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arjsstuff · 3 years ago

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Memories with Pkyek

My introduction to Pyaar Ki Ye Ek Kahani or PKYEK as we all called it started with the amazing introduction promos I watched several times on star one. I remember watching one of the trailers of PKYEK on star one when I was in 5th grade which is almost 11 years back. I was casually switching channels and I saw this ad, mysterious, the tone of the ad was pretty dark, a curly haired girl and a blue eyed guy and he saves her from getting hit by a car. It was strangely so beautiful and the words “math aao mere kareeb, aag hu main jal jaogi” was clearly stuck in my head and this was a promo a week before the serial released.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JM1Cq62uJcY

I think the serial was scheduled to air from 18th October 2010 which was 2 days before my birthday and although I decided I have to watch this I could not watch it for some reason and I forgot about this serial. One day in class my bench mate and then close friend started talking to me about this serial and I immediately told her how much I loved the promo and she asked me to watch the episodes at 8:30 and if I missed it she also told me the re-broadcast timings which was sometime in the evening. I was like yeah sure since she strongly recommended it to me I would definitely watch it. So I was almost 7-8 episodes late and the first episode I watched was Abhay-Piya's first dance and the first scene I watched was Haseena telling Abhay to control himself on their party night near a small bridge kind of place and then the dance followed.

OMG I must tell how it was one of the best dances I had ever seen on TV serial, it was so magical, especially the way they both were so lost in each other’s eyes and he ensured her torn dress wasn’t visible to anyone and also they danced on to kuch khaas hai song which was such a great song and it ended with the signature Mahiyaa tune. It instantly got me hooked to and I watched it religiously every day. My mom did not want me to watch teen romance Hindi TV serial so I literally had to change channels to Hungama every time she came to the hall XD. Since PKYEK was such a phenomena at school I made so many friends and the best part about pkyek is wherever I went after school for example junior college, Uni, my cousins friends etc all became my friends because of how we all watched pkyek LOL.

Anyway so I got my really studious friend Z into watching it and she was this person who never watched TV but once she say Abhay she was hopelessly in love with that guy. I cringe when I think we all went through this in 5th grade, I mean how were we all swooning over him like proper teenagers. Anyway one day she went to the library and found his picture on some magazine and she told me and I literally ran to the library to get a hold of it but there were so many people already holding it and finally I got a glimpse of Abhay Raichand’s photo and a short interview by Vivian D'sena. I think she started getting so addicted to pkyek that her mom did not like it and she sometimes called me n my landline to talk about it lol. One day there was this class in school where we weren’t supposed to talk so her and I wrote whatever we had to talk on my notebook along with my friend D and the full chat was about Z, D and me swooning over Abhay, while letting A have Abhay and us mostly us teasing her with him. The chats were extremely funny so I tore them from my book and gave it to my senior in my school bus to read it, and when her stop came, before she got down she handed over the papers to me. I think my bad luck was super great that day and my bus teacher, who was this very this strict language teacher who 7-8th grade students caught her passing the papers onto me and asked me to hand it over to her. I immediately put them into my bag and tried tearing them into pieces while she kept screaming to hand it over to her. In the end I had to hand over one part of the chat which was quite dangerous considering we were only 5th graders going crazy about an actor and talking like late teens but I managed to save the dangerous part in my bag. This ***** ma’am read it and literally told me that she would hand it over to my school’s head teacher and she did that the very next day. Why can’t teachers get a life?

Anyway the next day I came to class and told everyone about this and my extra sweet friends told me not to worry about it. In between an afternoon class, the peon came and called Z first, we thought maybe she got called for some extra circular activity, but when the peon came again and called me I knew I was dead. I went into the head teacher's room and she had almost got screwed and I was next in line and I somehow told even D was a part of this convo and even she got called. The other girls in my class were actually worried cuz they knew what was happening. And later head teacher screwed all of us and I guess Z cried on her way to class and then the head teacher let me and D go to class but we were so shameless, after getting a earful we could not stop laughing and literally lmaoed in the corridor before entering the class. This whole thing kind of strained my friendship with Z, and we weren’t the best of friends anymore but D and I still stuck close.

My school had this weird system where there was a girls and boys corridor and the girl’s corridor was pretty cool since it was on the left side and was closer to the trees while the right corridor used by guys was where the teachers entered the class from. So in these corridors we always role played and for some reason I was always Abhay even though I wanted to be Piya (I’m guessing it was because Of my short hair and being an serious faced person generally) and a lot of my friends were Piya and this friend of mine who was crazy about guys was called tracker and my friend D was Misha and we used to randomly dance to songs and recall the dialogues from the previous episodes, do the remoe juliet skit from pkyek and all sorts of things.

The background music on Pkyek is seriously so legendary and is among one of my favourite bgm tracks for a hindi serial. I would personally rate it number one and it had been my ringtone for 3 years. I tried looking for the Mahiyaa singer and the official song but I could not find it anywhere and mostly found only the recorded copies played in the serial. In my school bus I had seniors who I was very very close to because of pkyek and we always sung the background music, it’s so funny how we knew all the background music from pkyek by heart and remembered it perfectly and were in sync. I started singing this usually in my class as well and my friends hummed along.

Times of India and this other newspaper which I can’t recall had this section where TV channel broadcast programs were listed every day and this tiny picture from random TV shows was displayed on top of it. Whenever there was a pkyek picture all our friends used to literally fight over a picture that was probably 1*1 cms, very very tiny and even the quality wasn’t great but if you opened my pencil pouch on any random day you would find at least 10-15 of them LOL (I’ve lost all of them now).

found this from https://thereandtheir.wordpress.com/tag/indian-tv-serial/ the tv listing was similar but it was a bit different

I already mentioned how strict my mom was back then so I had to watch the re broadcast since I couldn’t watch the episodes fully at 8:30 PM. I had to wake up around midnight or early morning to watch it. I remember my parent’s thinking I sleep walked because my parents found me in hall instead of my room on odd mornings. It was quite the life with the box TV since I had to sit so close to it and the volume had to be on 1 or 2 since I could not wakeup people at home while watching it. One of the benefits of waking up early to watch this was also that I could see the newest promos on TV and I was always the first one in class to tell what the new promos were about. I remember telling my friends some of the coolest Pkyek promos like the vampire reveal one which in my opinion is still the best promo for a Hindi TV serial (I think Parvati introduction promo for Mahadev on Lifeok is a close second) and the promo where Abhay bites her and many more. I remember revealing this to my friends and my friends rushing home and switching on star one and waiting for the promos to appear and calling me to tell how amazing those promo were.

I remember how this one time I went to my senior A's house and we created fake Ouija board to call spirits. So we called her dead grandmother's spirit and she asked if the creepy guy in her class who was obsessed with her would stop annoying her and I immediately remembered the pkyek scene where Panchi asks maithli on the Ouija board if Danish would ever get punished. I don't know who's idea it was to play with it but it certainly had to do something with pkyek.

Those were really the fun times of my life. Pkyek is and will always be the most memorable serial for me. It’s not like we can expect great cg and VFX for a vampire serial and it in no way could be another vampire dairy or twilight (not to forget EK produced it) but the story and the writing was really amazing. I was a huge sucker for Abhay-Piyas chemistry and the supporting cast were literally the best!

#pyaarkiyehekkahani #pkyek

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anujkumars · 3 months ago

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danadeservesadrink · 4 years ago

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Wine and Whiskey

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1: Mulder’s POV

Scully arrives at his apartment with a bottle of wine on a Friday night and Mulder can't refuse. There's something so tempting about drinking wine from the bottle.

We’re just going to pretend that I didn’t wait almost a year to publish the second chapter for this fic. Reposting the first chapter here because I gave her a good fix-up. Tagging @today-in-fic

He had never been more mesmerized in his life than by Dana Scully drinking wine from the bottle.

She had shown up at his apartment holding it, bashfully admitting that she didn’t want to drink alone on a Friday night, practically entrapping him with a bat of her eyelashes. Of course he let her in.

It was rare that she let her guard down like this, but you wouldn’t catch him complaining. He ushered her in with a hand on her lower back and she made herself comfortable on his couch, flipping through the channels until she landed on a rerun of some history documentary. Her energy was palpable, nervous and confident and radiating. She gazed up at him with something just short of confidence and requested a corkscrew. Who was he to deny her.

Dana Scully sat on his couch in her maroon sweater and blue jeans on a Friday night at 9:06 pm and uncorked a bottle of white wine and he had never been more in love. Correction, he was more in love with her at 9:07 when she took a swig straight from the bottle. She drank and then let out a deep sigh, filled with all of the troubles of a not-so-9-to-5 FBI agent. He sat down opposite of her on the couch, matching her cross-legged position, and stared at her, mesmerized. She must have noticed, as she flushed and chuckled to herself, likely at the genuine absurdity of the situation.

“I’ve had a very long day,” she whispered defensively. He didn’t mind. She deserved to unwind. She passed him the bottle with a raised eyebrow and he almost denied.Thinking about how her lips and his would be touching the same lip of a bottle made him feel like a school boy analyzing the physics of cooties. He almost offered to go get them glasses, but she pushed the bottle towards him with an insistent smirk and he realized he was being ridiculous. He accepted, although still subtly trying to turn the bottle in a feeble attempt to avoid drinking from the same location she had, and he drank.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. The wine was sweet, its flavor lingering on his lips.

“Bill’s an ass” She said, rolling her eyes. She reached out a hand for the bottle back, and he passed it over. She brought the bottle to her lips again with no rotations, clearly unconcerned with the dynamics of indirect kissing.

“Yea he is. What’d he do this time”. His previous attempt to forget how perfect she looked as she drank was a failure. Because Dana Scully was on his couch drinking wine from the bottle. He doesn't think any sane person could ever forget that.

“Called me up today to tell me how disappointed he was with me. How I’m a failure to our family and how I’m putting myself in danger for absolutely no reason” She laughed at this, and so did he, reveling in the ridiculousness of their day jobs. He shifted closer on the couch and she must have felt his concern because she clarified. “He heard about the case”.

Of course. Scully took down a murderer, a serial killer at that, with her own two hands, fighting through a warehouse of traps to get to him, to catch the bad guy. She shot him with his own gun but not before he sliced a nasty gash into her side with a pocket knife. All while he’d been knocked out on the cold cement in a pile of his own vomit. She followed his profile, found the warehouse, and took the bastard down and he was so god damn proud of her. Bill didn’t see it but he sure as hell could.

“Bill’s an idiot” He said so sincerely it made her look up from staring into the wine.

“Yea. Yea he is” She whispered. She took another drink, and he was moving closer to her on the already small couch, like a moth to the light.

She’s so pretty. The way the TV fluorescence bounced off of her cheek, the way her hair was tied up but the short pieces in the front whisped around her face in perfect little curls. It took all of his strength not to reach over and brush one away from her eye when she tilted her head back to take another drink from the bottle. Her neck was perfect porcelain, he dreamed of running his lips over the smooth skin she exposed. When she finishes, he forces himself to look at the TV screen instead of the little drop of white wine remaining on her lip.

She looks down at the bottle, then up at him through her lashes. She was coy, vulnerable, he knew this step, whatever it was, was big. Scully had shown up to his apartment before, but it was usually due to work. Showing up with wine and personal feeling was teetering on the edge of something more than partnership. His eyes flick down to the bottle and she offers it to him. Their fingertips brush and he shudders. He sees her watching him drink.

They are rudely interrupted by the shrill ringtone of her cell phone.

She pulls it out of her pocket with a sigh, and he smirks.

“Hi Mom.” He hears the muted voice of Maggie Scully on the other end of the phone. She’s probably calling to apologize for her son’s behavior, and he’s pissed that she’s forced into that position.

“Well he was acting like a bastard!” Scully exclaimed, frustrated, and Mulder couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Scully shot him a glare, and he quickly pressed his lips together in silent surrender. She seems to be listening intently, so he shakes the wine bottle in her direction, forcing her to wave him off with an eye roll. As she mumbles “mmhmm” and “uh huh” he becomes bolder, eventually leaning over and trying to press the wine bottle to her lips. She pushed him back with a smirk, but reached for the bottle and took a drink before her next answer. It was his turn to smirk.

“I’m over at Mulder’s place” He grinned at her and tried to scoot in closer to hear Maggie’s response. She pushed him back again, this time with a softer smile.

“Work stuff” she said, avoiding eye contact with him. The irony of her statement was not lost, and he tried to repress the laugh that bubbled up within him. He caught her blushing.

“I’ll let him know. Bye Mom” She quickly hung up the phone and proceeded to drink a good 6 swigs before handing the bottle back to him, shameless. He hadn’t realized it was almost empty.

The concept of Dana Scully, the Catholic raised and pant-suit wearing professional, drinking wine at a man’s apartment at night while on the phone with her equally proper mother made him chuckle. He wonders if this is the first time she’s done this.

“What did your mom want to tell me?” he asked with a grin. She blushed again. He couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or if the wine was getting to her. Maybe both.

“She just wanted to say hi” she glanced at the bottle in his hands, avoiding his eyes. He let the little white lie slip past them as a gift to a friend. “You gonna finish that?”

He shook his head. He was worried that any more and he would start acting in ways that would make Maggie Scully very disappointed.

Scully pouted at his response, but leaned even closer to him, grabbed the bottle, and downed the rest of it, tilting her head all the way back to allow the last drops to trickle from the bottom of the bottle into her throat. Something about her throat made him want to mark it with his teeth. Jesus, the effect she had on him was insane.

She finished, and returned to gazing in his eyes with an impish smirk. He must have still been staring because she burst into a fit of giggles. Despite all the Irish blood in her, Scully was still a small woman who had just drank nearly a full bottle of wine.

“Scully are you drunk?” He teased. She burst into another fit of giggles as she shook her head, still smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He loved the sound of her laugh. He never wanted it to stop. He would personally fight every demon in this world so that she never had to stop smiling at him like she was right now.

She felt loose, unrestrained, and so did he. They were so comfortable with each other in the strangest of ways, and this wine laden journey was just another layer. Intimacy for them often came in small touches and promises of protection, least of all through physical affection. But tonight, all bets were off, as Dana Scully, goddess in blue jeans, used his shoulder to push herself off his couch and waltzed into his kitchen, swaying her hips like the little vixen she was.

“Where you going?” He called after her, but the only reply was the sound of a cabinet being opened and the melodious giggle he had come to adore.

She was reaching for the top shelf when he walked in the kitchen behind her. Her prize was obvious. Striding up behind her he placed one hand on her hip and reached with the other for the half full bottle of whiskey her outstretched fingers were wiggling towards.

He almost dropped it when he felt her step back into him. He flexed the hand still fixed to her hip as he felt a shiver run through him. As quickly as she came, however, she was gone, instead turning around to grab at the bottle he was holding. He reacted quicker, sober reflexes triumphing over hers, pulling it back and raising an eyebrow in response to her pouty lips. Drunk Scully was a dangerous creature, a tempting siren who could bend any man to her will. All he wanted was to please her.

“And why should I give you some of my emergency whiskey?”, he teased.

“Because I’ve had a terrible day, and now I’m out of wine”. She had to know what she was doing to him. Looking him straight in the eye, pushing her lip out even further. He rolled his eyes, laughing again under his breath.

“What’s the magic word”

And oh Dana you know how to make a man give you anything. There is no magic word, only Scully tilting her head back, closing her eyes, and opening her mouth, tongue stuck out and waiting. The vision was enthralling.

She peeked an eye open when she heard him toss the cap on the counter, but closed it again with a giggle when she realized he had caught her. He shook his head, exhaling softly. With reverence, he gave her what she wished.

The whiskey hit her tongue with a burn of ice and fire, and he watched as it slid down into her mouth, filling her up until he stopped pouring, and she swallowed. He had never wished to be a liquid before. She coughed before smiling up at him, eyes sparkling even though the closest light was now the television.

“Your turn” She smirked and took the bottle from his hands.

“I don’t think you can reach” he countered, but she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled down.

He would never deny her.

He got down on his knees on his kitchen floor, and it was only right that Scully should be the altar he prayed to. Still smirking, he first closed his eyes as she had, then stuck out his tongue to await the drink of his goddess. She poured sloppily, the hand of a distracted woman, and he had to swallow before she was finished, causing her to spill some on his lips and chin.

He opened his eyes to see her giggle, mumble an apology, and lean over him. He barely registered what was happening before he felt her tongue, that perfect tongue, lap up a stray drop off of his cheek. He gasped, sharply. She pulled back, only a few inches, still leaning over him. He gazed up into her eyes and saw his arousal mirrored in them.

“It’s your emergency whiskey, I didn’t want to waste it.” She smirked her perfect lips as she whispered. Her breath smelled like sweet wine and sharp whiskey. It was intoxicating. He closed his eyes as he felt her finger raise his chin to the heavens. She licked again, this one on his jawline, and he moaned. He felt her laughter in puffs of air on his cheek.

“Scully…” he whispers, a halfhearted attempt to salvage a professional partnership he knew had been tossed out of the window the second she walked in tonight.

She ran a finger over his lips to silence him and he thought he might black out.

All he wants is her. His body shakes with the thought.

She brings both hands to cup his cheeks, whiskey bottle long forgotten, and presses her lips to his.

The feeling is that of resurrection. It’s an electric shock coursing through his body, lighting every nerve he has on fire, his thoughts only attuned to her, her, her. He remembers he has hands, and uses them to pull her closer, cupping the back of her neck with ferocity. She opens her mouth and he tastes her tongue. The taste of salvation and moscato.

He breaks the kiss only to rise up to his full height before he descends upon her, grabbing her gently by the waist, still mindful of her injury, but equally desperate. She tangles a hand into his hair and pulls him into her. He could get lost in her mouth, following the flow of the whiskey before him, lips then tongue, fire and ice. She moaned into his mouth and he tightened his grip on her. His mouth traced the path his eyes had followed earlier. Off the curve of her lips, down to her jawline, where he licked and sucked and did everything in his power to remember the taste of her skin. She whimpered when he reached her pulse point, taking the fist in his hair and desperately pressing him against it. He nipped at her flesh, and then kissed it better.

“Fuck” she drew out, shaking, and it made him wild. He sucked harder, knowing full well the dark purple bruise it was going to leave. Both of them couldn’t give a shit. When he finished, he kissed his way up to her ear.

“Mine” he growled, and she shuddered in his arms. He carefully tugged on her earlobe with his teeth as he felt her nod against him.

“Yours” she whispered back. It was all the permission he needed.

He carefully traced his fingers up her sides, dragging the fabric of her top along with it. Her chest was heaving, their breaths mixing together in a cocktail of arousal and alcohol. He felt the bandage covering the wound from the warehouse and a pang of guilt passed over him. She sees it in his eyes and uses her own hands to push his higher, past the evidence of their last foul memory. He reached up to the bottom of her breasts and with a shock realized that her sweater had been hiding a secret.

“Were you planning…” he dotted her collarbone with marks from his lips, sucking softly along each delicate curve “... on telling me…” another kiss “...that you weren't wearing a bra?” kiss , kiss , kiss .

“I was more hoping that … ah shit...you would find out for yourself”

He had to be dreaming. Any minute he would wake up in his bed horny and alone like every Saturday. But then she kissed him again and he figured that if this was a dream he hoped he was fucking comatose because he never wanted to wake up. He traced his hands over the underside of her breasts again and felt her body shake at his caress. Quickly he pushed the sweater up and over her head, careful to not disturb her bandage, her arms raising to help. And then she was topless in his kitchen on a Friday night and he was going to study her like she was a sculptor and she was his Venus. He would memorize every curve of her perfect body with his hands over and over and over.

“Well?”

He had been staring. How could you not when Dana fucking Scully was blushing and breathless in your arms. But there would be time for starting later. He turned his mind to devouring her.

He palmed her breast and kneaded, watching in awe as her head fell backward and a sigh escaped her lips. He asked for permission through a silent question tossed up at her and she nodded a desperate nod. His lips continued their trail downward, licking and sucking on the hills and valleys of her chest until he came to her nipple, where he paused to circle it with his tongue. At the same time he flicked her right nipple he took the left one into her mouth. Her head shot forward, the hand in his hair pulled him forward into her, and she let out the most guttural moan of “ Mulder ”. His name had never sounded more perfect than when it came out of her mouth. He spent some time there, licking and sucking, pulling with his teeth then soothing with his tongue, just trying to get her to make different sounds. Curses flew from her mouth with ease and he was reminded of the rebellious streak in her. The deviant Dana Scully that cursed and drank and fucked. He loved this side of her. He’s drunk off of her and whiskey and wine and he can only think that he needed more. His brain is buzzing and he’s sure he didn’t have that much wine but maybe it's just the smell of her skin that's so intoxicating.

“Mulder I need you”

He looked up to meet her eyes and saw her staring back at him, breathless and hungry.

“Now.”

#thanks for dealing with my writers block on this one #also I can't write smut so I just don't #msr #msr fanfiction #txf fanfic #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #sam writes

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alltvsongs · 4 years ago

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notgonnarememberthis · 4 years ago

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find your way (back to me) - chapter thirteen

Closing in on the end now!! I’m excited but nervous for this to end bc I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with my time next. Most of my free time has been dedicated to this fic so I’m going to be looking for new ideas here soon. Hope y’all enjoy and buckle up cause this chapter is a long one!

Watching Ainsley back on the newscast is a welcome normal to Jessica’s monotonous day. With Malcolm and Gil throwing themselves into investigating officers, she was put essentially on complete lockdown in Gil’s apartment. With Dani and JT cycling as her watchers, they feel more comfortable leaving. It’s irritating but the way Malcolm relaxes, knowing she’s safe. She does it for him.

“The search for the Needle’s Eye continues,” Ainsley rattles off, eyes disconnected from the words. It’s a tactic Jessica admired and feared when she was able to talk about such horrific things when not letting them in at all. Once on camera her face would clear, a determined one carrying over. “The officers in charge of the case are investigating a possible lead into Beverly Construction, where a body has been discovered. Police believe the man, identified to be Jason Carter, is one of the killers.” Ainsley stops, suddenly getting a far off look. Jessica knows she’s listening to someone in her ear. From the emotions that flash over her face in that split second she already knows what comes next. First is the bitter anger, then curiosity that blossoms into interest, all before she schools her face again. “Hold on a second, we have Dr. Martin Whitly, otherwise known as the surgeon dialing in. Dr. Whitly has provided insight into multiple investigations so it will be interesting to see what he makes of this new killer on the scene.”

Jessica braces herself for the impact that his voice will bring. It doesn’t help. Not for what happens next.

“He’s coming.” The voice on the other end of the call sends ice down her spine. It’s gruff, far from the animated speech of Martin. Ainsley’s face pales on the screen. She knows just as well as Jessica who is on the other side of this call.

“Who is this?” She tries to ask in her best investigative tone but the tremor shakes. It’s the first time she’s even seen her phased. Jessica must have made some kind of noise, deep from the back of her throat because the door opens behind her.

“Mrs. Whitly?” Dani stops in the doorway, eyes falling on the television.

“You brood of vipers, how can you, being evil, speak what is good?”

“Is that?” A few more steps and Dani is beside the couch, her phone in her hand frantically texting.

“Who is this?” Ainsley asks again, firmer.

“Do you know where your son is?” Just like that the floor goes out from under her feet. The call ends abruptly with Ainsley staring at the camera in horror and fury. The blonde curls bounce when she snaps her head around to someone off screen and the channel cuts to commercials.

“Mrs. Whitly.” Dani whispers, like she’s ready approaching an active bomb. Jessica’s heart thuds too quickly in her chest and they both jump when her phone begins ringing.

Claremont Psychiatric, the screen reads. Before Dani can make a move for it Jessica answers. She swallows, ready to do anything the person on the other line tells her. Anything to protect her son. He doesn’t deserve to face what she had. He’d been through more than enough.

“Jessie.” Martin’s voice calls out from the line, tense and thin. He begins rattling but she can’t hear him over the static filling her mind. All the words he spits out at rapid speed don’t even reach her as she stares blankly at the TV. Only one thought comes to her, so lost among the white noise.

He sounds terrified.

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Dani clutches the wheel tight in her grip, eyes casting to Mrs. Whitly. The silence in the car is a far too familiar one. Picking up the Whitlys when something terrible happens to Malcolm seems like it’s a part of her job description. Normally it’s Ainsley who fills the quiet with the unending questions one would expect from a journalist.

This is heavy, oppressive. She can see Mrs. Whitly pulling the bag closer to her with every turn of the car.

She doesn’t blame the anxiety. They’re on their way to Claremont. The Surgeon made her own skin crawl the first time she met him. But Claremont employees were the last ones to see Malcolm, according to the calls. She needs to talk to Dr. Whitly, he could have seen something. If Malcolm was nervous before, had he known he was being followed, anything. She almost feels sorry for her watching dread turn her face pale.

But something doesn’t feel right.

Her suspicions are confirmed the second her ringtone blares again. To Mrs. Whitly’s credit, she doesn’t immediately reach for her phone to answer it again. Rather, she looks to Dani after she reads the number holding it to her.

It’s marked as unknown, but in their area. It could just be a spam caller, but something tells Dani the Whitly’s don’t really have that problem. When you have enough money you can make the small nuisances of life disappear.

“Put it on speaker.” She tells Jessica, only diverting her eyes from the road for a second to make sure she understands. “We’re tracking the calls on both your phone and Ainsley’s. Keep him talking. If we can get a location pinned on him, we’ll be able to find Malcolm.” She nods, swallowing.

The line crackles to life with a monotonous threat. “8640 Westshire Avenue. Come alone.” The call ends and Dani can see Mrs. Whitly’s hands shaking. Her mind flashes to Malcolm and she switches lanes. Abandoning the path to Claremont she speeds up towards the address. Westshire Avenue is a line of mostly abandoned warehouses, they’ve gotten calls there more than a few times. It doesn’t make her feel good about Malcolm’s chances. It’s remote. Quiet.

And the way Mrs. Whitly holds herself sitting a little too straight, she knows exactly where they’re going too. Her eyes fall to her lap, her hands white knuckled on the bag again. She recognizes the grip, having seen it too many times in suspects weighing their chances.

“What’s in the purse?” Dani asks slowly. She dreads the question but the way that she guards it, being extra careful that it doesn’t tip or shuffle. She knows. Out the corner of her eye she watches her flinch. She feigns innocence, not well. “How’d you get it?” She thinks for a moment, and the realization settles. “Malcolm.” It makes sense. They know she has a registered firearm. Malcolm would have grabbed it the night he and Edrisa went to pack her things. Extra protection. He wouldn’t take the chance if something went wrong with her or JT. That’s why he was more willing to leave back to the precinct without taking her with them. Knowing that she can protect herself would put him at ease.

He should have told them.

She pulls the car over turning to her. “What are you doing?”

“Give me the gun.” Dani holds a hand out but Jessica’s cover her purse. She tilts her head with a sigh. “Please. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Doesn’t it.” She straightens, a furious look shining in the dim light. “He took my son. Malcolm had nothing to do with this.”

“Neither did you.”

“But it had all to do with Martin.” She shakes her head not meeting her gaze. Dani knows she’s blinking away the tears. “I should have gotten it over with when I had the chance.” Dani’s head tilts, eyes widening for a split second. It was a small confession but one that set off so many alarms in her head. She almost asks what she means by that when she remembers.

The surgeon had been stabbed, supposedly by the woman across from her to protect an innocent’s life.

Looking at her now, Dani knows that isn’t what happened.

“I could turn this car around. Take you back to the station.” She threatens.

“You won’t.” The woman’s voice wavers with uncertainty. “Malcolm, he’s your friend. You won’t take that risk.” Dani runs her tongue along the back of her teeth, setting her jaw with determination. They are running out of time. “If Gil hadn’t seen the news, if he didn’t know. You’re telling me you wouldn’t run in as soon as you got there to save my son?”

She can’t answer that. Not truthfully, at least. She has, a dozen times, run after Malcolm. Running the numbers in her head. Calculating every single risk to grab his ass after he’s rushed in. She’s seen his anger, his panic, the desperation unfurling at every scene.

A needle full of poison, his hands pressed on a landmine, an axe raised high above his head with a wild look. Ready to do whatever it took.

Staring at the woman across from her it pains Dani to know she ever thought he got that from his dad. Not when Jessica’s eyes shine with the same bitterness towards the world who has kicked them a few times too many. Her voice draws, a deep rumble in her chest. “I’ve been married to a serial killer, dated another who stabbed maybe the only person who gave a damn about my children, I’ve pushed my daughter into a window to stop her from being hit by an axe. I’ve done everything in my power to protect them.”

“Will this protect him?” She sucks in a breath. “His dad is already a killer, Ainsley’s self defense plea almost ripped him apart and this? He will blame himself.”

“He can’t.”

“But he will. He will think about every single thing he could’ve done differently. To stop you from losing a part of yourself. Gil too.”

“He has Ainsley, Gil, Edrisa, his team. He will be fine.”

“But he needs you.” Dani’s throat constricts emotion threatening to betray her. “He needs his mom.” That must get to her because her face begins to twitch. Her anger falls away to what truly lies beneath the surface, fear and grief. She lets go of the bag and Dani reaches inside securing the firearm.

The silence lapses again as they start back down the road. It’s different, less foreboding and more solemn. It takes a few minutes before Jessica speaks. “How do you get past this?” She casts a quick look over but she’s staring out the window, eyes not seeing the scenery flying past them. “You’ve seen dozens of horrors. The gruesome things we do to each other. How do you do it?”

Her hands grip the wheel tighter. “You don’t. Every case takes something. Some take more than others but they all do. I’ve tried shutting it down, leaving everything at work. But it doesn’t help.”

“No kidding.” She laughs bitterly.

“You have people. They push you past it.” Jessica looks to her, eyebrows furrowed. “Going at it alone, it’s too much. When you have people that care for you,” She sighs. “Well, it’s easier to do it when you’re doing it for someone else.”

“I did.” Her voice is thick, Dani looks away pretending not to see the tear that slides down her cheek. “I got out for them.”

A few more beats pass. She taps an even rhythm as she realizes they’re creeping closer to their destination. She should text Gil. “Find something that grounds you.”

“What does that even mean?” She swipes at her face looking away again. She needs to calm her down before she makes the connection herself.

“You pick something that keeps you here. And when everything feels like too much you think of that.”

“Like what?”

“A person, a memory-”

“A dream?”

“Yeah, I guess that could work.” Her eyes focus on the street signs, watching carefully for her next turn. “You find what you’re looking for, it stops. It keeps you from falling into your emotions. It’s a lot harder to be angry when you’re thinking about it.”

“And this is a memory for you? Isn’t it a little counterintuitive to move forwards when looking back?”

“Aren’t we all looking back?”

“No.” Dani’s eyes jump to her, clearly having struck a nerve. She curses herself in realization. Her happiness was also her greatest downfall. The person she loved was her ruin. No wonder she doesn’t want to look back on that. “You said a dream, you mind if I ask?”

“The first night when I was taken. I dreamt of Christmas, this year. Having my family all together. No cases, no Martin lingering in our minds. Gil put on music and we danced.” She sighs, shaking her head. “Truth be told, I don’t remember the last time I danced. It felt…”

“Like healing.”

Her eyes shine with tears, her voice barely a whisper. “I suppose so.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The turn into the warehouse brings the foreboding feeling back tenfold. Jessica’s anxiety settles in her stomach because they have no idea what they will find inside. Honestly, they don’t even truly know if he’s the only one left. There could be another partner. Malcolm could be hurt, he might need an ambulance.

Dani’s face firms when she looks at her phone. She knows what that look means in a second.

She can’t call for backup. They’re alone on this.

She parks the car gathering all she needs. “Stay here.” It’s more of a command than anything as she steps out. “I’m going to look for a payphone. He had to have used one to call you.” She disappears in the other direction, only her shadow from the overhead lights showing where she went from Jessica’s limited view.

Her eyes fall back on the door. The metal looms before her and she knows in her gut that this isn’t a trick. Her son is inside, alone and scared. God, he could be hurt and bleeding for all she knows. She wishes for only a moment that she didn’t give the gun over, that she could just end this without feeling the slightest bit of remorse.

She could still end this.

Her head whips back to where Dani went. It wouldn’t take long for her to find something to call Gil. She had to move quickly and quietly. She climbs from the car, the detective’s voice still ringing in her mind. He needs you. She’s absolutely certain this isn’t what she meant but she’s right regardless.

The metal door slides noisily and she knows she’s lost. The second she steps in she could be killed. But she pictures her little boy, slumped from being stabbed with his hand held close to his chest having smashed it to save her and his sister. The smell of blood and dirt from the memory washes over her harshly.

She pushes herself inside.

#prodigal son #gil arroyo x jessica whitly #jessica whitly x gil arroyo #gilssica #gilica #jessica whitly #dani powell #Ainsley Whitly #prodigal son AU #kidnapped au #notgonnarememberthis fics #find your way (back to me)#find your way (back to me) chapter 13 #fanfic #you can pry that malcolm is like his mother from my cold dead hands ok

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plaidbooks · 4 years ago

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Everyone Deserves Love chapter 9

A/N: Devon and Barba have to find out how to live alone again after almost 4 months of living together. Devon seems to have moved on, going back to work for the FBI. But it doesn’t take long for SVU to call her back into work.

This chapter follows Devon--Barba is mentioned a few times, but he’ll come back next chapter. This chapter also goes through Olivia being kidnapped by William Lewis in the episode “Beast’s Obsession.” I don’t go into super detail, so I suggest watching the episode if you haven’t.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: normal SVU stuff, gunshot wounds, William Lewis (if he’s a trigger in himself), kidnapping, at the end, I do describe a man taking a school classroom hostage, so if guns + schools aren’t something you want to read, be wary of that

Words: 5k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged)

FBI Headquarters

Thursday, May 29th. 2:04pm

Devon was in the vault, putting on the familiar bulletproof vest, then a shirt on over it. Looking in the mirror, she examined herself; she could see the outline on the vest under the shirt, but that was fine. The time for subtlety was gone. Ever since Devon went back to work for the FBI, she had thrown herself into as many projects as she could. Anything to keep busy. Jenkins started her off slowly, joining a raid on a sex-trafficking ring, doing a simple UC—only lasting a night or two at most—here and there, maybe throwing in a hostage situation when they came up. But this case had been two weeks in the making. It was a high-level drug-ring. Devon had infiltrated the dealers and found the supplier. There was a team setting up to take him out as she geared up. Her job, however, was to go after the producer. The man was paranoid, armed to the teeth and always with his two bodyguards. It took Devon days to find where his safehouse—where he cooked the drugs--was. But now that she knew, she was taking him out, dead or alive.

Devon made her way out of the vault, heading towards the transport vehicle. She’d be going in first while her team would establish a perimeter, then they would join once she had a visual. The safehouse was small; just a hallway, main room, and kitchen. Which is why she opted for a pump-action shotgun; she wasn’t planning on taking the bodyguards alive, because she knew that she wouldn’t be given the same courtesy. She made her peace with this choice, even though she hated it—and she knew a certain prosecutor would have hated it, too. But she shook the thought from her mind, shutting out how his bright green eyes would have looked at her with disappointment.

SVU Department

Thursday, May 29th. 2:30pm

Olivia Benson was shaking as the department moved around her. She had just addressed the public, appearing on TV, to confess that she had lied during William Lewis’s trail. She didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care what it meant for her job. All she wanted was to find the bastard—or more accurately, find the little girl he had taken hostage. Though, she also felt a strong pull to find him, too, just so that she could finally get rid of him. Whether that meant jail or death, even she didn’t know, but she just wanted him gone, out of her life. Suddenly, she remembered Devon’s words, spoken softly in her office.

“Do you want me to deal with Lewis?”

Olivia caught her meaning, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s fine. He’s not an issue anymore; he’ll be in jail for life.”

Devon nodded. “That just makes it easier to get rid of him. If you ever want me to, I want to be your first call.”

Olivia jammed her hand into the pocket of her dress blues, clutching her phone and whipping it out. She scrolled through the contacts until she found Devon’s name. Desperate and resolve hardening, she hit the call button.

450 Aloe Ave.

Thursday, May 29th. 2:45pm

Devon crept slowly through the front door, having picked the lock. By now, her team was stationed at the back door, the windows, and behind her at the front entrance. She crouched low, holding the shotgun up and at the ready. She made her way on silent feet down the hallway, towards the kitchen. She could hear utensils hitting various pots and pans, liquids bubbling, people murmuring in hushed voices. The walls were extremely thin; any sound Devon made, they would hear. So, she took her time, lifting one leg slowly, then placing it softly on the ground, toes first, before shifting her full weight onto it, then repeating the motion. It was the slowest she had ever moved, but she had all the time in the world. She made it halfway down the hallway when it happened. She put her full weight on her left foot, about to shift and pick up her right when her phone rang out, deafening in the silence. There was a beat of silence in the small space, broken only by the ringtone muffled in her pocket, before she dropped to the floor, gunfire exploding through the wall above her.

Dust and debris rained down on her as she covered her face, her phone still ringing through the explosion of noise. Once the gunfire stopped, the back door exploded open, the team stationed there running in, while the front team burst through the front. Devon rolled out of the hallway, stopping in the main room, laying on her stomach. Grunting, she pushed herself up, charging to join her team in the kitchen. It was over in a matter of minutes; the bodyguards lay dead, bodies sprawled on the floor, blood pooled around their corpses. The producer had been hit in the leg, screaming profanities at the armed officers, but was otherwise unharmed. No FBI agent was injured in the raid. That is, until someone pointed at Devon.

“Motely, you were hit,” one of her teammates said, pointing to her arm. She looked down and sure enough, blood was pouring out of her upper, left arm. It was weird seeing it; the adrenaline still coursing through her meant she didn’t feel it. But she couldn’t deny the blood gushing down her skin. She reached and touched the back of her arm, but there was no exit wound; the bullet was still in her arm.

“Here,” the man said, taking his handkerchief and tying it above the wound, a makeshift tourniquet. It would work until she made it to the hospital to get the bullet removed. “What the hell happened in there?”

“Oh!” Devon said, remembering her phone. She was cursing herself for not turning it off beforehand; how could she have forgotten? I’m never taking it off silent again, she thought. Looking at the screen, she was shocked to see that she had a missed call from Olivia. She dialed the voicemail, curious to see why she called. Her face fell as she listened to the message. William Lewis had broken out of jail? The hospital could wait; she’d make it there eventually.

“I gotta go,” she said, making her way to the door.

Her teammate was stunned. “But, Motely, you’ve been shot! You have to get that checked—”

“I gotta go,” was all she kept repeating as she left. She made her way to one of the cop cars parked along the street. She flashed her badge, said, “I need to take this. I’m just going to the hospital,” and left the officer standing in the street, looking confused.

Under JFK Bridge

Thursday, May 29th. 4:05pm

Devon called Olivia a couple times, but to no avail; it went straight to voicemail every time. Devon fought the urge to scratch her arm; it stopped bleeding—thank god for tourniquets—but the bullet was still in there, and she knew she’d have to get it taken care of soon. But not until she knew Liv was safe. She debated going to SVU, but she knew they’d force her to seek medical attention, so instead she worked on searching for Lewis. Every time she thought she was getting close, all she found was bodies, still warm from when he was there. It wasn’t until a couple hours later that the trail ran cold.

Fuck it, Devon thought. She knew what Olivia would say if she saw the state that Devon was in, but she didn’t care; she had to know that the Sergeant was okay. Devon sighed, pulling up a program on her phone that she had an old FBI buddy install. It was something that she’d never tell Olivia, or any of the SVU detectives, about, but after spending about a year together, Devon had bugged their phones. She updated the tech every time they had a new phone. Though since the force had changed so much since her UC in California, it was only active for Liv and Fin…maybe Munch and Cragen, if they didn’t change their phones. She felt slightly ashamed about it, but this was the first time she had actually used it. It was to keep them safe, she reminded herself. Sure enough, once the tech synced up, there was a little blip on a map, showing Devon exactly where Olivia—or at least, her phone—was.

Weird, Devon thought, looking at the dot. Olivia was apparently in the middle of nowhere—not a promising sign. Turning the engine on, Devon drove to where the blip was, eyes peeled for any sign of Liv, or Lewis. She got out, looked around for a moment, and found a discarded bulletproof vest, and a cell phone. She squatted down, looking at the tire tracks in the dirt; she could follow them for a little, but outside of that, it was a dead end. Getting back in her car, Devon pulled up the map of surrounding areas. There was nothing around, nothing except…an abandoned mill. If I were a serial killer hellbent on torturing a police Sergeant, that’s where I’d take her, she thought, starting the car once more.

She pulled up to the place, seeing a black car parked at the base of the structure. She parked a little way away, not willing to get too close. If her hypothesis was correct, and William Lewis had kidnapped Liv once again, then any interference could mean the Sarge’s death. But Devon thought she could outshoot the man; she shot Marco first, she could do it again. Only one way to find out. Hold on, Liv.

Devon had a thought; she pulled out her phone, texted a quick message to Fin, then threw it on the seat. Not getting caught by a ringtone again, she thought ruefully, and headed towards the construction, shotgun heavy in her hands. She eyed the structure warily, trying to gauge the situation. Once she entered the building, she realized how lightheaded she was; at some point while driving, her arm had started bleeding again. She looked at it now, and she saw a trickle of blood leaking out of the wound, tickling her skin as it pooled down to her hand. She wiped it on her pants, trying to keep a grip on her shotgun. Using her teeth and free hand, she retied the handkerchief.

As she made her way towards the first set of stairs, she felt her legs beginning to shake. From what Olivia had told her, and what she had researched about the man herself, she was positive that Lewis would’ve taken her to the highest point. It gave him a better viewpoint of the land, plus it gave him more time to do whatever he wanted to Liv. Renewed rage coursed through Devon, and she pushed herself to start climbing the structure.

With every step, her arm started bleeding anew, red gushing out of the bullet hole in her arm, the tourniquet loosening. I’m coming, Liv, Devon thought, regripping her shotgun. She had to make it to the top; no one else was there, though, hopefully Fin got her message about their location. But her vision was fading, her knees were buckling underneath her. No…she thought, sinking down to one knee. She leaned against a wooden support beam, gasping for breath, trying to blink away the spots in her eyes.

She heard car doors in the distance. Over here, she wanted to yell, but couldn’t make her mouth vocalize the words. She could hear footsteps below her—she couldn’t remember what floor she had made it to, she could only hope they came to the same conclusion that she did. Go up, she thought.

“Look, blood,” she heard a voice say. It sounded far away, but whether it actually was far or just her blacking out, she didn’t know. She heard radio static, but it was too far to make out the words. At least I know they’re cops, she thought. She must have passed out for a moment because the next thing she knew, she felt a strong hand shaking her shoulder gently, her face smushed against the support beam, shotgun hanging limply from her hand.

“Devon? Are you okay? What happened? Have you seen Liv?” It was Detective Amaro shaking her awake.

Devon’s tongue felt thick in her mouth as she struggled to answer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a pained groan. It was then that Amaro noticed that she had been shot.

“Shit, we got to get you outta here,” he mumbled. He looked behind him; Fin was moving past him, gun ready and heading up the stairs, Rollins hot on his heels. Another man, older and clearly the one in charge, was standing by Amaro.

“You take her, we’ll find Benson and Lewis,” the man commanded. Amaro didn’t seem happy about being left behind, but he didn’t complain. He took the shotgun, handing it to the man, and pulled Devon’s uninjured arm around his neck, standing with her, arm supporting her waist.

“Top,” Devon whispered out. Before Amaro had a chance to relay the information, however, the radio turned back on, a man’s voice—must be Lewis’s—came through.

“Two chambers left, one bullet.” And then the radio was off again. Even with Devon’s fading mind, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was happening.

“Go,” Devon took her arm back, pushing Amaro towards the stairs. “Go up.” Without him to support her, she slumped against the beam, sinking to the ground. Amaro gave her a hard look, then turned and followed Fin and Rollins. The man holding her shotgun opened his mouth to speak, but then there was a gunshot from above. This head whipped to look up, then he looked back at Devon, then tore up the stairs.

Devon forced herself to her knees, Olivia’s name repeating in her mind, hoping, praying, that that gunshot was her killing Lewis and not the other way around. She started crawling up the stairs before everything went black.

Mercy Hospital

Friday, May 30th. 10:15am

Devon awoke in the soft hospital bed. Her arm stung, but not as bad as it did yesterday. She tested the muscles, clenching and unclenching her hand over and over again. Everything seemed to be working, which was good, though the muscles were weaker. She laid in silence for a few moments before a nurse came in, checking the IV bag.

“How are you feeling today, Miss Motely?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“Fine, all things considering,” Devon smiled back. She thought back to yesterday, to the botched raid, getting shot. The phone call. Lewis escaping jail. Olivia kidnapped—

“Is Sergeant Benson okay?” she blurted out, jerking upright off her pillows.

The nurse smiled at her, and gently, but forcefully, pushed Devon back onto the bed. “You have a visitor,” was all she said before she left the room. Devon watched her go, confusion furrowing her brow. She remembered the gunshot echoing in her mind, Olivia…was she—could she be--?

“Hey,” a voice said.

Devon turned and relief flooded through her as Olivia walked over to her bed. “Holy shit, you’re okay. I mean, you are okay, right? I see you’re alive, but I know that—”

Liv put her hand up, causing Devon to fall silent. “Physically, I’m fine. Emotionally…this is going to take me…a while….” She trailed off. Devon nodded, knowingly. They both knew trauma and PTSD. All they could do was be there for each other.

Olivia grabbed a chair, brought it over to Devon’s bed. “I don’t want to talk about IAB right now. Right now, I want to hear about why the hell you were found at that abandoned mill with a bullet in your arm. The doctor said you were lucky to be alive, that you didn’t bleed out, that you only have a mild infection.”

Devon grinned darkly. “Well, when I got your call, I was in the middle of a raid. I was injured, and I did plan on going to the hospital, I really did. But then I heard that Lewis was out, and then I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I knew—I knew that he had you. And I was going to shoot that bastard.”

Olivia’s face darkened at her words. “William Lewis is dead. He…he shot himself in front of me,” she chuckled, but the sound had no emotion in it. “He’s actually framing me for it.”

Devon let the words sink in. “Are you kidding me? That…that sick bastard! God, I wish I could bring him back so I could kill him again!” she yelled. “Sorry,” she said, seeing the look on Liv’s face.

“No, I…I get it. He…he definitely knew what he was doing.”

Devon took a breath, calming herself. Liv didn’t need a hothead right now; she needed a friend. “Do you need a place to stay? Or someone to stay with you?”

Olivia reached out and squeezed Devon’s knee. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. I have a really good therapist, and an even better support system.”

Devon nodded. “Okay. But if you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Deal?”

Liv smiled. “Deal. Though, I feel like last time I called you, I got you shot.”

Apartment of Devon Motely

Tuesday, June 17th. 9:05am

Devon was enjoying a rare day off, stretching on her couch. She groaned as her body burned from her morning workout; she was done with physical therapy for her gunshot wound, but her arm still burned from some of her workouts, the muscles taking longer to heal than the rest. It was getting better, though; she could almost bench press her normal amount, and she could do 3 sets of pullups, compared to her normal 5 sets. But that wasn’t the only reason she was in a good mood; she was going to meet Liv for lunch today. Devon hadn’t seen her since the whole William Lewis thing, only talking to her on the phone; Devon still couldn’t bring herself to go to the courthouse, even in support of Liv, which she felt insanely guilty about. They were going to eat at the precinct—being Sergeant meant she was stuck there most of the time—but that didn’t bother Devon at all. She was just happy to see her friend.

SVU Department

Tuesday, June 17th. 11:10am

Once the elevator doors to the precinct opened, Devon knew something was wrong. The department was alive with activity, officers and detectives alike scrambling to grab their equipment and heading out the door. Devon ran to Liv’s office, catching her right as she was grabbing her jacket and heading towards the office door.

“What’s going on?” Devon asked, instantly alert.

“Got a disgruntled father that took a classroom, including his own kid, hostage. I’ll give you the details on the way,” Liv had responded, not pausing in her flight out of the precinct. Devon followed, mind racing. So much for chatting over lunch.

Once on the scene, Devon had all the facts, plus extras, that she needed. The perp’s kid, Jake, had been sexually abused by his mother for months, hence SVU’s involvement. The father, Steve, had been deeply disturbed by this, and the mother, Delilah, had been taken into custody, though the court date was still looming in the distance. Olivia didn’t know the details on Steve’s reasoning behind the hostages; she only knew the facts. Steve had entered the school—a summer school/day care for elementary kids--with a loaded pistol. He entered the classroom, not letting anyone, even the two teachers, leave, effectively gaining exactly 30 bodies to barter with. The rest of the elementary school was free to evacuate. ESU was already there but couldn’t get a shot on the father—the blinds in the classroom were closed, and they were hesitant to storm the building with so many children in danger. Cops were surrounding the crime scene tape, keeping what looked like the parents, away from the situation.

“Do we have blueprints on the school?” Devon asked as she suited up. She was glad she layered two shirts today: an undershirt and a regular shirt. She stripped off the top shirt, strapping the bulletproof vest on, then stuffed the discarded shirt down the front of it, Rollins and Amaro giving her a weird look. Liv had learned at this point to not ask questions.

“No, but we have a rough outline from the principal,” Liv replied. She mic’d Devon up, and Amaro handed her glasses that had a built-in camera. The glasses were a little annoying at first, but she knew that she’d tune them out soon enough.

“Good enough,” she said, taking the crudely drawn outline from Olivia. She looked it over, picking out and memorizing the path she had chosen. The school had two floors; the entrance she had picked was on the roof, where she could drop into the second floor and on the opposite side from where the hostages were. It was a little harder, but it made it so that Devon didn’t have to be completely silent. She wished she had more info—the type of flooring, whether the doors squeaked, etc.—but she rarely got all the facts before an infiltration anyways. This should be a piece of cake…she hoped. Kids were a sore spot of Devon.

“Am I live?” she asked Rollins, who was in the police van, on the cameras.

After checking audio and video, Rollins gave her the thumbs up.

“Be careful,” Liv said as Devon walked towards the school. She didn’t reply, mind already focused on the task at hand. She made her way to the left side of the school, as far from the targeted classroom as she could be. There was no fire escape or wiring draping from the roof, so Devon had to get creative. She examined the windows, their ledges, and the wall material. She shook out her arms, the soreness from this morning no longer there, but knowing that this was the real test of her injured arm, whether she was healed or not. Taking a deep breath, she climbed on the bottom of the first-floor window, then reached up to the second story window. She was able to get a good enough grip to pull herself up. She struggled her way up the side of the school, arms shaking but never failing her. Once on the roof, Devon caught her breath as she looked for the skylight that the principal had put on the outline—people trying to help often put in too many details, but it would come in handy now. Unsheathing her dagger, she cut a hole in the screen covering the skylight, large enough to fit a hand through it and pop it out from the inside. The glass would be tricky here, but something Devon had done multiple times before. She put pressure on one side of it. It finally gave, popping inward. Like a seesaw, the other side came swinging upwards towards her face. Devon scrambled to grab the side coming at her, catching it before it hit her, or the glass pane fell. She pulled it back out and placed it gently on the roof by the discarded screen. Next, she took the shirt that she had half-stuffed down the front of her vest, and went about cutting it in half, starting a tear with the knife and then ripping it with her own strength. The floor inside was tile, as she had expected with most schools, so she needed to silence her shoes before dropping in. She wrapped her feet in the now ruined shirt and tied it around her shoes as tightly as she could. Satisfied, she lowered herself through the skylight, hanging for a moment before dropping into the second story of the school on near-silent feet.

Devon waited a moment, listening, but heard nothing alarming. Standing up straight, she walked over to one of the classrooms by her, tested the door. It took her four tries to be able to open it silently, but after the fourth try, she was able to continue doing it. There was also a built-in doorstop, a good omen. Plan formed, Devon made her way silently down the stairs. She had unholstered her gun as she crept closer to the classroom. Once crouching outside it, she pressed her ear to the door. Silence. She carefully peeked into the window in the door.

A man with a gun—holding it limply by his waist, pointed at the floor--was standing just inside the door but had his back to it. That meant that 1) he didn’t see her and 2) he had all the kids in front of him. And that meant that she couldn’t blitz him, not when the kids were in danger of being shot.

The kids were either crying silently, hiding under a table, or were pressed into the teacher’s arms. The teachers had a brave face on for the kids, but their eyes betrayed how terrified they really were. But no one looked injured. Good. Now came the hard part; the distraction and the hope that children could keep quiet. Liabilities that Devon hesitated to rely upon but found it necessary to do so. She ducked down, taking a couple steps from the door. She sent a text to Olivia.

Pull him to the window

Devon counted the seconds before she heard a megaphone going off outside. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but she didn’t care, as long as it worked. And work it did; she peeked in the window once more to see Steve head towards the big windows on the far side of the room. He pulled open two blinds to look out, right as Devon silently opened the door. She put the door stopper down, then started to slowly, slowly crouch-walk towards Steve’s back. She had one hand holding the gun steady to his broad back—a bigger target than a headshot—and one hand by her face, holding a finger to her mouth, silently shushing everyone else. She didn’t take her eyes off of Steve, so she didn’t notice if the children or teachers noticed her at her crawling pace.

Steve released the blinds, causing Devon to stop, holding her breath. Steve then put the gun down and leaned on the counter with both hands. Devon forced herself to resume the slow pace, even with the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her seeing him disarm himself. His body rocked with silent sobs, and he put his face in his hands. Once Devon was within reach of the target, she stood to her full height. They were about the same height; that made this easier. She placed the muzzle of her gun against the base of his skull, causing him to jump.

“Freeze, FBI,” Devon said loudly and clearly. “Put your hands above your head.” Steve seemed to think through all of his options in a couple seconds, then made the decision to raise his hands above his head, defeated. Devon reached past him, grabbing the gun and putting it in her waistband before holstering her own gun and cuffing him, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. This could’ve been worse…much, much worse.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Steve said through tears. “M-my son….”

Devon felt a pang of pity for the man—he was under a lot of duress--before remembering the looks of the terrified children behind him. “I know you are, Steve. But we have to go now.”

She turned him from the window and walked towards the door. At that point, the classroom exploded with activity; teachers started thanking her, children started hugging her legs, voices overlapping in fear and relief. Devon knew it was an elementary school but was still shocked at how small the kids were. This could’ve ended much worse.

“Round up all the children and follow me,” Devon ordered. She suddenly wanted to be out of the building, away from this situation. The teachers set about rounding up the 5- and 6-year-olds and followed Devon out into the hall. Devon gave them all a once-over, checking for injuries, before heading towards the school’s entrance. Something was off in the back of Devon’s mind, but she shook it off, more worried about getting everyone out safely. Once at the double doors leading to freedom, Devon stopped the group.

“Stay behind me,” Devon instructed in a low voice to the teachers and children. Raising her voice, she called out, “Coming out! Suspect is restrained; hold your fire!” She then pushed the handle on the door slowly, showing her face first before dragging out the now openly weeping Steve. The teachers and children came out behind her, taking off towards their parents. A little boy, most likely Jake, gave Steve a sad look, tears running down his face, before running to what looked like his grandparents. Devon handed Steve over to a waiting officer and took a deep breath of relief. It wasn’t until she saw a pair of worried parents looking frantically around that the weird feeling she had in the hallway hit her; there were only 29 people grouped together in that hallway. Saying nothing, she turned around and sprinted back to the classroom.

She almost lost her footing when she made it in the classroom door—she still had her shirt wrapped around her feet, making her steps slippery on the tile floor. She looked around the room, panic raising in her throat. Then she heard it, a little sniffle from under a table. She made her way to it slowly and crouched down. A little girl was underneath, holding onto a stuffed tiger like it was a lifeline, and crying silently.

“Hey honey, are you okay?” Devon asked softly. The girl nodded but made no move to come out. Devon thought for a moment on how to approach this; she knew that her parents must be freaking out, but she didn’t feel right dragging the girl out from under the table. Instead, she asked, “what’s your name?”

“A-Ashley,” she whispered back.

“Hey Ashley. My name is Devon,” she gave her a small smile. Devon sat down on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Not the easiest thing to do with a bulletproof vest on.

“Hi Devon.”

“May I ask you why you’re hiding under the table? You know your parents are worried about you, wondering where you are.”

“I-I’m afraid,” she sniffled, fresh tears spilling over. The fear in her voice was like a punch to the gut. This poor kid is going to need counseling for sure after this. She made a mental note to talk to the parents.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Devon asked. Ashley nodded, sniffling. “I was pretty scared, too.”

Ashley’s eyes widened with this admission. “You were?”

“Uh-huh. Will…will you walk with me until we’re outside? Please?” Devon asked. She learned a long time ago that most afraid kids don’t want to be told to not be afraid, that their fear isn’t valid. But they liked when they heard that adults were afraid, too, and were more willing to help adults overcome their fears.

“O-okay,” she replied in that small voice. Ashley scooted out from under the table, taking Devon’s hand in her own, the stuffed tiger still clutched in her other. Together, they left the classroom quickly, Devon stopping her short of the doors outside, announcing their exit before heading out in case ESU was still around. Her parents cried tears of joy seeing their daughter safe and sound. Devon handed the mother her business card, telling her to feel free to call her if Ashley needed any help, and to find her a counselor. She squeezed Ashley’s shoulder, giving her a small smile and thanking her for helping her outside, then found her way over to Olivia.

“Great work, Dev,” Liv said once within earshot. Devon brushed her off while taking off the vest, the mic, and the glasses. She noticed in the back of her mind that the whole interaction with Ashley was recorded; she had stopped paying attention to the glasses and mic by the time she had climbed onto the roof.

“Tell the principal that I’ll pay for a new screen and window for the skylight,” Devon replied, half-joking. She knew the city would replace it anyways, but Devon would be a faster route. She placed a bracing hand on Olivia’s shoulder as she stood on one foot, unwrapping her shirt from the other.

Liv smiled, then burst Devon’s bubble by pointing out the press that had been held at the line. “Ready for your 15 minutes of fame?” Devon groaned, taking the other half of shirt off her foot.

Devon already hated talking to the press, but something else had caught her eye. The police van’s doors were open and standing outside them were Detectives Amaro and Rollins. And standing right next to them, already staring at her, was Rafael Barba. Even from this far away, their eyes locked. Devon steeled herself, keeping her face as neutral as possible, even though her heart ached at the sight of him. Barba, however, was not as skilled; she saw longing, remorse, and most apparent, a terrible sadness in his eyes. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, even though there was no possible way that Devon would hear it, but instead, Devon broke the eye contact, looking back to Olivia.

“I, uh, would rather sneak out the back way.”

Olivia noticed the look that Devon had shared with the ADA, but said nothing, nodding understandably—she hated talking to the press, too—before flagging down an officer who was parked away from the front lines. Devon followed him to his car, and he gave her a ride home. He talked the whole way, asking where she learned to climb buildings like that, details about what happened once she was inside, and gushing about how great she was. She gave flippant responses, just hoping to be home and trying to erase that look of Barba’s haggard form and intensely sad eyes out of her mind.

#rafael barba x oc #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #everyone deserves love #edl #everyone deserves love chapter 9 #edl ch 9 #fanfic #my writing

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blogint159 · 3 years ago

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Contents

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One of the favourite television channel of Indian viewers namely “Star Plus” has been broadcasting the daily soap “Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai” worldwide on televisions from 12th January 2009 to present. It’s an Indian television drama which tells the story of a happily lived family based in Udaipur. The show is a big hit till now as it has become the part of daily routine of Indian women. The show has been successfully running on the television till now with huge TRPs. The timing of the show is from Monday to Saturday at 09:30pm- 10:00pm IST. The known tv actress Hina Khan and actor Karan Mehra are playing the female and male lead roles in the show respectively. The title theme song of the show is very famous among the audience and it can be downloaded online from various websites.

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The show is having a big star cast so we have mentioned below the names of only a few main characters in the show with their real names. To know about all the characters of the show, you can check out the Wikipedia:

Hina Khan as Akshara Singhania

Karan Mehra as Naitik Singhania

Rohan Mehra as Naksh Singhania

Umang Jain as Tara Shekhawat

Ashnoor Kaur as Naira Singhania

Alok Nath as Chandrabhan Singh Shekhawat

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For the viewer’s information, we have mentioned below the important information related to “Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai” tv serial:

Production Company & producers: The show is produced by Director’s Kut Productions which is also famous for its various daily soaps such as Tere Sheher Mein, Aur Pyaar Ho Gaya, Amrit Manthan,Kuch Toh Log Kahenge. It has been produced by Rajan Shahi.

Directed by: Romesh Kalra, Jai Kalra, Ram Pandey are the directors of this famous television series.

Written by: Saba Mumtaz, Bhavna Vyas, Ghazala Nargis and Munisha Rajpal are the main writers of the show.

Schedule & Timing of ‘Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai’, Wiki :

Show Timing :- 09:30Pm to 10:00Pm

Repeat Telecast Timing: 12:00am, 4:36am, 10:30am

Days: Monday to Saturday

Channel:- Star Plus

Genre :- Drama, Daily Soap

Language :-Hindi

Story/ Plot:

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The story or plot of this daily soap revolves around the characters Akshara, Natik and their families. When the show begins, Akshara tied a knot with Naitik Singhania in an arranged marriage. But slowly with the passing of time, both fell in love with each other. In this show, the character Akshara has been tried her best to portray herself as a responsible woman, wife, and mother. The story showcases the daily happenings in the families of both Akshara and Natik. They have a big Marwari joint family who lives in Udaipur, Rajasthan. The couple faces both good and bad situations during their journey of life as husband-wife and mother-father. The one thing which kept increasing day by day is the love that they have for each other and for their family. Now, they have two sweet children who have grown to adolescent age namely Naksh and Naira.

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To read news and Watch latest episodes of Yeh rishta kya kehlata hai serial online on hotstar, please visit the official Website:Click Here

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sodone-withlife · 4 years ago

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glass is fragile

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: implied character death

Notes: cross-posted on Ao3. this is the result of a random idea I had because while I love Hotchniss, I love the idea of the two meeting in college and keeping in contact with Hotch being an overprotective brother

fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur (fortune is glass; just when it gleams brightest it shatters) - Publilius Syrus

“I’ve got five names on the bottom of the list Prentiss gave us,” Morgan said, walking towards the case board. “Luke Renault, Lawrence Riley, Lyla Rafferty, Lyle Rogers, Landon Raines.”

“All with the initials L.R.” Seaver pointed out.

“The CIA uses cryptograms like that to assign non-official cover agents working the same case,” Hotch remarked.

“So do other foreign countries,” Morgan added. “These last five names are covers—spies,” he said, pointing at the document.

“Wait,” Garcia said, taking the document. “No, this isn’t right,” she said, pointing at the page. “Do you see this space? That shouldn’t be here.”

“Could it be a formatting error?” Reid asked.

“No, this is a spreadsheet template,” Garcia answered. “Formatting doesn’t allow for this, there’s a missing name on here.”

“It’s another spy whose cover is L.R.” Hotch said quietly, looking to the elevator and mentally preparing to give the looming long-winded explanation.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid said aloud behind him.

“What?” Hotch turned around in shock, having not heard that name spoken aloud in years.

“‘Lauren Reynolds is dead,’” Reid repeated, “Prentiss said that on a phone call seventeen days ago, but her intonation wasn’t surprise or grief, it was like a mantra, like she was reminding herself.”

As Reid continued talking, Hotch pulled out his phone and dialed her number, hoping like hell his hunch about what she's doing is just that—a hunch.

“If Prentiss is the last name on that list, she’s on Doyle’s list, too,” Seaver said.

Hotch followed the sound of a ringtone to Emily’s desk and opened the first drawer. “Guys,” he cut into the team’s discussion, holding the gun and badge she’d left behind out for them to see.

“She left her badge and gun? Why would she do that?” Morgan asked, confused. Hotch placed them back down and grabbed his other phone, pulling up his messages.

<< It’s T, isn’t it.

>>He’s going after us, he’s threatened the others.

<<Blackbird.

<<Where are you?

<<What are you doing?

>>I’m sorry.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Reid turned back to the others, uncomprehending. “Why run? We’re her family, we can help.”

“Doyle’s killing families,” Rossi pointed out in realization. “She’s not married, not close to relatives—”

“Last night, Doyle verbally threatened to kill us,” Hotch said, looking up as his worry for Emily’s safety returned in full force.

“How do you know that?” Morgan asked suspiciously. In response, Hotch held out his phone and played the recording Emily had sent over last night.

“Aaron, Doyle mentioned all of us except you. Why?” Rossi asked, noting the distinct lack of any threat directed at the unit chief. Hotch didn’t answer, looking out through the glass doors towards the elevators. The others followed his line of sight.

“JJ?” Garcia stood up and dashed over to the long-missed blonde, who was standing in the doorway.

“I’ve called the State Department for permission to have someone come over and shed light on Emily’s past. Officially, I can’t tell you anything,” Hotch told the profilers who were staring in shock, “but JJ can.”

~~~

“Okay, so I talked to a friend from Langley, he couldn’t give me Emily’s full CIA history, but he could give me this,” JJ said, turning to the TV screen. “She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a special task force called JTF-12.”

“I heard about them,” Rossi remarked, “They were profiling terrorists, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” JJ answered. “Assembled after 9/11, CIA and Western agencies contributed their ‘best and brightest’.”

“But serial killers and terrorists have different personality traits,” Seaver pointed out.

“How does Doyle fit in?” Reid asked.

“He was their last case,” JJ said, “and now the JTF is on his hit list.”

“Jeremy Wolff was victim number one, from Germany’s BND,” she began, focusing on the pictures on the screen. “Sean McAlister at Interpol was the second and was the one who brought the JTF in on Doyle. He was murdered last week in Brussels with his wife and daughter,” JJ said softly, flicking a brief look at Hotch, who had squashed down his reaction.

“Tsia Mosely of France’s DCRI—she got engaged to Jeremy earlier this year and fled here when he died,” JJ continued and sent another look at Hotch, who took a breath and steeled himself for the barrage of accusations and questions he was sure to get.

His picture appeared on the screen.

“Hotch?” They turned to look at him in confused shock.

“It wasn’t my prerogative to tell you,” he moved around the table and took the remote from JJ, looking at the other profilers. “None of you had the clearance for this, and there wasn’t time between the numerous phone calls I had to make in order to get JJ back here.”

“I understand you have questions, but we need to focus on Emily,” he said firmly, turning to the screen. “Clyde Easter of the British SIS was the leader. I’ve talked to him over the phone twice and he was in DC last I heard, but I haven’t been able to get a hold of him since Tsia’s murder.”

“You were involved in the Doyle case?” Rossi asked. Are you safe? went unasked but was heard by everyone.

“I’m well aware of the danger I am in,” Hotch said, “but if I’m right, he’s going to be too fixated on Emily to care much about me, though I’ve had precautions in place since we first found out he escaped.”

“Did you ever make any arrests? Maybe that’s why he’s after you?”

“No, the host countries always took care of that and we just moved onto the next case. Given the shadowy nature of terrorist cells, we were mostly involved in infiltration.”

“Who was undercover on Doyle?” Reid asked.

“Emily,” JJ answered.“She posed as another weapons dealer and met him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla.” JJ paused, looking at Hotch apprehensively.

He took over, knowing what she was hung up on. “The recon we did on Doyle included a background on all of his previous romantic relationships, and… ” he trailed off, hesitating, “she’s exactly his type.”

~~~

“Prissy, where the hell are you?”

“Oh, is that worry that I hear, Iceman?”

“Blackbird’s in Boston, isn’t she.”

“Is that a question?”

~~~

“Emily walked into a trap,” Garcia said shakily, pointing at the screen. “It looks like Doyle got into the SUV, but from this angle, you can see that he didn’t, which I wish Boston PD would have told me before I started watching it.” She looked at the others apologetically. “Sorry again for the screaming.”

“She threw a flash-bang grenade into a car,” Morgan said incredulously. “She’s lucky the three people inside didn’t die. Is anybody else bothered by that?”

“Well, three bad guys,” Rossi pointed out.

“Illegal as it is, when you’re dealing with the likes of Doyle, who has nothing to lose,” Hotch said softly, staring into space, “you have to be as ruthless as he is and act the same way.”

“So how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Rossi asked.

“Well, the mole must have told him, right?” JJ suggested. “The same guy who’s been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents?”

“And our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash,” Seaver said.

“Let me take care of Prissy—Clyde,” Hotch amended when the nickname garnered him strange looks. “The rest of you focus on Doyle’s location.”

“I hate to be the one to ask this,” Garcia hesitantly spoke up, looking to Hotch. “But how long does Emily have?”

He remained silent for a moment. “Doyle saved her for last because she is his stressor—she had an intimate connection with him,” Hotch blew out a breath and focused his gaze on the analyst. “He’ll take his time.”

A horrified silence fell over the group. He stood up, unable to bear the heavy tension and fear, and walked into the jet’s bathroom. He leaned on the counter for support and took a few deep breaths, trying not to spiral into a panic.

“How long have you known Emily?” Rossi asked quietly, having followed behind him.

“Fall of ‘89,” he answered, feeling faint amusement at the older man’s surprise. “Yale; I was an ambitious law school student while she was a goth sophomore student. We saw each other again when I did some work for the Ambassador, then again when JTF was formed. Clyde always referred to me as the overprotective big brother even though she’s a year older than me.”

“Did you know about Emily and…?” Rossi trailed off, unsure as to how he should phrase the question.

“I had my suspicions,” Hotch admitted. “I wasn’t there to see her after she was extracted, but I talked to her afterward, and something was definitely different.”

~~~

“October 2006. ‘In closing, I have never worked with a finer agent than Emily Prentiss. Her skill at analyzing and predicting terrorist behavior is unparalleled.’ Signed, name redacted,” Hotch looked up at the Englishman. “I knew something was off when I read her personnel file those years ago. Buzz words, the like—you sold her to the bureau just like you sold Doyle to the North Koreans.”

Clyde remained silent as Hotch continued to stare at him. “It takes a skilled sociopath to betray his team and the cause he held dear for self-preservation.”

He leaned forward, expression dark. “If anything happens to Emily, I swear I will destroy you, our past history be damned.”

Finally shifting in his spot, Clyde sent an appraising look over Hotch. “You were the best,” he said, “but you’re slipping. I’m disappointed.”

Hotch looked at him dispassionately. “My team and I will get Doyle with or without you. Pack lightly—Guantanamo gets humid.”

He turned away as Clyde chuckled behind him. “Nice try,” the Englishman said, “but I’m curious. If I’m the sociopath, then I should feel no empathy, correct?”

“Oh, you’re not the sociopath,” Hotch corrected him, turning around at the doorway. “Doyle is.”

He carefully looked Clyde up and down. “Weren’t you a better profiler?”

~~~

“Did you know Jeremy sold the list to Doyle?” Hotch asked, sitting across from Clyde.

“I had my suspicions,” Clyde admitted casually.

“So when you got to DC, you couldn’t trust Tsia, either. Emily and I read your doubt as duplicity,” Hotch said, leaning forward. “Emily is in trouble, and you need to help me brief the team on the original profile so we can combine that with who he is now as a serial killer.”

“Aaron, you know that Doyle is going to escape from one of your American prisons as easily as he did in North Korea,” Clyde retorted. “There is no catching that man, you have to put a bullet in his brain yourself.” He looked at Hotch seriously. “You, as an FBI agent, took an oath to protect the laws of your country. Can you break your oath, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch shook his head, understanding his intent and opting for a different answer.

“I can take one.”

There was a knock on the door, which opened to show JJ. “The British consul’s here,” she told the men.

“Could you tell him I’ll be right out?” Clyde requested, not looking away from Hotch. “I’m consulting with the BAU on a case.”

~~~

The profilers stood around quickly set up table and case boards in the Boston field office, Clyde and Hotch at the head of the table.

“Ian Doyle is a power-assertive psychopath. Highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn’t go as planned,” Clyde informed them.

“Okay, so how does this fit in with who he is as a family annihilator?” Seaver asked.

“And Prentiss’ role in it,” Rossi added.

“Annihilators have a romanticized view of who their family is,” Reid suggested.

“Actually,” Hotch interrupted, “he was an orphan.”

“Well, they think of family as their possession until some law shatters that and starts them killing,” Morgan offered.

“Doyle was never married,” Clyde said.

“Children?” Rossi asked.

“No.”

“You run your profile that he carried out his murders with surgical-like precision,” Reid interjected, holding out a photo of the dead child.

“Yeah.”

“With no collateral damage,” Morgan continued, which Clyde and Hotch confirmed.

Rossi looked up, an idea coming to him. “Perhaps this child was a surrogate for one he had.”

“Say Doyle had a child and you didn’t know about it,” Seaver suggested hypothetically, turning to Clyde. “Is it possible that Prentiss did?”

“Then why would she keep it from me?” Clyde asked as if the idea was inconceivable. Hotch raised an eyebrow and let out a scoff, earning himself a look from the Englishman.

“First name Declan,” Hotch told Garcia, ignoring Clyde. “Adoptive guardian Louise Jones, Doyle’s housekeeper. Emily moved them here to Boston eight years ago and she told me she made sure they’re safe. Anything beyond that, a last name, I don’t know.”

“Declan and his mother went missing seven years ago,” Garcia said, typing rapidly. “Bodies were never found… wait, what’s this?” Multiple pictures popped up on her screen. “God, someone took pictures of them being shot,” she said, horrified.

“Is there an address?” Hotch demanded.

“That looks like a warehouse,” Garcia said as she entered in the specifiers. “It’s gotta be big enough to house a small army. That’s weapons, supplies, let’s see, which means it has its own perimeter…” she trailed off, hitting enter. “1518 Adams Street,” she read from her screen.

“Hold on, look at the photos,” Reid interjected, taking a closer look at the screen.

“It’s black clothing and a hand, Reid,” Morgan said, confused.

“No, look at the fingernails,” he corrected, pointing to the screen.

Garcia let out a gasp as she realized what Reid was talking about. “Oh my god.”

~~~

“Agent Prentiss is the only friendly in the building,” Hotch briefed the listening agents, ballistics vest on. “Rescuing her is our primary objective.”

“Our only advantage here is stealth,” Morgan said. “Once they know we’re on site, there’s nothing to stop them from killing her, so we keep it quiet until we get to her… ”

~~~

“Cut the power.”

~~~

“I got her!”

~~~

“Come on, stay with me!”

~~~

“She never made it off the table.”

~~~

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

“She’s my friend, and so are you. I want to protect her and make sure you don’t fall under this weight.”

~~~

<< Stay safe

>>You too

~~~

“Prissy, where are you hiding out right now?”

“Good to hear from you too, Iceman. The Golden City. oh, and I know she’s alive.”

“Glad to hear your habits haven’t changed a bit.”

~~~

“How are you doing?”

“The others aren’t as mad as I expected.”

“Red tape, writing up report after report for bureaucrat after bureaucrat, they’re more perceptive than you give them credit for. However, I don’t believe I asked about them, I believe I asked after you.”

“I think cleaning up this mess while trying to go about life with an international criminal potentially out for my blood is a fitting punishment for my failings.”

~~~

“I get it. We’re a family, and it’s important that families talk, and holding it in will just make this sick, sad feeling of awfulness more awful,” Garcia said, “right?”

Hotch allowed himself a brief upturn of his lips at her rambling before sobering up. “Internalizing does make it worse,” he agreed.

“I’ll talk, but I don’t want to talk about her being gone,” Garcia said softly. “Can I talk about how she made me smile?”

A pang shot through Hotch’s heart at her hopeful question as he thought back on the close relationship the women had with each other.

“Of course.”

~~~

“The last time I was on a couch like this was when my father left,” Reid mused quietly. “They all thought I needed to talk, but developmentally I wasn’t guided by conscience—I could only reveal what my mother and my teachers told me was acceptable.”

“You told them exactly what they wanted to hear,” Hotch summed up, not showing just how much that hit home. “You don’t have to do that here. Yell, curse at me, whatever you need to do.”

The genius swallowed. “It’s just unfair that she’s gone,” he said, barely holding back tears. “It’s like if we can’t keep each other safe, then why are we even doing any of this?”

Hotch remained silent as Reid continued. “It’s… sometimes I think maybe—maybe Gideon was right, you know. Maybe…” he trailed off, staring into space. “Maybe it’s just not worth it.”

~~~

Morgan sighed, leaning back on the couch. “So I came in here to do what? Talk about losing Emily?” He shook his head when he received no answer. “Strauss put you up to this?”

“The assessment’s routine,” Hotch finally said. “I asked her to let me do it rather than bring in somebody from the outside. Thought it might be preferred, even with my role in this mess.”

“So let me guess—it’s about the five stages of grief,” Morgan let out a breath. “You want to figure out where we all are.”

Hotch looked at him expectantly, remaining silent, much to Morgan’s annoyance.

“All right,” Morgan said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “Denial. I’m fine, this can’t be happening to me—well it didn’t happen to me, did it?” he started. “So that rules that out. What else is there—bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. Well, obviously, I haven’t accepted it, otherwise I wouldn’t be in here,” he looked at Hotch. “So where does that leave me?”

“Angry.”

“Angry,” he repeated. “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes I feel like I want to quit my job and spend my time chasing down the son of a bitch who killed Emily. You’re damn right I’m angry,” he declared, anger pouring out of every word before he deflated.

“Sixty seconds,” Morgan breathed out, shaking his head in self-recrimination. “If I had gotten there sixty seconds earlier, Emily might still be with us.”

“Derek, you know that you did everything you could—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I did everything I could. We all did. I know,” he snapped. “What, that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“You protected each other for years, don’t expect this to go away anytime soon,” Hotch told him.

“This what? This—this guilt?”

“Just because you were the last one there doesn’t mean that you could affect the outcome,” Hotch said. “We all wish we had that kind of control.”

“So what do we do, we just chalk it up to fate?” Morgan looked at Hotch incredulously. “What, I can’t blame anybody? What, this is the will of God? No. I do blame somebody, I blame Doyle.”

At a loss, Hotch remained silent, hiding the guilt that threatened to swallow him in the face of Morgan’s grief.

“Hotch, what am I supposed to do?” Morgan finally asked, voice breaking. “I lost my friend right in front of me, and I’m supposed to go on like nothing happened?” He shook his head, taking in a shuddering breath. “You know, we—we come in here, and we talk to you,” he turned to Hotch and asked, “Where do you go?”

Hotch glanced down as Morgan continued, “Where are you with all this?”

“Same place as you,” the unit chief looked back up, a mutual understanding passing between them. “Wishing she was here.”

~~~

“There are benefits to meeting after hours,” Rossi commented, raising his glass of scotch and taking a drink.

Hotch looked down at his own glass. “You know everybody’s feeling it, and nobody wants to talk about it.”

“It’s too soon, Aaron. You know that better than anyone,” the older profiler sent him a look. “And, uh, doesn’t Strauss usually run these assessments?”

“There was no way that was going to happen,” Hotch said firmly to Rossi’s brief chuckle.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, as Hotch took a long drink out of his own glass. “And I also know that you grieve privately. But,” Rossi paused, looking at him solemnly, “you’ve been through more than any of us in a very short time. How are you holding up?”

“I’m all right,” Hotch repeated three words that had become a mantra, briefly glancing at Rossi. “I think it’s an ongoing process,” he said, thinking about the mess he was buried under after the events of the past year.

“This is not my assessment,” he looked at Rossi in reproach, “I’m supposed to be asking how you’re doing.”

A corner of Rossi’s lips briefly tilted up before he looked back down as he thought about what to say. “I’ve always had trouble letting people in,” he began slowly and shook his head. “But this is different. I guess I’ve come to realize… I’m more married to this team than I ever was to three ex-wives.” They shared a brief moment of amusement as his quip.

“It’s been a hard year,” Hotch finally said quietly. “We’ll get through it.”

“Yeah, we will,” Rossi agreed, lifting his glass in a toast. “Emily and Haley.”

Hotch raised his own, the two lapsing into heavy silence.

~~~

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m sorry I’m sorrysorrysorry—

He threw the blanket off himself and got up from where he was laying on the couch to walk over to his desk, glancing out into the dark bullpen as he went. He sat down and started going through the stack of unfinished reports in an attempt to ward off the thoughts that have plagued him since that painful day two months ago.

I’ve failed you, Blackbird.

I hope you’re safe out there.

~~~

“Believe me, everyone who tried to save him that day isn’t going to forget. It’s the day they failed. They’ll ask themselves what they could have done—could they have gotten there sooner? They’ll heal, but it’s going to take time. They’ll move on, but they won’t forget.”

~~~

“Over the next few weeks, each of you is going to be asked if you’d like to stay with the unit,” Hotch informed them.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Reid asked, confused.

“There are other options for you out there,” Hotch answered. “And while I want the unit to stay together, I understand completely if you want to see what the alternatives are. Morgan, there’s renewed interest in you from the New York office.”

Morgan looked surprised. “Nobody’s called me.”

“They will.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to go,” he said slowly.

“Oh, I know,” Hotch said evenly.

“Are you staying here?” Seaver asked Hotch.

“It’s my intention to,” but we’ll have to see what happens with Doyle. He felt Rossi’s eyes land on him, knowing that the man would have caught his careful word choice.

Either way, there’s a high chance I’m going to be overseas soon.

~~~

“Has he ever left before us?”

“He technically isn’t leaving—he’s still in danger and doesn’t have the luxury of going into hiding, so he’s been rotating through the Academy dorms.”

“Jack?”

“He’s been staying with the Brooks family. Hotch implemented as many security measures as he could and has been visiting as often as he can.”

~~~

“Hotchner.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Morgan’s voice came over the phone. “How’s it going out there?”

“Got to Pakistan a few days ago, so far long days, some territorial issues to work out, nothing surprising,” Hotch answered, straining to hear Morgan over the helicopters whirring overhead. “How’s everything there?”

“Hotch, we found Declan Doyle.”

“What?”

“Listen, I knew finding the kid was the only way I could find Doyle,” Hotch was silent, mind immediately straying to the potential ramifications. “I know what you’re thinking, man.”

“Is Declan safe?” he finally settled on asking.

“Yeah, he is for now. I’ve had surveillance at his house and his school for a few weeks.”

“Morgan, I didn’t authorize this—”

“I know you didn’t, Hotch, but listen to me. I think Doyle may have found Declan, too.”

Hotch shook his head. “All right, I’m coming back.”

“You want me to wait?” Morgan asked incredulously.

“Morgan, fixated on his son as he may be, Doyle is still incredibly smart and meticulous,” Hotch reminded. “You make sure you have eyes on Doyle from all angles. If you take him alive, keep him under constant surveillance and limit his contact with other people, even if they’re our own.”

~~~

“Prissy, Doyle’s in custody and under constant watch. You can come out of whatever hole you’ve crawled into.”

“Dare I ask how you got to him?”

“I’m still in Pakistan, I didn’t do anything. The team took care of it.”

~~~

<<Time to come back, Blackbird.

>>You got V?

<<Looking for his K.

>>I just got a call from K’s caretaker. What happened?

>>Iceman.

<<K disappeared

~~~

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Thank you,” Hotch turned around to see the brightly-dressed analyst hurrying towards him with a folder under her arm. “What have you got?”

“A top-ten list of Doyle’s enemies.”

“Anybody recently in the States?” he looked through, recognizing the names.

“Richard Gerace’s been here a few weeks,” she answered. “He’s a low-level gun-runner who angrily crossed paths with Doyle. I caught an image of him on the surveillance camera at Declan’s house and confirmed it was him through a scar on his neck. Have you come across him before?” Garcia asked, referring to his time with JTF.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch shook his head. “Get me everything you can on Gerace.”

“Yeah,” Garcia hesitated, “what I just told you is everything I’ve got.” Hotch nodded and briskly walked around her out of the conference room.

He made his way to where they were holding Doyle and walked up to the window next to Rossi.

“Well, that’s a good look,” Rossi commented on his beard. Hotch allowed a brief smile to appear on his face while he texted Morgan, who was inside with Doyle. “How was the desert?”

“Hot,” Hotch replied shortly, still able to feel sand in his combat boots and the sun beating down on his back.

“Doyle’s here, so have you seen Jack yet?”

“No, Jessica took him on a road trip, they’re at Hershey Park right now,” Hotch said, still occupied with his messaging.

“Well, he’ll love that beard,” Rossi looked over at him.

“Yeah, we skyped every day,” Hotch said dryly, looking back at the older man. “He’s not a fan.”

~~~

>>C just called to check in. On the way right now.

<<See you in a bit

>>If I survive the others

<<Blackbird, I made this decision, I am responsible for this. It’s my burden to bear, but I’d do it all over again if it means having you alive.

<<Oh, and J came back fourteen weeks ago. As a profiler, now.

>>What? And you’re just telling me this now?

<<Didn’t find out until I got somewhere with secure service, and that was a week ago.

<<We’ve really missed you.

~~~

“Welcome back,” Morgan greeted Hotch.

“Thanks,” Hotch said, steeling himself. “Everybody, have a seat.”

The profilers looked at him strangely. “Why?” Morgan asked. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch crossed his arms. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle, but the doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

He continued on, watching as different emotions appeared on the teams’ faces as they realized what he was saying. “I called Clyde and we met with the brass while she was being flown over, and it was decided that her identity was strictly need-to-know, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. Given the danger Doyle posed, she was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, hopeful shock clear in her voice. Hotch’s silence spoke volumes.

“But we buried her,” Reid said, uncomprehending.

Hotch looked directly at Morgan. “As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision, and if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.”

“Any issues?” Morgan repeated in angry incredulity. “Yeah, I got issues,” he trailed off when he noticed the others looking behind him.

“Oh my god,” Garcia breathed, tears rolling down her face at the sight of Emily Prentiss in the doorway. She stood up and rushed over, enveloping the woman in a careful hug, as if she were going to disappear.

“I am so sorry,” Emily said, as the analyst let go of her so Reid could take her place. “I really am. Not a day went by that I didn’t want to…” she trailed off, catching sight of Morgan’s expression. “Really, I—” she approached him, hoping he’ll understand, “you didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.”

She leaned in, hugging him tightly as Morgan slowly returned the hug through his shock. They stayed like that for a few moments before she backed away and turned to the others. “There’s so much I want to tell you guys, and I will, I promise, but right now I really need to know what’s going on with Declan,” she said, walking to stand next to Hotch and JJ.

“Emily, was there a man living at the house?” Reid pushed forward to ask.

“Yes, my friend Tom Koehler, he was raising Declan as his own.”

“Where is he?” JJ asked from the side.

“I never saw him go in or out of that house,” Garcia told her.

“He was on assignment overseas,” Emily said.

“But he’s all right?” JJ checked.

“Yes,” Emily confirmed, “He’s on his way back now. He got a call from Declan, he called me, and Hotch texted me just moments later telling me you had Doyle in custody.”

“And because of Tom’s line of work, that’s why you enrolled Declan in a boarding school,” Hotch said.

“I made sure that he, Louise, and I were the only ones allowed to take him off campus.”

“Louise took him home last night because he was sick,” Reid told her.

“Food poisoning,” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, a few of the kids had it, apparently, so whoever did this got to him on campus. They knew they only had one chance.”

“Current suspect is Richard Gerace,” JJ said, “he’s the most recent arrival into the states. We’ve been tracking his progress through the city, but we came up empty.”

“We know it’s him because he has the scar,” Garcia added.

“That doesn’t make sense, Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago,” Emily stated.

Rossi spoke up, “He said you were the only one who knew Gerace.”

“Which is why I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have the balls to pull this off,” she said. “There was no forced entry at the house?”

“I had two agents working security,” Morgan said.

“We think Gerace and his partner pose as the next shift, and one of the agents was a woman,” Reid told her.

Emily’s response came quick. “She’s the alpha.”

“So we’re looking for a woman who’s getting back at Doyle,” JJ summarized.

“Well, our suspect list just got a whole lot longer,” Hotch remarked, exchanging a sardonic look with Emily, who nodded in agreement.

~~~

“Is Strauss still there?” Hotch asked over the phone, striding outside towards the parked SUVs.

“She is.”

“We need full support.”

“Doyle said McDermott’s family imported weapons to a private airfield in Maryland,” Emily said.

“Close?”

“Largo.”

“All right, send me the coordinates. Oh, and Emily?” Hotch added.

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you back, Blackbird.”

~~~

“Hotch, are we really going to do this?” Morgan’s voice came over his earpiece.

“No one leaves here,” Hotch said firmly into his mic, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings.

~~~

“Iceman.”

“Blackbird,” Hotch returned as Emily approached him at the side of the conference room, having escaped the others’ excitement at her return. He looked her up and down, taking in the welcome sight before pulling her into a tight hug. The others fell silent, watching them clutch to each other like a lifeline in an embrace that spoke of a deep familiarity.

“You did all that you could,” she told him quietly, as their grip on each other loosened slightly, “thank you.”

A few traitorous tears slipped out of his eyes, which he had squeezed shut. Hotch kept his head at the crook of her neck, taking in the familiar warmth that reassured him of her presence.

“It’s so good to see you.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #bau #fanfic #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #hurt #sodone glass is fragile

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