Want me to help set the internet a little better?” He asks, stroking her cheeks with his large hands.

Her lips perk up at the corners, “Now you're talking my language, Baby.” She nods like a little child. The two continue back and forth for a bit. They don't realize they have a watcher from afar.

From the dining table in the kitchen, Amelia sat watching the two agents longingly. She knew they didn't have a romantic relationship, but she envied the way they were touching each other and smiling and loving. She envied them and she hated herself for it. Because, with every hour that passed without Spencers being found, was another hour that she was growing angrier.

Not at the team, she knew they were trying their best. But, at herself? She didn't really know; she just needed to be angry at something, or someone.

“How are you feeling?” A hand on Amelia's back startles her. She looks up to see Aaron.

He was older than her by a good decade or so, but Spencer always spoke with such respect to his name. Not so much as a father figure, but more so an older brother. So, eventually that's the role Amelia gave him in her life also.

“Alright,” She lied, taking a sip of her unintended cold coffee.

He takes a seat beside her. He’s about to say something when Derek and Penelope both call for Amelia.

Both of the two seated in the kitchen come into the living room. Hearing their call startles JJ awake, as she was napping on the love seat opposite to them. Emily places a hand on her thigh to reassure her nothing has happened.

“Ameilia,” Garcia starts off just above a whisper, “did you ever have anyone come and check your internet?”

All eyes are on her, “Yeah,” she's confused. She already said the internet was slow. Why does it matter? “I called someone a couple months back, but he didn't really help. In fact, I think it just got worse after he checked it.” She half shrugs. “Spencer thought I was crazy when I told him that.” She gives a ghost of a smile.

“What exactly did he do? The man you called for the wi-fi?” Penelope pries.

“Why does it matter?” Hotch asks.

“Just give me a second to figure this out,” Penelope stalls, looking back to Amelia, “What did he do when he came?”

Amelia licks her dry lips, starting to get anxious, “Um- he checked our router and our modem. Said it was old school, and he would give us a new one free of cost.” She takes a shaky breath in, “Why?”

“Where’s the new system he set up?” Derek asks, standing up from the couch he was seated on.

After Amelia points to the closet in her room, she comes back to Penelope. “Pen, what is it?”

“I have a hunch,” Garcia says, typing on her laptop, “I don't want to be right about it.” Derek comes out of the room with a tiny black box with flashing red lights. He hands it to Garcia, who without a beat says, “But, I'm afraid I am.”

“Sweatpea, this isn’t a new modem. This is a blocker.” Penelope says, turning it around and switching off numerous buttons on it. “The guy, whoever he was, came in here, and planted this on purpose.” She speaks directly to Ameila, though the whole team is watching her with wide eyes.

“Why would - why would someone do that?” Amelia stutters.

“It all makes so much more sense now!” Penelope's brain switches a flip and she tosses the blocker onto the floor, and starts typing hard on her computer. She laughs, “My internet is back! And I got something else too!” JJ gets up to stretch her legs and is instructed by Pen to go and open the curtains.

She's confused, but follows orders as told.

“Derek Morgan, I could kiss you.” Peneople is in her own world.

“I would love that, I really would. But, if we could know why…?” He snaps in front of her screen but she shoos his fingers away. She's in a trance. Maybe it's just because her internet is back up and running, but Amelia begins to get impatient.

She finally turns the screen around to show the team what she's looking at. She's panting as though she ran a mile in under a minute.

The whole team looks at her screen in confusion. “Is that-?” Emily starts.

“Is that us?” Amelia finishes.

“That's us.” Morgan confirms as he raises his arm just to watch his arm raise on the screen.

“What is going on?” Aaron looks at Penelope.

Penelope waits for a dramatic pause, and then she says with complete confidence, “Amelia, someone has been watching you and Spencer for a while now. That same someone was the one who had that blocker planted in your apartment, so they could block any interruptions in and out of here. My bet is,” She turns her laptop back around, “they’re the ones in charge of Spencer's kidnapping.”

Amelia takes in all the information one by one. “But, I called the internet guy just out of chance.” She recalls her memory.

“Where did you find his number?” Emily asks.

“Spencer gave it to me. Actually, he’s the one who called him.” She remembers, “I had complained to him that I was having trouble working on my kindergarteners report cards, so he said he had found someones number on a bulletin board. He’d spoken to him himself, and said the guy would come over the weekend.”

“This is good,” Hotch says, “this is the closest thing to a lead we’ve had since Spencer has gone missing. Emily and Derek, you two go and check out the bulletin boards back at the office, and check if you can see what number Spencer had gotten in contact with.”

The two agents nod, and head out of the apartment, “Penelope,” Hotch says. As she looks up, he replies, “great work.” She beams a smile.

Amelia feels something deep in her stomach. Maybe it's the baby she never forgets about. Or, maybe it's the sense of guilt taking over her. Because, if she hadn't complained to Spencer about the crappy wi-fi, then the man wouldn't have come over. If he didnt come over, he wouldn't have planted the blocker which would mean they wouldn't have surveillance on them. Which would mean Spencer wouldn't have gotten kidnapped, and then he’d still be here today holding her close and-

She begins to feel lightheaded and loses her footing slightly staggering in place. Aaron quickly catches eye of her losing balance and runs up to her. He quickly places a hand on her back and seats on the nearest couch.

“Amelia, we will find him, you have to take it easy..” He reassures her. Most, if not all, of the team knew about her pregnancy. Only the females had made it verbal, but the males also showed just a little extra care towards her in the past 24 hours

-

-

Emily and Derek roll up to their Quanatico office half an hour after the conversation back at the Doctors apartment. They both step out of the car. “So, what are we looking for?” Derek asks, taking off his sunglasses, tucking them into his back pocket.

“Well, Amelia said Spencer had found the electricians number on the bulletin board. Our first best bet is probably the one in the kitchen.”

“But,” Derek opens the door for Emily, “is it really like him to just call a random stranger over to his apartment? I mean, the guy doesn't sound like he worked for a big company.”

The two file into the elevator and start heading up, “Well, he's not really one for technology, is he? He wouldn't really care as long as the problem got solved. Amelia said herself, the problem wasn't bothering him, it was bothering her.” Emily walks out of the elevator first after it stops.

“And, he would do anything in his power to help her be happy.” Derek says as they walk into the bullpen and head for the kitchen. “Even if that meant calling up a stranger and asking for help.”

When they walk into the kitchen nothing stands out to them. Coffee is brewing for other agents, sing has a few dirty mugs, and the bulletin board is just filled with papers they'd seen before.

Derek skims the pages and doesn't seem satisfied, “This is all the regular stuff. Flyers for newbies, orientation timings, and lectures by older agents. Nothing about electricians.”

“Well, there has to be something somewhere.” Emily grunts as she goes to fill herself a mug of hot caffeine. She offers to make Derek a cup, but he declines politely.

“Okay, so I’m Pretty Boy, okay?” He looks at Prentiss, “My wife needs help with the internet at home. I don't know jack squat about that stuff, so what do I do?”

“Ask someone else for help?”

“But, I'm also too shy to ask someone myself. I don't see any flyers here at work, so…” he trails for a second before continuing, “maybe, i see a flyer at my regular cafe.” He lifts an eyebrow suggestively.

Emliy hums in agreement, “Could be.” She nods, “He does get to work with coffee in hand, so he has a regular spot. Someone was already watching him, so they probably knew that. Could’ve planted a trap for him there.”

Derek takes out his phone and dials a memorized number on speaker, “Speak to me, Chocolate Thunder.” Penelope answers.

“Hey, Mama. I need you to look up the route from Spencer's apartment to work. Tell me what coffee shops you see between us.”

Typing begins on the other side before the hear Amelia's shy voice.

“Is this regarding Spencer?”

“Yeah,” Emily answers, “would you happen to know where he got his morning coffee from, Amelia?”

“Uh, yes,,” she replies, “it’s this small cafe like ten minutes from here.” She pauses, “I think it's called The Corner Brewery.”

“Already sent you the address to your cells.” Garcia adds.

“Of course The Genius marries a Genius.” Derek smiles, “You're a lifesaver, Amelia. You too, PC. Get back to you two soon.” He hangs up.

“To the The Corner Brewery we go.” Emily jangles the keys.

-

-

Amelia is in the kitchen making some pasta. No one is hungry, including her. But no one stops her, because she needs something to keep herself busy or she goes back into overthinking mode. Unhealthy for her and the baby.

Penelope sits clacking away at her computer. She had a router backtracking number from the camera she had gotten connected to (the surveillance footage one), so she was hoping she could find the location it was coming from.

Hotch sat across from her, on the phone with Strauss because she was on his ass about his entire team being absent from work with no notice. Hotch was winning the argument, he usually is.

JJ walks into the kitchen, “Can I help?” She offers.

“No, thank you.” Amelia says quietly and politely.

“Amelia,” JJ calls for her attention, “Em and Derek are so close to getting more information. We’ll find him. I promise.”

“Aren't you not allowed to give empty promises like that?” Amelia locks eyes with JJ for the first time all day. It knocks the breath out of Jennifer because she sees just how broken Amelia looks. Her eyes are puffy and rimmed red from constant crying. Her nose is red, and her lips are trembling.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, I just-,” Amelia turns back to the pot she was stirring, “I really want him to come back home, but please stop giving me false hope.”

It breaks JJ’s heart seeing Amelia so broken. They were never super close, but Amelia was Spencer's wife. And, Spencer was her best friend, and that was enough for her to love Amelia.

A knock on the front door breaks the girl's attention away from their brief conversation.

Hotch stands up immediately, and JJ protectively stands in front of Amelia, with her hand immediately on the gun on her waist. Hotch takes a slow step towards the door, and calls out loudly, “Who is it?”

No answer.

Hotch looks back at JJ, and when she nods, indicating she's ready to fire on command, he swiftly opens the door, pulling out his own gun simultaneously. There's no one at the door, which makes Amelia exhale a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Theres a small package on the welcome mat outside, and just as the previous package, in messy handwriting, it has Mrs. Reid scribbled on it.

Hotch quickly looks outside the door left, right, then left again, and brings the package inside. After shutting and locking the door, he places it on the center table.

Amelia, still traumatized from the last thing they received slowly approaches it, “What is it?”

Aaron shrugs, “Light,” he lowers himself to inspect the package before opening it, “doesn't seem like there's much in it.”

“Maybe you should go inside,” Penelope offers, “since last time-”

“No,” Amelia quickly interjects, “I can handle it. I can do it, I have to. This is about my husband.” She inhales deeply, “I can be strong for him. Open it, Aaron,” She encourages him with the fakest face of courage she can muster up.

He waits a moment, but realizes she's not going anywhere. He begins opening the packing cautiously, just to realize it's a cardboard box. Inside is just a disk. A CD. No label, no tag, no writing. Just a CD.

All heads turn to Garcia, and she nods and holds out a palm to Hotch, “Pass it, I’ll check what it is.”

He hands it to her and she inserts into her laptop. Amelia is seated beside her watching her work away on her laptop.

“There’s a single file on here. A video.” She squints at her screen.

Without another movement made by Garcia, a video opens up on her computer. Her and Amelia gasp in unison. It’s Spencer. Tied to a chair, bloody rag covering his now four-fingered hand.

He looks scared, and bloodied and bruised. His hair is matted down to his forehead and one of his eyes is so swollen that it’s shut. Breathing labored, he tilts his up towards the camera slightly, his messy hair moving with him.

Amelias eyes water and her lips tremble. She covers her mouth with a shaky hand to stop herself from crying. Be brave, she reminds herself, be brave and strong for Spencer.

Penelope places her equally shaking hand on her friends thigh, just as to remind her, we’re here for you.

“Whenever you’re ready, Spencie.” A voice says from off camera. Garcia places the laptop front and center on the living room coffee table.

Spencer takes a deep breath, “Amelia,” his bottom lip quivers, “I am so sorry, Sweetheart.” At the mention of the nickname Amelia whimpers. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and I would never have hoped you would be involved in this also.” He shut both his eyes and looked down at his lap. “We’ll figure this out, Buttercup.” This nickname causes Amelia's eyes to water and start streaming silent tears. “Just you and me, against the world.” A small smile from him earns him an identical one from his wife.

“And, Amelia, I promise you,” he swallows hard, looking back up once again. His face almost unrecognizable, this time JJ looks away with her eyes shut, “once I get out of here, you and me, we’ll go on that date to Griffith Park observatory you’ve always wanted to go to. But, maybe we’ll skip the ending, I don’t like the end of the observatory.” Amelia furrows her brows, her heart beating a mile a minute. “And, then, maybe we could watch a movie. Like that one Jim Carrey film. What was it? Something, Ventura? It was top class acting, I know you said that.” Amelia can sense something off, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She messily wipes her tears, sniffling. She stands up catching the eye of JJ.

“Please, Amelia.” Spencer pleaded desperately, “I love you.” He was crying too. His voice was shaking. He was at his breaking point.

“Hey, Lover Boy!” The same voice from before came loudly. A man walked from behind the camera, keeping in mind of not showing his face. He walks towards Spencer, his back to the viewers, “Would you like to give us the password now?”

Amelias breathing shallowes, and she unconsciously placed a hand on her stomach. As she stares at Spencer with wide eyes, the man swings a punch straight to his gut. “Couldn’t hear you, dear.” He chuckles evilly.

Amelia watches in horror as the man cracks his knuckles, “Speak up for me.'' Another punch gets delivered to her husband's chest.

“Please stop.” Spencer pleaded, spitting blood. The sight made Amelia cry loudly, and Aaron tries to move her from in front of the screen.

“Garcia, turn it off.” He orders, equally shaken up.

“I’m trying,” she cries, tapping at herkeyboard, “it won’t go away.” She sniffles desperately.

“You know what I want. Give it to me, and I’ll stop.” The man threatens. He walks away for a second just to return back into the screen with a large metal rod.

“Garcia!” Aaron scolds loudly.

“It won’t turn off!” She yells back, scared.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, and as if Amelia's body couldn’t handle seeing her husband get hurt any longer, her eyes shut on her, and she falls straight to the floor.

“I’ll tell you!” The team hears Spencer plead on camera. But, no one is watching the screen anymore. Instead, they all quickly huddle around Amelia, who lay on the floor. Eyes shut with tears streaking her cheeks. The commotion of the apartment is loud for the next few moments.

Spencer in the video giving a password to his captor. Garcia is on the phone with the police, telling them to send an ambulance to her current address. JJ is trying to wake up Amelia, her head being softly placed onto the agents lap.

JJ strokes Amelia's hair softly, “Amelia, please. Please wake up.” She whispers, her eyes ready to leak tears.

Aaron, in the midst of the chaos, turns his attention to Spencer just to hear him say the last few letters.

“That’s not right.” He mumbles, grabbing JJ’s attention.

“What?” She looks up.

“That’s not the code. If the code they want is the Integrity Files one, he gave them a faulty password.”

“Why would he do that?” She asks.

A few moments later, paramedics rush into the apartment. After Garcia argues her way into the ambulance also, JJ and Aaron agree to meet at the hospital.

“I’ll let Derek and Emily know.” JJ says to Garcia as she sits next to a still unconscious Amelia. Penelope nods and the medics shut the ambulance doors.

-

-

Back at The Corner Brewery, Derek and Emily walk with purpose. The barista asks them for their orders.

“No coffee, although, we were wondering if you guys had a bulletin board of any sort?” Emily asks as Derek takes a look around.

The cafe was very large. It was busy, and the amount of customers made Derek nervous if they would find any information they seeked.

“Yes,” the man behind the counter replied bored, “we allow paying customers to post any advertisements they want over there.” He points to a cork board that hung at the end of the store.

Very big, and very much covered in papers, and stickers and flyers.

They nod, and before heading to the board, Derek feels the need to flash his badge. Just to show that he has a reason to be here.

“Where do we start?” Emily gawks at the board. There’s at least 50 different papers layered on top of one another.

The two agents start to remove paper by paper to see if they can see any ads that may stand out. After half an hour of unsuccessful searching, Derek excused himself.

“I gotta take a bathroom break, Prentiss.” He walks away as she nods. He walks up to the barista and asks for the men’s room. As he’s about to walk away, he catches glimpse of a page hanging behind the wall the barista stood in front of. “Hey, my man.” He grabs the servers attention, “What’s that?” He points to the page.

The barista comes by. He tears the paper off the wall and hands it to him. “An ad, probably hung up by one of the other servers here. Customers aren’t allowed back here.” He gives a half shrug before walking away.

Need help with bad internet? Call us today!

Derek rushes back to Em to show her what he found.

“Hey, check this out.” He hands it to her.

She reads it over. It looks simple, like it was printed at home. A stock photo image of a computer with a large red cross over it. The heading was big and bold. Loud enough to catch attention.

At the bottom of the page, there was a name and number.

“Leonel Cassum.” Emily reads the name at the bottom.

“I think we should give him a call,” Derek looks over at the number, “after that bathroom break.” He turns back around to where he was before.

-

“So, Leonel,” Derek starts, sitting opposite of the male they called in for questioning, “tell me, how’s business?”

He’s confused. The freckles on his nose move as he scrunches his nose, “It’s alright, going decent enough.” He looks from Derek to Emily and back. “Am I allowed to ask why I’m here?”

Derek gives a large smile, almost condescendingly, “Of course you are,” he pauses, waving over Emily. She hands him a folder. “now, do you know who Dr. Spencer Reid is?”

The young blonde shakes his head. “No, why am I here?” There’s a shake in his voice.

“Because,” Emily takes a seat next to Derek, “Dr. Reid is missing. And you’re our only lead. The whole case is sitting on your shoulders.” She points her index to him.

He stares back, mouth agape, “W-what? No, no that’s not possible.” He leans forward, “Look, you guys have the wrong guy. I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know who that is!” He looks desperately from one agent to the other.

“Really?” Emily raises an eyebrow, “Well, it says in your call records,” she opens her folder, “that you spoke to Dr. Reid exactly three months ago. It was a five minute long call. He had called you, at,” she squints at her page, “8 in the morning. Early, huh?” She looks to Morgan.

“Well, maybe Leonel here isn’t an early riser. That’s why he doesn’t remember who he spoke with. Right, Leonel?” Derek looks to their guest.

He stares back, “I- I may have spoken to him.” He shrugs, “But, I speak to a lot of people everyday. It’s nothing significant.”

“Well, it must’ve been. Because, you spoke to him on a Friday, and agreed the very next day. Fast service for such a busy company.” Emily counters.

Leonel looks to the dark haired agent, “It must’ve been a slow weekend, I really don’t know what you guys are intending.” He continues his innocence.

Emily stands up slamming the table with her palms, scaring the kid, “We’re intending you spoke to the Doctor, came to his house, placed a blocker in his home,” she inches close to Leonel's face, “and have been watching him like a stalker since then. Now he’s gone missing! So, who’s head is that on? Yours!” She yells in his face.

Leonel scoots back, “I didn’t do any of that!” He cries.

“We have footage of you walking into his apartment, Leonel!” Emily walks around the table so she’s next to his chair, “How much are you going to lie before you break?” She stares at him menacingly. Derek quietly watches, playing the good cop between them.

Leonel's shoulders start to shake.

“I’m real tight on money.” He squeaks. “Some guy came up to me at a cafe and told me he’d pay me hefty if I just go along with a few things he wanted.” He looks to Derek, almost ignoring Emily.

“It started off small, like just making a flyer. Then he told me I'd receive a call,” he wipes his nose with his sleeve, “and after a few days, I did. I was told what to say, and I did exactly that.” He wipes his tears quickly, “All I did was set up a small blocker in his apartment.” His breathing gets shaky again, “But, that’s all! That’s all I did! I didn’t kidnap anyone! I didn’t hurt anyone! I swear!” He cries.

Emily goes back around next to Derek, “If he’s saying the truth, then there’s another surveillance guy.”

“I don’t know who he is,” Leonel speaks quietly, “but,” he swallows hard, “I can tell you where he’s at. I heard the guys who hired me talk about it once.”

Leonel gets sat with a facial artist first, to hopefully get a rough sketch of the man who hired him. And then he gives the address of what he thinks should be the place the creep who was watching Spencer is set up.

-

Derek drives to the given address, which happens to be just a street opposite of Spencer and Amelia's abode.

“Makes sense, seeing as how close this is to Amelia's place,” Emily gets out of the passenger seat and looks up at a tall building, squinting as the sun hits her eyes.

“Well, this is the address blondie gave us, so let's give it a look.” Derek starts to walk into the apartment complex before them.

They walk in and quickly come to realize that anything could happen in this building, and no one would know. The place was empty. Maybe there were residents living there, but whoever they were, they were very much to themselves.

The two agents make sure their badges are on display on their belts, and start to inspect the building. Slowly making their way up each floor, they finally stop at the 7th floor. As the elevator doors open, Derek stops the doors from closing with his hands, “Well, this looks promising.”

The floor seemed to be under construction. Paint buckets laid everywhere, and plastic sheets hung from the walls.

As the two stepped out of the elevator, they hear a paint can fall in the distance. Instantly whipping their head in that direction, Emily calls out loudly, “Federal Agents! Who's there?”

When instead of a reply they hear footsteps running, both of them grab a hold of their weapons and start running towards the sound. Derek gives a quick and quiet hand motion, telling Emily to split up to over more ground.

It a large floor and the place is split into different sections just by plaster or lanky wood. Once the footsteps stop, the only sound they hear is wind and their own breathing. Neither of the agents say a word.

Then, a sound behind Morgan, something sounding like a rustling makes him whip his entire body around and instinctively tackle. And rightfully so, because down goes the man they’re supposedly looking for.

Emily comes running up next to the two men who are wrestling, (although Morgan is most definitely winning). She hands Derek a pair of handcuffs and pulls out her vibrating cell to see JJs caller ID.

“Great time, JJ,” She breathes into the phone catching her breath. “We’ve got good news.”

“I’ve got some bad news.” JJ says at the same time on the other end. When Emily doesn’t say anything else, she continues, “What’s the good news?”

Emily walks a few feet away from Derek as he forces his handcuffed man up forcefully. She walks towards a set up right by an open window. A camera, a laptop, a few other boxes that are beeping green and red, and something that she didn’t expect; a large sniper rifle. All aiming straight at the dear doctors apartment.

“We found our peeping Tom. Well, he seems more like sniping Tom, but you know what I mean.” Emily says, “What’s the bad news?” She furrows her brows.

“Amelia fainted at the apartment.” JJ says, “We received a video of Spencer and she passed out while watching it. We’re headed to the hospital now.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you there.” Em replies, following Derek into the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, and Em?”

“Yeah?”

“This is about the Integrity Case. The kidnappers were torturing Reid for the password on camera.”

-

-

We’re so sorry. Sorry. So sorry. We tried. Our deepest condolences.

It doesn’t make any sense to Amelia. Sorry about what? She can barely remember what’s happened, and here doctors and nurses apologizing to her.

She continues to stay silent as a male doctor stands before her speaking of something that doesn’t register in her brain.

She’s in a hospital. She knows that. She’s been changed into a gown, she knows that also. Her mind feels woozy, that’s something also.

A nurse steps in front of her, “Is there anything I can do for you, Darling? Before we leave you for a bit.”

Amelia licks her lips before speaking, “I’m just a little lost,” as she speaks, she realizes she’s slurring her words slightly, “what’s happened?” She blinks hard.

“Oh,” the nurses blinks, “well, you’re friends out there say you had a fainting episode. And, well, sometimes if the body is undergoing a lot of stress, it can put a lot of stress on the baby also.” She's speaking slowly and clearly- unlike the doctor before her. “Sometimes, that can cause the fetus to get over worked,” she tilts her head slightly, “and, in your case, unfortunately, the fetus was far too young to try and save.”

The words slowly start to settle into Amelia's already foggy brain. Her hand goes onto her stomach.

Sorry. So sorry. We’re so sorry.

“We did try our best, but there was only so little we could do.” The nurse says sympathetically.

“The baby,” Amelia's voice is quiet, “the baby… is gone?” She asks in utter disbelief.

“We are so terribly sorry for your loss, hun.”

And before another word can leave anyone else’s mouth, Amelia's shoulders start to tremble as she breaks down. Loud cries leave her room as she cries over the loss of her unborn child.

A nurse comes outside and informs the team of what happened. Some shed a tear, others conceal their feelings till they’re in private. But they all hear the cries from Amelias room. Loud and clear.

It’s all pent up feelings.

Grief, because even if the baby wasn’t in her arms, it was still inside her. She was still talking to the baby. Telling them about what a great father Spencer is. Talking to them about how wonderful a mother she will be also. How much she’s looking forward to them growing everyday. Telling them just how much they’re loved, even before they’ve entered the world.

Anger, because Spencer isn’t here with Amelia. He didn’t know she was pregnant, much less know she’s lost the baby. She knows it’s ridiculous to be angry, but she is upset. He should’ve been here. If he was here, she wouldn’t have lost the baby.

She knows it’s not his fault. He wanted a family just as much Amelia did. They’d been trying for years, and when they did finally succeed-

Amelia screams. Again, and again, and again.

Some words. Some just incoherent screams. Her voice is not nearly loud enough to express all the emotions she’s feeling. Her screams boom through the whole maternity ward. While some mothers are cradling their newborns, this mother is mourning the loss of hers.

JJ decides to stay back with Amelia, even if it does mean just waiting in the waiting room. Garcia and Derek team together to go back to the apartment to gather all their belongings to head back to the office. Hotch and Emily agree to head into question their newfound suspect.

Amelia is left alone in the room.

Missing her husband.

Missing her child.

Losing everyone she loves, one by one.

-

Tag team!

(Drop a comment if you also want to be tagged when the next part goes up!)

@twentysomethingloser92 @spencerreidsthings @mbowles23-blog @andiebeaword @dontshootmespence @notdisneychannel @wiitchxbiitch @manchildstagram @lagirl112

[whump-town]

if this is okay, for the suggest a fic thing, how about an au to minimal loss where hotch sent his agents into the building, but like gideon and adrian bale, they didn't come out again, or if they did, they couldn't be field agents because of the injuries?

"He failed his gun qualification." 

Derek Morgan's head snaps up from where he's staring at his paperwork. Everyone's been on edge since the accident but today the air feels unbearably thick. Enough to cut. "Dave, " he calls to the senior agent's receding back. "How bad?"

Rossi stops and stands for a moment conjuring the best words to describe the situation. He turns on the heel of a foot, looking over his shoulder he simply shakes his head. But that alone says enough. Dave's been unwavering with support. Strong. The only level head in the face of everything and now he's communicating that it's pointless. 

Things can never go back to the way that they were before.

Before the explosion.

Aaron Hotchner’s scream is swallowed by the crack that shakes the world. 

By the bomb that upsets his entire life.

He surges forward. That’s what his training has taught him, what his life has prepared him for. To keep moving forward regardless of what waits ahead. To move into the danger. Besides, his team is in there. His family and he’s-- he’s got to get in there. He has to-- Arms snag his waist and he knows just from the way that he’s stopped in his tracks who it is. “Derek,” he barks the other man’s name out like an order and it is. 

Except he isn’t released. He becomes increasingly desperate and he comes free only because irrational rarely looses to logic. This time, the earth splits and Derek Morgan’s shout pulls them all down. His voice cracks and he watches his boss’ receding back. 

What are they to do?

Nothing. Except follow.

Dave’s voice sounds through the chaos but Derek is deaf to the orders. All he can do is stand and stare in shock as Hotch runs into the scene. As he breaks protocols and puts himself into danger.

Derek Morgan hadn’t been there when Adrian Bale bested Gideon and killed their team. Aaron had been. He’d been preparing the trail the first team in, leading more local police into the scene. Hotch had spent two weeks in the hospital recovering from the shrapnel wounds embedded in his upper torso. The fact that he had only nearly died set him apart from the others. So he never complained because it could have been worse. 

So much worse. 

"No--" Derek sees the first responders collect his boss. Forming a line between the distraught unit chief and the men and women trying to do their job. 

"No!" Hotch's voice is a frustrated strangled sound. He's bigger than the line of people. Desperation forms an all new type of strength and breaks through the line. The smoke and scent of carnage punch him in the gut.

Failure.

God… Good Lord this is what failure smells like. 

"Hotch!" 

Too much has happened in such a short amount of time. 

"You okay, man?" Morgan meets Hotch at the elevator. He knows where the older man is headed. He's become easily predictable. 

Hotch doesn't so much as blink in response. 

Morgan wants to be pissed. He wants to flip the desk and punch a wall. He needs to do something because they just keep losing. They can’t seem to win. And, as much as he can understand, he can’t comprehend how unwilling to fight Hotch is. How hard is it to pass a gun qualification? The man is a god-damned sharpshooter. One of the best and he can’t even… He can’t do this one thing.

It’s not even hard.

They stop in the hall and Morgan refuses to look. He can’t but he still knows what he’ll find: his best friend’s faces memorialized behind glass, smiling for the rest of eternity. 

They found Emily in the hall. She’d been holding the body of another woman to her chest, pulling them both to what she thought was safety. The other man was dead, from what they can tell, but Emily refused to leave her behind. She was three feet from the exit when Cryus blew the compound up. Three fucking feet. 

Somehow, it had been smoke inhalation that did her in. Her legs broken beneath the debris that fell onto her body and yet, she’d laid on her back for three hours before she met her death. She was savable. They could have saved her. Instead, she died in a cult leader’s basement trapped under debris all alone. 

Spencer had gone quickly. Immediate. 

There was blood pooling on his lips as he’d smiled at Cyrus. His death had looked like defiance and he knew that as the hammer of the gun struck, Hotch would have been proud. It took balls to argue with Cyrus. To back the leader into a biblical corner but his words had struck a new rebellion: doubt. 

Cyrus had leveled his Glock to Ried’s temples and torn his genius brain to shreds. 

But Reid had never known strength as he did in that moment.

The bomb didn’t even leave them a body to bury. 

Morgan can’t even look at their pictures. 

“Cyrus killed them,” Morgan reminds Hotch gently. This has nothing to do with Hotch or his orders. This is about an unhinged cult leader and a bomb. This wasn’t Gideon and Adrain Bale. There was no way for Hotch to know. He had done what any of them would have: the job. That’s what Reid and Prentiss were doing that day. 

The day the earth stood still.

At night, Morgan wakes with cold sweat soaking his back. All he can hear is Hotch’s broken shout for Prentiss and Reid. The only time he’s ever heard the other man so desperate.

Morgan steps around debris, lowering his head in defeat at the way the emergency personal look at him. This isn’t shame… it’s Derek Morgan realizing he has no idea what to do. No idea what he’s supposed to say. Because there is nothing he can conceive to make this better. To give this moment a commodity of normalcy.

In the middle of it all-- a sea of black body bags, each one measuring out their failure-- Hotch is crouched on the ground. In his arms… Emily.

“Man…” Morgan had fallen to his knees right beside his boss. His oldest friend. “She’s gone,” he manages because that’s what the emergency crew had told him. What they kept saying as they explained that someone needed to come to get Hotch so they could take her away.

Morgan can’t-- Emily had always been so pale. Her dark hair and dark eyes had all been so striking to her pale beauty but he’s never seen her so still. A broken doll in Hotch’s arms. 

“We have to go,” Morgan says and he’s not sure he can do much more than repeating the words that other people have been repeating to him. He’s incapable of thinking past just how broken Emily is. He’d just spoken to her. The flashing light and her boot in the window.

Hotch tears his eyes away and up to Morgan. There are tear streaks on his dirty face, “I can’t.” He looks back down at Emily and holds her closer. Daring Morgan to take her away. “She--” the words get caught in his throat. “She didn’t think I trusted her.”

Morgan shakes his head but… it’s true.

“I do,” Hotch says. His chest heaves as he pulls in a broken sob. “I trust her.”

Morgan nods his understanding and places a hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “She knows,” he promises. “She knows, man.”

That day claimed more than it ever gave. 

They lost Reid and Prentiss. 

Hotch had been torn by his inability to be a p0lberrier but he’s been unable to stop the tremble in his hands since that bomb went off. His grip was too weak.

“Dave told me you failed your gun qualification,” Morgan says softly. Slowly, he raises his eyes until he’s at Reid. He’s never going to turn thirty. Never going to fall in love. 

Hotch doesn’t say anything which shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. He doesn’t talk too much anymore. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Morgan scratches at the back of his head. “You don’t need to go out in the field.” Hotch shouldn’t be anywhere near the field. Not for a long time. Morgan can’t take another Gideon. He can’t watch another friend unravel. He’s tired of losing people. 

He accidentally looks at Emily and feels the wind get knocked from his lungs. Clenching his teeth, Morgan forces himself to breathe steadily. Forcing the image of Emily’s still body in Hotch’s arms as far from his mind as he can. “Come on,” Morgan says, knowing that Hotch will follow. 

His hands tucked in his pockets, hiding their intense tremble, Hotch mindlessly follows. That’s all he’s really capable these days. His hands tremble. His eyes scan. He stays silent, broken. 

“We’ll be okay,” Morgan tells him, as he holds the bull-pens door open. Morgan just needs to work on convincing himself that as much as Hotch. 

They’re never okay.