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linklethehistorian · 2 years ago

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Cherish Development Notes — Part 5: Chapter 3

Y’all know the drill; it’s once again time for me to open up the old Cherish scrapped content document and see what I’ve got to share with you about the development of yet another chapter in the fic.

Today, we’re going to be having a look at Chapter 3! Let’s begin!

(As per the usual warning, some Storm Bringer and Fifteen spoilers may be present, and obviously, there will be VerRim/RimLaine and ChuuArt content, so proceed at your own discretion. Also. It’s pretty long.)

Original Outline

There wasn’t much of an elongated outline for this chapter in my initial ramblings, but this is what I did have written down for it:

[Mori and Chuuya go] and [save] the person Paul pulled out of the river and, Paul comes with, they take him to Mori’s old doctor office […]

Secondary Outline & Third Outline

As with many of the earlier chapters in the fic, there was no second outline made for Chapter 3 outside of the small joke summary that was placed in the draft page for AO3 throughout its production.

As for the third outline, it wasn’t until halfway through Chapter 6 that I had started making TL;DRs of all of the past, present, and futures for my friend, so there was no genuine one of these for this chapter at the time; what I had in the first outline and the joke summary was basically what I got to work with.

Nevertheless, for the heck of it, I will still include the thing I later wrote in hindsight that would have been the “third outline”, had I created it at the time:

Chapter 3 is basically just, Chuuya and Mori arriving on the scene, and Chuuya immediately realizing the mistake in his judgement. He and Paul end up arguing over the fact he got Chuuya all worried about him for nothing, and eventually it comes out that he had intentionally not given him the fully story. In the heat of the moment, Chuuya says a lot of stuff he doesn’t mean, basically tells him off, says he’s learned nothing and he was mistaken for thinking maybe he’d changed, that he’s still a selfish bastard who doesn’t think about anyone but himself, brings up what he did to Arthur etc etc., but then regrets it shortly thereafter when he sees how much it devastates Paul. He attempts to make amends, but Mori calls for them to join him in the ambulance, as he’s loaded the patient in safely and won’t tolerate any delays.

Chuuya asks him to join him up front while he drives so they can talk, and Paul desperately wants to, but at the same time feels drawn to join Mori in the back and help him to make sure the patient stays alive until they reach the clinic. Ultimately, he goes with the latter, which leads Chuuya to feel even more guilty bc now in his mind, Paul doesn’t even want to talk to him anymore :/

He just can’t rationalize why else he would do that.

Joke Summary

Every chapter, while it is still merely a draft on AO3, I write a joke summary that I later remove before posting; this was Chapter 3′s.

First Draft

As was the case with the previous two chapters I’ve already talked about, while I do still have the original outline I’ve shown you above for Chapter 3, I unfortunately do not possess a copy of the original first draft anymore, as I did not start actively storing and chronicling first and secondary drafts until the seventh chapter or so.

In light of this, the best that I can do to make up for that fact is try to describe what the creative process was like during this point and what specifically was in it that was unique from the final cut.

I’m sure the first thing you will have noticed, just from looking at that initial outline, is that, much like with what happened for Chapter 1 and 2, what you now know as Chapter 3 and 4 were originally planned to be one chapter — at least until it became extremely evident that the scene with Chuuya and Mori’s arrival was going to need to be much longer than I had initially estimated, and I then decided that it would be far too extensive if I put both scenes together. One thing that you won’t see pop up for some time in the initial outlines, but which I think you will find quite interesting to hear, is that much of the dialogue and conflict you now see in Chapter 3 was actually originally planned for the scene that is currently in Chapter 5, instead; it was only as I started progressing through this first draft and began writing the dialogue that I decided to take much of what happened in that future outline and transplant it into this part of the story, as I began to feel that there needed to be more emphasis on and exploration of Chuuya and Paul’s feelings immediately upon his arrival, rather than primarily cropping up in the waiting room scene with little to no foreshadowing, and an unrealistically quick resolution. To me, having that strong tension and intrigue of Paul’s heart mysteriously being torn in two ways, for the first time since wrongly feeling he had to choose between his old partner and Chuuya in that government facility, was an incredibly important aspect of the story that needed expressing and addressing in a way that was more intense, consistent, and realistic than what placing it in the eventual Chapter 5 could provide — and thus, Chapter 3 as you know it was born.

The decision to include Elise in this chapter was also quite unplanned for, and strictly a result of the decision to incorporate that previously mentioned topics into the scene; after all, in the moment that I decided that, due to their arguing, neither Chuuya nor Paul would be assisting in helping their Boss to load the patient onto a stretcher and into the back of the van, I knew that I would have to a) make him be attempting it alone, b) yell at them and force them to help, or c) use the manifestation of his ability to make up for a lack of other personnel — and given that I wanted Mori to be neutral to their argument and if anything amused by it, rather than angry, and it would be absurd for him not to choose to use Elise as his helper if he didn’t intend to force them, she ended up being the convenient afterthought that worked out as an ideal solution to my dilemma.

Second Draft

I do not really recall much about what the Second Draft looked like compared to the first or final, or if there were any major changes made therein, but typically speaking, there usually isn’t too much of a change between the second and third drafts — mostly just proofreading and fixing typos — unless a certain line or set of lines needs major alteration for some reason, so hopefully we aren’t missing out on a lot here.

I don’t currently remember anything of particular significance, at least.

Final Draft

As stated before, the only change made after the second draft was fixing typos and proofreading; the decision to separate what would later become Chapter 4 from Chapter 3 had already been made during the first draft, long before the second scene was ever even reached, so there was no physical act of parting the two necessary here.

Deleted Scenes & Lines

I wouldn’t exactly call this one entirely a deleted scene, but there was a fairly different alternate take of an existing one, which held quite a bit of interesting information on the thoughts of Chuuya and Paul that were ultimately removed from the completed version (note that the bolded text is all unique to this scrapped iteration):

...Wait… Shit! Did I really just say all that?!

As soon as the heat of the moment had passed, Chuuya swiftly came back to his senses and instantly regretted the things he had said, but it was already too late; no matter how much regret he may have felt over his actions now, the damage had long since been done.

He had said the one thing he should never say — the cruelest comment he could’ve made.

Paul had taken it gracefully, doing his best to pretend it didn’t faze him by turning away and trying in vain to mask his pained expression as frustration or anger, but it was clear that the words had hurt him very deeply inside.

Chuuya wasn’t wrong; the old him definitely would have just left the man to die at the first sign of inconvenience, if he’d have even tried to save him at all, but he wasn’t that person anymore. Even if he did have a moment of selfishness that decided the course of action he absolutely wouldn’t take, he still wasn’t willing to give up until he found an alternative way to save him!

After nearly a decade of relentless, still on-going self-punishment and self-hatred, caught every day between wishing he could die and knowing that if he did, he would be throwing away the precious gift of life Arthur sacrificed everything to give him and running from a guilt he didn’t deserve to escape, Chuuya still somehow didn’t believe that he was sincere enough in his guilt or his efforts to change.

He understood that some of his tactics were careless and unfair, but it was all done to save a life…! As Chuuya said himself, he could once have easily just let the man die at the first sign that rescuing him would be an inconvenience, but he instead chose to do something anyway! Didn’t that count for anything?

I actually find it quite surprising that so much of an exchange managed to survive in its complete form from an earlier draft, if I’m honest; it’s really interesting, too, to see how different it ended up from its later successor. If I had to guess, I would say this is most probably remnants of a last-minute change in the second draft, since — assuming the first draft followed the rules of the current creative process for the fic — this version seems far too detailed and completely coherent to be a part of the first draft; I could be wrong, however.

Whatever the case, I think there’s actually quite a bit to examine, discuss, and learn from this take, so let’s break the more important parts down a little. One thing I think shines through much more explicitly in this draft is how much I wanted it to be clear that Chuuya was extremely self-aware of his mistake once the moment had passed — that he knew how utterly horrible, how low and unfair of a blow what he said really was to throw at someone who had actually chosen to do something kind for once in his life.

He had said the one thing he should never say — the cruelest comment he could’ve made.

Chuuya knew that Paul’s one and only major weakness, even after all of these years, was his old partner — he knew how much it tore him up inside that he had ever hurt him, and how badly he wished every day of his life that he could take it back, yet he still went ahead and used that against him in that instant, disregarding how deeply those words would cut into him; there was absolutely nothing worse he could’ve possibly said to him.

No, he wasn’t exactly thinking straight when he said it, and yes, he really did feel kind of betrayed, and was just blindly letting loose things he’d probably kept bottled up inside from the past, but even so, the result was still the same, and now there was nothing he could possibly do about it to fully take back the pain he inflicted; that’s why he had this chilling moment of, “Oh fuck, what did I just do?”

I think that all of that emotion still comes through really well in the final draft, but it’s definitely a lot more ominous and more thoroughly expressed in this previous version, rather than just being heavily implied, and I think that’s pretty cool, even if this draft is way less polished.

Something you might quickly have picked up on in this iteration is how it clearly states that, rather than trying to remain looking neutral or unaffected, Paul specifically attempted to appear angry or frustrated in response to Chuuya’s comment; this is a theme that you may see repeat itself at some points in the future, as Paul has a tendency to try to make it easier on Chuuya to do whatever needs doing or saying — for the sake of the redhead’s own mental health — by acting as unsympathetic as possible.

This is because, as much as he may hurt and want to be close to his brother, he actually does not want his sympathy; he feels he deserves to be hated — deserves to receive whatever anger Chuuya still holds towards him, after all he has done. Therefore, he will attempt to give him a reason to feel justified in those actions, so he won’t have to feel any guilt.

As you can also see, Paul was also quite honest with himself in this version about the fact that Chuuya actually made a very accurate assessment about him, and sadly was quite correct in it, too — at least, if he had been referring to the old version of himself with which the redhead had been most familiar; prior to this, he really was quite self-serving, so he really couldn’t blame his brother for seeing it that way, even if it frustrated him to not be believed.

Even though I went with a very different route for what would be the final draft’s equivalent of these lines ultimately, I still feel that this is perhaps the most raw and intense version of them all, and I’m a little bit sad in some ways that it didn’t fit into the final cut.

A lot of information was supplied here about Paul’s mental and emotional state, his heavy beratement of himself, and his outlook on life that was simply lost in the last re-write of the chapter; we are told of how he despised himself for all of the pain he caused, the way he constantly refuses to let himself forget his actions and treats himself harshly in accordance of that, and most of all, how his biggest reason for remaining alive even now was purely due to the fact that if he didn’t, he felt it would be to further insult and injure the feelings of the man whom he had so gravely hurt in the past, and a way out of his suffering that he simply didn’t deserve. This set of lines paints the picture of a Paul who is, at heart, almost suicidal, having nearly completely lost any hope that might have still flickered somewhere in his heart after these long years of grief and nearly complete self-isolation.

In a way, the above was originally meant to be foreshadowing for a topic and event that may or may not make its way into the finished version of Cherish; if it does, however, it is quite likely that these lines will — at least in some shape or form — ultimately resurface, and you will almost definitely know when it happens.

One further thing unique to this iteration of the sentence(s), I feel, is the extreme sense of grief, rather than just frustration, given off by the last part of the line; to me, it truly lends a special sense of how emotionally exasperated and distraught Verlaine felt at knowing that all his sibling could seem to see was the version of him that the blond himself despised.

As for the last lines, there isn’t much to add here, given that much of this survived as lines of dialogue for Paul’s direct thoughts in the final draft, and I don’t have much recollection of the rest of the changes and cuts involved, but I’m sure you can at least see why the highlighted part ultimately led to the decision to sadly cut line 5 (due to the redundancy created by said line).

He wanted to comfort him — to chase after him or reach out and stop him, and tell him that yes, he’d come with him and yes, they’d talk about it all right away; they’d worked through this. He wanted to say he deserved it all anyway, that maybe Chuuya was in the right for saying it, and he shouldn’t feel bad […]

The only other deleted line I could find that I thought was particularly interesting was this one — which does have an equivalent in the final draft, as well, but a much shorter and more concise one.

In this iteration, however, we get to see a bit more of the actual things he desperately wanted to do and say to make Chuuya feel better in the moment that they parted, as well as more of that self-ridicule over his past that has been cut from the earlier dialogue.

I do think that the finished version of the paragraph — smaller though it may have been — still conveyed the overall message just as well as this one, but it is interesting to be able to see his thought process in full, so I wanted to share it anyway.

Art

As of yet, there is no artwork for this chapter, but I think that my plan for this one would probably be something along the lines of that moment when Chuuya and Paul are walking off in opposite directions towards the ambulance to get inside, perhaps with Mori and Elise in the background.

Title & Aesthetics

Okay, I’m not going to lie, this just may be one of my absolute favorite chapters in terms of how both the lyrics and the title fit the plot in such a deep, multi-faceted way.

Obviously, we’ll talk about the lyrics in the next section, but in regards to the title itself, it not only perfectly sums up how the entire chapter revolves around the choices Paul had to make to try to save Poet!Arthur’s life, but also the nature of the whole argument Chuuya ends up having with his brother — which, quite literally, was about the ‘correct’ way to save a life. Furthermore, it also reflects the pain and resentment over his sibling’s past actions that Nakahara let get the better of him at some point during their debate, and the guilt and regret Verlaine felt at being the ultimate cause of the deaths of so many deaths back then — including his old partner’s, all because he wasn’t able to recognize what was right in front of him all along while he still had it.

The overall aesthetic of the tune, as well, fits the chapter quite well, still maintaining a heavy melancholy, while also sounding quite desperate, remorseful, intense, and even slightly frustrated at several points — all emotions that I wanted my readers to be able to feel as if they were their own while reading through the two brothers’ arguments and plights.

How to Save a Life Story Connections: A Lyrical Analysis

As I said in the section above, How to Save a Life might just be one of my most favorite titles and songs to be tied to a chapter in Cherish, so I’m really, really excited to get to break down the lyrics and tell you in-depth all about the ways that it fits the plot, lyric by lyric.

I think one thing that’s quite important to define right away is that, much like with the title, the lyrics also have multiple applications to the plot, rather than just one — those applications being not just Chuuya and Paul’s individual perspectives during the fight, but also BSD!Arthur’s and Paul’s back during the mission to retrieve Arahabaki — which Chuuya reminds him of during their argument in the present, and he begins to guiltily recall.

There is also actually a third perspective involved, but…well, we’ll come back to that in a future chapter; for now, just try to bear that comment in mind.

Step one, you say we need to talk He walks, you say sit down, it's just a talk He smiles politely back at you You stare politely right on through

In the present, this lines refer mostly to Chuuya’s perspective, reflecting how, upon arriving and realizing he’d been misled, he immediately decided to confront his brother about the situation; although the chapter opens with him yelling at Paul, the beginning of the conversation was actually quite polite, as Chuuya was merely confused about the situation, and it took time for it to fully dawn on him that his sibling had, in a sense, manipulated him.

Paul is obviously nervous about the situation, knowing that what he had done wasn’t exactly fair and not really wanting to go into it at first due to that, but Chuuya insists that he stays and talks about it with him anyway, so Verlaine obliges, wanting to clear up the mess and at least explain his reasoning behind his actions.

In the memories of the past, these lines would mostly represent Paul’s perspective, as they arrive at the facility and rescue Chuuya, and he then attempts to get BSD!Arthur to slow down as he begins to leave, asking his partner to listen to his proposal. Arthur, of course, is gracious about it as always, caring to hear what he has to say. Some sort of window to your right As he goes left, and you stay right Between the lines of fear and blame You begin to wonder why you came

Now beginning to understand the situation a little better as the two siblings stand by the ambulance in the present, Chuuya goes from being concerned for his brother’s safety to resenting and feeling betrayed by what he has done, fearing that maybe he hasn’t changed for the better at all.

He watches as Paul turns his attention away from him, looking towards the teen he rescued, and in a moment of anger, begins to regret answering his call.

In the past, after BSD!Arthur seems hesitant to accept his proposal to simply run away with him and raise Chuuya together in the countryside rather than take him to the government and let him know of his ‘real’ origins, Paul, standing by the shattered glass tank his brother was being kept in, feeling fear that his partner won’t listen to reason and despising the government he works for as much as the one they just worked together against, begins to question what he should do from here — what truly matters to him most of all in this mission.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend Somewhere along in the bitterness

In the present, these lines reflect Chuuya and Paul both — with Paul feeling like his actions may have cost him what little of a relationship he had managed to build with his brother over the years, and Chuuya wondering if in some way he had contributed to his brother’s slow descent back into the darkness of his old ways, by stealing away the one person he needed most.

Furthermore, as Verlaine reflects on the past, he reflects on how he mistakenly began to feel betrayed by BSD!Arthur just through that small bit of hesitance, and how that one wrong train of thought would ultimately lead to the death of the only human being whom ever meant anything to him.

And I would have stayed up with you all night Had I known how to save a life

Chuuya feels that Paul’s manipulation was unnecessary, as if he had only known the truth of the situation, he still would have gladly stayed on the phone and helped his brother in saving the teen, regardless of what — or how long — it had taken to do so.

Likewise, Paul reflects on the past and laments to himself that if only he had been wise enough to see how much his partner adored him and recognized that somewhere deep down, he cared for him in return, he would have gladly spent as long as it took talking with him as they left the facility, until he had successfully persuaded him to join him.

Let him know that you know best 'Cause after all, you do know best Try to slip past his defense Without granting innocence

In the present time, Chuuya remains hard-headed his feelings, far too focused on the fact that the way he saved the young man was ‘wrong’, to see the good deed he had done, itself, or how miraculous and how much of an improvement it was for him to have even committed to it at all. Instead of granting that perhaps the blond had never truly meant to cause harm to him and was just desperate to save someone, the ginger instead takes the least generous interpretation of the matter, and in his anger, cuts him down using his one extreme vulnerability — bringing up what he had done to BSD!Rimbaud in the past, and claiming he clearly had no remorse for it and hadn’t changed at all since then.

Meanwhile, in the past, Paul is unrelenting with his argument, insisting that he is right about the kind of life that Chuuya would have if raised in the same way that Verlaine himself had been taught when he joined the French government, entirely aware of what what he was, calling his partner unimaginative and ununderstanding and trying to take control of him and the situation by breaking down his defenses with emotional manipulation and unnecessary harshness.

Lay down a list of what is wrong The things you've told him all along

In both past and present, these lines relate to both parties in different ways:

In the current time, Chuuya continues his lecture on the things Paul has done wrong in trying to save the drowning victim, and how he thought he had already learned that from the countless instances in the past when he had used somewhat similar tactics to achieve his goals, while Paul apologizes and tries desperately to correct him on misunderstandings and show him that he is sincere in the motives he had told him from the very start.

And similarly, in the past, BSD!Arthur tries to comfort his agitated and upset partner by telling him that he is as human as anyone else, as he has always done, and that they will work things out together later — only to be met with resistance from Paul, who becomes further angered by these words, telling him he is wrong on all accounts and he’s tired of hearing it. And pray to God he hears you And pray to God he hears you

In both cases, both parties are desperate to be heard, understood, and believed by the other, believing that the situation is extremely serious and there is no other alternative in order for things to turn out alright.

And where did I go wrong? I lost a friend Somewhere along in the bitterness And I would have stayed up with you all night Had I known how to save a life

In addition to all of the above things from the last time these lyrics went by, we also now have two new ones, as BSD!Rimbaud in the past begins to feel guilty over what he had done to Paul by letting him be taken in by their government. If he’d only known what he knew now, he would have stayed up all night after rescuing him and found a way during that time to save him from them and keep him safe.

And in the present, Paul feels regret over what he had done, thinking that if he had only had the sense to place his faith in Chuuya, been honest, and stayed on the phone with him, he could have done things a better way that wouldn’t result in all of this suffering.

As he begins to raise his voice You lower yours and grant him one last choice Drive until you lose the road Or break with the ones you've followed

As Mori calls out to them in the present, Chuuya and Paul are forced to stop in the midst of their intentions to make amends with each other in order to join their Boss in leaving with the ambulance to go to the clinic. Chuuya offers him a choice to come join him in the front of the van, and this is where Paul is faced with his moral dilemma: to take his offer and be there for him, or prioritize the survival of the person he saved and deal with the rest later — or, in other words, to continue obsessing over his brother even when it isn’t the right thing to do and potentially cost another their life in the process, or show that he has changed by sticking to his convictions and doing a greater good, even if it means temporarily upsetting the smaller executive.

In the past, as Paul’s emotions becomes more intense, BSD!Arthur offers to talk about things with him and try to find a solution for Chuuya later in accordance with his feelings; however, rather than seeing this as an opportunity to persuade him to his side once they are safely out of the facility, as he doubtlessly could, he instead views it as a breaking point in their relationship and an ultimatum: Paul can either stay in the job with his partner and be the cause of his brother’s suffering in that way, or he can break out of it and escape, with or without him.

As a result, he pulls his gun on Arthur.

He will do one of two things He will admit to everything Or he'll say he's just not the same And you'll begin to wonder why you came

At present time, instead of admitting he didn’t really care much about the fate of the man he saved or deciding he would rather be with his brother in that moment, Paul stands by his convictions and decides to go with Mori into the back of the ambulance, and Chuuya further begins to question and kick himself over ever coming over to him to argue about it and spew such harsh things at him in the first place, feeling not only that he might have been wrong, but most of all that he had destroyed their relationship beyond repair. Despite BSD!Arthur’s hopes that Paul would admit that he doesn’t want to hurt him and to try to work things out with him, Paul instead chooses to insist that he isn’t the same as his partner — he isn’t human, and attacks him, leaving BSD!Rimbaud to feel betrayed in the aftermath and doubt what all of the time he spent carefully tending to and loving Verlaine was really for — if he ever really cared to begin with, and if this had been his plan from the very start.

Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend Somewhere along in the bitterness And I would have stayed up with you all night Had I known how to save a life

In addition to all the matters and applications mentioned before, Chuuya, in the present, now begins to feel that he fucked up with his words, chastising and alienating his brother over something that ultimately was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

And in the past, as BSD!Arthur feels all of this betrayal and regret as his partner tries to kill him, questioning what he did to deserve it, he laments in his heart that if only he had known the situation, he would have gladly run away with him into the night and given everything up for him rather than asking to talk things out with him later.

And I guess that’s pretty much it for this one! You can listen to the song itself (and the others in this fic’s playlist) here!

Favorite Lines

Y’all don’t understand how much I adore this whole chapter with every inch of my heart; it’s physically impossible for me to pick a line I particularly love above the rest in this case. 🥺💖 I’m sorry.

Other Trivia

Back when Chapters 3 and 4 were one thing, the original title and song namesake would have been The Night We Met; How to Save a Life was not even a song under consideration until after the decision to split the chapters, when the need to give 3 a title arose — which is part of what makes the fact it fits so perfectly so very cool. I’m extremely glad it turned out this way.

“...Yes, I know. It was selfish, Chuuya; I’m not denying that. He needed my help, and I hesitated because I was worried about myself; there’s no getting around how terrible that was of me. Still, I —”

“Still, I wasn’t going to just leave him for dead, no matter what the situation was for me; that’s why I called you.” is probably how this sentence would have read, had it not been cut off.

“...Paul, look, I —”

“I..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that shit I said before; I was just…pissed, ‘cause you got me all worried about ya.”

…Or something like that, at least; it would probably have played out quite similar to how it did in the clinic waiting room in Chapter 5, really, had the conversation been allowed to happen here.

“H-hey, we can always talk about it in the car, yeah…?” There was a melancholic wistfulness in the younger man’s question, as he desperately tried to salvage the situation. “There...there should be enough time, on the way back to Headquarters, if ya wanted to—”

“[…] if ya wanted to try to sort things out.” is roughly what would have been said, probably.

—

And yep, I think that’ll be about it for now! I hope you enjoyed, and I’ll see you on the next set of Chapter development notes!

[Read the fic here!]

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punemy-spotted · 3 years ago

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The Price You Pay Chapter 3: Counteroffer

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements Continue; Dub-Con; Angst; Politics; Possessive/Manipulative Behavior; Spanking; Choking; Crying; The Dove is Probably Dead: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The return of an old friend brings back the ghosts of old memories.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Notes: Shorter chapters my ass, these outlines are getting unreal. Andy Barber has arrived, Steve Rogers does not approve, the Reader bears the consequences. Things are going to be angstier from here on out and I can feel it in my bones. Please don’t yell at me — or do, your feedback is well-loved and appreciated even if it’s yelly.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

You met Andy Barber fresh from the ashes of his divorce, escaping the gossip and scandal and pain of his past life only to dive into the gossip and scandal and pain of politics. Senatorial campaign, in need of an aide and a law student desperate to do more for the people than hours in clinics and mock trials. Hungry for something grassroots, angling for the impossible.

A match. Whether made in Heaven or Hell feels irrelevant now, long ago as it was.

It was then. This… is now.

Hey Sunshine, didn’t think you’d be able to make it.

He looks the same. Keeps the same beard. Same hair. It’s uncanny and familiar and safe all at once and you slide into the booth with your purse by your side and feel genuinely smiley for the first time in a long time.

It’s been a while since I heard that name.

Yeah? It’s been a while since I got to use it.

The silence is heavy, unwelcome, unwieldy, a reminder of the space between what was and what is.

How’re you doing? Last I heard you were making a name for yourself taking down the…

He trails off, eyes fixed on the slide of your gaze, the sudden interest in a drink menu you wouldn’t normally touch, the tremor of your lips. A man doesn’t serve as Assistant District Attorney for the many years he has without picking up tells.

Sunshine.

Andy…

It’s a warning, a plea, a… confession, all at once, and all the dogged determination in the world can’t hold against the break in your voice, in your control. You’ve cried more in the past few weeks than you can recall and now here he is, soulful eyes and a worried expression and he’s never hugged you really, but suddenly you might want it just that much more.

Don’t be an idiot.

It’s dangerous, your stress, and you know it.

Dangerous enough to send you into the arms of the next safe thing — this is why you don’t do this, isn’t it, this reaching out bit, but no advocacy group on the planet is going to save you from yourself today.

I saw… I saw you win that case. Pretty brutal, standing up to the Syndicate, and getting what you did. He steamrolls past the way you wince, his thumb on that metaphorical bruise and pressing, the Prosecutor’s dogged determination demanding answers, I have a friend in the office, he was convinced you’d be climbing the ranks.

Every word is a twist of the knife, couched in quiet concern, gentle admonition, a warm hug in a smoky tenor and you want to tell him everything, you want to break down in his arms and tell him every word, every buried piece of you he never learned, everything that’s led you to this.

You don’t.

You know better than to trust him too. No one’s going to take care of you but you so instead you shake your head and wave it off and Decided going into the private sector was the better option — one big win doesn’t really make up for the stress, you know.

Private sector. That’s what you’re calling the SHIELD Syndicate now? C’mon, Sunshine…

Look. It’s the Syndicate’s New York, when he made the offer it was… safer than saying no. It’s a cushy position anyway, and I didn’t want anyth—

He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe you and you’re digging a hole trying to explain your way out of it so you just… shut up, shaking your head, It’s not important. I’m fine. I’m more curious about you — what year is it now, your fourth? What are you doing in New York?

The deflection works, but the look on his face is obvious — you’re not getting out of this so easily. He gives in for now, just for now, for you.

Almost fifth, gearing up for re-election. Had a meeting up here… about the organized crime situation for both states, and I remembered you were in the area.

Oh. You… it’s been a while since we talked, you remembered?

You expect me to forget you, Sunshine?

That stops you in your tracks, or whatever road your mind had been racing on, thoroughly not enjoying the defensive you’ve been on since you met with Steve, constantly under watch and waiting for yet one more shoe to fall on you.

That’s fear, sweetness.

Andy…?

You were the best campaign aide I had — I told you then too, I would have made you Chief of Staff if you’d let me.

It’s a good save. A clever save, and you want to believe it more than anything, want to believe it was all business and no pleasure because the alternative makes your nails bite into the table and want to turn tail before he can say another word and he… sees that panic flicker over your face so keenly it’s almost embarrassing.

You’re not used to this.

You’re not used to the warmth of his eyes when he searches your face for the answers you can’t give voice to. You’re not used to the way he reaches for your hand and rests it over your fingers, curling around your palm like he might actually keep you close and keep you safe and keep you free of the demons you made a part of yourself too.

Sunshine, why does his voice have to be so soft, why does it have to sound like molten honey on your senses, why does he have to say your name like it’s the very definition of the word hope, If you’re not safe…

No. No you’re not, tell him tell him the truth, tell him you’re atoning for the girl you could not protect tell him you aren’t worth it tell him this is your penance tell him you signed a death warrant tell him tell him tell him.

Andy, really. I’m fine. It’s a good job.

It’s a shit lie.

He drops it. Drops it just long enough for a waiter to finally come by, for his hand to leave yours while he talks through the wine menu. Drops it long enough for you to check your phone, realizing with horror that you must have silenced it absentmindedly sometime on your way here.

Ten missed calls.

All from Steve.

And one text, stamped from just five minutes ago.

[SMS] Either you pick up your phone or I pick you up, Counsel.

The next one comes right before your eyes, a picture of a map and a GPS pin. Your location.

You glance up at Andy, still talking to the waiter about the small plates options, feign a smile and Go ahead and choose, you have better taste than me, and return to staring at the picture and the three dots at the bottom of your screen, waiting to see his next message.

[SMS] Make your choice.

The haptic feedback of your keyboard feels like an electric shock with every letter, hurried fingers until you manage to tap out something that won’t immediately put the man in front of you in the crosshairs of the most dangerous organization in New York.

You can’t do that to him. You can’t.

[SMS] I’m at a dinner with a friend.

[SMS] And since I know there’s no emergencies pressing, I’d like my time, thank you.

You have the good sense to set it next to you this time, watching your screen light up with whatever furious response he sends next, glancing over only occasionally every time another one comes through. Don’t let him control you. Don’t let him think you’re at his beck and call.

You’re not.

You’re free, you’re free and you’re going to prove it.

Sunshine? What’s going on?

His voice cuts through the haze of panic like a knife and you swear you don’t mean to jump but you do and there’s no denying what he notices, eyes narrow and lips turned down in a sharp scowl, Sunshine…?

You are not that girl. You cannot be that girl, never again.

Steel. Steel yourself, flash him a smile, take a sip of the ice water left in front of you while you’d been checking your phone, reset yourself. Steady. Steady on.

Don’t let them know.

Nothing, nothing, just the boss — let him know I was busy.

Why is he texting you after hours? The Syndicate can’t be that busy.

He’s too watchful for your own good. Probably just making sure I’m staying out of trouble.

Are you?

Are you calling yourself trouble, Senator?

You like this. You can handle this, the trading of jokes, the crooked way he smiles. His eyes are a little more distant than you remember but you can still see them sparkle softly when he suppresses a laugh, lighting up properly when the joy reflects in them.

Briefly, you wonder when the last time he really laughed was.

By the time dinner is over, his hand, warm and steady, is back on yours as you talk — and for a moment you almost enjoy the way he runs his thumb over your knuckles absently, like he’s making careful appraisal of each one. Could use your skills for the re-election campaign, you know.

Really? You’ve got a gorgeous approval rating, what are you afraid of?

Not having my good luck charm on the staff.

Andy…

I’m dead serious, Sunshine, you ran that ship. You were what, a 2L? Rising 3? You had canvassing down to a science. We need that energy down on the Hill.

The curve of his fingers is a little tighter now, squeezing yours, like proof of his earnestness and oh, you want to keep believing him. You need to keep believing him.

There’s so much in New York I have to get done first. And besides, you know me. I want a life on the bench.

Justice Sunshine, and it sounds absurd when he uses your nickname and it sounds so real when he uses your nickname and in the warm smoke of his voice those contradictions can live together all at once.

That’s the one. Closest you’ll see me to Washington is when I’m appointed to the Supreme Court. It’s a dumb, arrogant, silly joke but it’s the same one you used to make with him over drinks, teasing him about his political goals and making him promise to “go easy on you” at your eventual Senate confirmation hearing.

It’s the one that makes him crack that too-beautiful crooked smile while he takes a sip of his drink — hiding the curve of his lips behind the rim of a heavy glass.

Well. If you ever decide to ditch—

Ever decide to ditch what?

The world moves in slow motion: hearing the low growl from behind you; Andy Barber looking up and rising to his feet, his hand slipping from yours with just the ghost of his comfortable touch to assure you; Steve Rogers coming into view as you turn, flanked by the not-entirely-unfamiliar faces of two of his enforcers — it looked like Wilson and Banner had been selected this evening — and the sudden pressure of knowing you’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong.

You stood me up, Counsel. Steve’s voice is a threat, a half-drawl as you stand up and face him, Andy right behind you, Something wrong with taking my phone calls?

She was busy, the sound of Andy’s voice is a balm to your soul and fuel to Steve’s fire, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he grits his teeth and resists the temptation to throw the first punch — you can see the fingers of his right hand curling into a fist, can’t you? The slow curve, the watching, wondering if you’ll make the right choice now that someone has chosen to try to lead you astray.

And who the fuck are you? If he can’t get you to respond, he’ll get something from the man talking for you, eyes trained on him like he’s debating whether his own frustration will make this interloper turn to nothingness and return you to his arms where you rightfullybelong.

Do you? Rightfully belong?

Senator Andy Barber. The title practically knocks the wind out of Steve’s sails and you can see it — he may be the Captain here, King of New York, ruler of his domain but he’s not stupid enough to openly attack a man with connections beyond the Syndicate’s web of influence. It’s a comfort and it’s not, all at once.

The room is still, vibrating with tension, the two men staring daggers at one another and you caught in the middle. I worked on Senator Barber’s campaign when he first ran for election, you manage out in some vain hope it might explain and mollify, only to be thoroughly disappointed — and judging by the way Banner winces, only to dig your grave further.

We’re talking about this later, Counsel. You’re coming home.

And what gives you the right to give her orders? You really are going to have to look back at Andy and beg him to not make this worse. You really are going to have to let him see your face, see that you’re afraid, sweetness. He’s not going to let you go easy and this should not terrify you as much as it does.

Senator Barber. It’s fine. Something must have come up,turning to face his burning eyes, until his face softens like he’s seeing you for the first time. And is he? Is he seeing how you just need him to let it go, let you go, drop the protectiveness and step back?

He has to, because he does, nodding before he grabs his coat and glances to the host station. If you say so, Sunshine. Take care of yourself. He doesn’t press, not knowing when he’s beat but knowing when you don’t want him to. When you’re not safe.

And Steve Rogers offers you his hand to walk you out.

And just what the hell did you think you were doing!?

Oh, and you control my time off the clock now too?

He dragged you back home.

No. Not to your apartment, that sanctuary away from all this you’d been allowed to keep as part of the “deal.” His home, the bedroom where you signed yourself away, the space he unraveled you and left you tangled in your new life.

He dragged you back home, in the grim silence of the backseat of his car and you waited. Waited for the inevitable explosion, the one prefaced by Wilson’s nervous looks and Banner’s cautious stare.

This explosion, where he rounds in on you, where livid is still too tame a term.

Meeting with a Senator? Ignoring my calls? I told you, you were mine tonight.

And I told you I had plans.

After I told you that you were mine, Counsel.

Okay. That’s true, even if you’re loathe to admit it.

Plans adjust. Andy wanted to—

Oh, Andy now? I thought it was Senator Barber? You’re really familiar with him, aren’t you, Counsel?

Just what the fuck are you implying?

Maybe you need a reminder of who you belong to.

He loves to do this. Wrap his big hand around your throat, remind you just how easily he can impose his power onto you, watch your protests die behind your eyes when you realize how useless words are in the face of his violence.

The furious look in your eyes is something to behold, the way you embed your nails into his wrist to try and drag him off you, all soft snarls and indignant huffs, You fucking asshole…

You’re mine, Counsel, and don’t you forget it. You gave yourself to me, remember?

Like I… like I had much of a choice, breathy, furious, and clawing at him.

Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, and clearly I need to make sure you know it…

Steve—!

Captain, sweetness, Captain, and don’t you forget it.

There’s a moment, when anger becomes transcendental, when it turns into something cold and calculating and prepared, when a plan forms behind his eyes and you watch as he looks down at you, so full of fury and fear all at once and you watch as he leans in so close and you feel his hand slide until he has you by the back of the neck, until his thumb is the thing pressing under your chin to keep your eyes on him, until the heel of his hand is the thing keeping you from shouting at him further. Such a stubborn little bitch…

You can almost see the words forming in his mind, the ones his mouth won’t say, I could be so good to you, but he doesn’t say them, sliding his lips over yours instead and it is… soft. A capturing of your mouth with his, not caring that you protest, only insistent on leaving you breathless and hazy-eyed from each tug of his lips on yours and there stokes the warmth of more than your rage, a different fire rising in your core, unbidden and unwelcome but yours to own and his to play with.

He can sense it, practically feel it, that mad serum racing through his veins and making his nostrils flare as he pulls back and watches you, lets the scent of your perfume fill his senses like a drug he can’t get enough of and, I should hate you too, for this, whispered low and hushed and you barely catch it, don’t you? Barely, but enough, enough to remember it was said just before he pulls you down with him into the depths of his own lust.

And into his lap, it seems, as he drags you down, sitting on the bed with you draped over his lap, an effortless shift in his skillful hands. You can protest, and you do, even daring to try to pull away with a kick of your legs and an indignant, What the hell do you think you’re doing?But you know it’s all futile, useless as he places one heavy hand on your back and lets the other slide over the smooth chiffon of your blouse, tracing a line along your spine with careful, practiced ease.

Would have preferred this with a little more… circumstance, sweetness, but you need to learn a lesson now and drastic times call for drastic measures.

You can turn your head slightly, to look at him, that wild-eyed fury so sweet on your face and you are still a wild creature he needs to tame but he is patient and he can do this for as long as it takes.

But you’re a sight like this, draped over his lap in a pencil skirt and blouse, so put together and proper and now so prone to him, helpless under the appraisal of his hands and the way he takes no time in hiking your skirt up around your waist. Captain! Your protest is met with a low chuckle, especially as he lets his palm curve around the round swell of your ass, before leaving a light swat on the soft flesh, to draw a yelp from your furious mouth.

If that’s all it takes to get you shouting, sweetness, you’re going to hate what comes next, smug and cruel, as you try to hold yourself up enough to look at him, met with his smirk and the simmering fury still bubbling in his eyes. To say you’re in danger still is an understatement, no doubt, and you know it.

I won’t make you count this time, but piss me off again, sweetness, and we’ll just see how much you can take, you hear me?

Oh you loathe him, really and truly loathe him, hissing with anger and embarrassment, so close to twisting in his arms and clawing at him but remembering his size and just how much worse it could get — but then there lies the undercurrent.

The one you loathe too, more than you hated him, that warmth. Seeping into your core, a low heat kindled by the sly softness of his lips on yours and the sure tenor of his voice, low and soothing even as he promised damnation. The one that — just like now — leaves you flushed and writhing while he purrs threats to you, massaging the soft skin and sliding the lace of your panties down to remove all barriers to the sex he owns so surely.

You open your mouth to argue with him but as you do, you feel his hand lift from your flesh and then the resounding SMACK of palm on skin, turning words into nothing but a sharp cry of pain, surprise, and lust. The heat rises just as your body tenses, reacting to the sudden attack on your delicate form, cheeks flushed. Even as your eyes well with tears your sex strives to betray you and — Oh do you like that, sweetness? — damn him for noticing.

Let me go, Captain, the threat is shaky, your voice wavering with something like want and panic all at once, and all it does is draw another laugh as he soothes the stinging mark left on your cheek, gentle as a lover and four times as cruel.

Do you know what I think, sweetness? And another raise of his palm, to strike you once more, listening to the way that cry of pain and surprise turns into a soft, involuntary moan the moment he begins to soothe the ache, I think you need this. Always so uptight, trying to be the head bitch in charge, aren’t you? Just looking for someone to take over, take control, remind you where your place is.

His fingers slip further, more interested in exploring the soft slickness of your sex, listening to your protests die in your throat with every press of his fingers into your plush folds. That’s why I’m here, to keep you in my lap, all fucked and soft, sweetness. Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of you. Even if I have to teach you just like this.

You should hate the way he talks, hates how he finds your center with effortless ease, like he’s known your body for years. Holding you down in his lap still as he draws mewling moans from you with every curl of his fingers, finding the proof of his accusations in the slick need coating your thighs, soaking his fingers, You’re making such a mess of me, sweetness. Are you going to be good?

Hiss at him. Snarl at him, buck your hips and twist in his arms, push him away. Do something more than what you are now, with red-rimmed eyes and tears staining your face, do more than listen to him talk, feel his cock pressing against you as you lay in his lap, I’m going to ask it one more time, sweetness. Are. You. Going. To. Be. Good?

He punctuates each word of his question with a harsh smackagainst your ass, leaving little time for you to do more than cry out, until the last spank draws something like a moan from your perfect lips and therein lies your surrender for tonight, that soft mewl of pleasure born of pain and he soothes you again with soft shushes and gentle touches, back to inspecting the renewed slickness of your cunt, back to enjoying that plump tightness wrapped around his fingers and back to trying to control the shift of his own hips and you can feel him, hard against you, needing you as much as he is compelling your body to need him.

Captain… a low, desperate sort of mewl, the squirm of your body less to escape and more to enticeand he notices. Notices the way your fingers try to cling to him, notices how you look so very sweet when you’re so very desperate and in some way this is your own game of control, a push and pull and the curl of his fingers is suddenly so much angrier, driving you to the precipice of the fall and you are tumbling, tumbling down into a darkness of want you may never recover from.

Say it again. Tell me you need me, sweetness, tell me you need me and I’ll give you everything, and there’s an edge to the way he says everything, like he might meanit, like he might give you the world if you just gave in and you hate him, sweetness, you hate him but you need the things you hate once in a while and you can’t keep bearing his fury on your body and so you sob out your surrender and whine—

I need you, Captain, please…

And that is enough.

Let him believe you.

#steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #this fic is murdering my ass

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boldlyvoid · 3 years ago

Text

Sugar, Honey, Ice Tea | Chapter 5-9

1Summary: Fix-it-fic: Dr. Y/L/N and Savannah Hayes have been best friends since their medical internship at Bethesda General. When she receives a frantic call that Derek's best friend is being transferred to the prison she works at, an unlikely friendship bubbles.

Eventually falling head over heels for the innocent man.

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Prison, Prison Violence, Assault, Blood, Depression, Murder, Self-Hatred, Hurt Spencer Reid, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Drug Addiction, References to Drugs, Drug Use, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Romantic Tension, Forbidden Love, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Strangers to Lovers, Requited Love, Falling In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, past abusive relationship, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

Word Count: 14.3K

1-4, 5-9, Epilogue

Chapter 5

Spencer agreed to a Thursday night game night in her office sometime last week, and she’s spent every day since then planning it out for him.

Learning that he really loved Tandoori chicken, making it from scratch at home and packaging it into a couple containers to bring into work. She followed a recipe from Pinterest, hoping it bared any resemblance to what he was used to, only changing full chicken to boneless bite size cutlets, because he couldn’t use a knife in the prison.

She got a chess set at the store, as well as a deck of playing cards for the Vegas boy. Rushing out her door early Thursday morning so she could stop and get a coffee and one of his favourite doughnuts too.

Deciding that she wasn’t going to tell him how she felt any time soon, just wanting to show him friendship and support until he was finally out of prison. Vowing to uphold her oath, he was a patient in her care, she would care for him as such until he wasn’t.

She carefully placed her lunchbox and the chess set on the security desk, letting them look through it as she waited. Taking out all the food from her bag, looking through the plastic to ensure she wasn’t sneaking in anything.

“It’s just my lunch for the next 2 days, I promise,” she smiled.

“I know, but I have to look anyway,” the nice man smiled. “Have a good day today Dr. Pat.”

“Thank’s, you too, officer Kyle,” she smiled, picking her things back up and heading past the gates.

Spencer was turning the corner towards the infirmary as she walked towards the door. Officer Wilkins holding him in handcuffs as he roughly walked Spencer to her office.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she stopped, looking at Wilkins like he was an idiot. “Un-cuff inmate Reid, he’s not a threat. Plus, he can hold some things for me.”

“Whatever,” he huffed, roughly taking the cuffs off Spencer's wrists before leaving. Not saying another word.

“What a dick,” she mumbled as she handed him the lunchbox.

“Good morning Spencer,” she changed her tone to match her growing smile.

He sighed, smiling back as he rubbed his wrists. “Good morning to you too, Y/N.”

She opened the infirmary door, walking past all the sleeping men in the care area. Unlocking her office before inviting Spencer in. “Sorry I was almost late,” she said softly, taking the chess set and a brown paper bag out of her purse.

She set it on Spencer's desk along with the coffee that was in her hand, “for all your help this week,” she smiled.

Spencer placed her lunchbox in her fridge, laying a hand on her back as he walked past her towards his desk. “You’re too kind to me,” he was bashful as always.

“I have something I wanted to talk to you about,” she closed the door softly, making sure the blinds on the doors window were closed as well.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he tried to joke as he sat down.

“I asked to help with your case, maybe give a fresh opinion, so Penelope sent me all the files but I haven’t opened them yet,” she sat on the edge of her desk. Trying to read his body language as he took out his donut.

He liked the pink frosting off his finger, nodding as he followed along. “Why not?”

“I wanted your permission,” she pressed her lips together in an awkward smiled. His eyes raising to meet hers, innocent as ever.

“Oh?”

“You’re very reserved, you have rules about what you share, I don’t want to break the trust we’ve built by looking into something so intimate,” she explained her thoughts. “It’s not fair for me to learn about the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, without you being the one to tell me.”

“What do you know already?” He asked softly, blinking at her as he patiently waited.

She smiled at him softly, grateful that he understood. “I know the 3 charges that you’re in on, and that you’re being framed.”

“I think I would prefer it if you read the file and just asked me questions. I don’t think I have the mental capacity to recite it all back to you today,” he was honest. Taking a sip of his coffee and looking away from her.

Giving up so much of himself to her so early in the day, she felt like he was finally comfortable with her.

She found the key to his thoughts and it opened just right, she could see the hurt that flowed through him, but she could also see the happiness. The side of him that he was afraid to bring out, in fear it would get him in more trouble.

“Okay,” she agreed. Sitting at her desk and finally opening the email form Penelope.

She read through his tox-screens, his drug history, his mental state. His first-hand accounts, witness statements, clues and findings his team had made. It all felt like the plot to a bad movie about revenge, possibly even female rage. But for what?

“I finished reading,” she said softly, brows furrowed as she chews the inside of her cheek. “Do you know anyone other than this Mr. Scratch guy who you’ve put away, wronged, lead on, or just pissed off?”

“Why?” He asked, clearly attached to the idea this was all Mr. Scratch’s doing.

“It feels like revenge, but very well planed. Like a women is mad at you so she found your weakness, I’ve done mean shit to exes in the past but this is insane. They knew you’d do anything for your mom, they knew your drug history, and the fact you might get schizophrenia one day, they wanted to drug you and make you think you did all this.”

Spencer stood then, listening to her words as he scrunched his face. Thinking as hard as he could, “can you call Penelope?”

“Yeah,” she nodded as she dialled her number, putting her on speaker phone.

“Well hello there, Love Doctor,” Penelope teased as she answered.

“Um hi, Spencer wanted to talk to you,” she panicked.

“Oh, sorry, how are you Spencer?”

Spencer looked so confused, “I’m good… Y/N and I were looking at the case files you sent-”

“Good, did you find anything?” Penelope cut in, eager to talk to him.

“Have you looked into everyone I’ve ever encountered on a case? Specifically women?” Spencer asked. “I told my lawyer and Emily that I remember a woman being there and helping, she must know me from a case too, like the other prison escapees he’s helped?”

“On it pretty boy, any specifics about her that you remember?” Penelope asked over the sound of her keyboard clicking away.

“Long brown hair, but it’s probably different now,” he added. “Everything else is dark, I didn’t see her face or any other features.”

“Alright, call me anytime Spence, I miss you,” Penelope said softly, changing her tone to a more sensitive one. “Take care of each other, my loves.”

“Love you,” they say at the same time. Looking at each other awkwardly after she hung up, leaving them to sit with their words alone.

Spencer was leaning so close to her she could feel his body heat radiating off him. Spencer placed his hand on her shoulder as he stood straight, towering over her as she looked up at him.

“I have patients to talk to, but I brought chess for you to teach me later,” she smiled up at him.

“Can’t wait,” he beamed a smile back.

She felt his hand rub the back of her blue scrubs lightly, pulling away as he walked back around to his desk. She watched him with careful eyes, wishing he would have stayed longer.

—

Normally at 4:30, Y/N would bring Spencer a tray of whatever the kitchen was serving her patients for dinner that night. Tonight, however, she walked into her office at 5 pm on the dot, closing the clinic for the night and putting all her attention on Spencer.

“So,” she smiled as she leaned against her office door, excitement radiating out of her. “A little birdie told me that you really like Indian food, Tandoori chicken to be exact…”

“No way?” He gasped as he turned around in his chair.

She nodded with a cheeky grin, “homemade so I could sneak it in.”

She took her lunch box out of her mini-fridge, opening it up to show him the 2 Tupperware containers. One for him, the other for her. She took the lids off and dished it onto 2 plates she keeps in the cabinet above the fridge.

Spencer grew more and more excited as she warmed it up, filling the room with a familiar smell. He was so happy, “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you do for me?”

“Come here,” she said softly, watching him walk towards her carefully.

She wrapped her arms around his middle, holding him in a hug. He carefully placed his hands on her back, holding her against his chest as he snuggled his cheek into her hair again.

“I’ll take hugs as payment from now on,” she pulled back from him as the microwaved beeped.

Taking a plastic spoon from the cutlery jar, she opened the microwave and handed him a plate. “Did you want to stay in here or go to the break room? I never use it cause I don’t have any co-workers, but it has a couch and a coffee table?”

“Okay,” he smiled. Taking the plate from her and waiting for her to warm up her own meal before taking a bite.

He was ever the gentleman.

Y/N reached back into her lunch box, taking out the package of naan bread, seeing Spencer’s eyes basically roll into the back of his head. “You thought of everything?”

“Bread is my life,” she laughed.

When her food was ready, she placed it on top of the chess box and led the way down to the break room. Spencer holding every door for her.

She flicked on the lights in the break room, watching them strobe before making that awful powering up frequency. She groaned, putting her food on the table before turning on a few lamps instead.

The room went from bright and anxious to relaxed and personal, the amber glow bouncing off the cream walls, it was nice. As nice as it could be in a prison. She never thought she’d be having a date at a prison.

That’s basically what this was, a date.

She made him dinner, they were going to play games, he was going to sit right beside her, close enough to kiss. She really wanted to, she’s thought about it a lot, his pink lips were perfect and she just wanted to see how they’d feel between her own.

But she wont.

“Dig in honey,” the name rolled over her tongue like it was always meant to.

She felt his eyes on her right away, realizing that she called him honey in a situation where he wasn’t crying, where he wasn’t vulnerable. She said it as a term of endearment, she couldn’t stop the embarrassment form settling in her veins.

She sat beside his softly, picking up her dinner and pretending it didn’t happen. “Thank you,” Spencer cut into the awkwardness.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly. Feeling like she could flip inside out at any moment.

From the corner of her eye she saw him take the first bite, closing his eyes as he appreciated the moment. His shoulders settled as he chewed, she could swear he almost moaned as he ate it. She has had the food in the cafeteria before, she understood his reaction.

“That good?” She asked, teasing him softly.

He nodded, silent as he took it all in. He took another bite, and another, she felt like he was going to get the hiccups at this rate but it was too cute to stop. He was like a stray dog eating inside for the first time in months, it made her happy and then a little sad.

He stayed quiet the whole time. Crossing his legs as he sat on the couch, the plate pulled in close to his chest as he shovelled spoonfuls of food into his mouth. She sat there admiring him as he did so, falling more and more every time she glanced at him.

“That was delicious,” Spencer said as he stood, placing his plate on the counter across the room. “Are you done?” He asked, taking her plate as she reached it out to him.

“Yeah, thanks,” she watched him carefully, always wanting to help her in whatever way he could.

He didn’t sit on the couch when he came back, instead, sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, taking the chess set out and beginning to set it up. Not wanting to miss a moment of the freedom he felt when he was with her.

“So, chess is pretty easy to learn,” he said, looking up at her through thick eyelashes as he spoke. “Do you know any of the rules yet?”

“Um, I know where they all go, I know that you can’t go through other pieces and the horse gets to jump?” She tried to remember all the way back to grade 4, the last time someone explained the rules to her.

He was so soft with her, explaining the rules and showing her what to do. His hand would lightly brush over hers occasionally, eventually, he’d just guide her hand over the pieces that she should move. It was so nice to just be alone with him, knowing they were both allowed to be happy.

The room was mostly silent, only the sound of Spencer's advice and her giggle as she still wasn’t grasping the concept of the game.

“I just like, don’t care about the rules?” She couldn’t stop giggling at the fact she wasn’t picking up on anything he said.

Spencer laughed, it was deep and hearty, right from his soul, “then how do you want to play?”

She picked up the queen and moved it to a random spot, “I want to put this here and fight your guy. That’s why I don't get this, what is my XP? What are their skills? I was raised on Pokemon, honey.”

He made his way back to the couch, sitting closely beside her. “Well sugar pie, do you have any other games you want to play?”

She couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and pressing her lips against his. His hands wrapped around her waist on instinct as they connected.

It was everything she imagined. Soft, gentle, refreshing. Like a cold glass of ice tea on a hot summers day. She wanted more, never letting up as she kissed him.

Spencer was the one to pull off first, “shit,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand as she stared at him, horrified.

He laughed, smiling at her softly. “It’s okay,” he promised, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

She doesn’t stop him from pulling her back in, holding her hand on his cheek as he kissed her again. Hungrier than before, Spencer’s tongue was on a mission. He tastes like dinner, but with his own Spencer difference.

Kissing him felt like a fairytale coming true.

She forgot where they were, his hands on the back of her scrubs and her hands in his hair as their mouths clashed. She started to lay back on the couch, pulling him down on top of her.

“We can't,” he pants against her lips. Regretting it as he pulls away from her.

“Sorry, this was unprofessional I know,” she tried to play it off.

Spencer pulled her back in, flush against his chest once more. “No, I don’t regret it. It’s just, I’m not ready.”

“Oh,” she says softly. Then it clicks, “oh, oh my god, Spencer I’m so sorry I forgot. I didn’t mean to push you into anything,” she worries, running her hands over his arms softly.

He shakes his head, “you didn’t. I want to, believe me, I just don’t think I can handle the after part…”

“I cried for 3 hours after I had sex again, after everything,” she told him in complete honesty. Not even Savannah or Derek knew that.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to,” she assured him. “You shouldn’t have to be the only vulnerable one here, I want you to know about me.”

“You don’t have to tell me the details, I don’t want to think about someone hurting you,” he whispered, his eyes innocently studying her face for how she was feeling.

“Okay, so here’s everything else,” she was still holding his face in her hands. Rubbing her thumb over his cheeks. “I had 2 moms and a little sister, and I was raised in Boston. I met Savannah in 2004, I worked with her until a few years ago. She’s my best friend, Derek is like my big brother.”

She gave him the basics, “I don’t have a dad, my mom used the same donor for me and my sister, so I’ve never really felt safe around men because I never knew many.”

“Understandable,” he smiled softly. “what’s your mom like?”

“She died when I was 26,” she pressed her lips together awkwardly. “I haven’t talked to her wife since then, my other mom, she remarried not long after. I think she was cheating on my mom when she was going through chemo.”

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer whispered.

“I can relate to a lot of the stories I know about you already. My mom was my world, I don’t know my dad. I’ve been hurt by people, I’ve lost a lot of myself while trying to help others,” she brushed her nose against his softly. Letting him know she wasn’t pulling back any time soon. “Who you are is not what you did, or what you’ve been through.”

He kisses her again softly. Breathing in through his nose lightly, his hand on her back pulling her in closer and closer. He didn’t want to let her go, and she was more than happy staying in his embrace forever.

He pulled back softly, “I lied to you.” He whispered against her lips.

“When?” She asked, scared to know the answer.

“I do remember you from Derek’s wedding, he told me about you a long time ago. I told him I was ready for dating again when you told him about Mark,” he couldn’t look at her.

“That’s not a huge lie,” she smiled softly. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking at you all night, with that little blond boy. You two were so sweet, Mark got really mad at me for staring at you actually.”

“Derek told me when he hurt you, he came to my apartment right after so he wouldn’t go and kill him,” Spencer’s voice was so low she had to stare at his lips to understand him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she shook her head softly, kissing the tip of his nose. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to go back to my cell,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against hers.

Breaking her heart in the process.

She kissed his cheeks and his lips a few times, peppering kisses to his soft face to make up for it. “We can’t do this again until you’re free,” she whispered.

“I understand.”

“So you better think long and hard about this woman you remember so I can track her down and shove her in that cell instead,” Y/N’s stern voice made him smile.

“Thank you,” he replied again, hugging her the way he promised he would thank her from now on.

—

For being 9 pm on a spring night, it was rather warm in the Vermont parking lot. She left the prison a while ago, not able to leave Spencer’s gravitational pull yet as she sat there, staring at the prison thinking about him alone in his cell instead of pressed against her chest for the rest of the night.

Thinking about the feeling of Spencer’s hands on her body and his tender lips. Her hand over her mouth as she remembered how his bottom lip ghosted over her own, the anticipation was enough to light her on fire.

She took out her phone and called Derek, knowing he would put her on speaker if they were already in bed for the night. Really needing her best friends right now.

“Hey kick-ass, how are you doing today?” Derek’s voice was overly cheery, “Hey!” Savannah added in the background.

“I’m in love with him.”

Chapter 6

She barely slept anymore. Waking up at 6 am every morning without her alarm clock, her heart physically aching to return to Spencer's side after a night without him. She felt like a love-sick school girl, wanting to be with him all day even if they had nothing to say. Just looking at him was enough to make her happy.

A few weeks passed. Weeks filled with smiles and laughter, singing and reading, inside jokes and shared jello cups. She was so madly in love with him, hugging him every morning when he arrived and every night before he left. Keeping her word, kissing him on the cheek every so often instead.

She started a routine of picking up a coffee and a donut for Spencer every single Thursday, worried that he probably thought about his case all night, yet again. Which only kept her up worrying all night about him, wondering if he was doing okay all alone.

Only getting sleep when she remembered that he had a photo of her, his mom, Derek and hank with him. He’d be okay.

She walked into the infirmary to find Jerry and Mike waiting for her with a guard. Mike bleeding all down his face while Jerry held his clearly broken hand.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” she sighed. Putting all her things in her office before coming back to care for them.

She excused the guard, telling him she had it from here. They wouldn’t put up any more fights with her, they looked up to her like a momma bear, and they were her terrible cubs.

“It is 7:33 am, who the fuck did you have to fight this early?” She whisper yelled at them. Not wanting to wake Leo in the care ward, “who is worth this?”

“You don’t want to know,” Mike said under his breath.

“Well clearly he’s not here, is he dead or in violent crimes? If you two fucked up our plan of me helping you during parole next year, I’m going to be pissed,” she tried her best to entice the answers out of them.

“It was Shaw,” Jerry said softly. “He was planning to hurt the new guy, he’s all fake buddy-buddy with him.”

“Excuse me?” She panicked.

“He’s been talking to Milos at night in the locker room, Wilkins lets him out of his cell and into gen-pop,” Mike carried on the story as she tried to clean the blood off his eyebrow.

“What are they going to do to Spence?”

“Spence?” Jerry teased her, poking her side. “I didn’t know he had a nickname already. Why haven’t we met him yet?”

“I’ve kept him locked away to be safe, I’m going to find a way to keep him here at night,” She said softly. “He’s best friends with my brother, I can’t let him get hurt.”

“So you knew him in freedom land?”

She nodded, “a little.”

“All you need is a bandaid,” she changed the subject as she reached into her kit. “And Jerry I’m going to have to set your fingers back in place, if you scream in my face, I will kick you in the nuts.”

They laughed at her fake tuff guy act, never actually being able to hurt them. They were her buddies, giving her a big hug after she finished with them. Getting them both a pudding and telling them to stay put for the day if they wanted to.

Spencer found her in the lab when he arrived, she knew it was him when the door opened, no one else had a passkey to get in. She was writing down some numbers on a chart when he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She dropped her pen and turned around in his grasp, holding his face in her hands immediately as she pulled him into a quick kiss.

“I thought you said I couldn’t do that again till I’m free?” He asked softly. Kissing her a second time as he finished.

She smiled against his lips, “you’re free when we’re alone.”

He kissed her harder. His hands around her waist as he picked her up slightly. Twirling her around as they kissed, she laughed against his skin. Unable to stop herself from smiling as she held onto him.

She kissed him one last time as he put her down on the floor, “I have a coffee and donut for you in my office.”

“You’re too good to me, Sugar Pie.”

“Anything for you, Honey Bunch,” she bit her lip as she smiled at him again. So absolutely overwhelmed with love for him.

“I actually have a serious question to ask you,” his tone changed, making her concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m still trying to figure out more about that night, and I think I want to try exposure therapy,” he explained. “I was wondering if you’d help me get high, so I can remember what happened in the same mindset.”

“Okay,” she nodded softly. “I can book you in for the night here, say you’re under observation, and I’ll stay here with you.”

“Are you sure?”

She kissed him softly again, looking up at him with a smile after. “If you’re sure about it, I’ll help you. But we need some ground rules.”

“Of course,” he agreed. Letting go of her as she stepped back, leaning against the counter now.

“No kissing, nothing like that, we’ll do it in my office so you can be alone and then later you’ll sleep in the observation room. Leo is in there, he’s harmless and sleeps all night on his morphine anyway,” she explained. “I’m not going to take advantage of you, I don’t want you to regret it. It’s going to be hard to sober up again once you get a taste of euphoria in here.”

He nodded along as she set the rules, “those are good. Thank you.”

“They drugged you with heroin, and while I know where to get some, I’m not letting you do that,” she laughed. “I have Dilaudid in pills and liquid morphine.” Letting him pick his poison.

“The pills will be fine,” he said softly.

“Alright,” she smiled. “And if you want, when you get out I can take you to a meeting? You’ll need to talk to someone other than me, someone who gets it.”

“You’ll stay with me after all this?”

“As long as you let me,” she felt her heart grow 3 sizes at the way his puppy dog eyes stared back at her. “Go have your breakfast and I will come to see you soon, okay honey?”

His smile was glorious, she could feel the love radiating off him as he looked at her. It felt wonderful, knowing at that moment her feelings weren’t one-sided. That he wanted her just as bad as she wanted him. He was going to be good to her.

—

She had mike and Jerry help her move the couch from the break room and into her office, allowing them to meet Spencer, finally. It was awkward at first, two big muscle men telling him how much they also loved their Sugar.

“Should we tell him?” Mike nudged Jerry.

“What?” Spencer asked softly, sitting at his desk on the other side of the room, really not enjoying their alpha energy.

“Shaw, Milos and Wilkins are all secretly buddies, they were planning to hurt you and so Mike and Jerry beat Shaw up in the yard,” she scrunched her face as she explained it, not ready for his reaction.

“How?”

“After they cut that kid's throat, they wanted to get you to run heroin for them. But you ended up in here, we heard them in gen-pop last night saying they wanted to get you,” Jerry explained as he played with the bandages on his hand. “He won't be out of the violent offender's infirmary for a while.”

“Thank you,” he replied to them with a pressed-lipped smile. “I need to call my team about the case.”

That was their queue to leave, Y/N patting them on the back for the help, telling them they could stay with Leo or go back to the yard, she didn’t care. They just couldn’t be in her office for this.

Spencer looked a little pissed off. “I didn’t ask them to do that,” she said, defensively.

“I’m not mad at you,” he shakes his head softly as steps into her space. “You’re the only person I can trust in here.”

She placed her hand on his chest softly, “call Penelope. Take your time on the phone with the team.” She handed him her cell phone, “FaceTime them if you want. See their faces, it’ll be okay.”

He hugged her, a silent thank you. She ran her hands over his back as she pressed her face into his neck. Holding back every instinct to tell him she loved him as she pulled away.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiled. Taking her phone, “how do I?”

She couldn’t help laughing, “here,” she dialled Penelope’s cellphone number and hit the FaceTime button.

Seeing her beautiful, bright and bubbly face smile as she answered. “Hey! Oh my god, hold on,” they watched as she got up and ran down a hallway.

Spencer was instant giggles and smiles, a side of him she’s never seen before. True, pure love. This was his family, these were his people. She could see herself fitting into his little world one day.

“Guys! It’s Spencer!” She yelled as she ran into another room.

“What’s wrong?” “Is he okay?”

Suddenly she turned the phone sideways to show all his co-workers. “Hi!” He waved to them.

“Spence!” Emily and JJ cheered, “oh you look so good.”

“I feel good, how are you all?” He asked softly, taking her phone and sitting down at his desk.

She watched him softly from the door, slipping out when she saw his attention was fully on his past life. She walked down the hall towards the lab, hearing his laughter through the walls.

—

She placed 2 pills in a plastic cup, taking an apple juice and jello from the fridge for Spencer. She placed it on his desk 20 minutes before his shift ended, giving him a little space to decide when he wanted to. He told her that he get’s cold when he comes down from a high, so she leaves a fluffy blanket and a pillow on the couch before slipping back out of the room.

She returned to the care unit, looking over Leo as he got ready for the night. Administering his meds and wishing him a good night. She closed his curtain, so when Spencer eventually went to bed he wouldn’t be disturbed.

When she finally settled into her office for the night, Spencer was in the dark. Sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. “Hey,” he said softly.

“How are you?” She asked softly. Closing the door behind herself. Locking it and making sure all the blinds were closed.

“It’s going to hit soon,” he said softly. Suddenly embarrassed and closed off, hiding from her as he laid down.

She didn’t want to bother him, sitting at her desk with her reports. The light from the computer is just enough to see what she was looking at. She glanced at him every few minutes to make sure he was okay.

He enjoys it at first, a blissed-out look on his face as his head is tossed back against the couch. She knows the exact euphoria he’s feeling, she understood perfectly why someone would want to escape like that.

Then his face changes as he starts to hate it, he mumbles to himself with his eyes squeezed shut, she could see him gripping the sheets as he tries to force himself to remember.

She’s uncomfortable watching it, feeling like an intruder. She tried to only focus on her work, flipping through emails and Twitter, scrolling through Facebook for the first time in months to preoccupy her mind.

He was like that for at least an hour.

She could hear his teeth chattering as he came down, just like he said would happen. “You okay, honey?”

“Y-yeah,” he tried to speak through the shaking. “C-can we cuddle?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, turning on her desk lamp before joining him on the couch.

She pulled him up into a sitting position, sitting where his head once was and letting him settle into her lap. She ran her hands through his hair, combing through the locks as she shushed him. Running her hand up and down his back in a tender motion, he snuggled into her leg.

“I’m not that high anymore,” he says softly.

“I know, it’s okay if you are. I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“I love you,” he whispers.

It makes her stop. Her whole body stills at the words, he wanted to clarify so she’d know it wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. She closes her eyes and squeezes them shut, biting her lip as she tries not to burst into tears.

He felt it too.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, “sit up.” She instructs him softly.

She laid down against the couch then, waiting for him to snuggle into her side. Wrapping the blanket around them both as they found the most comfortable position.

“Sorry,” he whispered against the crook of her neck.

“It’s okay, it just feels wrong for me to say it back right now. I feel the same, believe me, Spencer.” She wanted to assure him to the best of her ability. “But you’re still an inmate in my care, I can’t. Not yet.”

“You don’t have to,” he pulled back to look her in the eyes, his own still droopy from how tired the drugs made him. “I’m going to love you regardless.”

She broke her own rules. Kissing him softly, holding him close to her, under the blanket where both their body heat was trapped. She had never felt safer in her entire life.

Spencer only crawling into that bed in the care ward when he woke up to her alarm the following morning.

Chapter 7

There’s someone banging on her office door just a little after 8 am. She was in the middle of putting a new pair of scrubs on over her long-sleeve undershirt, the banging on her door doesn’t stop until she opens the door.

“What?” She yells at them.

It’s Officer Wilkins. “Where is inmate Reid? We have a visitor for him.”

“No one is scheduled to see him today?”

“There is now. Where is he?” The man towered over her. Trying his best to intimidate her.

“Care ward. I’ll get him. You can go wait in the waiting room,” she pushes past him. Watching him stumble as he hits the wall.

“He’s not worth dying over,” he whispers under his breath.

She doesn’t leave Reid’s side as Wilkins attempts to escort him to an interrogation room. Y/N stands in the observation room as Spencer waits, cuffed to the table. Looking through the mirror at each other, only he couldn’t see her. He just knew she would be there.

“Mom?” Spencer’s shocked voice breaks her out of her thoughts as she sees Diana walking into the room.

A dark-haired woman she’s never met before escorting her in. Y/N whips her phone out to take a quick photo before running back to her office as quickly as she can.

Y/N: I need you to check on Cassie, Diana’s nurse. Someone I don’t know just brought Diana to the prison.

She attached the photo she took, setting her phone down to looking through the visitor's logs on her computer. Wanting to know the name of the woman accompanying Diana.

“I’m sorry,” the familiar voice says from her doorway.

She looks up at him from her desk. Wilkins is stepping into her space with a look of guilt, taking his baton off his belt.

“You don’t have to do this,” she backed up against the wall, trying to keep as much distance from him as possible.

“I have to,” his tone changed. Like a personality switch, his eyes darkened as he charged at her.

She ran around the desk, watching him follow. Punching her in the face, causing her to fall back against the couch, she didn’t want him to get on top of her. Dropping to the carpeted floor as he dove onto the couch.

She crawled on the floor towards the door as he tried to get up. Standing as fast as she could, roundhouse kicking him in the face with a grunt. Her foot hit his jaw at just the right angle, rendering him unconscious.

She reached for his cuffs as soon as he hit the floor, “Leo!! Help!” She screamed down the hall.

She heard bare feet running down the hall, followed by the sound of rubber on linoleum. “Sugar??” Mike and Jerry yelled as they followed.

“Watch him,” she insisted once the cuffs were on him. “Hurt him if you have to.”

She took the second pair of cuffs off Wilkins's belt before running out of the room, her lip busted and bleeding down her neck.

She ran down the hall towards Spencer, busting into the room and knocking the nurse to the ground. Struggling to get her onto her stomach, “stop struggling, who the fuck are you?”

“Get off me!” She screamed in return.

Y/N cuffed her and pulled her to her feet, pushing her against the stone wall.

“What is going on?” Spencer stood up, cuffed to the table so he couldn’t help.

“Wilkins just attacked me, Diana wasn’t supposed to be here,” she said over her shoulder in Spencer’s direction. “So I’ll ask again,” she whispered in the woman's ear as she pushed her against the wall harder. “Who, the fuck! Are you?”

“He knows me,” she spat out.

Y/N ripped her off the wall, making her look at Spencer who was shocked, speechless as he tried to remember her face. “Who is she?”

“She told me Cassie was fired, she’s been with me all morning?” Diana tried to explain, slightly freaking out.

“I sent her photo to Penelope, I need a guard,” Y/N said, hauling the unknown women into the hall with her.

—

The prison was put on lockdown as they tried to figure out this security breach. Wilkins and the nurse being held in prison custody as they waited for the BAU team to fly in.

Figuring out that her name was Lindsay Vaughn, Spencer remembered as much as he could about her. How he tried to save her dad, losing him to his carnal need to kill. Lindsay following closely in her daddy's footsteps.

Diana sat at Spencer’s desk, Mike and Jerry stand watch at the door. Y/N was sitting on top of her desk in front of Spencer, it was his turn to run alcohol over her cuts. Holding her face in his hands as he cared for her.

“I'm sorry,” he mouths the words at her. Not wanting his mother to overhear them.

She nods in response, unable to smile as the cut on her lips stings. All things considered, she could have been in a lot worse condition if it wasn’t for Derek and her training.

She wants to kiss him, she can tell he’s looking over her shoulder at his mom. Waiting to make sure she’s not looking before he leans in a little closer.

Pressing their lips together as silently as possible, his eyes still on her’s as they did so. It’s the most tender kiss she’s ever had, “I’m okay Spence,” she said softly as he pulled back.

“I’m still sorry you were dragged into this,” holding her against his chest softly.

From where she was sitting on top of her desk, she placed her head on his chest, holding him as close as she could, his cheek resting on her head. She wrapped her legs around him, not wanting to let him go, ever.

Needing the comfort he brought her, now more than ever.

When Derek and she started training again it was mostly to help her feel safe. To know what to do if it happened again. She didn’t ever expect it to, thinking it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. That she’d learn from it and then she wouldn’t be in this situation again, being punched in the face by a man.

She started to cry, the throbbing pain in both her face and her foot taking over as the adrenaline dissipated, she was too overwhelmed to do anything more. He let her cry against him, rubbing his hand on her back as he kissed her forehead.

She couldn’t wait for him to get out of here, and she was going to leave with him.

—

Derek is the first to burst through the door. Wrapping Spencer up in the biggest hug she’s ever seen him give. Rocking Spencer back and forth in his grasp as he kissed Spencer's cheek a few times.

He pulled back, holding Spencer's face in his hands. Smiling so he didn’t cry, “they’re dropping the charges.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope,” Derek shakes his head adding, “You’re free.” Expecting Spencer to hug him again.

Instead, Spencer turns to Y/N and pulls her into a kiss. She’s startled at first, eyes wide open as Spencer’s hands find her waist and pulls her right up against him.

She can't help but settle against him. Holding his face in her hands as she kisses him back. He picks her up slightly, spinning her around with his face buried in her neck as she yelps.

Everyone in the room watching him celebrate with her in shocked silence.

He placed her back on the ground, kissing her one last time. “You did it, Spence,” she smiles at him.

“We did it.”

She hears someone clearing their throat. Both of them turning to see the Warden as well as the entire BAU team standing in her doorway. But they don’t pull apart, Spencer’s hand stays on her side as they wait to get yelled at.

“I quit,” Y/N said before he could say anything to her, “and I might sue.”

“I’m suing for sure,” Spencer added.

“We’re terribly sorry for the condition of your stay Doctor Reid. And Doctor Y/L/N, I’ll never be able to make it up to you. I’m incredibly sorry for what Wilkins did,” the warden tried to cover his ass from a bureau lawsuit.

“Too late for that,” Emily added. Stepping into the room more. “Doctor Reid will be leaving with us, now.”

“Understood,” the Warden hurried out of the room before any more damage could be done.

Everyone took a turn hugging Spencer then. A handful of them even hugging Y/N as well.

Emily wrapped Y/N up in a hug, rubbing her back the way she would all those years before. “Thank you, you have no idea what he means to us.”

“I think I do,” she laughed against her. “If that’s not weird?”

“Not at all,” she pulled back, looking at Y/N with her big beautiful eyes, her bangs pushed out of the way so she could take a good look again. “You two are good together.”

She smiled, “thanks Em.”

“We need to fill him in on everything, will you stay with Diana?” Emily asked.

“Of course, I’m just going to be packing up some things anyway,” she said as she turned to Spencer. “Have fun with your friends, honey.”

“Thanks, sugar,” he kissed her on the cheek before walking out. Everyone whistling and hollering at the boldness Dr. Reid had developed in prison.

They all filed out after him, she watched the door with a soft smile as they wandered down the hall, Spencer taking them to the break room so they could chat.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Diana’s small voice came from Spencer’s desk.

“Oh, Diana,” she smiled. “Can I give you a hug?”

Diana nodded as she walked over to her, wrapping her up in a hug, much like how Spencer would. She can imagine Spencer’s hugs once feeling like this, imagining him small and shy, holding her slightly. Unlike his more beefy, relaxed form since being in prison.

“He means the world to me too,” she says softly as Diana pulls away.

“You saved him, if he didn’t have you he might not still be my soft and sweet little Spencer,” Diana patted her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for making him,” she laughed slightly. “He’s a wonderful man, I have a feeling you played a big role in that.”

Her smile was just like his. The smile of a mother, someone who was going to love him forever, maybe she’d love her too. Y/N felt a little emotional, this could be her family one day.

Chapter 8

There was a lot of information to process as she sat at the BAU round table.

Learning the entire plot of some women’s revenge against Spencer, just how much Wilkins and Lindsay were involved, the crazy scheme they planned and how terribly it would have ended if she wasn’t there.

Spencer, on the other hand, was visiting this Cat person in prison. The one who orchestrated it all, the one who was obsessed with Spencer, the love of her life, to the point she might be having his baby. He had some things to settle with her.

He was on edge before he left, going with Derek and JJ while Y/N stayed back with Diana. David Rossi had even offered to let them all stay at his guest house later that night, seeing as Spencer’s apartment was a crime scene.

Lindsay murdered Cassie, leaving her dead body on Spencer’s apartment floor. Ruining the place he was so desperate to return to.

She was a little out of it. Trying to think of everything that happened and everything she would have to do in the next few days. Compiling a list in her mind as the anxiety bubbled in her gut.

She needed a new job and a new place to live. First, she’d have to go back to Vermont to pack, and she’d have to find a way to support her boys on Parole. And Mike and Jerry.

She put her hands over her face and rested against the table. Overwhelmed with everything, her face still hurting, the lights were too much, she was tired.

Then she was crying softly.

“Hey,” Emily rubbed her back softly. “Shhh, it’s okay, what’s wrong Y/N?”

She sat up and wiped her eyes with a small laugh, embarrassed that her kinda ex-girlfriend was comforting her. “I’m stressed?” She answered, not even really sure herself.

Emily smiled while she nodded, looking so different now than she did back when they first met. Older, but in a beautiful way, gracefully becoming who she was always meant to be. “I get it, believe me.”

She remembered Derek saying she ‘died’ once. How they buried her casket and how pissed they were when they found out she was actually alive. Y/N only knew Emily re-born, as they called her.

She was always caring, always wanted to comfort and make people happy. It was the way she coped with hurting them all, but it carried on past the team. It carried on to strangers, victims, sometimes even unsub’s.

And most definitely Y/N.

There was a part of Y/N that wonders what loving Emily would have been like; if it would have felt half as good as loving Spencer. Or would it be better? She’d never really know, but she could imagine it would have been nice.

“How can we help?” Emily asked, still as wonderful as ever.

“I need a new job,” she laughed. “Can Penelope use her mad skills to find a reputable business in need of a doctor around here?”

“Are you moving back to Virginia?” She smiled at the thought.

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a smile growing on her face. “I’m kind of attached to Spencer now.”

“Good, maybe Derek can help you find a place, he has like, what 7? Right now that he’s fixing up?” Emily threw out ideas. “You’ll get the ball rolling soon, it’ll all be fine.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For not giving up on him, I know you would never but, I was worried he had lost all hope and you never did. Thank you.”

Emily hugged her again, not saying anything. Y/N knew there was nothing to thank her for, this was a family. They would kill for each other if they needed to.

“Let’s go see Penelope,” Emily replied as she pulled away. Standing and extending a hand for Y/N.

The BAU offices were so interesting, many people running around to get jobs done before the end of the day as the main team chilled. It was like any other office she was in; controlled chaos and hierarchy.

Diana was sitting with Penelope in her office, flipping through a scrapbook while eating a jello cup. It made her smile to see it ran in the family.

“Hey,” Penelope cheered as she noticed them.

“I was just going to ask for some help with something, I see you’re busy,” Y/N awkwardly commented on the situation.

“Oh, we’re not,” Diana said. “I was showing her photos of Spencer. Would you like to see them?”

“I’d love to, um while I’m here, Penelope would you be willing to help me search for a good job?” She asked a lot mousier than Spencer would have if he was asking her for something.

“Of course, what are we looking for?” She wheeled to her main computer, cracking her knuckles as she got ready to look.

“Um, anyone hiring a GP close to here, I’m willing to go all the way to DC for work,” she explained. “I just want a place where I won't get punched again,” she tried to laugh at the trauma.

“The sanatarium is hiring, they’ve got good ratings and not a lot of patient complaints, they’re looking for a physician to care for the elderly members of the program,” Penelope explained as she clicked through screen after screen of info.

“That would be nice,” she smiled towards Diana. “Did you like the one you were at?”

“Oh yes,” Diana mused. “I had many friends there, I miss them and the social aspect. For a bunch of loons, I really loved the company.” She laughed at herself.

“I send the link to you,” Penelope smiled. “Now let me see his little baby bum again that one is my favourite, he’s so funny,” she leaned back in close to Diana.

All the pictures were priceless. Seeing Spencer grow up, page after page, every award and accomplishment displayed proudly. It made her miss her family, the love that a mother could bring to her life.

She got a little emotional, trying to nonchalantly wipe the tear off her cheek as she watched Diana flip a page.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly.

Y/N laughed, “yeah I just miss my mom.” She scrunched her nose so that the tears stayed in, waving her hand in front of her face as she tried to blink the tears back.

“Where is she?” An innocent question opening the floodgates.

“She had cancer,” Y/N cried softly. Not noticing as Emily and Penelope left the room. Giving them a space to bond.

“She died when I was 26,” she explained.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Diana placed her hand on Y/N’s back as she rubbed her softly. “Do you have any other family?”

“My moms are gay, well. After my mom died I stopped talking to her wife, yes she raised me but she hurt my mom too much for me to love her like a parent,” Y/N unloaded her trauma onto Diana, it must be genetic to find comfort in the Reids.

“Spencer never had a father either,” Diana related to her. “After William left it was just us, and Spencer stepped up to being the man of the house. He’s always been thrown into situations where he has no control but he needs to make the decisions. You’re probably the best person he could be with, he doesn’t have to take care of you.”

“Cause I baby him,” she laughed as she wiped stray tears off her cheeks. “He’s pretty wonderful, you did a fantastic job. Both of you did, look at the love you have. This is a perfect family.”

She gestured to the book of photos, seeing the love beaming off Diana’s face as she held a 12-year-old Spencer in her arms. Braces, on his face, thick glasses, long hair. He was adorable.

“You’re welcome to join,” Diana offered softly. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

“Why didn’t you?” She asked softly.

“Why have more when you can stop at perfection,” she smiled, the same wonderful smile Spencer had.

“That he is,” she agreed. “Thank you for him.”

“Thank you, I mean it when I say you saved him,” Diana’s serious look making Y/N cry again.

“I know,” she cried. “And I’d do it again.”

In a heartbeat.

—

Rossi had 3 rooms ready for use in his guest house. Only 2 were ever used during their stay. They spent a few nights recovering together, helping Diana into a new routine for a few days while trying to just spend as much time as possible together out in the real world.

Rossi’s property was huge, never-ending even. He had lake access, ponds with ducks, fields and fields of long grass topped with flowers. It was like a dream getting to explore it together.

Happiness hit her like a freight train, smacking her in the chest and knocking the wind out of her.

She blinked and suddenly she had been waking up in Spencer’s arms for a week straight. Going on adventures together, waiting for him with a coffee outside his NA meetings, holding him all night long.

He had a hard time adjusting to a real bed again, it was too soft. He spent most of his time with his head on Y/N's chest, letting her rub his back slowly as she kissed his head, helping him drift off to sleep every single night. Causing her to fall deeper and deeper in love with him.

Every day beside him was a blessing, no longer was he a dog trapped in a cage. He was free, running with her through the fields like wild horses.

She woke up with him still snuggled into her, arm around her waist, legs tangled together, his face right in the crook of her neck. His hot breath on her skin being the thing that finally woke her up.

Absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair, eyes still closed as she woke up. Snuggling her cheek against the top of his head, causing him to pull her in tighter. Both of them slowly coming alive again.

“I love you,” her voice coarse from sleeping with her mouth open, dry as she licked her lips. It was the only thought that came to her mind. Not even realizing it was the first time she’s said it to him.

Spencer kissed her neck softly, “I love you.”

She couldn’t believe the happiness she was feeling, almost positive that even in her saddest moments she still loved him just this much. He was everything, even under all the scares and trauma, he was the most wonderful person in her whole world. And she was beyond blessed to be holding him in her arms.

The sun was barely up yet, having fallen asleep around 10 pm last night, they were up way earlier than they expected. It was so nice, the deep orange light of the morning sun creeping through the window behind the bed.

“Do you want to go watch the sun come up?” She asked softly.

“Yeah,” he nodded softly. Sitting up with her to get ready.

They put on track pants and sweaters and shoes, grabbing a few blankets and heading outside. A few minutes of walking behind Rossi’s house led them towards a beautiful little pond, they laid out 2 blankets over the dew-soaked grass before cuddling on top of it.

The birds were performing for them, the clouds were cleaning into the most beautiful morning blue sky she had ever seen. She couldn’t help herself from holding him tighter against the blanket.

The sun shined on the water, casting beautiful pinks and oranges across the surface as it stretched into the sky. A few ducks followed their mommas in the May morning breeze, quacking in agreement as they swam across the pond. Playing a game of following the leader.

It was a dream, she was sure of it. It was all too perfect to be real.

Including Spencer, he laid there softly underneath her, holding her against his chest as she appreciated the world around them. His attention only on her, even after being locked up for 3 months. He would always choose her.

“I’m so happy,” she said softly. “You make me so happy.”

He kissed her on the forehead, pushing her back against the blanket so he could kiss her whole face as she laid there. Smiling as she held his sides, letting him smother her in affection.

When he finally stops kissing her, he brushes her hair behind her ear. Cupping her face with one hand as he looks at her. The sun casting a vibrant glow on the both of them as they appreciated each other for a moment.

“I don’t know how I made it so long without you,” he finally speaks. “But I never want to do it again.”

“Move in with me?” She replied without a second thought. “I need to find a place here anyway, and I doubt you want to go back to your apartment.”

“I already asked Derek for the place he was fixing on Wilmont, it’s close to the sanatarium, mom wants to be social again,” he filled her in on his plans. “We just have to sign the lease.”

“We?” She teased him.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

“Good,” she smiled as she pulled him into another kiss. “Because I love you, too.”

Spending time with Spencer was intimacy in its purest form. It was a relationship built on trust, respect, and mutual love. It was the first time in her life she felt truly in love, not mesmerized by the idea of it.

She trusted him when he said that he loved her. She believed him when held her when he talked to her about his day or the most random things his mind could conjure. When he’d just hold her, enjoying her presence without wanting anything more than just her.

Chapter 9

They arrived in Vermont early on a Saturday morning, heading to her apartment to pack everything up. It was just the two of them this time, flying in together, half asleep at the break of dawn.

Only bringing 1 bag with her essentials for the next 2 days, hoping to pack her whole life into a truck and pray it arrived in Virginia okay.

And she got to show Spencer her space. A personal side of her that he had no idea about. He knew her mind, her feelings, her trauma, but he didn’t know what her personality was really like outside of loving him.

He was surprised by the amount of stuff she had. Wandering around her apartment quietly as she started taping boxes into shape.

Rented white walls enclosed the space when she moved in, not being able to paint them or anything felt wrong to her. So she covered them in photos, artwork and posters. Bringing the space to life with a touch of colour.

Mostly neons, having an affinity for green and purple accent pieces. Not a single shade of blue to be found, getting enough of that at work over the years.

She had plants everywhere, an old record player and a million different albums spread across the living room. Her bedroom was a mess, the closet was even worse. The kitchen would be easy to pack, it was the stuff on the walls she was worried about.

“I’m probably not getting my deposit back,” she laughed as she started taking the paintings down.

“I didn’t know you went to Harvard?” He points at her medical degree on the wall as she takes it down.

“Yeah, let me guess you’re a Yale guy?” She teased him.

He scoffed, nudging her arm lightly. “CalTech and MIT actually, Yale was my safety school.”

“Mine too,” she smiled.

Spencer stood beside her and watched for a minute, “what should I do?”

“Pick an area and pack the way you would if this was your place, I trust you won't break anything.”

“Okay,” he nodded, beginning stacking all her books on the kitchen table.

They worked well together, they knew that already. She put on music, they moved around each other freely. Occasionally singing the words and dancing around to the good ones. It was a lovely day to just open the windows and clean.

Hours passed, pizzas had been ordered and destroyed, boxes filled every corner of the space as her personality was completely ripped from the room. Soon it was just them, a couch and the record player.

She got up and walked into the bedroom to change, feeling sticky and gross from the day. Not expecting Spencer to follow and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Who knew packing boxes for 7 hours would make you so sweaty,” she jokes as she peels the shirt off her back. Standing in front of him in just her sports bra.

He turns away from her, making her laugh slightly. “Spencer, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” He asks as he turns back to look at her.

She nods softly, “do you want to shower with me?”

He’s speechless for a moment, staring at her with an open mouth, “yeah, yes sure.”

She can't help herself from laughing, taking his hand and pulling him into her tiny bathroom. She makes sure they both have a few towels, seeing him awkwardly stand by the door like he’s not allowed to move.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she reminded him. “Go as slow as you want.”

“I want to join you, but just to clean,” he made his decision.

“Alright, I have 3 different shampoos you can choose from,” she smiled, opening her cupboard and letting him pick. He smiled, appreciating how easily she made it a strictly business situation.

She took off her pants, watching him get undressed out of the corner of her eye. They had been much more intimate with each other already, getting naked in front of him shouldn’t have been as nerve-racking as it was.

She turned on the water, making sure it was the right temperature with her foot. She took a deep breath and just took the sports bra off, freeing her boobs after a long day felt amazing, replacing the fear of Spencer seeing her for the first time. She dropped her underwear to the floor and stepped into the shower, waiting for him to do the same.

Before she knew it, he was standing in front of her, naked. She didn’t know how to act, just laughing and smiling at him. He did the same, it felt kinda crazy that they were standing in a shower, butt naked as the water pooled at their feet.

“You have to pull the thingy up,” she pointed at the bottom of the shower behind him. “It might be cold when it hits you, here pull it up and hide in the corner, like I do.”

He followed her instructions, pulling the small silver plug up to redirect the water from the tub faucet to the shower head. Cowering into the corner with her, their chests pressed together as the cold water hit his back, making him gasp as she laughed.

She wrapped her arms around him, leaning against the shower wall as she held him against her, “hi,” she whispered through her smile.

He kissed her quickly before backing up under the stream. She watched the water cover his hair, making it darker as it spread through the long locks. She watched it drip down his body softly, her eyes travelling down as it did.

He had a scar on his neck and all the bruising on his chest was long gone. His skin was so pretty, he only had a small amount of chest hair, but it was the collection of freckles all over capturing her gaze the most. She reached out and rested her hand on his chest, seeing his eyes open as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Sorry,” she pulled her hand back.

“It’s okay,” he laughed slightly. “Here,” he reached behind her for the bar of soap, “if you want to touch me while I wash my hair?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. Reaching for the loofa on the tap behind him, standing directly in his space as she did so.

They switched sides, slowly turning so he would be out of the spray of the shower head. He put shampoo in his hands and rubbed it through his hair while she watched quietly for a moment.

She rubbed the bar of soap against the fabric of the loofa, watching it foam up and fill the small space with a soft cucumber scent. Running it over his chest softly as he massaged his scalp. She was so soft with him, mesmerized by how lucky she was.

He was beautiful and soft. He wasn’t big and buff like Derek, he was just a normal man with a love for chocolate donuts and jello. She ran the loofa over his tummy as she smiled, loving everything about him.

Loving every part actually while trying to avoid both eye and physical contact with specific sections of him. Not knowing if he was okay, wanting to respect his space, and appreciating that he was doing the same with her.

He laughed when she ran it along his side, ticking his armpit as he tried to wash his hair, soap dripping down onto his eyebrow. She reached up and wiped it off his face so it wouldn’t go in his eye.

“Thanks,” he smiled.

“Switch?” She said as she guided him back under the water, his eyes still closed from the fear of getting soap in them. Scrunching his face up in the cutest way.

The water cascaded over his body, washing the soap down him as she watched, her hair not even close to being wet enough to wash yet. She just wanted to watch the show, to look at all of him and appreciate the moment.

He opened his eyes once all the soap was gone, his hair longer than ever as it laid flat behind his ears, he looked so funny without a big curly mop of hair on his head, remembering he said it used to be like this at one point.

“Your turn?” He offered, taking the loofa from her and reapplying the soap to it. “Can I?”

“Of course,” she answered as he slowly ran the material over her.

He was so gentle, she watched his face as he washed over her. Biting his bottom lip in concentration as he covered her chest, arms and stomach, “um,” he tried to speak, she knew what he wanted.

She took the loofa from him and replaced it with a bar of soap, “rub it in your hands for a sec, and then use them it’s easier.”

He did just that, lathering up his hands before he placed them directly on her breasts. She let out a sigh, bordering on a moan, as he held them in his hands, massaging the soap in carefully. Thumbs rubbing over her nipples as he made sure to not miss a spot.

She was in heaven, tossing her head back against the shower wall as he ran his hands over her more. Exploring her as she leaned against the wall.

Down her stomach, past her belly button, washing her hips before dropping to his knees. Using the bar of soap once more to wash over her legs as she stared at him, amazed by the bravery he was showing.

The water getting in his eyes down there, he stood and pushed his hair back out of his face as the water dropped to the floor, “turn around?” He asked softly.

“Yeah,” she replied, turning to face the wall.

He ran his soapy hands all over her back, over her shoulders and arms. Paying special attention to her butt, which made her laugh, she was only a little ticklish there.

She was covered head to toe in bubbles, Spencer looked at her with a big grin on his face as he noticed his job was done. Helping her under the water to wash all the soap off.

She lifted her arms to run the water through her hair, feeling her boobs perk up as she did so. Spencer's attention being completely switched to her chest as he watched. “Pass me the gold shampoo bottle?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, grabbing it from behind himself and handing it back to her.

She stepped into his space, pouring the soap into her hand and rubbing it in. “They say if you lather it up it’ll apply easier,” she explained her little life hack as she rubbed her hands together.

Finally running her hands back through her hair in Spencer’s personal bubble. Her boobs pressing against his chest once again. He was breathing heavier as she watched him, hoping soap didn’t make its way into her eye and ruin the moment.

When she finally stepped back to wash the soap out of her hair, Spencer followed, pressing them together once more. Holding her by the waist as she continued to get the soap out.

Once the water ran clean, she rested her hands on Spencer's shoulders. Staring at him as the water ran down her back, his eyelashes covered in water droplets as he stared into her eyes.

He was beautiful like this, just himself.

“Are we ever going to be like a real couple?” He asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

He ran his wet hands over his back as he thought about it for a moment, “I would like to be with you, more than this, but-”

“You mean sex?” She smiled softly, trying her best to not tease him. It was a serious moment, but she loved him too much to see him struggle.

“Yeah, I just don’t know how I’ll react,” he admitted.

“Honey,” she cooed, rubbing her nose against his softly. “Sex doesn’t make us a real couple, first of all. And second, we have all the time in the world, so you take it as slow as you want. We can start little by little, I don’t mind waiting.”

“How do you mean?”

She smirked at him, “have you ever masturbated in the same room as someone else?”

He swallowed sharply, shaking his head softly, “no, have you?”

“No,” she whispered. “But it’s a small step. You can sit beside me, we touch ourselves, nothing overlaps unless you want it to. Ease into it. It would be another easy way to be comfortable with your body around me.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

She reached behind herself to turn the water off, tapping the silver plug with her foot to release the pressure, and stepping out of the shower finally.

—

They dried off, getting into their pj’s before laying on the couch in her empty living room. Listening to the Hozier album that was already sitting on the player and cuddling while their hair dried. Just enjoying each other's company, he was so soft and he smelled amazing, it was so nice to have him in her space.

“Did you still want to?” Spencer cut into the moment.

It made her smile against him, lifting her head off his chest as she went to stand up. “Come on,” she took his hand, helping him to his feet.

She pulled him in close, kissing his lips softly. Only planning to kiss him once, being drawn into his mouth as his hands wrapped around her back.

She held him in return, slowly making her way into the bedroom as they stayed connected, laughing as her back smacked the door frame and then at the way he fell into her bed with her on top.

Her music softly travelled in from the living area, they kept the lights off as they stripped out of their pants and got under the covers.

“How did you want to start?” She asked, turning to face him as she laid against the pillow.

“Can we just kiss for a while?”

“Absolutely,” she smiled, placing a hand on his cheek and leaning in.

She was laying slightly on top of him, holding his face in her hands as she kissed him. His tongue was soft, swirling with hers as they made out softly. He was very handsy, wanting to touch every single part of her once again like he didn’t get enough in the shower.

She spread her leg between his, sitting on his thigh as she rubbed against him. He bit her lip, squeezing her skin at the feeling. “I think I can do it,” he said softly.

“No,” she whispered, kissing his neck before getting off him. “I don’t want to hear I think. It’s a yes or it’s a no.”

“Okay,” he managed to bring reason back into his horny brain.

He took his shirt off, only in boxers beside her, tenting in them slightly. She took off her shirt as well, laying back against the pillow. He watched her breasts the whole time, licking his lips as he leaned on his side.

She ran a hand over her side, cupping her breast and tossing her head into the pillow more. “I’m starting without you,” she teased, her other hand slipping under the band of her underwear.

He laid on his back, bending his knees as he slipped his boxers off, she looked over at him with careful eyes. Genuinely curious about how beautiful he would look rock hard and begging for it.

She didn’t move her hand, just resting it under her underwear to entice him to start. She watched as he stroked himself softly, returning his attention to her smiling face.

She pushed her shirt and underwear off as well, scooting in closer to him so she was pressed against his side. Bending one knee so she could ghost her fingers over the folds as he watched her.

“I want to touch you,” he rushed the words out.

“Okay.”

He reached his left hand over, resting it on her hip before resting his hand on top of hers. She slipped it out from under his grasp, guiding his fingers to her clit as she stretched her legs further apart.

“Yeah, like that,” she encouraged him.

“W-would you?”

“Finish the sentence,” she instructed him. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Stroke me, I want it. Yes.”

She wrapped her fist around him, feeling his fingers swoop down to see how wet she was. “Oh,” she jerked her hips against his side, not expecting him to loop the wetness back up and rub her clit again.

He groaned as she stroked him faster, both of them staring at their own handiwork. She was fascinated with how big he was, being able to stroke up and down him so gracefully it was like she was always meant to. She licked her lips as she saw the pearl of precum drip out. Gathering it up with her thumb as she slid back down his length.

He was panting, trying to hold himself back as she kept jerking him off. Lightly touching her clit as all his attention focused on not cuming so soon.

“It’s okay honey,” she whispered in his ear.

Straddling his thigh then. His hand resting on her clit still as she ground down on him. “Is this okay?” She asked.

He nodded, “yes,” biting his lip so he didn’t explode right then and there.

He felt amazing on her, every time her hips ground down her clit rested right between his fingers perfectly to gain the perfect amount of friction back and forth.

She let herself go, bucking her hips and moaning as she stroked him with one hand. Resting the other behind her neck so he could look at her boobs perk up again, sending him so close to the edge he almost jumped out of his skin.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “C-an I?”

“Cum baby,” she gasped. Following her own instruction as she watched the cum burst from him, shooting up over her fist as she stroked him through it. Grinding against him as she whimpered, “fuck, I love you,” leaving her mouth.

Letting go of his dick as he started to whine, she dropped down against him with her face nestled into his neck.

She kissed him, over and over again. Peppering them against his skin for the best orgasm she has ever had.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his skin as he came down from the high. His chest heaving as he tried to calm down, only picking up again when she heard the sob.

“Shhh,” she whispered against his skin, letting him hold her tighter against him as he cried. “I love you, honey, it’s okay. I’m here for you.”

She felt the tears welling in her own eyes, overwhelmed with her feelings for him. “I love you so much Spencer,” she cried against his skin, the tears dripping down his neck slowly.

His hands ran over her back, they held each other while they cried.

Everything from the last week finally catching up with them both. They hadn’t taken a moment to talk about any of it, the fact he was even in prison or what happened after. They just moved on, pretending it was fine now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered finally.

“Me too,” he pressed his hand onto her cheek, freeing her from his neck as she sat up a little.

Both of them still gross from the sex, pressing sweaty foreheads together as they took a moment. “I’m so sorry,” she emphasized, “are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful,” he laughed at the absurdity. “I’m crying because I love you so much.”

“Really?” She laughed too.

He nodded softly. Kissing her nose as she pulled back to look at him better. “I want to touch you but,” she laughed at the mess on her hand and where she rested it on his chest. “Can we pause for one sec?” She couldn’t stop smiling.

The two of them continuing to laugh at the situation as they cleaned up in the bathroom, laughing even harder as she sat to pee like they had been married for a million years already, laughing the hardest when it came out in dribbles from all the laughing.

Going through every emotion in the book as they coped with the insanity together.

Once they were clean they crawled back into bed. Resuming almost the same position as she sat down on his lap, holding his face in her hands like she wanted to. Rubbing her thumbs on his cheeks as he pulled her in closer by her hips.

“Tell me what you’re feeling?” She whispered.

“I’m happy, you saved my life and I can’t believe I get to do this with you,” he explained softly, moving his hands on her back. He talked with his hands, not able to say anything without them moving.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known, Spencer,” she reassured him.

“Why?” He asked softly. “not in a pity party sense, I just want to know how you feel. You haven’t really told me, I’ve been waiting for you to open up, I thought maybe you were just like that because it was your job, but I want to know you more.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she bumped their noses together. “I don’t normally talk to people, even with Derek I’m really closed off. But I do trust you, and I want to, I just wanted to experience you when you’re free. I wanted to see if this overwhelming ache in my heart would dissipate as I was allowed to love you.”

She didn’t want to cry again. Blinking so the tears rolled back behind her eyes, licking her lips as her head tilted slightly. She just stared at his honey eyes, glossy and blown out. So absolutely beautiful.

“It got worse,” she laughed slightly. “I realized that now that you’re free you don’t have to see me every day, luckily you want to. But, now I think about losing you instead of keeping you safe.”

“Never,” he shook his head, face still cupped in her hands. “I’m never leaving you, you’re going to need a restraining order if you want to break up.”

She laughed, pushing the tears out, finally. Spencer kissed her cheeks, wiping the tears away with his lips. “Okay,” her voice broke as she tried not to cry anymore.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered. “You’re brave and kind, incredibly smart. You’re willing to do whatever it takes for the ones you love, you’re the only person I want to talk to every day.”

“I was going to say that about you,” she pressed their lips together finally, pushing him back against the headboard.

She laid her head on his shoulder, cuddling into him as she sat in his lap, “I have never loved anyone like this.”

“Me either,” he admitted as he pressed his cheek to her head. “Not even with Maeve, or Derek I know he told you.”

“And your mom,” she smiled. “She actually welcomed me to the family, said she always wanted a daughter. It’s nice to have a mom again.”

That broke him, he finally dropped the tuff boyfriend act he was putting up to hear her feelings, crying at his mother and the love of his life being close. She could tell he was a mamma’s boy, they had a bond Y/N wished she could have with someone. The closest she had to a Diana was Derek, as funny as that was.

She let him cry, not prying into it at all. Letting him take control of his emotions and the conversation. She ran her hands up and down his arm, soothing him softly as he held on to her.

“I was so scared,” is all Spencer says.

“I can imagine.”

“No, I mean about my mom,” he corrects her softly. “I thought the second she got her diagnosis that I ruined everything for her. She was going to forget me before I could even find a person to marry, let alone give her grandkids.

‘She was going to forget me,’ echoed in her mind as she wrapped her head around what he was saying. He was more terrified of losing his mother and missing time with her than he was about being in prison. He really put every ounce of his love into his family, it was beautiful.

“I applied to work at the sanatarium,” is how she answers. “They needed a GP and I need a job. This way I can see her every day, and you can go to work or teach or do whatever and know she’ll be okay. And old people seem nicer than cops and criminals.”

“I love you.”

She laughs, kissing his neck softly. “She’ll be okay, we’ll get her taken care of and who knows, maybe we’ll have more answers before a grandkid rolls around.”

It’s a risk, joking about having kids with him already. But she was ready for a life sentence with him, willing to stay in that god-awful prison as long as he was there. Including if he lost his case.

“You’re too good to me.”

“I try,” she smiled. “You’re pretty fantastic yourself, I didn’t just fall in love with your pretty face, sure you’re helpful and do what I say. But I love you because of what’s in here,” she ran her hand over his chest.

He just held her, silence encapsulating the room finally. The record stopped playing in the living room, no one was on the street at this time of night, the world stopped as she laid in his arms.

The Sunday morning sun was going to start coming up as she stayed up in his lap, both of them settling more against the pillow. She had no plans to get off him, he had no plans to separate from her loving embrace.

a/n: still working on an epilogue idk when it'll be done

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scorpionyx9621 · 3 years ago

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Do you think Jason Todd fandom is kinda toxic? Because it seems like NO MATTER what DC do, there'll always be complains. Forget the bad adaptation like Titans. Even Judd Winick cannot escape the criticism with how he potrayed Robin!Jason. They just never satisfied.

SORRY, IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS. I just moved from Washington D.C. to Seattle, which, for my non-American friends, that's 4442km away. And I DROVE THERE ALL BY MYSELF. And now I'm trying to find new work in a new city and trying to stay mentally healthy and positive. Life is exciting but hard and scary.

*sighs*

As someone who was a fandom elder with V*ltr*n. I've seen some of the worst when it comes to fandom behavior. I'm talking people baking food with shaving razors and trying to give them to the showrunners. I'm talking leaking major plot details and refusing to take it down unless they make their ship canon (I am looking at you, Kl*nce stans) For the most part, DC Comics has had a decades-long reputation of treating their fans like trash and not caring what they think so from what I've seen, we all just grumble and complain in our corners of the internet about how we don't like how X comic portrays Jason Todd.

The challenge with Jason Todd is that he's your clinical anti-hero, the batfamily's Draco in Leather Pants, he's a jerkass woobie, and on top of all of that, he's a Tumblr sexyman. It's a perfect storm for a very fun but frustrating character to be a fan of. It doesn't help that every writer decides to re-invent the wheel every time Jason comes up so his canon lore is confusing at best and inconsistent as a standard.

I guess starting with a general brief on who Jason is and what is uniform about him with every instance he's appeared in comics/media.

Grew up in a poor family in Gotham with a dad who was a petty-mid-level criminal, and a mother who dies of a drug overdose.

Survives on the street on his own by committing petty crimes and potentially even engaging in sexual acts to keep himself alive.

Is cornered by Batman and taken in after Dick Grayson quits/is fired

Becomes the second Robin, but is known for being the harsher, more brutal Robin.

Is killed by Joker after being tortured, but somehow comes back to life and regains senses through the Lazarus Pit

Resolves himself to be better than Batman by basically being Batman but kills people.

Where there has been a lot of conflict in the fandom is the fact that Jason Todd is not a character that is written consistently. DC Comics loves to go with the narrative that Jason was "bad from the start" and was the "bad robin" when, yes, he has trouble controlling his anger, but he also still is just as invested in seeing the best of Gotham City and trying to be a positive change for the world as any other DC Comics hero.

Where I get frustrated with the fandom is its ability to knit-pick every detail of a comic they don't like while completely disregarding everything that makes the comics great and worth it to read. My example being Urban Legends. To which most people had pretty mixed reactions to. I was critical of the comic at first but as it went along I ended up really liking it. I have a feeling DC Comics went to Chip Zdarsky and told him he had 6 issues to bring Jason back into the Bat Family, and honestly he didn't do a bad job. Did it feel rushed? Absolutely. I wish there was more development of Jason and Bruce's characters and their dynamic as a whole. However, where I see a lot of people being angry and upset with Urban Legends is that they feel Zdarsky needlessly wrote Jason as an incompetent fool who needs Bruce to save him.

Whether or not that was the intention of Zdarsky is up to debate. However, and this may be controversial, but I don't think he wrote Jason Todd out of character at all. For as fearsome, intimidating, and awesome as Red Hood is. Jason is a character who is absolutely driven by his emotions. Why do you think he donned the role of Red Hood? As a response to his anger towards The Joker for killing him, and towards Bruce for not taking action against The Joker and for seemingly replacing him so quickly after he died. Jason didn't care about being the murderous Robin Hood or for being the bloody hammer of justice against N*zi's and P*d*ph*les. He only cared originally about making The Joker and Bruce pay. It wasn't until he trained under the best assassins in the world and realized most of them were horrific criminals who trafficked children and were p*dos that Talia began to realize that the teachers that she sent Jason to train under started dying horrific and painful deaths.

The entire story of the Cheer story in Batman Urban Legends was started because it finally forced some consequences upon Jason. Tyler, aka Blue Hood's father was a drug dealer who gave his supply to his wife and kids. And when Tyler's father admitted he gave the drugs to Tyler, it immediately made him fall within the self-imposed philosophical kill-list of Jason Todd. And Jason, well, he proceeds to kill Tyler's father. When this happens, Jason is in shock. Tyler's dad fit the bill to easily and justifiably be killed by Jason. We've never seen Jason having to deal with the consequences of being a murderous vigilante on a micro-level. When Jason realizes what he's done in that he's murdered Tyler's dad, he's shocked. He tells Babs the truth. He does a rational thing because he's in shock. He doesn't know what to do, he never has had to face the consequences of his actions as Red Hood and now the gravity of befriending a child as a vigilante hero who kills people just set in when he killed the father of the same child he was just introduced to.

(Oh here's a little aside because it had to be said, Jason would not have been a good father or a good mentor to Tyler and absolutely should not have been his new Robin. Jason is a man who is in his early 20's (not saying men in their early 20's can't be good fathers at all) who is a brutal serial killer using the guise of a vigilante anti-hero to let him escape most of the law. the complications of having the man who murdered your father adopt you and make you his sidekick are way too numerous for me to explain in a long-winded already heavy Tumblr essay post. There's a reason why we don't advocate for a story where Joe Chill adopted Bruce Wayne or one where Tony Zucco took in Dick Grayson.)

The next biggest argument is that they feel that Jason is giving up his guns as a means to just be invited back into the Bat-Family. To which I will tell anyone who has that argument to go actually read Urban Legends. Already have and still have that argument? Please re-read it. Don't want to? That's okay, I will paste the images from the comic where Jason specifically says that he doesn't want to give up his weapons for Bruce and his real reasoning down below since the comic isn't exactly readily accessible.

Jason gave up the guns because he felt the gravity of what he had done and knows how it'll effect Tyler. Thankfully his mom is alive and in recovery. But Tyler doesn't have a father anymore. And Jason killed Tyler's father. It may have been in accordance to Jason's philosophy, but it was a case where it blurred the lines. Jason Todd isn't a black and white character, just very dark gray. He doesn't kill aimlessly like the Joker. If you are on Jason's list you probably have done something pretty horrific, and also just in general, being in his way or being a threat to him. Mind you, in early days of Red Hood and the Outlaws (Image below) Jason almost killed 10 innocent civilians in a town in Colorado all because they saw him kill a monster. That being said, Jason isn't aimless in his kills.

(Also can we just take a moment to appreciate Kenneth Rocafort's art? DC Comics said we need to rehabilitate Jason Todd's image and Kenneth Rocafort said hold my beer: It's so SO GOOD)

That being said, the key emphasis in the story of Cheer asides from trying to introduce Jason Todd back into the Bat Family and give an actual purpose for him being there, other than him just kind of being there ala Bowser every time he shows up for Go Kart racing, Tennis, Golf, Soccer, and the Olympic games when Mario invites him, is that Jason and Bruce ultimately both want the same thing. Jason wants to be welcomed back into the family and to be loved and appreciated. Bruce want's Jason back as his son and wants to love and protect Jason. Both of these visions are shown in the last chapter of Cheer while under the effect of the Cheer Gas. It's ultimately this love and appreciation they both have for each other that helps them overcome their challenge and win.

Jason Todd is a character who, just like Bruce, has been through so much pain and so much hate in his life. The two are meant to parallel each other. While Bruce chose to see the best in everyone, giving every rogue in his gallery the option to be helped and give them a second chance, hence why he never kills, Jason has a similar view on wanting to protect the public, but he understands that some crimes are so heinous they cannot be forgiven, or that some habitual criminals are due to stay habitual criminals, and need to be put down. But at the end of the day, the two of them both try to protect people in their own ways.

I am aware that through the writings of various DC Comics authors such as Scott Lobdell and Judd Winick, the two have had a very tumultuous relationship. And rightfully so, I am by no means saying that Scott Lobdell writing an arc where Bruce literally beats Jason to within an inch of his life in Red Hood and the Outlaws, nor Judd Winick's interpretation of Under the Red Hood where Bruce throws the Batarang at Jason's neck, slicing his throat and leaving him ambiguously for dead at the end of the comic is appropriate considering DC Comics seems to be trying everything they can to integrate Jason back into the family. That being said, a lot of these writings have shaped the narrative of Jason and Bruce's relationship and have an integral effect on the way the fandom views the two. It doesn't help that Zdarsky acknowledged Lobdell's life-beating of Jason by Bruce at the very end of Cheer by having Bruce give Jason his old outfit back as a means of mending the fence between the two of them. That does complicate a lot of things in terms of how they are viewed by the fandom and helps to cause an even greater divide between the two.

Regardless, I want to emphasize the fact that Jason Todd is a part of the family of his own accord. Yes, he's quite snarky and deadpan in almost every encounter. However, Jason is absolutely a part of the family and has been for a while of his own will. There's a great moment in Detective Comics that emphasizes this. Jason cares about his family because it is his found family. Yes, they may be warry about him and use him as a punching back and/or heckle him. At the end of the day, we're debating the family dynamics of a fictional playboy billionaire vigilante whose kleptomania took the form of adopting troubled children and turning them into vigilante heroes. Jason Todd wants a family that will love and support him. This is a key definition of his character at its most basic. This was proven during the events of Cheer and is being reenforced by DC Comics every time they get the opportunity to do so.

Now, none of this is to say that I hate Judd Winick. I do not, I don't like the fact that in all of his writings of Jason, he just writes him as a dangerous psychopath, and Winick himself admits to seeing Jason as nothing much more than a psychopath. Yet Winick is the one who the majority of the fandom clings to as the one true good writer of Jason Todd because 'Jason was competent, dangerous, smart' Listen, friends, Jason is all of that and I will never deny it. However, what I love about Jason isn't that he's dangerously smart of that writers either write him as angsty angry Tumblr sexyman bait or that they write him as an infantile man child with a gun. There's a large contention of this fandom that has an obsession with Jason Todd being this vigilante gunman who is hot and sexy and while I definitely get the appeal. It is very creepy and downright disturbing that all of you hyperfixate on his use of guns and ability to be a murderer. It is creepy and I'm not necessarily here for it.

What I love about Jason Todd is that despite all of the pain, all of the heartache, all of the betrayal, and bullying, and death, and anguish. Jason Todd is one of the most loving and supportive characters in all of DC Comics. Jason has been through so much in his life, but he still chooses to love. He still chooses to see the bright side in people. Yes, he takes a utilitarian approach and chooses to kill certain villains, but at the end of the day he wants to see a better world, and he wants to be loved. It takes so much courage and so much heart to learn to love again after one has been abused or traumatized. I would not blame Jason at all if he said fuck it and just went full solo and vigilante evil. He has every right to, but he still chooses to be with the Bat Family of his own accord. That's something that I see a lot of in myself. I have been through a lot of trauma and yet I try to be a better person myself in any way that I can. It is extremely admirable of Jason to allow love back into his heart when he really doesn't need to. He kills and he protects because he has this love of society. It may have been shaped by anger and hatred, but Jason has found his place amongst people who love him and value him. I think Ducra, from Red Hood and the Outlaws put it best in the image given below.

To end this tangent, I love Jason Todd and all of his sexy dangerousness, but it's far more than that. As much as Jason may be dangerous and snarky, he loves his family without a shadow of a doubt. I look up to Jason Todd because despite all of his pain and all of his trauma, he still choses to love. Jason Todd is a character who is someone I love because despite all of his flaws and having a very toxic fandom, he still serves as a character filled with so much heart and so much passion. I wish more writers would understand that. But for now I will live with what I have. Even though the fandom may be vocal about it's hatred for his characterization, I choose to love Jason regardless because he is a character who chooses love and acceptance regardless of his pain. Jason Todd is by no means a good person in any sense of the word. He has easily killed upwards of 100 people by now. He is a character who is flawed and complex but ultimately is one who powers forwards and finds love and heart in a place from so much pain and anguish. That is what I love about Jason Todd. After all, to quote a famous undead robot superhero, "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Jason Todd chooses to love despite all of the trauma and pain and grief. Yes, he is hardened in his exterior, but inside there is a man with a lot of love to give and someone who deserves the world in my eyes.

#Long post GOD #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bat Family #Batman #red hood and the outlaws #RHATO #RH:O #Batman Urban Legends #Red Hood Lost Days #TW Voltron #TW Death #tw murder #TW Klance #Gotta love how i am pouring my heart out onto jason AND calling out the Voltron fandom #Regardless love Jason Todd people

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stxleslyds · 3 years ago

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Red Hood and the lost art of telling Joker to shup up.

Okay, I know that I talked about Jason and Joker in a recent post but this is something different, I promise.

I really want to talk about how different Jason has been written since UtRH when it comes to him confronting Joker. Jason hasn’t been put in that position a lot but the times that he has, he lets Joker talk for far too long and actually pays attention to whatever he has to say.

The Jason vs Joker thing is basic in on itself and letting Joker talk isn’t exactly the problem here, the real problem is Jason letting Joker’s thoughts shape his future thoughts and decisions, I do understand that that’s exactly what writers want though, they want to build the problematic of: “Jason is just like Joker and the fact that he uses the name Red Hood only proves that Joker made who Jason is now”.

But the thing is that THAT problem is overdone at this point and the only time it worked was the first time it was brought up and it worked because Jason shut the Joker down.

Let’s see all the times (that I remember) the Joker and Jason have had a little chat and/or the times Joker’s words actually influence Jason’s thinking and decision making.

Under the Red Hood – Batman (1940) #649

This is the first real confrontation we get to see between Jason and Joker after Jason’s death and it is beautiful. It's absolutely amazingly written, Joker goes on and on forever about how he killed Jason about how Jason is just as bad as him but that he is also just like Batman because he hasn’t killed him yet.

“You let me live after everything I did, you couldn’t pop my balloon. You just couldn’t. The apple doesn’t tumble too far from the paterfamilias. You are just like daddy-kins”

Jason lets him talk, yes. But he absolutely destroys Joker with what he tells him next.

“You couldn’t be more wrong about me. If right were a country on earth you’d be circling on the edge of the milky way. Yeah, I let you live but like always, every damned minute of your addled, posturing, psychopathic life, you think this is about you. You’re a worm. I’ve pitched you on a hook and dropped you into the brine. And I will beat the hell out of you Pagliacci because it was too much fun not to.”

“Listen to me Joker, I’m not you. I´m nothing like you. I know what I do and I know why I do it. You, you are, clinically speaking, a whack-job. But I know a secret, a good one.”

“You are not nearly as crazy as you would like us all to believe or even as crazy as you would like to believe. It just makes it easier to justify every sick monstrous thing you’ve ever done when you play the part of the mad clown. You are crazy, bubba, but you ain’t that crazy. Look at that. I wiped a smile off of Joker’s face. I have been waiting a long time for that.”

Everything about this is perfect, Jason gives Joker no room to mess with him. Whatever the Joker had planned on saying he had to eat because Jason wasn’t playing games and he was ready for any kind of lie the Joker had ready to tell. This is Jason Todd. He won’t let the Joker get under his skin because he knows the Joker and he, also, knows better.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #15

Here Jason comes across Joker during the “Death of the Family” event. In this issue the Joker has information about all of the members of the “Batfamily” and he uses that to mess around with each one of them, in Jason’s case he insinuates that he was present in very specific moments of his life when Jason’s father got shot, when his mother overdosed and when he was on his own before joining Batman.

Jason doesn’t quite believe that Joker was there but as the reader, we can see this sort of sense of doubt in Jason. He hesitates a few times before resolving that the Joker is playing with him.

But as far as this issue goes let’s just say that what the Joker says doesn’t get to Jason, this changes though in the issue that follows up this story.

Teen Titans (2011) #16

This is where that story continues and where Jason starts to buy the story that Joker is selling.

Joker convinces Jason that he has his father and Tim’s father and that the only way for Jason (or Tim) to save their dads is by killing the other (Jason or Tim). Tim doesn’t believe it but Jason is ready to shoot Tim almost immediately.

However, Jason changes his mind about killing Tim just as Tim comes up with a plan for them to not actually have to kill each other. Here is where Lobdell’s writing shows all of its flaws, Lobdell is so desperate to show that Jason and Tim are besties that he forgets that Jason had no reason to stop trying to kill Tim to save his shit father because it is later revealed that Jason truly believed that Joker had found his father and had him captive. It wasn’t until Tim explained his thought process as to why those men weren’t their dads that Jason just goes “you realize, of course, the only reason I didn’t kill you right off is that I knew your big brain will figure out some way out of this” HA, nice save Lobdell but I see right through your bullshit.

Jason bought what the Joker was selling and that is the beginning of Jason’s downgrade when it comes to not playing Joker’s games.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #17

Well, in this issue Lobdell goes back to Jason kinda not believing what Joker told him, and Jason asks Bruce of all people if he thinks the Joker truly “made him or not”. Bruce says that he doesn’t believe that and that he didn’t have anything to do with the man that Jason has become either. For some reason, Jason is actually happy with what Bruce said and for a couple of moments, Jason goes back to being sure that the Joker knows nothing and that he is his own man.

It doesn’t last long though. At the very end of the issue, the trap that Joker had set up in Jason’s helmet triggers and Jason gets his face fucked up with acid or something.

But that’s not all because a hologram of Joker has something to say: “you were supposed to be my masterpiece from start to finish. But you were too stubborn to stay dead. So here is what we are going to do… You’re so determined to be your own man? Fine, let’s start with a clean slate”.

Basically, the Joker insinuates once more that he had something to do with who Jason was supposed to become and that Jason isn’t truly “his own man”, This is all a setup for a very dense storyline that will be continued in this run later.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #18

In this issue, Jason is in a coma after he is dosed with that gas in the previous issue. The Joker isn’t really present in this issue but he does make an appearance as part of Jason’s “nightmare” while he is unconscious.

That’s not all though, Jason has an illusion of Ducra (someone that he appreciates a lot), telling him that “after you left the All-Castle after you went back to the world you continued to let your life be defined by the actions of that man. You became a killer, lashing out at people who may or may not have deserved it. Eventually, you will hurt all those you have cared for. In that way, how are you any different from the Joker?”.

In this statement, there is a lot of wrongs that can come from two places, either bad writing on Lobdell’s part or just Ducra telling lies as a plot point.

“Let your life be defined by the actions of that man” is a sentence that horribly simplifies Jason’s thinking during the events of UtRH, because while he did resent the Joker, his real problem was with Bruce who had not avenged his death by killing the Joker himself. Also, Jason was doing other things back then, like being a pain in the ass for Black Mask and disrupting the drug trade in Gotham as well as trying to control the drug dealing to children. So that little sentence is just a gross misinterpretation of the true events which means that Ducra was wrong, and “she” continues to be wrong when she says that there might be no difference between Jason and Joker.

Luckily Jason thinks the same because he tells “Ducra”: “…don’t you dare compare me to that monster Ducra. I am nothing like the Joker! Nothing!”

Once again please don’t be fooled by Jason’s thinking because in the next issue it turns around really fast and really bad.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #19

Just a heads up this issue has a change of writer, Lobdell isn’t writing this arc, the writer that gives us this hellish story arc is James Tynion IV.

All that talk about Jason not being affected or not believing what the Joker told him is yeeted out of the window and it’s not a fun ride.

In this issue, Roy and Kory find a Jason that doesn’t know who they are or who he, himself, is. This is because S’aru that little floaty little shit took his memories away after Jason asked him to do so, well Jason asked S’aru to erase every memory that darkness has touched (Joker) and he does that. But him doing that is apparently erasing everything which, holy shit, how messed up is that?

But let’s take a look at what Jason says before he gets his memories taken away: “Not only did the Joker almost take my face, but he tells me he might have manipulated my entire life from the beginning! Even the good is tainted by him now. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t have that kind of doubt. If you take it away, I can go on living. I can keep fighting”. So, yeah that was a pretty emo speech. But the thing here is that if Jason is asking this dude to erase every memory that has been tainted by the Joker and he erases all of them then we might be facing one of two situations, either Joker has been messing up with Jason’s life from the beginning or S’aru is just a little bitch.

We will later find out in #20 that S’aru and Ducra planned the whole thing, meaning that they took all of his memories for ulterior motives not because the Joker had actually tainted all of them.

For many issues Jason has no memories and now that I am revisiting these issues, I now remember the twisted and completely insane plot they came up with for the “League of Assassins” and Jason being the “Chosen One”, everything was happening in this run, my god, it's like they wanted Jason to be the center of every single trope in writing history.

It’s in issue #26 that Jason asks for his memories back but the Joker having tainted his memories or not isn’t important anymore to anyone, including the writer (because he is too focused on telling this messy story), Jason (because he has enough problems at the moment) and the reader (because this book makes zero sense and it changes the story and motivations every single issue).

But there is another truth to be revealed in the next issue.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011) #27

Jason has planned along Ducra and S’aru to give up all of his memories to be cleansed so he could defeat Ra’s Al Ghul. But (there is always a but) Ducra says this: “Your greatest enemy returned and nearly took your face away from you. And in the process, shook your sense of identity to the core” “The final battle here will take place in the Well of Sins, and with all the doubt and fear clouding your mind, it would eat you whole”.

So yeah, now we have confirmation from Ducra that Jason had indeed let what the Joker told him cloud his sense of self and made him doubt who he was and if he really was in control.

All that back and forth for these many issues just to say, yes, Jason let Joker’s words affect him.

So here it is, let Joker get in Jason’s head to build the plot of a story, fantastic, the story was a mess because it had so much information, the mischaracterizations of Roy and Kory were at their maximum potential, and in this particular story arc not only are the events of Red Hood: The Lost Days officially erased from Jason’s canon but something quite out there is added to Jason’s canon from before he was even Robin (that’s a whole different story that I won’t be talking about here).

What an insane ride this arc was. Definitely not the kind of story I enjoy in a Red Hood book but that’s just my preference.

*This whole arc was written by James Tynion IV.

Red Hood/Arsenal #11

Joker is dead during the events of this run but the person who has something to say to Jason about how the Joker made the person that he is now is Duela Dent (“Joker’s daughter”, she isn’t his daughter she just found Joker’s face somewhere and she puts it on and “becomes” crazy, she is an incredibly weird character).

She says this, “You’re a lot like dad in that way” to which Jason says “He is not my father. He’s not even your father” but Duela continues by saying. “You’re kidding yourself if you genuinely believe that. Yeah, he took your life but look what you got in its place, you ingrate. You got your freedom. You were reborn.”

Jason doesn’t fall for it or anything of the sort but once again writers are bringing up the Joker as the maker of the Red Hood and “suggesting” that what Jason has been doing and who he has become is all thanks to Joker. The idea of Jason having no free will is still present in this narrative, even when Jason doesn’t believe it.

Red Hood/Arsenal #12

I talked too soon because in this issue Jason is having some weird thoughts.

“Funny, isn’t it, so easy to call Duela “crazy” because she wears a dead man’s face. Because isn’t that what I’m doing? Before he was the Joker, he was the Red Hood. So maybe the line between men and the Joker’s daughter is a lot thinner than I’d like to admit.”

Here he is comparing himself to Duela and to the Joker to an extent, writers often bring up the fact that Jason uses the code name that his killer once had and they have people or Jason himself questioning why he uses that name.

Personally, I don’t think there is much to build from it (at least not from the perspective of Lost Days and UtRH), it was just a joke, a morbid one if you will. He wears the mantle of the person that destroys Gotham and fills its people with fear while he is trying to control the city’s drug trade and trying to keep the people safe in his own way. And the way he wanted to do it is almost the complete opposite of the way that Batman does things.

I just think that he is being ironic and acidic about the whole thing. He has obviously moved on from the fact that Joker killed him but he has issues with the fact that Batman has yet another child working with him while the Joker is still alive. And Jason really wanted to make Bruce suffer, so him taking the name and a similar appearance to how the joker used to look is also done to get a reaction from Bruce.

I really don’t think there is any sort of connection to make between Jason and Joker beyond that, much like there is no connection between the name Nightwing and the Court of Owls. Even though Lincoln March tried to convince Dick Grayson that he chose the name Nightwing because Owls fly at night and that meant that he was supposed to become a Talon and all that Dick still didn’t believe it because he knew why he chose that name and no one can twist his reason.

Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016) #10

Finally, I can stop re-reading New 52 books, I don’t enjoy it but I have to do it if I want to talk/complain about stuff.

This one is a little different because while Jason does talk with the Joker, the Joker isn’t really there he is just part of Jason’s imagination just like the Robin Jason that he is also seeing.

In this story, Jason is helping Artemis discover who she is but he gets captured in Qurac, yup that place, and worst of all from where he is being held, he can see the place where he died. All of that is helping Jason have some very vivid memories/illusions. He does actively hold a conversation with the imaginary Joker and Robin Jason though, and he is also having a lot of thoughts that let us know how the Joker affects Jason.

“This is why it was stupid of me to come back to Qurac. Even to help Artemis, even if I thought I could handle it. Physically, I am alone, but in my head? I’m drowning in memories of the worst day of what was my very short life. The day I was murdered.”

That’s what Jason is thinking but what I write next is what Jason’s saying as he talks to the imaginary Joker.

“Not interested in replaying this over again, like I have every night of my life since it happened Joker”

So, we are told that Jason thinks about that day very often, the Joker might not be involved much in Jason’s books but he definitely has a bigger role inside of Jason’s head. They chat for a bit up until Jason decides to “kill” the Joker, he knows, of course, that it is not real but it does give him satisfaction. (If only they would have let Jason actually kill the clown for real, or at the very least chase him just to show the reader that Jason does actually want to finish the job since the Bat won’t do it himself).

Having said all that, Joker’s imaginary death doesn’t last long because Jason is trapped in his mind and the Joker is basically functioning on a loop inside of it.

That is where the problem lies in this issue because Jason is letting us know that he is still heavily influenced by what happened that day and that he hasn’t been able to walk away from it. But once more that’s not the worst thing, because all of these thoughts have led Jason to think that he (in the present and as a fifteen-year-old) is the one to blame for having ended up dead. Yeah, it is messed up.

This is what Jason says to imaginary Robin Jason, “He is never going to die, Jason. Not here. Not in my mind, not if at some point I don’t stand up and walk away from my memories. From you.”

This is a major downgrade, from the Jason that we had in UtRH because that Jason had moved on from the fact that he had been killed what he was looking for was for Batman to avenge his death. He had other things in mind as well, like I said before in this post Jason had a lot of things going on, killing Joker wasn’t his only plan.

And this situation (written by Lobdell) is also very different from what was going on in New 52 where Jason being influenced by the Joker was used to build a plot. This is just a writer letting us know that this “new version” of Jason hasn’t worked out his problems when it comes to his death and his killer. That means that we are going backward.

After he realizes that he was unconscious all that time and that he was being tortured he does get his shit together in order to get out of captivity and go help Artemis.

The Joker and that whole thing that happened in his mind aren’t mentioned again, it was just for the reader to know that Rebirth Jason has unsolved issues with his death.

Batman: Three Jokers #1

Oh yes, here we are, we have arrived to that dreaded book, awful writing gorgeous art. In this book, the “Joker made Jason as he is now” trope is at its full potential; Johns drives this hellish truck of a book at full speed into our homes and then ends it by giving us one of the worst takes on Jason Todd’s characterization ever.

But first, let’s talk about the Joker and Jason interaction in the first issue. As Jason and Barbara are left alone with the Joker that they came across moments ago the Joker begins talking because that’s what he does.

He says this, “I’m the loop-de-loop, the hamster-wheel-of-doom. The cycle of pain each one of you is trapped in. Take “Red Hood” here, for example. Have you ever wondered why he uses my former moniker? Who in their right mind would take on the identity of their killer? Am I right?”

He is obviously being a little shit on purpose and is waiting to see if somebody will take the bait. Jason is the first to talk and he says this: “I took it because I’m owning what you did to me. You made me into this. I will be your destruction”.

Congratulations Jason, you took the bait, and now Barbara will fight with you over it.

Jason raises his gun to “break the cycle” and Barbara is like “please don’t do it” and boy is Joker having the time of his life! Both of these idiots are playing his game, Johns really did both Jason and Barbara dirty with this.

Here is where THE problem with letting the Joker talk is. This Joker got under Jason’s skin in seconds and Barbara did nothing while it happened.

This is what the Joker had to say. “Let’s look at the facts here bat-people. I bashed this boy’s skull in. I killed this Robin” to which Jason says “You didn’t kill me, you only made me stronger” which is weird because the Joker did kill him so I don’t know what kinda comeback that was supposed to be but Joker wasn’t done because he continues by saying “Yes, you crawled from the shallow grave I left you in. You lived on to fight another day. Hurrah! You survived because of your tenacity! Or maybe… maybe I beat you to a bloody mess… I took you right to the edge… because I wanted to leave you alive.”

Great that’s where the clown is going, just fantastic, more of the “I made you” but that’s not all because the Joker tells Jason that him having hurt Jason wasn’t because he didn’t like Jason, it was all about Batman, Jason doesn’t matter.

But that’s not the worse thing that was written in this awful book, Geoff Johns seems to have felt that the trauma that Jason went through in the original “Death in the Family” story wasn’t enough because he decided to add something new.

That’s why the Joker says this next, “Do you recall what you said to me while I was breaking your head in with that crowbar? As your blood streamed into your eyes and your skull cracked? Because I cherish those words. I’ll always cherish them. ‘Please stop! Please! If you let me live, I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be your Robin’” “And look at you now my little “Red Hood” shooting up people and making Batman’s life miserable! You are my Robin!”

What a nightmare Johns decided to put Jason and Jason Nation through huh? I hate this, this is the worst thing that has ever been written in a Jason Todd story (although I can say that about many things that were written in this three-issue book).

Jason kills the Joker after he says all that, Barbara does (for some reason) try to stop him from doing it but luckily, she can’t stop Jason.

But here is the thing, Jason killing the Joker doesn’t make me feel as satisfied as I would have liked, and it doesn’t feel that way because Jason let Joker talk for far too long and what Joker said ended up getting in Jason’s head and messing with him.

Batman: Three Jokers #2

Yeah, there is no rest for us, Jason Nation, in this issue Jason goes looking for another Joker to kill and he finds one but he gets captured. Johns really had to get Jason naked for Joker to torture him mentally and physically? Johns is, himself, a major red flag but that’s not what I am here to talk about.

In this issue the Joker that captures Jason has the same things to say as the other one, DC writers really have no imagination when it comes to building conflict between Joker and Jason, huh?

Anyway, Joker says this, “tell me something. Why would you put on that helmet and call yourself Red Hood after what we did?” Jason of course replies “Come on, is every one of you copycats gonna ask me the same thing? It’s a joke” the answer isn’t enough for Joker (the two of them that are here with Jason) so he continues talking. “A joke? We left you with brain damage and permanent nerve pain. Physical and emotional trauma so severe that the only relief you ever find is when you inflict pain on others. You and me, boy, we’re more alike than you’d care to admit. But you know that already. You nearly died and you blame the Batman. You hate him for it. Me too. You hate him most of all don’t you?”

Now, here is the thing, that whole thing is bullshit, none of it makes sense. From Jason having permanent nerve pain to Jason hating Batman the most, everything is a lie. And my confusion here is that I don’t know if I have to feel like Joker is doing it on purpose to be a little bitch or if Geoff Johns was on crack when he wrote this and he had actually never heard of Jason Todd in his life before.

The whole thing is a mess, it feels like he is writing Jason from an origin and story that we never read. I don’t know how to explain it, but the whole thing feels cheap, it’s a cheap trope and it’s a cheap take on who Jason Todd is, was, and will be.

The nightmare doesn’t end Jason Nation because these two Jokers have something else in mind, you see, if they said that they made the Red Hood when they killed Jason the first time, maybe if they kill him this time then he could possibly come back as the Joker. Yeah, this book did nothing for Jason.

Let’s make something clear, Jason does NOT hate Batman/Bruce for not being able to save him, he hates the fact that Batman/Bruce didn’t kill the Joker to avenge him. That simple thing doesn’t exist in Three Jokers and that’s why things like the ones that happen next are allowed to happen in this story.

Bruce and Barbara find Jason and when Bruce asks if he is okay Jason just goes berserk, he says: “Am I all right? What do you think Bruce?! You did this to me. You put me on this path. And I do hate you for it. For leaving me in the dirt. Replacing me one Robin after another without a thought.”

This, everybody is what you get when you mix bad writing with Jason being mentally manipulated by the Joker.

It's a shame that Jason is being treated this way at this point in time, in a book that came out in 2020 when Jason was able to shut the clown up with a knife and a couple of words back in 2005. What a downgrade.

At the end of this issue, Jason is safe and recovering but he still is in the same mindset, he says, “What the Joker said about how I’ve been on the path to being like them for years… they are not wrong. I don’t want to be like them though. I really don’t.”

It’s like a never-ending wheel of pain with this book. Jason is talking to Barbara when he says that and he is trying to look for comfort in her. And here is where the Jason/Barbara subplot begins and I only bring this up because something that happens in the next issue is based on the kiss that Barbara gave Jason but then was like “that doesn’t mean anything, I was just trying to comfort you”. Johns shouldn’t be allowed to write Barbara and Jason ever again.

Batman: Three Jokers #3

It’s in this issue that we find out the big subplot that Johns has prepared for Jason, are you ready for it? Yup, Jason should stop being the Red Hood because if he keeps it up, he will eventually become the Joker.

I know, I know! Jason would never stop being Red Hood, he is not on a path to become the Joker, that’s crazy! Jason’s Red Hood is a character on its own and he is amazing and just because he has different morals from Batman doesn’t mean that he is a bad guy! Right?...

“I’ll give up being Red Hood for us. I can be something else. Or I can be just Jason.”

To this day I cannot believe that those words supposedly were written by Jason Todd to Barbara Gordon after Barbara rejected him three times. The level of “what the fuck is this” is incredibly high with this one…

This whole book was a mess and I am so glad that it didn’t last longer.

Anyway, that’s it. In conclusion, Jason didn’t let the Joker get under his skin the first time they interacted after he came back from the dead but later when DC decided that UtRH was just too good of a book they came up with stories where Joker does get under Jason’s skin and Jason becomes convinced that he has no free will (or at the very least he doubts his free will) when it comes to him becoming his own man.

As I have said before, that for Jason Todd is a major downgrade. And it's one of the many things that hurts Jason’s characterization in current comics.

#jason todd #Jason Todd #red hood #Red Hood #red hood and the outlaws #red hood outlaw #three jokers #batman under the red hood #dc comics

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write-orflight · 4 years ago

Text

Settle Down: Chapter 3

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev - Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader (kinda enemies to lovers)

Rating: M

Words: 2K

Warnings: None, suggestive language

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N and Spencer don’t get along but turn to each other for the one thing you need someone else for… A baby. You can plantonically start a family, right?

AN: Unedited and ending might change as I wrote this half asleep. Comment on this chapter or inbox to be on taglist. thanks! much love, Cia.

Chapter 3: You’re really going to waste a Good Witch on this?

You still felt pretty normal. You knew not to expect or feel anything at least for another couple of weeks but that didn’t make you any less nervous about it. So now you were playing the waiting game. You and Spencer were doing good. For some reason it wasn’t awkward that morning after the sex at all. The two of you just woke up and got coffee before heading into work like nothing happened. It was fine until Spencer had suggested that night maybe having sex again would increase your chances of getting pregnant since you were also ovulating the second day. You agreed of course but you couldn’t figure out if it had been for the reasons you were supposed to. The sex had been great, as good if not better than the first time yet you still felt slimy, like you were tricking Spencer even though he suggested it and was probably right. Spencer gave no indication that it bothered him though so you figured you were in the clear.

You almost had been caught by Penelope when you went to work the following day. The second time around, let's just say Spencer was a lot less shy, a lot more ambitious and left a giant bruise on the side of your neck where he had been kissing practically the whole night. You couldn’t be that mad about it when you left your fair share of bruises on him.

“Whoa!” Penny said when you walked into the small work space the two of you shared. You knew what she was talking about instantly. You desperately tried to cover it up and he apologized profusely for it. You told him it was no big deal. It wasn't like you were making big moves to stop him at the time. “Someone had a fun night. Come on, spill!” She says, turning to face you.

“I burned myself on a curling iron. Not nearly as fun a night as you think.” You lie, shrugging the whole inquisition off so you wouldn’t suspect you lying to her. It seems to work because she groans.

“Ugh, nothing interesting ever happens here!” She groans. “What about you and Spencer?”

You look nervous for a second. “What about me and Spencer?”

“I mean, anything new in babyville?” She gestures.

“Oh! Nothing yet. We’re just playing the waiting game right now.”

“That was fast. So you might be pregnant right now?” You shrug. “I can’t believe you and Spencer are having a kid.”

“Yea, it’s kinda strange but we’ll manage.” You say as the phone rings. The team was out on a case, it wasn’t uncommon for them to call you guys for technological aid.

“All seeing, all knowing.” You greet them on the phone. You adapted Garcia’s jovial speech the more you worked with her.

“Hey, Y/N…” You hear Spencer’s voice say back to you.

“Oh, hey Spencer. I’ll patch you to Penny.” You say, hand on the button to do that. You’ve grown accustomed to transferring him to Penelope over the years since he preferred to talk to her.

“No! No, I’m actually calling for you…” He says.

“You never call for me.” You say. “You always ask for Garcia.”

“I know, I know. I just— how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Spencer.” You say. “It’s only been a couple days.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Spencer says nervously into the phone.

“I’ll tell you if anything changes, but right now I’m fine, ok?”

“Ok.” He says back.

“Now did you have a question pertaining to my actual job?”

“Could you run financial records for Wilard Yannis for me?”

—————————————

It was a week later and the team was officially back from the case. It was a paperwork day which you and Garcia always used to review potential cases. You were doing just that when a knock came to your door. Spencer walked in brandishing two coffees and a pastry bag which he places in front of Garcia.

“What’s this?” Garcia asks, excitedly opening the pastry bag. “It’s a crossiant and it’s still warm. Oh, you love me and I love you.” She says, patting his cheek. You don’t turn from your screen but you smile at Penelope’s antics. You don’t look up until you see a cup being placed in front of you.

“What is this?” You ask.

“Coffee.” He says like it’s obvious.

“Why?”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes before walking out. You sip the coffee tentatively.

Ok, how the fuck does he know your coffee order?

You wait until he’s heading to the file room later to corner him. You follow in behind him and lock the door.

“Ok, you need to knock it off.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Knock what off, Y/N?” He asks.

“You know what!” You exclaim. “Do I need to remind you what your job is? What our coworkers jobs are? We work with Profilers for God's sake! Now, I was able to avoid suspicion even though you left a Texas size bruise on my neck. But you’ve got to knock it off and stop acting weird around me.”

“How am I acting weird?”

“For one, stop calling me for cases. You have always called Garcia and now you’re suddenly calling for me?”

“So I can’t call and ask you to do your job? That’s rich.”

“No asshole, you can’t ask me now. You’ve always asked for Garcia and while it was insulting that you would still do it even though I’ve been doing this for years, I’ve gotten used to it because that’s how you are, Spencer!” You exclaim throwing your hands in the air. “Spencer Reid doesn’t bring me coffee and he certainly doesn’t call to check up on me. Knock it off.”

Spencer’s silent for a second, thinking. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought of it like that. And I certainly never meant to insult you.” He says looking you in the eye. “But we don’t need to worry about me.”

“What do you mean? You’re the only one who’s acting differently.” You say, confused. Spencer just laughs which only makes you look more confused.

“I’m the only one acting different?” He says, taking a step towards you, crowding into your space. You back up slowly until your back hits the wall next to the door. His eyes drift up and down your body and you shiver under the scrutiny. “You’ve been staring at me all morning and the past couple of days we’ve been back. Specifically my hands and mouth. And whenever you do, your hand drifts to that ‘curling iron burn’ you have. Like you’re trying to remember what it felt like.” He’s mere inches away from you now and when you look up you can see the smug smirk on his face. “If I can notice it then so can they. So we don’t need to worry about me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, stubbornly.

Spencer chuckles darkly. “Yea ok, answer me this then.” He says, his face moving so he’s impossibly close to you. You tilt your chin up to look in the eye and show him you’re not cowering away from him. But for some reason, despite only having sex the two times, his smell takes you out of focus and you’re almost at the point of drooling like a Pavlov dog. He notices this because he always does and smirks and leans down close to you, your eyes drift shut thinking he was about to kiss you. You hate how ready you were for it. “If you were truly worried about me drawing attention to us…. Why did you lock yourself in a room with me?”

With that, he’s reaching behind you and unlocking the file room door, moving around you to go through it. “We’ll talk later.” He adds before leaving you alone, confused and surrounded by cabinets.

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

You stop in the ladies room to collect your thoughts for a second before heading back into your shared workspace. When you do get back, Penny turns her chair towards you, hands folded manically. You look at her confused.

“You know, I knew something was up. I’m not a profiler or anything but I have a good intuition. So I knew by the way you flushed when I asked about your neck that it wasn’t an iron burn. But I let it go figuring if you wanted to tell me you’d tell me when you wanted. And then, when Derek told me he shared a hotel room with Spencer and saw some very interesting claw marks on his back when he was changing, I also didn’t say anything figuring you’d tell me if there was something to tell and I thought maybe, just maybe, it was a coincidence and the two didn’t correlate at all. But now, imagine my surprise when I was on my way back from the coffee machine that I saw both of you leaving a file room?” Penny smirks at you and you try to keep a straight face but your heart was beating so fast, you’d been had.

“I have no idea what you’re on about. I was just having a conversation with Spencer.”

“Something happened and you’re going to tell me.” She says. “Good Witch.”

Good Witch was a phrase from way back in your hacker days to indicate a I scratch yours, you scratch mine deal between two parties. Since then, you and Garcia coined the term to mean no matter how big the ask the other had to say yes when it was called. Though it was typically used for moving or picking up the other from a bad date, it was never used like this.

“You’re really going to waste a Good Witch on this?” you ask and she nods profusely.

“Fine.” You throw your hands up before sitting across from her. “But my Good Witch is that this stays between us, no one else, including Spencer, can know. She nods and complies you sigh. “We went to the clinic and the Insemination cost was way too high. So we decided we’d you know…. Try the old fashion way.”

Garcia looks at you wide eyed. “You guys didn’t.”

You nod, awkwardly. “It was nothing. Just two times while I was ovulating and if I’m pregnant now, never again.”

Garcia hums. “And you’re sure you don’t just like each other?”

“Garcia, Spencer hates me. We’d never work.”

“You said, Spencer hates me. Not we hate each other like you usually do.” She points at you. “You’re starting to like him.”

“No, I’m not! Just a slip up on my words.” You exclaim, but Garcia gives you a look that screams she doesn’t believe you. “Anyway, you used your Good Witch to ask a question I already answered so I don’t need to tell you anything else.”

“Can you at least tell me this?” She asks. “Was it… good?”

You groan into your hands. “That’s the problem! It was good! Too good! Earth-shattering, mind blowing good that I can’t focus or think of anything that’s not it. And Spencer knows that and he’s being a dick about it.” You sigh. Garcia pats your back, looking sympathetically.

“Well, it’s just like you said, it was just to have the baby, right? So at least you know if you’re pregnant now, you never have to deal with it again.” She smiles before turning back to her screen. She was right, Spencer wouldn’t play games with your emotions like back in the File room if you were actually pregnant now so you could go back to less stress-inducing, Spencer-free mornings, at least until the baby was here.

That was what you wanted.

Right?

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nick-thecreator · 3 years ago

Text

Just had an idea for a story... It’s called “Aftermath Revival: Human AU” Part 1

(I’ll add more to this later, I wrote this off of one idea, and a bit quick, so I might edit it to make it better/more reasonable. Also, I should have asks open if anyone has any questions [Cause I know there will be...])

Part 2 is Here

Part 3 is Here

The explosion rocked the entire village, flattening the majority of it. Only the houses on the outskirts were safe, being slightly cracked and torn, but didn’t fully flatten them. In one of these houses, The Duke had closed his doors to his shop, holding his most valuable items close to his body, hoping that his abundance of fat would act as a pillow for it.

Once the explosion was over, through the quakes and falling rubble, he came out almost untouched. He then opened his door, just a crack though, so he could see the damage. There were a few cracks, but, for the most part, the house was fine. Seeing the coast being clear, he opened his doors fully, putting his valuables back onto the shelf. He looked around more, seeing if there were any survivors, even a few lycan. Nothing could be seen, or even heard. He felt a bit concerned, wondering if anyone was hiding, or if everyone else was truly dead. He looked out one of the windows, seeing that part of the Dimitrescu residence was still, surprisingly intact, even if the rest of it was in shambles. He wondered if the other lords’ residences were still somewhat together, looking back at the small crystal sculptures that he had placed on the top shelf.

He smiled at them, before noticing that one of the sculptures, Karl’s, was gone! He panicked, searching around his shop for it, turning as much as he could to get a full view of his surroundings. After a while of searching, he heard a small groan of pain.

“Hello?” He shouted out, grabbing one of his many guns, just to defend himself in case it was a lycan. He didn’t want to use it, considering that it was a shop item, but it was for self-defense. A figure walked into view.

“Duke?” He heard, a thick Mid-Western American accent present.

“Lord Heisenberg?” The Duke asked, shocked. Karl walked into the house, in his regular clothes, with small specks of dirt and what looked like small crystals on his clothes. He had his hand on his forehead, rubbing his head and temples.

“How the hell…” Karl groaned, looking up at The Duke. The Duke stared at him in shock, Karl’s presence being completely unexpected. Karl took his sunglasses off, rubbing his eyes. “What happened? Where is everyone?” He seemed dazed, his tone confused and slightly in pain.

“I…” The Duke tried to answer, but he really didn’t have answers that would help his questions. He usually had everything, but this one really stumped him. He would have never been able to call this.

After a while, Karl and The Duke spoke about what had happened as The Duke brought his shop around the remains of the village, a few questions lingering on their minds. The Duke would look back once in a while, seeing if what happened to Karl was going to happen to the others. Once they arrived at the remains of The Dimitrescu Castle, The Duke looked behind him again, seeing that Alcina’s sculpture was gone too. “Karl?”

“What?” He asked, his headache gone at this point.

“Do you see anybody around?” The Duke looked around a bit.

“No-” Karl stopped, seeing a figure slowly stand up in front of one of the windows, the darkness of the building hiding who it was. They weren’t nearly as tall as Alcina, but they had a similar figure. “Hey!” Karl yelled up to them, them turning their head to the window, sticking their head out.

“Who’s there?” They yelled out, their head being lit up by the sunlight once they stuck their head out the window. It was Alcina! She too had her hand on her temple, her eyes squinted from the light.

“Come down here! Now!”

“Alright, give me a second,” She yelled back, walking away from the window. After a bit, she walked through the doorway near the window on the lower floor. She was in the same clothes, however, she had rolled up her dress so she wouldn’t step on it. She was holding her hat, tipping it back so it would be out of her face, but it also shielded her body from the sun. Her jewelry didn’t fit her anymore, her necklace hanging on her neck, sliding down her chest. She was still tall, but not 9’6 tall, more like 6’5 now. “Care to give me an explanation on our predicament!?” She asked angrily to The Duke.

He put his hands up, replying with, “Relax my lord, relax. At least you’re safe-”

“AND SHORT! I’M A MIDGET NOW!” She yelled, incredibly upset. She looked like she was about to cry. Seems to have been decades since she was a “normal” height. The Duke and Karl looked at eachother, shrugging, before looking back at Alcina. After a bit of breathing to calm herself down, she asked, “Well, where are my daughters? If I’m alive, they MUST be.” The Duke looked behind him, seeing the sculptures of her three daughters, still sitting there on the shelf below the top one.

“I’m sorry madam, but-” He grabbed the sculptures. “They are still-”

“MY BABIES!” She quickly snatched them away from him, holding them close. “My poor little angels…” She started to cry onto the statues as Karl and The Duke just stood there in silence. Eventually, The Duke just offered to let her sit on the side of the shop so they could keep looking around. She took it, sitting by The Duke, her daughters still in her arms, slightly rocking them. Karl stood on the opposite side of the shop, keeping his eyes away from her.

A while later, they arrive at the outskirts of The Beneviento Residence. The bridge was broken, but thankfully, there was another route around to get to the house, however, it took around an hour to get there with that route. Karl groaned when heard about how long it would take, his feet hurting at this point. The Duke offered to let him sit on the shop side, but Karl declined, however, halfway through the walk, Karl quickly jumped onto the side, sitting down. The Duke, once he noticed, just rolled his eyes as they went along. Once they reached the house, Karl looked around the residence as The Duke looked at the shelf again, wondering if Angie was going to disappear. However, instead, Angie slowly started to come to life. Literally.

“What the fuck! Where’s Donna!?” She yelled, trying to look threatening in front of The Duke. Karl turned back to Angie.

“Donna?” He asked.

“Yes! Her! Where is she?!”

“No, is that you Donna?”

“No! I’m LOOKING for DONNA!” She clarified before hopping out of the shop and looking around. “We need to find her! She could be in danger!”

“We are looking for her,” The Duke replied. “I’m assuming that you wish to help?”

“YES!” She yelped, running into the house, somehow getting the door open. Karl kept searching for Donna outside as The Duke looked around as well, but mainly comforted Alcina as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes without getting her dress dirty with her mascara. The Duke was kind of unsure that she was revived too, but he didn’t want to deny that she had been, considering Angie’s rude awakening. After a while, a few hours specifically, Karl returned to the shop.

“She ain’t around outside, maybe Angie found her-”

“COME ON! We need to go!” Angie yelled from inside the house, opening the door. She was holding Donna’s hand, Donna seeming to be almost completely perplexed. She had a large backpack on her along with her regular clothing. “See? They are here too!” Angie dragged her over to them, seeming to smile, even though she technically couldn’t. Donna just shrugged her head onto her shoulders, slightly waving before looking up to The Duke.

“How did you get here?” She asked in her regularly quiet tone.

“I used the back road,” He replied. She just nodded as he patted a spot on the shop side. “We should probably keep going. We still have one more person to get, considering.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing Salvatore’s sculpture. Karl’s attention went from Donna to The Duke.

“Moreau?” He thought for a second looking at the other two. “Will he be changed too?” He asked, somewhat with a form of childlike curiosity. The Duke slightly chuckled at his tone. Donna sat down next to Karl, Angie sitting on her lap. Donna poked around at Angie a bit, seeming trying to figure out how she was alive completely on her own. The Duke started to drive his shop out back onto the back road. On the road, Karl looked at her backpack, it slightly bumping into him. “What’s in the bag Donna?”

She took a minute to answer, before whispering, “Stuff I thought I’d need, and stuff for Angie.” Karl asked further, but she didn’t answer much, mainly focused on Angie, who seemed to be a bit irritated by the prodding. Karl was sure that, if Donna wasn’t Donna, Angie would’ve yelled at her and swatted her hand away by now. Alcina had stopped crying at this point, but stayed silent still, watching the road as they drove along, her daughters in her lap.

About 2 hours later, they could see the outskirts of the Moreau residence, passing by the clinic while heading to the main reservoir. While passing it, a loud groan could be heard from inside the clinic. While Karl, Donna, Angie, and Alcina looked over to the clinic, The Duke looked behind him, seeing that Salvatore’s sculpture was gone. Karl and Donna saw it too, Karl jumping off of the shop, running towards the clinic. Angie went after him, Donna getting dragged along. Karl busted the door down, looking around the small room.

He looked down to the floor, seeing Salvatore’s coat on the floor, with something, someone, underneath. Fingertips were sticking out of the ends of the sleeves, a bit of black hair sticking out the top, and with lower legs and feet sticking out the bottom. Once Angie and Donna had gotten into the clinic, Karl had taken the coat off of him. Under the coat, a man laid on the floor, only in a pair of dark green pants, stained with mud and what seemed to be puke, slightly breathing, groaning and coughing slightly. Besides the scars and acne scars that lined his back and the beginnings of his arms, and a small set of gills on his neck, he seemed… pretty normal, and the “mother” tattoo confirmed who it was. Karl looked over to Donna, gesturing to Salvatore.

“Help me out here, will ya?” He asked, trying to pick him up by his arm, trying to pull him over his back. Donna ran over, picked him up by the other arm, helping Karl as Angie cleared one of the operating tables. Karl and Donna hoisted him onto it, putting him face up. Once they got him up there, Alcina was in the doorway, a bag with her that had her daughters in it. She looked at Salvatore, her face turning to confusion, before almost looking like her expression was going to fall off her face. He was white, with long back hair that went halfway down his chest. He wasn’t very muscular, but he certainly wasn’t fat or skinny either. It was more like a dad-bod, like Karl, but a bit bigger. He also seemed to be a bit taller than Karl as well. Karl was going to ask her about it before Salvatore coughed a little, groaning in pain, slowly opening his eyes. His eyes were a dark green, as if the yellows and greys that used to be there had disappeared, along with the rest of his monstrous form. They turned back to him, looking down on him on the operating table. He looked up at each of them, before sitting his head up slightly.

“Donna…” He murmured, before his eyes shot open, moving Karl to the side before leaning his head over the side of the table, throwing up. Alcina jumped back, a disgusted look on her face as Angie jumped onto a table to get away from the vomit. Salvatore groaned, putting his hand on his head. Donna went to place a hand on his shoulder, before he just yelled out, placing his hands over his ears, his legs coming up. “GET OUT YOU BASTARD!” He shrieked, sitting up. “LEAVE ME BE!” He brought his head to his knees. He yelled one more time before going silent, lightly breathing. Karl, Angie, and Alcina stood far back as Donna placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Um… Sal?” She quietly asked, pulling at her face covering. He slowly looked over to her, wiping his mouth.

“Sorry Donna…” He apologized, smiling at her. “It’s been a while, huh?” She tilted her head slightly, before she jumped back in shock. Salvatore’s eyes widened, realizing that the obvious had never occurred to him, that she wouldn’t know what he was referring to. It upsetted him a bit, but it did make sense. Donna held up a finger in a “just a second” way, before running out of the clinic. While she was gone, he went on stand up, before grabbing his head again, stomping his foot on the floor. He hissed in pain, realizing he was barefoot, stomping on concrete, but it did seem to stop his nuisance. He was then able to stand, but his back was a bit stiff, making him slouch. To Karl and Angie’s shock, he placed his hands on his back, pushing it forward to loosen the muscles in his back, finally standing up straight. Alcina stood in silence with Karl and Angie, but didn’t seem to be in as much shock as the two. As Salvatore looked at himself, Donna ran back in, a picture frame in her hands. She stood in front of Salvatore, holding up the frame, before it slipped out of her hands, shattering on the floor. Salvatore was confused for a second, before looking down and seeing the people in it.

The photo contained two people. One of the people seemed to be Donna, in the clothing that could be seen in one of her large portraits, but without Angie, surprisingly. The other person to the right was a taller man in a doctor’s uniform. He was white with dark green eyes, with his black, long hair tied back in a ponytail, some of it wasn’t tied with the rest, so it slipped underneath the rest of it, the ends resting on his shoulders. They stood side by side, seemingly outside in front of one of the gardens that used to be lined around the village, her holding onto the crook of his arm. Donna was too busy standing there in shock, placing her now empty hand on his face, as if to check for something. He smiled at her, closing his eyes and placing a hand over hers.

“I missed you Donna. I hope I didn’t scare you.” The small part of her face covering that was touching her face became a bit wet.

“Doctor?…”

#resident evil village #residentevil #residentevil8 #theduke #karl heisenberg #karl heisenburg #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #moreau #resident evil human au #resident evil 8 human au #resident evil village human au #human au #au #fanfiction #nick the creator #aaaaaa

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artsy-hobbitses · 3 years ago

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I'm getting very curious about Malaysia... what's it like there?? Culture, living conditions, etc.

Pretty loaded question!

Off the top of my head, some specifics:

- Very much a melting pot. Malay, Chinese and Indian ethnicities mingle pretty freely, interracial marriages are not uncommon (I’m quarter Chinese on my mum’s side) and the modern Malaysian slang is often a mishmash of Malay, Chinese and Indian words. You have a choice between public, vernacular (usually caters to a specific race ie. Chinese/Indian as a stronghold of the language/customs, however I had Malays friends who went to Chinese Vernacular schools) international, private and religious schools (mostly for the Muslim-Majority Malays). Public holidays are designated for all three major races (big ones are Eid, Deepavali and Chinese New Year) plus more specific ones in Sabah/Sarawak for the indigenous population, and it’s normal for say, Malays to be invited to a Deepavali gathering or for Chinese to be invited to Eid open houses. We’re usually chill about it like that.

- Despite this, racism exists. It’s not loud and proud like in western nations though (except for your occasional Malay nationalist politician) it tends to be more of the passive-aggressive sort. Some parents discreetly warn their kids about not being friends with [X] race at school, some house rental listings with single out [X] race, though we’re coming to the point that we’re not bothering with Asian decorum anymore and publicly shitting on that behavior. On a historical aspect, the potential reason it takes on a more subtle, passive-aggressive tone here was that on 13 May 1969, sectarian violence broke out between urban Chinese and Malays in Kuala Lumpur due to unrest over the general election, and this resulted in the deaths of 600 people, mostly Chinese (My mum lived through this time at the heart of the incident). Basically the nation’s been scarred and has feared a similar event ever since, so those spouting open racial violence get slammed down pretty quick and “Remember 13 May” has often been used as a warning for whenever tensions flare up. Or when politicians want us to keep our grumblings down. We tend to have a don’t-rock-the-boat mentality here on the basis of trying to keep the peace for everyone—-it doesn’t always work. Malay Privilege/“Ketuanan Melayu” is a thing you’ll hear often from some sections of Malays here, who tend to argue that since they’re technically the original inhabitants if the land (don’t quiz ‘em about the Orang Asli), they should get more rights than the others.

-Living conditions vary. I live in Selangor—the state surrounding the Capital Kuala Lumpur—-which has the highest density of denizens. Here, it’s pretty modern. My husband and I rent a two-story terrace house, my parents who are a little well-off have their own bungalow. Places like Penang, Perak and Johor also tend to be more in the modern side. You’ll find more rural areas and kampungs as you go deeper into the heart of country (Pahang), the East Coast (Kelantan, Terengganu) and the country’s rice bowl (Kedah, and by extension, Perlis). This is within the Peninsula—-Sabah (I lived here for about four years) and Sarawak have a combination of modern and rural areas and tend to take life at a much slower pace than the Peninsula states (They also want none of Peninsula’s religious tension bullshit). My father’s kampung is in Pahang, and while I was never close to my paternal grandparents, I do have fond memories of cooking outdoors and plucking rambutan bunches from the trees they grew.

- Wet. Very wet. Monsoon season/‘Musim Tengkujuh’ at year end interspace with mid-year. Fucks with the income of local fishermen who are barred from going to the ocean on the account of rough waves, Flooding is an annual occurrence for rural areas, though we get flash floods in cities too. Common enough that “check for crocodiles” isn’t a weird request when you come back to clean your homes from mud and silt. (Houses near flood-prone areas will employ walls or be built on stilts to withstand the floods).

- 9 Sultans for 9 states, they take turns becoming the Agong (Chief Sultan I guess?) every five years. They’re mostly there the same way the British monarchy is. Don’t really play a big role in politics unless there is a need for them to decree something when politicians can’t work things out between themselves.

- Political leapfrog. It’s. A thing. A politician you see from one party today can be a member of another party tomorrow. It’s gotten so bad they’re considering legislation to punish it. We do call them literal frogs (Katak) when they do this (Sorry frogs, you deserve better!)

- Food. All the fucking food. Melting pot = all the deliciousness. There’s no culturally appropriating cuisine here, everyone’s eating everyone else’s stuff with great gusto. Roti Canai/Chappati (Indian) for breakfast, Nasi Campur (mixed rice, mostly with Malay dishes) for lunch and Wantan Mee (Chinese) for dinner is an example of the food culture trip you go through on any given day. You’ll have Malays who adore Chinese food, Chinese who adore Malay food, and no one fights when they’re eating, that’s all there is to it. Places like Penang are a haven for food and people will make trips just to eat there.

- Islam is the main religion. However, it’s not strictly enforced in most cases, I’d dare even say that we’re quite secular, to the teeth-gnashing of the Facebook army. I’m a Muslim who doesn’t wear a headscarf (except on special occasions), I know Muslims who rescue and keep dogs (My hunter grandfather apparently caught and kept a Dhole as a house guard way back), and I know some who’re LGBT, albeit somewhat discreet about it.

- Speaking of LGBT, the country is not friendly to the community, but neither is it as hostile as sections of the US tend to be about it. As an example, gay conversion therapy isn’t really a thing there (presumably because that would entail the govt admitting that there’s enough gay people to require it at all), workplaces generally do not have a policy targeting people based on their sexualities, like you’ll find butch ladies serving you drinks at Starbucks and gay men working with local theatre productions, and violence against LGBT members is pretty rare (though I imagine this is more because most people here mostly do not want to kick up a fuss in public, what more a fight, and just judge from a distance). Basically, the majority of the public will tolerate LGBT existence—whispering behind their back——until there starts to be a call for rights.

- Good degree of English command. English is understood, if not spoken, by a lot of us here from cab drivers to stall owners, so you won’t be hopelessly lost if you decide to visit. A big majority of us are at LEAST bilingual (In my case, I speak English and Malay, and can understand some Arabic). Quite a number who come from interracial marriages are trilingual.

- Cheap healthcare. There’s a reason we’re one of the top destinations for medical tourism. You have a choice between private and government hospitals which provide a form of universal healthcare. Govt clinics/hospitals offer subsidized healthcare and meds to all members of the public, and most doctors will start out in government hospitals before moving to private practices (like my sister-in-law). Uninsured, a trip to a normal clinic for a consultation will set you back maybe twenty to thirty bucks, fifty if you need meds or a small procedure like stitches. I do have insurance but have never used it for doctor visits since the amount is pretty trivial. I have, however, used it for a hysterectomy surgery + 1 month hospital stay at a private hospital which set me back about RM30,000-RM40,000 (USD7000-USD9500) which I managed to get covered. Ambulance Fees are like, RM200 (USD47) for private hospitals and RM50 (USD12) for govt hospitals. Consultation fees, blood tests and X-Rays go as low as RM1 (24 Cents) in govt hospitals. If you get hurt here, we got you covered.

And that’s just off my head! If there’s something specific you’d like you know, feel free to ask further ouob

#inbox #long post #Malaysia

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elysiadjarin · 3 years ago

Text

Sword and Shield 3

Summary: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on

Chapter 2: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/653202473626025984/sword-and-shield

Warning: Mentions of previous abuse/trauma, and an injury.

3: Integrate

Nervously, you bit your lip and tugged at your hair. You’d secured it so it would stay out of your face for the mission, and you’d already gone over the notes you’d taken the previous day as you’d gotten ready for the day. Dressed in your gear, you double-checked that you had everything.

The whole crew had gathered in the cockpit while approaching the mission site to receive orders from Hunter.

“Tech, tell them the layout and strategy.”

Tech adjusted his goggles and pulled up a holoscreen. “Our mission is to obtain some information that’s been stored in a vault underneath this Separatist bunker,” he said, pointing at the map. It zoomed in on the bunker’s location, revealing the armored doors.

“It’s only going to be there for one day before it’s supposed to be moved, so we have to move in on this intel as soon as possible,” Tech continued, laying out the stakes. “This might be our only chance to get our hands on his information, especially since this base is out in the middle of nowhere. It’s held in the base, but there’s not much of a guard around the bunker itself.”

“So how are we getting in?” Wrecker asked, clearly eager to get to the plan.

“The biggest problem is going to be getting in. Once we’re in, it’ll be a quick and easy trip to the vault. There’s a holopad right by the doorway. I need a running distraction to let me get close enough to hack it and get us in.” Tech adjusted his glasses.

“Cross will find a point to pick off whoever comes in and out of those doors,” Hunter spoke up, focused on piloting while he listened. “Wrecker, we’re going to need you to try to run as big of a distraction as possible and keep them occupied. Tech will get close to the door, and I’ll follow behind him as close as possible to watch his back while he’s hacking the keypad.”

Tech turned to you, observing you. “We don’t know much about your skills yet. Do you see a place that would best suit you?”

You thought for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as you ran though the plan in your mind. “I’ve studied the footage and information you gave me yesterday,” you said, slow but even. “Considering the way we’re approaching this, I think I should be most useful if the Sergeant uses me as a weapon. Since I’m versatile and can be changed depending on what the situation requires, the close combat might be best for me. Plus, once we’re in, I might be able to help clear a path.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” Hunter said crisply. “Hold on, we’re entering the atmosphere.”

Everyone grabbed onto something or strapped in as the descent began, and you grabbed onto a hanging strap, bracing your feet. You caught sight of Wrecker turning to you, and you glanced up at him instinctively.

“Oh, hey, thanks for the food yesterday!” he called over the rattling, grinning so wide that you swore you could count his teeth. “It was really good!”

The comment took you off guard, and you had to grab onto another strap to keep yourself from sliding against the floor. “Y-you’re welcome,” you called back, feeling some heat creep up your neck and cheeks. You supposed that answered your question about whether they’d at least found the portions.

Hunter evened the ship out as you broke through the atmosphere, leveling out and beginning to more smoothly descent. Everyone relaxed again, checking gear and preparing for the landing itself.

You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment in order to mentally prepare yourself. You’d have to create a Transference Bond with the Sergeant, so it would take a moment. You only opened your eyes once you felt the landing gear hit the ground and the ship settle in landing.

Hunter stood once the process was complete, turning. “Let’s go.” Once at the ramp, he turned to the group. “Gear and Plan?” He checked. Running his eyes over everyone and getting their confirmation, he turned to you. “Commander Rex explained a little of the process of Transference Bonding to me to give me a basis of understanding. I suppose it wouldn’t be the best idea to do it all at once.”

You shook your head. “I could, but it’s easier to do it one by one to give me a distinction between each Bond,” you answered, knowing the importance of explaining how you worked.

He nodded. Taking a breath, he held out his hand to you. “I suppose it’s time. Everyone watch and listen closely for when you have to do it yourself,” he ordered.

You nodded back, straightening. “You have to offer your hand and say ‘Permission to Transfer.’ It begins the process for me to able to start Transference.”

Hunter stared at you, focused. “Permission to Transfer,” he repeated in a firm, even tone.

You let the sensation of the sucking whirlpool in your gut start to grow stronger, stirred by the initiating words. Deliberately, you reached out and grasped his hand. “Once I finish the initiating words, you’re going to feel a strange sensation like you’re absorbing something into your body. Don’t fight it, just let it happen so I can stabilize the connection,” you warned. “If you feel anything like a weird snap or push in the back of your head, that’s just the Bond solidifying.” You took in a deep breath. “The more open you let yourself be towards me, the stronger the connection.”

Hunter nodded in understanding.

You closed your eyes. “Transfer Granted,” you said, finishing the circuit. Again, you worked through the suctioning sensation, allowing your body to Shift into a basic form you knew very well. Opening your eyes once the sensations settled, you checked the Bond and stability of your connection.

Hunter had been surprisingly receptive compared to most first-time Handlers, and you found the Bond to be pretty sturdy all things considered. As soon as you feel comfortable, getting used to the new Handler, you let yourself materialize over his shoulder.

“I usually start out with a standard blaster,” you said, your voice a little wispier than normal as you pointed at the blaster in his hand.

He stared down at the weapon, turning it over in his hands. “I can hear you both out loud and like... like an echo in my head,” he remarked, voice a little terse.

You nodded. “It’s part of the Bonding. You can communicate with me out loud, but in cases when silence is required or for quick-time response, there’s a limited mental connection created. You can either speak in words or visualize, whichever comes more easily to you. That’s also how you can customize me as a weapon, by visualizing or describing to me the specific modifications that you want,” you explained, used to the process by now. “I don’t read your mind, you have to sort of... push them towards me, in a sense. It’s a limited connection,” you added, knowing the trepidation of the idea of someone possibly being able to read your mind.

He relaxed a little at that, and a blurred image started to bloom in the back of your mind. You tilted your head, and slowly the image started to crystallize as Hunter got used to the Bond and the communication. You picked up on the request, and between one breath and the next, you had Shifted into a modified blaster specifically balanced to his preference.

You took in a breath. “Please be patient with me,” you requested. “It takes me a little while to become completely accustomed to your particular fighting styles in order to best accommodate to your strengths. It may take me some time in the beginning.”

Wrecker bent forward, squinting at you. “Hey Shiv — I can call you that, right? — why do you look so... blurry?”

Tech adjusted his goggles. “It’s more like she’s a shadow, Wrecker,” he remarked clinically, observing you closely. “I think it’s the only way she can manifest herself since she’s technically the weapon itself.”

You nodded at him. “Tech is right. It’s kind of my astral form,” you confirmed.

“Cool!” Wrecker grinned at the general vicinity of your face.

“Alright, let’s go,” Hunter said, starting down the ramp and off towards the direction of the base.

You mentally picked apart the details of the modified weapon he’d shown you, making sure your copy of it was exact down to the weight and size. You tried your best to recall all the footage you’d analyzed the day before, specifically the patterns you’d noticed and highlighted about the Sergeant. You’d have to try to accommodate yourself to his movements and attempt to predict his preferences in weaponry and how he chose to utilize it. That way, you could start to make your performance seamless and save precious nanoseconds of response time that could mean the difference between life and death.

He glanced down at you, feeling the slight shift in the weight as you adjusted. A distant voice sounded in the back of your mind. If I wanted to change weapons, how would I ask?

You strained to hear. Project a little more towards the area you feel like the Bond is. You coached. You’re a bit faint.

He repeated the question, and it sounded much clearer and louder.

Thank you. I can hear better. The best way is to either mentally request it, or to visualize it again like you did to modify this blaster. Whichever is easier for you. You responded to his question.

I tend to visualize things when thinking. Hunter said. I think that’s how it’ll probably come across.

I understand, you acknowledged. After all, different people worked differently. Luckily, you’d worked with both visualizers as well as stream-of-consciousness, full word or sentence thinkers. I’m only limited by the amount of information you give me. I can Shift in nanoseconds, but if you don’t make sure to specify everything, it might be incomplete or a little different than what you wanted. You warned.

He nodded wordlessly, just as you came up to the clearing where the base was. The planet itself was rather forested, and the base had been set in the middle of a small clearing, half-hidden from above by the tree canopy. You briefly wondered how much intel had been needed in order to even find this place, much less know when and how long the intel would be shipped through this base anyway.

Two guards stood by the door, holding electro-spears with blasters at their sides. You didn’t doubt that there were probably more stationed within the base as well that would probably stream out like a disturbed ants nest once a confrontation began.

“Alright,” Hunter hissed lowly, gathering everyone’s attention. Cross, find a spot. You’ve got three minutes. Wrecker, get ready to run distraction. Yes, you can blow the ground sky-high for all I care, just make it big enough and keep their attention for as long as you can. Tech, get ready to slip around once Wrecker has them occupied.”

A sudden idea occurred to you. Cloaking shield. You whispered to Hunter, sending across a visualization of your possible contribution.

He instantly pounced on the idea. “Shiv is going to create a cloaking shield, get over here,” he hissed to Tech, who stepped closer to Hunter’s side. “We’ll use this to get as close as possible. If our cover’s blown, I’ll back you up.”

Tech nodded, pushing the visor of his helmet down in preparation. A minute later, Hunter nodded. “Let’s go.” He motioned to Wrecker.

With a booming laugh that you swore rattled through your currently nonexistent bones, Wrecker took a running leap into the clearing and slammed his fists into the ground. Chunks of earth went flying, and just as expected, the two armored guards started to run towards him. As soon as Hunter decided they were distracted enough, he motioned decisively.

You Shifted, creating the cloaking shield large enough for both him and Tech to fit under. Hunter started to move around the edge of the clearing, trying to stay a bit away from the flying rubble as Wrecker pulled out his grenades. You tried your best to keep monitoring, materializing over Hunter’s shoulder in order to keep eyes out for the flying rubble that might cause you to lose concentration if it hit the shield too hard or unexpectedly.

“How long can you hold it?” Hunter hissed, trying to stay quiet but let Tech in on the conversation.

“As long as nothing directly damages or hits me, as long as you need,” you whispered back. “But I expend more energy the larger of a weapon or shield that I am required to be.”

He nodded, helmet focused forward. You’d almost reached the doors, and the doors had cracked open to briefly allow backup to wriggle through.

“There’s going to be a risk,” you warned them as you reached the keypad. “I can’t hide the fact that the keypad is going to disappear from view or be tampered with. If anyone notices, the cover is blown.”

Hunter nodded. “Tech, you know how fast you can work. Concentrate, we’ll give you cover.”

Tech nodded, instantly pulling out some gear and hooking himself up to the keypad.

Hunter started filtering information to you about various weapons and their modifications he preferred to use, and you started instantly absorbing the information. To your surprise, you found that his visuals were extremely detailed, to the point that you almost started feeling them yourself. Everything in his head felt so much... crisper. So much more. You realized that it did make sense, considering his heightened senses. Everything would feel that much more to him, so it would naturally be transferred to you, especially considering your Bond.

Send me your Instincts, you whispered to him mentally.

What?

You let your astral form float a little in front of him, then pointed to his hands. Push across every instinct that you can towards the Bond. Channel them straight to me. Let your thoughts and instincts flow straight through the Bond, like a stream rushing by.

Hunter glanced at you, keeping an eye out for the distraction Wrecker was running. Crosshair had begun to snipe them down one by one, you vaguely noted. What does that do?

You started to feel him direct towards you, trying your best to accommodate and map out the way his instincts were honed. I am a living weapon, Sergeant, you reminded him. If a weapon could understand your instincts and become a part of your body, an extension of yourself, able to work with your thoughts in real time, what would you do with that? How would you shape that weapon and use it? I am a tool. I am a weapon, under your control. Please use me. This is my job.

Sometimes, the words felt like betrayal, coming from your own mind and mouth. Even though you knew you had worth, were more than just an object, you also knew that your part in this war and what you fundamentally were as a being was... a weapon. A weapon to be utilized to devastating effect. To kill, or to protect... to shield, or to destroy.

I am a weapon. You are a Handler. I will be used however you decide.

Hunter’s eyes hardened as he glanced at your form, and you felt his fingers tighten around the handle of the cloaking shield. But he said nothing and continued to funnel everything like a rushing stream into the Bond.

Tech hissed. “I’ve got it.”

The doors slid open, revealing an empty hallway.

Hunter stepped forward. “Get in, now, before anyone notices,” he barked.

Tech and Hunter quickly stepped in, heading down the corridor.

Blaster, Hunter requested.

You Shifted, allowing the cloaking shield to disappear. The three of you crept down the hallway, Tech leading the way as he glanced down at the map of the base he’d managed to strip. He fiddled with his controls as he led down the twisting hallways, opening doors as necessary.

“The intel holding should be just past this door,” Tech whispered tersely, holding his device up to the blast doors. The infrared picked up several life forms, and when he switched to x-ray, a couple of droids showed up on the screen.

“Those are assassin droids,” you whispered urgently, recognizing the shape and build.

Hunter nodded grimly. “Tech, once the doors are open, go for the others. We’ll handle the droids.”

You leaned toward Hunter’s ear. “Weaken the head plates and use a vibro-shiv to get to the cores,” you whispered, knowing how those droids worked. You’d lost Handlers before thanks to the stupid droids and their required close-combat.

Hunter nodded, and the doors started to open. As soon as they’d opened wide enough, Tech followed Hunter’s nod and slid around the corner. They both started to shoot at the same time. A few of the organic soldiers dropped thanks to getting caught in crossfire from the assassin droids, and Hunter started to target the head plates of the droids.

You quickly picked up on his flow of movement, correcting for precision aiming and knocking plates loose from the droids. Three of them started converging on you, and Hunter shouted at Tech.

“Get to cover!”

In a heartbeat, you’d Shifted into the vibro-shiv and he’d slashed at the wiring under one of the droid’s loose plates. It started to stagger, some of the support lost. Kicking out at the other, Hunter quickly managed to incapacitate the other two enough to slash at their wires as well. It didn’t take long for them to stagger about, losing some of their motor functions.

Tech found an opening and managed to nail one droid right in the exposed core, downing it in a shower of sparks. Hunter sank the shiv into another core, but you’d already caught sight of the last droid starting to point its blastered hand.

Hardly thinking, you bulked the weight of the vibro-shiv and made Hunter drop at the unexpected weight, barely missing the blast that went over his head. You returned it to normal a second later, and Hunter whirled on his heels close to the ground and threw.

You pointed the shiv with deadly accuracy, making it sink directly into the center of the exposed core. The droid froze, shuddering. For a moment the whole room seemed to freeze as Hunter and the droid faced off. Then the droid crumpled with a screech of metal, collapsing on the floor. The shiv shuddered.

Hold out your hand, you whispered to Hunter.

He held out his hand, and the shiv whipped back into his hand as you returned yourself to him. His hand closed over the hilt, and it shifted back into a blaster.

Tech had already scurried over the vault and was quickly working on it, fingers flying over his cracking device. Hunter turned toward the door, pointing the blaster and keeping an eye out.

“Thanks,” Hunter said gruffly. “Back there, with the third.”

The thanks caught you off guard. Why would he thank you? I... It’s my job, was all you could really think to say, thoroughly confused. You were a weapon. Why would he thank you for doing what you were literally born to do?

A flash of anger traveled through your Bond, and you instinctively shrank away though it passed just as quickly as it had appeared. Why would he be angry? Had you done something wrong? Had he not wanted you to correct it? Would it have been better if you’d done it differently?

You tried to refocus, knowing better than to get distracted now. The mission was still underway.

You heard the vault click behind you, then a quick rustle. Tech’s footsteps faltered, then squeaked against the floor.

“We need to go!” he shouted, beginning to sprint. “The vault was rigged! This place is going to blow in T-minus two minutes!”

Hunter had automatically followed Tech, but his pace quickened. “Tech, we’re not going to make it,” Hunter called grimly.

And he was right. It would take you longer to get out than that. There were so many twists and turns. You thinned your lips, materializing over his shoulder.

“Grab Tech,” you said, already Shifting. Hunter lunged forward towards Tech, grabbing him as he threw you down and jumped. You guided yourself to catch both him and Tech as a hoverdisc. A joystick grew from the base, and Tech unquestioningly grabbed it, beginning to guide you down paths so quickly that you barely had time to register any surroundings.

You rounded a corner, and Hunter shouted something. The doors had begun to close. But Tech just hunched over, and flicked a button you provided on the joystick.

“Hold on!” Tech yelled.

You Shifted, closing your eyes in order to concentrate, get it right, there wasn’t room for hesitation or error, you knew this, you could do this-

Heat seared your senses just as you managed to throw up both a shield and the proper mechanics that you’d studied so diligently and meticulously.

You screamed.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that you were flying through the air, the Transference forcefully Dissolved. But all you could really pay attention to was the pain that burned through all of your nerves and senses. The moment you felt yourself hit the ground and roll, all breath was knocked out of your lungs.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you wordlessly clutched at your arm, unable to make a single sound. You knew this had been a risk, the moment you’d done it. You’d only managed to put up the shield just in time to save Hunter and Tech from the blast approaching behind you, but it had been incomplete in your hurry to both throw it up and blow the doors open.

You’d been distracted. And now you were paying for your own mistake.

A half-strangled sob burst from your lips as you peeled your hand away from your arm, digging your hand into the soil underneath you and jacking yourself up. You’d taken damage from the blast, and just as you’d known would happen, it had Transferred to your physical body as well. After all... you were a weapon. And every weapon gets dents and scorch marks in battle. But you knew you were meant to take it. You’d always known you were meant to be the shield for your Handler.

Someone skidded to your side as you hunched over, trying to breathe through the pain. If you could just-

“Maker,” a voice snarled.

Vaguely, you half-registered the voice as Hunter’s. You scrabbled back, throwing out your good hand. “Don’t touch me!” you sobbed out, begging, praying that he wouldn’t touch you.

“Shiv, you need medical attention-“

“Please, don’t touch me, you don’t understand-“ you managed to sob out, shaking and hunching over.

“What happened?” Crosshair’s voice growled from nearby.

“Shiv-“ Hunter’s voice barked.

But you staggered to your feet, trying to just focus, you needed to focus- your ears rang. Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to push. You were a weapon. You did not fail your Handler. You got back up. You took the consequences, you will take the pain, you will do your kriffing job-

A shuddering gasp tore from your throat as you felt yourself begin to work. You could feel the numbing ice of cold gunmetal creep up your mangled arm, could fairly smell your hissing flesh as you covered your arm slowly but ruthlessly.

Numbness. You barely felt anything, now, except for a vague pressure on your arm. Letting out a half-broken sob, shuddering, you reached up and smeared tears away from your face. Looking up, you caught sight of all four of the Bad Batch gazing at you with varying expressions of horror or concern.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling dizziness start to descend. Everything started to spin. “I’m sorry, I’ll- I’ll fix it-“

As everything tilted, the last thing you saw was someone’s hand reaching for you.

Part 4: https://elysiadjarin.tumblr.com/post/654625612928008192/sword-and-shield-4

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digitalstowaway · 3 years ago

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No Winners: Chapter Three (Mia & Miles AU)

Read on AO3 | After failing to win a guilty verdict at his first trial, Edgeworth is denounced as von Karma's protege. Mia finds him, alone and traumatized, and decides that befriending him is like picking up a lost, wounded puppy on the side of the road. But it turns out they're connected in more ways than Terry Fawles' death.

It was Friday afternoon by the time Lana knocked on Miles’ front door, holding a thermos of soup and smiling.

Miles stood in his doorway, squinting at her. He wore his pajamas still—a comfortable set of flannel bottoms and a large t-shirt that hung off of his scrawny frame—and his hair was ruffled and messy. Lana could see how it stuck up in the back while the fringe had become frizzy and laid flat against his face.

“I thought I’d check up on you,” Lana said. “And bring you soup.”

“That was… thoughtful.” His voice was hoarse, and it sounded like he strained to get the few words out.

He would have looked adorable if there wasn’t a worrying flush to his face and glassiness over his eyes. But he did look younger than Lana had ever seen him. And smaller. If Lana didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was a teenager taking a day off school.

She just had to take care of him. She couldn’t leave a sick child home alone.

“Mind if I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lana pushed past him and was walking into the house. His home was cute but definitely belonged to a 20-year-old boy. There was hardly any decor, and all of the curtains were drawn shut—though, the latter could have been due to the poor thing looking like he had just crawled out of bed—leaving the rooms to be dark and stuffy. The kitchen was bare, most notably. The only items on the countertops were an electric kettle and decorative containers that Lana suspected held nothing in them.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Miles asked, standing behind her as she unscrewed the top of the thermos.

“If you don’t eat the soup now, it’ll get cold.”

If I don’t watch you eat right now, I don’t think you’ll eat at all.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you’re capable of it or not, it’s just nice to have someone with you.”

She began rifling through his cabinets. She was happy to see full sets of plates and bowls and cups. She wasn’t very happy to see, though, the lack of food on his shelves.

She motioned for him to sit at his island. He did, looking like he was obeying the command of a superior.

“I can make you tea as well,” Lana said, pouring out the soup in front of him.

“Are you always in the habit of inviting yourself into people’s homes and invading their kitchens?”

“I’ve been known to do so on occasion. But usually, people are more accepting of it than you because I’m also known to be a good cook.”

Miles looked down at his soup. He stirred it, mixing up the vegetables and noodles in a whirlpool, and then set his spoon down.

He was tucked into himself, arms discreetly wrapped around his middle. Lana recognized the position as someone who couldn’t stomach the thought of food.

And all of her forged maternal instincts that came from taking care of Ema rushed forward. Really, a 12-year-old girl and Miles Edgeworth couldn’t be too different to look after.

Lana pressed her hand to his forehead. He allowed it, closing his eyes.

“You’re really warm,” she sighed. “Do you have a thermometer?”

Miles shook his head. Lana tutted.

“Do you have cold medicine? Or any medicine?”

“I have aspirin.”

He was barely old enough to take aspirin. Lana prided herself on her knowledge of over-the-counter meds, and she clearly remembered the warning label on the back of the aspirin bottles to not give any to a person under 20. And god, the kid was just old enough to take such a simple drug? He was just entering the final stages of his coming of age?

Lana had had a thought or two upon first meeting Miles that he was truly too young to be in a prosecutor’s office. Not for the uptight, snooty reasons her colleagues had. But because she couldn’t bear to think of the toll it would take on someone so young—so bent on perfection.

“Do you have anything else?” she asked.

Miles shook his head. His eyebrows raised as if he was in trouble and scared of being scolded. It was always the subtle things that made Lana worry.

“Well, lucky for you, I carry everything in my purse.”

As she dug through her purse for her trusty bottle of acetaminophen, he coughed harshly into his elbow. It sounded worse than the night before. Like his lungs were trying to come up his throat. He winced and grimaced and struggled to breathe through it. Lana forgot about the pills and pulled out her phone.

“I’m going to have Mia pick up a few things for you,” she said.

“No—”

“Miles, you’re not going to get better like this. I’ll have her drop off something for your cough and a thermometer at some point today, okay?”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure you finish your soup.”

—

By the time Mia arrived with a little bag from the pharmacy, Lana was waiting in the doorway with her phone in hand. She tried to smile when Mia met her, but she looked tired and worried.

“Is he okay?” Mia asked.

She tried not to care. People got the flu. People lived through the flu. Miles was going to be fine in a week.

“He’s in rough shape,” Lana said with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Mia passed her the bag with the highly specific requested items inside. Two types of cough syrup—antitussives and expectorants. Whatever those were. Lana had said a balance of both was necessary. A bottle of acetaminophen and another of ibuprofen. There was something about alternating between the two that wasn’t explained well over text. And cough drops (of which Mia had bought three kinds), acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and a thermometer. Any thermometer, Lana told Mia.

The shopping list had been followed by a notification that Lana had sent Mia more than enough money to cover it all. There was a note in the money-sharing app that said and buy yourself something nice ;) xo Lana

It had been a nice break from her anxiety-ridden text messages. Mia had bought herself a pack of gum and two lollipops.

“That’s for you,” Mia said when Lana pulled out the second lollipop.

“How sweet,” Lana said.

“Can I see him? I want to look at the scary prodigy all sick.”

“Yeah, but be quiet. He just fell asleep.” Lana led her in. “Why do you want to see him like this?”

“Blackmail. In case he ever tries pulling something, I’ll have a picture of him all snotty and gross.”

“Mia, don’t take a picture of him.”

“Why not?”

“It’s mean. And isn’t your whole thing being anti-blackmail?”

This was different. There would be no one to truly show the picture to. And Miles would catch on to that. The threat would be superficial and empty.

The living room was dark and quiet, and Mia nearly missed Miles on the couch. He was curled up under a blanket, blending into the upholstery. But looking closer, Mia could see how pale his face was and the light layer of sweat covering his forehead.

Lana unpacked the pharmacy bag on the coffee table, careful to not make a sound to disturb Miles. But he woke himself up anyway, his uneasy breathing turning into a coughing fit. A hand emerged from the blanket, and a crumpled tissue in his fist was pressed to his mouth. His cough sounded awful. Mia nearly gagged in sympathy when she heard something deep in his lungs get stirred up.

“Miles, Mia brought you some stuff,” Lana said. “Can you take your temperature real quick?”

She assembled the thermometer. Mia had picked one up with multiple tips in hopes that the fancier it looked, the better it would work.

Lana handed the thermometer over, and Miles laid it under his tongue. Mia was surprised by the lack of fuss he made, and he did close his eyes immediately and seemed close to sleep by the time the thermometer beeped.

Lana slid it out of his mouth for him as a mother would.

“103.5,” she read.

Mia grimaced. That wasn’t good at all.

Miles’ eyes opened, but they didn’t react to what Lana had said. Instead, they fell on Mia with a glare nastier than what he usually served.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I delivered you half of a pharmacy,” Mia said, gesturing to the table. “Be grateful.”

Lana interrupted them. “Miles, if your fever gets much higher, I think I’m going to take you to a hospital.”

And the glare towards Mia immediately changed to a scared look to Lana. He shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“But if you get any worse, I think you’ll need help and there’s no clinics open at this hour. It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing very well, either.”

It didn’t. Every other intake of breath was raspy.

Miles shook his head again. Lana sat next to him on the couch and brushed his hair back from his face. It was absolutely out of character to allow himself to be coddled in such a way.

How childish he looked, Mia thought. He certainly always carried the air of a brat, but he had never looked so small. So helpless. So in need of a person like Lana Skye.

“Only if you get worse, okay?” Lana said. “And Mia brought you a lot of medicine, so hopefully you start feeling better by tonight.”

But Miles still looked scared, and Mia wondered what his damage was with hospitals. Not that anyone particularly liked having to go into hospitals. They were genuinely acknowledged as places no one ever wanted to be.

“Let’s try to get this cough under control first,” Lana said and reached for one of the bottles of cough syrup.

Hours passed, and Mia stayed. She felt bad about leaving Lana alone with the possibility of Miles needing to be taken to a hospital hanging in the air.

It was also nice to see Lana mother Miles, waking him so often to take a different pill or to press the thermometer into his mouth one more time. When she wasn’t doting on the prosecutor, they snuck into the kitchen to talk like children.

“He really needs a doctor,” Lana said. “But it’ll be best if I can get him to a clinic tomorrow instead of putting him through the emergency room tonight.”

“You’d go with him?”

“Do you think he could drive himself?”

Mia rocked against the countertop. “No.”

“Then, I’d have to go with him. Or someone would have to go with him, and I don’t really see anyone else lining up to escort him.”

Lana picked up her phone and, looking over her shoulder, Mia could see her texting Ema and then Damon Gant. One a reassuring conversation and the other a semi-desperate beg to ask anyone at all if they could do her a favor.

“You know,” Mia said, “if someone needs to watch Ema tonight, I can do it.”

Lana looked up, perhaps embarrassed that she had been caught in such weakness. “Would you?”

“Unless you need someone to wrangle Miles to the hospital.”

Lana smiled. “We’ll see which child needs the most supervision. But if I did ask you to watch Ema tonight, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not. I have nothing better to do.”

“And if I asked you to help me get Miles to a hospital?”

Mia tilted her head back. She had little reason to say no. “Sure.”

—

As the sun was finally setting, coughing turned to choking.

Miles struggled to pull himself up. He rested on his elbows, his head bowed, coughing too hard to take in any fulfilling breaths.

Lana tugged him up so that he was sitting against her. His shoulders heaved and with his coughs, small strings of bile spilled from his mouth.

“Can you get towels please?” Lana asked Mia.

Mia ran down the halls until she found a closet and stacks of towels. It was an unnecessarily large house for one kid. Mia had a one-bedroom apartment with barely enough room to accommodate Maya when she visited. And there was Miles living in a house with, if Mia counted right as she passed them, two bathrooms and a bedroom on the first floor alone.

But she couldn’t be mad at him if his sleazy mentor gave him the money to buy the house. If anything, it was good for Miles to keep whatever that man had already given him.

Mia grabbed all the hand towels and wash clothes she could, wetting a few down, and ran back to the sitting room where Lana was trying to keep Miles up.

“It’s okay,” she was repeating, and Mia could hear Miles mumbling apologies as she handed over the towels.

Lana got to work cleaning up his face and then his clothes. Miles’ thin hands were limp on his lap, only being moved by Lana to scrub at the bile that hand landed on his sweatpants.

“Do you want to change?” Lana asked.

Miles shook his head. He was usually so pristine, Mia was surprised he didn’t want a fresh pair of clothes.

“Okay. We can lay back down for now.” Lana helped him shuffle around until he was lying back down.

She covered him with his blanket again and left one of the damp cloths over his forehead. Mia stood awkwardly off to the side.

“It’s getting kinda late,” Lana said.

“If you want me to watch Ema now, I can,” she said.

“I don’t know. I think I should really get Miles to a hospital, but I think it’ll take at least the two of us to get him anywhere.”

“Is there anyone else who can watch Ema?”

Lana didn’t say anything. Mia didn’t know many people who could really be left alone with a child. Not any that could be called at the last minute.

“What about Diego?” she asked.

“Ema’s never met Diego before. I’ve barely met Diego.”

“Yeah, but he’d probably be willing to stay with her for the night. He mentioned to me once that he likes kids.”

“Miles is a kid, and he doesn’t seem to like him.”

“Miles is 20.”

“I’m 20,” Miles agreed sleepily.

“And Ema isn’t Miles,” Mia said. “She’s… less difficult.”

“Okay,” Lana said. “If he doesn’t mind, tell him I can give him our house key if he meets us here and helps us get Miles into my car.”

Mia didn’t hesitate to grab her phone and begin texting Diego, her newest message harshly juxtaposing her previous, half-flirty ones. Miles whined next to her, telling Lana that he would be okay. That he didn’t need to go anywhere. And Lana gently cooed to him that it would be alright. He needed more help than she could give him, and she and Mia would stay with him.

Mia didn’t remember when she volunteered to stay with Miles in the hospital. She thought that she would be there long enough to get him inside and moved on from the waiting room before going back to her own apartment. She watched Miles cough into his pillow and Lana brush his damp hair back from his forehead and knew that she was well past the point of any further negotiations.

#mia & miles au #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #mia fey #lana skye #my fics #no winners #finally chapter three!!!

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apolloloki97 · 4 years ago

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“Gay Judas” Mickey Milkovich x Ian Gallagher

Summary: When Mickey hears about Ian’s Gay Jesus bullshit, he decides it’s time to intervene.

Word Count: 2235

Warning: Swearing, Bipolar Disorder

Song I Wrote To: “Heat Waves Stripped-Version” by Glass Animals

Note: I really needed Mick to show up and shut this shit down and so I wrote this.

--------

Mickey Milkovich had uprooted his life for Ian Gallagher and he was happy to do it.

That is until it involved Ian being a complete moron.

Mickey had been at a random bar somewhere outside the main city he was staying in while in Mexico when he had caught a shot of his ex-boyfriend’s face on someone’s phone nearby. All it said was Chicago’s Gay Jesus and Mickey knew something was very wrong. It didn’t take him long to find the articles about Ian’s new crusade and that was when he had risked a call to Svetlana.

Hearing that Ian had become some kind of gay symbol was one thing, but the way he was doing it told Mickey another: Ian was in a manic stage and nobody was helping him. That was how he found himself back on the streets of the Southside with an angry Russian hooker by his side. “This one,” Svetlana said as she pointed to a church on the corner.

Both Svetlana and Mickey paused as they stared up at the banners that hung on the outside of the church. “Fucking hell, Ian,” Mickey swore as he saw the ridiculous illustrations of the ginger on banners and even t-shirts.

“What’s the plan? Punch moron till he stop?” Svetlana asked.

“Depends on if his little cultists swing first,” Mickey said as he scratched at his nose with his thumb before taking a deep breath. “Alright, Svet, take me to church.”

Ian was in the middle of a sermon, sort of, when Mickey burst into the room, Svetlana following right behind him. “Alright rainbow warriors, take a fucking seat!” Mickey yelled, announcing himself. Ian stared at the man in front of him, unable to think clearly. Trevor, who had begrudgingly gone to this specific meeting was looking between the two in confusion.

“What the shit!” Ian exclaimed, unsure of what else to say.

“Svet, grab him,” Mickey ordered and then all five-foot-seven of pure Russian confidence was charging down the aisle towards a surprised Ian. Mickey watched as Svetlana grabbed Ian and nearly tackled him to overpower him. Ian was strong, always had been, but Svet was just as pissed at him as Mickey was.

“You idiot,” Svetlana said as she grabbed Ian by the back of his neck and took his arm, dragging him off the dais. Ian stumbled after her, still trying to get the right words out.

“Hey! Let him go!” one of Ian’s disciples said as they moved to follow them. Svetlana pulled her knife and leveled it at the girl. Trevor stood then, ready to intervene.

“Fucking hell, Svet! Put the damn knife away, we’re in a fucking church,” Mickey said as she lowered the blade and continued to push Ian towards the door, but Gallagher was starting to resist.

“Come, Orange Boy, we need to talk,” Svetlana said, hooking her arms around Ian’s biceps.

“No! Ian! You can’t just take him!” Another girl said as she cried out for her "savior".

“Ah, don’t worry your little gay heads about it, I’ll bring your pariah back in one peace,” Mickey said, flipping her off before going to follow Ian and Svetlana.

“Who the hell are you?” a younger man said, trying to step into Mickey’s path. Mickey just grinned at him before punching him in the face. The guy fell amongst the pews and Mickey turned to the rest of the room, splaying his arms wide.

“Just call me Gay Judas,” Mickey said with a wink.

“Mickey!” Ian screamed, causing Mickey to roll his eyes. Trevor began to move toward as Mickey’s name fell from Ian’s lips. He knew immediately that this was the Mickey and Trevor was not about to let the convict take Ian away from him.

“Svet, get the bag!” Mickey said as he ran off after them. Trevor followed, bursting through the front doors just to see Svetlana throwing Ian into the back of an SUV with a black bag over his head. Mickey slid into the front seat and started up the engine. He gave a salute to Trevor as he hit the gas and sped off.

Ian swore from the backseat as Svetlana kept him contained, holding down his arms. “You fuckers!” Ian yelled. “Let me go! What the fuck ever happened to Mexico!” Mickey ignored him, not wanting to answer any questions just yet. Not until they were alone. Mickey didn’t have a lot of time and he needed to make the best of it before his deadline.

They arrived at the Alibi soon after and Svetlana helped Mickey drag Ian into the basement that Kev usually used to store weed for his and Lip’s “ice cream truck”. Now it was mainly used for interrogations or in Ian and Mickey’s case, interventions.

Svetlana and Mickey threw Ian down onto a chair and then tore the bag from his face. “Again with the fucking bag!” Ian shouted, nearly growling at Mickey.

“Shut up, Red,” Mickey said with a warning look. Ian looked around and began to settle down as he realized where he was. Still, it didn’t comfort him to know that his ex had essentially kidnapped him.

Again.

“Thanks, Svet, I owe you,” Mickey said. Svetlana leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before sending another glare at Ian as she turned to leave. As soon as the door closed and locked behind them, Mickey walked forward and landed a punch to Ian’s jaw.

“Fuck!” Ian yelled.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did, you fucking idiot,” Mickey said.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ian asked.

“I’m here, you moron, to shut this shit down,” Mickey said, grabbing at Ian’s Gay Jesus t-shirt. “Do you know how many fucking busses and trains I had to take to get back here? Fuck, Gallagher… what the fuck are you doing, man?” Mickey said, lowering his voice a bit more as Ian also began to settle.

“I’m helping,” Ian said, still trying to grasp the fact that Mickey was in front of him, that Mickey was home.

“Helping who, Ian? The fucking loons who want to lick your boots? What about being an EMT?” Mickey asked.

“It wasn’t enough,” Ian argued.

“Says who?” Mickey countered, but Ian just remained quiet. Mickey swore again, rubbing at his temples as he began to pace in front of Ian. He had planned out this whole speech he was going to say, but now he could barely get the words out. He couldn’t look at Ian without thinking about how the man had left him at the border, alone and heartbroken. However, he knew that Ian was always going to be dealing with bullshit like this. “You’re off your meds, aren’t you?” Mickey asked though he didn’t really need an answer. He knew what it looked like when Ian was manic.

“Fuck you,” Ian said.

“Uh, no,” Mickey said, crossing his arms. “I didn’t get back across the border for this shit or for you to be all dismissive when I ask about your fucking well-being. Nobody has fucking noticed have they?” Mickey asked, knowing damn well the Gallaghers forgot Ian existed half the time. Ian didn’t respond, but that was an answer in itself. “Fucking Gallaghers,” Mickey swore causing Ian to look at him with recognition, seeing his Mickey again was making his heart ache. “Get it together, Ian,” Mickey said.

“Right,” Ian scoffed and Mickey began to lose it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? And don’t give me all this 'woe is me bullshit', you’re smarter than this.”

“These kids need my help!”

“There are other ways to help them, Ian! Social workers, cops, hell a fucking walk-a-thon, but not this! This is unrecognizable.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Ian challenged.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and we both know it,” Mickey said. “I know you inside and out. I know your soul like the back of my fucking hand. Don’t you tell me that I don’t know you, Ian Gallagher. Don’t you say that shit to me.” Ian was quiet then, trying to keep it together. “You want to mean something? Start by setting a decent example for these kids that are following you like a bunch of gay ugly ducklings.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ian said.

“Stop,” Mickey said, approaching Ian. He leaned over and braced his hands on either side of the man below him, his hands digging into the armrests. “You mean something to this world, Ian, but you don’t need to go off the rails to prove it,” Mickey said with a desperate tone to his voice.

“Why do you care?” Ian asked, staring up into Mickey’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” Mickey echoed. “Did you forget everything that fucking happened at the border?” he asked as he pushed back from Ian. “I fucking love you, you idiot and I’m worried about you.” Ian was quiet for a moment before he finally sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“It got out of hand,” Ian admitted.

“Yeah, no shit,” said Mickey. “Fuck, where the hell is your family?”

“Busy,” Ian said with a shrug. That also didn’t surprise Mickey. The time Ian left to join the military, Fiona had barely looked for him. In fact, Mickey couldn’t remember anyone actively looking for Ian until the Army came looking for Lip. That had pissed off Mickey to no end, even if he never told the Gallaghers that.

“And what about that boyfriend of yours?” Mickey asked, remembering Ian talking about his relationship when Mickey had escaped.

“He saw me losing it,” Ian divulged with another shrug.

“And he didn't do anything like drag your ass to the clinic?”

“No,” Ian said.

“Fucking hell, Gallagher, you need better friends,” Mickey said, running his hands over his face. His stubble was growing out again and he desperately needed a shave. “This shit stops now, okay?” Mickey urged and Ian nodded, trying to keep it together. Mickey kneeled in front of him and from his jacket, produced the familiar orange bottles that held Ian’s meds. “I picked these up on my way.”

Ian stared at the pills with disdain but didn’t shove them out of Mickey’s hands to the latter’s relief. “You broke into my house…” Ian said.

“I still have a key, moron,” Mickey said and then softer, “Come on, baby.” Ian stopped at the use of the pet name. Mickey never tended to use anything but the more insulting nicknames, but there were times when they just slipped out and the gentler side of Mickey was revealed. A side that Ian loved the most.

Ian opened his hand and Mickey doled out his dosage before grabbing a bottle of water from the storage crate and handing it to Ian. With a deep sigh, Ian took all his stabilizers and antidepressants in one go, following up with a few swigs of water. Mickey relaxed as soon as the meds were in Ian’s system, feeling exhaustion weighing on him from all the days he had spent worrying about the love of his life. “Stop trying to fuck up this life you have, Ian,” Mickey said, reaching out to hold Ian’s face in his hand. “You’re so much better than this.” Ian leaned into his palm, savoring the small moment.

“I missed you,” Ian said, closing his eyes.

“Missed you, too,” Mickey whispered. Leaning in, Mickey rested his forehead against Ian’s and tried not to let the tears that threatened to spill cascade down his cheek. He didn’t need to get emotional now, he didn’t have much time left.

“You better get back to Mexico,” Ian whispered.

“I ain’t going back,” Mickey admitted. Ian pulled back just enough to see Mickey’s face.

“Why?” he asked.

“I made a deal,” Mickey said with a sad smile. “I rolled on a cartel back in Mexico. Told the Feds I’d finish my sentence here as long as they gave me the afternoon to finish something up. I took down some pretty fucked up dudes so they agreed. I gotta turn myself in in about twenty minutes.” Ian seemed to deflate then as realization set in.

Mickey was going back to jail because he came to save him. Again.

“I’m sorry, Mick,” Ian said. Mickey was shaking his head already as he ran his hands over Ian’s shoulders and up to his neck, relishing in the feel.

“Don’t apologize,” Mickey said, “but fucking visit me this time, will you?”

“Every week,” Ian promised without hesitation.

“Soft,” Mickey teased, and that caused Ian to laugh finally. He then turned serious.

“Thanks, Mick,” Ian said. "Thanks for coming to get me.”

“I always will,” Mickey promised. “Especially when you’re going all psycho-ginger on me.” Ian laughed again and then surged forward to kiss Mickey, crushing their lips together. Mickey savored every taste and feel of Ian’s lips on him, knowing it was going to be a while before they had another moment like this. He didn’t think Beckman would offer conjugal visits anytime soon. When they separated, Ian smiled again.

“Stop kidnapping me, Milkovich,” Ian said as he kissed Mickey quickly again.

“What can I say?” Mickey said. “I’m a whore for the dramatics, Gay Jesus.”

“Oh, shut up, you fucking convict,” Ian said as he grabbed him again.

Regardless of what the future held, they still have twenty minutes.

#Ian x Mickey #Ian Gallagher #Mickey Milkovich #shameless fanfiction #shameless #shameless fic #Gallavich #gallavich fanfiction #Gay jesus

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

Text

scrubs - 2.

pairing: doctor!sebastian stan x biomedical scientist!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of death. if you are not comfortable with these warnings please dni.

< previous chapter

- Where are you going? - Miriam rose her head from the work bench as Y/N took her gloves and googles off, disposing of both in the yellow bin. - Y/N, where are you going? Don’t leave me alone with the trainees.

- I’m going to get dinner. No eating in the lab, remember?

- Urgh, couldn’t you have gone to dinner when Michael was here? You’re leaving me alone with the trainees ... and the ask so many questions. - she whispered the last part, afraid the trainees would hear her and hit her over the head with their very heavy portfolios. - I’m going next.

- Hour break, don’t you dare page me. - she pointed her finger menacingly at Miriam before clocking out and heading out for dinner. If they had told her during her sleepless nights spent revising for her least favourite modules the most exciting time of her shifts would be the bland food served by the hospital cafeteria, she would’ve just become a pharmaceutical researcher. Yet again, you need to start at the bottom if you want to get to the top and Y/N was more than ready to climb that moment.

She pressed the button for the lift, leaning against her own hand as she tried to wake herself up. Turns out studying and staying up all night applying for PhD projects and then coming to work at 7AM is not the way to go for energy. Luckily, the black tea she had drank this morning had managed to keep her awake, however the caffeine was starting to slowly leave her system and she still had a few more hours awaiting her. As she was about to fall asleep while waiting for the lift to make it to the lower floors, she heard her name being called out.

- Y/N? - she looked to her side to see Peter standing next to her. They’ve known each other since freshers and if there was someone who was always wide awake during twenty four hour shifts it was him. He worked currently in the clinical biochemistry laboratory, mostly coming over to visit Y/N whenever they were working on cardiac infection cases together. - I looked at the file you gave me. CRP is actually present but quite low, could be recovery phase from an infection. My guess with abdominal pain would be a UTI.

- You reckon it hit recovery phase by itself?

- Listen, some pharmacy assistant might’ve given him antibiotics. Who knows but I’d get a urine analysis, do some cultures and see how’s it going but from my point of view, it’s in recovery phase.

- You’re a superstar, Peter. - she hugged him just as the lift doors opened. - You’re going up?

- Yeah, it’s dinner time. I think they’re serving meatballs today. Exciting stuff. - the two stepped onto the lift. - Miriam said Dr. Stan came down today. You’re still giving him hell?

- I am not giving him hell. He’s just constantly sending samples either mislabelled or misplaced and he expects me to lecture his nursing staff about it.

- I don’t know, Y/N. Back at university you spent 2 hours arguing an answer with a lecturer, I just think you like arguing. - he chuckled as the doors opened onto the floor where the cafeteria was. - Or maybe you like arguing with Dr. Stan.

Before she could complain about the snide comment, Peter took to having a chat with a nurse he was particular sweet on leaving Y/N with her mouth open ready to argue and a finger pointed at him. She rolled her eyes, collecting herself as she released her hair from the ponytail which held it safely high up so her scalp could rest for a few hours before it had to go back up. Walking into the green lit cafeteria, the room was filled with half asleep medical staff digging through the bland food like mindless zombies. She did not blame them, she too sometimes would switch off her brain during breaks but lately all the free time she had was dedicated to applications after applications, despite the fact she kept getting rejections every single day.

The scientist grabbed a worn out plastic blue tray, getting a batch on weirdly shaped meatballs from the cafeteria lady as well as some odly too yellow noodles. Hey, it is food, her brain told her as she grabbed a diet Pepsi and a slice of apple pie which was the only eatable dessert around.

- Didn’t you owe me dinner?

- You almost made me drop my tray. - she gave the resident doctor a dirty look, gripping tighter onto the tray. - And I’ll be damned if I ever owe you dinner but I do have your blood culture results and we did sort out your weird infection case.

- It is not my infection case.

- Fine, your patient’s infection case. God heavens if any interns knew that you had an infection, that way they wouldn’t fawn over you. - she rolled her eyes at him, setting her tray in the first table she came over. He did the same, placing his tray right in front of hers before sitting in the metal chair with a cocky grin. - Go away, I’ll send over the report to your office.

- Have you not figured it out yet and trying to buy yourself more time? Or are you trying to escape the dinner date you set up with me?

- That might work on your interns but not on me, Stan. Besides, it is an infection.

- But there’s no worrying levels CRP besides, what about the abdominal pain? Surely CRP and white blood cells would be off the roof.

- Okay, since you probably missed Biochemistry in med school I will explain it to you. The CRP levels are high during initial phases and lower down during resolve. Your patient is probably on recovery phase already. Recovery means it is fixing itself. Do you need me to explain CRP to you?

- If you pulled that out with any other doctor, you would’ve gotten told off.

- Other doctors don’t ask me stupid questions. - she pointed her fork at him. - Dr. Mackie never sends the samples in the wrong vials.

- What about the blood cultures?

- Congratulations, Dr. Your patient is not septic. It’s most likely localised but I’d suggest ordering some X-rays if you wanna localise where it actually is. I wash my hands of your troubles. - she shrugged, wrapping her fork in the spaghetti laying on her plate. - Need anything else, Dr. Stan?

- I remember being promised a dinner date.

- You should get your ears checked, the only thing I promised you was data and you’re lucky I also gave you a data ana ... - the scientist was interrupted by her pager beeping loudly against her belt. She grumbled, looking down at her belt with a look that would scare anyone. - Duty calls.

- How convenient it went off now.

- Unlike you, Dr. Stan, I have a team to lead.

- Sounds complicated, Y/N. You sure you don’t need a babysitter?

She turned around as she was about to leave, raising his middle finger at him before rushing down the hall as her pager beeped uncontrollably. So much for not paging her during dinner time. Someone better be dying, she thought to herself as she slide her card into the door slot to get access. What she came in contact with was not what she was expecting from a laboratory of trained professionals. Miriam was holding one of the trainees head forward whose nose was bleeding all over her worktop bench.

- Miriam, what the fuck?

- Don’t look at me. Thomas ... - she squinted at the boy whose head she was holding forward. - Started bleeding when he smelled the knee aspiration.

- Oh no. - Y/N put some gloves on before walking over to the two. - Okay, Miriam call a code orange. I’ll take Thomas upstairs and get him sorted.

- It’s so stinky.

- I know. - Y/N handed them two cotton balls from the jar to her left. - Put them up your nose.

What would be a day in the laboratory if a newbie didn’t either faint or got nose bleeds from samples? Definitely not a day in her laboratory. She looked around the busy hospital grounds, trying to find any free, available nurses but they were all overworked. No wonder why, whenever midnight rolled around, people started coming in left and right from club brawls and the grounds were always a nightmare.

- What you got there, Miss Y/L/N? Is this how you lead your team?

- Fuck off, Stan. I do not have time to listen to your comments, I need to find a nurse.

- What happened, kid? - Sebastian looked to the 19 year old medical laboratory assistant holding cotton against his nose. - Lab that bad? Come on, I’ll fix you up.

- Thanks. - she mumbled, following the two men into one of the free areas. Thomas sat on the table while Sebastian pulled up a chair to sit in, Y/N remaining up on her feet.

- So kid, what happened? Y/N rough you up too much?

- He got a nosebleed from the smell of a knee fluid from an aspiration. - Y/N replied to him, much to Thomas delight who felt more than embarrassed about the situation he was in. - Is this what you’re doing now, Dr. Stan? Minor cases? Did the chief of medicine finally realised you’re unqualified?

- No. - he spoke as he pointed out his light at the trainees nose, to look for any specific damage. - One of my patient’s in critical care but it seems to have stabilised for now at least.

- Oh ... sorry. What happened to them?

- Sepsis. - he turned off the lights. - Listen kid, it’s nothing to bad. Just stay sat here and firmly pinch the soft part of your nose, just above your nostrils, for about 15 minutes. Don’t forget to lean forward and breathe through your mouth. Me or one of the nurses will come check on you after to see if it has improved but so far, so good.

- I’ll return to the lab. Page me when you’re ready to return, okay? - she gave the young starter a kind smile before pulling the curtains and letting him be. Unfortunately for her, Stan would not let her be. - Keep it.

- How weak are your staff? How are they gonna react to when they actually see infected body parts?

- I said keep it. - she crossed her arms, ready to leave and return to the laboratory until she remembered something. She turned around on her heel, passive aggressive smile on her lips as she leaned her head on her shoulder. - Also, Dr. Stan, the infected tissue samples you sent us had the wrong birthdate on them.

- C’mon Y/N.

- They’re on hold until you speak with the laboratory manager about them. Good luck.

He opened his mouth to fight with her but she had already gotten into the elevator. The rest of her shift was pretty uneventful with her and a few of her colleagues having to pick up the pace to get everything sorted before they left. Miriam and her fiance left first at 1AM leaving Y/N to count the minutes til 2 AM rolled around. Once the clock read 2AM, like a speeder, she was out of that laboratory and into the elevator before anyone could call her. Walking to her parking spot, the sky was dark, the lot light by harsh yellow barely brightening. As she walked over to the second handed baby blue Fiat 500, she noticed someone hunched over and sat on the top of a black new model Audi, smoke coming out from his cigarette. Normally, she would’ve just avoided it and gotten into her car to go home but the turquoise scrubs were much too familiar at this point.

- Dr. Stan? - her boots hit the gravel as she stood just a few meters away from him. - Do they not teach you in medical school that smoking increases the chance of lung cancer?

- Not now, Y/N. - no sarcastic remark? That was a new one. He threw the cigarette butt onto the ground once it was all over, feet rubbing it against the gravel. - Not now.

- I thought your shift finished at 1:30? Pulling overtime hours? Someone needed your assistance? Death time?

- My septic patient died. - she immediately wished she hadn’t said anything. Death was not something she particularly dealt with. Surely, some results were awful, specially in cases of ultra resistant bacteria showing up in the blood but that’s what they were, results. She didn’t see the patient, in all honesty all she would know the patient would be by a barcode number. - Sepsis quickly lead to organ failure. I don’t understand ... she was getting better.

- Sepsis is unpredictable. You did the best you could do.

- And you’d know? All you do is be in the laboratory and do tests. What would you know about it?

- Okay ... - she put her hands on her hips. - Are you on any antibiotics, prescription pain killers, sedative drugs, statins or any antidepressants?

- I don’t see the point.

- The bar nearby has a discount for hospital staff. It’s only a five minute walk and everyone else is so miserable, you don’t feel bad about being miserable.

- I’m not going to the bar in my scrubs, Y/N.

- If you’re okay wearing those ... - she pointed at his scrubs. - Then you are okay wearing them at the bar.

She was right, the bar did look miserable. Not in a miserable way which would require regulation to shut down the place but miserable in a way one would just be at home wallowing in their pity with a pint of beer and right now that was all he needed. He sat in a sticky red booth, in front of her with a pint of beer while she picked a cocktail from the menu.

- You don’t seem like the type of girl who’d come here.

- And I’m not but they sell really cheap burgers at lunchtime. - she put her hand under her chin. - Besides, I’ve done this before.

- When did you convince someone to come to the bar because their patient flat lined?

- You know Dr. Liam Watts?

- Surgery residency? I’ve heard about him before. - her lips tensed in a straight line as she leaned her head on her shoulder. - No. You’ve been here with Bucktooth Watts before?

- Yeah... even after he clearly needed support after he couldn’t save his first patient, he still decided to take me on a date here.

- I’m sorry, you dated Bucktooth Watts? - he chuckled, downing whatever was left of his pint, signalling the bartender to bring him another one.

- This is why we don’t hang out. He’s not bucktoothed.

- Sure, sure. I see the appeal, I mean over Christmas at least you have someone to cut the carrots.

The night went onwards with a bunch of maybe irresponsible drinking. Y/N was two mojitos in and she was already tipsy and giggling like a school girl, not really used to drinking. Sebastian was in the same state as her, trying not to laugh at everything as they stepped outside to grab a taxi. At least both of them were conscious enough to decide not to drive.

- No, you did not get locked in the vroom cupboard during your residency. - she held her belly as she laughed.

- I did and my senior doctor did not notice I was gone. I was stuck there for 5 hours.

- Oh god. - she held herself against the wall. - I always knew you were a clutz. You know, you’re the only doctor who hasn’t told off his nurses about the blood bottles.

- Can I tell you a secret? - he whispered mid laughter. - I am afraid of them.

- Oh my god. - she held her hand on his shoulder covering her mouth with the other one. - See, this is why I constantly argue with you. You’re soft, doctor.

- Arguing with you is the best part of my day. You look really hot when you’re telling me off.

- You look terrible when I tell you off. - the two of them stopped laughing, looking into each other eyes for the first time since they’d been out of the laboratory. Maybe it was the alcohol but at that moment, the best idea to the two of them was to lean towards each other, his hands grasping each side of her waist as they connected the space between them, getting together into a hot long kiss.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan doctor au #doctor!sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years ago

Text

Standards of Performance

Here it is!!!!! First chapter of my first fic on my new AO3! This is a multi-chapter, slow burn work. Please let me know what you think, I welcome screaming and incoherent asks about our fave special agent in my inbox. Full text under the cut, or you can find it through the AO3 link below.

AO3 link

Summary: You're the BAU's newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 1, Coffee Stains and Neckties

Words: 2388

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Warnings: Not much for this chapter specifically, but let’s just assume general gore and murder stuff, explicit language, and sexual content are fair game form here on out.

Enjoy! I’ll try to update weekly, if not more often. I’ll let you know when I have a more defined schedule!

“Fucking SHIT!”

You cursed as you felt the (very, very) hot coffee soak your new skirt. Grabbing as many paper towels as you could with one hand, you tried to sop up the mess on the floor. The stain on your outfit? A shame, but nothing compared to marring the assuredly expensive cream color of the BAU’s breakroom carpet.

A low chuckle sounded off behind you, and you froze.

For the love of god, please don’t be…

“Morgan! Please tell me you have carpet cleaner, oh my god. I don’t even know how that happened.”

Morgan grinned, as he typically did, sauntering into the breakroom with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, the janitor's got it later. I was looking for you, team meeting in five. You all good? You look a little - ” he paused, probably searching for a descriptor that wouldn’t sting too bad, “ - rushed.”

You stood up, sighing. He was right, after all. You had stayed up late last night poring over psychology textbooks and only just woken up in time to leave your apartment. As the BAU’s newest profiling intern - whatever the hell that actually meant - the pressure of performing to seasoned profilers’ standards manifested in spending practically all your free time buried in research. Hence why your hair was coated in unbelievable amounts of dry shampoo, you were wearing your unflatteringly oversized glasses instead of your usual contacts, and why your frantic attempt at pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you got into work had resulted in the giant wet spot currently soaking your skirt.

At least the skirt was black.

“You’re right. Late night,” you said, rolling your eyes at Morgan’s suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Not like that, I wish. Just trying to catch up. Don’t really want to repeat last week’s disaster,” you mumbled, referring to the first time you actually got to question a suspect, which had ended up with a wad of saliva hawked in your face. It was only your third week in the position, but damn, if that hadn’t let the wind out of your sails a bit.

“Hey, what did I tell you then?” Morgan asked, as you walked out of the breakroom together. “You’re not a true profiler until you get assaulted by a serial killer!”

“I’m not a true profiler until I finish the year long training program,” you pointed out, “so I think I could do without the spit in the meantime.”

Morgan laughed, opening the door of the team’s briefing room for you. “Well if we’d known you were gonna be so picky, we might have gone with someone else.”

“Who’s picky?” asked Emily, looking up from her seat.

While Morgan laughed and launched into a dramatic retelling of the event as if the entire team hadn’t already fucking seen it in real time, you took your seat at the table. Reid nodded in acknowledgment, and you returned it with a small smile. Damn if he wasn’t handsome, and ridiculously smart to boot, but you were pretty sure your chances with him withered and died when you asked him what he was doing after work last Friday and he answered with, “Reading.” Point taken.

Hotch swiveled in his chair to face the table and you suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a mess you probably looked. It’s not that you cared about his opinion regarding your general appearance beyond the basic standard of professional attire, but his always-intense gaze and stony expression had a way of making you second guess even your most confidently held opinions.

“Sit,” he said, his voice cutting through the rest of the team’s animated chatter.

It would have been hard not to notice how quickly they obliged, not out of fear, but rather a respect and deference so deeply ingrained that it almost gave you goosebumps. You’d never thought of yourself as a follower, per say, but if Hotch was what a leader looked like, you certainly didn’t fit into that category either.

He scanned the table, stopping on you. “New glasses?” he asked, with a single, slightly raised eyebrow.

“I, um, not really, just didn’t have time to put my contacts in,” you stammered.

“Hm,” Hotch said, “They look nice.”

Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, and you thanked him quickly, looking down at your shoes to conceal the pink that was probably spreading across your face. Hotch had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like the absolute truth, which was probably why such an innocuous little compliment had disarmed you so much.

Still though, jesus christ. Get it the fuck together. You’re not Reid; you’re not smart enough to be this awkward.

Hotch, blessedly ignoring how painful you just made that interaction, addressed the team while JJ passed out files. “We have a new case. Three bodies, all found completely drained of blood in various woods, off hiking trails. Cause of death appears to be blood loss from severed carotid arteries, meaning they were likely strung up and drained before being moved to where they were discovered.”

Reid spoke up first. “Erm, what exactly do you mean by various woods?”

“That’s the unusual thing,” Hotch said, pulling up a map of the southwestern United States on the screen behind him. "Each body was found in a different state, one here, one here, and one here,” pointing to spots in California, Arizona, and Nevada. “However, local police discovered the bodies within hours of each other due to anonymous tip offs, and medical examiners estimate approximately the same time of death for all three.”

Morgan whistled lowly. “So what you’re saying is, this guy kills three victims around the same time and takes a road trip to hide their bodies in places he knows won't be discovered until he calls in.”

“That’s how it appears, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Rossi shook his head, twirling a pen that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. “So, how are we splitting this up?”

You whipped your head in his direction. Splitting up? Of course, you should have known it’d only make sense considering the ground to be covered, but your quick mental calculations told you that there were six of them, evenly split into three groups of two, and one odd man out, both in skill and number - you.

“So, who’s getting stuck with me?” you asked, trying to beat everyone to the punch. Not that any of them would voice it, but if you couldn’t project confidence, you figured self-awareness would do.

When you entered the internship as a recent college grad around a month ago, you knew you’d be in way over your head. Everyone else on the team was a seasoned expert, and you were a 20-something with a degree in psychology who somehow managed to charm her way through the interviews of the BAU’s flagship internship program. It’s not that you weren’t smart, you were, of course, but comparatively? You were pretty sure this was shaping up to be a glorified babysitting program, and you were the baby.

“Oh, hush,” JJ said, smiling and shaking her head. You smiled back. JJ had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, which you were unspeakably grateful for. Between her and Morgan, you sometimes felt like maybe when this year was done, you could actually belong on this team.

Hotch interrupted your pity party. “Rossi, you’re with Reid in Phoenix. JJ and Emily, you’re going to Vegas. Morgan, you and I are going to San Diego.”

He turned to you. “You’re coming with me.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. You knew he had the most to teach you, and you could observe him coordinating the entire investigation from San Diego, but the idea of your performance being directly scrutinized by your boss in such a small group made you more nauseous than excited.

“Please be aware,” he continued, “Garcia is going to have to deal with three times the inquiries as normal. I recommend you only contact her if the information you’re searching for is genuinely too difficult to find yourself.” He gave Morgan a pointed look, to which Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“We’ll drop teams off as we go,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

____________

As you settled into your seat on the plane, your mind spun, trying to review every piece of psychology knowledge you’d ever encountered. This wasn’t your first case, but it was the first one you got to travel for, which made it feel much more real.

The hours ticked by as the team reviewed the case. You contributed - not much, and nothing they wouldn’t have thought of without you - but it was something. Narcissist, craves attention and spotlight, physically confident enough to detain and murder three women at the same time. The method was throwing the team for a loop, however. Bleeding the victims out was clinical, relatively painless - uncharacteristic of the sexual injuries found on the corpses and the bravado with which the killer executed the rest of the crime.

When you, Hotch, and Morgan trudged off the plane in San Diego, you had been going at the potential profile for hours and even Morgan’s patience was wearing thin.

“Look, Hotch, let’s hold off on speculation until we see the crime scene in person, alright?”

Hotch nodded, and took that as a cue to head straight to the crime scene. You groaned internally - having barely showered this morning and spent half the day on a plane, your greasy hair and coffee-stained skirt would have greatly benefited from a stop at the hotel to freshen up.

It’s not like you have to look good to go stare at a patch of dirt where a dead body used to to be though, right?

____________

Turns out the aforementioned patch of dirt was actually a wooded grove off a hiking trail leading to a nude beach, much to Morgan’s delight. The site itself was uninteresting except for the way the body had been buried - covered up very securely, implying remorse, another characteristic that didn’t make sense with the initial profile.

This commonality between all three crime scenes was hotly debated on the video conference between the entire team when you got back to the hotel. Cross legged on the bed in Hotch’s hotel room, you listened to Reid and Rossi snipe back and forth on the laptop about what the burial method could mean for ten-plus minutes (“It’s clearly just a functional tool to properly hide the body, Reid.” “But you don’t know that, the significance of burial practices can tell us so much more beyond function, it can even tell us about his religious upbringing…”) before Hotch put a stop to it.

“What do you think?” Hotch asked you, turning and looking directly into your gaze. You were suddenly hyperware of the proximity between you two - sitting close enough on the edge of the bed that your thighs were almost touching. Morgan had abandoned his position on the other side of you to stretch out in the armchair by the window halfway through Rossi and Reid’s debate. Hotch’s eyes boring into yours from only a few feet away and the expectant silence of the other team members on the video call spiked your heart rate, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I… agree with Dr. Reid. I think it means something. The position of the hands, they were crossed across the chest, right? He didn’t need to do that. I don’t know if it means he was remorseful, but it was on purpose. I think.”

Hotch nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Let's move forward with that theory.” He turned back to the laptop. “Let me know how interviews with the loved ones go tomorrow. Let’s find the connection between the victims. Call me if you need anything.” After shutting the laptop, he turned to you and Morgan. “Let’s call it for tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 7 tomorrow.”

Having been excused, you and Morgan made your way to your hotel rooms next to Hotch’s. Morgan wished you goodnight, and you unlocked your door and practically sprinted into your shower.

After you got out, you looked around the room, towel drying your hair. It was nice, much nicer than anywhere you’d ever stayed. The abstract art on the walls and the modern, clean white lines of the furniture were lit by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the ocean. You poured yourself a glass of wine from the minibar (a reimbursable travel expense, right?) and stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the ocean air.

“Nice night, hm?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink down your front for the second time in less than 24 hours. Hotch was sitting in a chair on his balcony to the left of yours, reclining with his hands behind his head. Despite wearing nothing but your thin hotel robe, you felt the urge to avert your eyes from him. His suit jacket was shucked, tie undone and hanging around his neck, and the top two buttons of his white, collared shirt were unbuttoned. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have, like the cold stoniness of his exterior had shifted just slightly and allowed you a glimpse underneath.

It’s just a couple buttons, calm down. You’re the one who’s barely clothed in front of your fucking boss.

“It is. Shame we can’t go to the beach,” you replied, keeping your eyes forward.

Oh my god, three women were murdered and I just complained to my boss about not being able to go to the beach.

“You’re welcome to get up early and go tomorrow; might be a bit cold,” Hotch replied. You could tell from his voice he was smiling.

You mumbled in affirmation, continuing to avoid glancing in his direction. “Well, I just wanted to see the view, um, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight, Agent Hotchner!” You ducked back into your room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle before you slid the door shut.

After getting ready, beating yourself up mentally for your complete social incompetence, and tucking in under the plush, white duvet, you drifted off to sleep.

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eldrai · 3 years ago

Text

What It's Like (Morgan & Hotch)

Read on ao3 here

Summary: Everything was supposed to be over.

Everything was over.

Right until state troopers had cuffed him, read him his rights and left him in a cell to be interrogated by a snarky son-of-a-bitch detective. Right until the team just had to get involved. Right until Buford insisted it was his help which had made Derek into himself now. Right until Hotch and Gideon stood there and heard and knew.

OR: Buford is arrested; Hotch and Morgan have a conversation.

Warnings: implied/referenced childhood sexual abuse + domestic abuse, internalized victim-blaming (not actively blaming himself for abuse, but 'I should be over it' type thinking)

Words: 2.6k

Written as platonic, could be pre-slash if you want

It shouldn’t affect him.

He shouldn’t even be here. Derek had laid it to rest the last time he’d spoken to Buford, and though it took him a couple of years to work through the overwhelmingly intense emotions he’d never let himself feel, he had reached a state he’s content with. When it crosses his mind every now and then – much more frequently when they have a similar case – the memories aren’t so sharp and stay in their box most of the time. He’s accepted he’ll never live without it but as far as things go, he’s living with it as well as he can.

Everything was supposed to be over.

Everything was over.

Derek paces outside the rec centre, awash in flickering red and blue from the car they’d stuffed Buford into. It shouldn’t affect him but here he is, a tight knot of dread in his chest and a bitter anger burning hot in his face. His clenched jaw aches and it takes a conscious effort to stop. He’s a teenager again in the worst way – furious at the world, at Buford, at himself for caring about it.

And Buford is under arrest, his personable father figure persona falling through at last, but the smallest, most selfish part of him asks if it’s worth it. For him to be dragged out here and accused of murder and stripped of dignity and secrets.

(It is. Derek would do it again in a heartbeat if it stopped more boys getting hurt, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hate every last second.)

He’ll have to tell Mom and his sisters, but Mom—it’s going to destroy her. She will blame herself for letting it happen, for not noticing, hate herself for every late shift and early start and no amount of arguing will ever truly make her understand it’s not her fault. Derek just hopes she doesn’t find out before he can tell her himself, soften the blow a little; his mind conjures up the same cop who’d arrested him, exhausted and apathetic in the eyes, spitting it out with no regard to the damage it can do.

Better than winding up in jail for a murder he didn’t commit, Derek reasons. The victory rings hollow when the prize is stripping back his skin and muscle and laying his insides bare for everyone to see, his blood as ink spelling out the ugly story. Breaking his family’s hearts.

The worst part is he’s not supposed to be angry. All the team ever did was their jobs and if Hotch had listened to him, had backed off, Derek wouldn’t be here now to be pissed at him. But that does little to soothe the sting. His secret on display just like that.

He paces and he breathes and he swallows down the anger but it’s too much to store away for later, his next trip to one of his properties and a sledgehammer in hand. Too raw. Too real.

Because he thought he was over it.

(It’s not fair. Why was it him? Why was it the boy before? Why was it the boy after? What unfortunate string of experiences led to Carl Buford deciding he’s got the right to manipulate them and befriend them and abuse them? None of it is fair and nothing will change that.

Why isn’t he over it?)

Behind him, the footsteps aren’t the stomping gait of police standard boots. Derek doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t want to see how pity looks on Hotch. It’s one thing to tolerate it from well-intentioned acquaintances but another entirely from people he cares about.

He leans against the low fence running the perimeter of the parking lot. It is scabbed over with rough rust. He lets his vision soften, blur around the edges, content with the occasional car coming past.

“Morgan.”

“What gave it away?” Derek asks. “I bet it was real satisfying to figure out what was wrong with me. So what was it?”

“I’m sorry—”

Sorry doesn’t help. Derek’s sorry too that this ever happened but saying it doesn’t make a difference. He turns, and is momentarily relieved when Hotch just looks at him the same as ever, because it’s easier to handle pity if it doesn’t really show. “Don’t. Just don’t. I’m serious, though: what was it?”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Hotch says. Infuriatingly calm. An irritating mix of gratitude and anger just fuels the fire. He wants to feel one way or the other about it, not both.

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek protests. Uniforms glance in their direction. “You had no right to – no right!”

No, he had no right but it’s only because he ignored that they’re having this argument. It’s rational and irrational to be mad and he can’t settle on which is the right thing to feel.

“I know,” Hotch admits.

That strikes a nerve.

Because no, he doesn’t. None of them do. They can’t understand the raw humiliation from the type of abuse alone, let alone having his life picked apart and examined for cracks. And yet they did it all the same, without so much as the decency to include him.

“Do you?” Derek says, his voice cold steel. “Do you really? Have you got any idea what it’s like to go through that? To have his hands on you? And then just when you think it’s over, someone comes along and brings it up again! Don’t tell me you know that!”

Blood buzzes in his ears and a spark of pain in his palms come from his fingernails pressing deep into his skin. Derek breathes, feels the tension ease a fraction, the headache and stomachache and dizziness starting to melt away. He’s not good, but he’s not close-to-a-panic-attack bad.

They stand there for a time, just breathing and occasionally making brief eye contact, and Derek is beginning to think he’s completely screwed until Hotch joins him, hands on the railing as the low rumble of distant traffic ebbs and flows.

“You were right that I don’t know what sexual abuse is like,” Hotch says. It’s how he says it unflinchingly that sets him on edge; he’s used to euphemisms and avoidance and nobody ever wants to come right out and acknowledge what it really was. At the same time, it hits like a punch to the gut. “I should have worded it better. That’s on me. What I was trying to say is that nothing you did gave it away.”

His anger has mellowed out, not as sharp as earlier but there just the same, a heaviness in his stomach and an irritability he can’t shake and doesn’t much care to try.

“So what did?”

“I know how it felt to keep secrets like that,” Hotch says. He speaks slowly. Deliberately. “I know what it’s like to have spent half the time wishing someone would notice and the other half being terrified that they’d figure it out.”

Derek swallows but says nothing. He can recognise an olive branch when he sees one.

“I know what it’s like to have to listen to everyone praise him and know even if you told someone, they’d never believe it.”

That hangs in the air until he’s pretty sure Hotch isn’t going to say anything else. “It’s always the ‘upstanding members of the community’ and you’d think someone might realise.”

“That was why I suspected Buford,” Hotch says. “Aside from the initial accusation, the image he presented of himself was too clean.”

“He needed – hell, still needs – people to think he was good,” he says. “That what you meant?”

“Good people – genuinely good people – don’t work so hard to convince everyone that they are,” Hotch says. “They aren’t perfect. They have disagreements and make mistakes. They’ve got faults because they are real people, but we never heard a bad word against Buford.”

(For some reason he’s thinking of Garcia: her bright smile and the light in her eyes and driving away the darkness that threatens to drown them. Genuinely good people indeed.)

“Me neither,” Derek says, laughs without humour. Without the burning anger he’s cold and a little empty. Mellowed-out. “I used to think people did suspect something, you know? Because someone must have. All of us, the same ages, all boys…”

“People see what they want to,” Hotch says, more than a touch cynical. “They wanted Buford to have no ill intent, so they didn’t see it. They created justifications for almost anything.”

“How did you get from ‘something’s up with this guy' to the real thing?” Derek asks.

“Process of elimination. Nothing showed up on your records and nothing indicated something removed. If he killed those boys in a fit of rage, he’d have shown a history of violence and there would be evidence of previous domestic abuse. He went to lengths to maintain a reputation, and that gave him access to children and teenagers. He favoured a specific demographic but his status kept people from questioning it.”

It’s laid out bare and clinical. Just the same as an average profile: nothing personal to him or to Buford. Derek appreciates it, a good middle ground between avoiding the issue and being painfully, painfully open. He’d just rather not have to have this conversation at all. “The team’s gotta have some idea,” he says.

Because Gideon and Hotch did, and they’re all profilers as well. The more they think about it, the more likely they are to come to the correct conclusion, and Derek is equally as apprehensive about facing their reactions. A sick guilt sets in when he thinks too much about it: the response he’s afraid of is concern, pity, kindness – a luxury many aren’t afforded.

(Does he even deserve it if he doesn’t want it?)

“They knew Gideon and I were leaving but not what we thought,” Hotch says. “If they guess, it’s their own.”

Derek looks over his shoulder. Buford’s silhouette sits in the back of a car, its chin held high, commanding a respect it had never deserved. “Yeah, well, if they haven’t figured it out by now, they’re going to once they book him in.”

“They don’t have to know more than what they hear.”

“Good to know I can choose now,” Derek mutters. “It doesn’t matter. Either they know or they don’t.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Just don’t. Please.”

“No, not that it happened,” Hotch says. A beat later: “That wasn’t what – I wish you weren’t in that position, but I’m sorry that I had to bring it up.”

“I’d be in jail,” Derek says. More than any emotion, he is plain tired. What he’d give to be at home with Clooney and his own bed. “I don’t think I’m allowed to be mad.”

“You are,” Hotch says firmly. Perhaps more than a mediocre attempt at a joke necessitates. “It was an awful situation. You’re allowed to feel however you feel about it.”

It’s not that he needs someone to tell him that, but hearing it is – he’ll admit it’s nice, to know that someone else agrees and it’s not just his own head. Derek shrugs. “I moved on. It shouldn’t be – it was fine.”

Fine before Buford dragged him into this mess—god knows how many people are going to hear his name in connection to him tonight. And how many after that? They’ll think of him and see what a sick old man did to him. Not the work he puts in. Not who he fought – fights – to be. Not a profiler and a brother and a son.

Not Derek Morgan.

Just a victim or a survivor or whichever label they thrust upon him for their own comfort, easier to digest, easier to square him away in a neat box and tell themselves it won’t affect them because it’s only ever those children. Neighbours and friends and acquaintances but never their kids.

“It doesn’t mean you haven’t,” Hotch says. “I’d be more surprised if it didn’t affect you at all.”

“It doesn’t ‘affect’ me,” Derek says. Maybe he’s spoken too soon about the pity thing. “Look, just leave it.”

“Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean feeling nothing,” Hotch says. “If you wanted to tell someone, if or when you wanted, and how much to share – that was your choice and it shouldn’t have been taken.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for that, by the way,” he says, more bitterly than he’d intended. His thoughts return to his family. “The team are gonna know, who else?”

“Other than the officers making the arrest, nobody yet.”

Derek nods. He can work with that, has to. At the very least he’ll be the first one to tell his mom and sisters – silver linings, he supposes, no matter how thin – and it’s certainly better news to give than they’re taking him to trial for a murder he didn’t commit. This isn’t the type of thing he can just drop on them and walk away. “I’m gonna take a couple days to, uh, let things settle down around here.”

It’s not a question.

“It won’t come out of your personal time off.”

He lets go of the fence and brushes flecks of rust from his palms. Behind them the area is quieting down again, and in an hour or two there won’t be any sign of what happened beyond a handful of collective, awful memories. Well, Derek’s just glad there aren’t going to be any more kids knowing the place as somewhere bad—that it’ll never be more than a sports hall and cramped changing rooms and a stuffy old storage closet. That when they think of it, the memories are nostalgic, not thrown together into a nightmare steeped in fear.

Derek makes a move to go. It’s a short walk back to his mom’s and it’ll do him good to clear his head. Give him time to find not the right words – for there can’t be – but the most comforting.

“Morgan.”

“Yeah?”

“You know if you need to talk—”

“I know,” he says. “And no offense, but you have to say that, right? ‘Cause I don’t think either of us really want that.”

Hotch tilts his head. “I’m not saying it because I’m obligated to.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says. “And I’ll keep it in mind.”

He doesn’t intend to mention it. Just like how they aren’t going to mention what Hotch had told him. That’s never how they handle it. But the sentiment is there, and the team are reliable like a second family: they’d be there if he wanted to and until then, they’re not going to press it.

He’s not okay – he’ll admit that to himself if nobody else – but he’ll get there. Knowing their luck, they’ll have been thrown headfirst into a case so chaotic by next week that it’s all they can think of. Such is the job. It's crazy but he loves it.

“Thanks,” Derek says. “For not giving up.”

Hotch gives him a solemn nod.

“And sorry for the paperwork they’re gonna give you for me getting arrested,” he jokes. “Ever had to do that before?”

“Fortunately not.”

“Well,” Derek says, “there’s an early Christmas present. You’re welcome.”

That elicits something that’s almost a smile. “Take care.”

“I will. See you back home,” he says, and he walks away from Buford and the memories and this long, miserable day. Back to his mom's place with nicer reminders of childhood, the height marks pencilled on the kitchen door frame and the shower with a leaking faucet and home-cooked meals.

Back to his family.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hotch #morgan #angst #oneshot #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #god i'm nervous putting this one out #but hey #also shoutout to sumayyah for letting me show her lines and generally being awesome <3 #mine

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