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littlebluespoon · 11 months ago

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Isolated ~ Stuck (Octo!König) Ch 5

Apologies for the longer wait, I had uni and family and new tattoos to deal with and I also tried to make this chapter longer.

But here we are, chapter 5

König reaches out to you. You reach out to someone else.

2K, MDNI 18+ stalking, mentions of vomiting, hybrids and all that jazz.

🤦🏻 knew there was something I’d forgotten to put in the notes.

Perle is German for Pearl and kleiner artz is German for little doctor

A03 link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/51314596/chapters/131934805

~~~

It had been weeks since you received the pictures. You were going to throw them in the pile of rubbish for the incinerator but realised that would leave a chance for other people to see them and if whoever this was found out you’d thrown the pictures out well, you didn’t want to think about it. You scavenged a box from recycling and shoved everything from the first ‘gift’ to the pictures in it and kicked it under your bed. Out of sight and hopefully out of mind was what you were going for.

By the time you had dealt with the ‘gifts’ and rechecked your room for any signs of another person or hidden cameras you had missed breakfast. It was a big deal though as you were spending the morning doing inventory and ordering supplies, busy work that kept you at your desk where you knew you had a stash of protein bars. Where you were supposed to have a stash of protein bars. Either you’d miscounted how many you had left or you had a thief. Your thief had to be Gaz, the fox hybrid had a habit of stealing when he was bored. He never took anything that was important to you or work related, usually food or clothes he knew you had spares of. You’d had to hunt him down several times to find your missing hoodies and socks. It seemed you were destined to go hungry until lunch today.

The knock on your door was unexpected. You were off medical duty today in order to stock count so no one should be coming to you for medical care,

“Who is it?” you call out through the closed door.

“It’s me Perle, can I come in?” the heavy, Austrian accent gave him away. König. It was here you realised you’d never actually spoken with him, too him certainly but never with. You’d never heard his voice.

Another knock startled you, “König? Yeah, come in,” You got up and made for your med kit, you might be off duty but you’re still the only one on base with the training needed for König’s medical care and considering your past experiences you were expecting the worst.

A muffin. Your favourite muffin. König was holding your favourite muffin. He was holding your favourite muffin? You stared at him as he crossed the doorway, assessing him. No blood, no missing or extra limbs, no limp, no obviously broken bones. He didn’t need medical attention from what you could see. Unless it was something embarrassing and private but unlike other soldiers on base you didn’t think the Colonel was the type to sleep around and contract several STDs.

Confused, you just continued staring at him until he offered you the muffin,

“You missed breakfast this morning. Thought you might be hungry.” He gave a small shrug as he handed you the muffin.

“I did. I am,” you give him a bright smile, “Thanks, these are my favourite too!” munching on the muffin and assured that he wasn’t in danger of passing out on you, you settled back behind your desk and gestured for him to sit too.

“So just a muffin that brought you down or do you need something from me?” you ask around a mouthful, thinking that maybe this was a more routine medical issue.

“I can’t come and see my favourite Kleiner Artz?” his eyes scrunch up underneath his mask, it’s a small sign that tells you he’s smiling. Ghosts’ eyes do the same, that how you know, “You missed breakfast and it was pancake day, you never miss pancake day so I wanted to check on you. Noticed your teammates didn’t come see you, is that how the legendary 141 operate?” His concerned tone is what you notice most, it sounds genuine enough but there just something about it that leaves you on edge.

“Ah, you’re scouting.” Throwing the wrapper in the bin before mustering your professional voice, the one you use on superiors who try to refuse medical treatment, “While I appreciate the concern Colonel, my team and I operate just fine. I’m quite happy with my working conditions and no, I’m not interested in a pay rise. Does that satisfy you?” plastering a fake smile on your face you wait for him to dismiss himself, even though you don’t technically have to conform to the PMCs ranks you feel it’s disrespectful to fully dismiss them.

He slowly shuffles towards the door, stopping and shaking his head before closing it behind him. Like he had something else to say however you didn’t have much time to dwell on it as you had supply forms to be completing.

~~~~~

It was after 3pm before you had finished all the forms which meant if you wanted them ordered today you had to hand them to your lieutenant personally, which was no easy task. Figuring one of the sergeants might have seen him at some point you stop by their shared office first,

“Hey, has LT been around today?” standing in the doorway you watch as Soap lines up a spit ball with Gaz’s head,

“Something about meeting with the Cap and paperwork. Probably in his office.” Comes the reply from Gaz. Just as he looks up towards you Soap sees his moment and fires, hitting Gaz right above his eye.

“Ha, that serves you right for eating all my snacks. I’ll be back, gotta get these to LT before four.” You walk off, throwing a wave behind you and keeping an ear out for the chaos that often followed the two.

Just as Gaz had said, Ghost was in his office. Cursing at paperwork and idiots and probably every officer on base by the sounds of it. Knocking on his door you waited for the command to enter and give him your request,

“Supply forms sir, there’s a few of them that are urgent. Should probably take priority over field reports.” You hand him the forms, knowing he’d take the opportunity to do anything other than read recruits reports.

“Thanks, I’ll get them in tonight,” he puts them on top of a pile but doesn’t dismiss you as expected, “You missed breakfast. Everything solid?” he asks.

“Yes sir, just overslept.” You give him nod, keeping it short so he has less time to sense the lie.

“Alright, let me know if you need anything though yeah?” He doesn’t dismiss you until you acknowledge his indirect order after which you make a beeline back to your office. You always feel like Ghost sees your soul whenever you stand in front of him like that and you need some time to decompress. Especially with the paranoia from last night still lingering.

~~~~~

Your office was a safe space, despite all the physical trauma it sees, it’s where you go to centre yourself. To just be. For you it’s a sanctuary of hope, of where you do your best work and in the moments where there’s no emergency to be dealt with its tranquil and peaceful. With the rain tapping against the window and all your paperwork done, you settle in to enjoy a quiet moment. Closing the door and with your back against it, eyes closed and just breathing. In, out. In for one, two, three, four, five. Out for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

The silence you can hear is a rare thing on a military base. No shouting, banging, not even a vehicle passing. Just the rain. And? Bubble wrap? Focusing on the sound, pop, pop, pop. It’s not a gun, you’re far too familiar with those and it’s not bubble wrap. The sounds are too long, it’s like someone blowing a bubble with gum and then it pops. The sound echoes in the empty hallways so you settle for counting the pops until you can’t hear anymore; one, two, three… seventy two… ninety five… one hundred and sixteen. The pops eventually faded and after the last one you opened your eyes. Your office the way you left it, except for one detail. A peach envelope.

There, in the middle of your clean desk lay a nightmare and all you could do was stare at it. Frozen. Your door was locked. You double checked. You always double check because of all the medications in it. Your door was locked and your window doesn’t even open, the key to it being lost forever ago. Your door was locked, how was this envelope on your desk. What else had this person done? Where else had they been? How? Where? When? Who?

The questions swirling around your head left your heart rate climbing and your hands shaking. You could barely open the envelope because of the shaking. As you tore it open you took another moment, in and out. Breathe in, breathe out. Getting a hold of yourself before you read it. As the shakes slowed you could make out the typed writing;

My Dearest Heart,

I hope you had a pleasant rest. Mine was wonderful, dreaming of you. I hope that pleasant dreams were the reason you missed breakfast and not anything nasty. You looked so worn down when I saw you in his office, I do hope he isn’t making your life difficult. Oh My Heart, I hope you know that I would do anything for you. I would damn the world if it was what you wanted from me. I’ve left you some presents in your drawer, hopefully this time that dreadful fox doesn’t steal them. I can’t have My Heart going hungry after all.

With all my love,

Your Soul

Retching you lunged for your bin, throwing up what little you had eaten that morning. They had been following you. You knew they were watching but they had followed you this morning and you hadn’t seen them. What good was a soldier who isn’t aware of their surroundings? How could you have missed them? The halls were empty, they should have been obvious but they weren’t. Unless they weren’t physically following you? Could they be watching from the cameras? Could the be using other people to follow you? You were all trained military personnel, there were hundreds of ways to follow a target, you knew that. They could be anywhere. You might have never even seen them in person.

~~~~~

The letter burned a hole in your combat pockets until you could make it back to your room after lunch. You had to constantly remind yourself not to reach to check it was still there and hadn’t fallen out. Lunch was quiet, with the Lieutenant still drowning in paperwork and Soap running a demolitions class for recruits it was just you and Gaz. Until he had to run before he was late for a meeting and it was just you, alone at your table in the noisy mess hall, picking at your food until you deemed you’d spent an appropriate amount of time being seen by people.

Walking back to your room, your legs felt like lead. Like they were getting heavier with each step. You took the longer route back, sticking to hallways that were always populated, saluting where necessary and saying hello to other people just to prolong your pain. You didn’t want to go back to your room. It’s peace had been ruined. You didn’t want to go back to your office, it too being soiled.

Your feet kept you along the familiar paths, pulling you closer with each step as your mind wandered. Lists of people. Theories about how. Questions about why. With your head buzzing with paranoia and questions, you didn’t even notice when your feet stopped outside a door and your hand had already knocked,

“Enter.” The gruff voice called out through the wood. Breathe in, breathe out. The questions in your head stopped abruptly as you opened the door and stepped through, the click of it echoing in the room. Breathe in, breathe out. Looking at him across the room, the one person you feel certain your stalker can’t be, one last big breath in and out,

“Lieutenant Riley? I need your help sir.” Your voice shakes, your whole body tensing, as if preparing for a fight as your hand reaches into your pocket and pulls out the envelope. He stands slowly, reaching out for the letter as he assesses you, he watches as your body collapses the second the paper leaves your hand.

#bluespoonswriting #octo!könig #call of duty fanfic #call of duty x reader #könig x reader #konig x reader #cod fanfic

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rye-in-a-coat · 10 months ago

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MY SPARKLECARE THEORY

The Number.

Y'all remember when the ZCP told us to not call the phone number Rem gives to Bright? You should not, I'm not sure if it's an actual number in real life; but if it happens to be, no one who's on the other side of the line will be happy.

To avoid curious viewers to obliterate someone's phone, what usually is done in media ever since in the 1960's in the U.S. and Canada is to have the phone number's central office code to be 555 as it's almost* guaranteed no civilian person will have such number for personal use or will link to any business. This only applies in the North American Numbering Plan of course.

Why didn't the ZCP use a 555 number then? They actually used one in the same volume, the phone number Lo dials to call the Citycountrytown Casting Agency is 555-2737.

What I get from this is that, if they didn't use a 555 number for the number at the end, it is because the numbers in it themselves carry some kind of information.

Cross on blue and yellow background.

Such symbol has appeared before in Volume 1, where we see a escaped patient having it on a sign, and in Volume 2, where it is held by a protestor. As Eve mentioned once in this ask, such symbol which also appears in the blog, website and other stuff is NOT the hospital's logo. Then of what or who?

An anti-Sparklecare group?

It is clear that this symbol as shown in these examples, represents a statement against Sparklecare. What I supose is that, because Kittycorn doesn't want to reveal any further information of the protestors seen in volume 2, they will be relevant in a future volume or series. If we link these clues together, perhaps this symbol doesn't just represent the movement in general, but a specific organized group against Sparklecare, making it their logo. Then this would make Rem part of it too, and so Rem then becomes a very important piece in the story, because she's the infiltrated secret agent in the hospital. Knowing how heavily implied Doctor Party is to be an ESPer, he surely knows about Rem's undercover identity and about this organized group. Perhaps he's part of it too, if so, then they have another great important character against Cuddles.

A cipher?

Going back to the phone number, if the numbers in it are important and relevant, perhaps a piece of code is ciphered in it. My first thought was A1Z26 cipher, a simple sustitution code in which each letter gets a number assigned, so A is 1, B is 2; and so on.

The first six digits of the phone number, if you read them as 1-14-20-9 and decipher them using A1Z26, you get the word ANTI; which I really doubt this is just a coincidence knowing how it is implied this phone number belongs to an ANTI Sparklecare group.

The other four tho: 2425, are not that obvious. The possible combinations readable in A1Z26 are 2-4-2-5 (BDBE), 2-4-25 (BDY), 24-2-5 (XBE), and 24-25 (XY).

The only idea that comes to my mind is A-N-T-I-B-D-Y which is one letter off from "antibody". An antibody is protein belonging to the inmune system which will find, target and neutralize foreign and so-possibly harming bodies such as harmful bacteria and viruses.

An antibody's job is to protect the human body from what will harm it, and these anthries's hope seems to be to protect the patients from receiving any more harm from such heartless medical industry.

But Imma be honest, the four last digits are quite an stretch to analyze and I'm starting to doubt if the ANTI is a coincidence.

*A footnote.

If you want to use a 555 number in your media, DO NOT put as area codes 800, 888, 877, 866, 855, 844 or 833 before them. These area codes are reserved for toll-free dial numbers, to which the 555 office code is valid; so you may actually write a real phone number that who knows where that will link to.

#handful of grains #sparklecare #tell-o-phone

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thebibliosphere · 1 year ago

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I've seen many posts about how certain foods aren't supposed to be spicy or make your mouth tingle, and if that happens you're allergic. You seem like a person who might be able to give me a hint here: What does it mean if it only makes your mouth tingle sometimes?

Depending on what it is and when it occurs, it could be hypersensitivity or something like Oral Allergy Syndrome.

OAS is when your allergy is actually to something like grass or pollen, and you react to the fruits/vegetables in the same family. It's a cross-reaction that can happen intermittently, usually worsening during allergy season, and sometimes managed by taking antihistamines and making sure everything you eat is cooked to kill any proteins.

There is also something similar known as latex-fruit-syndrome.

I'm allergic to latex, and both bananas and avocados are in the latex family. My body always reacts to latex, but it doesn't always react to bananas and avocados (though I have to avoid them both anyway because of my MCAS). Strawberries are also linked to latex-fruit-syndrome, but I don't seem to react to them the same way. I'm not sure if that's a me thing or not. MCAS complicates things.

That said, even if it only happens sometimes, it's still worth checking with an allergist because even mild reactions can turn into serious ones at any time. You can also develop new allergies at any time throughout your life. Bodies are weird like that.

Hope this helps! And I hope you find an answer.

#chronic health tag #allergies #food mention #oral allergy syndrome

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darkmaga-returns · 13 days ago

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By GreenMedInfo Research Group

A new epidemiological study found that fluoride exposure from drinking water associates with decreased testosterone levels in young and middle-aged men.

Testosterone dropped most sharply in 18-39 year-olds based on fluoride burden. Surprisingly, in older men with higher fluoride exposure, testosterone increased with age instead of declining as expected. This complex relationship hints that fluoride may disrupt multiple hormonal pathways beyond the male reproductive axis.

A novel study reveals fluoride affects serum testosterone in a complex, age-specific manner, adding evidence that environmental toxicants may contribute to declining hormonal function in younger males.

Published in Biological Trace Element Research, the cross-sectional study examined fluoride exposure and two reproductive biomarkers, testosterone and androgen binding protein (ABP), in over 300 Chinese farmers.1 Scientists divided participants into higher and lower fluoride exposure groups based on urinary fluoride levels.

Compared to the lower exposure group, men with elevated fluoride measured significantly lower testosterone overall. This depletion was most pronounced in 18-39 year olds. Paradoxically, among higher-exposed middle aged and older men, testosterone increased slightly with age instead of undergoing the expected age-related decline.

Meanwhile, ABP remained unaffected across groups regardless of fluoride burden and age. As ABP governs testosterone transport and tissue uptake, results indicate fluoride direct

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ohtobeleah · 2 years ago

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Boundaries // Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: A call comes in on your day off about a hostage situation. Dragging your husband Bradley and his best friend Hangman into an active crime scene, the situation could not have turned out any worse.

Warnings: NCIS x TopGun Cross over. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Gun violence. Shooting.

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Holy shit we made it bois!! Here’s another instalment of to the NCIS Bradley Bradshaw series. If you haven’t read anything to do this this series—where have you been? The Masterlist is linked here for you and a special shout out to @belowtheharddeck300 for concepting with me the other day and inspiring this whole fic. Please also don’t forget about Minimal Losses which is another series intertwined with this! But for Jake Seresin. xx

“Are you enjoying that?” DiNozzo hissed from his seat in the back of your car, peering over into the front as he eyed off Bradley who'd been obnoxiously sipping on his green smoothie the entire car trip.

“Oh, you mean my smoothie?” Rooster had been waiting for someone, anyone to bring it up. “Funny you should mention it because I really feel like it's missing something.” Inspecting the cup as if he didn't know what it was that was missing. He knew, oh boy did he know, and he was pissed.

“He’s just upset because I finished his protein powder last night–” You were currently in the middle of moving boxes out of your townhouse into a storage facility. The process of moving across the country wasn't as easy as you originally thought it would be. But you knew it would all be worth it.

“You put it on your ice cream!” Bradley countered, oh he’d been waiting for this argument to kickstart. You could see it through the rear view mirror, the perplexed look of amusement Jake was giving you as he sat quietly in the back of your car.

“Yeah and you left a tub of it at my house?” Your thought process had been this, surely Bradley had another tub of protein at his house in California. Whatever food or clothing or hygiene products he left behind whenever he came to stay with you in D.C, became fair game once he was gone. That was the unspoken rule you both had. It was hard being married and living separately, hence why you were in the process of a transfer out to California. To be closer to home. Your home. Bradley Bradshaw. “I didn't think you’d mind?”

“I wrote my name on the lid!?” Bradley had slightly turned in his seat to face you a little more. He was seething. His smoothie tasted weird without the vanilla protein powder he always used. He thought he could trust his own wife to keep his things safe. Turns out you were just as bad as the rest of the people he chose to willingly surround himself with on a day to day basis. All vultures to some extent.

“Who writes their name on things they then leave at their wife's house?” Your tone had changed, more annoyance than comic relief now shining through. That's what had drawn Jake Seresin into the conversation. He’d been trying not to get too heavily involved in whatever quarrel was going on in the front seat.

“Do you still write your name on your underwear?” Jake finally intervened in the argument that was slightly getting out of hand. He came to Washington with Rooster to help him clear out the townhouse you'd been living in since well, since you first moved out of home really. It was a pretty big task, but Jake was just grateful to have a full week off work.

“Only to mark my territory–”

“Poor choice of words there Bradshaw.” DiNozzo snarled at the thought. Shaking the imagery of roosters tighty whities out of his head. You chuckled softly as you stopped at a red light. Sighing because you didn't really want to continue the conversation but in a desperate attempt to preserve your personal beliefs on the matter, you ventured on strong headed.

“The bottom line is you're just really bad with personal boundaries.”

“Oh!” Bradley exclaimed to the heavens above as DiNozzo and Jake burst into laughter they couldn't control. Sending the two men who sat with a box between them a look they'd never forget.

“Is something funny?”

“You two? Having a discussion about boundaries?” DiNozzo mocked as you sat back with a groan. His lumbar had been acting up. You liked to tease him about the fact his hair was going grey and his bones were probably in early stages of osteoporosis. “Isn't that a little ironic?”

“Mind explaining that?” Rooster smirked as he sipped his protein-less smoothie so obnoxiously you were about five seconds away from throwing the damn thing out the window.

“Most people bring their work lives home, you two bring your home lives to work.” Jake added as he backed diNozzo up. “Boundaries get blurry.”

“Uh, no–Rooster and I keep our work lives and our personal lives incredibly separate– you didn't even know me until like two years ago.” It had been a code you both lived and breathed by. For the longest time Bradley Bradshaw kept his private life with you just that, separate. And you did the same, never mixing work with pleasure until it just seemed to melt. “I have a rule about that.”

“Really?” DiNozzo challenged your theory, your hypothesis was about to be diminished into nothing.

“Yeah–”

“What about that little display of affection the other day over on Lincoln at the stop light?” Crap, he had you with that one– remembering the way Roosters hands seemed to glide up your shirt as you kissed him with nothing but a centre console stopping you from jumping his bones right then and there.

“Ha!--” Rooster cheeks had turned a nice shade of crimson red. Flushed with embarrassment. “I didn't know you guys were behind us.” For the past couple of months, Rooster had been registered with the Naval Criminal Investigative service as a liaison officer for the Fighter weapons school, also known as TopGun. There had been some odd going on with the newest class currently going through. Rooster was just happy to give whatever intel he’d managed to gather over to the right people. That particular car trip you'd both been on the clock.

“And what about the fight about who gets the side of the bed closest to the bathroom?” Jake added as he yawned with a gaped mouth. He was used to thin walls from when he used to bunk in the dorms but it seemed as though the walls at your home were ten times thinner. Or maybe he just wasn't all that interested in hearing his best friend moan like a needy bitch for his wife. “Oh!” Jake snapped his fingers. “Or Rooster here telling us how Gibbs likes to hang dry her underwear in the living room?”

“Okay, one it’s Bradshaw to you and two you hang-dry your underwear too!” Although you’d been married for six months now– everyone was still getting used to calling you Agent Bradshaw or even just Bradshaw. To Hangman, you’d always be a Gibbs. His Gibbs.

“Yeah, in the bathroom where things are supposed to hang dry.” Rooster couldn't help but to laugh after he held your gaze. He was just waiting for the slightest smirk to creep across your beautiful smug face. The second he saw it, that ever present glint of love in your eyes, he knew he was off the hook. “I hang them over the rail! I don't display them like a taxidermist pinning moths to a dart board like you do!”

“And there it is, boundaries obliterated.” DiNozzo clapped, “More stuff I can never unhear.”

It had been your phone ringing through your bluetooth that interrupted the eyeroll of the century as you drove. Rooster saw the caller ID showing and immediately pressed answer on your behalf, not wanting you to be distracted for even a second.

“Hey Mcgee what's going on?” You greeted him with a soft smile you knew he wouldn't see but he would indeed hear in your voice. Both hands still on the wheel of your Sante Fe. The back was completely stacked with boxes, after a quick drop off, the four of you were going out for a small lunch break.

“Hey Gibbs I just–”

“It's Bradshaw Mc-know-it-all”!” Tony shouted, any chance he got to mess with his partner he took it no hesitation.

“Right sorry, anyway, Uh listen I know you guys aren't working today but Gibbs and I just got a call about a hostage situation going down at Benny's cafe’” Mcgee explained through the phone. He must have already been on the scene because all four of you could hear sirens in the background. “It's all hands on deck gang.”

“We leave you unattended for one day and look what happens.” Tony quipped again as he stretched his arms above his head as high as he could. “Be there in twenty, we’ll drop the kids to daycare and be round as soo–”

“Uh, yeah no.” Mcgee sighed as the slap he’d just copped to the back of the head echoed through your car. “Uh Gibbs says come now.” There was no time to drop Bradley and Jake back home. “Bring the kids.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

The entire block had been evacuated as you ducked under cautionary tape strung up by on duty police officers. Flashing them your credentials, as you did so. It had gotten easier over time to wave people off–shrugging past with nothing but a soft “NCIS–” slipping past your lips.

“Uh guys?” Rooster shouted after you and DiNozzo as you kept walking, the police officers had stopped the two off duty naval aviators at the tape. Sighing as you held the bridge of your nose, you gesture at the cops to let your husband and Hangman through.

“They’re with us—“

“Ma’am this is an active crime scene.” One of the officers felt the need to remind you as you stared him down. Bradley placed his hand on your shoulder, shaking his head with pressed lips, scooting you along before you had a chance to shove your badge down the clearly just graduated beat cops throat.

“He’s not worth it.”

“Well I would’ve paid good money to see it.” Hangman smirked as he caught up. “So this is what a crime scene looks like?”

“Yeah, come on probie I’ll show you the ropes.” Tony teased as he roughed his hand on top of Jake's head, messing up his hair before making his way over to where your father stood with McGee. Taking in your surroundings as you followed DiNozzo over—your strides were smaller these days. Since becoming a married woman you were less and less inclined to be putting yourself in the line of fire if it could be helped. You’re ‘when’ still hopefully in the far distant future.

“Do I get a badge?” Hangman smirked as he followed curiously. DiNozzo just side eyed him in response. “Damn, was kinda banking on a badge here—“

“You can have a vest? If that’ll shut you up.”

“What have we got boss?” Bradley swore every time he saw Leroy Jethroy Gibbs he wore the same expression. Unimpressed and unimused. He was grateful though to see a glimpse of reassurance that his presence was justified. “I'm in the middle of moving across the country here, you concoct a whole ass hostage situation to keep me occupied or something?” As you crossed your arms across your chest and stood back a little, you were the spitting image of your father.

“Because I’d go to these lengths to keep you around?” Gibbs cracks. “No—no, it seems the universe is telling you that your job here isn’t quite finished.” Rooster just admired from a distance as you worked. He noticed just how invested Jake was getting, it brought a temporary smirk to Roosters face. Until the feeling diminished into nothing at the explanation of what exactly was happening.

“Able Seaman Theodore ‘Bomber’ Brown.” Mcgee started, fixing his own NCIS vest over his chest. Gearing up as DiNozzo handed one to Rooster. Gesturing for him to put it on before he put it on for him. For protection. A part of procedure. “For reason still unknown the guys walked in and has taken fourteen people hostage, only thing we might be able to see triggered the outburst would be the fact he was dishonourably discharged about three weeks ago, his attending officers said he was showing signs of mania, histeria–all claims Brown denys.”

“Doesn’t seem too outlandish now, does it?” Tony replied with a huff. “You don't just randomly take fourteen people hostage for no apparent reason– gotta be something triggering the guy.”

“Did you say Theodore Brown?” You knew your expression was one of concern as Bradley and Jake turned to listen to you more intently. Both wearing NCIS issued bullet proof vests. “I think I went to high school with him, yeah–his mother was a diagnosed schizophrenic.” You remembered the poor kid as clear a day, he didn't have all that much growing up but he had a decent smile and a heart of gold. “I remember him being heavily tormented by some stupid kids in the grade above us because of it.”

“That would certainly explain something like this–” DiNozzo sassed. You shot him a look of disapproval. His accusing eyes staring directly back at you.

“I wasn't insinuating anything, I'm just saying there's a high percentage of something like that being passed down through genetics. If it's underlying or even just undiagnosed he might be confused about what's going on.”

“Since when are you an expert in behavioural analysis?” You could barely hear the question Tony had asked over the sirens and loud as all hell fire brigade horns rolling onto the scene. “I say we send her in for mediation if she already knows the guy.” Like a little light bulb moment when off inside your head, you raised a brow Tony’s way as he spoke– perhaps he was onto something? Maybe it would be the best idea for you to go in if Theodore was the Theodore you had known in high school?

“I'm not an excerpt and I could be way off here, but if we’re already going off nothing, maybe DiNozzo has a valid point?” Shrugging your shoulders, you looked around all the men who stood around you. Two of which were quick to shut down the idea immediately.

“No!” Jake frowned as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “As if you'd send the only women here into the line of direct fire are you kidding?” He didn't mean any malicious intent, you knew that. And you hadn’t taken the comment to heart because it was Jake. He cared enough about the people around him to want to protect them himself. In a situation like this though? He found himself rendered useless.

“Not a chance–” Bradley shook his head, his lips pressed together in a thin line as his fist balled briefly by his side. “Nope, not happening.” Bradley however, knew he didn't have a say. He’d been around this bloke enough times to know the second someone held you no you wanted to do it ten times more. Even if it was out of spite. “You don't know what this guys even capable of?” The only thing that filled the heavy silence that lingered in the atmosphere around you were the sounds of obnoxious sirens. Looking up at your husband with so much love and admiration, you took his hand in yours.

“I think you sometimes forget what I'm capable of too–” Bradley knew he was out of line. He knew better than anyone not to step between you and your job. He remembered how the whole Bob situation at the Hard Deck had gone down, but he couldn't help it, you were his wife. The woman he loved and was in love with. His best friend. The hopefully future mother of his children. He had his justified reasons to stand between you and something dangerous. If he didn’t? Who the fuck was going to? “Roos– todays not my when baby, I'll be fine.'' He knew you couldn't really promise that, with reluctance and a tight grip on your hand–squeezing three consecutive times, Rooster nodded in response. “We’ll stop by United Sports Nutrition on the way back and get you some more protein.”

“What, just so you can eat it all?” Bradley beamed as you chuckled softly. Resolving in his arms as you hugged him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Looking around your shoulder Jake saw the look of utter turmoil in his best friend's eyes. He’d never be able to handle this, your job title made his day job look like a hobby. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, so much more.” It was a moment you both treasured amongst chaos. Pulling away as you fixed yourself up and nodded to your dad. “Okay, where do you want me?”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Earpiece fit snug?” Gibbs asked softly as he fixed his own. Pressing it further into his ear before fixing his NCIS issued cap. Never one for an overt display of emotion, Gibbs settled for a one sided smirk, tipping your chin up as he looked you over—a younger version of himself. “You keep your wits about yourself.”

“Always boss, always.” It was a gentle kiss to your forehead that had you closing your eyes and taking in the moment before you exhaled your nerves. Shaking your hands out before smoothing over your bullet proof vest. Hidden snuggly under your sweatshirt you had stolen from Bradley’s forever growing collection—this one? His favourite Phillies jumper. “If Bradley—“ You didn’t even need to ask, finish your sentence or explain anything. Gibbs already knew. Cutting you off with a hushed groan.

“I got him, you just focus on getting those people out of that building.” Everyone was situated around it in the gazebo style monitoring station. They were all huddled around radio equipment that had been set up in order to monitor you while you were inside the cafe.”

“No matter what happens you keep them clear, you’ll know if I need backup.'' It was always a weird feeling talking to your father like he was your boss. Well he was your boss but you get the point I'm trying to make. Keeping conversation light and away from what you really wanted to say was always the general consensus of your talks before any major take down or subsequent hostage situation or kidnapping. You always said things like ‘I'll be fine, don't worry, piece of cake.’ When in reality all you wanted to say was ‘Make sure I go home to my husband in one piece because if I don't he’ll never forgive me for being too reckless.’ Like father like daughter though right?

The two of you slowly but surely closed in on where DiNozzo sat babysitting your husband and Jake. Sitting between the two aviators who both looked far beyond their comfort zone. “Now I’m expecting Brown to be incredibly hostile at first so whatever you do, unless there’s a clear indication from me—don’t intervene, under any circumstances.”

“What would a clear indication be?” Rooster asked as he squinted up at you, the gazebo doing little to keep the sun out of his golden brown eyes.

“Hail of bullets a good enough indication?” Rooster could tell you were starting to compartmentalise, it was something you did to ensure rational thinking. You didn't like when emotions played a major part in your critical thinking process when you were on the job. Splitting your personality in half always seemed to be an easy way to process the idea of inevitable fate. Not if, but when. You and Bradley had discussed the when’s of life a million times, today you were sure it was not a when. Bradley however? Well he had a fear so primal lingering in the back of his mind that today would be the day he could taste it in the back of his throat. Undeniable heartache. But he wouldn't admit that, no. He couldn't. Not when you were gearing up to save lives and put the greater good before your own self. That would be a disservice to your own stability. “I know what i'm doing Rooster–”

“I stopped questioning your judgement a long time ago sweetheart, doesn't mean I don't worry.” Bradley cooed as he stood from his chair, headphone hanging around his neck because there was no way he wasn't going to listen to every second. Reaching out to draw you in by your slightly flushed cheeks. His palms pressed softly against you as he brought his lips against your ever so lovingly–Like it could very well be the last kiss he ever got the share with you. “Go be a badass–”

“When have you ever known me not to be one?” It was a simple answer, but a reaffirming one. You had always been a fierce woman, strong and independent. “United Sports Nutrition, my treat.” Changing the subject as you slipped through Bradleys fingertips. Nodding in response to what you'd promised him, Bradley committed to memory what it felt like to hold your face between his hands. Jake stood from his seat to keep his best friend grounded in reality, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I dunno how you do it man, if I were in your shoes I never would have let her do this.” Bradleys eyes never left you as you finally turned your back on him, being escorted by two general duties officers closer to where the cafe was. Tears threatened to spill as he held himself together with what felt like scotch tape and PVA glue. Forever his girl, always his badass.

“I don't do it–” Bradley replied just barely under a whisper. It killed him a little bit more each time you worked a high profile case or put yourself in the line of fire more than was deemed completely necessary. He knew you knew what you were doing–but it didn't change the fact the bottom line was inevitably when. When would he get the house call that told him you weren't coming back? “Kills me every day man. But what good would it do holding her back?”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

As you approached the front door of the small corner store cafe, you held in a deep breath–it almost felt like if you exhaled too fast your heart was going to fall out of your ass. You weren't a stranger to dangerous situations, but this time it felt different. There was an added layer of intensity to this particular situation. One part being you knew the suspect from highschool. The other part? Well, it wasn't every day your husband got to see you doing what you did best–being a menace to society only with a legal title that gave you a right to carry a weapon.

A small christmas like bell rang throughout the building as you slowly but surely opened the door. Stepping in cautiously, you met eyes with Theodore ‘Bomber’ Brown. You greeted him with a warm smile, trying to keep your own nerves under wrap as he held the gun directly at you. Your hands came up slowly beside your head as you took small almost undetected steps. The door slamming shut with a thud behind you.

The game had begun.

“Hi Theo.”

“What are you doing here Y/n?” He almost looked as confused as you were pretending to be. Shrugging as you continued walking closer to where he stood, you took a headcount of people cowering and hiding their children.

“Oh you know, I was just in the area and thought I'd stop in for a coffee.” Bradley had never rolled his eyes harder at you. For a brief moment he questioned if he could even listen to you, ripping the headphones off as he squinted his eyes shut and held the bridge of his nose warding off a headache.

“What's she doing? Is she being serious?” Jake questioned DiNozzo who stood trying to get a visitual through the cracks in the blinds of the cafe Theo had made his hostages shut.

“She's doing what she does best–” Gibbs responded with a smirk evident on his face. “She's getting the job done.” Rooster felt as if he had no other choice but to pull himself together and put the damn headphones back on. If something were to happen and he missed it? He’d never forgive himself.

“You want a coffee Theo?” You asked as you slowly lowered your hands, stepping behind the counter. “I used to work at this coffee shop down the street while I was in college, still make a pretty mean cappuccino if you ask me.”

“What are you some kinda cop?” Theo hissed, it almost felt like venom against your skin as he whizzed around the counter. Pressing the end of his gun against your back, just between your shoulder blades. “Because if are–”

“I'm not a cop.” Sometimes a sharp tongue could cut deep. “But if you feel the need to affirm your suspicions you can always pat me down.” It was probably the biggest bluff you had ever held. Of course you were wearing a vest, you didn't actually have a death wish. But if Theo were to pat you down? He’d feel it instantly. “Or you can just have a coffee with me and we can talk about what's got you so upset to the point where you think hurting these people will fix the issue?”

“You really just wanna talk? No bull?” Theo removed the gun from where it had been pressed between your shoulder blades. Watching curiously as you started to tamper a puck of coffee from the machine.

“I just wanna talk, but before we do–I reckon it would be really kind of you to let some of these people go?” Silence had never been so deafening before as you stood face to face with an active terrorist. “I'll stay as long as you wanna talk for, but come on Theo–there's children in here.”

“I keep them all.” Theo growled as you reached down to grab a carton of milk from out of the bar fridge. Shaking your head in disappointment.

“The Theo I know would never have harmed a soul, you cried when Lala Bigbe decided she was gonna be an underground Molly Grub fighter and was pinning them against one another on the oval at–” The jug of milk went crashing to the ground as you felt the back of Theos gun connect with your cheek. He’d pistol whipped you. Knocking you to the ground in shock before you could finish your sentence.

“Jesus fucking Christ–” Rooster hissed as he stood up, Gibbs was quick to shove him back down into his seat by his shoulders. “Gibbs she–”

“Knows what she's doing, Son–give her time.” Bradley didn't hear the word son enough in his life, and it was a word that always truly impacted him. Sitting with his father in law's hands on his shoulders—he wanted so badly to trust the process. “She’ll tell us when she needs us.”

“I'll give him that one for free, maybe she’ll try another angle now.” Tony tried to lighten the situation, noticing just how badly Rooster was holding it together. Maybe it was the wrong call bringing the fighter pilots along after all.

“I am not in the mood to play childish games.” Theo spat as he leaned in and over you, watching as you backed yourself into the corner. Covering your cheek. “You wanna talk, we’ll talk, but it'll be on my terms, about what I wanna talk about—”

“That's perfect, great plan of attack.” You quipped. Standing to your feet again as you went back to making your coffee. Fetching a new carton of milk from the bar fridge. “What’s on your mind?” Theo didn’t respond as quickly as you’d hoped. He looked around the cafe, taking in how everybody looked at you like some saving grace.

“I'm not crazy–” He mumbled as you steamed your milk. “I’m just—I wanted someone, anyone to hear

me.” Theo sounded as sincere as they come. A plea for help, crying out for someone to pull him out of whatever train wreck his life had become.

“Well considering I never asked if you were, it's awfully sad that you feel like you need to state that as a matter of fact.” You and Theo used to be quite close in high school—you’d eat lunch together more often than not, you’d stand by his locker most mornings because your presence alone would deter Frank Jackson and his bunch of goons from stuffing Theo into his locker. He was your science partner from what you could remember and he even helped you a time or two with some physics homework—but looking at him now? There was something behind his eyes that told you he was sick. “I don’t think you’re crazy—“

As if those five words broke down a barrier, Theo sauntered over to the front door. Deciding that your open mind was a good enough reason to let a few people out as a show of good faith. You scratch his back he’ll scratch yours.

“You three, go—NOW!” Theo shouted as he fired a single round into the ceiling as the three people he’d told to run ran for their lives with their hands above their head. At the sound of gunfire you ducked behind the counter, holding your earpiece.

“I’m good, he fired into the roof.” You mumbled just above a whisper, hoping Bradley had been one of the people who were listening in intently. He had been. At the sound of gunfire he jumped out of his seat, instantly panicking because what if you’d been shot? “I’m good—“

“Copy, standing by with backup.” McGee responded loud and clear in your ear as you peaked out from behind the counter. Catching a glimpse of what Theo might have been experiencing as you watched his gaze linger into a void as he mumbled something under his breath, almost as if he was shrugging someone off.

“I thought my commanding officer would be here this morning.” Theo explained as he made his way to you. His head hung lower as he almost gave off an ora of remorse. “I just wanted to talk, explain that I’m not crazy—I, I panicked when someone spotted my gun.” It was irrational behaviour, but you couldn’t help but to understand how Theo thought he was justified. Sipping your coffee casually as you kept Theo occupied and distracted enough so that two other hostages could slip out the front door. One had been clever enough to take the Christmas bell with him.

“Why do you have a gun if you were looking for your commanding officer Theo?” Your question must have made Theo feel a little caged. His defences coming back online as he closed the space between you. His eyes full of rage, anger bubbling to the surface.

“Because he had me dishonourably discharged, he ruined my life! It's only fair I ruin his no?”

“She’s losing him–” Gibbs groaned as he clicked at Tony. “Get ready to go.” Bradley and Jake continued listening as you tried to take control of the situation again. “I'm pulling the plug.” At the mere mention of the plug being plugged being pulled, you spoke back to Theo in a way you hoped your team would understand.

“I got it–” You paused briefly so that your team understood you were talking to them. “I mean I get it, I do, if someone had me fired from the only job I ever really enjoyed I'd be upset too.” you weren't sure when your hands had started to shake but they were.

“What do you do now?” Theo asked. You couldn't keep up with his very wiry personality changes. The Theo you spoke at this very second was not the same version of Theo who had shot a single round through the roof not a few minutes prior.

“Im a florist–” It had been a blatant lie, but a quick and believable one. Brandley scoffed to himself in amusement, his mother had been a florist. “Maybe you can come see the shop once this is all over huh?”

“Oh I dont think I'm getting out of here.” Theo softened his gaze. “Can't you hear the sirens?”

“They just wanna make sure these people get out unharmed Theo that's all, I reckon if you walked out with me, they'd lower whatever weapons they have and would let you explain why you felt the need to do this.” It was your way of telling everyone to lower their weapons and stand down if Theo were to come willingly. You knew your dad was smart enough to decipher that. “Doesn't that sound like the best way to get justice?”

“Y/n, what's in your ear?” Fuck. You froze as Theo reached his hand out, turning your head away–Theo got a good look at the earpiece that was in your ear, delivering your entire conversation to whatever authorities were outside. “You fucking bitch you set me up.”

“No no, I didn't Theo listen to me!” You were in the eye of the storm now. Rooster shot up from his seat yet again as his heart beat so hard against his chest he felt like it might burst through his sternum.

“Gibbs, get her out of there–” Jake had never heard his friend and colleague sound so panicked before. “NOW!” Holding the headphones against his ears as people rushed towards the building, Bradley’s stomached dropped when he heard the crackling noise of static. You weren't there anymore. “FUCK! Y/n–!!” Bradley Bradhsaw had never moved so quickly in his goddamn life before. But Jake Seresin? He’d never had to hold back a pleading husband before. Jumping up and after Rooster, bear hugging the six foot wide shouldered blonde as he struggled against him.

“You can't go in there Bradshaw–”

“She's my wife!” Jake had to clench his jaw as he struggled with Rooster, holding him back as shots rang out and hostages bolted from the front door, DiNozzo and Mcgee quick on the draw as they entered soon after with their guns drawn.

“But right now? She's a Federal Agent.”

“Jake I swear to fucking god if you don’t let me go right now you’ll be dead before you hit the ground, DO YOU HEAR ME?!!” Bradley shouted as he continued to struggle with Hangman who wasn't letting go for nothing. Holding back Rooster as people rushed the cafe. His eyes were trained on the front door, just waiting for you to appear.

But you never did.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“No no, I didn't Theo listen to me!” You were in the eye of the storm now. He’d ripped your earpiece from your ear, crushing it in his palm before shoving you backwards into one of the dining tables.

“You are a cop!”

“I'm not!” You pleaded, your hands coming up to protect yourself. “I'm not a cop, you just never asked if I was a federal agent, that's what I am, but I swear to you it doesn't change anything!” You tried to reason with Theo as his hand came down to around your throat. “I don't think you’re crazy!”

“I don’t fucking believe you!” That's the moment you knew you’d lost him, deciding against your better judgement before anyone else got hurt to rush him. Clawing at his hand before tackingling him around the waist back into the counter.

“RUN!!” You shouted. “Everybody out! Now, now, now!!!” Struggling with Theo as you tried to disarm him. He’d managed to gain the upper hand and throw you down onto the ground, pinning you down only for you to flip the cards and straddling him for a brief moment as you searched for his gun. “Theo, I promise, I can help you–” He wasn't listening. Scrapping around on the floor for dominance and his weapon.

You didn't even hear the gunshots.

You just felt the two jolts of pain rush through you. You held your breath and counted to ten. You felt the earth move before your heart burst again. For this was your when, You’d drowned and dreamt this moment. So overdue, you felt like you owed them. The hands of time. Swept away, you were stolen as you fell to your side. Cupping your lower abdomen as blood stained your hands.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bradley was by your side within seconds after first responders had brought you out, already working to fit you with oxygen and stop your bleeding. A paramedic sat straddling your legs as she applied pressure over your stomach as the gurney you laid on was wheeled up into the ambulance.

“Rooster–” You mumbled softly from under the oxygen mask, you couldn't train your eyes on him. Everything was blurry. But you knew he was there. “Bradley–”

“Im here, hey–I got you baby, I’m here.” The way Bradley held your hand broke Jake's heart as he stood back and watched with Tony and Tim. They were all as stunned as each other. Gibbs? He was still inside the cafe. As your boss he hated that he’d let the situation escalate to a point beyond saving. As your father? He was proud you’d managed to get every single person out of the cafe–his only wish was that you'd been one of them too.

“I'm okay–” You tried to promise your husband as he followed you up into the ambulance, there was no way in hell he wasn't going with you. “I'll be fine.”

“Oh I wouldn't doubt it baby, you did so good.” Rooster knew this wasn't good just by the looks that gave no ground for hope that paramedics shared between themselves as they worked around him. “But you gotta keep fighting yeah? Don't you give up on me now, today wasn't supposed to be your when.” You just shook your head softly in response as your hand slipped from your husbands. “Y/n? Hey, baby you open your eyes for me okay?” It took everything you had, but you did what you were told. Bradley beamed as he blinded away tears that fell freely down his cheeks. “There she is, hi beautiful.”

“Hi–” You mumbled back before all the bells and whistles rang out through the back of the ambulance.

“Okay we’re losing her.” one of the paramedics announced as she pushed Bradley aside. “Sir, we need all the space to work on your wife, please step aside.” Bradley did as he was told, he stood in the corner and watched as paramedics worked to save your life. His bottom lip quivered a little as he started to lose control.

“Don't you dare take her dad, I need her here, with me.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Leroy Jethro Gibbs hated hospitals as much as the next guy. It had been a few hours since you had been brought into emergency for emergency life saving surgery. Jake sat beside a clearly not alright Braldey. His hands were still covered in your blood. At least his shirt was black so if there was any on him? It was at least discrete.

“Bradshaw, Your father in laws here.” Jake didn't think for a moment that Bradley would jump to his feet and rush at Gibbs. But that's exactly what he did. Leaving Jake Seresin in the dust completely dumbfounded. “Dude?” This was not how his annual leave would have gone.

“You son of a bitch!” Bradley spat. “Where the fuck have you been!?” Calmly and every so collected Gibbs raised a single brow at his son in law. He understood what it was like to lose his wife, so he accepted Roosters' anger.

“I was with Brown, making sure he was in custody.” Gibbs handed the obviously distressed husband the coffee he’d ordered him before stepping around where Bradley stood to hand Jake the same. “He’s with Tony and Tim now–charged they’re charging him with attempted murder of a Federal officer first and formost, everything else will be left up to whatever the phyc deems–”

“You should have been with your daughter!” Rooster interrupted with a hiss laced with venom as Gibbs turned back to face where Rooster stood seething in anguish and heartbreak. “She needed you–”

“Who she needed, was right with her.” Gibbs said calmly as he pressed his index finger into Roosters chest. “And you don't get to diminish her ability because it's hard to accept the fact things went wrong, she's a good agent–she knew what she was walking into, you accept the risk–”

FUCK THE RISK!!” Bradley shouted with enough gusto to catch the attention of the entire waiting room. “She’s everything I have! I can't lose her.”

“Since when is this about you Bradshaw?” Gibbs questioned as calmly as ever. “Are you the one on the operating table right now or is it your wife and my daughter?” It was a hard truth Bradley had to hear and accept. “You don't get to not be a solid foundation for her to lean on when she comes out of this, just like she doesn't get a choice to not make it through this.” For a split second, Rooster saw Gibbs clench his jaw tight, holding his emotions back as per normal. But for a moment? He saw it in his father in law's eyes. The guilt he felt for being the one who signed off on such a suicide mission.

“Uh, Bradshaw?” An attending was coming through the double doors in her scrubs, looking for Bradley. “Bradley Bradshaw?”

“Yeah? Over here.” Jake answered as he stood from the seat he felt like he’d been glued to watching the most daytime emmy scene play out before him.

“I have an update on your wife.” Bradley couldn't breathe as he nodded in response, swallowing the lump in his throat as he sat down. Theattending did the same beside him. Removing her scrub cap. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“There's good news?” Bradley let out a sigh of relief as the attending just smirked his way. She’d seen far too many husbands with chewed up nails beds to not know what Bradley was feeling right now. “That first, please.”

“She’s stable, for now–Doctor Daz is just finishing up now and we’ll let you know when you can come see her.” The attending Bradley didn't quite catch the name of paused briefly before continuing on. “However, unfortunately because of the specific type of bullet that your wife was hit with, it did leave a pretty big mess and she’s lost an ovary.” Rooster wasn't the best person when it comes to female anatomy. He carried a few tampons and liners around but that was about it. From the look on his face the attending knew he cared, he just didn't really know what she was saying. “Sir, your wife may find it a little harder to conceive if you were ever planning on having a family. Not by much, only around the thirty for forty percent mark but it's still something to be aware of.”

“But she's alive?” Bradley didn't care about what he did not have right now, all he cared about was that you were still earth side, his dad had heard his prayers. “She’s gonna be Okay?”

“She very much should be.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

The steady rhythm of your heart rate monitor was the first thing that you heard as you came to after surgery. The next thing? It was the gentle snores that escaped an exhausted Bradley Bradshaw as he sat beside your bed. His head in your lap as he snored away. Completely oblivious to the fact you had come to. Oxygen flowed through the little tube connecting up around your ears into your nose as your head felt heavy against the pillow that proped you up.

“Too much adventure for you huh Roos?” You smiled softly as you carded your fingertips gently through his sun kissed hair. Disturbing the clearly mentally and physically exhausted aviator who held your whole heart in the palm of his hand. “Hi–”

“You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice.” Rooster groaned as he came to, sitting up with a yawn. “Never again.”

“Bradley, I’m okay–”

“Yeah no this isn't the first time you've been shot on but it's gonna be the last.” You didn't want to start an argument right now, but you couldn't help but give Rooster the normal level or attitude you normally would.

“Okay Lieutenant Bradshaw, say that again when you aren't literally flying fighter jets for a living.” You had rendered Bradley speechless as you eyed him down with an all knowing smirk. “Yeah, think before you talk shit.”

In comfortable silence Braldey held your hand and read your chart as you went in and out of a light sleep. He wondered when the most appropriate time would be to bring up the whole ovary thing would be. Perhaps it would be less of a hit coming from him, or maybe it would be less confusing to hear someone explain it who actually knew what they were talking about. Regardless, Braldey stayed by your side all night, watching as you slept, keeping you company when you were awake.

“Hey Roos?” You mumbled as you lulled your head to the side. Yoru eyes were barely open as you caught his attention.

“You okay? Do you need anything?”

“You believe in life after death right?” He wasn't all that sold on the idea, but he liked to keep an open mind purely because of his parents and the way his mother would always say his dad was watching over them.

“Depends on the circumstances I guess? Why, what's on your mind?”

“I think I met your dad for a moment there, unless it was just a very vivid surgery dream.” Bradley believed wholeheartedly that if you had really seen his dad then he owed him everything he had for sending you back to him.

“Did you say hi for me?” Rooster smiled as he rubbed his thumb across your hand as you nodded.

“I did Roo, I did.” You cooed just barely above a whisper. Letting your eyes rest as you chuckled softly to yourself. “Do you think this obliterated our blurry line between work and home life?” Bradley Bradshaw knew he’d met his match with you all those years ago. But looking at you now? He honestly couldn’t imagine a life without you. He wasn't prepared for a when. You’d just have to settle for a never from now on.

“Yeah, oh yeah big time.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @auroraboreallisfine @tigerfan24 @atarmychick007 @rosee-sensuelle @unhingedhousehold @belowtheharddeck300 @daisyhollyxox @luckyladycreator2 @86laura11 @justanothermagicalsara @taytaylala12 @rhirhikingston

#ncis // bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw x reader

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ms-fandomgirl · 1 year ago

Text

BBHG: Japanese Curry (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 1,658

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Japanese Curry - a thick curry with a stew-like consistency, commonly including a protein, sweet onions, carrots, and potatoes. With many variations ranging from regions to households, it has become a staple comfort food in Japan.

Tokyo was a living, breathing city. Its body was an ever-changing collection of homes, pop-up stands, and skyscrapers, stretching out as far as the eye could see and held together by the sinuous wires of telephone poles and railway tracks. Beautiful, messy, and thriving, it was all thanks to the heart which lay beneath. The pulse, strong and steady despite the city’s nature towards change, thrummed with citizens’ going about their day, carrying life which echoed throughout train stations and ricocheted off neon signs.

Overall, Tokyo was a beast, wild and untamable, especially when compared to your small rural hometown where people moved slowly and time moved even slower.

Descending into the underground railway station too early on a Monday morning, Tokyo definitely felt untamable, but not in a sense of freedom or adventure. Bento clutched in your hands and cross-body bag acting as a shield, you felt more like you were training for battle as you made your way down to the train station platform.

‘A straight ride through Shinagawa and then-’ the train doors opened two minutes early, causing a physical wave of panic to ripple through the crowd of hurried passengers as they pushed onto and off of the platform.

Time slowed, reduced to excruciating seconds as you watched the open doors get farther and farther away. You took a step forward, desperate to make up the difference and scuffed the toe of a stern looking businessman in the process. He retaliated in response, briefcase bumping you just enough to be forceful.

You threw out your arms to stop yourself, but there was nothing to brace against. Already dreading the embarrassment that was sure to follow your complete wipe-out, you gasped as you instead careened into an incredibly hard chest covered by a very soft army green hoodie. The scent of warm caramel and expensive smelling cologne invaded your senses, and for a second, you thought disaster had been avoided. That is, until your bento box, along with his, fell to the ground with a soft thud in the chaos.

“Watch it,” the stranger growled. He bent over, grabbing both bentos and shoving yours into your arms. You began to offer your thanks, but the stranger didn’t care to wait, immediately muscling his way through the crowd until he was lost from your sight.

“What an asshole,” you grumbled. A mother nearby gasped and covered her daughter’s ears. You opened your mouth to apologize, but she had already disappeared as well. Once again, you were left alone with only your bag, bento, and the rush of the train station.

You would like to say that the day got better, but it, in fact, did not.

Arriving at the Tokyo Central Hospital, you began your shift, checking on your assigned patients and tidying up the rooms. Things were normal, easy even, which should have been your first indicator that something was bound to go wrong. People called the ICU: Quirk-Related Injury unit many things, but “normal” and “easy” certainly weren’t among the commonly used phrases. Descriptors such as “crazy” or “a living nightmare” were much more accurate and commonly whispered over the water cooler in the breakroom.

It was right after your mid-morning break that things began to spiral. The springtime air made the general public get out and get active, but this also seemed to be the case for villains as well. One with a particularly destructive quirk had targeted a heavily populated food court, and you suddenly had an influx of patients to care for who got caught up in the crossfire.

In situations like this, time was a blur. You weren’t sure how long you had been working for, but you did know that you had just collected the charts for the last new admittee when Hina, a fellow nurse, dragged you by the arm into the breakroom for a very late lunch.

Walking to the far corner of the room, Hina flopped down into an unyielding plastic chair by the window, digging around in her satchel until she produced a crinkly bag of Tanko octopus chips. She opened the bag facing away from her, shoveling a handful into her mouth and swallowing so quickly you were glad that you knew how to perform the Heimlich.

“I can’t believe you’re still eating those,” you said, taking the seat across from her.

She shrugged her shoulders, giving you a sheepish grin. “They’ve really grown on me!”

You raised an eyebrow and eyed the package, looking at the small image of a hero nervously smiling at the camera. “Before the Suneater commercial, you used to say that you were allergic to octopus whenever we went out so you’d never have to eat it.”

“Well, these are octopus flavored chips, not octopus chips. There’s a difference,” Hina replied, smoothing out the empty package so she could lovingly stare into Suneater’s eyes. You were pretty sure Hina would spontaneously combust if she came within ten feet of the man in question, and you only hoped that you were there with popcorn and a camera if the day ever occurred.

“Yeah,” you snorted, “the difference is that you’re a simp.”

Unwrapping the pastel orange cloth from your own bento, you nearly missed the box as you went to grab your first bite, otherwise preoccupied with watching yet another hero interview that Hina was showing you: Suneater and Lemillion Answer Google’s Most Popular Searched Questions. You had been experimenting with your family’s curry recipe last night, and it was the best one yet: undeniably spicy, but with a soothing sweetness that came from adding in a dash of local honey. As expected, your tastebuds were immediately assaulted by the sting of spice. However, instead of dying out, the burn grew and grew, until your tongue began to go numb with the heat.

“Hey!” you spluttered, immediately looking for any type of liquid that would offer relief. “This isn’t my lunch!”

Reaching across the table, you grabbed Hina’s grape Ramune, downing half of it in two gulps. Unfortunately, the added combination of the carbonation and spice made everything worse, your face beginning to turn red from your uncontrollable coughing. A hand holding a small paper cup of water appeared in your periphery, and you gratefully looked up at Hina, your savior. Grabbing the cup, you let out a breath of relief as you drank, the water feeling like heaven as it slid down your throat. Eventually, the spice dissipated and you were left with residual tears in your eyes and embarrassment causing you to sink low in your chair. Although collapsing in a room full of doctors wouldn’t have been the worst-case scenario, you knew that you’d never hear the end of it.

“What was that all about? I thought you said that you had almost perfected your recipe?” Hina asked.

You grabbed a bit of curry covered vegetable, glaring as you inspected it closely. “My curry recipe is almost perfect. But this isn’t my curry at all.”

“Look,” you said, waving around the vegetable in question, “I don’t even like squash.”

You continued to pick at the curry, separating the vegetables into somewhat identifiable piles while Hina looked deep in thought.

“Did someone here try to prank you?” she asked. “I know there was that prank war that happened in PT and Recovery, but targeting your lunch seems like a harsh way to start things off.”

“I don’t know.” Of course this would happen to you. First with the influx of patients, and then this morning with the train station– “It was that guy!” you yelled, slamming your chopsticks on the table. Hina jumped, clutching her drink to her chest and looking at you with wide eyes.

“I almost wiped out in the train station this morning, but some good-smelling asshole caught me and handed me back my bento after I had dropped it. I guess he accidentally gave me his, though.”

At this news, Hina looked at both you and your bento with a curiosity that you knew all too well. It was the glint in her eye that she got when she discovered a new TV show or Suneater interview - an omen of mischief and oncoming obsession - and it was now directed at you.

“Oh?” she asked, trying her best to give you an innocent smile. You knew better, waving off her batting eyelashes. “A meet-cute in the train station?”

You groaned but made no attempt to dissuade her. Any denial was proof at this point. “More like a meet-fight. That guy was rude as hell.”

“I don’t know, this could be the beginning of your enemies-to-lovers arc,” Hina teased, giving you an exaggerated wink that sent the both of you into a fit of giggles.

“You read too many romance books.” You tried to sound annoyed, but the facade crumbled when she stuck her tongue out at you.

Jumping at the chance, Hina began to regale you about her latest purchase at the bookstore down the street. You continued to pick at the bento before you, figuring that spicy food was better than no food and now stubbornly determined to finish despite the heat. There was no way you were losing to some stranger’s Japanese curry.

One intercom announcement later, and you and Hina were pulled back into work, idle fantasies and what-ifs lost to the very real needs of your job. By the end of the day, the only memories of the morning were rinsed down the drain and stacked neatly on the drying rack. After all, Tokyo was one of the biggest cities in the world. The only way you would meet the good-smelling asshole again would be through an act of fate itself.

A/N: Thanks so much for joining me on this journey of posting my first multi-chapter story! Technically, Violet Petrichor has two chapters, but since it is only an epilogue, I don't count it like I do this one. Also, I would like to caveat this whole fic by saying that I am not in the medical field at all, so if something is terribly inaccurate, I'm sorry.

I currently have a plan to post once a week every Friday!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments! Also, if the tag list DIDN'T work, please let me know as well. I've never done one before, so I'm not sure I did it right.

#ms fandomgirl writes #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bbhg #bakugou fanfiction

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kedreeva · 1 year ago

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Just some celadon quail talk

This weekend, I ran aground of some kind of deep sea leviathan drama in the quail world. I don't know exactly what went down, but I came across the echoes of it which seem to suggest a lot of breeders have trouble with Celadon quail. So much trouble that they've decided the problem is the gene, not the husbandry.

Which I simply can't believe is true, because I've had celadons for almost 2 years now, and the ONLY problems I have seen in the entire time owning them was a few wonky/soft eggs early on (which I just gave to the crows and culled/ate the birds laying them, then did stress testing on the remaining eggs before hatching any of them), and extra aggression in the tibetan morph (which I just culled and ate the aggressive males).

EVERY problem I read about these birds having in other places directly links back to husbandry (which includes progenitor selection)

wry neck in newly hatched chicks? Poor parent nutrition and/or incubating practices

deformed beaks/legs? Progenitor selection, parent/chick nutrition, incubation practices

soft, deformed, wonky eggs? Nutrition, stress levels, illnesses

Aggression? Progenitor selection

Weak/small offspring? Progenitor selection, poor culling practices

They had an "expert" on who straight admitted he did poorly in biology in school, who couldn't even answer if egg color can be selected for (yes, yes, of COURSE it can, people have been doing that literally for centuries). He'd only been keeping them as long as I have currently been keeping them, and instead of developing a solid, healthy line off the bat, he immediately started crossing the gene all over to his color mutations and then couldn't figure out why his birds were a mess. He admitted to feeding them 16% protein chow when normal coturnix should be on 24%, and celadons at least should be on higher than that. he kept saying he incubates them at 10-35% humidity (a "dry" hatch) and is having all these humidity-related issues; I haven't had any issues, but my incubator sits at like 40% naturally. Why would you not flex your husbandry and see if changes make a difference? Why would you not experiment?

The thing is, I didn't know anyone was having any problems. I had minimal issues that bred out quickly with very minor amounts of selection, so I assumed there were no problems (or rather, the only "problem" i knew of was that since people select for egg color they ignore other aspects of selection like size, so I vowed to pay attention across the board). My eggs have progressively been getting bigger and bluer as I select from one generation to the next. My birds have been getting steadily bigger since I started paying attention to that- they're nearly to the lower range for what is considered a "jumbo" coturnix quail, now. It can't be a problem with the gene itself, if the problems they are seeing aren't ever present in all celadons.

But now i'm like... if I sell hatching eggs, should I be including a care sheet? it seems so straightforward to me. it shouldn't be an issue. why would someone get into breeding an animal if they don't know enough about breeding animals to do selection for traits? why are people like this

#my pets #personal #wank for ts #the quails #celadon quails

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clown-friend-gt · 4 months ago

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Up, Up, and Away Chapter 8

What Comes Next

4k words

Link to Masterpost

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Trevor slowly came to, awoken by the feeling of something prodding him in the back. Confusion and irritation flooded his mind. His brows knit together, and his eyes opened just a crack.

“Go away,” he mumbled.

Whatever was poking him jabbed him a little more sharply. He flinched.

“Get up,” a voice commanded.

He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned in frustration. He began peeling himself off of the floor, his skin sticking slightly to the linoleum he laid on. He winced as he felt the crick in his neck from sleeping on it wrong.

His whole body ached. Shakily, he propped himself and got to his knees. He looked at the person who’d just spoken. It was the man who’d processed him the day before. He held out something to Trevor.

Trevor held out his hands and he dropped something in them. He squinted at the small object. It was some generic-brand protein bar. He eyed Morgan suspiciously, but his stomach growled, reminding him that he couldn’t afford to be picky right now.

He tore the packaging open and scarfed it down in only a few bites. Then he crumpled up the wrapper in his fingers. As he did so, he began standing to his full height, narrowly avoiding hitting the ceiling before hunching over again. He looked down at the man, who stared back at him with his thumbs in his pockets.

“…Thanks,” he said, still a little groggy.

He raised an eyebrow. “Will that be enough?”

“Probably not,” Trevor admitted.

He sighed, looking between him and the officer standing in the empty doorframe. Trevor cringed, remembering what he’d done the night before.

“If I leave you here, will you try and escape again?” Morgan asked, his tone suspicious.

Trevor shook his head. “No,” he answered wearily.

“…Wait here,” Morgan told him. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gestured that he was watching him.

Trevor stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. His shirt felt too tight. He pulled at his collar to try and relieve the feeling. All of his clothes felt smaller today, although he knew they hadn’t changed sizes. He had.

He shifted around, trying to get comfortable, but his clothes were just too tight. He had a few more larger sets of clothing from the institute at his apartment, but he doubted he’d be going home any time soon. Maybe he could get someone to bring them to him eventually, but for now, he’d just have to suffer.

Morgan came back a few minutes later. He brought the whole box of protein bars with him. Trevor took the box from him, eyeing it cautiously.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Sure. Have as many as you like. We can always get more.”

Trevor sat up against the wall and dug in. Morgan continued talking as he ate.

“You’re going to be meeting with a case worker today about what comes next.”

Trevor chewed slowly while he considered his words, then swallowed.

“What does that mean?”

“The case worker will talk with you and run analysis on your threat potentiality. That’ll help us determine what your punishment will be.”

Trevor frowned. “Don’t I go to trial or something first?”

Morgan shook his head. “Things work differently for supers. The Institute has total jurisdiction over crimes involving the use of superpowers. Based on what they view your potential as a threat to be, your punishment will vary from there. Whether we let you off with a warning or if you end up with jail time all depends on what this case worker thinks of you. So be on your best behavior.”

With that final warning, he left Trevor alone in the room with his meager breakfast.

************************************************************************

Maybe half an hour later, they led him away to another room. This one looked like one of those interrogation rooms he’d seen on tv, only a bit bigger. But it still had a lot of the mainstays: the table in the middle of the room, the mirror on one wall, the low lighting.

Trevor wanted to avoid the mirror. He really didn’t want to look at himself right now. Besides, it was probably one of those mirrors that could be viewed like a window from one side. So he headed for the far end of the room, dodging the hanging light as he did so.

He leaned against the wall, wishing he could just melt into it. He wanted to be anywhere else but here right now. He was tired and sore. His clothes were uncomfortably tight. He’d had a whole box of protein bars but was still starving. And worst of all, he couldn’t get the events of yesterday out of his head.

He was getting sick of the way people looked at him now. Like he was a freak, a monster, a ticking time bomb. The way his own mother looked at him with fear in her eyes broke his heart.

His eyes drifted to the mirror. Looking at himself, it was hard for him to say those people were wrong. He was hunched over like some kind of creep. His eyes were tired and bloodshot. The longer he stared at himself, the angrier he got, until eventually he was fully glaring at the mirror. His hands balled into fists.

He had to distract himself. He looked away from the mirror for a bit, but there was nothing else for him to look at. Instead, he started pacing the length of the room. He crossed it in a few long strides, then turned around and walked the other way, over and over again.

Eventually he slowed, noticing his surroundings. The hanging light jostled in place with each step he took. There was a jug of water and a few glasses on the table. They rattled dangerously as he paced.

Great. Now I can’t even walk around without shaking the whole room, he thought bitterly. With a heavy sigh, he headed back to one end of the room and slumped against the wall again.

************************************************************************

Miranda Todd had been overseeing cases at the Lively Institute’s Juvenile Corrections Center for many years now. But despite that fact, she still never knew how to feel when she took on a new case. Sure, she liked helping people, she’d devoted her life to it. But the thing that bothered her was that any time she met someone new in this line of work, it was usually after the worst days of their life.

She rifled through the new case file one more time as she headed inside the building. The nature of her job made it so she usually had very little time between receiving a new case and meeting with the client in question. She knew that a quick judgement was important for everyone involved. It didn’t make her job any easier.

She flipped past the identifying information on the first page to the next, which detailed her client’s abilities. In most cases, detainees wore suppressor cuffs that prevented them from using their powers. But in case of emergencies, she liked to be prepared.

“Ability Class: Alteration

Primary Ability: Enhanced Size

Adaptation(s): Enhanced Strength and Durability

Potentiality: Undetermined”

That last bit would be partially up to her to determine. In addition to things like raw power and level of control, a super’s psychological profile also factored into their Potentiality rating. Some people, even in her own department, viewed this rating as a judgement of the threat a super posed to the public. She liked to think of it purely in terms of what they were capable of.

She glanced up as she passed the holding cell, to see if her client was there. She didn’t see anyone inside, but there was a handyman fixing the door. He nodded at her when they made eye contact.

She walked past that down the hall to the two rooms she’d be spending most of her time in today. There was the interrogation room, where her client likely was, with an observation room connected to it. She didn’t like doing her work in this sort of environment because she felt it made her clients more hostile towards her. But she also knew it was all this facility had to offer in terms of places to meet one-on-one.

She finished reading through the file one last time before heading into the observation room. A few people milled about the room, but she went straight over to the head of corrections, Ray Morgan. He was leaning over a desk by the one-way mirror, looking through it at her client.

“Ray,” she greeted him politely.

He glanced in her direction, nodding once. “Miss Todd.”

She stood next to him, looking through the pane of glass. “This is him? Trevor Castillo?”

“Yup. We caught the big one.”

She shot him a look. “That’s not funny.”

He shrugged. “But it’s true.”

She opened her folder, taking a look at the mugshot printed on the front page, then back up at Trevor through the window. The height chart in the picture showed him as a little short of seven feet, but clearly that was incorrect. His knees were bent and his shoulders were hunched, just to keep his head from touching the ceiling.

He stood in the far corner of the room. There wasn’t much light in the interrogation chamber, which she disliked. She’d voiced her opinion about it before, but the room stayed as dim as ever. It kept her from really being able to see his face from this angle.

Then he stepped forward, lowering himself to look into the mirror. She saw his gaze shift into a glare, and his cuffed hands ball into fists. Despite herself, she took a step away from the glass.

“He can’t see us, can he?” she asked Ray.

“No, but he probably suspects we’re here. Or maybe his reflection was looking at him funny,” he chuckled.

Behind his back, she rolled her eyes.

“We’re going to have Officer Randall accompany you in the room today,” he said, turning to her.

She frowned. “I prefer to talk with my clients one-on-one.”

“I understand that Miss Todd,” he said, his tone condescending. “But this is a special case. He’s already made one escape attempt so far—”

“—Wait, what?” she interrupted him. “There’s nothing about that in the report I was given.”

Ray gave her an impatient look. “It happened pretty late last night. He broke down the door to the holding cell. Didn’t you see it on your way in?”

“…That’s why they’re replacing that door today?”

He nodded. “We’re lucky we got a replacement so quickly. Anyways, the point is, we want someone in there with you, in case he tries something.”

A rattling noise diverted both of their attentions. They looked at the pane of glass next to them. It was shaking rhythmically in its frame. Looking through it, Miranda spotted the cause: Trevor was pacing in the other room, and every step shook the ground he walked on ever so slightly.

It made her shudder, though she tried to hide it.

She looked to Officer Randall, who stood in another part of the room. He nodded at her, eyes darting between her and the window.

“Fine,” she relented. “Just stay quiet while I’m working, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” Ray said. “He knows how to mind his manners, don’t you Randall?”

Miranda didn’t wait a response. She just turned and left the room. She went to the adjacent door and placed her hand on the handle, gripping it tightly. Officer Randall stepped out a moment later, giving her a nervous look.

You’ve got this, Miranda, she told herself, taking a deep breath. Then she knocked on the door and poked her head inside.

Trevor looked up at her, slumped up against the opposite wall.

“You must be Trevor,” she said as she opened the door. He nodded, and she smiled at him as she stepped into the room.

“My name is Miranda. I’m your caseworker today.”

She walked to the table in the middle of the room, pulling out the chair on her side. Officer Randall followed her in, closing the door behind him and standing in front of it.

Miranda gestured to the chair opposite her. “Please, sit down.”

Trevor pushed himself off of the wall and took a few steps towards the table. Like before, each step sent small vibrations through the floor, shaking the room around them. The water in the jug on the table trembled, like something out of a movie.

From the other end of the table, he loomed over her. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling, like his mere presence was enough to invade her space. She tried to ignore it, but something about the way he looked down at her nearly sent shivers down her spine.

Suddenly, he grabbed the back of the chair and yanked it away from the table, tossing it across the room. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and she simply stared at it, eyes wide. He muttered something under his breath and sat down on the floor in front of the table.

Her heartbeat picked up ever so slightly. Nevertheless, she had a job to do. She slowly sat down in the remaining chair and scooched it up to the table. She placed her file on the table and grabbed the jug of water and a glass. Hopefully, the act of pouring the water would disguise her shaking hands.

She finished pouring her own glass of water and then grabbed the other glass. “Water?” she asked Trevor.

He shrugged, which she took as a sign to go ahead. She carefully filled the second glass and slid it over to him. He reached out to bring it closer to himself, and she instinctively snatched her hand back. She saw him shut his eyes and sigh in annoyance.

Get ahold of yourself, she scolded herself silently.

She cleared her throat to get his attention before speaking again.

“So, like I said before, I’m the social worker assigned to your case. We’re going to have a little discussion about your life, so I can get to know you a little better. Sound good?”

“Sure,” he said with another shrug.

She nodded and turned her attention to the folder. She flipped it open to a page where she could take notes while they talked. She took a pen from her pocket, clicking it once.

“About how long have you had your powers?” she asked first.

Trevor looked away for a moment, thinking.

“Two, maybe three months,” he answered.

She scribbled that down in her notes. “What were some of the first changes you noticed?”

He looked down at himself, then back at her. “Um…I got taller?”

“Right, of course,” she nodded. “What I mean is, were there any side effects?”

“Well, I mean—” he hesitated for a moment, then sighed.

“…It hurt. A lot. I get these growth spurts from hell every few days and it just…hurts.”

She nodded, writing as he spoke.

“I didn’t even notice I’d grown for the first few days,” he said with a slight chuckle, though it held no humor. “I just noticed the pain.”

She looked up from her notes, brows knitting into a look of concern.

“That must be hard,” she said, trying to convey her sympathy.

He looked away. “Yeah.”

She looked over her notes again, then back at him. “So would you say your powers have had a negative impact on your life?”

“Yes,” he said, almost laughing. “Almost entirely.”

She nodded. “Tell me a little about that.”

“It’s, well—people are always just…staring at me. Ever since this all started. At first it was just, like, weird looks, because I was changing so quickly. But now they stare like they’re waiting for me to do something wrong.”

He glanced away from her, looking at Officer Randall behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she could guess from Trevor’s expression that he still had that same nervous look on his face.

“Yeah. And I’m always so hungry, anymore,” he continued. “It’s like nothing I eat is ever enough.”

As if to punctuate his statement, his stomach rumbled at that exact moment. He looked away in embarrassment, resting his hand on his stomach.

“I just—I hate always having to ask for more. Of everything, really. It makes me feel…I don’t know. Like I’m too much.”

He began rubbing his forehead. “And my mom, she works so hard. I hate putting any more strain on her than I have to, but she says I’m too young to get a job, and—and now look at me,” he said, gesturing down to himself.

“How am I supposed to—” he cut himself off with a long sigh. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to be a burden, but it feels like that’s all I am to her now.”

“It sounds like you care about her a lot,” Miranda said, sensing a chance to pivot topics.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m her son.”

“Does that have anything to do with what happened yesterday?”

His shoulders slumped. He stared at the ground for a moment, then cast his gaze back up to her.

“Do you mean what happened with the door, or what I did to Robbie?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Let’s start with Robbie. How did you two know each other?”

Trevor blew out a long breath before speaking.

“…We used to be friends,” he said eventually. “A long time ago.”

She tilted her head slightly. “And when did that change?”

“Around middle school. I guess he just decided he was too good to be my friend anymore. But he couldn’t just leave me alone, so he started…messing with me.”

“Messing with you?”

“Like—just,” Trevor floundered for a bit. “I don’t know.”

Miranda tapped her pen, frowning. She assumed he meant that Robbie was some kind of bully to him at some point, but he seemed reluctant to say more. Still, to get some clarification, she asked:

“Was it physical in nature?”

“…Mostly,” Trevor said, with a small nod. “Up until a month or so ago, that is. Then he changed—or I guess, I did. So he started insulting me instead, every chance he got.

“It got to a point where I just couldn’t handle it anymore, I guess. And then—well, you probably already know the rest.”

“Yes, but I want to hear your side of the story,” she said.

Trevor was silent for a minute. Miranda set her pen down.

“I get it, it’s tough. Do you want to take a quick break before we get into it?”

Trevor nodded, his eyes aimed at the ground. He reached for his glass of water, grasping it in his fingers. It looked tiny in his hand. He raised it towards his mouth, but about halfway there, it slipped from his fingers. It fell to the floor with a crash.

“Shit,” he grumbled, wiping a few glass shards from his leg.

“Careful—” Miranda started to warn him, but he cut her off with a hiss, holding his hand up to his face.

She frowned, then turned to Officer Randall so she could send him away for a moment.

“Can you get a broom?” she asked. He nodded.

“Don’t try anything while I’m gone,” he warned Trevor, before hurrying out of the room.

Miranda watched Trevor struggle for a moment to reach the piece of glass in one hand with the other. His cuffs seemed to be giving him trouble.

“Here, let me?” she offered, holding out a hand. He eyed her cautiously, but she simply waved him forward. He slowly brought his hands closer to her, watching her like he was afraid she’d spook. She did her best to appear calm, for his sake.

She gingerly took one of his hands in two of her own and began to examine it. Once she’d spotted the piece of glass, she carefully plucked it out with her thin fingers. Then she held it up for him to see. Curiously, there was no blood on the glass.

“Huh, looks like it didn’t cut too deeply,” she said.

“Guess I’ve just got thick skin,” he shrugged. She laughed, and he cracked a slight smile at his own joke.

Officer Randall returned with a broom, and Trevor’s face quickly fell. He stood up and moved to the side, allowing Randall to sweep the glass up off the floor. After a minute or so, he finished sweeping and went to stand by the door again. Trevor carefully sat down again.

“So, you were telling me about the day of the incident?” Miranda prompted him again.

“Right,” he sighed. “I was already having a rough time that day. I’d had a bad growth spurt the night before and I was still sore. Plus, people were staring even more than usual, because I’d grown too tall to really fit in the hallways anymore.

“Robbie approached me when I was at my locker and just immediately started saying stuff to try and piss me off. I wanted to ignore him, but he just wouldn’t stop. Then he said something awful about my mom and I—I just…saw red and—and I hit him.

“I—I really didn’t mean to hit him that hard I just—” he hid his face in his hands and sighed, before sliding his hands off of his face to his lap. “I just couldn’t control myself.”

Miranda nodded along as he spoke. He was silent for a few moments, apparently finished speaking. She took a few final notes, then clicked her pen and set it down.

“I think we can stop there for today,” she said.

Trevor nodded, starting to look a little tired. She noticed his eyes starting to well up but said nothing. Instead, she offered him another smile.

“Keep your chin up, Trevor. This’ll pass,” she told him, before getting up, gathering her things, and leaving the room.

Officer Randall lingered in the room a moment longer before following her out. She entered the room next door, waving Ray into the hallway so they could talk.

Ray pushed himself away from the desk he’d still been leaning over her and joined her in the hall.

“Give us a little privacy?” he said, addressing Officer Randall. Randall looked between them, before nodding and walking down the hall, leaving them alone.

“I think I have enough information to make a call,” she said.

“Me too,” Ray nodded.

“You first.”

“Well, I think it’s too dangerous to let him leave here.”

She frowned. “But he shows clear signs of remorse.”

“You know the rules, he’s already messed up. It’s not about how sorry he is after the fact, it’s about how much of a threat he poses now.”

Miranda shut her eyes, trying to stay calm. She hated how the system worked for supers. It wasn’t fair that their freedom depended more on how dangerous they could be, rather than their motivations for doing the things they did. But she didn’t have the power to change it, so she did her best to save as many people from being wrongfully imprisoned as she could.

“I think now that he’s realized how…careful he needs to be around others, he’ll be able to show more caution in the future,” she said slowly, doing her best to keep her tone even.

Ray crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You heard him in there. What happens if he loses control again? Will you just let him hurt someone else?”

Miranda’s frown deepened. She didn’t have an immediate argument for that. Before she could try, though, he kept speaking.

“Think of it this way. If he goes into Corrective Custody, you’ll have the opportunity to meet with him twice a month. Turn him into one of your little pet projects. Maybe even get him to join the FHTP.”

She considered that. It wasn’t a bad option. It’d give her the opportunity to give Trevor a little more guidance, which he seemed to be in need of. Maybe this was the best way for her to help him now.

She sighed, ready to admit defeat. “Fine. Fine, go ahead. Just—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just what?”

She shook her head. “Just—nothing.”

Then she turned and left. She had some planning to do.

First/Last/Next

#g/t community #g/t writing #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t story #sfw g/t #OC-Trevor Castillo #Story-Heroisms #minigiant #mini giant

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