#abby x townsend

[gildengirl]

If Abby and Townsend didn't first get together with the cliche "Shut up." "Make me." then I don't know what to tell you, because they most certainly did.

[g-girlshavingfun]

A sister’s vigil: 5 times Rachel visited her sister in hospital, and 1 time she didn’t.

4/6

Word count: 5,978

When Rachel arrived at the hospital, there was a man holding her sister’s hand.

Holding wasn’t quite the right word. Cradling, grasping, or clutching was probably more accurate. His hand engulfed hers, probably could’ve wrapped itself around both of them, and it was clenched so tight white spots appeared on his knuckles. He wasn’t squeezing though, he seemed almost afraid to apply any pressure at all in fact, so Abby’s pale simply lay limp in his grip.

It was enraging.

———————————————————————

Chapter 4

When Rachel was fifteen, her mother received a phone call from a Mr Nula with the CIA’s human resources department. He informed her in apathetic tones that Micheal Cameron’s task force had encountered unexpected resistance on their assignment in Berlin, that her husband had been gravely injured in the line of duty, that she and perhaps her daughters should make their way to headquarters where they would be transported to the hospital he was taken to. Rachel wasn’t present when the call was made, too busy reading her sister a bedtime story, but her mother recounted the phone call to her several times as they sat in the hospital waiting room, Abby curled up sleeping in her lap.

Over two decades later, Rachel was called into a meeting at Langley with Agent Gordon, a man only a few steps down from the director. With Matthew, Joe, and Abby all out of the country, there was no one to wind her up about disciplinary action, nor anyone to talk her down from ruminating about the last mistake she made on an assignment, so she made the trip to level 20 in a state of general unease. The conversation was short, and almost impersonal, as Agent Gordon informed her that her husband had now missed 3 call ins. That agents, including Agents Solomon and Cameron, had been dispatched to his last known location to orchestrate a search. That she could not tell anyone without level 5 or above clearance, but that Matthew Morgan was officially considered missing.

The next few weeks consisted of lying to her daughter, taking afternoons off work to search through Matthew’s notes and files, resisting the urge to fly to Europe and look for him herself. But Matthews parents couldn’t be clued in to what was going on, and with Abby already in Rome there was no one left that Rachel truly trusted to watch her daughter, not when she didn’t know why Matthew was missing. She had nearly convinced herself everything would be fine. Two of the best agents she knew were out there tracking him down, and they all knew Matthew couldn’t stay away from his family for too long, but then she got a knock on her door one afternoon.

She doesn’t remember much of the conversation with Joe and the senior agents who came to deliver the news. An agent’s memory is their first line of offence and defence, but Rachel can only remember the crushing feeling of despair that swept over her, the air freezing in her lungs, the pit cracking open in her chest. She remembers her vision of Joe’s clenched jaw and averted eyes blurring as someone uttered the words “declared dead”, the sound of his shaken apologies as the others agents saw themselves out, the feel of his arms cradling her when her knees gave way the second the door closed. She remembers thinking this is it, nothing can be worse than this.

How am I gonna tell Cammie?

All in all, Rachel was used to receiving bad news from the agency, and she knew how they went about it. A meeting was bad, and a home visit was worse, but a phone call wasn’t terrible in comparison.

Something she tried to remember as she received a phone call from an unknown number in her office one Thursday evening in Spring.

“Identify yourself.”

Rachel didn’t think that was completely necessary given they called her, and Langley are fully aware aware of the fingerprint ID needed to answer this particular phone.

“Rachel Morgan, headmistress of The Gallagher Academy.”

“…”

“Former CIA agent.”

Her voice neither broke on the word former, nor rose in the tone of a question, but it took a lot of Rachel’s willpower to stop it doing either.

“Is this line secure?”

No, the headmistress of the largest and most secure clandestine school in the country operates from a bugged office with a tapped phone line. Rachel didn’t resist rolling her eyes, its not like the mystery man on the other line could see her.

“It is.”

“This is Agent Lockwood, badge number 41098234-PY, clearance level 8. I’m calling in regards to an incident in which a fellow agent was injured in the line of duty. You are listed as their emergency contact.”

Rachel’s heart fell out of her chest.

She was the emergency contact for two agents. She had been Joe’s ever since Matthew had disappeared, had died, partly because it made more sense to nominate his friend who spent 35 weeks of the year in the same building, partly because his only other friend was not known for her reliability. She had been Abby’s since she first joined the CIA. There was a brief period where Abby and Matthew had secretly changed them to each other because Abby thought you’d appreciate it, we just didn’t want to worry you if anything went wrong darling! A sharp look to her husband and a stern lecture-turned-argument with her sister had them changing back pretty quickly.

She was the emergency contact for two agents, both of whom Rachel knew were on assignments. Joe was on an off-the-books wild-goose-chase to an undisclosed location looking for a trail from either her husband or the terrorist organisation they suspected had a hand in his disappearance. He had left a coded note on a piece of evapopaper taped to the underside of the postbox she could see out her office window, as per his promise to Matthew to stay in touch should something happen to him. Abby had been on a collaborative deep-cover assignment with someone from Six in Argentina for months. She had called one of Rachel's burners in the middle of the night and left a voicemail when she predictably didn’t pick up, honouring the promise she had made two years prior to keep her sister in the loop, but tactfully avoiding any kind of emotional confrontation or goodbye.

She was the emergency contact for two agents, for two people she loved, and one of them was hurt. Badly. Langley didn’t inform emergency contacts unless it was bad.

“…yes?”

Rachel’s willpower was wavering, voice ever so close to choking on the glass in her throat.

“The agency were informed last night of an incident in Buenos Aires-”

Rachel’s vision began to swim, blood pounding in her ears, and she hated herself slightly for the second where she wished he would’ve named some arbitrary European city instead of where her little sister was stationed.

“-involving Agent Cameron and an MI6 operative. The operative’s primary mission objective had been met when they received a tip about unrelated and undisclosed clandestine activities in the area. Despite being advised to wait for backup on account of injuries already sustained on their assignment, Agent Cameron opted to investigate. Yesterday morning she carried out a lone infiltrative opera-“

“Lockwood.”

Cam joked that her Mom voice had become an even scarier teacher voice when she took this job. That she so easily commanded the attention of her staff and students, got them to confess to their wrongdoings with a single word, and had the girls of the school hanging off everything she said, because she had spent Cammie’s entire life practising.

Grace had laughed when she heard this, stating that Cammie and the girls obviously didn’t know that her operative voice had come first. Matthew had always said that it sounded remarkably similar to her wife voice, at least the one which he didn’t like. Of course all of them failed to remember that before she was an operative, a wife, a mother, or a teacher, she was an older sister. That the sharp tone which cut through Agent Lockwood’s account of an assignment gone awry originated as a big sister voice.

“Where is my sister now?”

“BAMC. She was airlifted there this morning. She’s stable at the moment bu-“

“I’ll be there in 4 hours.”

With that she hung up the phone and tried to make a plan.

She needed to charter a plane. She could catch a flight out of DCA but that was a good hours drive away where the nearest airfield was 10 minutes down the road. San Antonio was a few hours away by private jet, but Rachel was pretty sure she could convince Langley to foot the bill for the journey by reminding them of her missing husband and the funds they refused to put towards extending a search for him.

She needed to inform Patricia. Not least because someone needed to run the school in the few days to weeks she planned to be absent, nor just because of the fondness Rachel knew the former MI5 operative had for her wayward little sister. No, Rachel needs to speak to Patricia because she may know what to say to slow the racing of her heart, ease the aching in her chest, relieve the pounding behind her eyes.

Or maybe she should call Joe.

Should she tell Cammie?

No.

Cammie had enough to worry about. She had a Culture and Assimilation exam tomorrow, and an ongoing disagreement between Bex and Tina to navigate, and the endless trauma of turning 15, and her Father was already gone. She didn’t need to worry about her aunt on top of all that. That’s been Rachel and Abby’s thinking for the past couple years, ever since Cammie became acutely aware of how fragile the lives of spies are. Since she fully understood what exactly her family did for a living. Since Abby started dedicating almost all her spare time to looking for leads on Matthew and coming up empty handed. Cammie didn’t need to know how futile it was, how much danger her aunt put herself in, how close she’s come to losing another member of her already too small family.

She would get Patricia to tell Cammie that she was pulled away on something for an old case and that she’d be back sometime next week. She wouldn’t question that. They could reschedule Sunday dinner for when she returns, maybe Rachel would give her an update then, depending on how bad it is.

Charter a plane, speak to Patricia, get to the airfield, leave a message for Joe, get to her sister. That was her plan, one step at a time, Abby would be fine.

Rachel prayed that she was right.

———————————————————————

When Rachel arrived at the hospital, there was a man holding her sister’s hand.

Holding wasn’t quite the right word. Cradling, grasping, or clutching was probably more accurate. His hand engulfed hers, probably could’ve wrapped itself around both of them, and it was clenched so tight white spots appeared on his knuckles. He wasn’t squeezing though, he seemed almost afraid to apply any pressure at all in fact, so Abby’s pale simply lay limp in his grip.

He looked tall and broad, though Rachel couldn’t be sure at the moment. He sat hunched in his chair, back slouching and shoulders tucked into his chest. Bowed head and rounded neck, he had essentially curled himself around the air above Abby despite looking like a man who usually sat pinpoint straight. Like he usually had a wooden cross nailed to his spine, pulling his shoulder blades back and and pushing his chest out, propping his head up and jutting his chin outward in a pompous manner. Right now he appeared to be a marionette with his strings cut, tired and lifeless.

His trembling jaw gave the impression of a couple morning shaves missed, and his dark hair was overgrown on top but badly clipped around his ears, like someone had taken a pair of kitchen shears to his head. Rachel remembered Joe coming home from a mission with a similarly bad haircut once, and when asked about it he just scowled and asked how a woman who spent her formative years receiving lessons on both needlework and blades training could be so bad at using scissors. Rachel wondered if the man hated the trim, he looked like a man who went to the same Barbour for the same haircut whenever he could manage it, but looking at him now he didn’t seem to care.

His eyes were sunken. Blue, from what Rachel could make out. Not a bright blue like her husband’s and daughter’s, but something deeper and darker, the evening sky before a storm, complete with redness carving through the whites of his eyes like lightning. Bags sagged at the skin beneath his lower lids, and the dampness of recent tears glistened on long eyelashes decorating the upper.

He was clearly exhausted. And devastated.

It was enraging.

Rachel shut the door behind her with more force than necessary, enjoying the way the man flinched, how he rapidly let go of her sisters hand though didn’t move far enough that his pinky didn’t touch hers. Immediately, it was like life was injected back into him. The marionette strings tightened on his spine, pulling him straight and tensing his muscles. His knuckles relaxed, his jaw tightened, and his eyes cleared. He almost looked like an agent as he angled his head slightly towards her and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Mrs Morgan.”

It wasn’t his nationality that surprised her, she had assumed that this was the MI6 agent who Abby had been working with, so the English accent didn’t surprise her. Nor did the subtleties in the accent. Beyond the mixed veil of exhaustion and Queen’s English that she presumed he picked up at some fancy boarding school and strengthened at Oxbridge, Rachel could detect a slight lilt. Not like Abe and Bex’s London twang, nor like Grace’s northern twang, but something subtle that suggested he didn’t grow up where the rest of his demeanour suggested he did. But Rachel had assumed that too. She had encountered plenty of men who grew up with status, and by the time they were this age they forgot to act like it, losing their good posture and surface level manners to the novelty of sweatpants and sleazy pickup lines. In Rachel’s experience, it tended to be men who grew up ashamed of how little they had that ended up presenting themselves like this man.

So it wasn’t the man’s accent that surprised her, but the fact that he knew her name. She supposed it shouldn’t, she knew her and her sister shared a strong resemblance, and that Abby wasn’t unlikely to mention her existence to someone she half-trusted, but Rachel didn’t know who this man was. She didn’t like that he knew her on sight when she didn’t have a name to attach to his face. Didn’t like that she was starting this conversation on the back-foot.

The man must’ve seen something in her eyes that reflected unease, or maybe he felt uneasy himself at the silence that stretched before them, because he angled further towards her and continued talking.

“Agent Townsend, MI6. I’m your Abigail’s- I’m her- We’re-“

Rachel felt the frown on her face deepen as he stumbled on his words. His cheeks didn’t pinken; he wasn’t embarrassed. He didn’t seem like a man who was unsure of himself or his words, and yet he couldn’t quite figure out how to express how he knew her sister.

“Your sister and I worked together on this assignment.”

Townsend was a name that did ring bells. If Rachel thought back to years ago, she could remember her sister returning from a cover in Romania complaining about some British upstart who nearly blew her operation, how she ended up having to work with the arrogant bastard for weeks. Could remember her bringing him up unprompted for the next couple of months, earning a few raised eyebrows from Matthew and hidden sniggers from Joe. They had worked together a few more times over the years, Rachel remembered. Sometimes joined by Abe, who described the man as cocky but dependable, and once by Matthew, who coined him as formality personified, but good.

No matter how much Rachel knew to pay more attention to her sister’s actions rather than her words, how much she trusted the opinions of her friend and of her husband, something about Agent Townsend wasn’t sitting right with her.

“Really? I was told that this was the result of a reckless solo infiltration.”

Another flinch tore through the man’s body at the words, though he showed no signs of admonishment at her tone, nor at the single eyebrow that rose in a questioning sneer.

“If the two of you were working together, how come she’s half dead in a hospital and you’re sitting here perfectly fine?”

Like a child, Rachel couldn’t resist a mocking imitation of his accent as she spat his words back at him, the anger in her words shielding the break in voice. Instead of shrinking back at her condemnation, Agent Townsend bristled and twisted his face into something cold, though nothing could hide the gleam of guilt in his eyes. His reply was stern and dark, voice deepening in intensity and rising in volume, but his words were pleading, begging for absolution he wouldn’t find in her.

“I told her not to go, begged her even. I told her it was reckless and stupid-“

“Dont talk about her like that!”

“-and that she’d just get herself hurt!”

“You should’ve gone with her. You’re her partner you should’ve-”

“She said she wouldn’t do it."

“And you believed her?”

“She promised!”

“You should’ve stopped her-“

“She drugged me!”

“What kind of agent lets someone drug them?”

“One that trusts his parter?”

“Well there’s your first mistake. God how naive-“

“She was looking for your husband!”

Now standing, Rachel could see that Agent Townsend was indeed tall, almost towering over her from the moment he lurched out of his chair. His chest heaved in angered gasps, and he levelled her with a pained glare, the intensity of which was only weakened by the shine still present in his eyes. One fist lay clenched at his side, muscles shaking with furious adrenaline running up his arm and along his shoulders and chest, spreading down his body to legs that looked ready to bolt, but his other arm remained limp. His hand still lay beside Abby’s, one finger overlapping with hers, almost disconnected from the rest of his body.

Rachel was sure her posture mirrored his.

She had prowled forward during her assault, and now she stood almost chest to chest with the man before her. Her shoulders shook with enraged terror, and the breaths escaping through her constricted throat were rapid and laboured. She felt her nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed, her face flushing, tears burning in the back of her skull. One hand jabbed accusingly in Agent Townsend’s face, steady in it’s fury, and the other rested gently on her sister’s leg, stable in it’s reassurance.

Rachel had been seconds away from grabbing the man’s crumpled collar and shaking the self-righteousness out of him when he screamed his final retort, stealing the insults and allegations out of her mouth. Some of the fire left her lungs, and she felt the tension begin to seep out of her muscles as a devastating understanding began to wash over her.

Agent Townsend continued in a softer, yet still resolutely angry tone.

“We received intelligence that a splinter Circle group were meeting with a local gang for some kind of exchange. Abigail suspected one of the group members was linked to Agent Morgan’s disappearance, wanted to infiltrate the handover to see if she could get any info for a lead. I told her it was too dangerous but-“

His voice caught for a moment, but hardened again, eyes cutting between the two sisters in a near identical glare.

“-but she didn’t care. It’s not my fault she thinks her life is less important than chasing a ghost!”

Rachel felt like she’d been shot.

Agent Townsend must’ve known how his words would cut through her, the angry clench to his jaw suggesting it was done on purpose. He must’ve seen the blood drain from her face, the hitch in her breath, the flinch that tore through her soul, but he remained resolute in his anger, his glare settling solely on her now. He looked at her like she wanted this, like she wanted her little sister to risk her life over and over again for the sake of finding her husband’s body, like there was any universe where she would trade Abby’s life for information of what happened to Matt.

She wanted to scream at him. At the world. At Abby. To scream that Matthew was dead and they all knew it, that they would probably never know what happened to him, that she had accepted that. That her and Cammie had spent the past three years trying desperately to move on so why wouldn’t anyone else? Why wouldn’t they let them? Why does Abby, and Joe for that matter, still not understand that she doesn't need them to find out what happened to her husband, that knowing how and when and why he died wouldn’t help her or her daughter, that all she really needed was for them to be there. To be safe.

She wanted to scream all of this at Agent Townsend. At a man who until 10 minutes ago wasn’t a part of her life, or her family’s as far as she was aware. A man she didn’t know, but who was clearly in love with her sister. A man who had no right to stand there and accuse her of loving a memory of a dead man more than she loved Abby.

She wanted to scream so that she didn’t cry, but looking at her sister properly for the first time since she entered the hospital room, she found she didn’t have the energy for either.

Blackened bruises painted their way across the side of her face, streaking over her nose and both eyes, fingerprints dancing across her jaw and around her neck. Deep gashes cut through her cheek. One grazing through her eyebrow and the other stretching down to her chin, partially hidden by the oxygen mask covering her mouth. The cuts looked a few days old at least, held together by sutures still but already beginning to heal, so Rachel figured she picked them up before she decided to go rogue, but the bruises were fresh. Those she earned chasing down Circle members. Looking for Matthew.

The arm that wasn’t lying limply beneath Townsend’s hand was strapped to her chest, a cast extending from her hand to over her elbow. A set of similar casts covered her left leg, one around her elevated ankle and the other disappearing under the thin hospital blanket, likely stretching up to her hip to cover up where a stray bullet had lodged itself. Rachel wondered her femur had broken along the same crevices that had been carved out when she was a child. If the bone’s memories of snapping when Abby tumbled out of a tree had never quite healed over. If any of their old wounds ever truly healed, or if they hid away, dormant, waiting to be opened up again.

Tubes and wire decorated the hospital bed and wove themselves in her little sister’s body, ensnaring her in a web of IV lines and catheters and drains. One drain snuck its way under her gown and into her side, sucking out the blood that was filling the space around her lungs, and other did the same to her abdomen. Her breathing was shallow and loud. Oxygen forced itself into her throat and rattled around her fractured chest, carbon dioxide seeping out of it in a trembling sigh.

Rachel could see the borders of bruises peeking out from beneath the blanket, bruises that she knew covered Abby’s cracked sternum and broken ribs, bruises that didn’t just come from fists and kicks and explosions, but from the chest compressions noted in her medical file. Rachel wondered if it was Townsend’s hands that pressed on her sister’s chest, sustaining her in some state between life and death until the ambulance arrived, keeping her blood pumping when her own heart couldn’t. When Rachel first learned how to do CPR, she was told that it wasn’t effective unless bones were breaking. She wondered if Townsend had been told the same. Wondered if he was thinking about that as he broke Abby’s ribcage.

“The doctors think she’ll be fine.”

His voice voice was soft now.

“It was touch and go for a while but…”

He looked pained to do so, but he began to remove himself from Abby, stepping away from the chair perched by her head and slowly, hesitantly, taking his hand with him. His fingertips lingered on hers a moment longer, and his gaze never wavered from her face, but eventually he made space for Rachel by her sister’s side.

She filled it willingly, unconsciously, instantly. One hand smoothed back greased hair from Abby’s bandaged forehead, the other gently squeezed the tips of her fingers, dancing around the cannulas in her hand and grasping in-between the bruises perched on her knuckles. Her thumb traced the red rim that encircled her wrist, cuff marks, and pressed into the pulse that beat gently through her wrist. Bending forward, she pressed a featherlight kiss to her brow and settled herself into the chair.

“Are you staying?”

Townsend had crept closer towards the door, a weight still settled on his shoulders and in his face. He nodded slowly at her question, seemingly unaware he was doing so, and settled his body against the closed door as if he were blocking it, guarding it, guarding them from anyone who may try gain entry without his approval.

“I’m good here. You should rest.”

She resented being told to do anything by this man, and was half-tempted to tell him so, but he looked as exhausted as she felt, and she felt a wave of pity wash over her. It was a tiresome thing, she knew, to be so wholly in love with someone who put everyone else, their family, their job, the world, before themselves. He had probably spent the past 72 hours fighting, with Abby, with the Circle, with death itself, he could likely to with a slight reprieve. So instead, she relented without argument, laying her head next to Abby’s and slipping off into sleep.

———————————————————————

Rachel woke again to the sound of a door closing.

Straining against the protests made by the crick in her neck, she peeled her cheek off Abby’s shoulder, her head off the pillow they shared, and peeled her eyes open. The room was shadowed, the moon shining through the window and the monitoring equipment that stood next to the bed casting a soft glare across the walls. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did she quickly registered the glaring absence in the room, the lack of a six-foot-something guard posted by the door, and the red hue that lined her sister’s open eyes, the sliver of a tear that crept down her nose, oxygen mask discarded on the pillow next to her.

“Hey,”

Abby’s eyes jumped to meet hers in response to the whisper.

“He couldn’t stay huh?”

Rachel smiled sadly at the small sniffle her sister let out, the way her eyes, dazed as they were from exhaustion and painkillers, blinked and hardened, the way her fingers tightened slightly around Rachel’s own.

“He was just dropping me off anyway, making sure I didn’t die and all that. Didn’t want the extra paperwork…”

Her voice, scratchy and hoarse, trailed off when she felt Rachel wince, fingers squeezing again in apology. Abby’s tone was casual, and her smile was dismissive even as it tugged at her stitches, but her breath was shook as it brushed her trembling lower lip, the remnants of tears still shining on her eyelashes. Normally Rachel would push, dig at the crevices in her mask, pull apart the story she’d fabricated until Abby relented and spill the details on whatever boy trouble she was having. Looking at her now though, tired and fragile and small, Rachel decided to ignore the heartbreak in her sister’s eyes for the time being. Let her believe she had hidden it from her for just a bit longer.

“You didn’t have to come-”

Rachel’s eyes were rolling before Abby even finished her sentence.

“-no really, I’m fi-.”

“You’re not fine.”

Heat burst from the anger boiling in her gut, bubbling out her eyes in a fierce glare that cut through her sister’s words as they hung in the air between them.

“You nearly died Abby. Technically you did die!”

“Technically I didn’t.”

“You were dead. Your heart stopped, did you know that?”

“I heard.”

The whisper was soft and breathy. Her eyes flickered towards the closed door again, glazing over mournfully. Teeth closed over the skin of her top lip and tugged hard. She swallowed thickly. Unsure. Rachel mimicked the gesture, sighing through her frustration, struggling to stay angry when Abby looked so devastated. Her words escaped her in a plea.

“How could you be so…” Reckless. Stupid. Selfish.

“I had to! Catherine Goode was spotted getting on a boat in Montevideo a few days ago, I knew she was going to be at the exchange. I’m sure she was involved in Matt’s disappearance Rach, I thought I could-“

Single handedly bring in a woman who’s evaded arrest for over a decade. Get the answers to questions we’ve been asking for years in one night. Bring a man back from the dead.

“I thought I could find him.”

Rachel didn’t ask whether Abby meant find him, or find his body, not wanting to know how much delusional hope her sister was still holding onto lest some of it spread to her. She couldn’t afford to think that Matthew was still alive. She had a life and a school and a daughter that she knew she had to put first.

“Why didn’t you just wait for backup?”

“It would’ve been too late.”

She sniffed again, voice breaking, more tears trickling down her battered face. Rachel knew she shouldn’t be fighting her over this, knew she was exhausted and in pain and had probably just had the same fight with Agent Townsend, but she needed her to listen for once. To understand that she couldn’t just keep throwing herself into the line of fire and thinking her family would thank her for it.

“I didn’t want to be too late again.”

Fuck.

“It’s not your fault Abs.”

But Abby just looked away from her again, mouth wobbling and eyes clouded in guilt. Rachel sighed again, combing one hand through her sister’s hair and brushing the other up and down her arm.

No matter how many times Rachel repeated the assurances that still fizzled in the air around them, Abby refused to believe them. She still clung to her self-condemnation and flagellation, to her overwhelming guilt and displays of penitence. Rachel wondered how much of that was her fault. How much the words that she hurled at her sister one evening in Italy, mere days after her husbands funeral, had stuck with her. The blanket of misplaced anger and grief and devastation that settled over Rachel’s memories meant she barley remembered the fight, had no idea what she had said that meant Abby avoided her for months and refused to meet her eyes for even longer. She wasn’t sure how much of the guilt that was crushing Abby was her own, and how much of it Rachel had inadvertently placed on her in an explosion of grief.

There wasn’t a single cell in her body that blamed Abby for Matthew’s disappearance, if only she could get her sister to believe that, to feel the same.

“How’s the squirt?”

Ignoring the obvious subject change, Rachel smiled at the question, heart lightening at the thought of her daughter.

“She’s great. All her teachers are pleased with her, she’s close as anything with Grace’s daughter and their roommate, and she hasn’t even been distracted by boys yet. Much less trouble than you were at her age.”

“Hmmm, give her time.”

Rachel laughed nervously at the thought, still hopeful that her own influence had tempered whatever sneaky habits Matthew and Abby had instilled in Cammie throughout her childhood. Abby breathed a slight chuckle with her, wincing at the way it tugged at her cracked ribcage. Under normal circumstances Rachel would take the opportunity to cajole her sister into visiting Cam. Into spending the summer with them in Nebraska, or a Sunday evening with them at the academy, into breaking through the haze of guilt and regret she was trapped in and letting her niece see her instead of just checking up on her from a distance.

Rachel knew she worried that Cammie would see the guilt in her eyes, in her smile, seeping from her pores and dripping from her tongue. Worried that Cammie wouldn’t need her when she couldn’t be the fun-aunt, would hate her for not getting to Rome faster, would wish that it was her who disappeared, died, instead of Matthew. Somehow her sister had got it in her head that they were better off with her staying away. Happier. Safer. No matter what Rachel said, she hadn’t managed to dissuade her of any of that. Under normal circumstances, Rachel tried again almost every time she saw her.

These were’t normal circumstances though, and Rachel figured she had been pushed enough today already.

She’d try again in a few days. Tell her that they missed her, that they didn’t blame her, that neither of them needed her to be fun and grief-free, that they just wanted her around.

For now though, she just stroked her sister’s hair, and lay her head beside her’s once more, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“You should go back to sleep, get some rest.”

“Yeah.”

Rachel’s heart clenched at the quick resignation, at the way Abby’s eyelids fluttered and voice cracked, at how her head lulled on the pillow, relaxing against her own.

“Don’t know how you expect me to sleep in these circumstances though.”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t bring Monty!

Her thoughts strayed to that stupid sheep, it’s age-worn fur and missing eyes. Last she had seen was in Cammie’s wardrobe, her daughter having found it and the stuffed wolf from Rachel’s own childhood in a box in the attic. She had been enthralled when Rachel told her where they came from, immediately retrieving the stuffed horse Abby had gifted her as a baby, affectionately named Neighy once she could talk. Matthew had sent her into a a fit of giggles by putting on a show with all three of them, mocking Abby’s deadpan yet teasing tone, Cam’s child-like pitch, and her own strong city drawl. Rachel remembered laughing with her, loving how even at 10 her daughter could be so entertained by what was essentially a puppet show as long as her father was at the helm.

For once, such a memory didn’t feel like a gut punch, like the air was being ripped out of her, like she’d never breath again. Instead she felt lighter, the joy she remembered so vividly filling her heart once more.

She wondered if this was what healing felt like.

Rachel hid her growing grin in her pillow, elated by the sound of her sister’s laugh, how it reminded her so acutely of their mother’s airy chuckle and her daughter’s lively giggle all at once. She didn’t want the moment to end, the joy and the lightness and the love, but her own eyelids were growing heavy again, and even laughter couldn’t keep the pained shadow off Abby’s face for long.

“Just shut up and go to sleep you.”

And so they did.

Maybe they could laugh again when they woke.

———————————————————————

Authors note:

Okay so that was both longer than planned and took much longer to write than I thought it would. Oops.

Rachel and Townsend are similar in that they’re pretty stubborn, overthinkers who think they know best, prideful, and did I say stubborn? Rachel, who’s pretty protective of her family meeting Townsend, who’s angry and scared and not wanting to feel any of that, for the first time when Abby’s injured was not going to go brilliantly.

They grow on each other though (they bond over a common source of headaches).

Maybe one day I’ll write the Tabby argument that took place while Rachel was asleep. Or Tabby fight that happened in when Abby decided to go after Catherine. Or maybe even my entire version of Buenos Aires…

(Also it became too long to include Joe so sorry for lying about that, rest assured he will be in the next chapter by which time we will have caught up to canon…)(his cameo was gonna be Rachel using this as a way to manipulate convince him to teach at Gallagher next term)

[g-girlshavingfun]

He has good taste and that redeemed him

Remember when we didn’t like Edward Townsend?  Good times

[jltonnere]

Gallagher Girls Dreamcast

Gabe Gray as Zach Goode

Shailene Woodley as Cammie Morgan

Kumail Nanjiani as Edward Townsend

Colbie Smulders as Abigail Cameron

Kieran as Elizabeth Sutton

Maisie Richardson-Sellers as Rebecca Baxter

Jamie Chung as Macey McHenry

Darren Barnet as Preston Winters

Paul Rudd as Joe Solomon

Miranda Frigon as Rachel Morgan Solomon

[lovingmilkshakeninja]

Gallagher Girls ships as Taylor Swift songs

Cammie x Zach - Afterglow

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind

I need to say

Tell me that it's not my fault

Tell me that I'm all you want

Even when I break your heart

Liz x Bex - You Belong With Me

If you could see that I'm the one

Who understands you

Been here all along

So, why can't you see?

You belong with me

You belong with me

Macey x Preston - Miss Americana And The Heartbreak Prince

Ah, ah, ah

No cameras catch my muffled cries

I counted days, I counted miles

To see you there

To see you there

And now the storm is coming,

Josh x Cammie - Don't You

Hey, I knew I'd run into you somewhere

It's been a while, I didn't mean to stare

I heard she's nothin' like me

I'm sure she'll make you happy

Bex x Cammie - Dorothea

Hey Dorothea

Do you ever stop and think about me?

When it was calmer

Skipping the prom

Just to piss off your mom

And her pageant schemes

And damn, Dorothea

They all wanna be ya

But are you still the same soul

I met under the bleachers?

Rachel x Matt - We were happy

When it was good, baby, it was good, baby

We showed 'em all up

No one could touch the way we laughed in the dark

Talkin' 'bout your daddy's farm we were gonna buy someday

And we were happy

We were happy

Joe x Matt - I know places

'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes

And guns

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

Joe x Rachel - Everything has changed

Cause all I know is we said, "Hello"

And your eyes look like comin' home

All I know is a simple name

Everything has changed

All I know is you held the door

And you'll be mine and I'll be yours

All I know since yesterday

Is everything has changed

Townsend x Abby - Style

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye

And I got that red lip classic thing that you like

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Townsend x Catherine - Illicit Affairs

And that's the thing about illicit affairs

And clandestine meetings and stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie, and they lie, and they lie

A million little times

[heliotropehotch]

dumbass - a.h. x reader

A/N: ty to @bucksgoat​ and pinterest for the idea for this fic

words: 1663

author: abby

warnings: gunshot wounds, breakups, mention of death (haley, its very brief) (ends in fluff!)

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Garcia asked, panicked, opening her office door for her best friend. 

“I can’t keep pretending like I’m not in pain,” she leaned against the door, sliding town to the floor. “I can’t keep pretending it didn’t hurt.”

“What did he even say to you?” Y/N shook her head, tears clouding her vision. 

“I thought if I acted like it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t. But I was wrong. In the back of my head all day, I’ve just been thinking about what happened and what I could’ve done differently and it’s eating me alive, not being able to understand what was so horrible about me that he didn’t want me anymore,” she cried pulling her knees into her chest. “Penny, he took my lungs from my chest and now I’m suffocating.”

“Have you told any of this to Hotch?” she knelt down, putting a hand on Y/N’s knee. “Maybe if you just talked it out, he could explain-”

“I don’t know if I can handle that,” she sighed. “I can’t handle him looking me in the eyes and telling me I’m not good enough. God, you should’ve seen the look on his face; he was disgusted with me, repulsed.”

“Y/N, Hotch-” she began before being interrupted by a loud banging on the door. 

“Garcia,” his unmistakable voice rang out. “We’ve got a case, meet in the briefing room in 15.”

Y/N sighed, untensing her body as the familiar gait of his walk faded away, she looked again at her best friend, with soft, sad eyes. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” Garcia’s eyes welled up. You gave her a sad smile.

“I’m headed to Strauss’s now to ask for a transfer. This’ll be my last case I think,” she stood up, dusting off the back of her suit pants. “I love you, Pen. Don’t cry okay? I’ll still come visit you.”

She walked out the office, head high as she traveled to Strauss’s lion’s den. Meanwhile, Penelope Garcia stormed to the briefing room, with a head full of anger and tears. Morgan’s eyes went wide from the window of the briefing room. “Uh Hotch?” he pointed at the bright woman whose face might actually blow. “I think you’ve got a storm coming.”

Aaron looked up from shuffling files in his hands, eyebrows in their constant furrow, the door swung open, causing a look of shock to grace his features. 

“Babygirl,” Morgan tried to calm her, but she blatantly ignored his words.

“Hotch, sir,” she began with steady breathing. “You need to do something.”

“Garcia, it’s really not any of your business,” he sighed. 

“See that’s where you’re wrong,” he raised his eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look. It became my business once you became the reason why my best friend is transferring.”

“She’s what?” he asked softly in disbelief.

“Whoa, babygirl,” Morgan once again tried to intervene. “What are you talking about?”

She ignored him again. “I thought I knew why you did it but obviously not. What did you even say to her?”

Hotch looked down, ashamed. “Does it matter? If she hates me, then I’m not hurting her.”

“That’s the point!” Garcia all but shouted. “She doesn’t hate you. She absolutely and completely loves you. What she hates is herself,” she muttered the last part out.

“Wait she’s-”

“She’s questioning what the hell is wrong with her, is what she’s doing,” Garcia stood straight. “Sir, you have my complete and total respect one hundred percent of the time and what I say, I mean with that respect still here, but you were a total dumbass.”

Before he could see anything, the familiar clack of Y/N’s heels headed up the stairs. With a final look, Penny moved to sit down next to Morgan, who was still looking at her like she had grown a third eye. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she said sheepishly, barely loud enough for Hotch to hear it. She sat down next to Garcia, who’s hand immediately found hers in a comforting grasp. She noticed the eyes of her teammates on her, but refused to look at Hotch’s face. If she had, she would’ve seen guilt and worry. “What? Do I have something on my face?” she quickly swept under her eyes for stray tears. 

Hotch cleared his throat, distracting the team long enough to begin the briefing.

In West Virginia, in the Monongahela National Forest, a man had been capturing and killing people for sport. Both men and women in their early thirties had been picked up from the side of the road as hitchhikers and then taken to a small cabin to be literally slaughtered like animals. 

Now, at the residence, the team had the location surrounded, vest doting each of the members. Y/N entered the cabin, her gun drawn and focus centered on finding the unsub, with Hotch, Morgan, and Emily behind her. She found herself in a musty office, covered in old newspapers and various taxidermied animals hung on the walls.

In a recliner, sat an older man (as they had profiled) rifle drawn and aimed at her. The latest victim, Amy Townsend, was tied across the large wooden desk. 

“Richard,” Y/N said calmly. “I need you to put down your gun.”

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” she grimaced at the nickname, as his arms tense and focused on his aim. 

“Your father used to take you hunting, didn’t he?” she asked, lowering her weapon. “He taught you everything you know.”

“And what of it?” he barked out. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said calmly. “Not like he did.”

“You don’t know anything!” he shouted. The creak of a floorboard behind you signified someone else’s presence entering the room. Morgan attempted to make his way around to Amy. Richard’s eyes followed him.

“Hey, look at me,” Y/N redirected. “He’s just here to help her.”

“Bullshit.”

“We’re not going to hurt you Richard. Not if you just lower the gun and come with me. We just want to help.”

“Where were you to help when I was growing up?” he scoffed. “Where were you when my mamma had passed out from the pain?” he shouted, finger tightening against the trigger of the rifle. “Nah, I’m done with you. I’m done with liars.”

“Richard, don’t-” her voice was cut off by the blast of the gun hitting her shoulder. Morgan shot off a round, rendering the unsub. 

“Medic!” he shouted, running over to her as Emily rounded the corner and darted to Amy to help her. “Y/N, stay with me. Hotch! Where the fuck is the medic?”

“Morgan,” she got out, limply putting a hand against the one’s holding pressure on the wound. 

“Hey hey,” he hushed, wiping a stray tear from her eye. A gurney and EMTs began to crowd you. “It’s okay. Medic’s are here, we’re gonna take care of you.”

“Morgan, where’s Y/N-” Hotch’s words tied at the end of his tongue, finding her bloodied and weak form, eyes beginning to close. “Y/N?” 

To the best of her abilities, she turned to look at the man who had recently torn her heart out. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. And then her vision faded to black.

The rhythmic steady beeping of machines was the first thing she became aware of. Secondly, the sore, scratchy feeling in her throat. Then the warm fingers tightly wrapped around her own. 

A dark-haired head laid against the bed over folded arms. It wasn’t hard to imagine whose. With a grimace, she pulled her hand from his, causing him to sit up straight in his seat. Tired eyes met hers for the first time in what had felt like weeks. 

“You’re awake.” he noted softly, as she took in his face. Tired eyes, dark circles, worry lines ever so more prominent. 

“You’re still here,” her hoarse voice said. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Sir,” the formality made him cringe. “Where is the rest of the team?”

“Out in the waiting room,” he sighed, moving closer to her. He didn’t ignore the way her body tensed. “Y/N we should talk.”

“Now?” she chuckled sadly. “I’ve only just woken up and you want to do this now?”

“Don’t transfer.”

Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “How did you-” she stopped herself. “I’m gonna kill Garcia.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Then what exactly did you mean to do?” she asked, angry now. “Because packing up your things and saying ‘we’re not right for each other’ definitely hurt, Aaron.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he sighed again. 

“Protecting me? From what?” his eyes were sad as they searched hers for the right words to say. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Y/N-” 

“From yourself?” she sighed, reaching for water. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know that. I’m sorry,” his voice shook as he looked to the ground ashamed. 

“Aaron,” she said softly, putting a hand on her cheek. “I’m not her.”

His eyes searched yours once again, tearing up. “I almost lost you today. I thought maybe if I could let you go, I could keep you away from all the danger I bring with me.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” she said softly.

“What?”

“Aaron,” she smiled. “I chose this danger long before I chose you. You were just a bonus addition.”

He chuckled, kissing the palm of her hand. “Please forgive me, love.”

“I forgave you the moment you left,” she hummed. “But if you ever even think about doing that shit again, I’ll have Garcia personally beat you up.”

He chuckled again, “Understood. What about Strauss?”

“Strauss,” her confusion was evident once more, before chuckling herself. “I hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to her yet. Guess I’ll have to deal with your dumbass just a bit longer.”

[my-own-little-limbo]

I NEED MORE THIS IS TOO PERFECT

Spotify wrapped request for anything and everything Taylor Swift!

17. Question...? by Taylor Swift

This wrapped season is apparently all about the older generation. I’m not mad about it. Somehow all of midnights got in my wrapped in just a month (I’m insane) and when I saw this one on the list, I could not shake this idea. Do I get what Taylor is saying in half this song? No! So, here's what I made up! Hope you like it! 

There were few places in the world where a spy felt truly safe. The sign of a good spy (besides still being alive) was having at least one secure safe house and a favorite bar. It shouldn’t be your go to bar- no, that would be too obvious- but you should be recognizable enough to that one bartender that you can tell knows a bit more than they let on. (And, as a rule of life, never piss off your bartender.) 

So, Abby wasn’t alarmed when the chair next to her at the bar scraped against the wood floors. She didn’t look up when she felt someone’s presence next to her. She watched as her bartender glanced up at the person, addressed them as sir, and asked what he would be drinking. 

Abby smiled as she downed the last of her glass. It was the way the bartender had greeted the man that made her confident he knew too much. Without seeming out of the ordinary he had alerted her that it was a man beside her and that he didn’t appear to be a threat. 

It was when the man ordered his drink, albeit in perfect Russian, that the smile slipped from her face. Luckily her hair was obstructing both of their views of each other, but that couldn’t last forever. What the fuck was he doing there? 

The bartender slid the glass across the bar and the man passed him some bills in return. Abby got a flash of the watch on his wrist as it went by her face. Fighting the urge to groan she made eye contact with the bartender. He smiled and refilled her glass without a word. 

When he turned his back the man beside her cleared his throat. “So, Abigail,” he started, in English this time. Proper, pompous, English with that London accent that made her inexplicably angry. “What’s a good girl like you doing in a place like this?” 

“I hope you’re not insulting my bar,” she said, avoiding the question. She brought her glass back to her lips but didn’t take a sip. “I could ask the same of you, unless you’re here to drown my sorrows.” 

The man beside her chuckled humorlessly. “What sorrows would that be, my dear?” 

For a country known for how much they hated everyone they sure loved to throw around pet names. Abigail rolled her eyes and took a large drink from her glass, stalling. “Well, you are here. Alone. Bothering me.” 

“And that makes me sad?” 

“It’s a big city,” she fired back. “And you’re making the wrong choice.” 

Hell fell silent beside her, and she thought she might have finally gotten the last word with him. But then she felt a shift and his breath was hitting her ear as he spoke. “I don’t think so.” 

“Edward,” she started as she finally turned to him. The retort died on her lips as she took him in. There had been a reason she wasn’t looking at him. Her words could be as icy as his, but their eyes had this annoying tendency to melt around one another. 

Sometimes, Abigail swore they had something going on. That the number of times they’d ended up at the same place with nothing between them meant that there was, well... something between them. That the color he painted her nights was something she’d find if she just searched for a little harder. 

She did find it. Every time one of them came back to the other. 

But that was just it. It was one thing after another with them. Some fucking situation or circumstance beyond just their work that led to miscommunication that neither of them would address. They were too similar, both too stubborn to be the bigger person and get out of their own way. So those miscommunications led to fall outs until they ended up in a position not unlike the one they were in right now. Where Edward would smile at her like he’d won a prize by getting her to look at him. Or maybe he was smiling because if he’d won that meant she’d lost. 

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” she told him. She went back for her drink but found it empty. Once she set it on the counter it was refilled but it was enough time for Edward to take the opening. 

“It’s nice to see you,” he complimented, taking her off guard. “You look well.” 

Abby scoffed. He wasn’t wrong. Her little black dress was the exact kind of thing you wanted to be wearing when you bumped into a guy like Edward Townsend. It was certainly doing its job, she realized, as she watched him spend a little too long looking at her crossed legs. 

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you seem to have that covered,” he continued, gesturing to her never empty glass. Abby smiled coyly, taking another sip and Edward took the invitation to keep his turn in their game going. He reached down and turned her barstool, making her face him. Abby watched the motion carefully, her eyes going up from his hand and forearm to his bicep and chest, concealed by his shirt he’d pushed up to the elbows and unbuttoned at the top. “What’s it going to take to get you to talk to me?” 

Abby raised her eyes to his face. His voice had lowered to ask his question, almost the way he spoke when he was mad at her. No, not mad. Frustrated. Needy, almost. She smiled, innocently. “Beg,” she said, simply. 

Shockingly, Edward cracked a smile at that. He leaned against the bar, chuckling as he went back for his own drink. “Maybe later,” he told her. He looked at her over the glass and she could see it in his eyes, him rising to her challenge. 

“Fine,” she said. She uncrossed her legs and leaned closer to him. “But only because I’ve got you here and I’d like some explanations.” 

“Explanations?” Edward repeated. An amused smirk was tugging at the corners of his lips. “Uh oh, about what?” 

“The last time I saw you.” 

Edward raised his eyebrows, feigning confusion as to what Abigail might be talking about. Before he could even try to open his mouth and deny anything, she spoke again. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Anything,” he assured, a gleam in his eyes. 

“Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room?” Abigail’s eyes scanned the room the two of them found themselves in currently. “And every single one of your friends was making fun of you?” Her eyes cut back to him, and she was surprised to see he had the decency to look a bit conflicted about her questions. “But fifteen seconds later they were clapping too? Then what did you do?” 

“Abigail-,” he tried to cut in when she took a drink. 

Her glass came back down on the bar counter. “Yes?” 

“That night was a surprise to me as much as anyone else.” 

“Yeah,” Abby agreed, “A bad one.” 

“Why do you care?” he questioned. “You had your own company, if I recall correctly.” He knew he did. He’d never admit it, but Abigail and her dickhead male friend had been on his mind quite heavily that night. 

Abby scoffed. “I’m surprised you realized. Considering you were on something that night.” 

“So were you,” he reminded her. “It was one drink after another for you. But then, isn’t it always?” he teased her, glancing at her glass. 

“Don’t call the pot black, kettle,” she told him, hitting her glass against his. “You were caught in your usual tirade of politics and gender roles and ‘you’re not sure’ and ‘I don’t know’,” she went on, mocking him. She wasn’t entirely wrong. If you got Edward and Abigail in a room together for long enough, they were going to argue about those exact topics. 

“Have you ever considered that I may just like to have a conversation with you?” he asked. “It doesn’t have to be an argument.” 

“Yes, it does,” Abby denied while also seemingly proving the point. She watched as he groaned and drained the rest of his drink. “You didn’t answer my question. Then what did you do?” 

“Abigail-,” he tried again, not looking at her. 

“Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?” 

“No,” he managed to get an answer in. 

“Oh,” Abby responded, looking down into her drink. “Did you wish you’d put up more of a fight?” 

Edward looked her over, wondering if she was being intentionally vague or maybe just had a few too many tonight. “Yes.” 

“Oh,” she said again. He couldn’t tell based on her reaction if he’d given the right or wrong answer. “When she said it was too much? Do you wish you could still touch her?” 

“Abigail,” his tone was a warning. 

“It’s just a question,” she said defensively. Somehow, they’d both said too much but not enough. Silence stretched out in front of them to the point it was almost unbearable. It was her that inevitably cleared her throat, freeing them from it. “So,” she started. 

“So,” he echoed. 

Something about the way he spoke always set her off. Or maybe she had had too many drinks. She turned to him, smirk on her face. “Does it feel like everything's just, like, second best after that meteor strike?” 

Edward scoffed, which ended up turning into a chuckle. “Really, Abigail?” 

“What?” she asked. “I heard you’re still with her.” 

“Where did you-?” 

“That’s nice. I’m sure that’s what’s suitable,” Abby said. “And right. But tonight...” she trailed off. 

“Tonight?” Edward asked. He placed a hand on her knee, getting her to look up at him. “I think maybe it’s my turn to ask you the question.” 

Abby looked down at his hand on her skin. “Are you sure about that?” 

He turned his smile back on her as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Come on, Abigail. It’s just a question.” 

[rachelsquill]

Working on some Townsend/Abby art for Gallagher girls ship week ;^) //i will digitalize this later today or tomorrow I think//

[chillnursey]

Please I beg for Abby x Edward Townsend where Abby’s ignoring him in the car because she found out about Catherine

binch.......who are you. where do you come from with this ancient request, i don’t even know how to help you, neither of them talks for the entire ride!! it’s a silent treatment of epic proportions!! edward townsend is collapsing on the inside because abby’s quiet which is the worst thing possible because she’s loud when she’s angry and frustrated and annoyed but she’s quiet when she’s hurt.......

[wiseguysolomon]

More Abby x Townsend headcannons pleaseeee

Five months of hiatus later… you ask, and I deliver. I’ll be posting very soon, and in the meanwhile, keep the requests coming!

[daughter-of-ophelia]

....I just had a brilliant idea

Abby Sciuto x Nigel Townsend

NCIS/Crossing Jordan

I NEED IT.

[gildengirl]

"On the Tarmac, Agent Townsend whispered something to Abby, then squeezed her hand and kissed her softly when he didn't think we were watching. But we're Gallagher Girls. To tell you the truth, we're always watching."

- Ally Carter, United We Spy

[g-girlshavingfun]

Abby: I hope Townsend comes back soon.

Rachel: Aww. You miss him?

Abby: No, I lost the key to his apartment, and I'm taking care of his fish.

Abby: They're all dead already, aren't they?

Joe: Yeah.

Abby: Damn it.

[hollywoodages-blog]

Rose Byrne Height Weight Measurements

New Post has been published on http://hollywoodages.com/rose-byrne-height-weight-measurements/

Rose Byrne Height Weight Measurements

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Rose Byrne Biography

Mary Rose Byrne born July 24, 1979 is an Australian on-screen character. Byrne influenced her screen to make a big appearance in 1992 with a little part in the film Dallas Doll. In 2000, she assumed a main part in the Australian film The Goddess of 1967, which brought her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress. From 2007 to 2012, she played Ellen Parsons in the satellite TV arrangement Damages, which earned her two Golden Globe Award and two Primetime Emmy Award designations. Alongside co-star Glenn Close, she showed up in the greater part of the show’s fifty-nine scenes. Byrne has additionally featured in the movies Troy, 28 Weeks Later, Knowing, Insidious, X-Men: First Class, X-Men: Apocalypse, and also the comedies Get Him to the Greek, Bridesmaids, The Internship, Neighbors, Neighbors 2: Sorority Rising, and Spy. Byrne was conceived in Balmain, a suburb of Sydney, New South Wales, and is of Irish and Scottish plunge. She is the little girl of Jane, an elementary school chairman, and Robin Byrne, a semi-resigned analyst and economic specialist. She is the most youthful of their four kids; she has a more established sibling, George, and two more established sisters, Alice and Lucy. In a 2009 meeting, Byrne expressed that her mom is a skeptic, while both she and her dad are rationalists. Byrne went to Balmain Public School and Hunters Hill High School before going to Bradfield College in Crows Nest. She later moved to Newtown and Bondi. She started taking acting classes at age eight, joining the Australian Theater for Young People and later went to the University of Sydney. In 1999, Byrne considered acting at the Atlantic Theater Company, which was created by David Mamet and William H. Macy. Byrne was involved with Australian author, chief and performing artist Brendan Cowell for more than six years. Cowell moved from Sydney to New York City, following Byrne’s prosperity on Damages. The relationship finished in January 2010. In 2012, Byrne started dating on-screen character Bobby Cannavale. The couple have two children together. In February 2016, she brought forth their child, Rocco. She and Cannavale had their second kid together, child Rafa, in November 2017. Starting at 2013, Byrne lived in New York and said she stays shaky in regards to a steady profession: “I don’t feel that frailty ever abandons you. You’re a specialist. There’s dependably a component of vulnerability.” See Rose Byrne Height Weight & Movies List, Tv Shows Below.

Rose Byrne Personal Info.

Full Name: Mary Rose Byrne

Nick Name: Chabs, Rosie

Family Members: Robin Byrne (Father) Jane Byrne (Mother) George Byrne (Older Brother) Alice Byrne (Older Sister) Lucy Byrne (Older Sister)

Education: Rose attended Balmain Public School and Hunters Hill High School in Sydney, New South Wales. Subsequently, Rose studied at Bradfield College in Crows Nest. Later, she graduated from University of Sydney. She also studied acting from Atlantic Theatre Company, and Australian Theatre for Young People.

Date of Birth: 24th July, 1979

Birthplace: Balmain, Sydney, Australia

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Religion: Agnostic

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: Australian

Profession: Actress

Measurements: 32-23-33 in or 81-58.5-84 cm

Bra Size: 32B

Height: 5′ 6¼” (168 cm)

Weight: 117lbs (53 kg)

Eye Color: Brown – Dark

Hair Color: Brown – Dark

Dress Size: 2

Shoe Size: 8

Boyfriend/Dating History: Gregor Jordan (1999-2002) – From 1999 to 2002, Rose dated Australian movie chief, Gregor Jordan. Brendan Cowell (2003-2010) – Rose dated on-screen character Brendan for just about seven years beginning from 2003. They split in mid 2010 because of long separation relationship. They even spent the majority of their seven years living on the contrary side of the nation. Bobby Cannavale (2012-Present) – Since August 2012, Byrne is dating American performing artist Bobby Cannavale. Bobby affirmed the relationship amid a discourse in Emmy Awards 2013 function, when he was getting a honor for “Extraordinary Supporting Actor in a Drama Series” class.

Known For: The Goddess of 1967, Bridesmaids, Damages, X-Men: First Class

Active Year: 1994 (present)

Friends: Abbie Cornish, Nadia Townsend

Favorite People: Kate Moss (Fashion Idol)

Favorite Foods: Cheese

Favorite Singers: Bob Marley, Elvis Presley, Fleet Foxes, Fleetwood Mac, Pat Benatar, Ryan Adams

Favorite Actor: Jack Nicholson

Favorite Actresses: Cate Blanchett, Glenn Close, Judy Davis, Juliette Binoche, Susan Sarandon, Toni Collette Film

Year Title 1994 Dallas Doll 1999 Two Hands 2000 My Mother Frank 2000 The Goddess of 1967 2002 Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones 2002 City of Ghosts 2003 I Capture the Castle 2003 The Night We Called It a Day 2003 The Rage in Placid Lake 2003 Take Away 2004 Troy 2004 Wicker Park 2005 The Tenants 2006 Marie Antoinette 2006 The Dead Girl 2007 Sunshine 2007 28 Weeks Later 2008 Just Buried 2008 The Tender Hook 2009 Knowing 2009 Adam 2010 I Love You Too 2010 Get Him to the Greek 2010 Insidious 2011 Bridesmaids 2011 X-Men: First Class 2012 The Place Beyond the Pines 2013 I Give It a Year 2013 The Internship 2013 The Turning 2013 Insidious: Chapter 2 2014 Neighbors 2014 Adult Beginners 2014 This Is Where I Leave You 2014 Annie 2014 Unity 2015 Spy 2015 The Meddler 2016 Neighbors 2: Sorority Rising 2016 X-Men: Apocalypse 2017 I Love You, Daddy 2018 Juliet, Naked 2018 Peter Rabbit

Television

Year Title 1995 Echo Point 1997 Fallen Angels 1997 Wildside 1999 Big Sky 1999 Heartbreak High 2000 Murder Call 2005 Casanova 2007–2012 Damages 2013 Portlandia 2013 Hollywood Game Night 2016 Last Week Tonight with John Oliver 2016 No Activity 2017 The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

See Also: Danneel Ackles Body Measurements

Search Terms: Rose Byrne Height Weight

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[populse]

San Diego Comic-Con 2017: Info for Pop Organizers

It’s that time of year again: San Diego Comic Con is back, and for the rest of the week Twitter will be abuzz with discussion about comics (of course!), the geekiest fall TV and the year’s next superhero/sci-fi film releases and casting news. There’s also valuable panels and discussions about diversity and inclusion issues in pop culture and fan communities.

What pop organizers can do

It’s worth it for pop organizers to keep track of online discussion and comment when appropriate with a Tweet or relevant .gif, celebrating a casting announcement (ala Doctor Who) or a trending quote or comment.

Check out the following Twitter feeds and websites over the weekend (or stream selected panels in real time via Twitter and geek website IGN) and on Monday. Identify and follow the the topics/fans/influencers who are reporting from the event:

https://twitter.com/Comic_Con (Official Twitter)https://twitter.com/SD_Comic_Con (Unofficial Twitter)comic-con.org (Official Website)http://sdccblog.com/  (Unofficial Blog)https://www.instagram.com/comic_con/ Official Instagramhttp://sdcctips.tumblr.com/ (Fan Tumblr )#SDCC2017 #SDCC (Hashtag)

Read last year’s San Diego Comic Con Primer for Pop Organizers for more background on SDCC

Read Cultural Pulse’s five top posts on generating pop-fueled conversation via social media

Panels to Watch For:

THURSDAY, JULY 20TH

Code Switch: Diversity Behind the Scenes (10AM PT)

Official description: Jimmy Diggs (writer, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Voyager) and Gigi Edgley (Chiana on Farscape) lead a diverse panel of science fiction, fantasy, and gaming industry leaders as they share their perspectives from behind the scenes of your favorite franchises. African American, veteran, LGBTQ, and female creatives discuss diversity of background and thought. Learn how obstacles overcome, stereotypes broken, and glass ceilings shattered have fueled creative magic

Be Your Own Superhero: Intersectional Feminism in Comics (12PM PT)

Official description: Representation matters, both on and behind the page. Sam Maggs (Wonder Women, Star Trek: Waypoint), Susana Polo (Polygon), Sarah Kuhn (Heroine Complex), Robbie Thompson (Supernatural, Silk), Christina "Steenz" Stewart (Lion Forge Comics), Cait Brennan (Debutante), and Rose Knight (Women Write About Comics) chat about the strides made in representation of race, gender, and sexuality in comics-and how everyone can do better.

It Gets Geekier: Why Queer Representation Matters (7:30PM)

Official description: Joshua Yehl (IGN Comics) brings It Gets Geekier back to discuss the importance of including LGBT+ characters in comic books, TV shows, and movies. Host Bryan Pittard (Flame On! Podcast) will lead the talk including Sina Grace (Iceman), Kris Anka (All-New X-Men), Megan Townsend (GLAAD), Mariko Tamaki (Supergirl: Being Super), and others.

FRIDAY, JULY 21ST

Steven Universe (11AM PT)

Official description: Show creator Rebecca Sugar with cast members Zach Callison (Steven), Deedee Magno-Hall (Pearl), Michaela Dietz (Amethyst), Estelle (Garnet) and A.J. Michalka (Stevonnie) for an hour of announcements, and a Q&A with fans. The controversy of the Steven Universe art book (mentioned here) may be addressed as well.

The Female Voices of Film Twitter (1:30 PM PT)

Official description: Times reporter Jen Yamato is among the journalists assembled to discuss the importance of female voices in movies, movies coverage and social media.

Marvel's The Defenders (5:15PM PT)

A first look at MCU’s “realistic”  superheroes - Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and Iron Fist in their joint series.

SATURDAY, JULY 22ND

Spotlight on Roxane Gay (10:30 PT)

Official description: New York Times bestselling author Roxane Gay (Black Panther: World of Wakanda, Bad Feminist, Difficult Women, Hunger) comes to Comic-Con as a special guest! Roxane will discuss her skyrocketing career and literary stardom and will field some questions from the audience during a Q&A session.

Star Trek Discovery (2:30PM  PT)

Deets from the cast and crew of the upcoming show.

Women Rocking Hollywood: Female Directors Changing the Faces of Film and Television  (1 PM PT)

Official description: “Queen Sugar” and “Jessica Jones” (Season 2) made headlines when the shows announced they had hired only women directors. “Wonder Woman” is now the highest grossing live-action film to have been directed by a woman. This panel of female directors will address the importance of representation behind the camera. Kirsten Schaffer (exec director, Women in Film: LA), Tina Mabry (writer/producer/director: Queen of the South, director: Dear White People), Rosemary Rodriguez (writer/director: Silver Skies, director: Jessica Jones, The Walking Dead), Victoria Mahoney (director: Queen Sugar, Gypsy, American Crime), Aurora Guerrero (writer/director: Mosquita y Mari, director: Queen Sugar), Angela Robinson (writer/director: Professor Marston and the Wonder Women, True Blood), and Gina Prince-Bythewood (writer/director: Love & Basketball, Beyond the Lights), the first woman of color hired to helm a superhero film for the upcoming Silver & Black.

Marvel Studios (5:30PM PT)

Marvel Studios President Kevin Feige will share more clips and spoilers from the  Marvel Cinematic Universe. But let’s face it, we only just care about Black Panther.

Women and Writers of Color Breaking Barriers (4 PM PT)

Official description:An eclectic panel of UCLA Extension instructors currently working in the entertainment industry discuss how they got where they are, what issues they continue to face, and what it will take before there is real change. Speakers include Laurence Walsh-Hodson (NCIS, The Dresden Files), Nancy Nigrosh (former agent of Kathryn Bigelow), Steve Harper (American Crime, Covert Affairs), Melinda Hill (Kickin' It, Adventure Time), Deborah Dean Davis (It Takes Two, Daddy Boot Camp), Cynthia Hsiung (Young Hercules, The Real World), Eunetta T. Boone (One on One, The Hughleys), Cynthia Riddle (Puppy Love, The Brittany Murphy Story) and moderator Kim Adelman (independent film producer).

“Broad City” (7 PM PT)

“Broad City’s” Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer.

SUNDAY, JULY 23RD

Doctor Who (2PM PT)

The panel is a sendoff for former showrunner Steven Moffatt and 12th Doctor Peter Capaldi. But the new glass-ceiling busting new Doctor Jodie Whittaker, or the new showrunner, Chris Chibnall could make surprise appearances.

Super Asian America (3 PM  PT)

Official description: Panelists discuss the state of Asians in pop culture, from Hollywood’s habit of adapting (and whitewashing) Asian stories to the success of shows such as “Master of None” and “Into the Badlands.”

[jltonnere]

Me: Finish your Macey/ Preston project.

Also Me: Release the secret chapter of All's Fair.

Guess which I did. You can find it here.