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[modernglass]

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[mdwaxx]

Bathroom - Bathroom Example of a mid-sized 3/4 multicolored tile and porcelain tile ceramic tile and multicolored floor alcove shower design with recessed-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, beige walls, granite countertops, a hinged shower door, white countertops and an undermount sink

[cateandrews]

Bathroom - Bathroom Example of a mid-sized 3/4 multicolored tile and porcelain tile ceramic tile and multicolored floor alcove shower design with recessed-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, beige walls, granite countertops, a hinged shower door, white countertops and an undermount sink

[luveline]

hiya jadey! A hotchner!reader x spencer request for you <3 Maybe Spencer comes home a little tense/snappy from a case and reader misinterprets it as anger towards her so she starts clesning and catering to what she thinks Spencer needs so he isn’t angry at her anymore? (even thought he never was.)

She sort of regresses into what she did when her adoptive parents weren’t pleased with her :(

love you love you love you superstar!

i love u <3 | fem, 1k

cw past emotional abuse

The door to Spencer’s apartment closes with a distinct clunk. Certainly shut too hard. 

It sends a horrible feeling deep into the very pit of your stomach. Like you could cry, then and there. You frown at the odd feeling and stand to shake it off. 

Spencer’s home. 

“Hey,” you say, calling without seeing him, making your way into the living room from his kitchen to find him at the door. 

His bag looks heavier than usual on a slouched shoulder, his hair puffy. He must’ve showered before they flew back into Virginia and air-dried his short curls. He drops his bag on the floor, scrubbing his face, nose and eyes screwed up tightly as his glasses push up to his forehead.

“You okay?” you ask.

His face flickers. “Fine.” 

It’s not the greeting you’d wanted. Maybe you’re egotistical or something but you’d at least expected a hug. He’s the one who invited you over, surely he wants to see you?

The queasy feeling worsens. 

You give him a little kiss on the cheek to test the waters. “Missed you.” 

“Yeah, I missed you too.” 

You aren’t convinced. Spencer rubs his face again, trudging to the couch to lay down. 

You send yourself into a tailspin. Looking around the apartment, you can see why he’s unhappy. You left your cup on the coffee table, your handbag on the armrest, there’s so much to clean up and put away. 

His silence means you did something wrong. 

He asked you to be there. He left you the key. But maybe he didn’t really want you there after all. 

When you were younger, you’d get home from school, and a half hour later your father’s car would park in the driveway. You’d get this feeling, then, a tenseness, not necessarily fear but anticipation. Some days it wouldn’t matter, and most days he’d come through the door like a animal to be coaxed into softness. You’d convince him to be angry at something else. Enable his fury, agree with every word he said. 

Smiling, calmed, he’d walk into a spotless kitchen and find a pan soaking in the sink. I just wish you’d have some fucking consideration, he’d say. Or, Really? Or he’d sigh like he couldn’t believe it and slam a cabinet door. 

Nothing was right. You weren’t worth any patience.

“Dove?” 

You peek around the doorway again, your tidying having taken you to the kitchen to wash your cup. “Yeah?” you say. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Just– just cleaning up.” 

“It’s fine. It’s clean, don’t worry about it.” He frowns at you. “Are you okay?” 

“‘Course.” 

His frown deepens. Spencer only ever frowns when he’s confused. When he’s upset he tends to press his lips together in an accidental pout, and when he’s angry, he’s stony. Spencer’s good at profiling because it’s his job. You learned it at home. Seeing anger in things most of all. 

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” you ask, wiping your hands on your shirt. “Sorry, I should’ve asked how the case was. It was tough, right? It– I mean, they’re all tough.” You smile as you sit on the couch beside him, one leg tucked underneath you. 

He shakes his head. “I’ve missed something. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“You’re not acting like yourself.” 

“Sorry.” You wince. “I thought you were having a bad day?” 

“I am. Or, I was.”

Spencer holds out his hand. When you take it, he pulls you toward him with the care of someone who knows what it’s like to be startled, shuffling toward one another to be knee to knee. He holds your arm like it’s all of you, pressing you to his chest. 

For a while, you just sit there. Quiet, almost silent, the apartment rests around you. Spencer frowns at your hand as he draws lines up and down your arm, but slowly his frown softens, and you realise your stress has faded with it. Spencer isn’t angry. And if he were, it’s not with you. 

“Sorry I shut the door hard when I came in,” he says. 

You feel caught. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Today was really bad, I got into it with Emily and the case… I don’t know. But coming home to you…” 

Spencer curls your fingers over his hand and presses them to the underside of his chin. 

“Thank you for coming over,” he says. “Did you eat?” 

You can’t help smiling, turning your hand slowly to cup his cheek, to hold him still. “I was waiting for you.” 

“Well, you decide and I’ll go pick it up.” 

“I can’t come with you?” 

“Do you want to?” He turns into your touch, glasses pushed against his eye, his lashes on the lense. 

You take back your hand. “Sure.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll walk. It’ll be nice, the weather’s not too bad.” 

“You feel okay?” he asks. 

“Worried about me?” 

“What your brother might do to me,” he says, nodding into the joke. Then he cracks just as quickly and tugs you in to hug you sideways. “Worried about how I made you feel.” 

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, but you don’t want to talk about it anymore. You push up taller than him to encircle his head and neck, pressing your nose into the soft crop of his hair. He squeezes the small of your back with similar gusto. “Got my wires crossed,” you mumble. 

”Want me to uncross them?” 

You say, Please, and Spencer pushes you away from him to put your arms firmly on the right sides of you, uncrossing you, and kissing you on the nose. 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

According to the description, the current owner loves and cherishes this 1968 mid-century modern home in Fairmont, West Virginia, and it shows. Wonder why he's selling it. 4bds, 4ba, $729K.

Very different entrance. It has wide, gray, plank flooring and stick walls, which you never see in MCMs. Also, look at the simulated worn finish on the doors.

The home is very chic. On the exterior wall is a sign that says "Lava House," so I'm assuming that the fireplace is made from lava rock. Note the white board that says, "Welcome to our Beautiful Home."

Love the black & white kitchen, especially the blacksplash, counters, and ceiling. I'm so bored with the HGTV designers choosing basick pure white counters. This is stunning.

Here's a little bar in the corner with a rock wall and artsy ceiling. The window wall looks like a gold mesh and the colorful drapes really set it off.

The dining area has the same ceiling as the kitchen's but it's painted white. There's a nice MCM colored glass panel in the wall, also. So many touches, like the herring bone wall and shelving.

This is amazing- a wall of old books, moss and flowers. That looks so lovely. I've seen this before, but never with plants.

The walls in the primary bedroom are so interesting. Every one is different.

This home is a work of art. It even has a gray toilet.

Huge secondary bedroom with 3 stripes on the walls and ceilings.

Now, there's a very 60s mod mural.

Look at the shower in this bath. HGTV would shit.

The rooms in this home are so big. The family room floor looks like it's cement. The walls look like they have a bamboo or straw paper, and how cool are those pocket doors?

I don't think I've ever seen this much texture in any other home.

Look at how fun and bright the 2nd kitchen is.

These owners were not afraid to experiment and go bold, and it paid off.

The lot is a little over an acre, but the yard is private and fenced in.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1662-Fairmont-Ave-Fairmont-WV-26554/22729697_zpid/

[drgenius-reid]

In the Quiet

A/N: Happy New Year! I wrote this short little piece for the wonderful @foxy-eva. I hope you like it, friend! 🤎

Summary: After partying at Rossi’s, you and Spencer are in bed together talking about the family you have at work. 

Word Count: 1320

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. I think that’s it, honestly. 

It was in the quiet, when it was just you and Spencer in bed, recounting the day you’d had with the only light coming from the moon outside, that you loved the most. It was when Spencer pulled you lovingly into his arms and held you close, pressing soft kisses to your temple mumbling, ‘You’re allowed to rest, my love,’ against your skin. 

It was when your mind was far from quiet, still reeling from a gruelling case that had well and truly taken everything out of you, and you didn’t want to relax but tried anyway. It was in your fiancé’s arms, your head on his chest and his heart beating against your cheek where you were almost able to forget everything you had seen and calm down from a busy evening out with friends.  

After getting home from a rather demanding time in Ohio that took more out of you than normal, you’d gotten to the office to find Penelope dancing around the office to try and forget about the gruesome details you’d had to feed her during the case. The second she saw you all walk through the doors to the bullpen she lit up even further, rushing over to you with a tray of drinks. 

‘I thought we could have a little BAU party!’ She beamed, holding the tray for you all to take a drink from it. You knew that she was trying to ignore the pain that rushed through her in the only way she knew how, by showering everyone with love and positivity. And fun drinks. ‘These ones have no alcohol but if we go to the bar we can absolutely get alcoholic ones.’ 

Unlike everyone else, Rossi found the idea of going to the bar less than appealing. Not when he had perfectly good alcohol and floors and tables that weren’t sticky at his place. Everyone was more than willing to take him up on the offer, knowing that he had the good stuff that you didn’t have to pay for. 

Within minutes of finishing your drink and JJ putting the empty glasses in the kitchenette to clean the following day, you all headed down to the parking garage so that you could head to Dave’s house. You and Spencer, who had gotten to work the previous week on public transport, climbed into the back of Derek’s car where Spencer rested his hand on your thigh instantly. 

Neither of you were huge fans of PDA but in the quiet moments where he put his hand on your body and held you close were some of your favourites. The warmth of his hand radiated through your body and made you forget about the cold Virginia weather momentarily. 

‘Do we think that Emily and Derek decided to go to a club after like they said they would in the car?’ 

Spencer’s nose was buried in your neck and you sighed happily as he snuggled into you. Despite him not showing huge amounts of physical affection while you were out of the house, the second you were in your own space he was all over you. His hands roamed your body any time they could, and he loved to hide his face in your neck with his lips trailing over your skin. 

‘There is a ninety nine point nine percent chance that they are currently in a club somewhere being one another’s wing…person.’

Emily and Derek, though happy to be going to Rossi’s house for the evening, had spent the entire car ride talking about whether they had it in them to go partying after the party. 

‘Our very own two person after party!’ Emily had laughed as Derek pulled up to a stop sign. ‘We can be each other’s wing person. Think of all the ladies, Morgan. Think of the ladies.’ 

Derek turned to face Emily and tilted his head. Even in the dim light of the car you knew that he was smirking. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the light turned to green and he accelerated once more. 

‘Well if it’s for the ladies.’ 

‘And the point one percent?’ You asked Spencer, gripping his hand that sat at your middle tightly, needing to be as close to him as physically possible. 

‘They’re passed out somewhere in Rossi’s house.’ 

You breathed a laugh and made a mental note to text Emily before bed and find out what she wound up getting up to after you and Spencer had left Rossi’s. 

‘If we’d have stayed there any longer we would have passed out on his couch too. Well I would have anyway. You slept on the jet for most of the flight. Even through turbulence!’ 

Spencer hummed against your neck, trailing his lips across the soft skin. The heat from his breath and the softness of his kisses had your eyes falling closed on their own accord. You relaxed yourself into his touch, physically feeling the stress leave your body. He ran his tongue across the bottom of your neck before pecking his way up to your cheek. 

You twisted around in his arms and pressed your lips to his softly. Even after years together it felt surreal kissing Spencer. He was still just as gentle as he had been when you first started dating, taking his time with you as he held you close. When he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you for the access he desired the most, your heart fluttered deep in your chest. 

Your hands pushed through his hair until they settled at the nape of his neck where you held him close as you kissed him back, granting him the access he craved. He tasted like fruit juice–sweet and sticky, and oh so intoxicating. His chest heaved against yours when he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours. 

‘Tonight was fun,’ he whispered against the silence of the room. ‘Thank you for not letting me get out of it.’ 

You laughed softly and cupped his cheeks delicately. ‘You’re welcome, handsome. It was really nice getting to share that with you. And with everyone else.’ 

‘It was,’ Spencer whispered, capturing your lips in a small peck. ‘Did Penelope send you those photos yet?’ 

Reaching over Spencer you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and settled back into his arms, shifting until you could use both hands. As promised, Penelope had sent you the photos she had taken that night. There was no denying that they were some of your favourite photos ever. 

They all so perfectly highlighted the fun that you’d all had together–Derek and Emily dancing around Dave in the kitchen as he tried to pour everyone a drink; Penelope and JJ dancing in the living room with Hotch in the background laughing at their dance moves; and one of you and Spencer curled up on the sofa, one of Spencer’s hands on your thigh as you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

Out of them all, your favourite photo by far was one that you were all in. You all huddled in the living room while Penelope set her camera on a timer on the mantel, telling you all to get ready because she wasn’t willing to take more than one photo. 

Something got lost in translation though because when she looked at the photo she bowed her head in shame. Emily had turned to flick Derek’s ear, JJ was staring at them telling them to stop acting like children, Hotch and Rossi were staring at the camera with rigid smiles, Spencer’s eyes were closed and you looked cross eyed. 

All the while Penelope had the biggest grin on her face. It was the worst photo that could have ever been taken but it was also your favourite because it showed everyone so perfectly. 

‘I like that one.’

‘It’s just…us,’ you smiled. ‘It’s-’

‘Family,’ Spencer finished for you. ‘It’s a family.’

[si1verghosts]

my beloved ghost and me | ch. 0

post-di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 1.8k

18+ | cw: major character death

read on ao3

a/n: hi! this is something i've been working on since april - i intended to wait until the story was complete to begin posting it but i impulsively decided to share this on ao3 last night sooo...

as things stand, i have about 40k written for this already, but most of the chapters are incomplete due to my inability to write sequentially. so updates will come, i just can't say for certain when... sorry!! i'll likely add an unnecessarily lengthy introduction at some point explaining the inspiration for this but for now all i will say is that this is a love story. and i hope you will join me on the journey through it :-)

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

please do not use my work to train any sort of Al chat bot and/or writing generator. thank you.

----------

The official theme of this poem is

The official theme of all my poems which is

You get in love and then you die!

- Hera Lindsay Bird, "Having Already Walked Out On Everyone I Ever Said I Loved." (x)

-----

May 19th, 2026

---

The sun is high and sparkling when Leon leaves in a whirlwind, collecting holsters and guns and papers and keys. The window is thrown open, the fresh cut grass floating in on a breeze - you will suffer for it later, but you love the way Leon wears the smell; his warmth softening the sharp edges of the scent.

The door is ajar, his car idling in the drive when he finally slows, lingers; hands at your waist and nose in your neck.

"Stop," you whine, palms against his chest; condensation building on your glass of orange juice on the counter. "I haven't showered."

"Don't care," he mutters into your skin; sniffing obnoxiously, disgustingly.

You squirm under his touch as he drags his nose up your throat, peppers kisses along your cheek, fingers pulling you closer and closer.

Jack grumbles at your feet - your gallant protector in his fluffy brown coat of armor. Leon detaches himself from you to crouch down and scratch behind his ears; levels his gaze, voice serious, "You take care of our girl, okay?"

It's the same song and dance every time Leon leaves. Like clockwork, Jack's tongue lolls out of his mouth - of course, always.

Satisfied, Leon stands to full height once again, tan skin radiant and highlighted hair shimmering under the brilliance of the forenoon rays. Blue eyes holding your gaze, he nods down to Jack, "This is my most trusted associate - you'll be safe with him."

You roll your eyes, tugging on his collar, "Shut up and kiss me, hotshot."

And he does, hands falling back to your hips as yours find their way to his neck, capturing the strands at his nape between your fingers. He wanders under your rumpled shirt, calloused skin contradictorily soft, soothing, gentle.

His minty coffee morning taste replaces the staleness of sleep still resting on your tongue, clearing the residual lethargy from your mind. You long to slam the door closed, lock the windows, pull him back to bed and keep him there - fuck the country, fuck the world; he was yours to have and to hold.

You retreat before you can act on your selfish thoughts, voice a whisper against his mouth, "Duty calls, Agent Kennedy."

He hums, eyes still closed; presses his lips against yours once, twice, three times more. He pulls back, hesitating - stay, stay, stay, you silently beg - but it only lasts a moment before he shakes his head, clears his throat, laces your fingers together.

He takes you with him over the threshold and out into the building heat of the late Virginia spring; as far as you're able to go. Jack darts out from behind you and into the yard, redirecting to run laps around Leon's car when he opens the driver's door; your husband chuckles at the Bernese before leaning in to kiss you again.

You've said the same goodbye a hundred and one times but it still aches, burns; worry swelling in your throat as you force yourself to smile when he steps back. "I'll leave the light on," you promise, as you always do.

"No need - it's just Raleigh," Leon allays while he slips behind the wheel, hand still in your own. "I should be home before dinner if Hunnigan is feeling generous and lets me file the report tomorrow."

"I'll give her a call," you grin, letting him pull you into his chest. "Let her know she's welcome to use excessive force to get you to complete your paperwork, if need be."

He throws himself back against the headrest with a groan, silky hair fluttering with the movement. "You two are so mean to me," he grumbles. "I never should've let you be friends."

You laugh, a single snort that gets his eyes glittering, "Hilarious."

Releasing your hand, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head towards him and capturing your mouth one last time. He sucks on your bottom lip in a way that assures his intent to seek retribution. You get lost in it for a moment, stomach clenching; dizzy with the desire to slip inside him, join him on his journeys into the darkness, tucked away safely next to his heart.

He separates the kiss when he notices you've nearly crawled inside the car with him; smirking at your glazed expression. Smug bastard.

The air moves, cooling the spit on your lip, sending a shiver through you. He swipes his thumb along your pout, immediately returning the warmth to the skin.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," he drawls, still managing to make you weak in the knees after all these years. "I love you."

"Bye," you retreat slowly, sorrowfully; swaying on the blacktop as you push his door shut. "I love you too - more than anything."

"More than anything," he repeats, holding his pinky out through the window. You knot your littlest fingers together for half a breath, stepping back as he reverses out of the drive.

Jack nudges your thigh as Leon drives away, off to save the world again - just another Tuesday.

-

You type away until the early evening - working, just barely. It was always difficult to do anything when Leon was away, especially write emails answering the same questions three times over. But you needed some way to distract yourself, to keep you from the news - Leon had made you swear not to watch it. "If there's something you need to know, you'll be told," he promised, smoothing down your hair, kissing your forehead.

A knock pulls you from your computer and your office, moving towards the foyer, Jack's nails clicking against the hardwood as he follows along. Feet planted in the same spot where Leon had kissed you goodbye a few hours ago, you pull open the door to find Ingrid.

Years ago, sometime between when hooking up turned into having dinner, Leon had sat you down, told you his job was unconventional. "It's very likely that one of these days I won't come home," he had said, blue eyes pinning you in place at his kitchen table. "I'm not telling you this to scare you; I just can't… You deserve to know. I understand if you want to leave; don't want to deal-"

You had laughed, cutting him short. It had been three months - maybe four - but you couldn't fathom the idea of walking away, of leaving him - at least not voluntarily.

Your chuckles had melted down into concern, confusion. "If you don't want to be with me Leon, just say that - I'll understand. You don't have to make up stories-"

It was his turn to interrupt you, but he had done it kinder, gentler; falling to a knee in front of you. "No. No, that's not… I can't explain, can't give details but I mean it. I want you," he had sighed, head falling forward, fringe following. "But tomorrow, next week, a year from now - I could be gone. I just need you to know that."

It was cryptic and disquieting, you should've pushed for clarification, should've gotten up and left - but he said I want you. Those three words had echoed around your skull and bounced around your heart. I want you I want you I want you.

Anyone who had ever met you wouldn't say sanity was something you possessed in spades - you leaned in, took his face between your hands and kissed him.

In the years since, you believed you had prepared yourself for the worst, for the inevitable. You had even had a few false alarms; training runs - the three weeks he had dropped off the face of the earth, unreachable in the European wilderness; the bullet through his femoral artery, resulting in near total blood loss; the tubes down his throat after a six-hour surgery to repair his punctured lung.

Leon had warned you and you had made your choice.

But Ingrid's presence on your doorstep throws you - if something happened, you should've been called. That's how these things work; your phone rings, providing you with what little information they can.

Instead, she steps over the threshold, "Have you watched the news?"

"No," you frown. "Leon doesn't… Why are you here?"

Ingrid falls forward, you embrace her on instinct, feel her choke on a sob; feel the blood freeze in your veins, stop cold. "I'm sorry."

You aren't stupid, you know what she means. You understand it, had internalized the expectation of it. Still, you don't comprehend her words. "Sorry?"

She steps back, holding your hands, someone's hands - you can't be sure they are yours, can't find them. "I'm," she shakes her head, "So sorry."

"For what?"

You don't recognize her as she frowns, almost whimpers - can't force out the words.

"I need you to say it," you urge.

She braces herself, closes her eyes, "Leon's dead."

"How?" You feel vile for torturing her, but you can't help it - you have to hear it.

She swallows, shudders. "A bomb - it wiped out the entire block. He was clear, but," she stops to heave. "He went back in, apparently."

"I," she stutters, straightens her spine. "I lost his signal. The last transmission I was able to hear, he said there were still civilians inside. So he must've went back in… He always… He always had to go back in.

"They're searching still but," she heaves again. You should really offer her a seat, a drink, a tissue - you're being a terrible host. "The building witnesses said he… He ran into - it's almost like it was vaporized; there's hardly even any rubble left. There's nothing to search."

"Okay," you nod. "Thank you - for letting me know."

You step back, make for the kitchen, "Can I get you anything?"

She looks shocked, understandably. She's had a rough day. "I… No, thank you."

"Alright - I'm going to put on some tea, you're welcome to stay."

She closes the distance between you, grabs your elbows, shakes you ever so slightly. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, there was a bomb; you guys think he's dead," you nod at her again, slower this time. "Leon has been blown up before - more times than I can count, but I'm sure you have the records. Give the search crews a few more hours, he's probably just having a nap under a steel beam or something. You know-"

"No," she interjects."I'm sorry - but no." She's crying now, you notice; tears cutting tracks through her foundation as she squeezes your elbows again. "I need you to understand; I'm telling you, he's dead."

"No," you laugh, trembling all over with the force of it. "No - he wouldn't… I'm telling you, he's ju-"

"Listen," she shakes you, words sharp, certain. "He's gone."

Tomorrow, next week, a year from now - I could be gone. I just need you to know that.

The room tilts as his words reverberate around your skull, "He's gone?"

"Yes," she sobs. You wonder if you're crying too. "He's gone."

You open your mouth to respond, but can't figure out how to form the words. You sink to your knees and scream.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (13/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 13: Revival

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 9:05 am

For fifteen minutes neither of them moves.

They sit on the floor soaked in their son’s blood, Mulder’s arm limply around her, staring at the boy’s body lying before them, still and unmoving.

*** She knows they should stand up. She knows this. They should make calls. They should clean up the glass from the shattered door and the broken coffee pot. They should take showers and prepare for the house to be a crime scene.

But she can’t. She can’t look away. With his eyes closed he looks so much younger. More like a little boy, and she never saw him as a little boy. The slope of his cheeks, the delicate thin skin of his eyelids: this is what remains of her baby, that baby she loved so much and expected to raise.

His lips are stained with blood, but they are round and perfect and look just like Mulder’s. Just exactly like Mulder’s.

***

After fifteen minutes she becomes dimly aware of the sound of footsteps on the porch through the jagged maw that was once the front door, and she knows she should be concerned. She should at least turn her head to Mulder and look at him. They should appropriately evaluate the situation.

But she doesn’t lift her eyes from Jackson. She can’t, yet.

She feels Mulder’s arm pulling away from her. He seems to be trying to get eyes on the person approaching the house.

“Hello?” he calls half-heartedly. His voice is weak, almost unrecognizable. It sounds like it belongs to an old man.

The creak of footsteps grows closer, and Scully has the thought that maybe someone has come back to finish the job, to kill her and Mulder. To make sure there are no witnesses after all, despite all the cryptic statements about flesh and blood and old allies.

She reaches out and tentatively touches some of Jackson’s soft dark brown hair, in a way she never did in his life.

Maybe I deserve to die. For failing to protect him.

The footsteps crackle over broken glass as whoever it is walks into the house, walking right up next to them. Scully bows her head, allowing some tears to drop onto Jackson’s mangled chest.

She closes her eyes now. Waiting. Preparing herself for whatever additional violence is about to come.

“You’re too late,” Mulder says dully to the stranger. “He’s gone.”

Hearing his voice distantly reminds Scully of something, nudges awake a thought inside her: Mulder. Mulder is here, too. She can't just meekly watch him die. 

She forces herself to look up.

It’s not an armed man, but a petite woman in a black coat, staring down at them impassively. She doesn’t seem very dangerous.

Ah, she thinks listlessly. The mysterious Rose. What does it matter now? Scully looks back down at Jackson’s motionless face. None of his secrets matter now.

“He’s not gone,” the young woman tells them suddenly. “We need to revive him.”

Scully and Mulder say nothing at first, as though they haven’t heard what she has said. Neither of them move.

“Did you hear me?” the young woman says. “He’s not gone.”

“He is,” Mulder says shortly, his head snapping up towards her. Then he shakes his head, and his tone grows softer and more despairing. “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry.”

“I would know if he were gone.” Rose’s answer rises in pitch just slightly. She looks at Mulder significantly. “Maybe you can tell, too. Try and see. Reach out.”

“Jackson hemorrhaged,” Scully replies, monotone, emotionless. Whoever this Rose is, she obviously needs to understand. “The bullet likely hit an artery. He bled out fast. There’s no possible way. He’s gone.”

“He’s not,” Rose repeats back to Scully in a fierce voice. “Try to revive him.”

“I’m a doctor,” Scully says, her voice a flat line. “I know when someone is alive or dead.”

“That’s not always true. You have to try.”

“Scully,” Mulder says, his tone suddenly different. “Let’s hear her out.”

“You feel it, too, don’t you? His shine?” Rose turns her attention to Mulder. She crouches down next to him. “You can tell he’s still here?”

“Maybe,” Mulder says quietly, his eyes bouncing from her to Scully. “Maybe. I feel … something. I can’t tell what it is.”

“A person can’t be alive after having lost so much blood,” Scully recites robotically. “He needs the blood to sustain basic life functions. He hasn’t been breathing. For fifteen minutes.”

“Jackson isn’t like other people,” Rose says. “He has a set of abilities, some of which you know about, and some of which I don’t think anyone knows about. Maybe including the ability to survive more than human beings can survive. To go into temporary stasis. Like … some of the hybrids can.”

“Like you can?” Mulder interjects softly.

“Yes. Like I can.” She turns back swiftly to Mulder. “Which is how you were misled … back then.” Her next words are low and urgent. “You can’t be misled again. Please don’t be. He’s still here, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” Mulder responds, furrowing his brow, his face beginning to come into focus, to take on an intensity Scully doesn’t understand. “Yeah.” He takes hold of her shoulder. “Scully, we need to try to revive him. Right now.”

“When we were misled back when?” Scully repeats, bewildered. “What’s she talking about? Who is she?”

“We should try CPR,” Mulder emphasizes.

“Right now,” Rose agrees. “Who will do it?”

Scully blinks, looking from Mulder’s gaze to the young woman. “Me, of course. Me.”

It feels ridiculous, sad, against every bit of training she’s ever had. To try to revive her obviously dead son feels like a pathetic act of futility.

But Mulder’s eyes are close on her, so she leans over and begins the process of trying to keep Jackson’s circulatory system alive, even knowing that for the past fifteen minutes no air has been filling his lungs and no pulse thumping through his veins.

She begins chest compressions, the sickening squelch of his pooled blood under her fingers. The only thing she can do is keep her mind empty. Don’t dwell on anything but the familiar movements. She tilts his head, giving him two rescue breaths. His mouth is still bloodied, and she tries not to think about the copper-penny taste on her lips.

Then she pulls back, watching his chest in silence to see if it moves.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

“Nothing,” she whispers. She looks up at Mulder’s face. His eyes are on her.

“Now you do it again, right?” he asks. “That’s how it works?”

Scully twists her mouth, nods. She can’t possibly let him down, not when he is looking so hopeful. Not when she failed to protect his son to begin with. She’ll do any irrational thing he wants.

She positions her hands on Jackson’s body for the chest compressions again.

Press, press, press, press: her hands rediscover the required rhythm, the natural backbeat of life.

Each time her hands bear down she feels more hopeless. She wonders if she will break his ribs, if she will damage the body of this poor child of hers further. She tries to empty her mind again. When she can’t do that she tries to think more like Mulder; she tries to will herself into believing it might work.

All along she can feel the young woman Rose leaning tightly over her shoulder, her breath drawn. In a different situation, Scully might be curious about this. As it is, she can only focus on what she must do.

Thirty compressions, then back to the breaths. She takes careful hold of his chin and tries again, pushing air forcibly into his lungs with her own.

She brought him to life the first time, in Georgia, years ago. It was a miracle then. Maybe she can do it again.

She stops, waiting and watching.

With a sound like an inflating balloon, Jackson suddenly gasps, his eyes fluttering open.

Scully’s mouth flies open, too. Not possible. The boy’s chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, as he tries to gain control over his lungs again.

“Jackson,” Mulder says shakily. “Jackson, can you hear us?”

Scully stares. Her hands, still smudged with blood, are still extended unsteadily in front of her, as though they’re about to do more compressions. She’s afraid to trust her senses, afraid to move.

Jackson, wheezing a little, looks at Mulder and begins to cough violently, pushing himself up on his elbows. Blood foams from his mouth.

“Oh Jackson,” Scully whispers. She makes herself move, dabbing at the blood on his chin with the sleeve of the tee-shirt she’s wearing, which is covered in blood already anyway. “Jackson, it’s going to be okay.”

“I’ll get him water and a washcloth,” Mulder says, leaping up.

“What’s going on?” rasps Jackson. More blood dribbles from his mouth.

“Just wait,” Scully says in an artificially high voice. “You’re okay. You’re… going to be fine. Just let us take care of you for a moment.”

He sinks backwards again on the floor, wincing a little.

“I don’t understand. What about the entry wound?” Scully whispers in horror to Rose. “What about the bullet? Internal damage?”

“I think he must heal fast,” Rose says, sounding perplexed. “He must. You could … look at the site of bullet penetration.”

Scully reaches down and examines Jackson’s torso, visible through his ripped shirt. She runs her fingers over his rib cage, sticky with blood, but she can no longer see the site where the bullet pierced him, no source of bleeding.

“It’s completely closed,” Rose observes in a whisper. She seems to be surprised by this, too. “That makes it … hard to kill him. Maybe impossible. This changes things.”

“I got shot,” Jackson mumbles in shock. “That man shot me, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t kill you,” Scully says. She touches the hair on Jackson’s head affectionately, not caring for a moment about giving him space, not caring about the blood on her hands. “You’re alive. You’re going to be okay.”

“There’s blood … everywhere,” Jackson breathes, sounding panicky. “Is that my blood? On the floor and all over you?”

“Here’s a damp washcloth,” Mulder offers. He crouches down to hand it to Jackson. “You can wipe some of the blood off.”

“Did you save me, Rose?” Jackson croaks, accepting the washcloth and wiping his mouth.

“You saved yourself,” Rose says with a small tight-lipped smile. But, Scully thinks, Rose did save him, or at least her unlikely advice did. “You seem to have the ability to bounce back from death.”

“Wow.” Jackson stops wiping his chin. “Really?” He looks at Scully for confirmation, which she finds oddly touching. She nods weakly, and he turns back to Rose. “So I’m, like, immortal. Like a god.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Rose says, her smile brightening. “I have some of the same abilities, you know, so you’re not that special.”

Scully raises her eyes to study Rose more carefully, noting this dynamic between her and Jackson. Didn’t she imply she was a hybrid? Where did she come from? How does he know her? The girl’s eyes, alight now with happiness, are very clear and very blue.

Jackson smiles crookedly. “We’re superheroes,” he mumbles, dazed. “Like the brother and sister in The Incredibles.”

“Something like that,” Rose says. She looks like she wants to cry, but she presses her lips together into a tiny smile instead. Scully frowns, wondering. Part of her is tempted to begin pressing for information right now.

But Jackson is still so pale. First things first.

“Let me examine you, Jackson,” Scully says crisply. Nothing here is normal, everything is upside down, but her tone is all business. A personal specialty. “And let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Jackson is remarkably healthy for someone shot a half hour ago, although he’s suffering from what Scully might describe as low level shock. After he rinses off in the shower and dresses in Mulder’s old sweat suit, they wrap him in Scully’s quilt. He sits bundled on the couch, a slightly stunned look on his face.

Scully crosses her arms over her chest, trying to formulate the right series of questions, when Mulder clears his throat and wipes his palms on his pants.

“We should probably figure some things out,” he says. All in the room look at him. There are still visible tear tracks on his face. Scully imagines there must be on hers, too. “Do we need to take Jackson to the hospital, Scully?”

“I don’t see why,” she says. “There are no signs of serious trauma. We can monitor him here.”

He nods. There’s an abrupt frigid gust of air from the hole that is the former front door, and Mulder speculatively looks it up and down. “We need to consider this problem, then. It’s freezing out,” he says, gesturing to the destroyed door frame. “I either need to find a way to make this weather proof, or we all need to relocate to a motel tonight.”

“Yes, agreed,” Scully says, nodding, trying to keep up with what he’s saying.

Rose is sitting silently on the desk chair, and Mulder walks to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “And what about you, Rose? Do we need to be worried about your immediate safety? Are there going to be more Walled Garden operatives coming for you?”

“No,” she says blankly. She looks like she is about to say more, but her eyes land on Scully. “No. I don’t think so.”

Scully’s eyes dart in the space between her and Mulder. The relationship between Rose and Jackson is perplexing enough, but this interaction is even harder to interpret. Mulder seems almost protective of Rose, like he knows her.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Scully says softly to Rose. “But … who are you, exactly?”

There’s a pause, and no one answers. Rose looks at her feet, her discomfort apparent.

“Yeah. All right, Scully,” Mulder says, placating. “We should talk about it.” She hates the tone of voice he’s using. It’s the one he uses to calm her down when he thinks she’s being unreasonable, and her question isn’t unreasonable. “I think that first I should get some plywood I have in the shed out back. Maybe I can board the door up for now. Then—I don’t know, we can sit down and talk, make a plan.”

Scully does not like this at all. But she raises her chin up and down in a reluctant nod. “Do you need help?” she says.

“Why don’t you take care of Jackson?” Mulder suggests. “Rose, why don’t you give me a hand with the plywood?”

Rose nods shortly, glancing again at Scully.

“It will just take a second,” Mulder assures Scully, clearly reading her expression and body language. “We’ll be right back. We’ll all talk.”

“All right,” she says. She stands, watching as Mulder silently bundles up in his winter coat and smiles at her, then walks out the gap into the cold morning.

Rose follows him, burrowing her hands in the pockets of her coat again. She pauses, angling backwards, and her blue eyes shoot back inside towards Scully for a moment.

Almost like the curiosity is mutual.

Scully realizes she’s gnawing on her bottom lip as she meets the young woman’s eyes. She gives Rose a cautious smile instead.

Even after both Mulder and Rose have disappeared from sight, she stands there, facing the gap in the wall.

Her hands run slowly up and down her arms. She’s wearing a clean oversized shirt of Mulder’s, but there are still streaks of dried brown blood everywhere on her skin, even in her hair, and she feels cold and uneasy. She tries to warm herself as she puts pieces together.

She thinks over what she heard Mulder say to Rose just minutes ago, about operatives from something called the Walled Garden. She wonders if that’s the same organization the hybrids who came for Jackson were from.

“I know,” Jackson says in his hoarse voice from the couch. “You hate not knowing the whole truth, even for a few minutes. Right?”

Scully has the inappropriate urge to laugh, remembering suddenly that Jackson hears all of her thoughts. She really needs to get in the habit of remembering. Feeling suddenly very tired, she walks back to the couch and sinks down next to him. He is watching her with an intent, serious expression.

“That’s right,” she admits. “Is that something you saw using your shine, Jackson?”

“Yeah,” he says, “but even if I couldn’t, I think I could tell from how your face looks right now.”

That does make her smile a little. “I’ve always tried to appear inscrutable,” she says, “but people often seem to be able to tell when I’m upset.”

“Me, too.” Jackson pulls the blanket tighter. He eyes her. “I’d like to have a poker face, but I just don’t have one. My face gives away more than I want to, I guess.”

Scully’s smile deepens. “Exactly.”

“That’s not always necessarily bad,” Jackson says.

“No,” agrees Scully. “Not necessarily.”

Jackson pulls in a breath. “Mulder’s worried about how you’ll feel about what he's going to say. He’s worried that … you’ll be upset.”

“Oh.” Scully leans her head back against the couch, feeling rising trepidation. She doesn’t look at Jackson, continuing to stare instead at the wrecked door frame. “What do you think?” The wind rattles into the heart of the house again, sending a deep-reaching chill through her. “Is he right?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson says. “Maybe.” His brows knit together. “You know… you know how you told me you’d tell me the story of your first kid—of Emily—but that it was a sad story?”

“Yes,” she says cautiously. She squints as the light filters through the front windows, becoming suddenly more starkly bright.

“Well,” Jackson says, swallowing. “It is a sad story. Just not in the exact way you thought.” He hesitates. “You know how genetic brothers and sisters sometimes have the same traits. The same abilities.”

In slow motion Scully turns her head to look at him.

“That’s what it is, I guess. Although … I don’t know if her having those abilities and me having those abilities is actually because we are brother and sister,” Jackson says. “Because she has them because she’s a hybrid. And I have them … because of some reason nobody understands.”

Scully stares at him blankly. She thinks about Rose, all sorts of details from her memories now coming into crisp focus. The strawberry blonde hair, the blue eyes. Mulder’s hand on her shoulder. Mr. Potato Head. The brother and sister in The Incredibles. How we were misled back then.

“I didn’t have any idea I had a sister,” Jackson continues. He turns to face Scully now, his voice turning secretive and important, like he wants her to know. “But I think she’s known about me for a long time. I think she’s been watching out for me. She’s the one who saved me after my parents were killed.” He’s watching her face now. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

“Yes,” she says, the word whisper soft.

But she’s not sure she does, not really. That woman, that adult woman. It couldn’t possibly be. She was dead. It had been confirmed. They knew she was dead. It was the only way she would have ever left San Diego and not looked back.

She becomes aware that Jackson’s expression is changing—his eyebrows arching, his lips drawing together. He looks concerned for her. Worried. Tender. He looks just like Mulder.

“She’s not Mulder’s kid, like I am,” Jackson says curiously. He’s clearly listening to her thoughts. “Is she?”

“No,” replies Scully again.

Jackson seems to consider this a moment. His eyes slide over to her again, worried.

“I can tell you’re upset. But … I thought you’d want to know so you didn’t wonder,” he says uncertainly. “And I thought… maybe somehow me telling you would be better than them telling you?”

He’s watching her so closely. She knows she needs to think straight here, to pull it together.

“I did want to know,” she says, her voice brittle. “And you’re right, Jackson, you telling me is better. It’s just …”

A shock. The nauseating discovery that she’s failed to be a mother for two children, not just one. That this child went from being a cherubic preschooler to a stoic young woman in black without her, with whatever chaos happening in her life, just because Scully wasn’t brave or wise enough to question what was conventional and safe.

“Okay,” Jackson says suddenly. “Come on. Jesus. Stop.”

Her eyes focus back on him, on his pale face.

“That’s what my therapist would call negative self talk,” Jackson adds, rolling his eyes self-deprecatingly. “And, uh, I’m hearing all of it.”

She feels her lip trembling. “Jackson,” she manages. “I’m sorry. It’s just …”

“Rose probably hopes that you’ll be happy to meet her now,” he says pointedly. “Because that’s a pretty good thing, right? After all this time. That you get to finally meet each other. Maybe even be … something like family. Isn’t that kind of badass? Isn’t that a pretty good thing?”

She doesn’t need a shine to see into his thoughts right now.

Silent tears are on her face, and she takes his hand in hers, squeezing it. Looking into his eyes, she lets him feel her joy, her real joy.

“It’s more than a pretty good thing,” she agrees simply. “It’s a miracle.”

She realizes, somewhat to her surprise, that she believes what she’s just said.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly. She notices there are silent tears on his face, too. “And like the third one today, too.”

They don’t let go of one another’s hands. They wait in silence for Mulder and Rose to return.

***

[blue-aconite]

let me drown || intermission - learning the truth

Summary: Bob learns the truth.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, mentions of infidelity/cheating, mentions of violence

Word Count: 5.1k

Authors Note: Writer's block has been a bitch. Thank @demxters for curing it. Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my amazing beta @writercole​, who is the sole reason this chapter even sees the light of day.

Virginia, Oceana Naval Air Station, Fall 2018

Bob’s POV

Bob rifled through his locker after a long day of drills. He was looking forward to meeting his fiancée at home, ordering a pizza and watching a movie. He needed something to distract him from the fact that he hadn’t heard from his sister since Saturday when he dropped her off from their round of golf. 

Taylor, being the fantastic, supportive fiancée that she was, reminded him that Thea had her own life and that she would let him know if she needed him. That idea comforted Bob through Sunday. And Monday. And Tuesday. But it was now Wednesday and his texts weren’t even marked read. Delivered but not read. And it worried him. 

Finding his phone tucked away in his gym bag, he opened the device, clicking into his contacts to find his sister’s number. Hovering over the call button, he was interrupted by the door slamming against the wall, the rest of his squad piling into the locker room. The last thing he needed was them to listen in to a private conversation, so he pocketed the phone again, looking for his watch and glasses instead. 

“Nice work today, Floyd.” Orca, clapped him on the back, opening his own locker. Spot made an agreeing noise as he settled onto the bench next to them, Rover in tow. Bob’s pilot gave him a thumbs up, pushing his hair back from his face. 

“Dude, you need a haircut, you look like Kurt Cobain,” Spot jabbed, reaching out to ruffle Rover’s hair. Rover pushed his hand away, kicking Spot in the calf at the same time. “Fuck off Spot.” 

“Boys, let it go. Who’s up for drinks tonight?” Choruses of yes echoed through the locker room but Bob stayed silent. Orca rolled his eyes as he shut his locker. 

Bob knew what was coming before Orca even opened his mouth. “Floyd come on, drink with us.”

“Ah no, I have plans. Sorry. Thanks though,” Bob declined. Both Rover and Orca looked disappointed at his refusal to partake in their usual intoxicated shenanigans. 

“Come on, Floyd,” Rover coaxed. “You never come out for drinks.”

Bob coughed, lips drawn in a tight smile. “I’m not much of a drinker.” 

Rover rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to no doubt continue to try and convince Bob to join them. Orca had long abandoned the conversation, opting for the showers. Spot was already drying off. 

Bob beat Rover to it. “I have plans with Tay. Another -.” The sight of Bradshaw walking past the locker room stopped him mid-sentence. He excused himself, grabbing his bag and headed in the same direction as Bradley had gone. 

“Rooster!”

Bradley swivelled around at the sound of his name falling from Bob’s mouth, eyes wide open in something akin to horror. Bob’s brows furrowed as he approached his sister��s boyfriend. 

As Bob got closer, he got a better look at Rooster. The man looked terrible. His cheeks were hollowed in, skin clammy and dark bags beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. On top of that, he kept twitching, shifting his weight like he wanted to bolt from Bob at any second. 

“Bradshaw. What’s going on? You look like you’ve been awake for 72 hours straight. You okay?”

“M’fine.” Rooster mumbled, his eyes downcast as he fiddled with his fingers. 

Bradshaw was evidently lying but Bob had more pressing concerns. “Have you talked to Thea? Is she sick? I haven’t heard from her for days and I’m getting worried.”

“I don't know.” Bradley squeaked, the mere mention of Thea’s name causing him to visibly pale. He looked more stressed, eyes darting back and forth between Bob and the exit. 

Bob let his gym bag onto the floor, crossing his arms across his chest. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? Did you two have a fight or -” 

“What’s it to you?” Bradley suddenly interrupted, nostrils flaring. “Why don’t you stay out of Thea’s relationships? She’s a grown woman,” he snapped, walking backwards away from Bob, tripping over his own feet in the process. 

Bob immediately reached out, trying to steady Rooster. The man hissed as Bob grabbed a hold of his upper arm. “Don’t touch me. I said, it's none of your business.”

“My sister is my business, Bradshaw. Now what the hell is going on? Thea won’t answer my calls and you look like shit -”

“I SAID I’M FINE, FLOYD!” Bradley shouted, shoving away from Bob, breath laboured. 

The sudden outburst made Bob recoil. He stood staring in shock as Bradshaw spun on his heel and stomped around the corner, disbelief that Bradshaw even had that much ire in him. After a moment, Bob recovered and shouldered his duffle again, heading towards the corner that Bradshaw disappeared around. Rooster knew something and Bob had reached the end of his patience. 

He couldn’t fight the sinking feeling in his gut. Something was going on and he was going to get to the bottom of it. He walked at a brisk pace, trying to catch up to where Rooster had disappeared. Raised voices from a room further down the hallway Bob had just entered stopped him in his tracks. 

“Athena, I told you to stay the fuck away from me,” Rooster growled, his voice unmistakable. Bob crept closer, trying to stay quiet. He peeked through the open door, catching a glimpse of Rooster and Athena. Bradley had his shoulders hunched up high, hands balled into tight fists. Athena on the other hand was leaning lazily against the desk behind her, mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Aww, Bradley. You act like you have a choice. We work together,” she cooed. She straightened up, reaching out to run her manicured nails along his bicep. “Besides, it’s not like you didn’t have fun with me. It’s not my fault that you spilled your guts to the princess.” She said the last part slowly, gleefulness dripping from her voice. 

The fact that Bradley didn’t shy away immediately from her touch had the warning bells ringing in Bob’s head. He had overheard enough conversations on base to know that Athena liked to refer to his sister as princess, a jab he hadn’t fully understood until now. 

“Don’t call her that. And don’t fucking touch me.” Bradley spat, echoing the words he had told Bob just a few minutes ago. He took a step back, although a minute too late for it to be genuine. 

Everyone on base knew that Bradshaw and Simons had been somewhat of a thing, or at least being involved in a friends with benefits situation since they started flying together. It had never been a secret but Bob had assumed it had ended sometime before Bradley met Thea. Watching the two of them together, Bob finally understood what was going on. 

He was starting to connect dots and lines and felt a deep wave of anger build in his chest, radiating out through his veins. He backed away slowly, death grip on the strap of his bag. He tried to stay silent, refusing to let his anger take over and give his eavesdropping away. 

He stopped to control his breathing, hands balled into tight fists. He didn’t know everything but he knew enough. Rooster and Athena’s conversation had told him plenty. Closing his eyes for a moment, Bob took a deep breath before heading towards the parking lot. He dug out his phone on the way, dialling Taylor’s number.

“Hi darling, I am sorry but can we reschedule for tonight? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. There’s something I need to do.” Bob kept the phone between his shoulder and ear as he looked around for his keys.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Tay asked, concern evident in her voice. He could hear Charlie in the background, little yips as he probably raced around Taylor’s legs. 

“It’s Thea. I just need to do something.”

Taylor relented after hearing Thea’s name. “Of course. I’m actually kind of relieved, work has been a lot and I could clock some overtime catching up on stuff.”

“Are you sure? And please don’t overwork yourself, darling. You need to rest as well.” Bob put the keys into the ignition, transferring the call onto the truck’s speakers via the bluetooth. 

“I’m sure. Me and Charlie are going to have a quiet night in with takeout and I’ll just catch up on some work. You go and deal with whatever you need to do.”

“I love you. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”

Taylor echoed back his sentiment before Bob ended the call, tossing the phone in the passenger seat and reversed out of the parking lot. The rest of the squad liked to frequent a bar about 15 minutes from base, so Bob reached his destination quickly. 

He hadn’t bothered to get back into his uniform after the shower so he was dressed in his civilian clothing. Bob found a baseball cap in the trunk, putting it on before heading inside. 

He could hear both Orca and Spot the moment he stepped through the door, so he kept his head down as he made his way through the crowd. He made sure to keep out of sight from there most of his squad was seated, walking past the bar and opted for a lonely booth in the corner, hidden from sight. He could see them clearly, and hear but Bob was pretty sure no one had noticed him, which was his goal. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions if his plan would actually work out.

He watched as Spot and Orca teamed up to try and beat Rover at pool. The rest of their squad was scattered around, watching the game. Orca huffed a laugh suddenly, leaning across the table to whisper to Rover. Bob’s pilot smirked, pocketing a solid before speaking.

“You serious? What the fuck happened?”

Orca shrugged, nudging Spot. “Tell him.”

“Tell me what?”

Spot smirked over his beer bottle. “You hear about Bradshaw and Floyd’s little sister?”

“Bradshaw was waxing poetic about her some week ago, what about it?” Rover reached for a new bottle, pushing his empty one aside. 

Orca laughed. “Did you know Athena made a bet that he couldn’t get her between the sheets in two weeks?”

Bob’s blood boiled but he forced himself to stay seated, wanting to hear the rest of their conversation. 

“Shit man, and he agreed to it?” Rover laughed, sinking another solid. 

“Nah, not a first, but -” 

“Last I heard, he did. Claims he fucked her till she cried.” Spot interrupted. 

“And then they got in a fight and he went and fucked Athena that night. He’s been looking like shit because she kicked him on his ass.” Orca joined, laughing as he clinked his bottle with Spot’s. 

“Well, that explains a lot.” Rover snorted.

Bob saw red as his teammates laughed together. He stood slowly, quietly making his way out of the bar, once again evading the attention of his coworkers. 

The drive to Thea’s passed in a blur, anger blazing coursing through his veins. He had trusted Bradley with Thea, trusted him to take care of his sister. And Rooster had betrayed her. He’d deal with Bradshaw later, now he needed to take care of his sister.

After parking in Thea’s driveway, heart breaking at the sight of the darkened home, Bob texted Taylor asking her to stop by Thea’s place on her way home. 

He exited the car, taking a few deep breaths before climbing the stairs onto the front porch. The place seems empty. There was no light coming from the windows, nor sound from inside the bungalow. 

He tried the doorbell first, twice, but received no answer. “Tiny! Open the door!”

When nothing happened, he knocked, fist pounding against the door. “Thea!”

There’s still no answer so Bob reached for his keychain, easily finding the spare key Thea had given him when she moved in. “I’m unlocking the door now.” Bob announced as he stepped over the threshold. “Thea, are you home?” 

Thea’s POV

What day is it? Thea stared blankley at the muted TV in front of her. It felt like years had passed since her fight with Bradley and the aftermath. When he admitted to cheating on her, when he called her Athena’s name. Everything felt numb. She wasn’t sure if she had actually moved since collapsing onto the couch after she had forced Bradley out of her home. He had pleaded with her, begging her forgiveness but she had all but shoved him out onto the porch, telling him to leave and never come back. 

She had watched as Bradley drove away, heart breaking as she thought back on the event of the last few days. She had then numbly taken a seat on the couch and stayed there.

At first, she had expected to cry more. She had expected the anger, heartbreak and everything that came with being betrayed in such a vile way by someone you loved. What she hadn’t expected was the inability to feel anything other than the numbness spreading through her body, the absolute acceptance. 

A loud noise broke through the haze, echoing through her house. The doorbell. It rang twice and when she did nothing, a few rapt knocks echoed through the house.

“Tiny! Open the door!”

That’s Bob. She wanted to get off the couch, unlock the door and let him in but her limbs wouldn’t move. 

“Thea!”

She wanted to call for him to come in but no sound escaped her mouth when she opened it. She could hear the keys in the lock, and felt relief as she remembered that she had given her brother a set of spare keys when she moved in. 

Thea didn’t move as she listened to her brother moving through the space, watching as he came into the view from the hallway. He smiled gently as he took her in, approaching her slowly.

“Hey kid,” he whispered as he squatted in front of her, “you had me worried. You’ve been MIA for days.”

She didn’t answer him, hiding her face from him as she felt the tears building at his concerned tone, not wanting to cry in front of her brother. The couch dipped beside her and she felt her body lifting, warm arms wrapping around her. 

“Talk to me, Tiny.”

And the dam broke. The numbness that had engulfed her since the weekend was suddenly swept away and all the emotions that had been repressed came flooding, as she sobbed against her brother’s chest. Bob stayed quiet, rubbing her back slowly while she cried and cried. He offered no words of encouragement, just let her wail against his shirt until her tears had soaked the material of his shirt. His lips were pressed against her forehead, his back taunt as if holding himself back.

Once the tears started, she couldn’t stop them. She hiccuped repeatedly, trying her best to stop them but it was futile. Being held by her big brother made her feel safe, comfortable. It felt like he would protect her from anything bad ever happening again. 

“Shh, Tiny. I’m here.” her brother whispered, one hand gliding through her hair. It was something all of her brothers used to do as kids when she was upset. 

She felt herself calming down as he repeated the motion. Her sobs eventually stopped and turned into sniffles. She still clung to him, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose the feeling of being comforted by Bob. 

They sat on the couch for what could have been hours but in reality was only thirty minutes. Bob’s phone buzzed a few times but neither paid any mind to it. After she had calmed down some, she leaned back to wipe the remaining tears from her cheeks. Bob still hadn’t spoken, one of his hands wrapped around hers. 

“Why haven’t you called me? Why haven’t you told me?” 

Thea had assumed that her brother had seen Bradley at base but never gave any thought that he would have found out what had transpired over the weekend. “How did you find out?”

Bob chuckled humorlessly. “Ran into Rooster who was acting odd. Then I overheard a couple of conversations. I don’t have the full story though, but I think I know enough.”

Thea hiccuped again, reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table. Bob beat her to it, offering her a tissue. “I didn’t want to bother you, mess up your life -”

“Thea, there’s no way you could ever mess up my life.”

“I did. I never should have gotten involved with your coworker. Now you’re stuck between me and -”

“I’m not stuck anywhere, baby sister,” Bob assured her. He was looking at her now, making sure that she kept eye contact as he spoke slowly. “Now, what happened?”

Bile rose in throat as she thought back about the past weekend. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to revisit the betrayal Bradley had put her through. She hiccuped, slapping a hand over her mouth as she hurried to the bathroom. She emptied the contents of the stomach in the toilet, sobs wracking her frame again. Just thinking about Bradley made her feel sick to her stomach, heart breaking all over again.

Bob followed closely, holding her hair back and rubbing her back soothingly.

Thea leaned against the tub when she was done, gratefully accepting the glass of water Bob held out to her. “Thank you.”

Her brother waved her off, swallowing thickly. “Tiny. I need you to tell me what happened.”

She shook her head. Ratting Bradley out could have consequences for Bob, seeing as her brother looked minutes away from storming out the door to find Bradley and put him into the ground.  “I don’t know if I can tell you. It’s -”

“Don’t protect him, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Thea choked up. She didn’t want to get Bob in trouble. “I know what will happen if I tell you. I’m not going to let you get in trouble over me.” 

Bob held out his hand, pulling her off the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, guiding them back to the couch. 

“I promise to stay right here, no matter what you tell me, okay? I won’t get in any trouble. I won’t go looking for him. You don’t have to worry.” He promised, tapping her nose gently, a common gesture throughout their childhood. 

Biting her lower lip anxiously, Thea debated doing as he asked. She knew he would find out the entire truth sooner or later. He already seemed to know the key parts. 

Seeing her hesitate, Bob opened his arms so she could lean into his embrace as he held her close. He murmured soft assurances that everything would be okay and he just wanted to know the truth.

Hiding her face in his already tear-soaked shirt, Thea started tentatively to tell him what had happened after she and Bradley had left the dinner with Athena, him and Jake. 

Bob’s POV

It had taken Thea over an hour to explain in full detail what had happened between her and Bradshaw. Bob felt his anger rising once again as he held his baby sister close, wishing desperately that he hadn’t promised her that he would find Rooster. 

The more he found out, the angrier he got but for Thea’s sake he tried to stay calm. After she had sobbed her way through the entire thing, she had fallen asleep in his arms, most likely exhausted from the emotional turmoil. Bob had carefully picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, making sure she was comfortable under the covers. 

He then went through the bungalow, cleaning up as he went and then sat down on the couch with his head in his hands. He felt helpless, powerless even. He had allowed someone to hurt his baby sister and now he didn’t know how to help her. The urge to find Rooster and take a swing at him rocked through his body but he stayed put. He had promised Thea and unlike Bradshaw, Bob kept his promises. 

A tentative knock on the front door was heard and followed by the soft sound of paws padding along on the wooden floor. Charlie came into view, the corgi yapping happily at the sight of his dad. Taylor appeared behind him, takeout bags in hand and a worry etched across her face. 

“What is going on?” She set the bags down at the table, returning his hug as he stood to embrace his fiancée. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bob sat down again with Taylor by his side, their hands intertwined. “Bradley cheated. Thea’s a mess. I don’t know what to do.”

Taylor made a surprised noise, her eyes widening before anger overtook her features. Her mouth opened and closed in shock, trying to find the right words. “He did what?!”

“He fucked Athena after he and Thea got into a fight about Hangman, which I’m still trying to wrap my mind around.” Bob snarled but reminded himself to stay calm. Charlie huffed unhappily at being left on the floor, nudging Bob’s leg.

“Fucking bastard. I ought to run him over with the Rover.” Taylor looked as angry as Bob felt. “Where is Thea?”

“Asleep in the bedroom. She passed out after telling me what happened.”

Taylor reached down to pick up Charlie, getting off the couch. “I’ll go and see if she wants some cuddles. There’s sushi in the bag, her favourite.” Bob’s heart swelled at the obvious concern his fiancée showed for his little sister. 

He opened his mouth to respond when his phone rang, interrupting him. Marcus’ name flashed across the screen and Taylor motioned for him to answer as she made her way towards the bedroom. Bob watched as she quietly opened the door, slipping inside with Charlie in her arms.

Bob swiped to answer the call. “Brother,” Bob greeted, “to what do I owe the pleasure?

“Have you heard from Thea? I’ve been trying her for days and all I’m getting is straight to voicemail,” Marcus demanded immediately.

“Hello to you too, nice to hear from you after so long,” Bob snarked.

“Robert…” Marcus warned.

Bob sighed as he debated how much to divulge, ultimately settling for the whole truth. “That guy she was seeing from my squadron? Bradshaw? He, uh,” Bob paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “He fucked her, bragged about it to my squad, and then cheated on her.

The other end of the line was eerily quiet and Bob wondered for a moment if his older brother had hung up the call. “Marcus?”

“Tell me you’re fucking joking, Bobby. It’s a joke, right?”

Bob sighed. “I wish, trust me. But she just spent the last two hours sobbing in my arms and I had to practically pry the whole story out of her,” he paused, letting the information sink in. “I ran into Bradshaw at base earlier and then overheard a couple of conversations while doing my wallflower thing. I got the gist of it but needed to hear her version as well.” 

“Please tell me you got a couple of swings in.” Marcus seethed. Bob leaned back against the couch and scrubbed his hand down his face.

“No. I promised her I wouldn’t go after him. Piece of shit would deserve it but she’s worried about it affecting my job. You know how she is.”

Marcus snorted. “Yeah. How is she?”

“Bad,” Bob sighed as he spared a glance into the bedroom where Thea was buried underneath the duvet. “Asleep, though. I’m still at her place. Don’t really want to leave her alone. Taylor’s with her right now.”

“Do you need us to come out there?” Marcus asked. Us meaning himself and their two other brothers. 

Bob set his jaw and shook his head even though his older brother couldn’t see. “No. I’ve got it handled.” 

“Layla says her mother can come stay with her and the girls if you need me to come and kick some ass.” Marcus’ wife was pregnant with their third child and the last stages of the pregnancy had taken its toll. 

Bob rolled his eyes. “No, I said it’s fine. Stay home. And tell August and Richard the same. I got a plan.” 

“Well then, remember, leave your phone behind, cash only, hide your plates, and it’s only murder if they find a body,” Marcus said before ending the call abruptly. Bob could only shake his head, mouth turning upwards in a faint smile. 

Taylor returned from Thea’s bedroom sans Charlie. “What did Marcus say?”

Bob snorted. “He told me it’s only murder if they find a body.” Taylor joined him on the couch again, leaning into his side. 

“And what about the others?”

“Marcus didn’t say anything but I’m assuming he’s reporting back right now. But I told him to tell them to stay put. I haven’t heard from them yet though I have no doubt that I will soon. Hopefully they’ll trust me to handle what I’ve broken.” Bob choked up on the last word, and swallowed hard. Taylor laid her hand on his face and he leaned into her touch, craving the comfort of his future wife.

“This isn’t your fault, sweetheart.”

He swallowed harshly, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to burst forth. 

“It is. I trusted Bradshaw with her. I never should have introduced them.”

Taylor shook her head, a watery smile on her face. “Darling, you couldn’t have known. Stop blaming yourself. Now, what’s next?”

Bob was quiet for a while, not sure how to tell her the way he wanted to uproot their lives. “She needs to leave this place. I want her as far away from Bradshaw as possible. I can request a transfer and I know Thea’s job has offices all over. But I need to know what you think first.”

Bob hated to ask her to be the deciding factor, to leave her home and her job. She had always supported him and his dreams. Flight school and then all the deployments. To throw this at her with no warning was the last thing Bob wanted but he knew Thea couldn’t stay here. She needed to heal, preferably a thousand miles away from Rooster. 

Taylor brushed a hand over his hair. “If we need to leave, I’ll find work elsewhere. It’s no problem. I might not be able to move as quickly but if this is what we need to do, we’ll do it. I love you and I love Thea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Robert Floyd, I will follow you wherever you go. You know this. I know how important Thea is to you. And I know how important Thea is to me.” 

Bob felt tension bleed from his shoulders as he embraced her, choking up once again the obvious love she held for not only him but his family as well. 

“I’ll put in a request for transfer as soon as I’ve talked to Thea. She might not want to move but she needs it.”

Taylor kissed him gently before leaning back. “I’ll talk to my boss then,” She looked over to the bedroom. “Why don’t you wake her up and I’ll unpack the food. I think we all need food.”

Bob stretched as he stood before pushing the door to Thea’s room open. “Tiny, wake up.” He reached out to brush some hair from her face. She stirred awake, eyes blinking against the light coming from the hallway. Charlie was snoring at her feet, paws moving as he dreamed. 

Thea yawned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after seven. Taylor brought sushi, will you please eat some?”

She turned away from him, hiding her face in the pillow and mumbling something that sounded like a no. Bob sighed. 

“Thea Olivia, please come and eat. You need it.” He didn’t raise his voice but left no room for argument either. Thea sniffled into the pillows before sitting up. 

“I’m not very hungry, Bobby.”

“If you don’t come and eat, I’ll tell Marcus that he can come out here and he’ll probably bring August and Richard with him.”

Thea whined, pulling the duvet over her head. “You told them?”

“Marcus called. He was worried that you hadn’t answered your phone.” Bob told her gently, pulling the duvet away from her face. 

“I didn’t want him to worry,” Thea mumbled. Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around her. 

“And you were going to succeed in doing that by not answering your phone?” he joked lightly, hoping to lift her spirits.

Thea laughed, a genuine laugh that reminded him of coming home from school and meeting her in the front yard as he hopped off the school bus. “I just don’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me. Or worry too much,” she whispered, scratching Charlie behind his ears.

Bob tapped her nose. “We’re your big brothers, Tiny. We’re always going to worry.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching Charlie occasionally kick his little feet as he kept on sleeping. 

Thea broke the quiet first. “What if I never stop feeling like this?” 

It was a whisper, barely audible but Bob heard her. It broke his heart and filled him with rage at the same time. Bob knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to ease his sister’s pain and there was nothing he could do to retaliate and teach Bradshaw the lesson that he deserved. His job would be on the line, his livelihood, his entire life. And he had promised Thea.

Bob didn’t consider himself to be a violent man. He preferred to use his words instead of his fists. He was calm in fast paced situations, which is why he was so good at his job. But as Thea quivered in his arms, he fought the urge to cause further bodily harm to the man who had promised to take care of her. Rooster had failed to deliver on his end of the promise he had made Bob in the beginning of his and Thea’s relationship. 

“Okay. Just don’t break her heart.” Bob’s voice was soft but stern, arms crossed across his chest. 

Bradley smiled, dragging a hand through his hair. “How do you know she won’t break my heart?” He asked jokingly, bouncing his leg. 

“She might. But if she does, I don’t have to pick up the pieces.” Bob clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

Unable to find the right words to comfort his little sister, he simply pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head. 

“You’ll be okay, kid. I’ll see to it.” He had no choice. He would never fail her again.

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[outdoorkitchenstx]

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[ghoastixx]

Pink Floyd's The Wall (River's Version) REVAMP

The Thin Ice

Notes: Rights are not mine. I am NOT pink floyd chat,

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

Steam came out from underneath the bathroom door, fogging up the glass of a picture frame on a dresser in the room. A little picture of River and two kids. River was shown holding a toddler with red hair, his adopted daughter Riley, and a ten year old boy standing next to them. He had shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes, Stuart, River's son. River and Riley are smiling, River's fangs look normal in the picture, his appearance drawing attention away from them. Stu is not smiling. Stu never smiles.

"Mama loves her baby,"

There was another picture next to it, but not in a frame, just propped up against a vase of wilting flowers. The picture was of River and his fiance, Tex. Tex was a tall man with shaggy blonde hair and green eyes, he had buck teeth and freckles. He was wearing a red bandana around his neck, and River was wearing his cowboy hat. They were smiling together, River laughing at the camera.

"And daddy loves you to"

They had been engaged for a year now, they had both been drunk when Tex had proposed, they just hadn't bothered to actually go through with the wedding.

"The sea may look warm to you babe,"

River stood under the steaming hot water, trying to scrub red flakes from his finger nails. He was getting frustrated, and his skin was starting to burn.

"The sky may look blue."

It's not that they were unhappy, they were a family after all. Every family had their problems, but the Stone's were a bit of a bigger problem.

"Baby Blue,"

River had been in Virginia for about nine years now, though he had been all over for years. He had found Riley on the doorstep of his bar three months after coming to the state.

"If you're to go skating, on the thin ice of modern life."

River was originally from a very wealthy family in Norway, running away when he was thirteen. He had managed to make it the whole way to America on his own by the time he was fifteen. Over time he began to forget some of his customs, but his native tongue never died with them, he often used them still, his accent thick as ever. When he was twenty five, he lived in Maryland on the beach, where he met two bikers.

"Dragging behind you the silent reproach of a million tear stained eyes."

River thought he could trust the men, foolishly falling for their antics, not knowing of their true intentions, now he stood under this shower forty-one years later, still looking twenty-five years old, a blood sucking freak. He had been docile for nine years now, able to hide it with small animals...

"Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice appears under your feet."

Five months ago, River messed up when he was the victim of an attempted mug outside of Ziggy's. He had been a mess ever since then, and it was bleeding into his home life.

"You slip out of your depth and out of your mind,"

He stepped out of the bathroom, his green hair dripping onto the wooden floor beneath him, towel wrapped around his waist. A few of his regretful tattoos peeking from beneath.

"With your fear flowing out behind you, as you claw at the ice."

He laid in his big bed alone, staring at the ceiling, he wondered how long it would take for them to find the cat caller he had drained just hours before.

He didn't notice when he fell asleep

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