#Drawn before the pilot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rcmclachlan · 2 months ago

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Wrote this today while I should've been working (don't tattle).

Submitting it for the approval of the Fuck It Friday Society. Thanks to @epiphainie for tagging me!

"So? Tell me about the hot pilot."

It takes only a second to scroll through the rows of photos until he finds the one he wants to show her, but instead of handing his phone over, he takes a moment to admire it. The post has nine photos in it and this is the fourth one in—it's by far his favorite out of all the others on the account. Considering how many contenders there are, that's really saying something.

Maddie pointedly clears her throat and Buck ducks his head with a sheepish laugh, because he knows he's being mean by keeping her waiting. If the tables were turned and she was holding out on him, he'd be ready to tackle her to get to the phone. Plus, he's already looked at the picture at least three hundred times over the last two days; it's not like he's going to miss anything. He's pretty sure he could draw it from memory.

Nervously licking his suddenly-dry bottom lip, he slides the phone across the counter to her, and she snatches it up like a winning lottery ticket, or Golden Grahams, which she used to hide from him when they were younger because he could house an entire box in a single sitting.

She draws in a surprised breath when she looks at the screen, and he takes it as his cue to round the island and crowd in behind her so he can peer at it from over her shoulder.

Whoever took the shot should get a Pulitzer. It was taken through the open door of a helicopter, perfectly framing the three people in the cockpit. There are two kids—a girl no more than ten years old wearing a headset and looking at the instrument panel, while the other kid has their back to the camera, showing the familiar logo of two hands holding each other on the back of their shirt—and then there's Tommy, who's half inside the opposite door and haloed by the light of the Harbor hangar, his gaze focused on whatever he's pointing at on the panel. His head is slightly turned, exposing the textbook-perfect right angle of his jawline, and his mouth is half open. But, unlike every picture where Buck looks like a dumbass with his mouth open wide enough to drive a truck through, Tommy looks handsome and competent, caught mid-explanation about manifold pressure or rotor RPMs or any of the other gauges that Buck looked up before he'd called for the Harbor tour.

"Buck," Maddie says, stunned. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, but then she closes it with an audible click.

"I know."

She spins around and smacks his arm, her grin threatening to consume her entire face. "Buck!"

"I know." He does know. He really does.

"Oh my god." Maddie turns back to the phone and swipes to see the other photos, but the only other one in the post with Tommy in it is a group shot. He stands in the back of a gaggle of kids with four of his teammates, taller than everyone else, and it's either the vivid blue of his flight suit or the magnetic force field that seems to hover around him all the time, but Buck's attention is drawn immediately to him. The first time he saw the photo, it took him a second to realize there were like twenty other people in it.

"Oh my god," Maddie says again.

Each of Tommy's hands are on the shoulders of two kids, and he's smiling so widely that his eyes are almost closed. He looks so good. He looks like he did when he glanced up from the menu as Buck approached the table—like anyone in the world could've shown up but he was thrilled it was Buck specifically. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Like he was the correct answer.

And that's a wrap on our annual flight rescue simulation! As always, huge thanks to the Los Angeles Boys & Girls Club (@labgc) for introducing us to the next generation of heroes. Can't wait to get up there with them again someday! #labgc #lafdharbor1

He blows out a breath. "I'm such an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. There's no way you could've anticipated Eddie showing up." Maddie swipes over to Tommy's full Instagram profile and starts tapping open photos at random. When she gets to another of Buck's favorites—the one of Tommy mid-laugh, sandwiched between a man and a woman in a bar booth with trivia sheets spread out on the table in front of them—she mutters, "Good lord."

Buck looks at the man and how he's shoved up against Tommy's side, and he swallows around a familiar sour crackle in his jaw. He'd told Tommy point blank that he can get jealous, but he's a little surprised by how much he wants to reach right into the screen and rip the poor guy out of the photo with his bare hands. He shouldn't be shocked, though; he did maim his best friend for the crime of having Tommy's attention, after all.

But that guy in the picture could've been Buck. If he hadn't been an asshole, he could've been the one sitting next to Tommy, pressed up against him and laughing, flushed with victory and good company and beer, filling out answers on the sheet and preening when Tommy turned an impressed smile on Buck for helping take their team to the final round because he knew things like what the fear of is flowers called and the world record for the longest hiccupping spree.

"I shouted to the entire restaurant that we were going to pick up hot chicks after dinner, Maddie," Buck says, and looks away from the photo where he isn't. "I might as well have paid someone to skywrite 'NO HOMO' above the Coliseum. So, yeah, I am an idiot for that."

She winces. "How'd he, uh, take that? Was he really mad?"

"Worse," he says miserably. "He was really nice."

Where his hand rests on the countertop next to her, Buck's fingers curl in to press against his palm, and the rest of his body wants to follow suit out of shame. He can't stop thinking about how quiet Tommy was after Eddie and Marisol left, how the confidence and charisma and razor-sharp wit had all grown dull and quiet from the time it took them to get up from their table and make their way to the street.

When Tommy cut the night short, he could have been awful about it. He could have yelled. He could've called Buck a homophobe, or chewed him out for wasting Tommy's time, or sneer that Buck would be better off watching the movie from the comfort of the closet. It would've been well within his right to do any of it, and Buck had been prepared for it.

He hadn't been prepared for Tommy to be kind.

"But it's not just that. I'm an idiot because… how did I not know? How do you miss something like this about yourself? Nine year olds are out there figuring it out with no problem, and meanwhile, I'm thirty-two and I had—I had no idea. I'm so stupid."

He bends over and drops his head onto the counter with a painful, yet somehow satisfying thunk.

Maddie places a hand between his shoulder blades. It's not too heavy, like she's holding him down, and it's not too light, like she doesn't know if her touch is welcome. It's just right. It always is. Even when she was a kid, she always knew how to hit the goldilocks zone when it came to comfort. His parents never came close.

"What if it were me?"

He tilts his head on the counter to look at the contemplative slash of her mouth. "What?"

"What if I were the one discovering this about myself?"

The question is soft and sweet, like how their backyard in Hershey used to fill up with hundreds of dandelions in the spring and they'd spend hours picking them and blowing the clocks everywhere, but the smile on her face is the sound of their mother shouting at them to stop because she thought the dandelions were an eyesore and they were basically planting more of them to come up in the fall.

"Would you call me stupid for not figuring it out sooner? Would you say, 'Maddie, you're pushing forty, how did you miss this?'"

Offended, Buck comes off the countertop so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?! O-Of course not—"

"Then why is it okay when it's you?" She demands, voice trembling like she's physically pulling on the reins of her anger and it's fighting her, just like it did when he hitchhiked to Marysville with a group of boys and perforated both his ear drums jumping off the Rockville Bridge. "You don't get to call one of my favorite people stupid, okay? You're not. There's no time limit to these things, Buck. You just… you figure it out when you figure it out and not a second before, and I'd be saying the same thing if you were one of those nine year olds or if you were ninety."

Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but Maddie takes one look at him, clucks her tongue in sympathy, and then wraps her arms around him. He presses into her embrace with a grateful exhale.

Clinging to Maddie, to the quiet, endless strength of her, is nothing new, and neither is the wave of sheer wonder and disbelief that nearly knocks him on his ass because somehow she's his sister. Out of everyone in the world he could've been saddled with, he got the best of the best. He has no idea what he did in a past life to have earned a place in her current one, but it must have been amazing.

"Thanks, Mads," he says quietly into her hair. When she first started dating Doug, she switched from the peppermint conditioner she loved to the floral stuff he preferred. Buck inhales a little and swallows tears upon getting a whiff of something sweet and minty.

She pulls back a little and pats his chest, smiling. "So, what's the plan?"

He blinks. "The plan for what?"

"For trying again," Maddie clarifies, pointedly, like she wants to call him dumb but can't because she just spent the last five minutes telling him he wasn't. "So you screwed up. Big deal. We all screw up. What are you going to do to fix it?"

"Uh, I-I don't think he's going to go for that, to be honest," Buck mutters, looking down at his phone.

Last night, standing in Miceli's foyer and practically leaving craters in the floor where he was bouncing excitedly on his heels, he'd texted Tommy to see if he was already seated. The last message Tommy sent him reads: Head toward the back. I'm in one of the side booths on the left. You can't miss me :-)

There hasn't been anything since.

After Tommy cheerfully knocked Buck's entire world off its axis and walked out the door with a grin and the promise of a date, Buck had paced his apartment like a caged tiger, feeling both too big and too small for his skin, jittery and restless. The fourth time he'd stopped in the middle of a room and started laughing for no reason, he conceded he might be losing his mind. He'd felt like the only thing keeping him from exploding or floating into the stratosphere was the fact he had a shift in the morning. He'd kept away from the windows just to be on the safe side.

You like men, he'd thought giddily to himself, over and over. You are attracted to men. A man asked you out on a date and you said yes because you want to go. A man kissed you tonight and you loved it. You didn't want to stop. You want him to do it again.

It was like he'd finally found the last missing piece to the Buck puzzle he'd been searching for as long as he could remember, and slotting it into place felt like skipping the 5.0 upgrade and going straight to a different operating system. Increased storage capacity. Longer battery life. A brand new product.

He'd swore to himself that he would be cool about it. He wouldn't be a clingy, needy mess and drive Tommy off before he was able to explore whatever this was. That lasted all of twenty minutes before he was texting Tommy with trembling thumbs to thank him for coming over and clearing the air, and then threw his phone across the room. He spent the next ten minutes fighting the urge to claw his own face off until he heard the ping of a new text message.

It said, Sorry for the delay I'm still driving. Thank YOU for your hospitality ;-)

Buck had to go stick his head in the fridge to cool down about the implications of that, but once he calmed down and unscrewed the manic grin from his face, they were off to the races.

The only times they weren't messaging each other were between the hours of 1am and 5:30am, or if they were on shift. Although Buck didn't exactly hold to that. He found ways to sneak off a text or twenty during calls when he could, and he had the sneaking suspicion Tommy was doing the same. The photo he got of the sun setting over LA, taken through a helicopter's windshield, was kind of a giveaway.

It's been 24 hours since he last heard the text tone he'd assigned to Tommy's contact file—a sort of whuff sound that reminds him a little of rotor blades spinning—and he feels like if he doesn't hear it soon, he's going to go insane.

This is absolutely not the first time he's fucked up a date and was ghosted afterwards, but it is the first time the subsequent radio silence has made him feel like his colon is tying itself into a square knot. And he hates it.

"So, you're just—giving up," Maddie says, incredulity turning the question into a statement of disbelief.

He looks away from the phone and shrugs. "I'm… being respectful. It's pretty obvious he doesn't want to hear from me. I wouldn't want to hear from me."

"You don't know what he wants," Maddie points out. "He said he didn't think you were ready for this, right? Maybe he's trying to be respectful too."

He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but it sounds so plausible when she says it. Especially because Tommy hasn't been anything but even-keeled and kind and compassionate, and Buck truly doesn't think any of it is a front. If Buck reached out, he knows Tommy would respond. If Buck started texting him again and never once brought up the kiss or their disaster of a date, if he boxed up the overwhelming need to be the center of Tommy's attention and shifted things back to the safety zone of friendship, Tommy would let him. They'd be okay.

The thought of it makes Buck want to punch something.

Maddie peers up at him with a sly tilt to her mouth, but instead of calling him on whatever she sees on his face, she simply says, "But I do think keeping this from Eddie is twisting you up a bit. Maybe you need to jump that hurdle before you can move forward."

He clicks his tongue and gives a reluctant nod, because she's right. As usual. "H-How do I tell him that I'm… you know."

"Okay," she says with a falsely bright smile and wide eyes, her tone needling. "If you can't even say it out loud, then maybe you shouldn't—"

"That I like men, Maddie, god," he whines, face hot. "You're so mean to me. Jesus, do you treat Chim like this?"

"Only when he asks really nicely," she says horrifyingly.

He sticks his fingers in his ears and starts shouting, "LA LA LA!"

Maddie cracks up, then gives his chest a conciliatory pat. Annoyed, he shrugs her off, which makes her laugh harder. "I'm your sister, doofus. I'm contractually obligated to piss you off until you do what I want sometimes. Didn't you read the handbook?"

Which makes him duck his head and laugh a little. "The handbook" was a running joke they had when they were kids about what siblings were and weren't allowed to do. He hasn't thought of the handbook since the whole thing with Doug, when he realized Maddie had been taken and a tiny voice in the back of the mind whispered, "According to the handbook, you're allowed to hunt him down like a dog and kill him."

Sighing, he leans into her and nods. "I know. I know I need to talk to Eddie. I-I just wish I had some kind of guarantee he's not going to—that nothing's gonna change when he finds out."

Leaning into him right back, Maddie promises, "If it does, I'll beat him up."

"Yeah?" He smiles, a little pleased by the thought. He wants to tell Tommy about it. But he can't. Not yet. "That in the handbook?"

"Page 53," she says, and hugs him.

#i need more buckley sibs interaction almost as much as i need more bucktommy #bucktommy #buckley siblings #maddie han #evan buckley #rc's 911 fics

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roosterforme · 6 months ago

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: One phone call was never going to be enough for Bradley. Another opportunity falls into his lap, and he emails you right away to see if you can make a little time for him. When he shares a bit more with you than he bargained for, he's pleasantly surprised once again by how open and authentic you are.

Warnings: Fluff, language, Bradley being vulnerable

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Bradley was never usually one to get lost in a daydream. He was exceptionally good at focusing on flying when he was in the air. If he had a task to complete on the ground, he always got it done. But when he spent the rest of his day after talking on the phone with you in his bunk, he wasn't focused on much except the sound of your voice. Then he dug out the pictures you'd mailed to him so he could see your face as well. The combination of everything about you was almost too much, and he didn't know how he'd manage in person.

He still had weeks of his deployment left, and he'd never wanted to get home so badly in his life. That first date was already set. He was annoyed he couldn't give you a firm idea on when it could happen, but you didn't seem to mind too much. In fact, you told him you'd be ready whenever he got back. And that you'd take him any way you could get him. Well, as long as you still wanted him next month, you could have him.

With a smile on his face, Bradley reached for the stack of letters from your class and took the time to judge the drawing contest. All he really did was award each kid their own unique superlative. The purple jet that he thought was Violet's won the 'I Wish the Navy Liked Colors' award. Jayden's drawing of the jet with the dog named Vanessa for a pilot won the 'She Probably Flies Better Than I Do' award. And the one that looked like a dragon won the 'Fanciest Scales' award.

He wrote on the back of each picture, chuckling the whole time. Then he got to the one you drew, and he noticed something he'd missed when he first opened the newest box from your class. Next to his name written on the side of the F/A-18, you'd drawn a little heart. He was all smiles as he flipped it over and started writing.

Hey, Gorgeous,

This one's my favorite, but don't tell the kiddos, okay? The little heart really sold it for me. I can't wait to see you.

Bradley

After he packaged everything up and dropped it off to be sent back to the states, he made his way to dinner. He ate his meatloaf alone once again, but he hadn't felt lonely in months. The adrenaline rush of the phone call was finally starting to wear off, but he felt warm all over. You'd be asleep now back in California, but maybe there was a chance you had in fact emailed him that selfie before you went to bed. And that is what once again lured him back to the lounge. You had a vise-like grip on every part of him, and he was itching to know exactly what you looked like tonight while he was talking to you.

Unsurprisingly, he had to wait a bit until there was a computer free that he could use. Sundays always seemed to be when the lounge was swamped, but he didn't mind. He just sat back and thought about the way you said his name. He could imagine you whispering it. He could even imagine you screaming it.

"Shit," he grunted, hopping up when it was finally his turn, and he logged into his email account to find that you wrote to him approximately fifteen minutes after the phone call ended. And when he opened your message, he leaned in a little closer to make sure nobody else around him could catch even a glimpse of the photos you attached.

His heart started beating in that same erratic way it had when he listened to you telling him you thought about kissing his scars. Not only had you emailed him a sweet looking selfie of you in bed wearing an oversized sweatshirt, you sent a second, decidedly spicier one, too.

Bradley ran his hand over his mouth and mustache, trying not to groan as he quickly memorized every detail of that second photo. You'd removed that oversized sweatshirt and snuggled down under the soft looking sheet, and there was not a scrap of shirt fabric covering your arms or chest. Inch after glorious inch of the soft swell of your breasts was visible before the sheet forced him to imagine what the rest would look like. And he had a very vivid imagination.

When his hand dropped down to his side, he realized he was staring open mouthed at the photo. The little smirk you wore in it let him know you were absolutely intentional about this, and that was such a huge turn on for him. This is how you wanted him to see you. Fuck. He scrolled back up to the first photo where you were wearing your sweatshirt and a much more innocent smile, and he whispered, "Okay, Gorgeous. You've ruined me."

He realized as he scrolled all the way back up to your actual message that there were probably a lot of guys who got sent straight up pornography from their wives or girlfriends when they were deployed, but this had to be the hottest looking thing that ever graced his inbox. And you were still completely covered up. He shook his head to clear his mind as he started reading.

Bradley,

Thank you for the phone call. I'm sitting here kind of regrouping while the butterflies are still going crazy in my belly. I can't pinpoint exactly what it is with you that sets them off, but hearing your voice for twenty minutes straight has turned me into a boneless heap on my bed. I'm almost afraid of what might happen to me if you touch me.

It's gone. I deleted my profile and the entire dating app. I'm no longer looking for single guys with jobs who are between 30 and 40 years old. I'm just looking for a 36-year old Naval aviator who wants to take me to the beach in Coronado to watch the sunset with Thai food and Prosecco.

I hope you come home soon. Do you have any idea how much longer you'll be gone? Why isn't the Navy taking into consideration the fact that you and I have a date to go on? I'd just really like to see your face in person as soon as possible.

I'm attaching two photos, probably against my better judgement. Maybe it's just my excuse to get you to call me Gorgeous again. I can't wait to see you.

Your favorite pen pal

He wanted to wait until he had some gym selfies to send, but he couldn't leave you hanging. Not when those two, flawless photos caught his eye again. So he started typing up a response, and soon he found that he wanted to talk to you on the phone again badly enough that he was going to go back to one of the admirals to see if there was any way he could.

----------------------------

You had such a hard time falling asleep on Saturday night after talking to Bradley. It was like your body had accepted the inevitable before your brain had. You were completely enchanted by him, and the call made it so much worse. Hearing him call you Gorgeous through your phone speaker was almost more than you could handle. You were turned on and too warm, even without your sweatshirt. You couldn't believe you sent him that photo. You couldn't believe you trusted him enough to keep it private.

He probably dated women in the past who sent him things that were way more explicit than a selfie where they were covered up, but you were still a teacher who wanted to keep her job. You loved your class, and you knew nobody else could handle your kids as well as you could. But you wanted to give Bradley what you could for now.

It was the description of the perfect date and the promise that he'd kiss you as soon as he saw you that kept playing in your mind. And you let it keep playing on loop, because he lived in Coronado. And that's how you finally dozed off. When you woke up on Sunday morning, you had a brand new email in response to your selfies.

Gorgeous,

I'm thrilled to hear the app is gone. All of the other single guys aged thirty to forty are probably at home crying right now, and I can't blame them. I'll just sit here with a smug look on my face.

That phone call was one of the best of my life. The way you say my name is somehow better than I imagined it would sound, and I'd been spending a lot of my free time thinking about it. Hearing your voice and seeing you in these photos is a privilege. That second one had me staring with my mouth hanging open for a few minutes. I think I just about memorized it, but I'm going to check one more time before I log off. Okay, maybe two more times. As much as I love it, I don't want to feel pressured to send me things like that. But dear god, Gorgeous, I mean it when I say you take that word to a whole new level.

You don't need an excuse to get me to call you Gorgeous. Hopefully by next month, you'll be hearing it so much in person that you'll be sick of it. And it's not a matter of if I touch you, it's a matter of when.

As soon as I have a better idea of when I'll be back in San Diego, that information will be in your inbox immediately.

I can't wait to see you,

Bradley

You couldn't wait that long. You would never make it. Your sheets were brushing your bare skin as you thought about him calling you Gorgeous so many times that you got sick of it, but you knew that would never happen. You were going to need another hobby or maybe five to help you pass the time, but for now, you decided to work on your lesson plans for the coming week.

Your kids would probably be happy to learn that you were planning on extending your aviation lessons to the end of the school year. Or at least until Bradley got back. What you wouldn't give to have him visit your classroom. Just the idea of him standing in front of the board, maybe in his flight suit, left you light headed. You already knew your kids would be absolutely delighted to meet him after writing back and forth so many times.

After you managed to distract yourself for a full day, you were just getting into bed when you heard your phone ping with a notification. "Oh god," you groaned in pleasure. When you opened the new email from Bradley, you were met with the promised gym selfies. One was of his reflection which was taken in a long mirror that seemed to cover most of a wall. You could see some other people working out in the background, but front and center was Bradley curling a massive looking dumbbell in snug shorts and a shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

You dropped down onto your bed and zoomed in on his biceps. "Dear Lord." Your heart was hammering in your chest now. Did he not know what he looked like? Did he not know that his body was absolutely flawless? The second photo was even better. The half-smirk, half-smile and the peek of pretty, white teeth. The slightly messy hair. The chocolatey brown eyes. The scars with the beads of sweat running down them. "Unbelievable."

And then you read the short message.

Two gym selfies, as promised. You asked for a nice closeup of my face, and that's as good as it gets. Talk soon, Gorgeous.

You were still looking at the photos when you fell asleep.

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Bradley shouldn't have been surprised that another mission was in the works. He'd been so caught up in you, he almost expected smooth sailing and a direct path back to San Diego so he could get on with his personal life. But no such luck. After several days holed up in planning sessions, the only real happiness he found was in each new email from you.

There was another class photo in one. There was a selfie of you at a Thai restaurant in another. And there were always a lot of fun details about your day, too. But it was the bits where you let him know you were thinking about him that made him a little weaker for you with every passing day. His favorite was when you told him you donated all of your DVDs of movies with spiders in them. He also loved it when you told him that your students wanted to meet him.

If he could just get back, you and he would be watching all the spider-less movies together, and he'd be more than happy to visit your classroom. But, fuck, this deployment was dragging. He was tired, but he wasn't sleeping well. And there seemed to be cabbage rolls every evening in the cafeteria. When he finally made it out on deck a few days before he was supposed to fly the mission, he ended up talking to Marty.

"You need a hand with that?" Bradley asked the mechanic as he worked on taking apart an engine.

"Sure, Lieutenant," Marty replied, handing Bradley some very greasy bolts and a wrench. "Just hang onto those for me."

Two minutes of watching him work, and Bradley wished he'd brought his phone with him to record a video for your class. "The kids would love this," he muttered, and Marty chuckled.

"You still sending stuff to that elementary class back in San Diego? The pen pals?"

"Yeah," Bradley replied. "I think I've kind of adopted them. Or maybe they've adopted me? Either way, I've been writing to them this entire deployment. And... you know how you asked me if I was dating a teacher a few months ago?"

Marty looked at him and laughed. "Let me guess. You fell for their teacher?"

He nodded and sighed when he thought about you. "Yeah... it's just been a lot of emails and letters and one phone call, but now I can't wait to get back home."

"Damn," Marty grunted as he removed another bolt. "Some guys have all the luck." Bradley ended up helping him lift some heavy parts from a crate as Marty told him, "I have a ten minute FaceTime call scheduled for later this week if you want to use it to talk to your new girlfriend again."

Bradley was ready to jump at the chance to see your face and hear your voice at the same time, but instead he said, "I can't take that from you, but thanks, man."

Marty shrugged. "I'll just end up talking to my sister again. You can have it."

Bradley stared at him for a few seconds. "Yeah? You're sure?"

"All yours."

Bradley stayed long enough to get the details and help Marty unload everything else he needed to finish his project, and then he got cleaned up and went to the lounge to email you. If you were able to talk to him over FaceTime, it would be everything he needed to get through this last flight mission and end his deployment on a high note.

--------------------------

"Lieutenant Bradshaw said my drawing is the funniest one!"

"Lieutenant Bradshaw likes the rooster beak I put on my jet!"

"Lieutenant Bradshaw said mine is the least realistic in a good way!"

You were trying not to laugh as you looked at each of the little messages Bradley wrote on the backs of the F/A-18 drawings. They were all somehow well thought out and personalized. It was as if he actually knew these kids. But you supposed that in a way, he did. You kept going back to your desk to look at the note on the back of your drawing.

Hey, Gorgeous,

This one's my favorite, but don't tell the kiddos, okay? The little heart really sold it for me. I can't wait to see you.

Bradley

Seeing him was all you could think about now. You were almost completely convinced that your feelings would translate well from virtual to personal interaction. How could they not? He was as sweet and sincere over the phone as he was through his writing.

When you checked your phone after your kids were dismissed for the day, you tapped on a new email from Bradley before you started packing your bag to head home.

Gorgeous, any chance you have ten minutes you're willing to spend on a FaceTime call? Tomorrow night around 8:00 for you?

You squeaked in delight at the mere thought of it. His face and his voice and his words and his attention all at the same time? Ten minutes of it?

Yes! I'll be ready!

Now you had to wait. You also had to get your friends to bump up the Friday night dinner reservation to 5:00. And you needed to make sure you looked nicer than you did when you were usually lounging at home in your oversized sweatshirt.

So when Friday evening rolled around, and you barely made it home from dinner by 8:00, you were a little frazzled. You wanted to take the time to fix your makeup, and you wanted to change into a cuter shirt that your friends would have definitely called you out on if they saw you wearing it to dinner, but there was no time. Your phone was already ringing at 8:01.

This time, the butterflies erupted as soon as you accepted the call and saw Bradley sitting there in his flight suit with a hesitant smile on his face. He didn't even have to say a word to make you feel like you were going to float up to the ceiling even as you tried to sit down on your bed.

"Bradley," you breathed softly, and his smile grew exponentially.

"Hey, Gorgeous."

You bit your lip as you took in all the details of his face on your tiny phone screen. His brown eyes were wide as he did the same to you, and you couldn't stop yourself before you said, "Hey, Handsome."

His cheeks immediately flushed with a pink tint, and he looked down at the table in front of him with a bashful smile. You wanted to climb through your phone to get to him, settle yourself down on his lap, and feel how rough his flight suit was against your hands. You wanted to tip his face up so he was looking at you again, and when he did that on his own, you almost screamed in delight at what he said next.

"Damn, Baby. You didn't need to get all dressed up just to talk to me. You look beautiful right now, but I'm also partial to your sweatshirt."

You looked down at yourself and then back at him with a little laugh. He was staring at you in awe as you said, "I always look like this."

"You always look like this? You always look this hot?" he asked, that little grin you liked so much dancing around his lips. "Seriously?"

"Well, I mean, I didn't do anything special. I wanted to, but I ran out of time, and I definitely didn't want to miss your call."

Your heart was thudding as he really scanned your face and let out a low whistle. "I guess I'll find out for myself soon enough. About two more weeks to go, and then I'll be home. I just got that information today."

"Two weeks!" you exclaimed, nearly dropping your phone. Images of beach sunsets and Bradley's big hand holding yours filled your mind. "That's better than I was hoping for!"

You watched him run his hand through his hair, almost like he was nervous now. "Same. So what do you say? Two Saturdays from now, as long as everything goes as planned, you want to go on that first date with me?"

"Yes, Bradley," you replied immediately. "If you want to spend your first day back on dry land with me, then that's absolutely what I want to do."

His voice was deep and raspy as he said, "Then it's a date." But his eyes still seemed uncertain, and you knew instinctively that there was more going on as he asked, "You think... maybe we could talk about date number two for a minute? I was thinking we would go out to a restaurant so I can prove to you that I clean up okay."

You had to press your lips together for a few seconds before you said, "I have no doubt in my mind that you'd look just as good in a tee shirt as you would in a tuxedo."

That made him laugh as he scratched along the stubble on his jaw. "Humor me, Gorgeous? We would end up going out on a second date, right?" he asked, and somehow you could tell that something else was on his mind. "Maybe we would even go on a third?"

"Would?" you asked softly. "Don't you mean will?"

"Shit, I'm sorry," he said, leaning in a little closer. "Yeah. We will."

You and he studied each other as you asked, "Is there something wrong?"

He leaned back in his seat, and your heart started beating a most uncomfortable rhythm. "Damn it," he muttered, closing his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath. "We only have a few minutes on here, and I'm fucking it up because I'm nervous." You noticed he was rubbing his palms along his thighs, and he looked you in the eye as he said, "I really like you. All I can think about is getting home and doing all the things I promised. I don't usually feel like I have anything special to look forward to in San Diego. Or at least I didn't before we started talking." He cleared his throat and added, "I'm flying a final mission here in a few hours. It's a sensitive one, and... I just wanted you to know that I'll be thinking about you until I have to put my head down and get to work."

"Oh," you gasped, suddenly more aware than ever that he had the kind of anxiety inducing, adrenaline spiking job you could only ever dream of. Your fourth grade classroom was tame by comparison. Your students were nothing compared to opposing fighter jets. His career was dangerous.

Tears filled your eyes as he groaned a little bit and whispered, "I'm sorry, Baby. I kind of killed the vibe."

"You didn't," you told him quickly, studying the concern written on his features. Then your voice got even softer as you asked, "How will I know you're okay?"

He cleared his throat and said, "Sometimes they close off communication as we get closer to port. Of course I'll email you if I can, otherwise I'll let you know when I'm back in San Diego." His brown eyes flicked to the side and then back to you. "I'm going to have to go in a minute here."

There were a lot of things you knew would have to be left unsaid for now, so you told him what you could. "I really like you, too," you promised him, and some of the worry melted away from his face. "And I'm thinking dinner at an Italian restaurant for our second date. That way you can get cleaned up nice, and I can wear a dress that I'll be stressing out about all night long. And you can tell me that I look gorgeous while my foot keeps intentionally bumping yours under the table." He was smiling now, so you decided to go for broke. "And you kind of promised me takeout on your couch with a spider-free movie. I was hoping you'd play a song on the piano for me. I was hoping to cover both of us with a blanket and kiss you senseless. How does that sound?" You were gripping your phone a little tighter, hoping you'd be able to hear his response before he said he had to go.

"That sounds perfect, Gorgeous," he said, looking a lot calmer now. "Let's do that."

"Please, be careful."

"I will."

And then he was gone.

-------------------------------

Bradley needed to make it home, because he decidedly had a lot to do there. Nat was expecting not one, but two dinners out of him now. There were eighteen fourth graders he wanted to meet. And as he ended a FaceTime call with the woman of his dreams while she had tears in her eyes, he knew he wanted to go on those dates more than anything else. If he never got to meet you in person... well he couldn't even think about that right now. He was supposed to report to his jet on the main runway in an hour, but you kept popping up in every corner of his mind. You were more emotionally open with him over a ten minute call than Vanessa ever was.

"Bradshaw!" He turned to see a petty officer coming toward him with a box. "Last mail call."

"Thank you," he replied, already smiling as he recognized your handwriting. His nineteen pen pals were here to keep him company once again, and his heart swelled with something he didn't even want to try to identify at the moment. All he could do was drop the box off in his bunk and tell himself he'd open it when he got back after nightfall.

---------------------------

Vulnerable Bradley is nervous just thinking about what might happen. He's starting to feel like Gorgeous could be be the one waiting on the San Diego end of all of his deployments from now on, but he needs to get through the rest of this one first. Maybe they can meet in the next part? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 8

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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cerastes · 1 year ago

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I still think it's really cool how Amuro starts as the shittiest pilot alive (because he's a 15-year old) that only gets carried because he's in the biggest, fattest stat stick in-universe at the time (a few retroactive additions made in the future notwithstanding), enough that even its crappy vulcan guns are tearing Zaku IIs apart, and when he starts getting a bit too cocky, Char and Ramba Ral show up in objectively inferior pieces of junk and absolutely deliver his pizza, they just drag his face across every available surface in Planet Earth like he's a Yakuza mook, all because they are simply that much better at piloting, and the thing is, Amuro takes that very seriously.

He goes from shitass kid in an unfortunate situation that doesn't want to get in the robot to the most unwell child soldier in the war, which is really saying something, but most importantly, becomes so good at piloting the Gundam that the Gundam physically cannot handle Amuro's piloting. They need to apply "Magnetic Coating" to its joints so they don't fucking snap away from the main frame because Amuro, one, moves too damn well but also in too extreme a way for the frame to handle it, two, despite being equipped with two sabers, a shield, a beam rifle and vulcan guns, Amuro is a stern believer in introducing most everyone in thagomizer range to his Rated Z for Zeon hands, the single most official pair of hands in the business, tax free. He KEEP going Ip Man on these dudes, he does NOT need to do a Jamestown on these mother fuckers but he INSISTS. Somehow even the Gundam Hammer, which is a giant Hannah Barbera cartoon flail-- Ok, look at this thing, words do not do it justice

Even this god damn Tom and Jerry prop is less savage that whatever Amuro decides to do the moment he's done throwing his shield to get a free kill on someone and it officially becomes bed time forever for the unfortunate sap at the business end of his ten-finger weapons of mass destruction.

The RX-78-2, "Gundam" for its friends and family, even has a top of the line cutting edge Learning Computer that 'learns' alongside the pilot and their habits. This data extracted from it was so absolutely fucked up that it completely revolutionized Mobile Suit combat afterwards, which is a wholesome thing to think about when The Best Combat Data Ever came from a really angry, really stressed 15 year old that doesn't even like piloting. He was 15! He made Haro with his own hands! Amuro literally just wanted to make funny cute spherical robofriends! Amuro was out there trying to make Kirby real, but fate had other plans for him. His cloned brain put in a pilot seat is one of the setting's strongest 'pilots'.

They made fucking Shadow the Hedgehog with his brain, god damn.

By the end, Zeon is rolling out Gelgoogs out of its mass production lines. These things are in the Gundam's ballpark in terms of overall specs (or "power level"). Amuro is bodying them as if they were episode 1 Zaku IIs.

AND THEN HE GETS FUCKING PSYCHIC SPACE POWERS. Not that he needed them, he bodied a couple Space Psychics without any of those powers before awakening to them. But heaven's most violent child was not done evolving, whether he liked it or not.

Char bodied him in a souped up Zaku II at the start, a machine objectively inferior to the Gundam. Amuro more or less one-sidedly beats the shit out of Char when he's in a custom Commander-type Gelgoog that you could consider to be equal spec-wise to the Gundam. Amuro is the embodiment of Finding Out. He is Consequences. You tell him he better make it hurt, better make it count, better kill you in one shot, buddy, he needs half a fucking shot. The complete transformation. One could consider the central 75% of the show as long drawn out training montage turning a kid into the Geese Howard of giant robots.

#amuro ray #gundam

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augustinewrites · 8 months ago

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as a captain in the luofu’s sky-faring commission, you’re no stranger to late nights. there’s always lots to do. there are expense reports to sign off on, mission summaries to type up, patrols to assign. the workload is never ending.

“here are the reports you requested, captain,” a young, bright eyed cadet says as she places a stack of papers onto an empty corner of the desk. “and your coffee.”

“thank you.” you take the cup, flashing her a grateful smile before taking a quick sip. the warm, bitter sip of espresso is exactly what you need to get through the tail end of your night. “i've sent you all the maneuvers we’ll be practicing next week, as well as patrol assignments for the month. if you have any questions–”

a few gasps cut you off, the attention of your fellow pilots drawn to the entrance.

“it’s general jing yuan!” they whisper giddily.

your brows furrow slightly. “jing yuan?”

“yes, love?”

you startle slightly when a pair of arms wrap around your waist, a shock of white hair entering your peripheral as the most powerful man on the xianzhou luofu nuzzles the crook of your neck.

“dismissed. i’ll see you all tomorrow morning,” you say quickly to the starry-eyed pilots in front of you. they scramble quickly, leaving you alone with your husband, who gives them a lazy salute.

“i missed you,” he murmurs, his breath smelling strongly of osmanthus wine.

“and i, you,” you assure him, twisting in his hold to face him and patting his cheek lightly. you see now that he’s dressed down in only the soft material of his shirt and trousers, forgoing heavy leathers and armour fashioned for a general.

when was the last time you'd seen him so relaxed in public? unburdened by the needs and conflicts within the luofu?

jing yuan preens at your attention, grasping your hand to press a kiss to your palm. he gazes at you, cheeks rosy and eyelids already beginning to droop. “shall we take our leave then?”

gods, he’s starting to lean, resting his body weight against yours so you’re struggling to hold him up. “you certainly should, love. i’ll meet you at home once i’ve finished my work.”

“i suppose i shall wait for you then,” he concedes with a great sigh, suddenly pulling away. it appears your suggestion has fallen on deaf ears, because jing yuan drags an empty chair over to your desk, plopping down into it.

given his drunken state, it’d be unwise to leave him to return home unsupervised. you wouldn’t be there to stop him from purchasing an unreasonable amount of baked goods (again) on the way home.

“fear not, lover,” he grins, crossing a leg over his knee as he makes himself comfortable. “i shall endeavour to be as silent as a mouse while you work.”

you highly doubt his ability to do so, but know that arguing with him is pointless. once the general makes a decision, his mind is impossible to change.

so he sits as quietly as he can manage, fingers drumming rapidly against his knee as he hums. it takes you a minute to identify the tune, but when you do your pen stops.

“is that our first dance song?”

“indeed.”

his chair scrapes the floor loudly as he drags it next to yours, leaning his head against your shoulder.

“jing yuan,” you sigh, rubbing your temple. “i can’t work when you’re like this.”

he takes your hand, slipping his fingers between yours. “do you find my affection…distracting?”

“incredibly.”

you very nearly cave when he brushes your hair aside, nosing at the side of your neck before pressing his lips to your pulse. “then it appears i’m doing my job as your husband.”

you stare hard at the expense reports, trying your best to focus with your lion of a man clinging to your side.

you feel a little guilty when you pull away from him, a whine escaping his pouting lips. you stand, straightening your uniform and stepping back to avoid his grasp

“stay here,” you instruct. “i’m just going to run to the archives room.”

jing yuan, as expected, does no such thing.

giggles and odd looks are cast in your direction at the sight of an arbiter general trailing after you.

“helm master!” he suddenly calls out, voice echoing through the building. your gaze darts to where his is fixed, spotting yukong walking towards you both. “i command you to relieve my wife from her duties for the night.”

she glances between the two of you, amused. “well, who am i to ignore an order from general jing yuan?”

“it’s really not necessary–”

yukong places a hand on your shoulder. “go.enjoy your night. besides, i doubt anyone will be able to get any work done with him moping about until you finish.”

she heads back to her post before you can protest, leaving you alone with the very satisfied general.

“come along, dear,” he says, scooping you up with ease and heaving you over his shoulder. he lands a firm smack to your rear when you squeal, arguing to be put down. “let’s head home and see if we can recreate the rest of our wedding night, hm?”

a/n: little drabble for @mydiluc for letting me ramble on about our fave men at random hours of the day ☺️ thank you my starshine sugarplum cupcake angel i appreciate you!!

#jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x you

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askinkiskarma · 1 year ago

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➸ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ!ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴘɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜰɪɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴊᴇᴛ

pairings: simon "ghost" riley x female!reader

a/n: the way these masked men have taken over my life in the last like 48 hour is unhinged, and so here i am, trying my hand at a quick ghost smut drabble. enjoy x there's definitely gonna be more lol

warnings: pwp under the cut (18+ mdni), pet names (doll), daddy kink.

wc: >400 words

“C’mon, doll, you’re not even supposed to be here.”

“But Ghost… this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.” You pout while undoing his pants, revealing his thick hard cock, throbbing in your hand as you pump him slowly, struggling to make your fingers meet. It was rushed and unceremonious, but you didn't care. You needed him, now. Wanted him, now. You straddle him, positioning his tip at your soaking entrance. You’ve wanted this forever, needed to fuck him in the pilot’s chair, needed to know he could take you anywhere and everywhere, over and over, until you were blissfully spent - the more inappropriate a location, the better.

“Right… where… i’m… supposed… to… be.”

You moan as you lower yourself on him, taking him inch by inch, feeling so impossibly full, your head was empty of any thoughts outside of him. He can't help himself, no matter how hard he tries, bucking his hips upwards so he sinks deeper in you, groaning as he pushed his head back into the chair. You feel so good for him, so good around him, your tight little cunt milking him perfectly.

“Fuck, love! Gon’ kill me one day.”

You smirk as you start moving up and down his length, each attempt easier than the last, your pussy stretching perfectly to take him in, the abundant slick running down your thighs and onto his balls making the movement easy and so, so delicious. It wasn't long until the feel of you drove him to the brink of insanity, as it always tended to, not long before his big hands found your hips and tightened their grip on you as he pulled you deeper and deeper onto him, not long before he was lifting you up like a little weightless doll until he was almost entirely out of you, before slamming back into you balls-deep. The pace he set was ruthless, necessary, the hurt of the control wheel digging in your back doing nothing but egging you on, the pain heightening the overwhelming pleasure as you edged closer to your much-needed orgasm.

"That's right, doll. Can feel ya squeezing me. Let me feel you come on daddy's cock."

It never took anything more than an order from his mouth to push you over the edge, the orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, making drawn-out mewls escape your lips as he ruthlessly fucked into you, burying his head in your neck, trying to hide the way he couldn't contain the sounds that being inside of you made him spew out.

"Fu-ck! Gonna fill you up. Daddy needs to come inside his pretty princess."

You would never say no to being marked by Ghost. Never say no to having his cum dripping out of you for days to come, knowing, in this way, you were his, and only his.

#simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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scarletwinterxx · 26 days ago

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game boy - jeon wonwoo imagine

hiiiiiii ~ i know i'm not the only one kicking their feet whenever this man appears on the screen. I can't get him out of my mind (even if i try)😅😅hope you like it!

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Since when are you into gaming?" the voice from behind you asked, you immediately put your phone down as your roommate take the seat across from you.

A knowing smirk on her face.

"Since I was a kid, I'll have you know I'm a pro at building houses in Sims" the lie slides out so easy you almost thought your roommate believes it

"Oh so not because you think that gamer dude is cute?"

It's not the first time she's seen you watching his live, sometimes she can hear it from your room behind the closed door or your phone sitting on the counter as you wash dishes.

Maybe you really are into gaming or a bigger maybe you might be into the dude who's gaming.

"Who? Him? I just scrolled past his live, totally random" you shrug your shoulders

"Mhm, so I didn't hear you squeal last night when he went live after going on a break for a month?"

"How did you know he was on a break?" you ask

"How did YOU know?" she asks back. She caught you there, when you don't say anything she just laughs. "It's okay to admit if you're crushing on him, I'd understand. He's all yours though"

"I don't have a crush on him"

"Mhm and I'm not failing Spanish"

"You know what I'll leave you here, you need to study and I need to go" you tell her while you gather your stuff on the table, "You're not actually mad right?"

You chuckle at her question, "You weren't wrong so I can't be mad. Anyways, bye"

It took a few seconds for her to process what you just said, by the time she did you're already out the library.

You walk out the campus premises, the weather's great so you decided to just walk. You put on you're earphones and enjoy the scenery, your feet on auto-pilot ready and set to take you to your destination.

When you got to the building, you let your self in and giving the building's doorman a wave on your way to the elevator. You punch the code on the keypad to let yourself in, the inside of the apartment a stark contrast from the bright sun outside. The black out curtains are drawn making the room dark like it isn't 4pm right now.

You take your shoes off and put your stuff down before getting your phone to see if Wonwoo is streaming and sure enough he was.

He's also a student in your university, he streams when his schedule lets him. Whenever you're alone you let his videos play in the background, kind of like a white noise for you.

You get some snacks from the kitchen, then walk to the window to let some light in before getting comfortable in the living room while you finish some of your pending works.

After a while you hear Wonwoo say goodbye to the stream then the screen turns dark. You turn your phone off, putting it back down on the coffee table.

From down the hall, you hear the door open then footsteps coming towards the living room.

Wonwoo spots you immediately, sitting on the living room floor with books and notes infront of you and your phone lying on the side. You must've been watching him.

"Oh, when did you get here?" he smiles at you, walking towards where you were then taking the vacant space on the floor beside you. He sits sideways so he's facing you, legs resting on either side of you.

"Like 30 minutes ago, you were in the middle of your stream so I thought I should finish some of this" you point at the piles of paper infront of you before turning your attention back to him "You had fun? You probably missed streaming"

"It's fun, some of the viewers and a few followers asked where I was last month I just said I needed a break" he smiles back at you, tucking a few strands of hair back then giving your ear a pinch making you giggle at the action.

That short break was actually the two of going on a trip as your first anniversary celebration. He surprised you with a trip outside the country for two weeks, just in time for term break so it worked out fine.

He could've streamed while the two of you were away, he has a laptop he could bring or stream when you got back after the trip but instead he chose to spend that time with you. It was nice having his undivided attention. Not that he ever made you feel ignored, never.

"You'll break so many hearts when they find out you're not actually single" you let out a short laugh

"I never said I was, after our first date whenever someone asks if I'm single I would say no" he says to you

"1st date? but that was such a long time ago" you recall the memory of your first day. You've been crushing on him for a while, like since you first saw him, and by some miracle one day he asked you out on a date. The two of you went to the aquarium then dinner. He courted you for a while before the two of you became an official couple, but even before that you already know you weren't going to let go of him that easy.

Here you are now a year later.

"I know" he shyly admits.

"So what do you say? You just say you're taken?"

"Kinda, I don't like talking about my personal life online so I just answer in the most simple way. I never denied I had a girlfriend so I guess it's up to them if they didn't get it" he shrugs

"Huh, I didn't"

"Huh?"

"I watch your streams, guess I never caught on"

"You watch my streams? Until now?"

"Yeah, I like watching you. It's comforting, kinda like my own comfort show"

He knows you watch him, whether you're in the same room as him or here in his home or when you're back at your own place you always tune in his stream. You really are his biggest fan.

"You know my roommate is starting to catch on, she thinks I have a crush on this 'gamer dude'" you make air quotes at the nickname, this makes Wonwoo chuckle

"Do you now?" he teases

"Yea, I think he's kinda cute. Apart from that time he wore that black button up. I was ready to throw hands"

He laughs at that, remembering just how you barged in his gaming room after the stream ended.

"You're never letting that go are you?"

"Never, you looked so good I almost grabbed you out of the screen. Not fair they get to see how hot my boyfriend is"

Wonwoo blushes at your words. Those words being used to describe him isn't new to his ears, but it's different when you say it. He can feel the butterflies flutter in his stomach, something only you can do.

Not even the scariest game can make his heart race like you.

"Do you want do drop by on my next stream or whenever?"

"Drop by?"

"I mean like just... be there. If you wanna show your face it's okay but if you don't want to it's okay too. No pressure. I don't want you thinking any of those faceless names on my screen can ever replace you" letting the words tumble out one by one because your gaze is making him nervous

You just stare at him as he talks, slowly a smile forming on your face then you're attacking him with a hug

"You're so cute, you know that?" you mumble against his neck where your face was pressed against, he chuckles at your question. Tugging you closer to him until you're straddling his lap

"Just making sure you know"

"I know, I always know. Don't you worry about that, just do you okay? I'll be here right beside you always. No matter what it is you want to do"

And he knows that too. You've always been his cheerleader, the one who always talks him into things he never thought about doing. In a way, you brought him out of his comfort zone in the most comforting way. You being there always eased his mind.

He smiles at you again before closing the distance between the two of you, giving you a kiss like he's saying he missed you today or all those days you weren't with him. He just always makes you feel like you're meant to be there with him.

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confused-pyramid · 10 months ago

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Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

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vintagegeekculture · 10 months ago

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Star Trek's "Lost" Main Character

Just when you think you know everything there is to know about the original Star Trek, you learn something new, like the fact someone you barely remember was going to be a series regular. Take the case of "Yeoman Smith," played by Andrea Dromm, a petty officer secretary in "Where No Man Has Gone Before." Everyone knows that Trek had a first pilot with a different cast. But the cast of the second pilot was analyzed more in terms of who wasn't there (Dr. McCoy and Uhura were added only when the show went to series and were not in the second pilot at all), than who was.

One character in particular is easy to overlook as she seemed like just another lowly and invisible crewman, Yeoman Smith. Surprisingly, Andrea Dromm was hired to be a main character on the show.

The NBC publicity materials made for the second pilot mentioned and discussed her as they would Kirk and Spock, and treated her as a series regular, which at the time, she was:

“YEOMAN SMITH, who has drawn the important assignment of secretary to the Captain on her first mission in deep space, is easily the most popular member of Kirk’s staff. A capable secretary and efficient dispenser of instant coffee, she also provides a welcome change of scenery for eyes that have spent long hours scanning the vast reaches of space.”

Almost from the beginning though, it was not to be. Andrea Dromm caused trouble on set because, according to Herb Solow, Gene Roddenberry "hired Dromm so he could 'nail her.'" Trek was in enough trouble, as Roddenberry cast his mistress, Rachel Lee Hudec (aka Majel Barrett), which violated his Desilu "virtue clause." Lucille Ball, embarassed by her former husband Desi Arnaz's well known extramarital antics, insisted on virtue clauses in contracts for creatives.

As for what happened and why Yeoman Smith never ended up being a regular, we have two different conflicting stories. Andrea Dromm said she had to choose between making Star Trek, or making a film, "The Russians are Coming," and she picked the movie over a less prestigious tv show. Star Trek producer Herb Solow tells a different story and remembers that "Yeoman Smith" was one of two main characters who were let go to keep costs down when the show went to series. The other main character fired? James Doohan as Scotty.

After being informed he was fired after the first pilot, Doohan called his agent, the physically intimidating and formidable Paul Wilkins, who convinced Roddenberry to return Doohan to the series. It is not known how this was accomplished (Herb Solow, who's memoirs are the basis of most of what we know about early Trek, was not present, only Roddenberry was), but Doohan had his job back within the day.

As for what would have happened with Yeoman Smith if she had stayed as a main character....who knows? The character of Yeoman Rand, well known for her beehive hairdo, was a replacement for her character, so it's likely that Yeoman Smith as a main character would have filled similar roles in stories, probably beat for beat and note for note. All the same however, it's hard to ignore how much more quiet moxie, no-bullshit stares, and extrovert elan Andrea Dromm projected on screen than the more subdued Grace Lee Whitney. Dromm's character was underdeveloped, sure, but so was Scotty and Sulu at that point, and the characters they eventually became were built around their actors' strengths and warmth. It's not hard to imagine something similar might be done with Dromm, and her character might have gone on very different lines from her replacement.

#star trek #tos

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persevereforahappyending · 6 days ago

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No Man's Land |9|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Fighting, Guns, Violence, Attempted Murder, Shooting

Word Count: 3.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You and Sam walked back to Blackmore in a comfortable silence. You preferred the quiet and appreciated that she didn’t ask you questions or push you on anything. Sam had no reason to trust you, but she was taking a chance, and you were going to make sure to prove you were worthy of her trust. When you got to Blackmore you and Sam sat on one of the benches outside the building that held Tara’s class until she came out half an hour later. As soon as you had her, the three of you went back to the apartment.

When you got back to the apartment Tara flung her backpack into the corner and plopped herself down on the couch, kicking her feet up as she reached for the remote on the coffee table. She flicked on the TV and instantly began scrolling through one of the streaming apps.

You mindlessly watched at Tara continued to scroll until you felt her eyes on you. You glanced at her and waited to see what she would say. Mindy was the most suspicious of you, which was fair, though she seemed to be more of a conspiracy theorist than anything, Chad seemed almost too trusting of you, it was slightly concerning, and Tara seemed to be hesitant of you, like Sam was with everyone, though she wasn’t as paranoid Sam. The one thing different about Tara though was half her suspicion seemed to come from just being protective of her sister.

“Do you like movies?” Tara asked, squinting her eyes as she waited for your response.

You shrugged. “I’ve seen a few,” you said.

That seemed to make Tara only narrow her eyes even more. “What’s your favorite movie?” You opened your mouth to give her what would probably be an unsatisfactory answer once again. “Wait! Let me guess,” she turned so half her body was facing you. “Saving Private Ryan!” You opened your mouth, but she didn’t stop there. “No! Hacksaw Ridge!” You closed your mouth and waited; you knew she wasn’t done yet. “You have a dog you love,” she mumbled more to herself than you. “War Horse!” She clapped her hands, quite proud of herself for that one. “Wait!” She shot her hand out, grabbing you on your arm as if you were about to get up and leave. “The Patriot.”

You waited a second to see if she had any more, but she just looked at you with a raised eyebrow. You chuckled to yourself with a shake of your head. “All military related because I’m in the military?” You asked.

She shrugged. You playfully rolled your eyes. “Those are all great movies,” you started. You caught Sam out of the side of your eye, she was in the kitchen making a sandwich, but she tilted her head just slightly, indicating she was listening. “The superhero stuff is also good. I-”

“I bet you’re a Captain America person,” Tara cut you off. You rolled your eyes. “You give off the same vibes.”

You gave her a thankful nod. You had never been compared to Captain America before and you were truly honored, though you were inclined to disagree with her. “Cap is great,” you said. “And Steve Rogers is definitely much cooler than me.” Tara shrugged, seeming to agree with you on that. “But I’ve always been more of a Batman person.”

Tara looked at you and nodded her head. “That tracks.” You tilted your head in question, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

“But my default movie, the one I’m always cool to watch, The Mummy.”

“Where Brendan Frazier plays a soldier,” Tara nodded, clearly not surprised by the answer.

“Only in the beginning do the movie,” you defended. Seriously the movie started with him figuring in the desert but that was it when it came to military related things. Unless Tara was also counting the pilot they found to fly them back out there.

“So, you just really love mummies?” Tara raised an eyebrow.

“The Mummy is fantastic, it’s got everything, action, comedy, a supernatural element, and romance. There should be no explanation required.” You had never had to defend liking The Mummy before, you thought Sam’s sister was going to school for film, you figured she’d know this better than anyone. “Oh, and Rachel Weisz,” you added.

“All good points,” Sam said, coming back into the room. She handed you a bottle of water before taking her seat in the chair next to the couch. You gave her a thankful smile; you hadn’t even asked for a drink for her to just bring one to you.

“You too?” Tara shouted, whipping her head around so fast you were surprised she didn’t get whiplash.

Sam shrugged as she curled her feet up on the chair, tucking them under her before reaching for her sandwich on the coffee table. “Who doesn’t love Brendan Frazier and Rachel Weisz,” she said as if they explained everything.

Sam went on to eat her sandwich while Tara was looking at her sister in a whole new light, as if she was seeing her sister for the first time. You were still new and getting to know the sisters, but you were curious why Sam liking The Mummy would be so surprising. Tara just stared at her sister for several minutes before finally going back to scrolling for a movie, finally deciding to settle on The Mummy.

Not long after the movie ended did Chad walk in with a stack of three pizza’s, quickly followed by the others. “Dinner is served!” Chad said, holding up the pizza’s as he took them to the dining table.

“Thanks for picking them up,” Sam said as she got up to grab some paper plates.

Chad waved her off and flipped open all three boxes. Each pizza was different, there was a plain cheese, a pepperoni, and then a meat lovers. You and Tara got up to join the others around the table, everyone grabbed their slices and then went off to separate corners of the room. Quinn took the seat across the room, closest to the door, Mindy and Anika cuddled up next to each other on the floor, Ethan plopped himself down in the seat furthest from the door, and Tara dropped herself down in what was Sam’s seat because Chad stole her spot on the couch next to you.

Once Chad finished up his pizza, he wiped his hands off on a napkin and tossed it onto his dirty plate. He was still chewing the last bit of his food as he switched the channel on the TV and grabbed a PS4 controller. You wiped your own hands and put your trash on top of his, creating an organized little pile. You leaned back and watched the screen as Chad flipped through games.

“What are you playing?” you asked.

“Crash,” he said mindlessly.

“Racing or the original?”

Chad’s mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish. He looked at you then back at the TV, only to do a double take and look back at you. It was like he couldn’t believe you were asking him about video games.

“R-Racing,” he said. “Want to join?” he reached over and grabbed the other controller and held it out to you.

You shrugged and took the controller from him. “Sure,” you said.

The two of you selected our characters and started the first race. You let Chad pick the track, you knew he’d need the edge anyway. The two of you raced around, doing your laps, you felt everyone’s eyes on you and the TV but you paid them no mind as you drove your way into first place. You were on the last lap when you dropped a TNT crate, only to hear Chad hit it a few seconds later. You quickly crossed the finish line, coming in first, then you leaned back and watched as Chad tried to fight his way back up the line, striving to just not come in last.

You repeated that with the same outcome another three races. Chad was hunched over, pressing the buttons hard as if that would make the cart go faster. You kept your eyes on the screen, never wavering as you completed lap after lap, coming in first every single time.

“You’re good at this,” Chad said. “How are you so good?”

“I play all the time when I’m home,” you said with a shrug.

“That’s why the only thing in your house is a game system,” Sam said.

You looked over at her and smiled. “Got my PS5 and my dog, what more could one possibly want?” Sam tilted her head, seeming to actually think about the question then nodded with a small shrug.

“One more,” Chad said, already flipping through the tracks again.

You rolled your eyes and got ready again as Chad finally selected the track. You were fully prepared to beat Chad on every track, using any character.

You got distracted when you noticed Sam staring down at her phone. You paused the game, ignoring Chad’s protests as you waited to see what was going on with Sam. “Everything okay?” you asked.

Sam looked up, meeting your eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “Your dad is calling me,” she looked at Quinn.

Quinn furrowed her brow and leaned forward in the chair. “He’s probably just following up,” Quinn said with a shrug. “Or wanting to update you.”

Sam nodded but she didn’t seem too certain in Quinn’s guess. Whatever doubt she was having didn’t stop her from raising the phone to her ear. “Detective Bailey?” Sam spoke into the phone.

You couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but Sam’s furrowed brow deepened. “Yes, I know him,” she said. You look around the room, seeing Chad, Mindy, and Tara all looked just as confused. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Sam hung up the phone she was moving and so were you and Tara. Sam didn’t even so much as look at any of you as she grabbed her keys. “Sam,” Tara said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Stay here,” is all Sam said.

“What happened?” you asked as you made your way over to the sisters.

Sam finally paused her movements and looked up at you, then at her sister. “That was detective Bailey.” You and Tara both nodded. “He said Doctor Stone is dead.”

“Who?” you asked. You glanced at Tara to see her furrow, her brow before her eyes widened.

“He’s my old therapist,” Sam dropped her eyes to the floor.

You furrowed her brow; you weren’t sure why Sam seemed ashamed of that. You went to a therapist; she didn’t know it was because you were ordered to, but she knew you saw one. She went with you to your appointment earlier, you couldn’t see why she would think you would judge her for seeing a therapist herself. You didn’t want to pressure her though; she didn’t owe you any answers.

“I need to go down to the station,” Sam said.

“Great, let’s go,” Tara said, gesturing for Sam to walk towards the door.

“No, no,” Sam spun around, holding her hand up to Tara. “You’re staying here.”

“No, we’re not splitting up,” Tara shook her head. “School was one thing, but this?” she pointed around her. “No. I’m going with you.”

Sam let out a tired sigh and ran a hand through her hair. “Fine.”

“Obviously I’m coming as well,” you said. Sam opened her mouth, probably to argue with you as well. “This is why you asked me here,” you whispered, looking her in the eye. You weren’t sure what it was but the idea of Sam and her sister going out there alone, at night, after Ghostface killed someone connected to Sam, it didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay,” Sam conceded, nodding. “The rest of you stay here,” she said loudly, looking at each and every one of them. Once they all nodded in agreement Sam finally made her way to the door.

You followed behind Sam and Tara, keeping close as they quickly ran down the steps and out the door without a second thought. You checked your surroundings as soon as you got outside, making sure to keep your head on the swivel.

“Why would Ghostface go after your old therapist?” Tara questioned. “I though you hadn’t seen that dude in months.”

“I haven’t,” Sam said. “It was only a couple sessions before I left him.”

“So, is he important?” you asked, inserting yourself into the conversation.

“No,” Sam shook her head. “As soon as he learned who I was…” she crossed her arms over her chest. “He wasn’t the right fit, we never even got into the details.”

You nodded, you could understand why she might not want to share that information. You didn’t care about why she was seeing a therapist or why she left this Doctor Stone, it was none of your business. “Then whoever this is might not know you switched therapists.” You looked around, carefully watching the other people on the street as you passed them. “They might have gone after him, thinking he was your current one still.”

Sam furrowed her brow and then nodded. “The only one I mentioned my new therapist to was Tara,” she looked at her sister.

“And I haven’t told anyone,” Tara said.

You nodded. “Good, don’t tell anyone. Your therapist is safer if no one knows who they are.”

Sam and Tara both agreed and continued their walk down the street. It was only a few minutes later when Sam pulled out her phone, you saw over her shoulder that she was getting a call from some guy named Richie Kirsch.

“Why do you still have his number?” Tara asked, clearly recognizing whoever this was.

Sam looked at her sister guiltily. “I couldn’t bring myself to delete his number,” she admitted quietly. You furrowed your brow; you could only begin to guess who this guy was.

��What do you want asshole?” Sam asked as she answered the phone, her attitude quickly becoming aggressive.

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, and you were just watching Sam’s reaction until you caught a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You just reacted, your arm shooting out to catch the arm of Ghostface as he tried to bring a knife down on Tara. You knocked Tara back toward Sam with our free arm, and twisted Ghostface’s hand, then punched him in the face.

“Run!” you called out to the girls, hoping they listened to you. As Ghostface stumbled back, trying to shake off the hit you brought your knee up, nailing him in the gut, and sending him falling back into the bushes.

You didn’t hesitate to turn around and take off after the girls, quickly catching up to them. You felt something when you kneed Ghostface, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it as Sam flung open the door to a bodega. You were only a couple steps behind them, swinging the door open to see them begging the cashier to help them.

You looked back and caught a flash of a cloak through the window. You pushed Sam and Tara back, spreading out your arms so that they wouldn’t be easy to hit as Ghostface charged into the bodega. One of the customers stepped forward and was yelling at Ghostface when Ghostface just started stabbing him in the chest and then a few of the other customers.

“The backdoor!” the cashier called out, nodding his head to the side as he reached under the counter and pulled out a shotgun. You glanced back to see a door on the other side of the room. You pushed Tara and Sam towards it so they could get out first as you kept your eyes on Ghostface.

The cashier tried to shoot Ghostface but couldn’t raise the gun before Ghostface reached out and ripped it out of his hands. Ghostface flipped the gun around and blasted the cashier in the chest. Your eyes widened and you turned and grabbed Sam and Tara. Ghostface had just raised the gun and fired at the back door when you pushed Sam and Tara down to the ground behind some of the shelves.

You raised a finger to your lips and then gestured forward, indicating for them the to slowly move. You kept your back pressed against the shelf as Tara and Sam slowly crawled around to the next aisle. When they got over there Sam looked back at you and you gestured for her to continue forward. If they kept going and kept quiet, then they could make it back to the front door and while you distracted Ghostface they could slip right out. Sam seemed hesitant to continue on, but she did anyway.

You stayed low and kept your eyes looking up, waiting for the perfect opportunity. You listened as Ghostface’s boots slowly crunched across the broken glass and bags of chips that were now scattered across the ground. You caught a glimpse of the barrel of the gun when the sound of someone hitting a bottle echoed throughout the room.

You held your breath and froze in place. The barrel of the gun disappeared and then a shot echoed through, hitting the shelf across the room and sending snacks flying. You only had to hear the crunch of Ghostface’s boot to make your move, shooting up from your spot and launching yourself at Ghostface.

You grabbed onto the gun and kept it pointed up as Ghostface tried to turn it on you. The two of you went back and forth, each of you fighting for control of the gun. In your struggle the gun got pointed up and went off, blowing a hole through the ceiling and sending chunks raining down on you.

“Go!” you called over your shoulder. If the sisters didn’t move now, you weren’t sure you could get them another chance.

You heard the sound of footsteps running across the floor and caught a flash of Sam’s jacket out of the corner of your eye. You jerked the gun up, finally ripping it out of Ghostface’s hands. You flipped the gun around and fired, only for nothing to happen, it was out of ammo. You flipped it back around and used the butt of the gun to smack the Ghostface’s chest with all your strength.

Ghostface went stumbling back until he hit the back door. As soon as Ghostface pushed off the door you thew the shot gun at him, making him react and catch it, the impact making him hit the door again. You reached behind you and pulled out your gun, not hesitating to raise it and fired three bullets into Ghostface’s chest.

Ghostface slid to the ground, his back against the wall and his body slumped over as the shotgun rested at his side. You stepped forward, raising the gun to Ghostface’s head when you finally heard the sirens. You dropped the gun back to your side and quickly tucked it back in its holster at your back before making your way out of the bodega.

Almost as soon as you stepped foot outside you were hit with a small impact. You let out a groan and looked down to see Tara with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Thank you,” she mumbled into your shirt. Police officers rushed past the two of you, none of them paying you any attention as they made their way into the bodega, their guns drawn.

“Are you okay?” you asked, looking down at Tara. You weren’t big on hugs but if it made Tara feel better then you were willing to accept it.

“What happened?” Sam asked, rushing up beside you. “Did you get him? Are you hurt?” she looked you up and down, searching for new injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “I shot him, but I didn’t get him,” you looked back at the front door, just waiting for him to come out.

“What do you mean?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara finally released you and looked up as she waited to hear your answer as well.

“He was wearing bullet proof vest.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Flet it as soon as I kneed him on the street.” It took a while with all the adrenaline for you to finally connect the dots as to what you felt. You had more to say btu you didn’t think this was the time or place with all the prying eyes. You knew it was a good idea to keep the information to yourself when the cops came back out and said Ghostface was gone.

You, Tara, and Sam rushed back into the bodega to see the back door open, the lock that was on the door now lay scattered on the ground. Ghostface recovered fast, he could certainly take a hit, but you weren’t surprised he escaped. Just one fight with this Ghostface and you had enough information to narrow down your suspects. You weren’t sure when you’d have the time or privacy to go over everything with Sam though.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess @luvwanda @rqizzu @riyaexee

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter imagine #sam carpenter x fem!reader #samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #scream #scream vi #scream 6 #no man's land

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