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mulders-too-large-shirt · 2 months ago

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s6 episode 10 thoughts

hmm… scully seems to be black and white in the image for this episode. maybe she has had this power to turn greyscale the whole time and she has simply never chosen to wield it until now. how fascinating of her!

ah, i see that the one after this is likely a two-parter, based on titles alone. so i had better focus now before things get crazy.

the description here emphasizes that scully will be the one pursuing this photographer!! i hope that bodes well for our girl!! i need lots of scully time!! or else terrible things happen to me!!

post-episode thoughts: we need to release the cut of this episode where mulder and scully team up to destroy this ritter fellow. i know mulder had to physically restrain himself from choking that dude out. frankly, he usually has FAR less self-control, so this was a big step for him.

but first and foremost, this was a scully episode. and there is so much i want to say. about living!! and dying!! and loving!! and what scully wants for herself!!! and i am sad, but i am pondering!!! and i want her to be happy!!! and in the process of editing my notes, i got myself so worked up over the whole thing that i simply cannot articulate anything!!!! which is such a shame, because if i had words, i would use them!!! at length!!

we open in new york city, where a woman gets help pushing a shopping cart out of an elevator to deliver some mail. mail time!!! wait. who is behind her?

get away from her. she is working. STOP FOLLOWING HER. I’M SERIOUS. now the elevator is taking too long to come get her…. and the creepy guy gets in. GET OUT OF THERE. YOU’RE MAKING ME ANGRY.

why can creepy man see everyone in black and white? until he steps out of the elevator, and all of the color returns.

oh shoot. he gets out and then the elevator starts breaking. so he takes the STAIRS. and it falls!!!!

he’s taking a picture of the collapsed elevator?? with the bodies in it???

now who does that help….?

why is he documenting it… is he working for OSHA or something…..?

shortened intro, you will not sneak your tricks past me.

someone else is doing a background check here at the FBI!! are scully and mulder free?? well, they’re stuck on the same floor, so probably not. mulder is on the phone and fiddling with his pen.

no; they, too, are sadly stuck performing background checks. this is so sad!!! she can save lives!!!! and they use her for this!!!

she asks if mulder is ready to quit and he says “no. that would make way too many people way too happy” <- LMAO well, that is entirely understandable

ohhh, she gets a strange call and is on the move. she was asked to go to kersh’s office!! this cannot be good!! he hates her!! and she was the only one called!

OOO, WE SEE HER FILE. she’s 5 foot 2!!! i didn’t know that!!! but i figured she was somewhere in that area. and she lives in annapolis, maryland. like learning that mulder lives in alexandria, i do not know enough about geography to know what that means.

seems she was brought on in 1990 as an instructor of forensic pathology, and she was recruited right from the university of maryland. i did know this. but not the years during which it happened.

ARGH, i wish this screen wasn’t so dark so i could SEE. it says something about physics. BA in physics?? ARGH! this is so frustrating. mulder had described her thesis as her “graduate thesis”, so maybe she did physics undergrad, physics grad school, then med school, then FBI.

well. it’s not focusing other than that, so i can’t make any conclusions unless kersh announces what he sees inside. because he is the one reading her file.

some agent named ritter is here from new york. who are you, man? he found an old crime scene photo of a woman who passed away from an overdose. but the clock in the photo is 45 minutes earlier than her listed time of death. scully points out that a clock can be wrong. why is this ritter man, like, quizzing her?

hmm!!! from the newspaper, the other photograph of the body shows a totally different time, an hour and a half later!!! that is very weird. from the same photographer, too. i’m guessing he wasn’t just hanging there for 2 hours and spacing out his picture taking.

alfred fellig is the photographer. ritter thinks that maybe he poisoned the woman and photographed her for personal pleasure, then came back later to do his job for the police and photographed her AGAIN. and while scully says that is “quite a theory”, there are 3 other photos of fellig's that show very different times according to different negatives.

she says there’s no consistent MO, and he says there is no consistent anything. and he wants her help. kersh asks him to leave. what is afoot here….

“i would say he has a promising career ahead of him. so did you… at one time” <- OH MY GOD???

(furious scully face)

“AGENT MULDER and i will begin immediately” <- OH!!! she stood right up for him!!! what a good friend!!

but kersh says he is a lost cause. and that he hopes she isn't as well.

so now she has to go to new york city with this RANDOM GUY. oh, i’m pissed off FOR HER!! kersh must be trying to separate them….

fellig is getting off a bus and watching some guy have what appears to be a heart attack. heart attack (or coughing fit? chest pain?) guy is in black and white!!

he goes somewhere and gets some mail, patting his head with a cloth while fellig watches out the window. and he grabs his arm!! and falls!!!! AND FELLIG COMES CLOSER TO WATCH????

he pulls out his camera and takes a bunch of pictures of the dying guy, who he sees in black and white. very weird.

mulder is looking through a bunch of photos on his computer. ohhh, it looks like he found the pictures from fellig. “mulder. what are you doing?” “being nosy. eating my heart out. they’re sending you on an x file” <- OHHH, HE LOOKS SO SAD AND LEFT OUT :(

“it’s not an x file” “that’s not what i’m reading”

“i’m thinking murder by telekinesis. i’m thinking maybe a shamanistic death touch. i’m thinking about the muslim superstition that to photograph someone is to steal their soul” <- OHHH, LET HIM ON THE CASE :(

fascinating look into how he starts gathering leads based on the little information he knows about the case and his wealth of memorized strange facts....

he thinks they’re splitting them up!!!! and he’s so sad!!! oh!! she tries to tell him it’s a one-time thing, but he isn’t buying it.

she bites her lip, closes his tabs as agent ritter walks in, and introduces them. he very visibly wants to beat the guy with a hammer. and makes a point of calling him by his first name.

jump to new york city. ritter and scully are asking some cops about fellig. he has yearly renewals for his job a very long time, and he’s been doing it since 1964!!! he doesn’t seem to have aged.

OH! this ritter guy seems fine enough, but he called her "dana", and that made me flinch. he doesn’t seem to think it’s that weird fellig hasn’t aged at all.

meanwhile, some other dude is being chased and calling for help. whoever is chasing him pulls out a knife and kills him!!! and fellig is there to take pictures of the scene!!

but the murderer finds fellig and starts stabbing him…… he steals fellig’s camera as the blood pours everywhere. but fellig gets up!!! and pulls the knife out of his own back!!! ack!!!!

the blood from his body is red and didn’t cause any gassing, so i don’t think he’s one of the shape-shifting aliens, but maybe he’s some sort of vampire or vampire-like creature?? maybe he sucks energies from the photos of dying people he takes??

ritter and scully find the knife with fellig’s prints on them.

“what’s this?” “a whole lotta blood” “yeah, i got that” <- LMAOOOOO, do not separate her from her bonded pair or she will be mad. scully clearly does not think there is a second victim because there is no second body.

ritter says it is “january 4th”. so does this take place BEFORE rain king, somehow? or did we jump ahead a year? you know what? i’m gonna try not to think about it.

that seems like a weird detail to include for it to just prove the timeline wrong.

(i'm still annoyed about this 24 hours later btw)

they’re interviewing fellig. scully watches from the corner. he says he saw someone stealing a kid’s shoes and tried to run him off. he claims he touched the knife after the murderer left.

OHHH, she picks up on the fact that he is in pain and is closing in on him like a shark smelling blood. yeahhhh, noir detective. ritter seems fascinated by this but like, come on, we all are. he’s not special.

fellig confesses to being cut. and she helps take off his shirt to see the gashes. ritter says to get his blood drawn and take pictures.

“hey, i’m confused. i thought we were trying to bust this guy, not look for reasons to let him go” “i thought we were looking for the truth” <-YEAH, YOU TELL HIM 🔥

he gets pissed and leaves

AWWWWW, MULDER CALLS HER AND SAYS IN A STUPID VOICE THAT THEY USED TO SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER AT THE FBI :,) AWWWW, LOOK AT HER TIRED SMILE!!!

WAIT, WHY DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THE STABBING, LMAO????? “i told you, i’m nosy” <- WHAT DOES HE KNOW??

they found another murderer’s prints on the knife and fellig’s blood all over the place… yeah. so fellig probably isn’t killing these people outright.

DID HE HACK INTO THE NYPD DATABASE SOMEHOW?? LMAOOOOO???

NO, HE GOT THE FILES FROM KERSH SOMEHOW, AND HE SEES THAT FELLIG HAS A HEALING FACTOR. LMAOOOO, oh he is gonna get in TROUBLE!!

but he says kersh has (mostly) nice things to say about her. which is kind of him to add.

he whines his way into doing a background check on the murderer, saying it’s what he does now. and you can tell she wants to say no, but also knows that saying no to him won’t do a damn thing, lmao.

why does he have access to kersh’s files….?

scully is joining ritter in a car at 1 am. seems he’s doing a stakeout on fellig. ritter tells her to have a LOVELY evening in a way that seems like he really hates her. man. i thought he was kinda chill at the start of this episode. except for the way he was quizzing her. and ignoring fellig not aging. maybe he was a jerk all along and i simply tried to be kind.

time for scully to flip through some more murder photos. OH NO!! she hears the camera clicking in the distance… and ritter just walked away!!! IS HE GONNA BE DEAD???

she knocks on fellig’s door and says “explain this” LMAO, get those answers!! how did he take a photo of a murder an hour before the police arrived?!

she says he needs to explain himself or he will not know a moment’s peace. and trust that she means it.

fellig says to take a ride with her, which has me scared. and then he drives her around for an hour!!! he says he is looking for the shot.

he finds a woman on the street corner, saying she’s about to die, could be a minute, could be an hour. scully grabs her gun, thinking he’s going to do something nefarious. he says the way they die is always a surprise- he just always knows when.

“you want me to believe that?”, she asks

but then a man comes toward the woman on the side of the road, and they start fighting. scully gets out of the car! and she grabs the dude!!! he is under arrest!!! i fear she may only fulfill the prophecy somehow…

she takes a gun off of him, and when he claims it isn’t his and calls her “red”, she slaps him on the face, omfg…. just a little slap…. but it was enough

BUT NO!!! when scully goes to ask the lady on the side of the road if she’s okay, the mystery woman gets hit by a truck!!!

OMG????? and fellig comes in to get the shot…

ritter is mad as HELL with scully when she rolls up with this random dude under arrest. she is also very mad at him!!! she does not need his permission to do her job!!! but he says he has something to show her.

the murderer who killed that kid over the shoes claims that fellig did it. and scully accuses RITTER of making the STORY UP, OHHHH!!!

“fellig is a murderer. whether or not he did this specific one, i don‘t care-“ WELL, YOU SHOULD???

omfg… is this some sort of moral test for scully? is kersh torturing her like this is the good place? he says he knows the judge and he’ll get the warrant

OHHHH!!! “you know, kersh warned me about you.” “uh, he did?” “yeah, you and your partner. god knows his reputation precedes him, so i guess i should have seen this coming. you muck up my case, and kersh will hear about it. are we clear, dana?” “scully.”

WHEW!!!! THE WAY SHE SAID HER NAME ALL CLEAR AND QUIET GAVE ME GOOSEBUMPS

you tell that pathetic rat.

“and we’re done with this conversation” YES MA’AM 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

wow. still playing this on loop in my brain, 24 hours later. the implications... the defining of herself... the resistance... yeah.

phone call time!! it’s mulder!!! she admits that it is an x file, which prompts him to sound worried. “what happened?”

mulder says that fellig is 149! under the name henry strand, someone applied for a press license way back in the day, and henry’s prints match fellig’s!! and before henry, there is an L.H. rice who was born in 1849 and has the same fingerprints!!

how did he track the fingerprints down… get mulder out of this office and into a research lab, maybe!

“i’m not good at math, but i figure that’s a whole lot of candles on the cake”

! MULDER LORE REVEAL ! he doesn’t think he’s good at math!!!

man, i haven’t gotten to do a lore reveal text format like that in a while. that felt nice.

scully finds fellig's age hard to believe, but mulder says she should find him before he vanishes again. she turns up at his apartment and looks so scary, LMAO.

but she warns him that he will be arrested in 2 hours and charged with murder. which makes her seem to be the the good guy here, and not as scary as her angry face would suggest.

fellig says he just takes the pictures, but she hits him with “what you showed me was a contemptible lack of compassion for another human being. you showed me that you profit off of people’s deaths” <- OHHHH, GET HIM!! that strong moral code kicks in again!

“now, why shouldn’t you go to prison?” <- oooo, she’s playing hardball. but he says they’re lucky!!! and he doesn’t take them, “he” does. girl, who the hell is "he"?

fellig must be jealous that these other people can die…

scully follows him into his darkroom. i feel such fondness for her as she moves the curtain.

he points to someone in the photograph and says “he’s the one who takes them” BUT WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!

it’s a glimpse of death itself. he’s trying to photograph death!!!

“mr. fellig, i know you know more about photography than i do, but this is just a lens flare” “you’re right, i do know more about photography than you” <- LMAO, okay, that did make me laugh.

she asks him why take a picture of death, and he says he wants to look into his face so he can die. nothing will kill him. he's tried it all.

hey man, i’m unfortunately really distracted by the terrible feelings of tenderness that scully has sparked in me right at this very moment. yeah, idk. i don’t really want to focus on this guy right now. it’s very sad, genuinely, but look at her face.

he says he doesn’t want to be here, and he got left behind.

“you know, i don’t believe you” “yes you do. that’s why you’re here” <- OHHHH, he called her out…. the cracks in her disbeliever facade keep growing… is it that she doesn’t believe him, or that her greater commitment to needing to know the truth and therefore do the morally correct thing in handling this murder case brought her here?? can they be separated???

she flips through his photos, touching one of a young flapper. she asks how he knows when they’ll die, and he says he knows.

scully has to step outside. and she calls mulder, asking if louis brady (name on the flapper photo) was also one of fellig's names. he says no, but there is a big gap before 1939, so it could be.

but somehow, fellig disappeared!!! just kidding, he’s back. he wanted to get his film. i thought he vanished for a few seconds there.

mulder is in the FBI archives at 9:30 am. ahhh, i wish i could go there. and he finds fellig’s photo!! it shows him wanted under the name louis brady for double murder!!!

mulder calls ritter when he learns of this news, because he cannot get ahold of her. he tells him about how fellig killed two patients and walked away!!! he tells him to find agent scully NOW. and ritter, of course, is shocked that this murder happened like 80 years ago, but whatever. you better go check on her, ritter.

meanwhile, scully is still with fellig. she asks “how can you have too much life? there’s too much to learn, to experience” and this hits hard because she, of course, was very recently dying.

(moaning in pain as i think about scully wanting to experience and learn everything there is this world has to offer.......)

he says you start to wonder what everyone else gets to know

OH, SHE ASKS ABOUT LOVE??? he wanted to look up his wife 40 years ago. and he couldn’t remember her name.

(scully, you damn romantic...)

“love lasts 75 years, if you’re lucky. and you don’t want to be around when it’s gone” <- oh stop… you’re going to make her cry…

but, is he actually going to try and kill her…..?

WAIT! she turned black and white… and tells her to count her blessings.

IS HE GOING TO KILL HER BECAUSE HE WANTS TO HELP HER???

(author's note: no)

she wants to know how to prove his thing- that he can live forever, and that he can sense when people are going to die before they do. fellig says someone took his place. he had yellow fever. and he’s getting his camera around…

he saw death back when he was sick. and he saw him dancing around the room, taking people. but death didn’t take him.

a nurse sat with him, and when death came, he looked away. she looked at him instead. and the fever broke, and she was the one that died.

he tells her she’s very lucky. she gets in his face and insists she is NOT going to die. she tells him to turn it off. he took her phone!!!

he says death is coming and he needs to make her peace….

but it’s ritter!!!! he fires his gun at fellig!!!

SHE COLLAPSES???? WHY IS SHE BLEEDING??????? there is blood coming from her throat???? did ritter miss and shoot her instead???

fellig tries to take a photo of her with his other camera, and asks if she sees "him". he says don’t look, close your eyes. and he holds her hand in his. AND HE LOOKS INTO DEATH INSTEAD. and he gasps softly…. oh my god…. he finally dies.

scully is in bed in the hospital a week later. mulder is waiting, telling ritter he’s a lucky man. which is better than i expected.

OH, he grabs her hand. and he sits on her bed. and he smiles, saying her doctor says she is making an amazing recovery. but she seems so sad, and in so much pain

he says “death only looks for you once you seek its opposite” <- OHHHH my god…

and we fade to black.

so i rewatched the scene where scully gets hurt because at first i couldn't tell what was happening, and this DUMBASS ritter shot fellig, and the bullet went STRAIGHT THROUGH HIM and INTO SCULLY???? like. what the HELL WAS HE THINKING????

holy fuck, if i were mulder i would have done a lot more than tell him he was a lucky guy. look at her enduring ritter's presence while she’s in her hospital bed and he was such an awful person the whole time they worked together. i would have told him to fuck off and let me recover from the bullet YOU put in me in peace.

and mulder grabbing her hand. and the flowers in her room. and his smile at her news. but she’s so sad. people don’t live forever.

she wants to live, and she wants to have a life, and holy HELL need to lay down.

oh my god… this episode was super dark. and usually i don’t really like the dark ones. but it has scully, so i liked it better. because we got to contemplate her worldview.

and she wants to LIVE. she wants a LIFE. she wants LOVE. the way she got in fellig’s face and REFUSED to let him take her picture… the way she tried to understand how he could be jealous of death, because she always wants to understand and to learn and empathize… the way she helped fellig, and fellig helped her by telling her to look away from death, so he could look instead… oh my god.

we need to do something about this ritter guy. hopefully, he will simply be fired. you can’t go around shooting your own agents. OH! and the way he didn’t care about justice at all- how he got the warrant because he knew the judge, and he told scully that if she got in his way he’d go to kersh… and how she told him her name is SCULLY and this conversation is OVER…

oh!!!

and mulder helping over the phone; mulder using her sleuthing skills to find out that fellig WAS a murderer and she WAS in danger, and he called ritter immediately and said you had BEST find her. and i can only imagine how he went to bed that night thinking of all the ways he wanted to kill ritter. how he sat by his phone for her. bouncing his basketball until the hospital sent him word of her recovery.

now, i’m still puzzled as to why he has access to kersh’s files. perhaps this is some sort of clue. but to what? i cannot say.

i just love scully SO MUCH. she saw that the woman on the side of the road was going to die, and she stepped right in and did everything she could, even if it was ultimately doomed. she couldn’t sit back. and she wants a life. she’s in love and she wants a life and she wants a house and a dog. and to save people. and to do work that is satisfying. and all of these things she has been denied.

(screams into my hands)

she’s been slowly starting to believe- maybe not in the traditional sense, but in the sense that she recognizes something she cannot understand is afoot, and she finds herself curious about how and why. i found it very interesting that fellig called her out for this and gibson did as well. and we know that gibson can read minds, so we know it to be true. i don’t think “believes” in the same use of the word that mulder does, but she is finding it harder to compartmentalize, maybe. and can you blame her? i mean, she is miss "there HAS to be a scientific explanation for this". belief not in the supernatural sense, but in the sense that there is so much more to learn and understand and experience. be it love and life or the guy who lives forever and can somehow sense death. maybe the spiritual and the scientific aren't that separate.

god. this really was a scully episode, and i am so grateful. i deserved this. even though it wasn’t one where she laughs and enjoys the gift of being alive, we still got to dive into her thoughts and emotional state. AND we got bonus angsty mulder- angst about them being separated, and angst about nearly losing her. is this not the ultimate kind of mulder angst?

i shall go to bed a bit sad this evening, but content.

as i edit my notes to make them readable the day after watching this, there is still so much on my mind. in the sense that i want to write a thinkpiece on what this means for scully's character. maybe this will be a turning point, when she once again confronts her own mortality. how easily death can come. maybe she'll tell him how she feels because she realizes that now is all she has. maybe she'll confront kersh and tell him to get them off of their nonsense assignment so she can go back to saving people. maybe she'll think about all of the times she felt so certain that she was going to die in the past and once again try and make a meaning for why she didn't.

i am also thinking about how sad mulder was when kersh separated them and then how horrible he must have felt when he heard that she was SHOT in his absence. and there was nothing that he could do for a week while he could only wait to hear if she was okay. and then he drove up there as soon as he could. and he KNEW that it was ritter's fault she was lying in that bed fighting for her life, but he somehow managed to say only how lucky he was instead of slamming his head through the drywall. and how he held her hand, smiling, so happy to see her, taking his spot on her bed, thinking of how he loves her and how many times her has nearly lost her. and her thinking the same thing. and neither of them saying anything. just touching.

the feelings i am experiencing are large and difficult to put into words, which is frustrating because, like AUGH! (gestures wildly) do you get what i mean?! do you SEE what i am saying?!?! (grabs your shoulders and shakes them vigorously)

please share your thoughts with me, especially if you are a scully girl like myself. to me, this felt sort of like scully's version of paper hearts, in a way. at least, i see some parallels. even if i cannot elaborate at this time because my brain is flopping.

#hate when i feel the Cosmic Emotions and putting them into words is not going to happen #like GIRL. JUST. UGH. LOOK. AT THEM. and him and her. and what they say and what they don't and how they touch.#i need to revisit this someday when my brain is capable of articulation but i'm feeling ill today and apparently that means it won't happen #maybe i ought to sleep on it and the words will come eventually... but no promises #man... man hold on............#juni's x files liveblog #6x10 #the x files #txf

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topgun-imagines · 2 years ago

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Following In His Footsteps

Requested: yes

Summary: Wolfman, your father, watches you graduate from Top Gun. Just like he did many years ago.

Word count: 0.7k

Warnings: anxiety? Not really any.

Pairings: Leonard ‘Wolfman’ Wolfe x daughter!reader

You were surrounded by crowds of people as you made your way through the doors of the area where the graduation would be held. Based on the pictures you had seen, it was exactly the same as when your father graduated nearly thirty years ago. Nerves racked through you as you twisted your Annapolis ring around your finger.

Once the few people in front of you moved out of the way, you were able to move toward your assigned seat. Sitting down, you watched the rest of your Top Gun class find their seats. You offered a small smile to the WSO that sat down beside you. Over the past few weeks, you had gotten to know him as Bob. He was probably one of the kindest men in your class.

As people continued to find their seats, Cyclone began walking toward the podium. The large group quieted simultaneously as he approached the podium, hands resting on either side as he glanced down at his speech. His words were carefully chosen and calculated, much like everything else he did.

The Air Boss reflected on the past few weeks, highlighting certain aspects of your Top Gun course. He concluded his speech with a professional smile, eyes wandering across the graduates, as well as the family and friends, in front of him. He did a double-take when his eyes landed on Iceman. The man considered himself lucky that he wasn’t speaking, or he would have definitely stumbled over his words.

Your father, along with his pilot, Hollywood, Iceman, Maverick, and Slider were all sitting in the second to last row. For as long as you could remember, it had only ever been you and your father. Your mother apparently walked out on the man only a few months after your first birthday.

You were ecstatic when your dad said that he would come. And he planned on surprising you with the extra guests that he brought. Since your dad had raised you without the help of your mother, you grew very close with your uncles very quickly. He knew that you would be overjoyed to see that they all made time to come see you on your big day.

Nerves wracked through you as another official approached the podium. Now was the time that they would begin calling out awards. You wrung your hands in your lap, twisting the ring around your finger. When your name was called, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. It felt like there was a rock lodged in your throat as you walked up in front of your classmates and the guests.

When you finally reached the podium after what felt like an eternity, you released that breath slowly. There was a small smile on your face as you shook hands with the official. The Top Gun Trophy was handed to you and a picture was taken. You had busted your ass to become first in your class. When you saw the broad smiles on your father's and uncle's faces, pride swelled in your chest.

You returned to your seat, a new spring in your step at the sight of your loved ones in the audience.

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly. You were called up once more to accept a ribbon for graduating from the course. After that, there were a few more words from Cyclone before you were allowed to mingle with the guests.

As soon as you were allowed to, you jumped out of your seat, rushing to your father and tackling him in a hug. His arms wound around you as he squeezed you tightly. “I’m proud of you, Kiddo.” He whispered. A grin overtook your face and you felt tears well in your eyes. You pulled back from the hug before wiping away the few stray tears.

You hugged each of your uncles, all of which had broad smiles on their faces. Each of them congratulated you. A wide and shy smile grew on your face at the praise from such highly decorated Naval aviators.

Cyclone and a few other officials stepping toward your little group drew your uncle’s attention toward them. Your father laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You beamed up at him. “Thank you for coming.” Your head fell against his shoulder as you watched the rest of your class mingle with their family and friends.

“Of course, Kiddo,” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

A/n: Thank you all for reading! Requests are open!

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tgmsunmontue · 11 months ago

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Saga of Solitude 3/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

Updating ~weekly (longer chapters).

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001)

2002

The summer break is short. He doesn’t know how it’s been swung, but he fully suspects that Ice has something to do with it. Maverick has the three weeks off, leave timed perfectly with the weeks that Bradley is home. Ice has taken actual vacation time, apparently timed to coincide with his daughter’s summer vacation, but Bradley knows better, knows the coincidence of them all being together, in the same city, is too much for him to pass up and wants them all together. Sarah and Melissa take the opportunity to actually go away for a week just the two of them and the girls stay with Ice, Bradley and Maverick moving in to ostensibly help with the girls.

He works out and runs, Mav and Ice taking turns to join him so that one of them can stay behind with the girls. He sometimes goes for a run again later, Tamsin and Petra on their bikes, a little wobbly, but they go to the park nearby and play on the playground. They introduce Bradley to their friends as their brother, and he decides he likes that title best of all, lets it settle around his shoulders like a warm jacket after years of not knowing whether they were his cousins, siblings or even nieces because of the age difference. Brother he likes most of all.

When he’s out running, or even in the playground he gets a few appreciative looks; he lets that feeling settle in his gut, pleasure that other people think he’s attractive. He doesn’t let himself think about it when he’s at Annapolis, too intent on his studies and learning everything they put in front of him. Right now though it’s his summer break and he can enjoy being looked at. Can enjoy looking back. Not that he finds the mom’s looking very attractive or interesting, but he can hope that what they find attractive is something that others will also find attractive.

He takes Tamsin and Petra for ice cream. They both call Mav Papa, which is adorable but he also worries about what people might think if they overhear them. He has to force himself to not overthink or worry about it. He has enough to worry about around his presence at Annapolis, about how many people know that Mav is his stepfather, legal guardian and just Captain Peter Mitchell in general. Not to mention how Admiral Kazansky is his secondary emergency contact. He’s glad no-one sees his paperwork other than the admissions office and the higher ups if there is an emergency. Not that they don’t already know.

He doesn’t need to mention to Maverick and Ice that he wants to go out, they seem to sense it and they both just silently nod when he informs them he’s going out. None of them mention the box of condoms and little sachets of lube that mysteriously appeared in his bedroom both at Mav’s place and also at Ice’s his first couple of days home. He’s not going to raise it, simply takes it as acknowledgement that they know he’s sexually active and want him to be safe. At least, he’s hoping to be sexually active, even as his gut churns with nerves.

All in all it’s pretty lackluster and he doesn’t know exactly why people would seek this out over and over. Part of him wants to ask Mav or Ice about it, but they’ve never been exactly open about their relationship, and he knows that’s partly because they have to keep it hidden, but Ice had taken him through the safe sex talk and said to come to him if he had any questions. Asking whether sex is meant to be good or not… well, he’s pretty sure it’s meant to be better then that.

His nineteenth birthday arrives and when they all head out to an airstrip his eyes go wide. There’s a Beechcraft sitting on the tarmac and he turns to Mav and Ice, eyes wide.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Called in a couple of favors…”

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Oh my god. Are you serious right now?”

“Language…” Ice says, voice tired and Bradley shoots him a quick apologetic look.

“You’re only allowed to sit in the back, and it’s only a pop-up, but thought you’d like it.”

“Does make the phone I got you seem a bit boring,” Ice says wryly, handing him a tidily wrapped package and Bradley can’t wipe the grin off his face.

“God I love you guys,” Bradley says, wrapping them both in hugs.

The flight morphs from what was likely meant to be a quick pop-up to something a bit longer and he whoops with delight as Mav does some shit that Ice will no-doubt tell him off for later but he loves every second of it, feels like if he gets to do this for a job then every second an boat school will be worth it. He gets out, his body still vibrating with the rush of adrenaline and he wants to immediately turn around and go back up, the look on Maverick’s face telling him he’d probably take him, but there are a couple of other people approaching, shaking Ice’s hand and then turning to Maverick, wishing him happy birthday and he thanks them profusely.

“Only a pop-up huh?” Ice says, voice dry and the grin Maverick gives him is wide and unapologetic and Bradley can’t help the laugh that escapes.

“Oh my god, flying is so much better than sex!”

Mav and Ice look at each other before they’re both laughing and Bradley frowns.

“What? What’s funny?”

“Well. I’m just remembering my teenage fumblings and I’d have to rate flying above them too. But sex generally gets better with practice.”

“Like most things,” Ice says, staring up at the sky so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone and Bradley’s grateful. It also answers his unasked questions about sex, not all of them obviously, but okay, it’ll probably get better. No. It will get better, he just needs to practice. Of course, practicing having sex is a lot more difficult than working on his running times. Anyway, he’ll find a way, because obviously Mav and Ice figured it ou.

He hasn’t really ever given their relationship much thought, other than knowing that they have one and that they’re together. They’re not physically demonstrative with each other, he’s never even seem them kiss, and he gets that maybe they’re hyper-careful because Tamsin and Petra are young and have loose lips, but not even in front of him. They’re obviously solid though, seem to communicate without talking and he definitely notices more now that he’s older. The silent communication with quirks of eyebrows, little smiles and eyerolls all seeped in affection. If he’s looking for it. Of course, there’s also yelling, which he doesn’t need to look for because he hears it and often, although it’s always short-lived.

It makes him watch Sarah and Melissa, and they’re like the complete opposite of Ice and Maverick, physically demonstrative as well as verbally telling each other they love each other all the time. It makes him feel a little uncomfortable sometimes, like maybe he’s seeing something they don’t want him to, but they never seem to give him any mind and Tamsin and Petra are both equally physically demonstrative, wanting hugs and cuddles and he likes that. It’s probably good for them to see their parents like that.

Thinking about parents has him digging, unearthing old home videos and he watches the videos of his parents, and it’s weird, seeing something almost twenty years old, and what he guesses is the only straight relationship he has as an example, and it’s more of a dream than something he sees everyday. Judging from the videos his dad loved his mom and wasn’t afraid of letting the world know about it. He wonders what he’d be doing if both his parents were still alive. Wonders what he’d be doing if his mom was alive, if he’d have listened to her wish to not become a pilot if it had been made to him from her directly. He’s so glad that Mav and Ice have supported him.

As his time at home comes to an end he isn’t expecting the round-the-table family discussion, with even Sarah and Melissa present. Tamsin and Petra are distracted with cartoons, and he wonders what they’re about to lay in front of him. He’s not prepared for them saying how much they all missed him. Even Melissa is nodding, and her job as an emergency doctor means she’s had the least to do with Bradley, but she ruffles his hair, tells him he’s part of their family and his heart swells.

“So the last year sucked, not getting to see you at all.”

“There will be enough times in the future when visiting you won’t be an option, you’ll be deployed for months at a time.”

“We want to make the most of the fact that we can visit you while you’re at USNA. We promise that it won’t be often, but we do want to see you.”

“We’ve maybe come up with a way to visit you more often.”

Their voices all overlap and he listens as they explain, how they’ll look at his liberty leave schedule, how they’ll plan just a few hours of visiting, to have dinner, for the girls to see him and for him to see the girls. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a family like this, although a cynical part of him reminds him that he’s an orphan, and that maybe this is the universe’s way of making up for all the loss he’s had to suffer. If it means he gets to have Maverick and Ice, Sarah and Melissa, Tamsin and Petra… well. Of course he’d like his parents to be alive and to know what they think of him and his decisions. But his family is what he makes it and he’s so grateful he has what he has with the people in this house right now.

So they hammer out a plan. He comes home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Spring break, what weird simile the USNA has, he can spend with his friends, even if he protests that he’d rather see them. They plan to drop him off again, even though it’s really not needed. It’s a long way to travel for a few more hours but none of them let his arguments be heard.

The year back at Annapolis starts and god it’s good not to be a Plebe anymore. The familiar routine settles around him and it feels great, knowing what is expected of him and how to meet and exceed those expectations. He gets a few approving nods from his tutors and physical instructors when it becomes apparent to them that he’s continued to work on his fitness over the summer, leaving the vast majority of his class in the dust. There is one other that keeps up with him, almost effortlessly, although her eyes are narrowed.

“Trace.”

“Bradshaw.”

She nods and slaps his shoulder so hard it hurts and he grins, thinks he might like her if she actually lets him get to know her, her own lips as tightly sealed as his own when other people are asking questions. It’s not until a couple of weeks in, they’re sharing a table in silence and a photo of Tamsin and Petra slips out of his address book and hits the floor, sliding under the table and coming to a stop beneath Trace’s chair. Then Trace is picking it up, glancing at the picture of him in his jean shorts and white tank, eating ice cream with Tamsin and Petra pressed in on each side also eating ice cream.

“Your… kids?” Trace asks, sliding the photo across the table to him and he shakes his head sharply.

“No. Sisters.”

“That makes more sense.”

“Yeah. I miss them. Tamsin and Petra.”

“I miss my family too,” Trace admits, and it’s the first time she’s even admitted she had family so he just smiles and nods. He highlights every liberty leave weekend and folds the schedule into an envelope meant for Sarah and Melissa. He knows that Ice likely already has access to it with all his connections but he knows Sarah and Melissa won’t, that they’ll want to plan it all out and he feels the warmth suffuse through him that his family want to go out of their way to see him. He writes letters to Tamsin and Petra, invites Trace to also draw pictures with his box of crayons to send and she turns out to be far more talented than him.

It changes something between them after that, Trace seeking him out at mealtimes, asking him if he wants to study with her. He knows there are rumors about them sleeping together, but that’s all they are, rumors, and he knows he can’t get in trouble even if they were having sex, as long as they’re never caught. Which isn’t a problem considering it’s never going to happen.

His first liberty afternoon he’s not getting visitors, but decides to head off campus just so it’s part of his routine, so he can meet his family off-base in the future without raising eyebrows over out of the ordinary behavior. He takes some course work and finds a coffee shop several blocks away. It’s a Saturday afternoon so he has his customary call with Mav, talks about how he’s joined the drum and bugle corps as well as the glee club. He says he plays the piano when he can, but he’s nowhere good enough for the instrumental club, but he’s still got plenty of music in his life, which he knows makes Mav think of his dad, but he can’t help that it’s something he genuinely enjoys himself.

“Anyone sitting here?”

He looks up and the guy asking is a bit older and Bradley glances around the busy coffee shop, there are other seats available, but none at empty tables, so he’d have to be asking someone if he wanted to sit down.

“Uh, no. Please. Have a seat”

“Thanks.”

The guy doesn’t say anything, reads a book and sips his coffee and Bradley does the same, reading over course work and when his ankle is bumped he looks up to find the guy looking at him, his foot still resting against his ankle. Oh. He blushes and looks away, goes back to studying and shifts his foot away slightly. The guys foots doesn’t follow, but when he glances up it’s to find he’s being watched. Okay then.

“My name’s Kevin.”

“Uh. Bradley.”

“Nice to meet you Bradley.”

“And you.”

He shifts his feet a little further away and goes back to studying, tries to ignore the fluttering nerves. After a while he looks up and Kevin is closing his book, drawing back, but he’s sliding a piece of paper across the table and it’s got a phone number on it. He knocks his knuckle against it and gives Bradley a wink and then leaves.

He stares at the number and wonders how it would even work. He sure as hell won’t be using it, he’s far too close to the USNA to be comfortable hooking up with anyone, and it’s not like he can seriously consider a relationship, not with DADT. Not that he thinks that was in any way shape or form an invitation to start a relationship. Huh. He wonders if that’s all he’s destined to have for a while, meaningless hookups which aren’t even that great.

He throws the piece of paper in the next trash can he sees.

… … …

Classes continue and he does get to see his family, his favorite time is when Tamsin and Petra visit and he gets to show them around the places that he’d tried to draw pictures of. He goes home for Thanksgiving, enjoys the time and goes out on the Friday night, determined to hook up and try and have a decent sexual experience. It’s definitely an improvement on summer, and he wonders if he was just more nervous before. He comes back to a book sitting on his bed, The Joy of Gay Sex and he knows it’s Pete’s way of showing support and love. He supposes he should be grateful that he’s not having to have actual conversations about it.

Of course that’s when he realizes at Christmas that he wants to go somewhere for spring break. Somewhere he can hook up without worrying at all, maybe have sex in a bed. Maybe with the same person more than once, although that might be pushing it. He just feels an itch that he wants to scratch, and he needs to scratch it in such a specific way that he knows he’s going to have to ask either Mav or Ice about it. The more he thinks about it the more he leans towards asking Ice, feels like he’ll get considered answers that weigh up pros and cons and potential consequences, rather than throwing a dart at a map and hoping for the best, which is totally what he can envision Mav doing.

“Hey Ice…”

“Bradley. You okay?”

“Yeah. I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Uh, Okay. You know how we were saying I could go and hang out with friends for spring break?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t particularly want to hang out with friends, but I wouldn’t be averse to, uh. God this is going to sound awful. But I want to go somewhere I can hook up and just… not have to care. You know?”

Ice lets out a short huff of breath and looks at the ceiling, like he’s steeling himself.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I know I could come back and visit, but just the thing you said about it getting better with practice, and I can’t during semester time. I just can’t.”

“Bradley. Stop. It’s fine. Trust me. I understand,” Ice says. “New York is good. And close enough that travel costs would be low. Because you’re going to need the money for a motel room.”

“New York.”

“Yeah. Lots of people. Good scene where you’d be anonymous. It’s lower risk, but there is still risk.”

“Did you do this?”

“Yeah, this was back in a 70s though and I hope you’re sure as hell safer than I was.”

“Yeah, of course. Gee that’s a long time ago.”

“I don’t need you pointing that out to me thank you.”

Bradley grins. Ice smiles back but it looks a bit painful.

… … …

Tom isn’t quite sure whether he should repeat the conversation he had with Bradley with Mav. Just because Bradley didn’t ask him to keep it to himself doesn’t mean he should then share it. He helps Bradley book and pay for a motel, picking one he’s familiar enough with that he knows the neighborhood isn’t dangerous, but neither will anyone look twice at two men together. He sends Bradley a letter a few weeks before his spring break, a carefully itemized list of places he could consider visiting when he goes to New York, all numbered. Then he sends a message on his phone, tells him that all addresses associated to the prime numbers are nightclubs he might be interested in checking out. He knows Bradley will read between the lines.

The Saturday afternoon phone call that Bradley has with Maverick, that Tom shoehorns himself into whenever they’re close by, is due anytime and it’s become much easier to have since he gave Bradley the phone for his birthday. The ability to not have to wait for a free phone is so convenient, even if he hates having to carry one himself for work. He listens as Pete talks, asks Bradley what he thinks of Statue of Liberty and several other sights and Tom wonders how much of the city Bradley actually managed to see, or if he simply now has a deeper appreciation of the gay clubs in New York and all he saw really was the inside of his motel room. He holds his hand out for the phone when it sounds like Pete is winding up.

“Oh wait, Ice wants to talk to you.”

“Yeah. Love you too. Have a good week.”

“Hello,” Tom greets, taking the phone and holding it to his ear, watches as Maverick walks off after giving him a quick kiss and he follows him with his eyes.

“Hi Uncle Tom.”

“Did you have a good spring break?”

The pause and then the burst of laughter has his lips twitching.

“Oh my god. Yeah. Good and then some.”

“Better than flying?” Tom asks, amusement in his tone.

“Sometimes. Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“You, uh, didn’t tell Mav about what I was doing.”

“No. Did think about it. Decided I’d leave that to you if you wanted or needed to share that with him.”

“Thanks Uncle Tom.”

“Anytime.”

… … …

“MIdshipman Bradshaw!”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Your presence has been requested in Admiral Naughton’s office. Better get along there.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

He’s never been called to the Superintendent’s office before, and he knows that’s a good thing, but of course he’s having to go there now and he’s racking his brain for anything he’s potentially done that might warrant being called to the office of the USNA Superintendent. It’s been a couple of months since spring break, he only has a few weeks before the end of the academic year. He’s been looking forward to having three weeks at home before starting his six weeks at sea, having passed on the SEAL and Marine Crops joint-operation option. He knows where he wants to be.

He knocks on the door and hears the instruction to enter, opens the door and steps inside, closing it behind him. The tightness in his stomach immediately eases as he recognizes the profile of Tom. Probably not in trouble then. Doesn’t explain what Tom is doing here exactly, but he also needs to remember to not call him Tom. Or Ice. He’s in his uniform, so potentially been nearby for work and of everyone it’s been Ice he hasn’t seen much of, his work keeping him busy, and his spare time spent with Tamsin and Petra, his young kids even if he is divorced.

“Admiral Naughton sir. You wanted to see me?”

“At ease Midshipman Bradshaw. Sorry for the potential scare, however Tom asked if he could maybe see you and it was too easy a request to deny. I’ll let you two catch up.”

Bradley blinks, because this is odd. Out of the ordinary even for Tom, although he guesses if Tom wanted to see him he’s not going to refuse. He hugs him, and he knows he must have grown more, because Tom feels a bit smaller than usual, although no less solid. He’s getting hugged back hard, firm slaps to the shoulder and getting looked at with pride and he feels so good when either Ice or Mav look at him like that.

“You’re still growing, Mav’s going to be able to fit under your chin when you come home.”

Bradley laughs.

“It’s so good to see you. And yeah, think I’m doing growing upwards, just building on the strength now. Be able to leave you in the dust when I come home.”

“Like you didn’t already last summer. But about coming home, I wanted to come and tell you in person, because of what you went through with your mom –”

Oh god no.

His whole world stops.

He doesn’t need Tom to say any more, feels his knees buckle a little before he catches himself.

“How long?”

“A week.”

“What? A week?”

“Shit. No. Not left to live. Fuck. Bradley. Stop filling in the blanks and let me finish.”

He hardly ever hears Tom swear, and he just sucks in a breath and nods.

“In a week I’m getting an operation to remove a tumor. It’s in my throat. Then some directed radiotherapy and drug cocktail. I just wanted to let you know I potentially won’t be up for much when you come home for summer. No work outs for me.”

“God Ice, like I care about what we do. So the prognosis is… good?”

“Yeah. It’s not terminal, just Stage One they think. Sarah and Melissa, mainly Melissa, kept on at me until I went in and got checked out. It’s been caught early they think.”

“Yeah well, Melissa is smart. I’m glad you listened to her.”

“So am I. She also forced Mav to get a full check. He’s as healthy as a horse.”

“Of course he is. Is this why you came to see me?”

“Well, I had business in Washington. I was offered a promotion and had to decline it. For now.”

“You declined it?”

Tom winces then, and Bradley knows it must have hurt, but also with the restriction on the number of Vice Admirals allowed it makes sense.

“What was the position?”

“Director of the DLA. Also involved a relocation to Virginia.”

“Oh. Leaving Sarah and the girls.”

“Yes.”

“So multiple reasons to politely decline.”

“Yes. I just have to hope it doesn’t impede future promotional opportunities.”

Bradley nods, because this is another proper adult conversation they’re having, and he feels very adult all of a sudden while also feeling like a little kid. It’s weird for so many reasons but he also likes it he thinks.

“So when you say you had business in Washington you had to politely tell the president thanks but no thanks.”

“Yes I did. Nice summation.”

Bradley laughs and hugs him again.

“Would you like a tour of your old stomping grounds?”

“Sure, why not. Show me around.”

FOUR (2003)

#Saga of Solitude #IceMav #Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction

39 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year ago

Text

Amplification: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Summary: A deadly spread of Anthrax is going around infecting and killing people. One of your own is affected that completely tears your world into two. How will you over come this?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"It will become fine dust over all the land of Egypt and it will become boils breaking out with sores on man and beast through all the land of Egypt." - Exodus 9:9

"I want to go back," you say in the elevator heading up to the office.

"Me too. Maybe we can make this a monthly thing. You know, go someplace really fancy for the weekend."

"I'd really like that," you grin and pull him closer. You two are the only ones inside the elevator, so you don't feel bad when you kiss him like you would in the bedroom. "I love you."

"I love you."

"No, I mean I'm in love with you. Every part of you."

"You stole the words right out of my mouth," he laughs.

The elevator doors open and the smile is lost from your face. The entire BAU floor is covered with people from the military. Something is happening but you're not sure what. No one is visually panicking but you can feel it all. Derek and Emily are by the glass doors just watching the chaos.

"What the hell is going on?" you ask and join their side. "Why is the Military here?"

Without stopping to talk to anyone, you head into the briefing room where JJ, Rossi, Hotch, and some strange woman are.

"What is going on?"

"Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens with the CDC."

"Hello. I'm sorry to meet under these circumstances."

"What circumstances?" Spencer asks.

"Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis. They were all at the same park after two in the afternoon yesterday. Within ten hours, the first victim died. It's now just past seven in the morning. The next day, we have twelve dead."

You take the files and read through them quickly.

"Lung failure and black lesions. Is this Anthrax? This doesn't kill that fast."

"This strain does."

"What are we doing about potential mass targets like airports, malls, and trains?"

"There's a media blackout."

"We're not telling the public?" Email gasps.

"We'd have a mass exodus. The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack. If it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples."

"Or if they wanted attention and don't get it, they might attack again. Doesn't the public have the right to know that?"

"I agree with Emily here. The public has a right to know this," you agree.

"If there is another attack, there's no way we'll be able to keep it quiet. Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can. What do we know about this strain?"

"The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respirable ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. It's odorless and invisible. This is a sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that."

"These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours."

"It's not the lesions I'm worried about, it's the lungs. We don't know how to combat the toxins once they're inside. The reality is, we may lose them all. The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. I'd like for your offices to become a small command center."

"We'll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick," Hotch says.

"General Whitworth is coming here?" Rossi asks.

"He's in charge of site containment and spore analysis. Determining what strain this is will help inform who's responsible."

"My team is in charge of treating all victims," Linda informs.

"Reid and Y/N, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital and interview the victims. Morgan and Prentiss, there's a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene." Linda brings in some pills for everyone in the room. "This is Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go."

"We don't know if it's effective against this strain, but it's something."

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and grab one of the cups. You look over at JJ who is trying to suppress her concern. As soon as she takes it, she leaves and heads to her office to be alone. You know she's worried about her family. If she can't tell the public, then she can't tell her family about the risks.

Before you can go to the hospital, you need the files on all the victims who have been affected by this strain. JJ has all the files, so you and Spencer follow her to her office. She is looking at her phone with a look of concern on her face.

"Do you have the files on the victims?" Spencer asks.

"Did you see this memo from the director? Office phones and emails are being monitored."

"Yeah, they're trying to protect the media blackout. Files?"

"Right here."

She hands them over to him.

"Thanks. I want to see what kind of medical treatment the victims received before we head to the hospital."

There had been another strain of Anthrax that was going around in 2001 where the suspect put the Anthrax on envelopes. It affected a lot of people but it was never this deadly.

"Why do you think the suspect in 2001 stopped sending the letters?" JJ asks about the previous incident.

"I have no idea, but if he hadn't, it would have been much worse."

"The worst part was not knowing when it was gonna be over. You know, feeling safe opening mail again."

"Five people died. Many more were exposed and gotten sick including a baby who was admitted into the hospital after lesions appeared on his skin."

"How did he contract it?" JJ asks worriedly.

"I have no idea. The baby must have come into close contact with a tainted letter or crossed paths with the unsub himself."

"How old was the baby?"

"Seven months."

Fear and panic spike from JJ. She thinks about her own son getting this. She wants nothing more than to contact her family and warn them.

"Did he survive?"

"We gotta go. Dr. Kimura's waiting. I'll call you from the hospital."

"Spence. Did the baby survive?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, that was a curable strain. This thing's entirely different."

"Spencer, you are freaking her out," you whisper. "She has a baby of her own." Spencer goes quiet and decides to leave before he says anything worse. "JJ, listen to me. Henry is going to be fine. Will is going to be fine. I am your son's Godparent, so I say he's going to be just fine. You can't think like that."

"Like what?" she whispers with tears in her eyes.

"Like that. You're going to go home and be with your family who are going to be fine. I love you, but I have to go now. Keep your head up, JJ. They're gonna be fine."

Rossi and Hotch work with General Whitworth and the CIA to figure out what's going on here. The CIA said there are a few overseas terrorist groups with funding and capability for this. The FBI and CIA need to look at anyone who is going to profit from poisoning everyone, especially people who have patents on Anthrax vaccines. Not to mention anyone with access to weaponized spores like people from universities, scholars working in bioweapons research, and employees of labs who keep germ collections.

General Whitworth and his men are trying to decode the strain and learned that the additives used to strengthen the bacterial capsules don't exist at the CIA research labs, and there aren't any known labs to have these substances. He'll provide a list of all scientists in the CIA Anthrax programs just so the FBI can rule out anyone who decides to have a side project.

This unsub is someone who has the ability to manipulate and weaponize Anthrax, so it doesn't matter what General Whitworth's views are on the BAU. Someone above him believes in the power of profiles, so he has no choice but to listen to orders.

You and Spencer reach the hospital with the people who are sick with Anthrax. The public doesn't know what is going on so there isn't a lot of panic going around, but the ones that are affected are struggling very hard. There is only one person who is well enough to answer some questions since most others are either dead or close to being dead. Dr. Linda Kimura leads you and Spencer to Abby Belle's room.

"Hi, Abby," Linda says gently. "Are you feeling any better?" She shakes her head no. "This is Agent Reid and Y/N from the FBI. If you can, will you talk with them?"

This time, she nods. You walk around to the other end of the bed and hold out your hand for her to take. She doesn't know what's going on but what harm would this do? She lifts her hand just enough for you to slip your hand underneath.

"Abby, I'd like to try to do a memory recall exercise with you to take you back to the park, if that's okay." She nods. "I need you to close your eyes." She does. "Yesterday afternoon, you rode your bicycle to the park. How did the sun feel on your skin? The breeze through your hair? Can you describe for me what you heard and the people that you saw?"

"It was warm... windy," she whispers. You allow her words to take you back to that day. The park was in full effect with a bunch of people enjoying the sun. There is a game of men playing football, kids swinging on the playground, dogs running around with each other, people on bikes, and others walking the trail. "There were guys playing football... Kids... I see free... Me seen fee me. Free knee."

Her speech is screwed up from whatever the Anthrax is doing to her, and she is panicking.

"It's alright, Abby. You just rest now," Linda says.

"Me mock fee key me free," she whimpers.

"Just rest, Abby. Thank you."

You, Spencer, and Linda leave her room to give the doctors an opportunity to work on Abby.

"What's causing her aphasia?"

"The poison is infecting the parietal lobe which impairs her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died."

"There's nothing that is helping them? Nothing is working?" you ask.

"The only thing that's helping them right now is the morphine."

Emily and Derek reached the park in Maryland which has been closed for observation. Emily is against not telling the public about this, but she isn't in a position of authority to make that call. So, instead of telling people the truth, officials have told the public there is Methane buildup in the sewage system. Since they're oblivious as to what's going on, they believed it.

There is a certain spot in the park that has high levels of Anthrax where the unsub most likely released the attack. The wind spread the Anthrax around the park and hit everyone who was there. It's weird because you didn't think that a park would be a target for anything. Terrorists usually target symbols like the White House, Pentagon, and the World Trade Center. The park is nice but it's nothing like a symbol building.

It could be symbolic for the unsub like how Ted Kaczynski sent bombs to Berkley where he taught, to Michigan where he went to school, and to Chicago where he lived. The suspect who attacked with Anthrax in 2001 sent letters to two pro-choice senators whose politics he opposed. People like that can't help but attach a personal motive to the places they've targeted, so this park must mean something to the unsub.

In the last two hours alone, more people have come into the hospital seeking medical attention for being sick, and the panic and fear are getting to you. No one knows what's going on, and humans fear the unknown. You're trying hard not to let it get to you but for someone with your abilities, it's hard.

You wipe your eyes before the tears have a chance to fall, and Spencer takes you off to the side.

"Hey, it's going to be okay."

"Is it? How do you know?"

"I don't," he sighs. "I have hope that we're going to figure this out because we always do."

"I wish that'd give me comfort." You look around the hospital and see parents hugging their sick children and people comforting their loved ones. "Promise me you won't do something stupid."

"What?"

"We're the only ones that know what's going on. Please don't do anything stupid. This is your life. I can't bear the thought of losing you. Please be careful."

"Only if you promise to do the same."

"Sorry to interrupt, but this whole thing is baffling me. Seventeen out of twenty-five people are dead. This strain is duplicated every thirty to forty-five minutes. It's poisoning the lungs and causing massive hemorrhaging and organ failure."

"Whoever created this had to at some point go to the trouble of testing it. First, they start with rodents, then advance to larger mammals, and then they do a very small trial run with people. There's no way this was his first human test run."

"We would have heard about a previous anthrax attack," Linda says.

"Not if it presented itself as something else," you state. "Is there anything that happened recently that was kind of like what's happening now?"

"Yeah, actually."

She tells you what happened a couple of days ago and gives you files on the patients affected. Your phone rings and you and Spencer go into an empty hospital room to answer the phone. You place JJ on speakerphone.

"Hey, JJ."

"Hey, you have me, Hotch, and Rossi."

She sounds like she's been crying because she is so worried about her family. She can't tell them anything but she wants to so badly.

"JJ, are you okay?"

She doesn't comment.

"It turns out that two days ago, two people in two separate Baltimore ERs, and one person in a Philadelphia ER slipped into comas and died suddenly. The COD on all of them was meningitis. Doctors didn't test for Anthrax because the illnesses presented themselves as meningitis, but I think it can be caused by Anthrax."

"Did they show symptoms that we're seeing now like the lesions?"

"They wouldn't have if the bodily functions expired as quickly as they did."

"How quickly?"

"They were all dead within three hours of being admitted."

"Wait, the first patient died yesterday at ten in the morning."

"If they inhaled a higher concentration of the strain, it would cause a quicker death through organ failure without exterior physical symptoms."

"What are their names?"

Spencer looks through the files. You can feel JJ's sadness through the phone. You'd love nothing more than to tell Hannah about what's going on, but she's in New Jersey and likely won't be affected. Will and Henry live right in the danger zone.

"JJ, listen to me. I need you to breathe. Henry is going to be fine and so is Will. You're going to go home and see your family. You need to tell yourself this."

"Okay, their names are Gale Mercer who was thirty-one, Martha Finestein who was forty-eight, and Albert Franks who was fifty-two."

"Did they visit the same place on the day they were affected?"

"Gale made a credit card purchase at a bookstore owned by Albert."

"We'll send Morgan and Prentiss out there to investigate."

"Remember, JJ, breathe," you say before hanging up.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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enigmaticxbee · 2 years ago

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XF AU - Fic Recs

When the world was unrecognizable and upside down, there was one thing that remained the same. You... were my friend, and you told me the truth. Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant... my touchstone (or, alternate universe and canon-divergent fics):

Contemporary AUs:

A Companion Unobtrusive by @slippinmickeys - She needed a roommate. He needed a room.

The Annapolis Grant by @slippinmickeys - Fake relationship! Scully hires Mulder to pretend to be her boyfriend.

Aprons and Scrubs by @lokisgame - Scully’s a doctor and Mulder runs a bar.

Five Years and a Lifetime by @monikafilefan @slippinmickeys - One night stand AU. Five years later, Scully and Mulder work at the same pediatric hospital, and Scully's four year old daughter bears a striking resemblance to the picture of a dark haired girl that sits on Mulder's desk...

Skin by Annie Sewell-Jennings - In a world where Mulder and Scully have never met, fate intervenes and brings two worlds colliding in the city of Charleston, as a vicious murderer reigns and a storm approaches.

Sinners Come Down by aster_risk - Six years into her marriage to Daniel, Scully meets Fox Mulder at a bar one night, and they get talking and fucking over alcohol and self-pity.

In the Best Interest of the Child by @mldrgrl - When tragedy strikes, Mulder is forced to take guardianship of his young niece, but the matter is complicated by the arrival of a sister-in-law he's never met.

Historical AUs:

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps by @sunflowerseedsandscience - Civil War AU. Captain Mulder befriends Private Scully who’s hiding a secret…

The Countess and The Earl by @slippinmickeys - Regency Romance!

Old Growth Forest by Andrea - Mulder and Scully travel back to frontier times

Rocky Mountain Interlude Part 1 and Part 2 by Jacquie LaVa and Tess - Mulder and Scully travel back in time to solve the case of a Colorado mining ghost

The Science of Sex by @if-the-seascatchfire - Masters of Sex AU. Mulder and Scully are doctors in the late 1950s who undertake a years-long study about human sexuality, and as part of the research, they also have sex with each other - you know, for the science.

Out of this World:

The Magician by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Jennifer Lyon - Fantasy series where Mulder and Scully travel to another world full of magic (one of the first fanfics I ever remember reading!)

Out of the Little Grove by @slippinmickeys - Crossover with His Dark Materials (a mashup truly made just for me, my 13 year old self would have been over the moon)

Blinded by White Light by @dashakay - Post-colonization. What are we, but the sum of our memories? A classic.

Julia and Gabriel by Mish - Post-colonization. A new identity, a new, dangerous society, an unchanged heart and soul. Gave me Hunger Games vibes for some reason (although written years before that was published)

Canon-Divergent: Pre or Early Series

Eleventh Hour by Rachel Anton - Mulder travels back in time to find college-aged Scully and change everything.

Belphagor’s Prime by Prufrock’s Love - When Scully disappears Mulder travels back in time to a pre-X-Files Scully for help.

In Another Life by @mldrgrl - What if there was no conspiracy? What if Mulder was just a regular FBI Agent? What if Scully was just a bureau pathologist?

How They Met by @peacenik0 - After an encounter at Scully’s FBI academy graduation party they must determine how to deal with their past and their undeniable attraction to one another when partnered up.

One Week at Quantico by CrossedBeams - What if Mulder had been teaching at the Academy when Scully was training…

Paging Dr. Scully by @mangokiwitropicalswirl - Mulder keeps ending up in Dr Scully’s ER.

Only One Choice by @sisterspooky1013 - Scully was never assigned to The X Files.

The Way Things Are by Sukie Tawdry - A season 1 one night stand changes everything. Baby-fic.

Departures & Arrivals by anarchybeauty - After the X Files are closed in 1994, Scully moves on. Two years later, she runs into Mulder in an airport.

Right Hand Return by humphreywrites - Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

12 Rites of Passage and 12 Degrees of Separation by Anne Hayes - mytharc story written very early in the series run.

parent_1 by @markwatneyandenesemble - It’s 1996, Mulder’s been off the X-Files for three years, and not speaking to Scully. They’ve almost moved on with their lives. Almost.

Canon-Divergent: Mid Series

A Different Place by @myownsuperintendent - When Mulder successfully brings one of the Samantha clones back from the farm with him in Herrenvolk, she must learn to adapt to a different life.

Once More With Feeling by skinfull - While on a stakeout Mulder is shot in the head and loses his memory.

Iolokus by rivkat and MustangSally - Mytharc AU. Painted across the barren and desolate reaches of Texas, the shadows of the Project put additional pressure on Scully and Mulder's already fragile relationship. After a hostage crisis raises more questions about the Project's breeding program, Scully begins her own investigation, leaving Mulder to choose between saving her and saving himself. Pretty disturbing but fascinating, a classic.

Arizona Highways by Fialka - Mytharc AU. Visions of Melissa lead Our Heroes on a case confirming the existence of a series of Emilys. But does Melissa really have a message, or is it all in Scully’s head? Another classic.

Heuvelmans' On the Track by @mashnotesofthemythopoeic - post-FTF mytharc AU, truly a ride you’ll never forget.

The Leap and Landfall by Ambress - Scully has a one time opportunity for motherhood, given to her by the Kurt Crawfords.

All That Is Dark and Bright by @malibusunset-xf-blog - Emily lives AU.

Five Years and One Night by Shalimar - Scully leaves the X-Files post-Emily but gets drawn back in when Mulder discovers Emily wasn’t the only child created.

Cubed by Louise Marin - Mid-season 6 Scully does a little body-swapping of her own. Can she and Mulder make it back to each other? Do they want to?

The Boy on the Beach and Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999 by @cecilysass - One moment she was sitting in the chair. Her chin up, her expression ice. And the next moment she was gone. Fantastic exploration of the Samantha storyline.

Canon-Divergent: Late or Post Series

40 Weeks by @malibusunset-xf-blog - What if the IVF attempt in Per Manum had been successful?

Mobius by L.A. Ward - Post-Requiem while investigating the disappearance of a physicist, Scully finds someone she didn't expect - Mulder. But is it her Mulder?

By the Wind Grieved by Karen Rasch - Mulder is returned several months post Requiem but he doesn't know who he is or what Scully and he are to each other. Together they must reclaim the past before their enemies take away their future.

Deadalive AU by @markwatneyandenesemble - Mulder is returned but is missing several years of memory.

The 13th Sign and 7 Days in May by Prufrock’s Love - Post-Deadalive. Mulder saw no reason for life, death, sex, Armageddon, or emotional dysfunction to stand in the way of true love.

Hurricane Season by rah and beduini - Post-Existence week at the beach with the Scully family and baby Wim.

Terra Firma series by @malibusunset-xf-blog - Post-Existence domestic family drama, a classic comfort read for me.

2008 by MystPhile - With the quest at an end, the X-Files closed in the year 2000. Our heroes went their separate ways. In 2008, they meet in Bloomingdale's and the past, present, and future are explored.

Dr. Scully's School for Exceptional Boys by Prufrock’s Love - More than a decade had passed. Mulder had no reason to hole up in his apartment alone, wearing a Three Dog Night T-shirt with dried mustard on the hem and blue jeans that had seen better days. He wasn't "saving himself" for anyone. Especially not Her. Though she remained epically, beautifully, brilliantly kick-A-S-S.

Machines of Freedom by Amal Nahurriyeh - post-IWTB. The end of the world is coming. And they're doing everything in their power to stop it.

North of Zero by @slippinmickeys - Post-IWTB, post-colonization. The bombs have fallen. The aliens have come. What’s next?

Canon Parallel AUs:

I've got you under my skin by cuits - In a universe where soulmate identifying marks exist and affect a part of the population, would Mulder and Scully's relationship evolve any different? Unfinished but complete through Existence so it still ends in a satisfying place.

Half-light by skuls - Mulder and Scully get a second chance.

The Family G-Man by Neoxphile and FelineFemme - A double tragedy strikes Mulder the week before Christmas of 2003. What if he could go back and change things, save the son one lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them safe?

#xf fanfic #au #alternate universe #long post

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pollyna · 1 year ago

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What makes Sarah cry harder than she would have thought she would during Tom's funeral is the absence of the Annapolis ring. She knew she lost Tom way before the cancer and way before the divorce, but still, that piece of jewellery was with him since the day she met him and he never took it out of his hand.

It's a lost ring until she doesn't start seeing a glimpses of it one day, when Maverick starts coming around to fix this and that - from the door of the garden house to that stupid window Tom sweared he called the handyman to repair it. Sometimes Bradley is there with him, but most of the time, he's around alone, and she is flattered, how could she not be when Pete Mitchell looks like that on the verge of his sixties?

But then, she sees the shape of it when Pete is moving a particularly heavy pot, and then it's the particular colour of the gem that stands against his white t-shirt but all she can think is that it's all a big enough coincidence.

Until she doesn't find him, sitting behind Tom's desk and playing with his ring and she wants to be furious with him because that's her late husband's ring and what right has he to wear it? What right he has to be in her life and flirt with her while he's wearing something like that?!

She feels like she is going to scream and kick him out and demand the ring back because what the actual- Pete's voice is soft and even if Sarah can only see his hands and the ring she knows he's crying.

"It- it's good to be around here. Not the same, never the same, but you're less far away. It doesn't make sense, but most of the times even your face didn't make sense, and yet, here we are. You said it would have helped but you know what I see, everytime I remember I'm wearing it? The day on the beach, with Bradley running around and Carole's yellow dress and how you used a paper to cover our faces while we kissed. If I close my eyes I can still feel your hands around my face and how your ring was cold even when everything was hot and sweaty."

She takes a step back, and then another. When he comes out of Tom's study, eyes still a little red she offers him a cup of tea and smiles. The ring resting on Pete's chest.

#tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #sarah kazansky #no cheating #-> never cheating #past relationships #the navy ring #tom and sarah were divorced #still grief is a strange thing #it kinda suck as thihg? don't really like it lol

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lboogie1906 · 2 months ago

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Yarrow Mamout (c. 1736 – January 19, 1823) was a formerly enslaved African entrepreneur and property owner in Georgetown, DC. An educated Fulani Muslim, he gained his freedom in 1796 after 44 years as an enslaved person. His portrait is being held in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

He was born in West Africa. He was kidnapped, enslaved, and taken to Annapolis, Maryland, from Guinea in 1752 on the slave ship Elijah. A member of the Fulani people, he spoke the Fula language and could read and write Arabic and rudimentary English.

He was sold to Samuel Beall, who owned a plantation in Takoma Park. He became Beall’s manservant and served his son, Brooke. By 1790, he moved with Beall to Georgetown and began hiring himself out for wages. He became a jack of all trades, working as a brickmaker, charcoal burner, basket weaver, cart driver, and stevedore, working long hours to earn enough money to buy his freedom.

He gained freedom at the age of 60 when Brooke Beall died, manumitted by enslavers who believed him too old to work anymore. He spent £20 to buy and free his seven-year-old son, Aquilla, who had been born into slavery on a neighboring farm. Little is known of the boy’s mother.

He amassed savings of $200 and became one of the first investors in the successful Columbia Bank of Georgetown. He purchased a lot located at 3324 Dent Place NW in Georgetown, valued in a tax assessment at $30. He constructed a log house on the land. He remained a devout, lifelong Muslim, praying regularly and avoiding the consumption of pork and liquor.

He loaned $170.85 to a white merchant named William Hayman to help purchase a warehouse. Hayman defaulted on the loan after his death, but Nancy Hillman, the daughter of his sister, sued to recoup the loss. She received $300 from the foreclosure and sale of the warehouse.

Aquilla purchased a farm in Washington County, Maryland, and moved there with his wife, Mary “Polly” Turner, a midwife and formerly enslaved person. The community of Yarrowsburg, Maryland, was named in her honor. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

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fandom-imagines-stories · 2 years ago

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Annapolis

Season Two Episode Nine

Dr. Spencer Reid x Reader (Aaron Hotchner’s Sister)

Words: 4574

Series Masterlist

Summary: Based on season four episode 24. Y/N breaks protocol when Spencer is infected with a deadly virus.

Notes: Like usual, I’m going to be using some scenes from the episode (Amplification) and making some up for the story. I know that this definitely isn’t super realistic and that Y/N would definitely just be arrested or something, but it’s all *for the plot.*

You focused on the twirl of your spoon in the mug while several expectant gazes wore you down from across the table. The spring morning filled the air with a slight breeze, but you felt heat rise in your face under the three agent’s stares.

“What?” You asked innocently.

Emily raised a brow, JJ gave you a knowing smile, and Penelope looked ready to burst.

You took a sip of your coffee. “Have I mentioned how much I hate profilers?”

“It’s not our fault that loverboy has a terrible poker face,” Emily said.

Penelope beamed. “He’s been over the moon for weeks now and I can think of one specific reason that would make him act that way.”

You blushed, shaking your head but couldn’t hide your smile.

“So you are back together!” Penelope squealed, earning a few glances from other cafe patrons.

“We’re still figuring things out,” you said. You held your coffee in your hands, letting the warmth meet your palms as you rolled it back and forth nervously. “It’s not as simple as it used to be.”

“You love him. He loves you. That seems pretty simple to me,” she said. JJ and Emily gave her a look. “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t been heartbroken for them for the past six months.”

��Y/N’s right,” JJ said. “Things like this aren’t easy in a relationship. It takes time.”

Emily nodded in agreement, though Penelope couldn’t stop grinning at you. You decided to throw her a little bit of a bone, so to speak.

“We started reading again, which has been nice,” you started. You felt a little like a schoolgirl describing her first date, but maybe a little juvenile lightness was what you all needed. “Sherlock Holmes. I think it helps us sleep better.”

“Does this mean you’re moving back in?” Emily wondered.

“And miss out on sleeping on my brother’s air mattress? Why would I ever do that?” You snarked.

She chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Penelope gushed. “I love love.”

“Speaking of which, enough about me,” you said. “What about you and Kevin?”

While she went into an excited ramble about her boyfriend not moving across seas on a new job, the final member of your coffee date- and your sometimes roommate- walked up to the table.

“Sorry I’m late,” Haley grimaced. “I had to take Jack to school and the parking lot there is a nightmare.”

“Oh my god, that reminds me,” JJ said, turning to you. “How is Hotch? He went for a bit of a spin on our last case.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s fine. Or at least that’s what he says every time I ask, which I wouldn’t have to do if he didn’t use his SVU as a battering ram.”

“He does have a knack for head injuries, doesn’t he?” Haley laughed.

“Good thing he has a thick skull,” Emily teased.

“Har har.” You took another drink of coffee. “All I’m saying is that I would love to go one week without one of you guys doing something stupidly heroic and almost dying.”

JJ laughed, shaking her head. “Good luck with that.”

Whatever light mood was left from that morning quickly evaporated as the team stood around the table, a container of pills in each hand. They didn’t even know if the Cipro would be effective. A new strain, Dr. Kimura said. Men in military uniforms bustled around the bullpen.

The weight of what was going on settled into everyone’s minds.

“This is really happening?” Prentiss uttered.

Hotch nodded. “We knew this could happen,” he said gravely. “We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it.” He dumped the pills into his mouth.

Rossi held up his cup.

“Jin dan,” he toasted. “May you live a hundred years.”

The rest of the team took the medicine and tried not to imagine what would happen if it didn’t work. With their assignments in mind, everyone started to disperse, but Reid stayed toward the back. Dr. Kimura gave him a grim nod as she left with the others. He hid the fear that was clouding his mind.

He pulled Hotch aside as they walked out.

“Y/N has an interview with an inmate awaiting trial at JRDC,” he whispered. “That’s in Annapolis.”

Hotch swallowed. “I know.”

“And you don’t think we should tell her not to go?” Reid exclaimed.

“We can’t.”

“We have no idea where the unsub will strike next. What if she goes out for lunch in a crowded area and-”

“Reid.” Hotch stared at him intensely. “We can’t. The media blackout order means nobody can know. If this gets out, people will panic.”

He knew he was right. Reid wanted to remain detached and logical, but all he could think about was the image of the woman he loved choking on her own blood.

“I’m just getting her back, Hotch,” he pleaded. “I can’t risk losing her again.”

Hotch put a hand on his shoulder. “Then we focus on solving this as quickly as possible.” He hid his own terror behind a mask. Inside, he was just as worried as the younger agent and wanted nothing more than to tell Y/N not to leave the apartment. He wanted to call Haley and tell her to pick up Jack from school. He wanted to protect his team from the danger they were facing. But he couldn’t. “Now let’s get started.”

While Hotch stayed at the office-turned-base of operations, Reid went with Dr. Kimura to speak with the surviving victims of the attack in the park. All the while, both had you in the back of their mind.

Unaware of the situation, you drove into Annapolis with Sir Arthur Conan Doyal in your head. Spencer’s voice reading the words of the brilliant detective made you smile. The sun streamed into your windows and traffic couldn't even seem to bother you. It was a perfect morning.

You were about to pull into the Jennifer Road Detention Center parking lot when your phone rang. It was Sonia.

“Hey, I know you’ve already driven out, but I just got a call from the warden. Apparently, Sergio Marks got into a fight this morning and is in critical condition,” she explained.

“You’re kidding,” you sighed. “And here I was looking forward to being stuck in a room with an accused wife killer.”

Despite your sarcasm, you were actually kind of bummed to miss out on the interview. With Marks’ court date coming up, you’d been hoping to compare his behavior before and during the trial.

“I’ll head back then,” you said. “I’ve got some other cases I can look into today.”

“The other studies can wait,” Sonia said. “Why don’t you take the day off?” Before you could argue, she continued. “You’ve been working like a dog ever since you got back. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You don’t have to prove anything to me, sweetie. You could spend some time with that cute FBI boyfriend of yours.”

“I think they’re on a case,” you laughed.

“Then take some time to just breathe, honey. I know Maryland isn’t exactly a vacation spot, but I’m sure you’ll find something there. I heard there’s a nice bookstore in town,” she said. “Your work will be here when you get back.”

“I guess I can go shopping or something,” you shrugged. She was right. Annapolis wasn’t a big city, but you should be able to find something to entertain yourself. Besides, you’d probably just go home and worry about the BAU while they were on whatever case they had now.

“I’ll sort things out with Marks. Have a nice time.” Sonia hung up, leaving you with the rest of the day to relax.

Prentiss stood amongst the bustle of people, staring into the bookstore as the men in hazmat suits closed the blinds. If they found evidence of the virus, it was proof that the bookstore was the site of the unsub’s test run.

The victims had died within three hours of being admitted to the hospital.

Morgan hung up the phone with JJ. Prentiss looked at all of the civilians surrounding them.

“Look at all these people just going about their lives,” she said. “If they only knew what we were doing here.”

Morgan scowled. “It’s better that they don’t.” He said something else, but Prentiss couldn’t hear him. Her scanning eyes settled on a familiar face across the street.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “Is that Y/N?”

Morgan turned his head just as you noticed them. To both of their dread, you crossed the street, a beaming smile spread across your face.

“Hey strangers,” you greeted, seeming more chipper than Derek had seen you in a while. “What are you guys doing here?” From their serious expressions, it only took you a moment to understand. “Oh.”

“Why are you here?” Derek asked.

“I was going to look at some books, but the store owner apparently got really sick and died a few days ago…” You trailed off, making more connections in your mind. “Is that why the team is here?”

The two exchanged a look.

It didn’t take your degree in psychology to realize that they were scared.

“Derek, talk to me.”

They both seemed to receive a message through their earpieces. Derek pulled you aside, weary of the attention of bystanders picking up on the tension in your tone.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “We just can’t talk about the case.”

The firmness in his tone and the tightness of his grip told you everything and nothing at the same time.

“Okay,” you nodded. Your eyes went to the bookstore behind him and it’s closed blinds. Something was going on. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” He faked his usual smirk, hoping to calm you down.

“I guess I’ll see you back in D.C.” You smiled to convince him he had.

If you weren’t going to interview a murderer, then maybe you could figure out what the hell had two of the toughest people you knew terrified.

Whatever it was, no one would answer their phone. Aaron was radio silence and you hadn’t heard from Spencer since earlier in the morning. You checked the news every couple of minutes to see if anything had leaked, but all you could find was something about a park being shut down for methane in the sewers.

“That must be connected,” you muttered to yourself. You kept racking your brain for something that made sense. If it were a bomb threat, Derek and Emily wouldn't have just been standing around waiting for it to explode. A shooter, they probably wouldn’t have kept it under wraps as intensely as they were.

The only thing that you could think of was chemical or biowarfare. If someone was going after people with some kind of poisonous gas or airborne antigen, it might explain why everything had to be kept such a secret. And the government could have called in the BAU to help them find who was responsible before they struck again.

You tried your brother again, but there was still no answer. Something was definitely wrong.

“If no one is going to help me,” you said, pulling up to the library, “then I am going to help myself.”

Morgan and Reid observed the house with an uneasy air between them. It looked so normal, but inside more agents and scientists were tirelessly searching for traces of the disease or mediums to transport it. So far, they hadn’t turned up anything.

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Morgan noted. Something about all of this felt off. Too simple.

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Reid said.

The two agents started down the driveway to the other side of the house. So focused on the matter at hand, Reid caught his hand on a rose bush along the path. The thorn scratched the back of his hand, creating a gash he chose to ignore.

“So Y/N’s in the area,” Morgan said grimly. “Prentiss and I saw her when we were checking out the bookstore.” He shook his head, eyebrow quirked in a mildly impressed expression. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she figures all this out even with the media blackout.”

“She’s taught a course on bio-terrorism, so I’m sure she’ll pick up on something,” Reid shrugged. He’d been trying not to think about you and had been unsuccessful. Just knowing you could get caught up in all this made it hard to focus on anything else. But Hotch was right. The sooner this was solved, the sooner you’d be out of harm’s way. “But the higher-ups seem to have this pretty locked down. I’m sure she’s just going about her day like any other.”

Morgan eyed him. “Right.”

The older agent’s phone rang and he answered, listening as Prentiss told him what they’d figured out at the lab.

Reid continued on through the garden, jumping as a sprinkler spouted to life. The sound of the water covered whatever Morgan was saying. The sliding door to the garden led into what he quickly recognized as Dr. Nichols’ office. From there, he saw two things and processed them in the same thought.

The first was the body of Dr. Lawrence Nichols. A large head wound and a pool of drying blood signaled that the scientist had been dead for a while.

The second was a broken vial spilling white powder onto the floor.

“Reid?” Morgan called after him.

He didn’t think of anything after that. He just rushed to the door and slid it closed just as Morgan caught up with him.

“Morgan get back,” he exclaimed. “Get back!”

“What are you doing?”

“Get out of here. Believe me. Get back.” All he could think about was keeping Morgan away from the substance he was sure had already infected himself.

“What’s wrong?” Morgan asked, panic rising in his tone. “Reid, open the door.”

Reid just looked at him, locking the door with eyes that betrayed his distress. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked with the toppling realization of what this really meant.

He breathed in the substance. He contracted this new, terrifying strand of anthrax.

He was going to die.

No. Reid ran a shaking hand down his face. He could figure this out. There had to be a cure. He could do this.

“I’m calling Hotch,” Morgan said, pacing hurriedly in front of the glass.

“I’ll be fine,” Reid lied. “I have all of Nichols’ notes. I can find the cure.”

“We’re getting you to the hospital.”

Reid shook his head. “You need to get away. I don’t know if any of the powder got into the air.”

“I’m not going anywhere-”

“Morgan, now!” The firmness in the younger agent’s voice took Morgan by surprise.

He moved out to the garden, making sure Reid was still in view, and made the call.

By the time Hotch and the others arrived, Reid had made up his mind. And, despite Morgan’s protests, their unit chief agreed that the best thing for Reid to do was to work to find the cure somewhere in the lab.

Until a car pulled up across the street, having followed the sirens after spending most of the afternoon researching locals in the library.

You spotted the dark hair and neat suit as you came up the sidewalk. People in hazmat suits hurried in and out of the house your brother stood in front of. He bore a similar expression to what you’d seen on the other BAU members earlier, only now Morgan looked even worse standing beside him.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry this is a restricted area.” A man in uniform stepped in front of you.

“I know them,” you muttered, trying to look over his shoulder.

He grabbed your arm. “If you won’t leave voluntarily, I’ll have to remove you.”

“What’s going on?”

“Ma’am-”

“Aaron!”

Your brother’s head whipped around at the sound of his name and his expression went from controlled worry to a furious glare in no time.

“Okay so this is bad,” you said to yourself.

“I’m going to have to take you back to your car,” the man in uniform sighed, starting to pull you away.

“Get off of me.” You tried to yank away, but his grip was firm. “Aaron! See, I know them.”

The man kept pulling you backward until another voice shouted at him.

“Hey, let her go!” Agent Morgan ordered, darting across the lawn over to you.

Aaron walked slowly, but you could tell by the tension in his movements that he was anything but calm.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing here?” Derek snapped.

“I knew something was wrong so I did some digging and then I followed the sirens,” you said, still trying to free your arm from the soldier. “What the hell is going on?”

“I told her she had to leave-” The soldier tried pulling again.

Derek put a hand on his arm. “I said let her go.”

The man hesitated, but eventually released you and went to join one of his superiors.

“This clearly isn’t a normal case,” you said, crossing your arms. “What’s happening?”

“If I could tell you, I would have, but you really can’t be here.” His jaw tensed and his eyes flicked down to the necklace you always wore. A locket in the shape of a book. The present you’d gotten from Spencer.

A shock of icy fear rushed through you. “Derek, where’s Spence?”

“You can’t be here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s inside,” Aaron said. From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, you knew.

“This is Dr. Lawrence Nichols’ house,” you said.

“Yes.”

“He wrote studies on anthrax.”

Aaron sighed. “Yes.”

“How did you know that?” Derek asked.

“You're not the only ones who know how to investigate something,” you said. You pushed past them, following the trail of panicked people in hazmat suits around the house, just where you could see a glass door.

Aaron caught you before you could get any closer.

“I have to see him.” You fought against his arms as they locked around you. “Let me go, Aaron.”

“We don’t know if there are still traces of the substance outside of the lab. Even if it’s sealed we can’t-”

“I don’t care. I can’t just leave him in there. Do you know what this will do to his body? I’ve studied anthrax, Aaron. I can’t just… I can’t…”

“The best thing you can do for Reid is let him work.” Your brother turned you around, keeping his hands on your arms so you couldn’t get away. “He’ll find the cure and he’ll be fine.”

“If you believed that, you wouldn’t still be here, waiting for him to die,” you snapped.

Aaron swallowed, closed his eyes, and didn’t say anything else.

“Keep an eye on her,” he told Derek. “We still have to find the apprentice.”

He stormed off and Derek gave you a look that said he’d stop you before you even thought of taking another step.

Inside, Spencer held his cell phone with a trembling hand and coughed in between his words.

On the other end, a saddened voice greeted him, lacking her usual pep.

“Hey, Reid.”

“Reid, wow,” he teased. “No witty Garcia greeting for me?”

Garcia grimaced, trying to laugh for him. “I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.”

He took a deep breath. While part of his brain was scrambling to figure out where Nichols might have the cure that could save him, the other side was plaguing his thoughts of who he was leaving behind.

What would happen to his mom? How many times would the nurses have to tell her that her only son was dead before her brain allowed her to realize it? And even if she did, how long before she would forget and have to go through the grief all over again?

And then there was Y/N.

Just when things started looking better…

“Garcia,” he said, holding back a fit of coughing, “do you think you could do something for me?”

You didn’t know how long you sat there, waiting to hear whether or not the area had been cleared. Derek stayed with you and you explained how you figured out what was going on.

“You scare me sometimes, you know that?” He teased.

He was on and off the phone. You could tell it was with Spence by the way Derek’s eyes kept slipping over to you as he talked. But telling Spencer you were there before they figured anything out would only distract him. At least, that’s what Derek kept telling you.

After a while, Dr. Kimura called Derek back and said he could talk to Spencer. Despite your protests, he told you to wait and so you stood back while he went inside. You could hear Spencer’s voice, but your brain wouldn’t focus on what they were saying. You just wished you could hold him again.

His coughing may as well have been a flatline in your ears.

“Go help Hotch,” he told Derek.

Spencer stood with his arms at his side as he was sprayed down. His hair hung limply around his face and his purple shirt now clung to his chest.

Morgan shook his head. “Hotch has plenty of people helping him.

“He needs you more than I do.”

“Reid, I’m gonna see you off to the hospital.” Derek caught you in the corner of his eye, stepping closer to the doorway.

“I’m about to get naked,” Spencer said, leveling an irritated stare on the other agent’s face. “So they can scrub me down. Is that something you really want to see?”

Derek looked from you to Spencer to Dr. Kimura. He waved his hand, motioning for you to come in.

“Can she stay with him?”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“Who is this?” Kimura asked. “Is she another member of your team?”

Derek scoffed, giving you a small smirk. “She may as well be.” He nodded at the scientist. “Take care of him.”

He hurried off, patting your back as he went.

Your eyes didn’t leave Spencer. In other circumstances, you might have laughed. He looked like a wet puppy with his dripping hair and soaked clothes. But another cough escaped his lips and his hazel stare burned into you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked again.

“Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?”

“This isn’t funny. You can’t be here,” he said. “Protocol aside, do you have any idea how dangerous this situation is?” His shoulders jerked with another cough. He unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes.

“I don’t care how many rules I’m breaking, I’m not leaving you.” You held up a hand. “I’m safer here than out there waiting for this guy to strike again.”

His frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, hands reaching for his belt.

“Can you…?” He trailed off.

“Oh,” you blinked. “Right. Yeah.” You turned away, listening to the water against his now bear skin.

He felt ridiculous, being self-conscious now when you’d seen him without his clothes on plenty of times. But this felt different. He’d let himself fall into this problem and somehow, shielding you from seeing him this way, seeing him so weak, made it easier in his head. He could face it as long as you didn’t have to.

Dr. Kimura allowed you to ride with them to the hospital as long as you stayed out of the way. But now, seeing him in the hospital shirt with sweat glistening on his forehead, you knew you couldn’t just sit there.

“Is there anything I can do?” You begged.

“We’re going to test Nichols’ inhaler to see if he hid the cure there like Dr. Reid suggested,” Dr. Kimura explained. She put a stethoscope to Spencer’s chest as he continued coughing. You didn’t need to have a medical degree to know he was getting worse. “How are you feeling Dr. Reid?”

“My throat’s a little dry.” He kept his eyes screwed shut, focusing on what he was saying. “But other than that I feel… fin. Feel fin.” He opened his eyes as nonsense fell from his lips. His brows furrowed in frustration while his irises widened with panic.

Your eyes scanned his shaking form, bile rising in your throat. He reached up for you. On his hand, you spotted the cut.

Not good. Definitely not good.

When he coughed this time, a trickle of blood dripped out of his mouth.

“Driver, faster,” Dr. Kimura ordered.

“Re-,” Spencer stammered, gripping your hand as tight as his muscles allowed. “Ret.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Reel. Rem. R-Read.” He used his other hand to point to his bag, left by Morgan when he took it out of the car.

You reached into it and retrieved the leather-bound volume you’d spent the last week reading together. It made your breath catch in your throat. You opened to the page he’d left off on the night before.

The Final Problem.

With your eyes trained on the page in front of you, the scene of Sherlock Holmes’s death struck a little too close for comfort.

What if this was it? What if you’d wasted all of the time you had left with him in these past few months?

Your hands shook. You wanted a drink.

Derek sat beside you, distracting himself with the hospital jello and a magazine.

You reached the end of the story, but the words caught in your throat, drowned out by threatening cries.

“...and if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known,” Spencer said groggily. His eyes peered open, landing on Morgan. “Are you eating Jell-O?”

You let out a sob of relief and restrained yourself from throwing your arms around him.

Derek smiled. “Hey doc, look who’s back,” he said to Dr. Kimura, who was speaking to another doctor in the doorway.

“Is there any more Jell-O?” Spence asked, his thoughts still hazy from waking up.

While Derek and the doctor informed Spencer of everything that had happened- including the recovery of the other victims thanks to him knowing where the cure was hidden- you just watched on with awe tightening in your chest, turning to regret.

You’d taken so much for granted and it took almost losing him to see it.

Spencer turned his head toward you, a small smile playing on his lips when he saw your face.

“I could hear you,” he said. “Reading, I mean.”

“You should have picked a happier story,” you teased through your tears.

He chuckled weakly. “Sorry.”

Derek ushered Dr. Kimura out, giving the two of you a little more privacy.

You leaned over, pressing your lips to Spencer’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” you cried.

Spence lifted a hand, wiping away your tears with all the energy he could muster.

“For what?”

Setting the book aside, you took his hand in yours.

“For not coming home sooner.”

The In-Betweens series: @amywright; shesoperfectt; hereforsmutbcicantgetenough; violetbossler; hyper-half-blood; i-bitch-you-bitch; xcastawayherosx; preciousbabypeter; @jori21; @sol-48; @murdermornings ; @ staygoldsquatchling02; @ ara-a-bird

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #dr. spencer reid x reader #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #dr. spencer reid #matthew gray gubler

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paisholotus · 1 year ago

Text

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮

Narrative

"What's the Army doing here? What the hell is going on?" Derek asked, walking into the office.

"Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of special pathogens, with the CDC." Hotch introduced them to the doctor.

"Hello." The group said.

"Hello. I'm sorry to meet under these circumstances." Dr. Linda said, sadly.

"What circumstances? We need to get started." Spencer said.

"Last night, 25 people checked into emergency rooms, in and around, Annapolis." The doctor informed them.

"They were all at the same. Park after 2 PM. yesterday. Within 10 hours, the first victim died. It's now just past 7 AM the next day. We have 12 dead." JJ told them.

"Lung failure and black lesions." Derek read from off the report.

"Anthrax?" Emily asked.

"Anthrax doesn't kill this fast." Spencer said.

"This strain does." Dr. Linda said.

"What are we doing about potential mass targets..." JJ asked.

"airports, malls, trains?" Derek pointed out.

"There's a media blackout. We're not telling the public?" Emily asked.

"We'd have a mass exodus." Hotch said.

"The psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack." Spencer pointed out.

"Yeah, and if it does get out, whoever did this might go underground or destroy their samples." Derek said.

"Or if they wanted attention and didn't get it, they might attack again." Hotch said.

"Doesn't the public have the right to know that?" Emily questioned.

"If there is another attack,there's no way we'll be able to keep it quiet. Our best chance of protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can." Hotch said.

"What do we know about this strain?" Spencer asked.

"The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs...odorless and invisible. A sophisticated strain. Only a scientist would know how to do that." Dr. Linda said.

The group looked around worried of what to do as they calmly listened to the doctor.

"These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours. It's not the lesions I'm worried about. It's the lungs. We don't know how to combat the toxins once they're inside. And the reality is, we may lose them all. The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing at Walter Reed Hospital. Our offices will become a small command center. We'll be working with military scientists from Fort Detrick." Dr. Linda told them.

"Attorney General Washington is coming here?" Rossi asked Hotch.

"Yes, they don't want this to become a public issue. The president has already been notified." He said, looking all the group.

"Determining what strain this is will help inform who's responsible." Dr. Linda said.

"My team is in charge of treating all victims. Reid, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital. Interview the victims. Morgan and Prentiss, there's a HAZMAT team that will accompany you to the crime scene. There's Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go." Hotch told his group.

"We don't know if it's effective against this strain, but it's something." Dr. Linda told them.

"This is really happening?" Derek asked, but mainly to himself, looking down at the reports of people being hospitalized.

"We knew this could happen. We've done our homework. We've prepared for this.This is it." Hotch told them.

They raised the little cups up with the pills in them, and took them.

"May you live 100 years." Rossi said, taking his pills.

-Time Skip-

"Office phones and emails are being monitored." JJ said.

"Yeah, they're trying to protect the media blackout. Files?" Spencer asked.

"Uh, yeah, right here." JJ pointed to the end of the table.

"Thanks. I want to see what kind of medical treatment the victims received before I head to the hospital." Spencer said, reading over the files.

"Why do you think the suspect in 2001 stopped sending the letters?" JJ asked, Spencer, looking at the board with possible suspects.

"I have no idea, but if he hadn't, it would have been much worse. The worst part was not knowing when it was gonna be over. It was feeling safe opening mail again." He said, lowly.

"5 people died. Many more exposed and sickened, including a baby who was admitted to the hospital after lesions appeared." JJ said, sadly.

"Agent Jareau." One of the soldiers came into the room, standing by the door.

"Uh, call me when they get through security. Thanks." JJ said, handing up the phone.

"The General's here." He told them.

"Is there bad blood with her?" Spencer asked, the soldier.

"She was very critical of the way the '01 Amerithrax investigation was handled." He told, them.

"Because of what happened with Dr. Hatfill?" JJ asked.

"Among other things. And this is the list of victims you asked for." He said, handing JJ and Spencer the files.

"No high-profile jobs?" Spencer asked.

"No. Just ordinary people frolicking in the park." The soldier said.

"Any word from the CIA?" JJ asked him.

"They said there are a few overseas terrorist groups with funding and capability. They're working international. We've got domestic. Also the members of the BJS are going to accompany the General." He said.

Spencer and JJ stopped walking looking at him surprised. The soldier stopped and nodded his head for them to keep walking.

"Jesus..." JJ trailed off, looking back down at the papers.

"We need to look at anyone who could profit from this. People who have patents on anthrax vaccines." JJ said.

"Garcia." Spencer called, through the phone.

"Yes, sir" She answered.

"And add to your list anyone with access to weaponized spores...universities, scholars working in bioweapons research. Employees of labs who keep germ collections." He told her.

"Okay, call back in a few." She said, handing up.

"Right in here, Ma'am." The Soldiers said, leading Aleza through the door.

"Attorney General, Aleza Washington. This is Agent Hotchner, SSA David Rossi, Dr. Spencer Reid, and Agent Jennifer Jareau." The soldier said, introducing the group.

"Pleasure to meet you all. But I would like to get the formalities out the way, so someone can tell me what the hell is going on, before I have national panic on my hands." She said, folding her arms.

"My scientists are decoding the strain.The additives used to strengthen the bacterial capsules do not exist at our research labs." Dr. Linda said.

"Are there any other labs using these substances?" She asked, her.

"No." Dr. Linda said, lowly.

"I'd like a list of all the scientists in your anthrax program." She said, walking towards the doctor.

"I just said we don't use those additives." Dr. Linda said, raising her eyebrows.

Aleza gave her a hard glare, "ma'am, we can rule out your lab samples, but not your people." She said, harshly. "We're looking at someone who has the ability to manipulate and weaponize anthrax. Your scientists make that cut." She said, continuing to glare at the doctor, towering over her.

"Now, we all know what happened the last time your team looked into my people. Ma'am, our team officially ruled out Dr. Hatfill. I'm sorry if Justice didn't listen to us." The doctor said, not backing down.

"but the profile was accurate. It happened in your labs. Now the same thing is happening again in one of your labs, you're going to look me in the eyes and tell me that's a coincidence? I hope you don't think I got this job, by being stupid." Aleza said, squinting at the doctor.

"I'll get you your list. General." Hotch told her.

She nodded still glaring at the doctor then turned around and walked out.

-Time Skip-

"Team, This Sariya Washington, she is with the BJS. Hotch introduced them to her.

"Hi, nice to meet y'all. But I We've tracked Chad Brown. He's going to the train station." She said, showing directions on her laptop.

"Then that's where we're going. Thanks for your help." She nodded, walking back out the door.

"No gas masks. Repeat, no gas masks. Rush hour crowd sees anyone in a mask, here's gonna be a stampede. Morgan, I want you to stay above ground and help the crowds. I'm gonna go down by myself." Hotch told them.

"Not a chance, Hotch." Derek said, shaking his head.

"Morgan, we're a man down. If the area's infected, we can't risk losing both of us as well." Hotch, said frowning.

"We are a team. We're gonna go down as a team." Derek told him, determined.

"We need to clear the station." JJ said, putting on her vest.

"I've got it. OK, I need everybody to listen up. I am FBI. I need you to exit the train now." Hotch yelled.

"What's happening? Oh, my God." A woman yelled, panicked.

"Please, everyone, through this far door only." Emily said, ushering people through the door.

"Chad Brown, don't move!" Derek yelled.

"Don't come any closer!" He yelled, backing up.

"Chad, put the bag down." Emily said, trying to

get the man to do what they said.

"Far door. Let's go." Derek said, walking closer.

"I can kill everybody here!" Chad, screamed, clutching the bag.

"And I will kill you before you do." Hotch said, closing in.

"No! No! Weapons down." Aleza said, walking towards the situation.

"General, what are you doing?" Hotch asked, looking between the General and Chad.

"This is an order from the President. The US Army is taking this man into custody." She said, grabbing Chad.

"General, the Army has no authority here." Hotch said.

"Agent! YOU DO NOT TELL ME WHERE I HAVE AUTHORITY! THIS MAN IS COMING WITH ME He helped create this strain. He's the only one who can show us how it was made." She yelled, at Hotch.

"Ma'am, he is a danger to the country." Emily said, pleading.

"He is an asset to this country! And by Presidential order, I'm taking him in." Aleza said, turning around to look at Chad.

"Sir, please come with me." She asked, him.

"Where?" He asked, squinting his eye's.

"Fort Detrick, sir." Aleza said, with a smile.

"You want me to go to Fort Detrick?" Chad asked, uncertain.

Aleza nodded, "We need you, sir, please." Aleza pretended to plead the man.

"I helped create this. You have to name it after me!" He said, with hopeful eyes.

Aleza smiled, nodding. "Of course. Standard practice. Now, hand me the bag so we can go on our way." She said, slowly sticking out her hand. Chad looked at her hand, then back into her eyes and smiled, handing the bag to her.

"Are there any other samples present?" She asked, cautiously.

"No." He said, shaking his head.

"Move in." She said, to her soldiers. Then looked back at Chad with a glare.

"You should have understood this was never going to go your way." She said, as the soldiers roughly cuffed Chad and pulled him away.

"What are you doing?!" Chad yelled.

"General!"....

"General!....I can help recreate this for you!" He yelled, before getting put into the police car.

Aleza handed her bag to one of the soldiers, as they put it in a confinement box, and taking it to one of the cars.

"Well, you did good work, General." Said, Prentiss. Aleza gave her a small smile, "I know. You Agents did a good job, thank you for your hard work." She said, nodding at them and walking away.

-Time Skip-

"eating Jell-O?" Spencer asked, groggily.

"Hey, kid." Derek said, softly.

"Hey, Doc. Look who's back." Derek said, towards the doctor.

"Is there any more Jell-O?" Spencer asked, trying to sit up.

"Hey. Not so fast." Derek said, pushing Spencer back lightly.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, leaning back onto the bed.

"You're gonna be all right, kid. We caught him, and him and the Virus are getting locked up forever." Derek said, smiling at Spencer.

"Dr. Reid, you have visitors." The nurse said, opening the door for them to come in.

Aleza and Sariya came in holding flowers and and a present wrapped in wrapping paper. Spencer felt like his breath was caught in his throat, when he saw Aleza earlier today, a part of him was excited despite Aleza's Intimidating nature. Because he was wondering if Sariya was close by.

He hasn't seen Sariya since they were kids, he remembered the pain he felt when his best friend told him she was moving away for awhile, that awhile turned to years. He would check on her from time to time through social media, but gave up due to the fact, that he thought she had moved on from him. Sariya was his first everything. His best friend, his protector, his first love. And here she was standing in front of him.

"I, heard Spencer Reid was in the hospital, so we decided to stop by and check on him." Aleza said, holding the flowers.

"Oh, that was very nice of you, General." Penelope said, taking the flowers and placing them beside the bed.

Sariya walked towards the bed, standing beside Spencer, smiling down at him. Spencer felt his skin get hot, as he stared up at her, as if she hung up the stars.

"Hey, Moon, long time, no see." She said, sitting beside his bed.

Derek looked at Penelope, to Aleza, then back to Spencer.

"I'm happy you're okay, don't know what I'll do if something happened to you." She said, rubbing the side of his face.

Aleza cleared her throat and tapped her watch telling her they had to go. Sariya rolled her eyes and stood up.

"OK, I have to go. But I wanted to give you this." She said, handing him the wrapped present. "Take care of yourself, Moon. See you around." She said, kissing the top of his head.

They waved bye to everyone and walked out the room. Derek then looked at Spencer surprised and smiled, hitting Spencer on his shoulder.

"Kid, when were you going to tell us, you have a girlfriend?" Derek asked.

Spencer smiled and opened the present. His eye's watered and clutched the book to his chest smiling.

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haee-elia · 2 years ago

Text

1x01 - extreme aggressor pt.2 “great”

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader; read part one here!

summary: a small blurb-like continuation of part one

warnings: literally none? maybe mentions of trauma? fluff? awkwardness? second-hand embarrassment?

word count: 1463

Walking down the halls of the Seattle FBI office, you see a familiar lanky figure down the hall, facing away from you.

“Spencer?” You call out before you even realized you opened your mouth. You feel a tinge of embarrassment as you realize you are indeed, not alone in the hallway. Some other agents and workers glance at you before carrying on with whatever they were doing.

The man, in question, that you called out turns around, hearing his name and his eyes slowly center onto your figure.

Before you know it, he’s walking down the hallway towards you and you give him a sheepish look as he arrives in front of you, “Dr. Reid, I am so sorry,” You grimace and lower your voice, hoping to not embarrass him in his place of work any more.

The awkward man that you had met in your sister’s apartment couldn’t have possibly been okay with you yelling his name across his workplace and around his colleagues.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” You say before he can get a word in, “Thank you to you and your team for finding my sister.” You give him a grateful smile.

Dr. Reid chuckles softly, “It’s no problem,” He says, “I’m glad me and my team could help find your sister and catch the guy responsible,”

“And I wanted to thank you for what you said to me,” You added on, “I was panicking and it wasn’t doing my sister, my brother, or myself any good.”

He waved it off, “It was no problem at all. In fact, I would be slightly worried if someone in your shoes weren’t upset or panicked.”

He chuckled at his last sentence and you returned with a small laugh.

“I, uh,” Spencer continues to talk, “know this might be a dumb question, but, um, how is your sister doing?” He asks.

You assume that in his line of work they often don’t get to see the people they help recover and their lives after.

You shrug and smile at him, “As good as she can be doing. The doctors want to keep her for another week and then she’ll go through a therapy and recovery plan. She’s still really freaked out about what happened and even David is setting her off.”

“That’s completely normal,” Spencer replies, “It probably is just the presence of a man, not necessarily your brother.”

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, I thought so too. David’s hurt by it though. The flinching, wincing, all that.” You say.

“We’re, um, actually thinking about moving Heather away from Seattle for a bit. Get a nice change in scenery and start fresh.” You add.

“Where were you thinking?”

“During the summer growing up, we would spend a few months with our grandparents in Maryland. They had this small place in Annapolis. When our grandparents died, they left it to our parents, and when they died, they left it to us. Heather, David, and I have some good memories growing up there and the house has been maintained over the years.” You explain.

Spencer smiles, “That, uh, sounds really nice. It might help your sister to be surrounded in a place she’s felt safe before.”

You both continue to dawdle around in the middle of the hallway, awkwardly. Neither of you make the move to leave or say goodbye, its almost like neither of you want this conversation to end.

“So,” You start to say, ending the momentary silence between the pair of you, “I should let you get back to work. You must be busy and have other people to help around here, huh.”

Against your will, your cheeks start blushing a small red tint and you get embarassed that you’ve held up this man’s day just so you could talk to him again.

“I don’t work here.” Spencer replies.

You’re sure he can see the confusement on your face after you realize what he just said.

He goes to explain himself, “What I mean! That is, um, I, uh, don’t work in this office. In this building. In Seattle. Me and my, uh, team traveled from Quantico. We’re all stationed in Quantico, Virginia.”

“Oh,” You laugh a little at his stumbling to answer, “Sorry, I just assumed that-”

He waved you off and chuckled to himself, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, here,” You say, drawing the business card he gave you days earlier out of your purse, “I guess I didn’t need to use this afterall.”

“Keep it.” He blurts out not two seconds later. His hands stay by his side and there’s no movement to even accept back his card.

You try again, “I don’t really have a use for it now since Heather’s found and that guy is locked away. You should really give it out to another person who needs it.”

“Keep it,” He reiterates, “I insist.” He says, even going as far as taking his own hand and wrapping it around yours which was reaching out with the card in your fingers. He curls his larger hand around yours and tucks the card deeper into your palm without hurting you.

He steps back quickly afterwards and even as he angles his head towards the ground, you can see a faint blush on his cheeks. He’s embarrassed, you chuckle to yourself in your thoughts. You could tease him a bit more, but you decide not to.

“Are you in town for much longer?” You ask, vying to change the subject.

“Um,” He starts to answer while looking at his watch, “It’ll take roughly four to four and a half hours to get back to Virginia and it’s already pretty late, so we’ll probably leave first thing in the morning.”

You bite your lip and urge yourself in your thoughts to take your shot, “Do you and your team have plans tonight then?” You ask. You hope that he starts to get the hint so he can let you down gently if you’ve got it all wrong.

“I, uh, think we’re all doing our own thing tonight. Some are staying in the hotel. Others are exploring the city.” He informs.

“Do you, uh, -” You stutter, you wring your hands around behind your back, “Would you, um, like to grab dinner together?” You ask. You push back the urge to close your eyes and wince, wanting to see his reaction instead.

It’s a little more shocked than you had hoped for on his face, but you don’t see him pulling back or veering away from you. You take that as a good sign.

“Wh-what about your sister?” He asks, a little speechless.

“Visiting hours are over and David is handling a bunch of paperwork tonight.” You chuckle nervously, “I’m sorry if that made you really uncomfortable.” You apologize.

“Just nod and we can move on, pretend that I never asked you that, say goodbye and never see each other again.” You say, preparing for the worst.

“No!” He exclaims, nearly cutting you off. “I’d, uh, I’d really like that! To do that.”

He takes a deep breath and rephrases, “I would like to grab dinner with you.” He says, looking you in the eyes. You can’t help it when a smile creeps onto your face.

“I just, uh, need to very quickly finish some paperwork, so, um, would a late dinner be okay?” He asks, carefully.

You nod, “Yeah, that’d be great. We can just meet somewhere if that’s easier for you? I can text you the address of this really great Mexican place nearby?” You offer.

He shakes his head up and down enthusiastically and eagerly rummages through his satchel bag, still perched up on his hip.

He hands you something, “That would be great. Mexican is great. I’m- that’s- you’re-” He takes another deep breath and takes a moment, “Great. Just, um, great. I’ll be done by 9 and we can meet then. It, uh, was really great talking to you again.”

Spencer’s face flushes even more and after he hands you something, he moves away and says his goodbyes, making his way down the hall in the direction he came from before stopping in his tracks, turning around and walking in the opposite direction.

You can hear him as he passes where you still stand. “Great? Why did you say great so many times? You said great five times in two minutes, Spencer!” You hear him chastising himself.

You laugh quietly to yourself as you watch him leave, waving to him when he turns his head to see if you’re still watching him (and you are). You look down at your hand and let out a larger laugh now that his is no longer in sight.

He handed you another one of his business cards.

a/n: here’s a small continuation of extreme aggressor because i felt like i left it way more open-ended than the other one shots i have since posted. this is to tide you over until 1x05 broken mirror is finished and to be posted! i might do more of these small continuations for others...

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminalminds #spencerreid #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #one shot; one episode

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americantwinmoverus · 3 months ago

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celestialmantdonna · 2 months ago

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Mandy Celestine

[ Bio and information below the cut! ]

Name: Mandy Celestine.

Birth name: Min-seo Étoile Jeong.

Date of birth: March 21, 1995.

Gender: Cis female.

Orientation: Pansexual.

Height: 4'11 (150 cm).

Eyes: Hazel.

Hair: Dark brown (usually dyed a light blonde, sometimes pink or purple).

Age: 30 (as of 2025).

Birthplace: Maryland, USA.

Disorders: ASD and anxiety.

Occupation: Florist, though this can vary depending on the thread. Other occupations could be librarian, nurse, artist, botanist or astronomer.

Family: Ethan Étoile (father); Da-som Jeong (mother); Peter Jason Quill (paternal half-brother); Yvonne Étoile, Giselle Étoile and Clémence Étoile (paternal aunts).

Bio:

Min-seo was born in Annapolis, Maryland, to Ethan Étoile and Da-som Jeong on March 21 in 1995. Ethan Étoile was a French actor who moved to the USA to pursue acting as a full-time career. He eventually became famous for his lead role in Starburst, a science fiction show about an astronaut, Gustav Brandt, who teams up with aliens after getting lost in space. Da-som Jeong was an American-born botanist of Korean descent, whose dedication and research helped prevent multple plant diseases. However, their marriage would fall apart after Da-som found evidence of Ethan cheating on her, and they divorced when Min-seo was five years old.

The two threw themselves into their work, seeing Min-seo as a walking, talking reminder of each other, promptly spending less and less time with an increasingly dejected Min-seo. With Da-som's consent, Ethan decided to send Min-seo to France when she was six, where she would be raised by Ethan's sisters, Giselle, Clémence and Yvonne Étoile. Min-seo lived with her aunts in Brittany, a region of France known for its legends. Clémence was a nurse, Giselle was a baker, and Yvonne was a librarian, and the three of them managed to give Min-seo a simple yet happy life.

Min-seo grew into a beautiful young woman, sweet, clever and gentle. She was diagnosed with ASD and anxiety in her late teens, and she would find peace in nature – often visiting the Paimpont forest and taking long walks. She lived a quiet, normal life until more people became aware of her last name, putting two and two together and recognizing her as Ethan Étoile's daughter. Min-seo was harassed by the press, and followed everywhere as they persistently asked her about her father's personal life. Min-seo decided to go blonde, change her name to Mandy Celestine and move, in an attempt to avoid the spotlight.

She returned to Maryland, opened her own flower shop called Pink Orchid Mantis, and adopted a cat, naming her Felis after a former constellation. Mandy also eventually learned that she had a paternal half-brother named Peter. Her occupation, age and residence can vary depending on the timeline, place and plot of a thread. She could end up anywhere, though she likes to spend her summers back in France, where she grew up.

Aditional information and trivia:

Mandy will be written by request. Ask memes, starters and all the things you send will be replied to as Mantis unless specified otherwise.

My decision to make Mandy autistic is because Mantis is extremely autistic coded in the GotG films (as well as Drax. And Groot. And Adam... Uhhh are there even NT characters in these films?).

Felis is deaf, since she's a white cat with blue eyes. She meows loudly, as she can't regulate her "volume", so she used to scare Mandy – until she realized her cat was deaf.

Felis was almost named Marie, after the character from The Aristocats, but I changed it because I realized things could get confusing if Mandy ever had a guest also called Marie at her home XD

There is also a "medieval/RPG" verse for this AU – it can be found here (tba).

Reference pictures (I add them for myself, but feel free to check them out because they're cool and cat pictures are always nice):

Mandy Celestine:

Mandy's flower shop, "Pink Orchid Mantis":

Felis:

Annapolis, Maryland:

Brittany, France:

Paimpont Forest, France:

#[ out of emotions ] ooc.#[ v: different kind of human ]

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cecilysass · 2 years ago

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Pause (7/11)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 7: Security

She watches him sleep for a moment in the morning light before she attempts to wake him. “Mulder.”

It’s a heart-tuggingly familiar sight, him asleep on the couch, tangled in his Navajo blanket. His mouth slightly open, his limbs akimbo, a single beam of light falling over his chest from the window.

This is time for neither nostalgia nor blatant admiration. She stands over him, determined to have no mercy. “Mulder, wake up.”

He stirs under the blanket, but offers no other response. In frustration she nudges him with the back of her hand. His eyes crack open, and through blinks, there is a soft and dreamy look of recognition. That expression burns away quickly, turning into something wary, sharp.

“Yes. It’s me,” she says to him. “Back from the dead. Boo.”

Brow furrowed, he places his hands defensively over his face. “Not ready to joke about that yet,” he mumbles.

“When it comes to my death, I get to decide when to make the jokes. Get up and get dressed, Mulder. We’re supposed to go talk to the rental car employees.”

“What time is it?” he says blearily, trying to look past her to see the time on his VCR.

“Time to get up and going,” she replies. “The day is wasting.”

“Are you already showered and dressed?” he asks, squinting at her. “Why are you so energetic?”

“Slept like the dead, I guess,” she quips, walking over to raise his blinds.

He groans, either in reaction to her joke or the abrupt blast of daylight.

“I’ll start some coffee,” she says. “You go take a shower. Don’t dawdle.”

“All right, all right,” he says helplessly, sitting up.

“You’ve obviously been allowed to keep your own undisciplined nocturnal hours for too long.”

He throws her a hard look, shifting his legs off the side of the couch. “Yeah. Your demise was hell on my schedule.”

“Luckily I’m back.” She stops walking halfway across the living room, turning to reconsider him more gently. “You’ll feel better after you’re showered and caffeinated,” she says. “Just get moving, Mulder.”

***

Scully had dressed that morning as professionally she could: in a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt, plus a light blue cardigan that apparently used to be hers.

As they walk towards Mulder’s car, she plucks at her too-tight jeans in agitation. The outfit is just much too casual for interviewing witnesses. It’s something she would wear to run errands on the weekend, and then only if she wasn’t stopping by the Hoover building, which she almost always was. She looks resentfully at Mulder, sporting his expensive tie and coat, as always. The awareness of being underdressed—of looking like she doesn’t fit next to him—is almost unbearable to her. She wonders what happened to all of her carefully curated black suits.

Still, as she climbs into the passenger seat of Mulder’s car, she can’t help but feel a little giddy, too. It’s hard not to be excited by an expedition out into the world, into the bright sunshine of the twenty-first century. And an expedition with Mulder, as his partner, in practice if not in any official sense.

They’ve both brought coffee in to-go mugs. Mulder is gulping his down eagerly, but she’s sipping hers more cautiously. She hasn’t felt truly poorly yet this morning, but her stomach doesn’t feel entirely settled regardless. They each place their cups in their traditional places in the cup holders without even discussing it, and those familiar actions make her inexplicably happy, as though she is back where she belongs.

“Forty-five minutes to the Lariat in Annapolis,” Mulder announces, turning to the mirror to adjust his sunglasses as she fastens her seat belt.

“Probably at least an hour in rush hour,” Scully says. “Unless rush hour has been eliminated in the twenty-first century?”

“Alas, no. Do you want to listen to your teen tunes, or are we going to make conversation?”

“Conversation,” she says carefully.

“Okay,” Mulder says, starting the ignition. “How about those Yankees?”

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you about something.”

Mulder clears his throat, adjusting the mirror back. That spot on his jaw clenches again. “Yeah?”

“Have you developed any working theory about this, Mulder?” She watches as he starts the car, then she takes a tiny, precise sip of her coffee. “About what is happening with me?”

“Hmm,” he says, a faint crease between his eyes. He begins backing out of the parking spot. “Not really.”

She waits a moment while he straightens the wheel, and then she tries again. It’s not like Mulder not to have any ideas. “I know you have your doubts. But let’s suppose for a moment I really am who I seem to be. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to fake my death? And why someone would want to return me as though no time had elapsed?”

His eyes dart towards her and then back to the road, as he maneuvers the car into a turn on to a bigger road.

There is a pause.

“I’ve given this some thought, obviously,” he says, his voice low and serious. “It seems like something various players in the Syndicate could be capable of, but they’re… reduced in numbers these days. And why would they do this? What would be the purpose of putting you on pause?”

“It would have to be in someone’s best interests. Was I working on anything that might be relevant? Were we?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t think of anything specific. I mean, any of our work could be relevant.”

“It could be to make sure I wasn’t around for a certain frame of time,” Scully says softly. “It could be to make sure you were distracted. But … why keep me in some kind of preserved state? And why return me? Why not just kill me?”

Mulder changes lanes in silence, guiding the wheel until the car glides to the right. He slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense.”

She studies his impassive face. Which is why you doubt it’s really me, don’t you, Mulder? You don’t think Scully is alive.

“Well,” she says, “maybe we can start to get some of the missing pieces at the Lariat.”

Mulder nods, keeping his eyes diligently on the road. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.”

***

When they pull into the Lariat parking lot, Scully realizes that she isn’t the only one looking forward to doing some work in the field. Mulder seems to grow more energetic as they walk into the building, speeding up the pace of his stride, holding the door for Scully as they walk in, even giving her a tiny smile.

Although it is still early morning, the store is teeming with customers, waiting in a winding line and sitting in most available seats. Mulder walks confidently past the line of impatient travelers and businesspeople to the front counter, flashing his badge and speaking winningly to an assistant manager whose name tag reads Lew.

“Dana… Scully, yeah.” The young man nods his head, looking down at the computer. “That’s the name on the reservation. It was reserved three weeks ago. Medium sedan.”

Lew is no older than early twenties, pale, round-faced, a little whiff of a mustache growing over his lip. He vaguely reminds Scully of unbaked dough, a thought she immediately dismisses as unkind.

“We’re going to need to talk to anyone who was working here the evening she came in to pick up the car,” Mulder says, a beseeching smile.

Lew gestures to a uniformed girl with a pierced nose and pigtails working the register. “That’d be Jess. She’s worked every day this week.” Jess turns her head and nods mournfully.

“Great,” Mulder says. “We’ll talk to Jess. And if you have any lot or front door security footage, we’d like to see that as well.”

Lew looks up from the computer screen in disbelief. “There are hours of tapes. It will take forever to find.”

“Thank you, Lew,” Scully says, trying her own version of a warm peacemaking smile. It seems to have a better effect than Mulder’s; Lew seems to freeze in awe. “We appreciate your hard work. Let us know when you’re able to find it.”

Lew gapes at her and turns away, walking off towards the back. Watching him, Mulder leans into her, a wry expression on his face. “There’s that generation you’re so hopeful about, Scully.”

“Shhh.”

“I bet he was born in the 1980s.”

“He’s going to help us with no warrant, Mulder. Which is nice of him—they’re obviously very busy with the holiday weekend coming up.”

“Ask him what music he listens to. Maybe you can get some recommendations.”

“Lew likes Eminem,” Jess offers, overhearing as she approaches them. She turns around to speak to another young employee with a high ponytail and hoop earrings. “Karla, can you handle the front alone for a sec?”

Karla gestures indignantly towards the long line of customers, but then, taking in Mulder and Scully more carefully, nods reluctantly, turning to speak to the first customer in the line.

Jess tosses her head as an indication for Mulder and Scully to follow her, leading them back through a rear door into a dingy break room in the back. Its walls are covered with Lariat company memos and employee notices, and it smells like air freshener and burned microwave popcorn. Scully’s stomach lurches again unexpectedly.

“We can sit here,” Jess says, pointing to a battered table. “If you want.”

Mulder inclines his head in agreement, and they sit.

“So you have questions for me?” Jess says, crossing her arms. She lowers her voice. “Is this place under investigation?”

“No—”

“Did you want to ask me about Lew’s musical tastes? He makes us listen to that one song again and again. The one about the obsessive guy who, like, kidnaps his pregnant girlfriend and puts her in the trunk of a car? Can you arrest him for musical harassment? Because it’s fucking creepy.”

“There’s a song about a man who abducts a woman and puts her in the trunk of a car?” Mulder says, stunned.

“Yeah,” Jess says. “That Eminem song. You live under a rock?”

“That’s not what we’re here to talk to you about,” Scully says firmly. “It’s about what you remember about someone who rented a car here this week.”

“That’s a whole fuckload of people,” Jess points out. “This is the beginning of our busy season.”

“My first question will sound … strange,” Scully says. “But do I look familiar to you at all? Do you remember someone who looks like me coming in to pick up a car?”

“You?” Jess squints at her. “No. Not that I remember.” She makes a face. “Wouldn’t you know if you did that?”

Mulder’s jaw muscle tenses. “This would have been the day before yesterday. A medium sedan for Dana Scully. According to the records we can access, it was picked up about four in the afternoon.”

Jess shakes her head. “Sorry. Not familiar.”

“Do you remember anything strange that afternoon at all? Anything out of the norm?” Mulder asks.

Jess chews on her lip for a minute. “Most everyone who comes in is pretty boring. Business types. Families on vacation for the holiday weekend.” She wrinkles her brow. “This is just a little thing. I don’t remember the exact time or her name, but it was that afternoon some lady came in a wig. It was kind of weird.”

Mulder glances at Scully. “Wig?”

“Yeah,” Jess nods. “I mean, normally I wouldn’t notice something like that, and who cares if someone wears a fucking wig? But she was a business type and it seemed, like, out of place. I didn’t realize it was a wig until it slipped a little. And I thought fuck, is she a spy who is in like, disguise? Or maybe she just has cancer or something.”

Mulder nods impassively.

“What color wig?” Scully asks.

Jess’s face lights up. “You know what? It was like yours, actually. Red and short. A bob. Shit, that’s important, isn’t it?”

Scully and Mulder exchange a look. “Possibly,” Mulder says. “Thank you. This is helpful, Jess. We’re going to look at the tapes to see, too.”

“Is she a spy? Or a murderer on the run or something?”

“We can’t talk too much about it, I’m afraid,” Mulder says. “Active investigation.”

Scully taps her fingers on the table. We don’t know who she is, Scully thinks. Other than that she was apparently not me.

***

Lew sets them up to view the tape in an airless utility closet that contains an ancient TV / VCR combo used for the Lariat’s security footage. It feels like it’s cut off from the air conditioning of the rest of the building.

“Can we prop the door open?” Mulder asks, as Lew is leaving. “It feels a little stuffy in here.”

“You can try,” Lew says with a shrug.

While Mulder engages in some kind of unsuccessful battle trying to prop the door with various found objects in the closet, Scully decides to go ahead and press play on the tape. The time stamp shows 2 pm Wednesday, and the person they’re looking for is likely in the four o’clock hour. She presses fast forward, tapping her foot impatiently.

“It won’t stay,” sighs Mulder, letting go of the door in irritation. “I give up.”

The door slams shut, and the closet immediately feels too warm and too intimate. Scully is intently aware of Mulder standing inches behind her, breathing through his nostrils in frustration.

She presses play on the VCR again and keeps her eyes trained only on the screen. It shows the exterior of the Lariat store, both the front entrance and the gate to the lot where customers walk to pick up their rental cars. It would be impossible to enter or leave the store without being seen on the camera, which is good. Still, they’re looking for something that seems difficult to spot: a woman wearing a wig of a color that will not be visible in the black and white footage.

“That’s 3:45,” Mulder says. His finger reaches over her to point at the time stamp on the screen. “Maybe we should let it play from there.”

Scully nods her assent, and Mulder reaches for a metal folding chair sitting against the closet wall.

“Want to sit?” he asks her, unfolding it and extending a hand gallantly.

“I’m fine,” she says. “You go ahead.”

“You sure? Feels wrong to sit while you stand, Scully.”

“You’re almost in your forties now, Mulder,” she says. “You should take it easy. And I don’t mind standing.”

He glances at her as he sits down. “You were making those kinds of jokes before you died, too.”

They watch the screen as an endless stream of people enter and exit the Lariat building, and it’s as dull as this kind of surveillance ever is. After a few minutes, Scully gives up her resolve to stand and finds a plastic crate to sit on. Most people entering the store alone appear to be men, wearing business attire, so it is easy to rule them out. Whenever a woman appears, they pause the screen and look more closely.

“Not a bob,” Mulder says, studying a woman walking in at 4:10. “I’m not an expert, but that woman has a braid, right?”

Scully nods and they press play. She steals a look at Mulder, who has loosened his tie in the warm closet, and now better matches her in informality. His face looks slightly damp in the heat of the closet, but his attention is engaged completely on the screen, his eyes intent and laser focused. She feels comforted by this, to see that he is still capable of being motivated by work. Maybe he is not as changed as he seems.

As she’s surreptitiously watching him, his expression abruptly changes—his face seems suddenly to go slack and lose color. “Hold on. Press pause.”

She turns back to the screen to see what has affected him.

A tall woman, in a bob, entering the store in a sleek tailored coat. Her head is turned so that her face is visible.

Mulder stands up and silently steps closer to the screen, saying nothing.

“Do you know her?” Scully asks, all at once again keenly aware of the room’s airlessness.

He turns around to face her. “Do you?”

Walking past him, closer to the screen herself, she peers intently at the woman’s face.

Yes, she realizes, her breath catching. She has seen her before. Not with this bob in a lighter shade, but with long dark hair.

“Agent Fowley.” Scully breathes. “It looks like her, doesn’t it?”

“It’s her.”

“How sure are you?”

“Very, very sure.”

Scully doesn’t like the confidence of his answer. She didn’t like anything about their previous interaction with Agent Fowley, and she is at a disadvantage not knowing what other interactions they’ve had since. What interactions he has had since. With his beautiful ex with whom he seemed to have so much in common. She steels herself for his answers to her next questions.

“Is she still in Washington? Do you … keep in touch with her? Can we call her to ask about this?”

“I don’t keep in touch,” Mulder says slowly, sitting back down in the chair, “for many reasons. The most important being that she’s dead.”

Scully’s eyes grow round, still staring at the woman on the screen.

Mulder snorts. “Apparently being dead just isn’t what it used to be, huh?”

“How did she die?” Scully says. Her voice sounds too high.

“Murdered as a consequence of saving my life,” Mulder says. “God, two years ago now? I think that’s right.”

Scully turns and sits down on the crate again, too, folding her hands on her lap. So many other questions, but she has to tread carefully here.

“Was she… someone we trusted, Mulder?”

Mulder closes his eyes as if in pain. “She was someone I trusted.” Scully tries not to imagine what that means and tries to shut down the interpretations running through her mind. He opens his eyes again. “But you—no, you never did. And… you were right. She was dirty, working with the Syndicate. Playing me for months.”

“I’m sorry,” Scully says softly and quickly.

He shrugs. “I thought she had redeemed herself a little before she died. But this—” he gestures to the screen, “suggests she is still in the game, and still willing to carry out orders that she knows will hurt us. It means she never stopped playing me.”

Scully stands back up to look at the screen and bites her lip thoughtfully. “Possibly,” she says.

“Possibly?” Mulder says incredulously. “What possible other reason could there be for her impersonating you, picking up your rental car?”

“I don’t know for sure, Mulder,” she says. “I just know we’re only seeing a very small part of the whole picture here.”

“I don’t see why you aren’t furious.” Mulder shakes his head, standing up to look at the screen, too. “You weren’t exactly her biggest fan.”

“It’s just … what we’re seeing isn’t actually evidence of her abducting me. Or faking my death.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it evidence of, then?”

“It’s evidence of her returning me.”

Mulder’s eyes lock suddenly on hers, and Scully realizes just how close he is standing. She could easily lean forward, ever so slightly, and her lips could lightly press against his. She has a dangerous urge to do it.

His mouth twitches as he stares back at her, and she wonders what it is he sees in her face. He takes a careful half step back.

“It’s evidence of her returning someone who looks like Dana Scully,” he corrects quietly. “And someone who believes she is Dana Scully.”

She can’t hide her reaction to that. It’s like a sharp slap. Her cheeks go hot, and her eyes begin to sting.

“I don’t say that to hurt you,” he adds quickly. “We just have to keep it in mind. We have to be alert to the possibility.”

She nods rapidly, looking down, not trusting herself to continue the conversation. “We should ask Lew for a copy of the tape,” she murmurs.

“Diana wasn’t on our side,” he continues, and she hates that it is his let-me-convince-you Mulder voice, the one she loves and associates with their early partnership. “You would always have said not to trust anything she did. You would never have wanted me to take her actions at face value.”

“Of course,” she says tightly. “Let’s go, Mulder.”

He looks bothered. “Scully—”

“No. You’re right,” she says. She just can’t bear to listen to him talk any more. “We have to keep the possibility in mind. I may not be who I think I am. It’s important. Now let’s just go.”

Does she sound sarcastic? she wonders, as they walk out of the closet into a chilly blast of air conditioning. She doesn’t mean to, really. She’s always known that to him the truth is always, always the most important thing. She’s foolish to keep hoping any other priority, any human emotion, might eclipse that.

On the drive home, they are mostly silent. Scully finds herself looking out the window, starting to imagine a life in San Diego.

She thinks she might like to live somewhere where she could go for walks on the beach, feel the sun on her face, enjoy being alive and free. Far from this car. Far from him.

***

It’s about noon when they return to Mulder’s apartment. In stony silence Scully walks straight into his kitchen and slices herself another generous piece of lasagna, which she heats up without further discussion.

She’s eating it at his kitchen table when he walks in the room and drops a piece of paper with a scribbled name and number in front of her plate.

“The medical examiner,” he says, not meeting her eyes. “For you to call.”

She nods shortly as he walks out of the room, disappearing into the bedroom. After some thumping around in the back of the apartment, she hears the shower start. Apparently he is ready to wash away their failed attempt at field work.

When she’s through with her lunch, she sits at the table and takes a deep breath, then dials the man’s number. It requires a little psychological prep. Scully has hardened to many experiences over the years, but it’s not everyday you hear a postmortem report of your own body.

The phone rings and rings, eventually going to voicemail: “You’ve reached the office of the D.C. Medical Examiner…” She can’t come up with a convincing enough story to leave in the moment, so she hangs up. She’ll just try again later.

Sitting there at the table with the phone, nausea hits her again all at once. This time, it is a powerful, overwhelming wave.

Scully stands in a panic. Mulder is in the shower, so she can’t get into the bathroom. Something else, quickly. She has to scramble to find a garbage bag in his cabinet, and once she does … it’s unpleasant.

She ends up on her knees on the floor of Mulder’s kitchen, holding the bag and trembling all over. Her heart is thumping so hard she feels it vibrating through her limbs.

For a moment she seriously considers calling her mother. Or calling out for Mulder, asking him for help. But she just can’t do those things. Her mother would be consumed with worry, and Mulder’s reaction would be something awful, would just hurt her.

Maybe, she thinks, she should go see a doctor. She has some friends from medical school she could call and see on short notice, and if they had somehow heard word of her death, she could tell them some far-fetched story about going deep undercover.

Still, she knows perfectly well what she would tell a patient who came in with her symptoms: You likely have a stomach bug. Drink fluids and rest. Come back in a few days if it persists. No doctor would test for the effects of being a laboratory created replication, or for exotic illnesses created by the government.

Now she’s starting to feel a headache creep up deep behind her eyes, maybe from the force of throwing up. She stands up from the floor, feeling a little unsteady again, and discreetly disposes of the garbage bag.

Maybe some ibuprofen and a nap, she thinks. It’s not as though there is anything to stay awake for anyway.

Her mother has probably included some ibuprofen in her very-thorough supply of toiletries. Scully doesn’t want to interrupt Mulder if he is getting out of the shower soon, so she walks quickly into the bedroom and picks up the plastic bag, carrying it out to the living room with her and sitting on the couch to sort through it.

The toiletry bag is crammed with far more than Scully would ever use—moisturizers of all sorts, chapstick, curling iron, mouthwash, cold medicine, a box of intensive hair conditioning treatment. Scully smiles a little to think of her mother going to Target and buying all of this for her. She must have walked down every aisle. Maggie’s caretaking instincts were in endearing overdrive.

Surely there must be a bottle of ibuprofen in here, she thinks. Scully’s hand is still reaching down inside when she becomes curious about a larger box poking her at the bottom. She pulls it out to examine it more closely.

She has to read it several times to fully let it sink in.

Home pregnancy test. 99% Accurate. Results in minutes.

For thirty seconds the box sits there in Scully’s hands. She stares at it.

This box that her mother bought. This box that she put in her daughter’s bag. Her daughter whom she knows is infertile.

Somewhere in the apartment is the sharp sudden sound of Mulder turning off the shower.

Like a ghost, Scully stands up.

She takes the box and holds it under her arm, crosses the room, and steals Mulder’s keys from the entry table.

Without a sound she leaves the apartment.

#the x files #xfiles fanfic #x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #x files #my fic #pause

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shuxiii · 2 years ago

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Everyday pt. 8

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n i am dying, credits ''every day'' david levithan

TW: homophobia

a/n me messing i saw hanni in edits today and pictures I had to make chapter 8, still credits all to ''every day'' by David levithan, edit: I'm losing my sanity

Day 6006

The phone rings.

I reach for it, thinking it’s Hanni.

Even though it can’t be.

I look at the name on the screen. Austin.

My boyfriend.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hugo! This is your nine a.m. wake-up call. I will be there in an hour. Go make yourself purdy.”

“Whatever you say,” I mumble.

There’s a lot I have to do in an hour.

First, there’s the usual getting up, getting showered, and getting dressed. In the kitchen, I can hear my parents talking loudly in a language I don’t know. It sounds like Spanish but isn’t Spanish, so I’m guessing it’s Portuguese. Foreign languages throw me—I have a beginner’s grasp of a few of them, but I can’t really access a person’s memory fast enough to pretend to be fluent in any of them. I access and find that Hugo’s parents are from Brazil. But that’s not going to help me understand them better. So I steer clear of the kitchen.

Austin is picking Hugo up to go to a gay pride parade in Annapolis. Two of their friends, William and Nicolas, will be coming along. It’s marked on Hugo’s calendar as well as his mind.

Luckily, Hugo has a laptop in his room—since it’s the weekend and a school computer isn’t an option, I am going to risk checking in. I quickly open my email and find something that Hanni sent only ten minutes ago.

Yn,

I hope it went well yesterday. I called her house just now and no one was home—do you think they’re getting help? I’m trying to take it as a good sign.

Meanwhile, here’s a link you need to see. It’s out of control.

Where are you today?

I click on the link beneath her initial and am taken to the home page of a big Baltimore tabloid website. The headline blares:

THE DEVIL AMONG US!

It’s Haruto’s story, but it’s not only Haruto’s story. This time there are five or six other people from the area claiming to have been possessed by the devil. Much to my relief, none of them besides Haruto are familiar to me. All of them are older than I am. Most claim to have been possessed for a time much longer than a single day.

I would think the reporter would have been more skeptical, but she buys the stories uncritically. She even links to other stories of demonic possession—death-row criminals who claimed they were under the influence of satanic forces, politicians and preachers who were caught in compromising positions and said that something very uncharacteristic had come over them. It all sounds very convenient.

I quickly run Haruto through a search engine and find more coverage. The story, it seems, is going wide.

In article after article, there is one person quoted. Essentially, he says the same thing every time:

“I have no doubt that these are cases of demonic possession,” says Rev. Anderson Poole, who has been counseling Watanabe. “These are textbook examples. The devil is nothing if not predictable.”

“These possessions should come as no surprise,” says Poole. “We as a society have been leaving the door wide open. Why wouldn’t the devil walk right in?”

People are believing this. The articles and posts in the comments sections are legion—all from people who see the devil’s work in everything.

Even though I should know better, I shoot off a quick email to Haruto.

I am not the devil.

I hit send, but I don’t feel any better.

I email Hanni, telling her how it went with Jiwon's father. I also let her know that I’m going to be in Annapolis for the day, and tell her what T-shirt I’m wearing and what I look like.

There’s a honk outside, and I see a car that must be Austin’s. I race through the kitchen and say a hurried goodbye to Hugo’s parents. Then I pile into the car—the boy in the passenger seat (William) moves into the back with the other boy (Nicolas) so I can sit next to my boyfriend. For his part, Austin takes one look at my outfit and tsk-tsks, “You’re wearing that to Pride?” But he’s joking. I think.

There is conversation around me the whole car ride, but I’m not really a part of it. My mind is completely elsewhere.

I shouldn’t have sent Haruto that email.

One simple line, but it admits too much.

From the moment we hit Annapolis, Austin is in his element.

“Isn’t this fun?” he keeps asking.

William, Nicolas, and I nod, agree. In truth, the Annapolis Pride events aren’t that elaborate—in many ways it feels like the navy has turned gay and lesbian for the day, and a ragtag assortment of people have come along to cheer it on. The weather is sunny and cool, and that seems to cheer everyone further. Austin likes to hold my hand and swing it like we’re walking down the yellow brick road. Ordinarily, I’d be charmed. He has every right to be proud, to enjoy this day. It’s not his fault I’m so distracted.

I’m looking for Hanni in the crowd. I can’t help it. Every now and then, Austin catches me.

“See someone you know?” he asks.

“No,” I say truthfully.

She’s not here. She hasn’t made it. And I feel foolish for expecting her to. She can’t just drop her life every time I’m available. Her day is no less important than mine.

We come to a corner where there are a few people protesting the festivities. I don’t understand this at all. It’s like protesting the fact that some people are red-haired.

In my experience, desire is desire, love is love. I have never fallen in love with a gender. I have fallen for individuals. I know this is hard for people to do, but I don’t understand why it’s so hard, when it’s so obvious.

One of the protestor’s signs catches my eye. HOMOSEXUALITY IS THE DEVIL’S WORK, it says. And once again I think about how people use the devil as an alias for the things they fear. The cause and effect is backward. The devil doesn’t make anyone do anything. People just do things and blame the devil after.

Predictably, Austin stops to kiss me in front of the protestors. I try to oblige. Philosophically, I am with him. But I’m not inside the kiss. I cannot manufacture the intensity.

He notices. He doesn’t say anything, but he notices.

I want to check my email on Hugo’s phone, but Austin isn’t letting me out of his sight. When William and Nicolas make a move to get some lunch, Austin says he and I are going to go our own way for a little while.

I assume we’re going to get lunch, too, but instead he pulls me into a hip clothing store and spends the next hour trying things on, with me giving my outside-the-changing-room opinion. At one point, he pulls me into the changing room to steal some kisses, and I oblige. But at the same time, I’m thinking that if we’re inside, there’s no way Hanni is going to find me.

While Austin debates whether the skinny jeans are skinny enough, I find myself wondering what Jiwon is doing at this moment. Is she unburdening herself, going along with it, or is she defiant, denying that she ever wanted help in the first place? I picture Beomgyu and Soobin in their rec room, playing video games, not having any sense that their week was disrupted. I think of Keeho later tonight, preparing his clothes for church tomorrow morning.

“What do you think?” Austin asks.

“They’re great,” I say.

“You didn’t even look.”

I can’t argue this. He’s right. I didn’t.

I look at him now. I need to pay more attention.

“I like them,” I tell him.

“Well, I don’t,” he says. Then he storms back into the changing room.

I haven’t been a good guest in Hugo’s life. I access his memories and discover that he and Austin first became boyfriends at this very celebration, a year ago this weekend. They’d been friends for a little while, but they’d never talked about how they felt. They were each afraid of ruining the friendship, and instead of making it better, their caution made everything awkward. So finally, as a pair of twentysomething men passed by holding hands, Austin said, “Hey, that could be us in ten years.”

And Hugo said, “Or ten months.”

And Austin said, “Or ten days.”

And Hugo said, “Or ten minutes.”

And Austin said, “Or ten seconds.”

Then they each counted to ten, and held hands for the rest of the day.

The start of it.

Hugo would have remembered this.

But I didn’t.

Austin senses something has changed. He comes back from the dressing room without any clothes in his arms, looks at me, and makes a decision.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “I don’t want to have this particular conversation in this particular store.”

He leads me down to the water, away from the celebration, away from the crowds. He finds a somewhat secluded bench and I follow him there. Once we sit down, it all comes out.

“You haven’t been with me once this whole day,” he says. “You aren’t listening to a word I say. You keep looking around for someone else. And kissing you is like kissing a block of wood. And today, of all days. I thought you said you were going to give it a chance. I thought you said you were snapping out of whatever it is that’s been afflicting you the past couple of weeks. I am sure I recall you saying there wasn’t anyone else. But maybe I’m mistaken. I was willing to bend over backward, Hugo. But I can’t bend over backward and walk around at the same time. I can’t bend over backward and have a conversation. I guess when it all comes down to it, I’m just not that damn flexible.”

“Austin, I’m sorry,” I say.

“Do you even love me?”

I have no idea if Hugo loves him or not. If I tried, I’m sure I could access moments when he loved him and moments when he didn’t. But I can’t answer the question and be sure I’m being truthful. I’m caught.

“My feelings haven’t changed,” I say. “I’m just a little off today. It has nothing to do with you.”

Austin laughs. “Our anniversary has nothing to do with me?”

“That’s not what I said. I mean my mood.”

Now Austin is shaking his head.

“I can’t do this, Hugo. You know I can’t do this.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” I ask, genuine fear in my voice. I can’t believe I’m doing this to both of them.

Austin hears the fear, looks at me and maybe sees something worth keeping.

“This isn’t the way I want today to go,” he says. “But I have to believe that it isn’t the way you want it to go, either.”

I can’t imagine that Hugo was planning to break up with Austin today. And if he was, he can always do it tomorrow.

“Come here,” I say. Austin moves in to me and I lean into his shoulder. We sit like that for a moment, looking at the ships on the bay. I take his hand. When I turn to look at him, he’s blinking back tears.

This time when I kiss him, I know there’s something in it. When he feels it, it may come across as love. It is my thanks to him for not ending it. It is my thanks to him for giving it at least one day more.

We stay out until late, and I am a good boyfriend the whole time. Eventually I lose myself a little in his life, dancing along with Austin, William, Nicolas, and a few hundred other gays and lesbians when the parade organizers blast the Village People’s “In the Navy.”

bsp; I keep looking for Hanni, but only when Austin is distracted. And, at a certain point, I give up.

When I get home, there’s an email from her:

Yn,

Sorry I couldn’t make it to Annapolis—there were some things I had to do.

Maybe tomorrow?

I wonder what the “things I had to do” were. I have to assume they involve Minji, because otherwise, wouldn’t she have told me what they were?

I’m pondering this when Austin texts me to say he ended up having a great day. I text him back and say I had a great day, too. I can only hope that’s the way Hugo remembers it, because now Austin has proof if he denies it.

Hugo’s mother comes in and says something to me in Portuguese. I only get about half of it.

“I’m tired,” I tell her in English. “I think it’s time for bed.”

I don’t think I’ve addressed her questions, but she just shakes her head—I am a typical, unforthcoming teenager—and heads back to her room.

Before I go to sleep, I decide to see if Haruto has written me back.

He has.

Two words.

Prove it.

#Hanni x reader #Hanni Pham #Pham Hanni #Hanni Pham x reader #newjeans #newjeans fanfic #hanni pham #new jeans #nwjns #NewJeans Imagines #Newjeans imagine #Newjean Fanfic #NewJeans Fanfic #newjeans fic #newjeans imagine #Newjeans x reader

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revlyncox · 7 months ago

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Answering the Call of Democracy

We draw from the deep well of our tradition and from our experience in community to find the joy, strength, peace, and love we need to help every voter to find their voice. This sermon was delivered to The Unitarian Society in East Brunswick, NJ, by Rev. Lyn Cox on September 15, 2024.

A little more than four years ago, I was bracing in the early morning cold outside of a Baltimore city high school with three people I had never met before, strangers who would be a team for the morning. It was unusually quiet at first. We watched legions of pilgrims for democracy come to set up for the day, arriving in almost reverent silence. Some of the poll workers were already inside. At a respectful distance from the entrance, there were tables from a few civic organizations along the plaza between the parking lot and the door. We had a little table, but we didn’t stay behind it, preferring to greet people and circulate through the crowd.

I was with a group of election defenders. We had been trained by a nationwide pro-democracy group in de-escalation tactics and in nonpartisan voting resources. We were there in case there were attempts to use violence or threats to suppress the vote, or in case someone was turned away from the polls unfairly and needed help accessing resources to address that, or in case someone wanted a referral to information about how to vote. We also gave out bottled water and warmly greeted every voter.

My team included a Baltimore City school teacher who was also a member of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated, and had done a lot of get-out-the-vote organizing. There was a UU activist in their early twenties who was new to Baltimore, but not new to de-escalation training. Rounding out our team was a newly retired person who had never done any kind of election or political volunteering before; she came from Annapolis because they had more than enough volunteers there. We got to know each other a little bit in between making ourselves useful to the voters. It was a nonpartisan group doing a nonpartisan activity; we did not make distinctions about who we helped, and most of the time we didn’t know who the people we helped supported politically. Each one of us had different motivations for volunteering to ensure that every person who was eligible and showed up to vote got their chance to participate in democracy.

For myself, I wanted the experience of voting to feel safe and joyful for everyone, especially first-time voters, and I wanted to build community with people in my own city. In the election four years prior to that, I had been working away from home in a battleground state, and I saw a lot of behavior during the campaign and directly after the election that was designed to intimidate people out of claiming their power. I am a person with a fair amount of racial and class privilege, plus professional experience talking to strangers, and I felt that I could spend that privilege to help people feel less alone if they were worried about intimidating behavior. We didn’t have any trouble at our location. I know that, nationwide, volunteers in our group made a difference in the voter experience.

On that election day, our table was far enough away from the entrance that we were in the zone where candidates for office would come through to greet people in line and hand out flyers. It was exciting to see people with differing viewpoints expressing excitement and hope for what could be possible in local and state governments. The lines moved quickly, but they were long sometimes. While I don’t love long lines at the polls and there should not be a disparity in the wait times at different polling locations, at least in this case it felt festive to have so many neighbors gathered in one place. Lots of people were confused about why we were there without promoting a candidate or a ballot measure. We repeated often that we simply wanted everyone who was eligible to be able to vote.

At one point when the lines weren’t as long, I went closer to the entrance to ask the poll workers if they needed anything when a young man walked through the plaza on his way to somewhere else. He was kind of skinny, with short hair, tattoos in sharp relief against his pale skin, and well-worn clothing. The young man asked what the crowds were for. We told him it was election day and invited him to vote. He said he wasn’t registered, but then the poll worker got to tell him that Maryland has same-day voter registration. If he was eligible, he could vote that day. And he did. When that first-time voter came out of the polling location he had the biggest smile and called out that this is the greatest country in the world. I get teary just thinking about that.

We didn’t know that day how the election was going to turn out, and we weren’t there to advocate for an outcome. Nevertheless, even with the uncertainty of the process and the risk that we might need to use our de-escalation training in the face of voter intimidation, our hearts were full as we supported our neighbors that day. Joining together with neighbors to be part of the democratic process brought me joy. I am reminded of the gospel song by Shirley Ceasar, which I learned from the Resistance Revival Chorus:

This joy that I have, the world didn’t give it to me

The world didn’t give it, the world can’t take it away

There are forces that hunger for power-over instead of collective wellbeing. Those principalities and powers do affect us, and it is our constant mission to resist them, but we need not give up our joy or our sense of relationship or our vulnerability or our capacity to act out of our values. Our joy can come from an indwelling sense of connection, from a relationship with the love that will not let us go, from a vision of the Beloved Community that could be and that we are creating sparks of in every moment. Hope, to me, is not wishful thinking, it is the choice to act in congruence with love, no matter what happens with short-term outcomes.

The hope that I have for participatory decision-making in my community, the world didn’t give it to me.

The strength that I have to reach out and be vulnerable in conversation with neighbors about the issues we face together, the world didn’t give it to me.

The peace that I have as I try to build community and make things better with a full appreciation of my own and others imperfections, the world didn’t give it to me.

The world didn’t give it. The world can’t take it away.

This is the election sermon. It is a longstanding tradition in our faith, going back to the 1700s, for the minister to preach right before an election about democracy and the responsibilities of citizens and elected officials. The election sermon isn’t about advocating for candidates or parties, but is about illuminating our theology and values as many of us prepare to apply those values in public life. I could have waited until November 3 to preach this sermon. But with vote-by-mail and early voting, the time when people are actually casting their ballot varies more than it used to, so I thought I would beat the rush.

It is true to our tradition and in compliance with the law that the election sermon doesn’t deal with political parties or candidates. As a faith community, we can absolutely talk about issues and about how we frame certain topics in terms of our theology and our values. All day, every day, we can talk about bodily autonomy, environmental justice, immigration justice, and dismantling the carceral system. Up to a certain percentage of our congregational volunteer and staff time and resources can be used to lobby for specific legislation or ballot measures. But if we’re not naming specific legislation or parties or people, the conversation is open. [The UUA has a resource called “The Real Rules” to help us understand what we can and can’t do as a nonpartisan faith-based group.] As a private individual, I have my own thoughts and am allowed to vote and donate and do all of the other things other citizens can do. In my role as your minister, I don’t need to be partisan to be grounded in our Unitarian Universalist tradition and to speak about the way the love at the center of our faith flowers outward into public life.

And I think we do need to talk about that. Our tradition, our ethics, our values should guide the way we act in the world. Our spiritual lives should inform the way we analyze the choices we make in public life. The obligations we take on as members of a faith community, the people and forces to whom we are accountable, should be on our minds and hearts as we go through our discernment about how to interact with the democratic process. Even for those of us who don’t have the right to vote due to age or nationality or for some other reason can be part of the conversation.

The revised bylaws of the Unitarian Universalist Association remind us that we value “Justice. We work to be diverse multicultural Beloved Communities where all thrive. We covenant to dismantle racism and all forms of systemic oppression. We support the use of inclusive democratic processes to make decisions within our congregations, our Association, and society at large.”

Similarly, the UUA bylaws remind us that we value “Equity. We declare that every person has the right to flourish with inherent dignity and worthiness.

We covenant to use our time, wisdom, attention, and money to build and sustain fully accessible and inclusive communities.”

These words from Article II of the UUA bylaws came out of a multi-year process of input from individual UU’s and from congregations, discussion, and voting two years in a row by delegates from congregations. Though they are articulated in a way that is fresh and current, the values in our bylaws arise out of the context of all that has come before, our history and our heritage and the living tradition of our theology. The love at the center of our faith has deep origins in the experiences of our ancestors and in our own experience with meaning and purpose. The world can’t take it away.

The UUA bylaws speak to the way we want to be as an Association of Congregations, and they also speak to the kind of world we want to live in beyond our congregations. “We support the use of inclusive democratic processes to make decisions within our congregations, our Association, and society at large.” To me, protecting voting rights and providing support and encouragement for every eligible person to vote is a core expression of our Unitarian Universalist faith.

The joy and peace and strength and love we bring matters. When we stay grounded in our community and connected to those forces, the world can’t take them away. Attempts at voter intimidation can’t take away our strength. Disinformation can’t take away our peace. Voter suppression masked as cynicism can’t take away our joy. The love that we have at our center endures.

The work of democracy can call us to be vulnerable, courageous, and creative. The work asks us to engage in good faith with people we don’t know and might disagree with, and to find energy and hope for the world we might be able to grow into. It is spiritual work that begins with reflection. What is your origin story? What experience do you have with the impact of public policy that moves you to participate in voting or in advocacy? What values move you to act? Whose wellbeing are you holding in your heart?

You might be more mindful of different aspects of your origin story depending on the conversation or the decision in front of you. You can have more than one retelling of your origin story. My point is that your context matters. And the context of the people you talk with or write to matters. One of my origin stories is the impact of this nation’s caregiving crisis on our family.

As many of you know, it is my honor to be a direct caregiver. I spend a lot of time on the phone and in person coordinating appointments, keeping track of prescriptions, following up on lab work, and advocating for treatment. Like many of you, I have experience with the current state of emergency room care. Getting and keeping health insurance used to be harder, and it still has a long way to go before it is affordable, equitable, effective, and easy to navigate for everyone. It matters to me that the local, state, and federal government protects access to affordable health insurance, works toward prescription drug price caps, and takes an honest look at public health and health disparities. It matters to me that my government keeps its promises to veterans like my dad, and that my government maintains a standard of care that supports the health and bodily autonomy of teens like my children. My experience as a caregiver directly informs the way I seek out information about policy and the way I advocate in public life.

What about you? What is your origin story? What personal experience do you have with regard to the impact of climate change, or the devastation of over-incarceration, or the immigration experience, or the necessity of access to gender-affirming care or to reproductive health care, or access to the right to vote? Maybe you have a personal story, or are impacted by a family story, or you are moved by the experience of a friend or an ally. Think for a moment about your hopes for the future, and the who and the why of the world you dream about.

If you write postcards or letters to voters, or if you do phone banking or door-knocking, keep your origin story in mind, and remember that everyone you meet also has their own origin story. Often, though not always, being curious about the other person’s story can help us to find common ground and to work together across differences. Just about everyone we might talk with about public issues has someone they care about whose wellbeing is directly impacted by government policy. We might not agree on what we think the causes and effects are, but once we can regard each other as human beings who care about our families and friends, and who want the people we love to be able to thrive, there may be a way forward to talking about the issues.

This is how putting love at the center plays out. Relationships are at the heart of a healthy democracy. It does take some openness and groundedness to reflect on our values and what they mean for our choices. It takes spiritual practice to accept with grace the imperfections of ourselves and our society and to keep pursuing a better world anyway. It takes vulnerability and courage to come to terms with our origin story, and to be genuinely curious about the stories of those we meet. Love is alive in every aspect of that path. Inner peace is waiting at the place where we overcome our fear and our perfectionism. Joy abounds as we embrace what a world of justice and equity could mean, and as we find connection with all those who join together in creating the future of a free and fair democracy.

This joy that we have, this peace that we have, this strength that we have, this love that we have, were given to us, at least in part, by our living tradition. Together, let us celebrate joy, peace, strength, and love, and let us put them into practice as we help every voter to find their voice.

So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

#unitarian universalism #uu #UU the Vote #voting

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